Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.
Music: "Nackert" by LaBrassBanda, or "Bayern, des samma mir" by Haindling
A/N: This was written for a prompt over at norsekink LJ: The Odinsleep is fake. Odin pretends to be asleep to avoid awkward situations.
Enforced Somnambulism
„Get up! Answer me! I know you're faking!" Loki yelled, kicking Odin soundly in the butt. The Allfather snored loudly and did not stir.
„My lords?" Guards came running. „The Odinsleep again?"
Loki cursed inwardly. All of them always fell for it. Thor when he'd been found naked, 'wrestling' with Fandral in the armoury. The dwarven ambassador, that time Odin had been a little tipsy and told one of his dwarf-jokes within earshot in the banquet hall. Even Frigga that one time she had walked in on her husband and a chamber maid. Loki had never bought it since he'd been four years old and asked why girls and boys were so differently built between the legs (in simpler words).
„Yes, the Odinsleep. Obviously. Indeed." Loki seethed. „Take the king to his chambers and inform the queen he needs to rest. I shall be there presently."
A pinch of pepper under his nose had not worked. The Allfather had sneezed but then resumed snoring. The same with a feather. Loki left it there with a drop of glue on the off chance it might yet annoy the old man out of his act. He'd taken Odin's boots off and tickled him with another feather, with promising results (some twitching), but Frigga's arrival had interrupted that.
At least Mother had provided some answers. They had not wanted him to feel different. (Well, that had worked splendidly, hadn't it?)
They would not trust a small child to keep the secret, and later on, the time never seemed right.
They had told Thor and him Frost Giants were monsters so that they would never go to Jotunheim for adventures and find out accidentally. (Did not work either.)
Of course the Jötnar were not monsters, in fact Odin's own mother had been one. (So that was why nobody ever talked about her. She'd not done anything stupid and embarrassing, like eloping with a mortal or some such.)
They wanted to keep their adopted son around, not send him away to cold, barren Jotunheim to rule there as initially planned, because they loved him. (They valued his company? Nice to know. Somebody could have informed him earlier.)
Loki was about to explain to Mother – who glanced puzzledly at her husband's face now and then – why he wanted to proceed with the other feather and the feet, but once more, a guard interrupted.
„What. Is. It. Now?" the prince snarled.
The man nearly jumped out of his skin, saluted, then pointed to the open doors where the steward was standing, Gungnir on his outstretched hands.
„The line of succession falls to you, my son." Frigga whispered. „Make your father proud!"
Making Odin proud was the last thing on the newly crowned king's mind. He wanted to make him awake. That, unfortunatley, seemed to require some larger effort.
While organizing the bards' contest over the next few days, ostensibly to celebrate his own coronation, Loki also revamped the guards' and nightwatchmens' schedules, had the secret portal in the weapons vault found and walled shut, set up a committee for the defence against the dark arts, and tasked Tyr with ensuring all warriors got a minimum education, simply to keep busy and let off some steam. A committee for the advancement of technology would be next. Why did they ride horses from palace to Bifröst in Asgard when those magicless mortals of Midgard had super-fast trains?
Occupied thusly, Loki did not even notice Sif and the Warriors Three leaving Asgard.
The festivities went well enough in that the food was perfect, the mead plentiful, and no blood feuds broke out. The desired effect, though, failed to occur.
Odin was strategically placed on a couch adorned with some drawing pins right in front of the dwarven brass band. Former ambassador Hávaði, a dedicated musician who had insisted to participate personally, held his trombone as close to the Allfather's ear as possible while the band went wild and the audience cheered and stomped, but it still was not enough. Stubbornly, Odin snored on. Morosely, Loki thought of those amplifiers they had in Midgard these days.
The day after the celebration, the queen mother sought out her younger son again. The dwarves had left by then, and Bragi god of bards had been extracted from the kettle drum and cured of his tuba-induced injuries.
"Good morning Loki, how are you? Hung over badly? You never could stomach mead like your brother." Without waiting for an answer, she continued: "Have you watched out for your brother these past days? How fares he? I must know. Please tell me, is he well?" (Oh the feels, the heartache! It must be terrible to be separated from the hangover-resistant fool for some days.)
"Midgard is so strange a place. The mortals are not like us. Maybe they won't treat him well? Please do watch over your brother, my son!"
"Sure will do." Loki conceded with a sigh. Serenely smiling, Frigga sailed off to hold her husband's hand some more.
Sitting down heavily on Hliðskjálf, Loki ordered some more willowbark tea and a hangover breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, gherkin and pickled herring, then dutifully turned his attention to New Mexico. Apparently it was lunch-time there. Or maybe it was in both their worlds.
The oaf was currently at a diner with the warriors four (When had those fools relocated? Oh well, the further away, the better.) and a man and two women he did not recognise – probably mortals. They were having some local food, apparently.
Loki watched Volstagg shove half a wrap filled with some longish green pods into his mouth. Thor gesticulated with a similar red vegetable filled with cheese (probably detailing some long-past bravery) which he then popped into his mouth and chewed. Both their eyes popped out, or nearly. No sound came with the magic vision, but Loki could imagine Volstagg's roar as he was running around the table, clawing at his mouth and throat. Thor had spat across the table and was drinking one of the ladies' drinks, then the other's. The mortal with the glasses was recording. Good, very good.
And then, nibbling slowly on his breakfast while still watching, the god of mischief had the ultimate idea.
Loki pulled on the rubber glove with a pop. "Your last chance to 'wake up' on your own account, Allfather."
They were in Odin's quarters, door locked. He had already turned the old man half to the side. Since the supposedly sleeping elder king was wearing something like a hospital gown now, that left little else to prepare. Loki picked up a chili pepper and peeled it carefully.
"No? You're sure? How unfortunate. You leave me no choice then. Please remember I deeply regret this. I do look forward to some words with you, though. We shall work together to make this realm a better place, I'm sure, and I do look forward to that. With the Warriors Four for company, I imagine it will be a long time before Thor proves worthy. And now, without further ado ..."
In the chronicles of Asgard, the day that Odin Allfather ran around the palace half-naked and screaming would never be noted. The Odinsleep never occured again afterwards.