“One day,” Thor asked his mother, as she ran her fingers through his golden hair, “shall I be Queen, like you?”
And Frigga had startled for a moment; not because his inquiry was unusual, not at all, but rather because her second-eldest child had always leaned more towards masculinity than his siblings. She had expected him to idolise his father, and grow up to aspire to kingship; but perhaps she was wrong, after all.
“If you’d like to be, my dear,” she spoke quietly, running her thumb along her small spawn’s cheek, “then you shall. But you shall never be what you do not want to be; and never let anybody convince you otherwise.”
Thor hummed, little hands coming up to hold his mother’s wrists. “Then I shall be Queen, and any maiden or warrior I choose to wed shall be my King- or other Queen- and Asgard shall be happy under my rule.” A toothy smile broke out across his face, eyes squinting as he smiled, fingers sparking. “I shall be a kind Queen, mother, one to rival even you.”
And Frigga laughed, patting her child’s back quietly. “Should I live to see the day, then I am sure I will be outshined.”
The Valkyries were truly unmatched in their elegance.
Thor and Loki would spend many days and nights watching them fight; their pretty, painted features perfectly blending with their golden armour and winged steeds. The young Odinsons would mimic their techniques, twirling and twisting with their own makeshift weapons at hand, clumsy recreations of inimitable perfection.
The Asgardian people found it charming, how the young royals idolised something that Odin himself seemed to overlook; and they still found it charming when Thor came of age and, eyes bright with enthusiasm, announced to his mother that he no longer wanted to be Queen – he wanted to be a Valkyrie.
Frigga had smiled sweetly, and brushed his hair out of his face, and told him “Okay” – because who was she to crush a child’s dreams?
He and Loki engaged in a game of “who can shapeshift the best and become a Valkyrie” one day; and Frigga arrived to the surprising view of two typically-feminine forms, sat on their knees and staring intently at each other.
The first, a tad bit taller than the other, was evidently Thor, with a face that vaguely resembled Frigga’s, and golden hair down to his shoulders. The shorter of the two had all the sharpness of Loki, face framed by his dark hair. Both seemed to have kept their usual attire, simply shaped a little differently to fit their newer forms.
“I see you are both having fun,” Frigga laughed kindly, “and making use of your powers, at last.”
And Thor looked up at her, eyes – once again – shining, and bounced up to his feet. He was undoubtedly just as beautiful in this body as his usual one, with the same visible strength and naïve optimism; still, in this form, he was broader than Frigga, flat-chested and sharp-jawed, and yet managed to look just as soft and welcoming as his mother. He was truly, obviously Thor, despite all the changes he’d made.
“I challenged Loki to become a more beautiful maiden than I,” he exclaimed, voice light with excitement, “but I do not think he has succeeded – look, mother, I look just as you do!”
Loki rolled his eyes, straightening up, with the same sinister confidence and dark eyes that she’d grown so adoring of. He still resembled his original form, in the same way that his brother did, but obviously took much more care in his craft – some choice parts of his clothing were shaped differently to fall on his body better, and his face was not bare like his brother’s, instead opting to demonstrate his theatrical flair.
“Now, Brother,” he spoke calmly, “as naïve as you can be, surely you recognise excellence when it is before you. I am the clear winner this time; look at the care I took, the intricacy. You are no competition.”
Thor responded with an offended gasp, and a much too elegantly-worded comeback; and soon Frigga’s children dissolved into another of their trademark arguments. She laughed fondly, leaving them to their business.