“Mother!”
The child’s panicked cry roused Frigga from her sleep instantly, and within a matter of moments she was out of bed and running to her son’s room.
Loki’s face was tear-stained and he clenched the sheets in tight fists. “No,” he whispered, letting out a broken moan that went straight to Frigga’s heart.
She knelt by his bedside, brushing sweat-dampened locks of hair from his forehead. “Sh, Loki, it is alright. I’m here,” she whispered.
His eyes opened, fear reigning in the bright green irises. “Mother?” His voice trembled, and he reached out to touch her hand as if to reassure himself she was really there.
“Yes,” Frigga soothed, taking his hand in hers and stroking his hair with the other. “It’s alright now. You were only dreaming.”
She realized as she held his hand that he was shaking. Frigga pulled her son into her arms and he clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder.
“Tell me about it,” she urged softly. “It will help to lift the shadows, and you will see it was only a dream.”
“You were dead,” Loki whispered. Frigga felt his tears leak through her nightdress to her shoulder. “You were dead, and you left me.” A broken sob ripped itself from his throat.
Frigga rocked him gently back and forth in her arms. “Sh, it’s alright, Loki. I’m here. I’m here.”
“Don’t leave me,” the boy begged. “Ever. Please.”
Frigga pulled back so she could look him in the eye. As much as she wanted to say I won’t, she knew he would have to understand sometime. “Loki, I cannot promise I will be here forever.” She wiped away a tear and he bit his lip as more tears welled in his eyes. “A day will come when my time here will end. It is the way of things, the way of life. I hope for both our sakes that the time will not come soon.” Frigga placed a hand on Loki’s chest. “But know this, my son. No matter what happens, I will always be here. As long as you keep me in your heart, I will never leave.”
Loki nodded once to show he understood, then Frigga pulled him back into her embrace. “I can promise you one thing,” she whispered. “I will always love you. And you will always be my son.”

---

Loki knew something was wrong long before anyone bothered to tell him what happened. He wasn’t sure how he knew exactly, but something didn’t feel right. Like a star had suddenly been extinguished, a light snuffed out.
He’d been the only one left in the dungeon during the outbreak. Since the skirmish, and since everyone had left, he’d seen no one but the two guards that came down to make sure he was still there. They had said nothing to him, said nothing to each other that he could hear, but he could tell from their faces and stances that something terrible had happened.
For a brief moment, Loki had allowed himself to toy with the thought that Odin or Thor had been killed or injured.
The idea left him a sort of sick satisfaction, even if he hadn’t been the one to drive the knife home and watch as the look of betrayal faded from their eyes along with the light of life.
A few days after the outbreak, Loki sat as he usually did, reading one of the books Frigga had left him. He wondered that she hadn’t been to see him since before the battle, but the thought that she might be a grieving widow or mother kept him satisfied. She wouldn’t be gone for long.
The footsteps and rattle of armour alerted him to the presence of the guard before he came into view.
Finally someone decides to let me know, Loki thought, turning a page in his book. He didn’t look up.
“The queen is dead,” the guard said, speaking quickly, voice grief-stricken and uncomfortable.
The icy knife of shock plunged into Loki’s heart. He looked up slowly, but let no emotion on his face.
“She was slain in the battle. Her funeral was just completed.”
Loki gave a single nod, both to let the guard know he’d heard and to dismiss him. The man scurried off.
Dead?
The word sunk in with reality, twisting the knife.
He moved slowly, setting his book down as he stood from his chair. Balling his hands into fists, he lashed out with the magic Frigga had taught him, creating a flash that ripped through the small cell, knocking the sparse furniture over.
It wasn’t enough to quench the feeling of fury that rose up in him. Fury at Malekith. Fury at Frigga. Of course she wouldn’t have sat idly by while the battle raged around her. Of course she would have fought.
Fury at himself for not being able to be there for her as she had always been for him, to protect her.
But no, it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t been there. It was Thor’s, and Odin’s. They had put him in this cell. They hadn’t saved her. It was their fault.
The table was the first to bear the full brunt of his rage. He flung it aside with his mind, smashing it into pieces.
It didn’t matter whose fault it was. It didn’t change the fact that she was dead.
Raising a hand, he summoned a ball of energy and sent it across the cell with a flash of light, shattering and destroying everything he could. The bowl of fruit, the bed, the chairs. The books flew across the room, pages flapping and tearing as they collided with the walls.
The books she’d left him the last time she’d visited. The last time he had seen her.
Loki realized the last words he’d spoken to her.
“Then am I not your mother?”
“You’re not.”
“You’re not,” Loki snarled under his breath. She wasn’t. It didn’t matter. Didn’t matter she was dead. She didn’t matter.
A memory, nearly forgotten, rose to the surface. A memory of a nightmare, and of Frigga comforting him.
“No matter what happens, I will always be here. As long as you keep me in your heart, I will never leave…”
What good was her memory if she was dead?
Magic wasn’t enough. Loki took the tipped over chair and flung it at the wall, the splinters of wood spraying back at him. He grabbed a broken chair leg, only half feeling the broken wood digging into his palms. He hurled it across the cell at the energy wall and it burst into flame briefly before disintegrating.
A wave of weariness of both body and spirit fell over him and he stumbled back, sinking down against the wall.
Loki took a shuddering breath and gritted his teeth. The memories clawed at him, knifing him in the places he hurt most.
Her smile. Her laugh. The way she looked when she was angry. The look of burning disappointment coupled with deep sorrow in her eyes when he’d been brought home in chains from Midgard.
The childhood nightmare had come true.
She was gone. She’d left him.
He let out a scream of anguish, doubling over as the nearly physical pain twisted in his chest. He wrapped his arms over his head, trying to block out the very feelings themselves.
This nightmare was different.
This one was real.

Notes

After seeing Thor: The Dark World for the first time last weekend, I couldn't not write something angsty. This is one of the few stories that made me cry while writing it. Yay.