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Frigga hurried along the corridor, her blue and silver robes flowing behind her and her long beautiful ringletted hair bouncing in her undignified haste. Odin was back victorious from the long war against Jotúnnheimr and she wanted desperately to see him. Oh, how she had missed her King! She had spent long days with her ladies-in-waiting and with the young Prince Thor, then long lonely nights lying awake until the early hours fretting about the All-Father’s safety.

But now he was back! Ignoring the fact that she was Queen of Asgard and really should be setting a better example to others, she removed her golden slippers and ran along the last corridor to the King’s Royal Suite and skidded to a halt in front of the doors. She nodded to the guards with a huge grin on her young face and smoothed back her wild hair. She took a deep steadying breath and then opened the doors to go to see her King. Huginn and Munnin eyed her up from their pedestals on either side of the replica throne of Asgard in the antechamber.

“Hello boys!” She said cheerfully, to be met by a raucous reply and much flapping of midnight black wings. Frigga smiled happily and crossed to the door to the rooms she shared with Odin, barely able to contain her excitement and – to some extent – relief at the safe return of her husband. Putting on her most welcoming and loving smile, she stepped through the wooden gilded doors and saw that Odin was standing out on the large balcony, his red cloak stained and ripped from weeks away at war with the realm of the Frost Giants. His back was towards her and his golden mane of hair hung over his shoulders as he stood looking out over the city he called his home.

“My King.” Frigga stood a few feet behind Odin and lowered her eyes as she waited for his attention. After a few moments, she saw him turn and a thrill of happiness went through her as she anticipated their reconciliation after these dreadfully long months apart.

“Frigga…” His voice! Oh, how she had longed to hear his voice for so many weeks and now, now she despaired as she heard the weariness there. His voice almost sounded broken. “… Come, my Queen. How I have missed this vision that you present to me. There is something that you must see, something which may have a significant impact on our lives.” She raised her eyes to look at the man who had been away from her, fighting for the security of Asgard and to defend realms weaker than their own and her heart leapt into her mouth. His face! The handsome visage was a ruin on the right side; a sea of wounds and his eye – his eye was gone! Her finely boned hands flew to her face in shock, but then she saw very quickly that his injuries were not the only things he had brought back from the realm of the giants. What first appeared to be a bundle of rags in his arms moved and a tiny voice sent out a feeble coo.

“What…?” She whispered and took a step forward, “What…?”

Odin looked at her from his remaining eye and then down at what he carried. His beautiful Queen approached slowly, her eyes alternating between his face and the bundle in his arms, struggling to take everything in.

“What…?” She asked for a third time and he tentatively held his burden out to her. Carefully, she pulled back the edge of the cloth and she gasped back a sudden surge of emotion.

“A baby?!” She exclaimed, and her crystal blue eyes filled with tears. Once again, Odin had brought his Queen a child.

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A baby. Odin had stood in the ruins of war; the once majestic buildings now piles of rubble, with plumes of smoke rising and the huge bodies of countless Jotúnns lying where they had been slain and now almost covered by the incessantly falling snow. What a waste of life and all because of the pursuit, by the Frost Giants, of the conquering of the lesser realms. Upon their attempted invasion of the primitive realm of Midgard, they had earned the retaliation of Asgard and had been driven back to Jotúnnheimr – where their refusal to surrender their weapon and energy source, the Casket Of Ancient Winters, had culminated in the war. The All-Father and his legions had decimated the icy realm and its King had been forced to surrender and to give up the casket.

Odin had surveyed, through his surviving eye, the damage that had been wrought whilst the Einherjar had ensured that not a single Asgardian soldier was left behind – alive or dead. As he picked his way back across the ruined city towards the Bi Frost assembly point, he had heard a thin wail from one of the buildings. He had dismissed it as that of a feral animal and had continued walking, but it came again. He turned his head in the direction of the sound and a temple of a sort came into his limited view. Another cry, feebler now, made his mind up for him and he made his way cautiously towards the building, which had been damaged badly and looked quite dangerous. He entered the shattered doorway and found a large room which had collapsed in the far corner, exposing it to the darkened stormy sky and the thickly falling snowflakes.

Another cry. Even fainter, if it were possible. It was clearly that of a creature that was dying – not surprising in this devastation of war and freezing cold temperatures. Peering into the relative gloom and struggling with his profoundly altered vision, Odin saw something that looked like a folded cloak at the base of some kind of stone altar. He quickly crossed to it and lifted the top layer. There, upon a thin layer of material on the cold stone floor in this abandoned ruined temple, lay a baby. He – for the lack of clothing on the poor babe meant he was on full show and very obviously a male – was hardly moving and ice crystals were forming all over his blue skin. The tiny mouth opened a crack and a whisper of a cry escaped the failing lungs of the little creature, melting Odin’s heart.

What was this infant doing here? It was bloodstained and the birthing cord still looked relatively fresh – a newborn left in a temple in a war zone! Clearly left to die – was he an offering made to some God of War in a desperate attempt to swing the tide against the Asgardians? Odin did not think so – it was not in the Jotúnn mindset. They believed they were great and powerful warriors – they needed no worship to win wars. He wrapped the dark green material back around the baby’s body, then lifted him up to scrutinise him and, in response, the crimson eyes opened. As he looked on, those brand new red eyes somehow focussed on him – unusual for a newborn – and the mouth let out a small coo. Odin gently brushed away a few flakes of snow that had settled on the baby’s face, his fingers tracing the faint Jotúnn markings. “So, you are born with some markings, little one,” he wondered, “not all are ritual scars, it seems.” At the sound of his voice, the baby boy cooed again and Odin watched with wonder as the blue skin began to change. With each stroke of his hand, the blue faded away and a rugged pink colour replaced it. Last to change were those vibrant ruby red eyes. The rich colour faded away and within moments the tiny boy was looking up at him from eyes that matched his own crystal blue. Odin wrapped the cloak more securely around the infant and exited the temple to return with his men to Asgard.

As he crossed a large plaza, however, a movement caught his attention and he turned to look, uncertain of his vision now he had lost an eye. A cloaked figure skulked in a doorway, clearly watching what he was doing.

“You there!” He shouted and started to make his way over, but the figure ducked into the building as he got nearer. “Stop! Who are you?! Do you know of this child?!”

Cautiously, he went through the doorway into the darkened building and immediately spotted the person cowering in the corner, having been trapped by a collapsed wall. As Odin’s impressive presence loomed closer, a young female voice said “No! Please do not harm me! I was merely watching to see what you would do with the Prince!”

“Prince?” Asked Odin, looking at the tiny baby he held, “This… runt… is the issue of Farbauti and Laufey?”

“She did not carry to full term – the stress of the war brought her labour on far too early. He should never have lived!” The woman now stood up, towering far above Odin and she pulled back her hood. The young giantess was not altogether displeasing to the eye and she looked anxiously at the squirming child. “He was left here to die. There is no chance of him ever reaching his full potential as a Frost Giant destined for the Throne of Jotúnnheimr. We cannot have a weak King! We must have the finest of warriors who will rule and defend fiercely!” She reached out and Odin saw the glint of a blade as her hand formed a sharp icy dagger. He moved away defensively, but the tall Jotúnn lunged forwards with surprising and impressive speed and caught him wrong footed. She shrieked suddenly and fell to her knees. Behind her stood one of the Einherjar, his sword sticking out of her back. Odin watched impassively as the life went out of her crimson eyes and she fell forwards, dead at his feet.

“Your Majesty,” Panted the soldier, “the Bi Frost is ready. We await your orders.”

Odin blinked and looked up at the soldier who had just saved his life. The man was looking down at the baby in his King’s arms. “A hostage, I presume.” The King said by way of an explanation, as the boy had remained a healthy pink colour even during the attack by the giantess. “Although I do not know how he came to be here. I will return him to Asgard and have him fostered.” The soldier retrieved his blade from the body of the fallen Frost Giantess; the babe was none of his business, but getting his King back safely was. “If you would follow me, Sire.” He said and led Odin to the rest of the company waiting to go home.

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Frigga plucked the tiny boy from the green cloak he was wrapped in and hugged him to her chest. Feeling another’s soft warm skin for the first time in his very short life, the baby turned his face instinctively towards her and his small mouth sucked at her shoulder, seeking comfort and – more importantly – somewhere to gain sustenance.

“Oh, Odin. What have you done?” Frigga looked at him searchingly, “Where is he from? He can only be hours old! He is so small.”

Odin sighed. His Queen demanded answers and it was only fair that she should have them. He started to explain.

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When he had reached the Bi Frost departure point with his soldier, he had seen that the King and Queen of Jotúnnheimr had been there under extensive guard. Odin had approached and had held the baby out to show to them. Although he had been abandoned to die as a reject of Jotúnn society like hundreds before him, Odin detected a hint of parental concern even in the cold, aloof faces of Farbauti and Laufey.

“You may have wished for such a weakling to have died to prevent any risk that your line would be tainted with a lack of strength. However, I do not believe you would deny your son a chance at life if he were fostered elsewhere. I will take your son – and the Casket – and I will hold them both securely in Asgard as a guarantee that you will no longer invade realms weaker than yourselves. As he seems more than content to look as I do, I will raise him in my own house and teach him in the ways of ruling as we see it; the Casket will remain in the deepest vault of Asgard. You would do well to be thankful that I have not utterly destroyed your realm for the crimes you have committed against Midgard. Remember she is under my protection!” Odin stepped back, cradling the Jotúnn baby to his breast and signalled the Captain of the Guard. Within seconds, the Asgardians were back home in the Observatory landing area and Odin was carrying his precious cargoes back to the Palace.

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Frigga gently rocked the baby boy in her arms as he now suckled on her little finger having fallen asleep.

“So this poor child is nothing but a hostage to be kept here until you find a use for him?” She asked, now looking questioningly at her husband, who had sat wearily on a large sofa on the balcony and was sipping at a tankard of watered mead.

“Yes, my beautiful Queen. He is a hostage and along with our possession of the Casket, he will guarantee that Jotúnnheimr will behave.”

“And what will happen to him? Who will raise him? He desperately needs a wet nurse – it must be hours now since he was born. I am using magic to make him sleep, but he needs nourishment, Odin! Odin! Are you listening to me?! He will die if we do not do something soon. What good will your hostage be then?”

Odin raised a pacifying hand. “Frigga, my love. I understand your concerns. But I am now wondering if bringing this child to Asgard was folly. Can a Jotúnn be brought up as an Asgardian?”

“He clearly wants to be one!” Said Frigga, “He has taken on an Asgardian visage. He must have shape shifting abilities within him. I know Jotúnns have certain magical abilities, but I am not familiar with everything they can do.”

“He took on the Asgardian looks because I was the first person he saw and he imprinted on me.” Said Odin, “He was very clearly of a blue colour and had red eyes when I found him. Do not be fooled by his appearance. He is Jotúnn at his very core and that is not something that can ever be erased. He will never be a true Asgardian!”

“Never-the-less, my husband, you have brought him here and I will not be a party to his death if that is what you are now planning. I will not beg for a life of you, but I will say this: something made you go into that temple. Something about this child caused you to bring him to our home. That, for me, is enough to say that he is meant to be in our lives – it means he is destined for something. Otherwise, he would have simply perished. He may be physically stunted for a Jotúnn because of his prematurity, but does that not make him perfect as an Asgardian? His strength of will to survive shows that he will be a strong man one day – if not physically, then certainly of character. If he can survive having spent nowhere near enough time in the womb, then surely that means he is made of sterner stuff than many who go full term!”

Frigga crossed to the door of the suite, carrying her new baby with her, “I will take him to the Palace nursery and find a wet nurse for him. It is then for you to decide his fate.”

Odin watched his beautiful determined, compassionate Queen leave the room and sighed heavily. “I brought him home for you, Frigga,” He whispered, “I brought him for you.”

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Frigga cradled the little boy carefully as she made her way to the nursery, looking down at his tiny face and wondering at how anyone could abandon such a beautiful child. She arrived at the nursery and found the head nurse. Stressing the importance of the secrecy of the presence of this baby, they arranged a wet nurse to actually come to Frigga’s rooms to carry her duty out there, so that no one would know of him until the story of his origin had been decided upon.

Over the next couple of days, Frigga found that she could not leave the child to the care of others. Aside from the provision of breast milk, which the wet nurse was obviously necessary for, she tended to him herself and the first time he managed to look properly into her eyes as he lay in her arms, her heart opened and love blossomed in her for this poor abandoned boy. It only took a small amount of discussion with Odin to tell him of her feelings. It only took Odin a few minutes of seeing how his wife reacted around the child for him to realise the bond that was growing and therein the Jotúnn’s future was determined. Knowing his small size was on her side for the deception, Frigga retreated to her rooms, only seeing the young Thor every few days. After a period of around four months and with the assurance of absolute secrecy from the nurse, the wet nurse and her lady-in-waiting, Fulla, she emerged in robust health to present to the Asgardian population the new Odinson and younger heir: Loki, Of Asgard.