Loki misunderstood; he misunderstood entirely if he thought Odin's talks with him were meant to be nothing more than jeers at a curiosity in a cage. She would admit that Odin had grown increasingly hurt, frustrated, and angry at Loki's stubborn pride, his hateful accusations. She would even admit that Odin had not, in what audiences she had been allowed to witness, always kept his temper. But she knew her husband loved their son as surely as she knew the sound of her own heartbeat.

And yes, yes, Loki and Odin were so similar - their pride, their insight, their ambition, the grave distance it took to be king... and he did not see it? There was something to pursue, then, at a later time.

For Frigga could not continue to hold so many threads of the conversation and answer Loki's question at the same time. She was a goddess, thousands of years old, and a woman of grace, intelligence, and beauty... but she was still a woman. She could try to hold onto all their conversations, or she could give him now, while she could, a key that might help his understanding. The choice was simple.

Even so, she could not come out and say it. Some wounds were too deep to heal. Frigga's hands fluttered at her sides, a rare, useless movement. "Did you never wonder that Thor was so close to you in age when your father and I had been married many years hence? Or why, in all your years, there was never another child, a brother or a sister?"