Chapter Twelve
Frigga lay in the warmth of her husband's arms, the silence of their bedchamber broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth. Moonlight filtered through the tall windows, casting silver patterns across the floor.
"Do you think she is happy here, my love?" she asked softly.
Odin's arm tightened around her shoulders, his hand tracing idle patterns against her sleeve. "You are a good woman, a great queen, and an even better mother, my love. Never doubt yourself."
Frigga smiled, settling deeper against his chest. Even after all these centuries, his words could still warm her heart.
"Have you decided yet?" she asked. "Will you let her try?"
He was quiet for a long moment, his single eye fixed on the ceiling, or perhaps on something far beyond it, watching the universe unfold in ways only he could see.
"We shall see, my love," he said at last.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed, a low, rumbling sound that shook his chest.
Frigga's smile widened. She knew exactly what he was seeing.
Their daughter had just reached Midgard.
---
Two months.
Two months since Kara Zor-El had arrived in Asgard, and Frigga could still remember the moment she'd first laid eyes on the girl.
The first word that had come to mind was: *Cute*.
So small—barely five feet and two inches tall, though Frigga had learned quickly not to let that fool her. Long blonde hair that caught the light like spun gold. Eyes the exact color of Asgard's sky, wide and bright and full of wonder.
All smiles and curiosity, taking in everything around her with an enthusiasm that was utterly endearing.
Frigga had waited fifty-two years and four months for this moment. Fifty-two years since Alura Zor-El had sent her young daughter hurtling toward Earth, since the promise had been made. The destruction of the Bifrost had complicated matters—made it difficult, though not impossible, to monitor the situation.
But now Kara was here.
And Frigga was going to make every moment count.
---
The first weeks had been a blur of activity.
Frigga had done her absolute best to spend as much time with Kara as possible teaching her, talking with her, simply being present. There was so much the girl needed to learn, so much she needed to understand about this new world she'd found herself in.
Kara was brilliant. That much became clear almost immediately. She absorbed information like a sponge, asked thoughtful questions, made connections that impressed even Frigga. Her mind worked differently than an Asgardian's—more linear in some ways, more lateral in others—but it was sharp and quick and eager.
She'd spent her first week or so training in the sparring pits, learning Asgardian combat techniques. But she'd found it boring, Frigga knew. The movements were too slow, the strikes too weak, the entire exercise more about form than function for someone of Kara's strength.
Then Sif had challenged her.
Frigga had not been present for the actual fight, but she'd heard about it in exquisite detail from multiple sources. Poor Sif had been so confident, so certain of her superiority. She'd been antagonizing Kara for days, making comments about "proper warrior discipline" and "Asgardian tradition."
Kara had apparently decided she'd had enough.
Both of Sif's legs broken. Both arms. A minor concussion for good measure.
The girl had kept her distance from Kara ever since, practically radiating wariness whenever they were in the same room.
Frigga had found it mildly amusing.
Sif had been thinking and acting above her station lately, making assumptions about her place in the royal family that needed to be corrected. If Thor couldn't, or wouldn't, put her in her place, well, it seemed Kara was more than happy to step up.
---
What truly delighted Frigga, though, was watching Kara's relationship with Loki develop.
She'd been cautious at first, of course. Her son was in pain, angry, lashing out in ways both obvious and subtle. She'd kept close watch on their interactions, using spells Loki still believed he'd learned to defend against.
Silly boy. She was the one who'd taught him. And she certainly hadn't taught him *everything*.
Frigga had to suppress a giggle at the thought.
But Kara... Kara was good for him. She listened without judgment. Challenged him without cruelty. Saw past his walls to the hurt underneath and met it with kindness rather than pity.
And when Loki had started teaching her pranks?
Frigga had been delighted.
Kara approached pranking with the same intensity she brought to everything else—making checklists, gathering materials, planning every detail with meticulous care. Frigga had watched her from her mirror more than once, sitting cross-legged in some corner of the palace with a half-eaten sweet roll in one hand and a list of supplies in the other, brow furrowed in concentration.
*Too cute.*
Both she and Odin had found it amusing to watch.
Frigga preferred her mirror, able to observe without interfering, able to see Kara's face light up when a prank went perfectly.
But Odin loved being there in person, or as close to in person as he could manage. He'd taken to watching in his raven form, perched on windowsills or rooftops, following Kara as she set her traps and then waited to see the results.
He'd been losing feathers lately, Frigga had noticed. More than usual. She'd found several scattered around the palace in odd places, though she hadn't mentioned it to him yet.
She would, eventually. When the time was right.
---
Then had come the confrontation.
Late one night, in the throne room. Kara and Odin, alone.
Frigga had not been told what was said. Odin had kept that conversation private, and Kara had not volunteered the details.
But she'd seen the aftermath.
Odin had been shaken. Distant. He'd kept himself apart from everyone for days, lost in thought, wrestling with something Frigga couldn't quite identify.
Kara had left for three days after that. Gone to "sunbathe," as she called it, flying up into the void to bask in the light of distant stars, to clear her head and find her center again.
When she'd returned, something had shifted.
Not broken. Not damaged.
Just... changed.
---
The pranking of Odin had been magnificent.
Frigga had known about it almost from the beginning. She'd watched Kara create the soap with Loki's guidance, had seen her test the reactive agent, had observed her carefully replacing Odin's usual bath soap with her creation.
She'd said nothing.
This was between Kara and Odin, and Frigga was more than willing to let it play out.
The first time Odin had turned green at dinner, right in the middle of a toast, his skin shifting to a pale jade as he raised his cup, Frigga had actually spit up her drink.
Kara had glared at him from across the table, looking decidedly smug.
Odin had simply looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he'd stood, set down his cup, and walked away.
But not before leaning close enough for only Frigga and Kara to hear his whispered words: "I'll let you know my decision soon. Now leave off anything further."
Meaning the pranks. Against him, at least.
Kara had nodded, still smug, still satisfied.
And Odin had retreated to think some more.
---
The adoption ceremony had been scheduled shortly after.
Frigga had been preparing for it for years storing away portions of her godly energy, accumulating power bit by bit so that when the time came, she would have enough.
It had to be her energy, not Odin's. They'd discussed this long ago, back when the promise was first made.
Odin needed every ounce of his strength. Containing Hela was taking a far greater toll than most realized, draining him slowly but inexorably. He couldn't afford to lose nine months' worth of divine power.
But Frigga could.
And she was more than willing.
The ritual would bind Kara to Asgard itself, tie her to the realm's essence, make her as much a daughter of this world as any child born beneath its golden sky. It would fill in the last missing link in her genetic code; grant her protections she didn't currently possess.
She would be a goddess. Not in the Asgardian sense, she would never wield magic the way Frigga or Loki did, would never shape seidr with thought and will.
But her children might. Perhaps. It was unknown.
What mattered was that Kara would gain the one thing she currently lacked: protection against magic itself. The shield would cover the final weakness that all Kryptonians carried.
Frigga had started collecting the energy while Kara was in deep sleep around the sun, storing it carefully, preparing everything.
The ritual had been perfect.
A single drop of Frigga's blood. Nine months of divine energy. A sacred golden apple, grown in Asgard's deepest gardens and blessed by the Norns themselves.
All of it mixed into a potion that Kara had drunk without hesitation, trusting Frigga completely.
And then it was done.
Kara was her daughter. Truly. Completely.
Not just in promise, but in blood and magic and the very fabric of reality itself.
---
The dinner afterward had been interesting.
Odin had turned green right before Frigga's eyes, again, in the middle of another toast. She'd managed not to spit up her drink this time, but it had been a near thing.
Kara had looked far too pleased with herself.
Odin had simply looked back, then sighed without a word.
But Frigga had seen the faint quirk at the corner of his mouth. The almost smile that meant he was more amused than angry.
Her husband had a sense of humor, even if he rarely showed it.
---
Now, lying in his arms, Frigga felt content.
Kara wanted adventure. Wanted freedom. Wanted to explore this new world she'd been bound to.
All young beings wanted that. It was natural. Healthy, even.
And nothing on Midgard could harm her daughter. Not anymore.
So, they'd let her go. Let Loki send her off on his little prank, let her discover what it meant to be part of this family.
She would be fine.
She would be happy.
And she would come home.
Frigga closed her eyes, smiling as Odin's laughter rumbled through his chest again.
Their daughter had just discovered Loki's idea of a "secret path to Midgard."
This was going to be entertaining.