He'd dreamed of Frigga. It seemed appropriate for this Mother's Day holiday the Midgardians had. Asgard had no such festival or day marked, so the observance of such a thing was new to Loki still. In his dream, she still lived. She was the one thing for which he would have returned to Asgard, but she was gone. The pain was still fresh, recent, and throbbed in his chest like a wound as he awoke.
Tony was gone, the bed empty. Loki was somewhat relieved to find this was the case. Stark did not need to witness his weakness. Tony had enough stress of his own to contend with as well as his own deceased mother to honor on this day. Loki wiped his face, even more appalled to find his cheeks wet. Yes, better that Stark did not see.
Loki rose, threw on some clothing, the memories still heavy on him. He'd broken his mother's heart the last time he'd seen her. He'd denied her in his rage and spite. The look on her face still haunted him. Odin had known truly how to punish him - he'd decreed that Loki would never see Frigga again. It was a punishment for both of them, but they had their illusions to defy him. That day had been mere illusion, but Loki was certain the pain he'd seen on his mother's face was real.
He liked to believe she'd died defending Asgard. He still didn't know for certain. She'd died while Loki had been helpless in his cell. Helpless to fight or protect her. She'd died because Thor brought Jane Foster and The Aether to Asgard like an idiot. He'd led the dark elves right to them. Loki had no doubt his mother had put up a valiant fight, though. She'd taught him many things, magic and her Vanir ways of fighting included. She was no cowering female and never had been. She'd been a fierce and wise Queen and a gentle, devoted mother. Loki saw all that now with the clarity of hindsight and loss.
It hadn't been Odin or Thor or even Sif or one of the Warriors Three who had come to inform the prisoner of his mother's death, it had been a random guard. Loki had received no details and he hadn't been allowed to attend her funeral. He'd heard later that it had been beautiful, the entire realm present to bid their beloved Queen farewell.
The entire realm, save Loki. Her son. It was just one more log upon the fire of his bitterness, one more indication that he was nothing to them. Thor hadn't bothered to even see or speak to his brother until he needed something from Loki. When Loki had asked of their mother "Did she suffer?", Thor would not even grant him that solace.
"Jarvis, show me Asgard," Loki requested of the Tower AI. He'd uploaded his own images of home to the servers and sometimes projected them when he felt particularly homesick. Loki flipped through the photos until he found a night sky over the Bifrost Observatory and expanded the projection to cover an entire wall of their suite where the windows would ordinarily look out over New York City and the Chrysler building. Now, he had a view of Asgard.
Loki stood facing it, gazing into the sky that he knew wasn't even real. It still hurt and he wrapped arms around himself, trying physically to contain the emotion. There was nowhere here on Midgard to properly honor Frigga, nothing that would ease the guilt and the grief. Loki continued to watch the Asgardian sky as tears welled up and his throat tightened. He had nothing to give his mother now but tears and regret.
"I'm sorry," the Prince whispered. "I should have been a better son, should have been there to protect you and Asgard, and now it is too late. Mother, I expect I will not join you when my end finally comes. I am trying to find a better way, but I am certain we are destined to different places in the afterlife. Odin was right. I will never see you again." He drew in a hiccuping breath, still trying to hold back the swelling tide of emotion that threatened to swamp him.
"It's too bad you will never get to meet Tony. You'd like him. He's like me: too smart for his own good, too emotional, and tries to hide it all. Sound familiar? I thought it might. But Mother, he knows me, like you knew me, and yet he despises me not. He knows what I've done and yet still loves me. Me. Not the Prince of Asgard or the God of Mischief, just Loki. He calls me 'bunny', you know, because of my helm. And I allow it. I like it, even. I wish you could see him. He is glorious and I love him like I have never loved anyone else."
The tears broke free at that point, taking over for the flow of words. The words were all inadequate anyway. They would never do any of it justice, not his loss, nor his love.