what to tell her?
Frigga was a wise queen. She warned him.
“You are spoilding him” “a good king does not seek war” “he will be a magnificent warrior, and he will need to learn to fight without hate” “his arrogance will grow with him…”
And Odin ignored her. In the back of his mind, he probably knew she was right all along, but he was so proud of his prince, so little, and already so strong, so beautifull, so full of life and pasion, willing to fight, so much like him.
He just couldn’t find it within him to tell him to hold back when he was playing war. He could not interrupt his games just to clarify to him that the Jotnar are not, in fact, monsters.
He didn’t even think of it. It was so much easier, to brush his wife’s worries aside.
To tell her that the boy was only a boy, happy, and strong, entusiast and healty, no need to fuss.
He even had the arrogance of telling her that, since this worried her so much, she could teach him such things herself.
“he won’t listen to me! he doesn’t understand the severity of my words. He only wants to fight like you…”
“He will understand, when he grows up”
He had been such a fool. How dare he, not to listen to the wise queen of Asgard, his queen? how could he not put more effort on the rising of his son, to take notice, to ignore the aparent perfection, how could he let this happen?
How dare he give for granted the safety of his child?
“Do not tell him that” “do not let him think that he could go with you” “do not take him. he is too young, he is not meant to leave the palace, he is not ready, he won’t…”
And how, oh norns, was he going to tell her, that he had lost their child?
Odin, the all father, the all seeing sat on a rock, where no one could see him, and burried his face in his hands. He and all of his men, and the men of his host had been searching for days. He had to tell her. He had to go back and at least write a letter.
He had to stop searching. He could even feel the calling of the Odinsleep, early, caused by stress and the weight of the many, many years at his back.
But he could not stop looking, he could not, he wouldn’t.
His boy, his little boy, his son, his precious, strong, brave son was lost, without the help of a teacher, not even a maid, no weapon, no experience.
Just a boy.
An arrogant, foolish little boy, who had never so much as felt hunger in his short life.
He wanted to blame him, for playing carelessly around him while he was bussy doing bushiness, to blame the guards, who were not watching the little prince, his host, for permitting this happening… but the cruel, sheer truth was that, this time, for once, he had no one to blame but himself.
“someone may have kidnapped the prince” said one of his host’s men, when he got back to the castle. He could barely think, tired more by the emotions than by action.
“whoever did this, your grace, they will pay”