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Title: What She Felt
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Thor
Rating: T
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Implied past!Odin/Laufey
Warnings: Evil!Frigga
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Odin's returns from Jotunheim with a child in his arms, and Frigga can't help hating him for it.
AN: It's a thing, okay. I like this sandbox. Prequel to 'What She Wanted' and 'What She Deserved'.
She wants to run to him, to embrace him, but she doesn’t. She knows that she should – he has been away to war for so long and is returning to her, triumphant at last – but she doesn’t, even as the crowds around her surge forward to greet their returning heroes. Something is stopping her from racing into his arms, and it takes her a moment to realise that it is the way that Odin is moving.
She has seen him walk in such a way before, while pacing the nursery with Thor in his arms, soothing their son back to sleep. She knows what he is carrying long before he reaches her.
“A child of Laufey,” he tells her, presenting her with a babe as pink as any Aesir. “He was abandoned in a temple, too small to survive in Jotunheim.”
He is lying to her.
There is nothing in his manner or his words to betray him, but he has forgotten that she has met Laufey and seen his love for children first hand.
It had been a brief moment during the peace talks before they had fallen through and their realms had descended into war. Thor had somehow managed to escape his nanny and, seeking his mother’s embrace, had snuck into one of the meetings. They had been too surprised to react immediately to his presence and to stop him from approaching the Jotun king. Entranced by his blue skin – Thor had never seen anything as exotic as a frost giant before then, and small boys were often fascinated with strange creatures – Thor had toddled over to his side and pressed his hand to Laufey’s bare calf. Frigga had felt her heart stop as she waited for a scream of pain and the sight of her son’s hand withering as frostbite set in. It had never come. Thor had remained unharmed and Laufey had laughed as he leaned down and ruffled Thor’s hair with a large hand, and he had listened attentively as her son had introduced himself.
“A fine child, Odin,” he had said once Thor had been ushered away back to the nursery. “He is a credit to you and the House of Asgard.”
Odin has clearly forgotten the tenderness Laufey showed that day to the son of an enemy, but she hasn’t. Laufey would never leave a child of his exposed, even if it was a runt.
He is lying. But why?
The truth crashes down on her then and she has to fight to keep breathing; to keep from ripping the child from Odin’s arms and dashing it on the palace steps at his feet. The child is her husband’s. His child with Laufey.
Her stomach churns. She can feel bile rising, burning her throat. Her eyes grow hot with tears but she refuses to let them fall.
Her husband – the husband she thought loving, if foolish – has lain with a frost giant. Has sired a child upon it and brought it home to raise as a prince in Asgard.
He has betrayed them all.
While Aesir fought and died to protect the humans of Midgard from an army of Jotun, Odin had been bedding their king. She can picture it in her mind. The movement of their bodies – blue hands clawing at Odin’s back, urging him harder and deeper. She can practically hear the slick noises of their coupling; their moans and grunts echo in her mind. Her stomach lurches and she knows that she will never be able to touch Odin again, not now that he has debased himself with such a monster.
He seeks to play her as a fool.
“He is beautiful,” she whispers, and she hates her words for being true. “Does he have a name?”
“Loki,” her husband tells her.
The pride in his voice makes her want to vomit. She steels herself instead, paints a smile upon her lips.
“A fine name,” she says. She hates it.
She hates him.
Never before had Frigga thought that hatred could be such a powerful thing. Not until she saw the love Odin held for his bastard monster. It takes her breath away, fills her veins with fire as cold as ice.
He offers her the child, asks her to raise it as her own. It looks up at her with brilliant green eyes when he places it in her arms. They’re oddly focussed for an infant so young. She feels nothing but loathing as it peers up at her. She wants nothing more but to fling it away.
She is glad Thor is napping. She’s not sure she could lie so well with him present.
The baby gives a tiny yawn and closes its eyes again in sleep. Frigga looks up at her husband, and lets him see only affection as she silently vows to have her revenge.
She cannot touch Odin, for he is a conquering hero in the eyes of their people. She cannot touch Laufey, for he is worlds away in Jotunheim with an army at his back.
But through Loki, the slumbering child in her arms, she can rip the hearts out of both of them.
Just as they have ripped out hers.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Thor
Rating: T
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Implied past!Odin/Laufey
Warnings: Evil!Frigga
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Odin's returns from Jotunheim with a child in his arms, and Frigga can't help hating him for it.
AN: It's a thing, okay. I like this sandbox. Prequel to 'What She Wanted' and 'What She Deserved'.
She wants to run to him, to embrace him, but she doesn’t. She knows that she should – he has been away to war for so long and is returning to her, triumphant at last – but she doesn’t, even as the crowds around her surge forward to greet their returning heroes. Something is stopping her from racing into his arms, and it takes her a moment to realise that it is the way that Odin is moving.
She has seen him walk in such a way before, while pacing the nursery with Thor in his arms, soothing their son back to sleep. She knows what he is carrying long before he reaches her.
“A child of Laufey,” he tells her, presenting her with a babe as pink as any Aesir. “He was abandoned in a temple, too small to survive in Jotunheim.”
He is lying to her.
There is nothing in his manner or his words to betray him, but he has forgotten that she has met Laufey and seen his love for children first hand.
It had been a brief moment during the peace talks before they had fallen through and their realms had descended into war. Thor had somehow managed to escape his nanny and, seeking his mother’s embrace, had snuck into one of the meetings. They had been too surprised to react immediately to his presence and to stop him from approaching the Jotun king. Entranced by his blue skin – Thor had never seen anything as exotic as a frost giant before then, and small boys were often fascinated with strange creatures – Thor had toddled over to his side and pressed his hand to Laufey’s bare calf. Frigga had felt her heart stop as she waited for a scream of pain and the sight of her son’s hand withering as frostbite set in. It had never come. Thor had remained unharmed and Laufey had laughed as he leaned down and ruffled Thor’s hair with a large hand, and he had listened attentively as her son had introduced himself.
“A fine child, Odin,” he had said once Thor had been ushered away back to the nursery. “He is a credit to you and the House of Asgard.”
Odin has clearly forgotten the tenderness Laufey showed that day to the son of an enemy, but she hasn’t. Laufey would never leave a child of his exposed, even if it was a runt.
He is lying. But why?
The truth crashes down on her then and she has to fight to keep breathing; to keep from ripping the child from Odin’s arms and dashing it on the palace steps at his feet. The child is her husband’s. His child with Laufey.
Her stomach churns. She can feel bile rising, burning her throat. Her eyes grow hot with tears but she refuses to let them fall.
Her husband – the husband she thought loving, if foolish – has lain with a frost giant. Has sired a child upon it and brought it home to raise as a prince in Asgard.
He has betrayed them all.
While Aesir fought and died to protect the humans of Midgard from an army of Jotun, Odin had been bedding their king. She can picture it in her mind. The movement of their bodies – blue hands clawing at Odin’s back, urging him harder and deeper. She can practically hear the slick noises of their coupling; their moans and grunts echo in her mind. Her stomach lurches and she knows that she will never be able to touch Odin again, not now that he has debased himself with such a monster.
He seeks to play her as a fool.
“He is beautiful,” she whispers, and she hates her words for being true. “Does he have a name?”
“Loki,” her husband tells her.
The pride in his voice makes her want to vomit. She steels herself instead, paints a smile upon her lips.
“A fine name,” she says. She hates it.
She hates him.
Never before had Frigga thought that hatred could be such a powerful thing. Not until she saw the love Odin held for his bastard monster. It takes her breath away, fills her veins with fire as cold as ice.
He offers her the child, asks her to raise it as her own. It looks up at her with brilliant green eyes when he places it in her arms. They’re oddly focussed for an infant so young. She feels nothing but loathing as it peers up at her. She wants nothing more but to fling it away.
She is glad Thor is napping. She’s not sure she could lie so well with him present.
The baby gives a tiny yawn and closes its eyes again in sleep. Frigga looks up at her husband, and lets him see only affection as she silently vows to have her revenge.
She cannot touch Odin, for he is a conquering hero in the eyes of their people. She cannot touch Laufey, for he is worlds away in Jotunheim with an army at his back.
But through Loki, the slumbering child in her arms, she can rip the hearts out of both of them.
Just as they have ripped out hers.
