As she looked up at the All-father her eyes still held tenderness, finding herself standing in one of the last places she had ever wanted to be. She was a lady of Asgard, and yet she stood at the bed of a quite badly injured Prince, a man she considered a friend. “I am not here to take him away from you,”
And yet as Freyja spoke she gave a soft sigh, because she could not simply abandon her given duty. In truth she had come to simply wait, and hope with the rest of them that there would be no need of her on Loki’s behalf. She looked up at Odin as he was brought to his full height, slowly removing the golden helm and closing her eyes.
“So long as he has breath, he will stay.” She corrected, her tone almost a breath, her fingers still resting on his cheek gently, feeling the air that drew raggedly in and out of his lips. She took a step back from the imposing man in front of her, not nearly full of enough bravery to try and face down the All-father.
Frigga:
Freyja’s appearance woke the Queen from her stupor. She placed herself between the bed and the new arrival in silent support of her husband’s words.
She would be dammed to Surtur’s fiery pits for the rest of time before she let her son go, or all the effort that was put into making him whole go to waste. This was not a day for death.
Loki:
Loki stirred a little under the golden spell as voices sounded about him, reminding him that he was part of the world of the living—but he did not quite wake.
Cat squirmed in Thor’s grasp, protesting even more loudly at being handed to a total stranger. Fixing his bright green eyes on Thor in a look which could only be described as challenging, he sank his teeth into the god’s thumb.
A long, arduous night stretched out before Sif’s mind’s eye, but she gave Thor one decisive nod. She would seek Jane, but first she would stop at her own flat to search high and low for any misplaced Asgardian magic she may have left. A healing stone, perhaps, enough to patch the lung she feared Loki had punctured, or some bleed that wept inside him.
Sif took heart at Odin’s fierce denial of Freyja, who was her friend, but would not take Loki again this day. She let out a breath and fled the confines of the tiny space and the heat of bodies, tired legs taking her back the way she’d come.
“No, please, I’m his friend!” Summer panicked, seeing the other turn away, the door sliding closed. Some miracle seemed to jerk it open again before her, a tall, dark woman striding out, who seemed not to even see the diminutive redhead. “Please,” Summer cried, her voice cracking.
He might not count her a friend, but she counted herself one, and she had so few. Desperation led her to drop her shields, to shove a pulse of begging/demand/love into the flat.