Bridges
“Mother? Why did no one cry for the councilman’s death? He-he died but no one … cared. Was he a bad man?” Loki asked his mother one afternoon during tea, his eyes as green as a summer forest.
“No, my love, he wasn’t but… I am not sure you’re old enough to know this…” Frigga answered, wondering how her youngest son could be so perceptive at his age, Thor had never asked these kinds of questions.
“I am! Please tell me! I just don’t understand. Everyone was sad when Uncle Vali died! There was a ceremony and a ship… the councilman was as important as him… why wasn’t there a ceremony? Did he do something bad?” the young mage queried, full knowing his arguments would be valid enough for his mother.
“Very well… how do I put this…My love, uncle Vali died in battle. His death was… honorable. The halls of Valhalla opened for him, and he joined his forefathers in the afterlife. He will feast and dwell on the glory of his sacrifice for the rest of eternity, that is why there was a ceremony, to celebrate his bravery. The councilman… he wasn’t a bad man, he truly was such a kind and decent soul, but he died in a way that wasn’t… honorable, in a way that is considered a sin, that is why there wasn’t a ceremony. It wasn’t that we didn’t care, we did. We just couldn’t have a ceremony because of that,” the queen of Asgard replied carefully.
Loki stayed quiet after that, and continued eating his fruit, pensive.
“Mamma… why is ending your own life not considered honorable?” Loki asked after a while, and Frigga was not able to suppress her shock at her son’s deduction. The way he was able to understand so much… It worried her and amused her at the same time.
“Well… life is a gift given to us; to disregard that gift… it goes against life itself. That is why it is considered cowardly and dishonorable,” she replied as calmly as she could.
“What? I don’t agree! One must be incredibly brave to do such a thing. To face the pain of dying like that. It sounds so… scary. I don’t see how that isn’t considered brave,” he counteracted.
“You have a point love, but death… death is easy. You die, and it all goes away. Having the courage to live, to push forward despite hardship, despite the pain that existence sometimes brings… that’s true bravery. Living and fighting for what you believe… that’s what courage is all about,” she explained.
Loki didn’t reply, but after a while he nodded in agreement.
“I think I understand, mamma,” he said, and looked at his mother with a smile.
“My love, you really ask the hard questions…” Frigga replied and laughed, moving to engulf her son in an embrace.
Loki hugged her back and wished she would never let him go.
Except that she did.
Some centuries later, when he was suddenly old enough and could do without her; when she stopped trying to answer his questions. One fateful day, when she stopped trying to understand who Loki was and started judging him.
She let him go, like everyone did.
They had drifted apart eons ago, became two strangers with a shared history. Loki had thought there was nothing more than pleasantries between them, so why was she the first thing he saw after coming to his senses?
Why was she there, holding a cup of honeyed milk, the same kind she would always use to soothe him after a nightmare in his childhood. The same kind that had meant love and care and mother for so many years, long before she had forced him to grow up.
Why was she looking at him with big blue worried eyes that had bags under them? Why did she look like she had cried? Why did she look like she cared?
They had burned that bridge a long time ago. Long before he knew it wasn’t her blood running through his veins, long before he stopped calling her mother. The comfort she brought stopped existing one day, and he was left alone, drifting away in an endless sea of sorrow.
Perhaps the bridge had never existed, and Loki’s fond memories were nothing but mirages. After all, Frigga had lied; she had purposely hidden the truth, something people who love you wouldn’t do. So, maybe she hadn’t loved him at all. He just thought she had because everyone else hated him; perhaps her kindness towards him had been intensified by everyone’s disdain.
But if she hadn’t loved him… why the honeyed milk? Why the sorrow-filled eyes? Why was she here looking at him as if he held in his hands the key to her entire existence? To her entire reason for being?
If it had all been a lie… then why had she always seemed so genuine? Why had she explained everything so patiently back then?
Loki hadn’t missed it. He remembered the way she had explained the councilman’s death with a certain intention. She had wanted him to know that it wasn’t alright to ends one’s life. She had wanted him to disregard the idea. Loki wondered if she had foreseen it, the witch that she was. Had she known that he would one day think of that cowardly death as a viable option? Had she known that he would become that weak?
So, so… weak. Weaker than any Aesir should be.
Because he was not an Aesir.
He had never been.
Even then she had known that he would fail, that he was bound to be a weakling and seek a cowardly getaway.
But if she knew it so clearly…, why was she here? Why did she hold the cup in her hands as if it were a lifeline? As if it were the key to the entire universe? And why? Why did he feel like he had to take that lifeline? Why was he compelled to take the cup from her hands and show her that he wouldn’t… that he wouldn’t do what she was so fearful of, that he would choose the path of bravery. Why did he even think he could do that?
He didn’t understand it, as he couldn’t understand so many things. But he took the honeyed milk with shaky hands and pressed the cup to his lips; drinking slowly, as if it were the last think he’d do … A dying man, holding on to his last hope.
As he drank, he became aware of the traitorous tears running down his face, a sign of his weakness. He tried to ignore his surroundings as much as possible, focusing on the act of drinking. But hard as he tried, he couldn’t avoid looking at Frigga, their eyes meeting for just a second; a long soul-comforting second that had Loki basking on the warmth of her smile, on the sight of her big watery eyes, hopeful and loving.
Against his better judgment, he felt the urge, the need to cross that bridge and call her mother, to ask for an embrace and melt on it. But he knew it was improper. He was a Jotun monster, an unwanted child, a case of charity. There was nothing that could make him worthy of being called a son by the wonderful Queen Frigga.
So, he only bowed in gratitude after finishing, wiped his tears and laid back down to try and resume a quiet and restless sleep.
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“How does the All-father fare, Eir?” Frigga asked later that evening. Loki hadn’t woken up in a few hours, so she sat in an armchair in Loki’s room, which had since been turned into a private healing chamber.
“He fares well, my queen. His organs and vital signs are stable. All indicates he is deep into the Odinsleep, getting the recovery he needs,” the healer responded as she fumbled with Loki’s fluids supplier.
“Thank the Norns. I-I hope he can forgive me for not always being at his side as I had promised,” she replied, apologetically, closing the book she had been reading.
“He’d surely understand the need to look after Loki, my queen. After all, it is one of his boys that needs the most care right now,” Eir replied with a smile, turning around to look at her queen.
“Oh Eir, where did we go so wrong?” the queen asked, looking at her lap with tear-filled eyes. It felt like all she did was cry these days.
“My husband adores his sons, I know it, but somehow, they don’t. And I don’t understand it. We used to be so… close, the four of us. For a moment there, we had it all. Loki was… is, the missing piece to our family, but apparently, we-we failed him in more ways than we helped. Perhaps he would’ve been better off without us,” she continued.
“My queen, please don’t say that. May I remind you the faith that would’ve taken him if the All-father hadn’t saved him?” Eir replied eagerly.
“I know. I-I know, but perhaps he would’ve been better off with another family. We briefly considered it, to send him to live with a nobleman. But he was so precious Eir… and in our hearts we thought- we thought we were doing things right. We even thought hiding the truth was the best thing to do. But we failed him terribly. I failed him in every way I could. I-I am the reason he’s like this…. How can you tell me it wouldn’t have been best for him to be free from these burdens, from us, from the chains Odin and I placed on him? He hasn’t had a meal in who knows how long, and it is all because of us!” she said, openly sobbing into her hands now.
“It’s not… your fault,” a weak voice spoke. Both women gasped and turned around to look at Loki, who looked at them from the same position on the bed, with half-open eyes and a grim expression.
“I am… I am just weak, mother. I can’t face things like I’m supposed to, you have no responsibility on that,” he said softly.
He couldn’t stomach the conversation any longer. He didn’t want to; he refused to let Frigga take responsibility for his shortcomings. She wasn’t responsible for his flaws, for his weakness. She had done the best she could’ve done with raising him, taught him magic at his request even when it was frowned upon, coddled him until the maximum age it would’ve been acceptable; loved him even when he acted cruel and bitter.
Even Odin had done all he could’ve, tried to make him grow into a man, did his best to teach him how to be a warrior. It wasn’t their fault that Loki had been born broken and weak. That life had turned out too much of a chore for him, even when it had been gifted to him; a second chance on a frozen wasteland. No, they’d done their part; he’d just been too busy trying to find someone to blame to see it.
He was the problem.
He would always be the problem.
But problems… they can be rid of, can’t they?
“My love… please don’t say that. You’re so brave, so very brave. You are here even if it hurts, you’ve been hurt and you’ve still taken it so well,” Frigga replied, as she took his hand into hers.
“I wish I could believe that…” Loki replied, with a small and rueful smile.
Loki closed his eyes again. He idly heard Frigga say something else and call his name. He chose to ignore it and kept his eyes closed. He wasn’t tired, not really, but he couldn’t look at her anymore.
Somehow, he remembered the councilman’s death.
It was a fitting memory after all, wasn’t it?
He wondered when Frigga and Eir would leave the room, he knew he’d have to flee their gaze.
It was time, time to burn all bridges.
He was a coward already; why did it matter if he acted on it?