Frigga is Made Whole

Recorded: May 18, 2014
Characters: Frigga, Heimdall (NPC), Loki, Odin
Location: Heimdall's Observatory / Niffleheim / Freda's House
Summary: Odin seeks out the pieces of Frigga's soul.

All of Asgard has sung their mourning songs and had much to drink in honor of the recent dead. But life goes on, and there are duties to be fulfilled. Heimdall maintained his post throughout his own illness and now stands as strong as ever, watching the galaxy for signs of Asgard's enemies. Although his gaze is on the cosmos, his mind is on the recent events and how they have impacted his beloved people.

Odin is still dressed in the blacks of mourning, flecks of gold, silver and other royal colors void from his person. His armor is left behind at the palace, as the All-Father comes to the observatory in his court fineries only, this evening. Away from the eyes of everyone else, his solace in peace is visiting the one who watches all. "Heimdall." He greets as he walks into the observatory, though his stride holds no urgency or true purpose. Gungnir is not with him. It is not oft the All-Father takes social visits such as these, but even the King needs to steal away for peace from the palace now and then. Especially after recent events.

Heimdall turns from his post to kneel respectfully to his king, crossing his chest with the arm that bears the black band of mourning. "All-Father." He resumes his stalwart vigil and is silent for a long moment. "All of creation knows no brighter star than that which we have lent to her eternal embrace."

"Asgard is a dimmer place." Odin echoes, the ache of losing his wife etching into his voice before he can stall it. Coming to stand next to the Gatekeeper, his hands lightly fold at the small of his back. "How are the affairs of the realms?" Mostly; is there any outward reaction to the attack on Asgard itself. Some may think it is a weakening time for them and a good time to attack.

Heimdall directs his gaze to Jotunheim briefly, and with the barest flick of attention, scans the fiery plains of Muspelheim next. "Those who would be our greatest concerns were unaware of our ills. Truly there is fortune there." There glances over his shoulder in Asgard's direction and looks to the borders for the progress of the patrols. "The Einherjar are working diligently to reinforce the safety of our walls. Bandits and raiding parties became a bit bolder during our troubled times but they will soon know their luck has been pressed." The Sentry turns his gaze back to the universe and furrows his brow thoughtfully for but a brief moment.

There is a small breath released from Odin, a nod to follow. "Indeed." At least that is one weight lifted for the time being. "That was expected, but the Eirherjar are not to be reckoned with by petty thieves." He glances aside to Heimdall, about to make a comment before he catches that brief glimmer of change in expression. "What is it?"

Heimdall tears his gaze away from the cosmos to study the floor of the observatory. "… Forgive me, my king. No one mourns the loss of the All-Mother as much as the All-Father, but the queen and I have had a cherished friendship for many ages." He lifts his eyes to the distant galaxies once more. "It is not my place to disturb any soul at rest, but I sought to look after hers and see what comfort she found in Hel's paradise."

"As have you and I." Odin studies Heimdall for a long moment, quietly debating if he really should ask how she fairs. It is painful enough to have lost her, but knowing she is at least at peace would be a comfort. "How fairs she?"

"I am not sure." The answer isn't want Heimdall wanted to give his king, but the truth must be shared. "I did not find her in Hel, nor the halls of Valhalla. It makes no sense for her to be cast in the realm of the dishonored dead, but I have been studying Niffleheim's surface for—There." He points at something that only he can see at this distance and frowns again. "It… I do not understand. The queen wanders as a restless soul."

There is a flicker of annoyance at the empty answer he first receives. This is Frigga. Considering the hurt on his heart, it is a painful conversation to poke a needle into without cause. Though as Heimdall explains, his expression darkens as he looks out to the stars. Any comment is cut short as she is found. "Restless soul?" He glances to Heimdall, studying him for a long careful moment. "Are you certain?" So a tether to her body is still there. She may not yet be lost. And yet her body was supposed to disintegrate and be one with the heavens.

Heimdall leans forward and peers across the universe with an intense stare. "She walks as all lost souls do, treading the snowstorm with no direction." He frowns deeper at that notion but the frown is quickly replaced with thoughtful confusion. "Her soul is… incomplete somehow. There is much missing from the queen where she is."

"Open the Bi-Frost." Odin commands swiftly, Gungnir appearing in his hand. He needs to go to her soul. For the first time since her passing, there is a glimmer of hope in his heart.

Heimdall wastes no time obeying the All-Father's command. With a twist of his sword, the gateway is open.

The howling winds of Niffleheim's frozen tundra threaten to blind trespassers with the thick snow it billows all around. The tumultuous wind is disrupted only briefly as the BiFrost penetrates the storm—As soon as the light bridge fades, windy chaos resumes. Many transparent souls wander the ankle-deep snow, needlessly guarding themselves from the harsh wind. Frigga is one such soul and wanders in the same nightgown she wore on her death bed. She moves at a slow pace, arms clasped, eyelids squinting and bare feet leaving no footprints despite the effort she makes to trudge on. All of the lost souls in this area seem afflicted with the same desire to roam.

Odin stands in the snowing wastes of Niffleheim's frozen tundra. He is dressed in black court fineries of mourning, though in summoning Gungnir, some of his armor has at least appeared, sans helm, his long cloak snapping in the harsh winds behind him. There is little pause before he makes his way to Frigga, purposeful. "Frigga…" He breathes. Thinking he was prepared enough to see her like this was a foolhardy notion, but he steels himself.

The wandering spirit stops and turns at the sound of her name. "Who calls me," she wonders as she looks in Odin's direction. "Are you also known to me? Forgive me, but I know not but my own name."

"You are known to many, dear Frigga." Odin answers, a lightness to his tone to hide the pain of seeing her like this. "You need to be whole again." Gungnir glows in his hand as he points it to her, Odinforce spilling forth to summon the ties that bind her to her fragments.

Frigga studies him curiously, seemingly oblivious to the spell being cast around her. As the winds part and snow settles in their immediate area, a single thread of golden light is revealed to be delicately attached to her wrist. The length of the thread trails off in a random direction and continues beyond reality, leading through the lei lines of magic to a distant point beyond this realm.

With the tie bonded, to her, Odin nears. A hand extends to let his fingers brush against the delicate thread, a whisper of a touch before he grips it firmly. Power is seeped to string to strengthen it. Another hand is rested over Frigga's shoulder, taking her soul to metaphorically 'pocket' her, protected in a small orb of golden light that will follow him before he follows that line.

When the thread is gripped with Odin's power, a glimmer of recognition passes over Frigga's eyes. But the notion fades when she does, and her soul rests safely in the light of the orb at the end of the thread.

Through the depths of space and time, the thread travels through the realms as easily as a bird travels on air. It eases its way to the the distant planet known as Midgard, and glides down into a district of townhouses within Manhattan, a heavily populated area of New York City. There, it splits into six separate strands: Five trailing towards a two-story townhouse, and another heading down the sidewalk but angling to converge on the others. That stray strand is attached to a young man who looks to be in his teens nearing adulthood.

Terry walks down the sidewalk with four large bags of groceries in hand. It's more than one would expect a teenager to carry, but the boy is tall and broad-shouldered, already sporting the wisp of a mustache ready to be on display. His long, black hair has been tied back in a braid similar to what one might see on a Native American. In truth, he is very reminiscent of the eldest prince of Asgard, both in physical characteristics and in his stern concentration on the task at hand.

Traversing into Midgard, Odin uses an edge of his power to make him more ethereal and imperceptible for the time being. Like a ghost between planes that can't be seen but might be sensed. He keeps the golden ball with Frigga's soul hanging near his wrist, wrapping the rest of the chain around his hand as he nears, keeping a firm hold.

The stray thread he follows first, settling on the streets of the city a few feet from Terry. Through the strand he tries to feel what Frigga must have done to give him a piece of her soul. Or is he the embodiment of it?

The stand stops at Terry's wrist, and an aura briefly washes over his body, radiating from the strand's point of attachment. Though flesh and blood by all appearances and carrying out an everyday task, the tall teen appears to be no more than a mystic anomaly: A piece of Frigga's soul ensconced in layers of memory and other protective enchantments. After a while, Terry stops and looks over his shoulder as a feeling of being watched momentarily strikes him. Seeing nothing, he turns back to his walk with narrowed eyes and turns towards the steps of a brown townhouse. The surname 'Barker' is written on a mailbox sitting at the edge of the sidewalk.

Loki has been keeping himself hidden from Heimdall's sight for the weeks following Frigga's apparent death. He sits on the steps, leaning his head against the outside of the building. The dark circles under his eyes indicate he hasn't slept in about that long as he looks up at Odin. He too has obscured himself from mortal eyes, but Odin could likely see him. "She's been here the entire time. I found a fragment of her soul in Niffleheim of all places and followed her here. I wanted to keep her here so I could have her to myself, but…I couldn't do it. But know she is happy here when you consider whether or not to take her back to Asgard."

Odin doesn't relinquish his hold on the threat, but his eye does rest on Loki. "This part of her may be, but the fragment from Niffelheim is cold and alone. Lost and wandering. That is not fitting for your mother." Or his wife. The ball hanging from the chain in his wrist is lifted as Terry heads to the steps.

Using that Odinforce, he works to disenchant and dissolve the protections around the fragment, aiming to bring it into the protective little golden ball with the other to reunite the two. "She deserves to be whole again."

"I know." Loki says. "Perhaps you can separate her from Freda and they will both be happy."

The groceries drop and spill in all directions as Terry suddenly loses control of his arms. The teen barely has time to turn and look in Odin's direction before his body becomes a beam of light that is drawn into the golden orb.

Moments later, two strands waver as their ends come rushing through the front door. Young versions of Thor and Balder come rushing down the stairs with eager smiles on their faces, until the nearly trip over the groceries spilled across the front walk. They stop and stare at it for a moment, then one calls over his shoulder, "Free ice cream," before they both kneel down to gather up a box of chocolate ice cream pops conveniently laying at their feet.

"All parts of her must be joined. One cannot be whole with a piece missing." Odin answers Loki simply. "I'm sorry, my son." The chains linked to Thor and Balder's versions glimmer and glow with the golden power; to bring them both into the orb as well. Three to go right?

"They gave away the one that resembled me. I know not where they took him." Loki says, seeming to become more distraught. "Funny how it resembles our lives."

Three down, two to go. Only two strands remain and one looks stronger than the other. The thinner strand is attached to a thirteen-year-old version of Bragi who nearly trips over the front stoop for reading while he's walking. "What ice cream," he asks as he finally tears his sights away from the book, but when he sees no one there, he shrugs his shoulders and calls over his shoulder, "Missus Barker! There are groceries all over the front step!"

And another to pull in. As the young Bragi emerges, he took is drawn into the orb. One left. His fingers brush against the remaining chain delicately. He can only guess who that is.

"And did you consider that you being here replaced the illusion that was you?" Odin replies calmly, his eye flicking back to the sorcerer Prince. "Have you not noticed that the pieces of her soul are personified as her children? The Queen's priority were always her children. That never changed."

"No. She knows I am not one of her children. She lamented the loss of Leslie, and though she was kind to me I did not get the impression I replaced him. Continue as you will, I will await my punishment in my chambers, or if you feel like banishing me again I will go to the Avengers' mansion."

"Groceries? Where is Terry? Is he throwing another fit?" The screen door pushes open to reveal the last of the queen's missing fragments: Freda Barker. The All-Mother of Asgard takes good care of herself even in Midgardian attire, wearing capris and a short-sleeved blouse appropriate for her middle-aged appearance, with her hair draping around her head in a simple style. As she comes down the step to examine the spilled groceries, her face initially registers confusion, then curiosity takes hold as her gaze lands in Odin's direction. "…. Hello?" Her greeting is soft, as she feels a sense of recognition from the apparition standing nearby.

"You see what you want to see, Loki." Odin turns his full attention on the Prince for the moment. "And when you remove the blinds from your eyes to see things for what they are and not what you perceive them to be, perhaps you will realize than your childish, selfish loathing is unwarranted."

Though further admonishment is cut short as Freda emerges. "Frigga.." He breathes, though her looking squarely at him, there is a a warmth in that blue eye. He extends his hand with the chain wrapped around it, the golden ball still dangling from his wrist. "Come and be whole again."

Rising to his feet, Loki just looks blankly at Odin, though his voice relays his irritation with the man. "At least I am not blind as you are." He looks to Freda, then disappears.

There is a moment when Freda looks uncertain of what she is seeing, but the longer she studies Odin's features, the more that feeling subsides. She easily navigates the path of spilled groceries and reaches out to touch the hand. As her feminine fingers slide into his masculine grip, the golden orb shimmers, then moves to be absorbed into her palm. Freda takes a deep, cleansing breath as a golden light washes over her. The townhouse she once occupied reveals itself to be rundown with boarded up windows.

When the light fades, the All-Mother of Asgard looks upon her husband with a proud smile. "I knew that you would come for me," she says as she reaches out to embrace his head, lips eager to be one with his again.

Loki's comment is mostly ignored, as Odin's attention is on that of the last fragment of his wife. As she returns to herself, his smile returns. "I would never leave you." His strong arms wrap around her to pull her into a firm embrace, holding her against him as he returns that gentle kiss.

Frigga lingers in the comfort of Odin's touch, then steps back and takes a look at herself. With a waft of her hand, her mortal garments are replaced with a fine white and gold gown encrusted with crystals in a runic pattern. "Forgive my absence, my king. I hope I have not caused the kingdom too much sorrow."

"The Kingdom mourned you and still does." Odin replies lightly. Extending a hand, palm up, his other still clutching Gungnir, he offers: "Let us put their hearts to ease."

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