Frigga Of Asgard (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
belovedone) wrote2014-01-05 09:40 pm
belovedone) wrote2014-01-05 09:40 pm
Entry tags:
ideals, desires, and truths - for ofsilvertongue
As far as most subjects of the Realm Eternal believed, their queen’s concerns began and ended with bearing healthy royal heirs, standing staunchly by while her husband went off to war, and making certain she always looked presentable and elegant.
But there was more to being an effective queen than being a pretty bauble or a smiling silent supporter.
Or so Frigga thought. And far more good she could do for her realm otherwise.
While the All-Father crafted peace and prosperity with tools of war and power, his wife worked behind the scenes, sometimes entirely without his knowledge. And there, her tools were not magic or blades but diplomacy, tact and charm. They were words.
Words like those she had been sending out in letters for the last three centuries, secret correspondence with people her husband had no idea she even knew.
With a realm that most were forbidden to even communicate with directly.
‘Tis better, as many a wise man said, to ask for forgiveness than permission. If her husband knew what she proposed he would have stopped her before she even had a chance to begin, dismissing it angrily as a fool’s errand. Impossible, and thus never giving her opportunity to prove otherwise.
But the truce they had with Jotunheim was more a stranglehold than a partnership. And Frigga would much rather replace it with a better one. One forged, perhaps, through an old standby when it came to the shoring of nations and the building of empires: the ties of kinship and unity offered by an advantageous political marriage.
She had started the venture carefully. Waited until the wounds of defeat were no longer so raw, a hundred years and more after the last battle – when her children were still little more than that.
But Frigga had foresight, and she was looking to the future. And this plan if it came to fruition, she knew, would take a long time.
A very, very long time.
First she’d done her best to forge relationships, find those she thought she could rely on to provide her with honest and accurate information. With so much bitterness and lack of trust awaiting her, it seemed this step took the longest of all. Once the lines of communication were open she learnt everything she could of the current noble families among the Jotun.
Who had the most power, land, titles. Who was most connected to the throne; who was most loyal to the throne, not always the same thing.
Who had children of an age with her sons. And of these, what were their attributes, their temperaments?
From this list collected at last, through the years she winnowed her options down cannily and with a firm judicious hand.
Thor would be king one day. He was expected to be allowed his own choice of bride when that time came. And it would be unthinkable to most that their ruler be partnered to anything other than fellow Asgardian.
But the House of Odin was blessed with another child.
And it was a cynical but very true fact that in these particular types of schemes and negotiations, extra princes and princesses could be very…useful.
Now here was hoping the child that’d been used as a bartering chip without his knowledge could, once presented with the tale, somehow come to view it in that light.
It was a warm spring day on Asgard. The view outside the large arched window offered sights of flowering trees and chirping birds, and when the gentle breeze blew it carried a faint scent of natural perfume. Normally on a day like this, Frigga would have liked to move any visits or discussions onto the balcony, or maybe even the courtyard.
But she didn’t dare. Right now privacy was favored; it was vitally important there be not even the slightest chance anyone would overhear them.
And she had the nagging thought that for the conversation she planned, at some point after they began talking, there might end up being a raised voice or two.
Unable to remain seated she walked the floor slowly, anticipating her son at any moment.
She was still trying to organize her thoughts and plan her words, deciding how would be best to begin.
On a table near her sat a small chest made out of beautifully-forged silver metal, inlaid with dark stones. It was large enough it would have to be lifted with two hands, big enough it could hold something the size of a very thick leather-bound book inside. At a glance it was clearly very valuable. But it would look strange to most Asgardian eyes, for the craftsmanship was clearly foreign, and unfamiliar.
Frigga glanced at it while she waited for Loki’s arrival.
But there was more to being an effective queen than being a pretty bauble or a smiling silent supporter.
Or so Frigga thought. And far more good she could do for her realm otherwise.
While the All-Father crafted peace and prosperity with tools of war and power, his wife worked behind the scenes, sometimes entirely without his knowledge. And there, her tools were not magic or blades but diplomacy, tact and charm. They were words.
Words like those she had been sending out in letters for the last three centuries, secret correspondence with people her husband had no idea she even knew.
With a realm that most were forbidden to even communicate with directly.
‘Tis better, as many a wise man said, to ask for forgiveness than permission. If her husband knew what she proposed he would have stopped her before she even had a chance to begin, dismissing it angrily as a fool’s errand. Impossible, and thus never giving her opportunity to prove otherwise.
But the truce they had with Jotunheim was more a stranglehold than a partnership. And Frigga would much rather replace it with a better one. One forged, perhaps, through an old standby when it came to the shoring of nations and the building of empires: the ties of kinship and unity offered by an advantageous political marriage.
She had started the venture carefully. Waited until the wounds of defeat were no longer so raw, a hundred years and more after the last battle – when her children were still little more than that.
But Frigga had foresight, and she was looking to the future. And this plan if it came to fruition, she knew, would take a long time.
A very, very long time.
First she’d done her best to forge relationships, find those she thought she could rely on to provide her with honest and accurate information. With so much bitterness and lack of trust awaiting her, it seemed this step took the longest of all. Once the lines of communication were open she learnt everything she could of the current noble families among the Jotun.
Who had the most power, land, titles. Who was most connected to the throne; who was most loyal to the throne, not always the same thing.
Who had children of an age with her sons. And of these, what were their attributes, their temperaments?
From this list collected at last, through the years she winnowed her options down cannily and with a firm judicious hand.
Thor would be king one day. He was expected to be allowed his own choice of bride when that time came. And it would be unthinkable to most that their ruler be partnered to anything other than fellow Asgardian.
But the House of Odin was blessed with another child.
And it was a cynical but very true fact that in these particular types of schemes and negotiations, extra princes and princesses could be very…useful.
Now here was hoping the child that’d been used as a bartering chip without his knowledge could, once presented with the tale, somehow come to view it in that light.
It was a warm spring day on Asgard. The view outside the large arched window offered sights of flowering trees and chirping birds, and when the gentle breeze blew it carried a faint scent of natural perfume. Normally on a day like this, Frigga would have liked to move any visits or discussions onto the balcony, or maybe even the courtyard.
But she didn’t dare. Right now privacy was favored; it was vitally important there be not even the slightest chance anyone would overhear them.
And she had the nagging thought that for the conversation she planned, at some point after they began talking, there might end up being a raised voice or two.
Unable to remain seated she walked the floor slowly, anticipating her son at any moment.
She was still trying to organize her thoughts and plan her words, deciding how would be best to begin.
On a table near her sat a small chest made out of beautifully-forged silver metal, inlaid with dark stones. It was large enough it would have to be lifted with two hands, big enough it could hold something the size of a very thick leather-bound book inside. At a glance it was clearly very valuable. But it would look strange to most Asgardian eyes, for the craftsmanship was clearly foreign, and unfamiliar.
Frigga glanced at it while she waited for Loki’s arrival.