He stood at the threshold of the room, unsure what had brought him there in the first place. The lights were turned down low and the only sound was the soft sobbing emanating from the crib. Perhaps he wasn't being honest with himself, the crying was what brought him here, but why, he couldn't say. Why should he care if Thor's offspring was screaming into the night when her father was off drinking? Shouldn't there be servants to take care of it?
Loki took a step and before he knew it, he was right next the crib. The infant stopped its insufferable noise the second her bright, watery eyes saw him. Despite the squishy face and only the faintest trace of blond hair, he could see she would look very much like her father when she was older.
He raised his hand and conjured a bright blue and orange ball of light. It slowly mixed and twirled in the air above the crib causing the little girl to coo and giggle. She reached a pudgy pink hand upwards and Loki felt the faintest smile spread across his lips.
"If I leave this here will you sleep, little one?" He really must have lost his mind, talking to a baby like she could answer back.
"Uncle Loki! Uncle Loki! Tell me a story!" The little girl raced into his room, the only person who could interrupt his studying without fear of a sharp chastisement. She had grown fast in her three years of life. Loki closed his book and set in on the desk.
"A story? Should you not be getting to bed, my dear? Where is your father?"
As if to answer his question, Thor appeared in the doorway, a wide grin on his face.
"There you are, you little sneak!" He looked up at his brother, "I had just turn around for one minute and she was out the door! A little help? You are the only one she will listen to."
Loki chuckled, "of course, brother."
The little girl's eyes widened; she knew it really was bed time now. A mischievous grin crossed her face, more reminiscent of her uncle than her father. Dashing across the room as fast as her little legs would carry her, she made one last bid to stay up an extra hour later. All too soon, however, Loki caught her around the waist and gently tossed her over his shoulder, before following Thor out of the room.
"Come on, little one, time for bed indeed. Have I ever told you about the time your father and I fought six bilgesnipe at once?"
"Thor, can you focus on this conversation for one minute? Your daughter wants to learn magic for Valhalla's sake." Loki snapped.
Thor paused from mercilessly whacking the practice dummy with Mjölnir to give Loki a quizzical look.
"You are the magician in the family, teach her." He said, resuming his practice.
"Yes, because learning magic has really endeared me to the general populace. Really, Thor, even you should know her becoming a witch is not the best idea. You need to talk to her."
Thor grunted. "You talk to her, she likes you better."
Loki rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Thor was impossible.
"Fine if you think it is such a good idea, I shall begin her lessons immediately."
A few days later, he found himself sitting across from his young niece. They were in his solarium—the room he used for magic, it was mostly empty and heavily enchanted to stop ill-formed spells from causing havoc in the palace at large. She peered out at him from under her golden hair; her shy disposition and lanky, awkward limbs, he knew, made her unpopular with her peers despite her high status. He could tell, however, that she would be quite lovely when she grew up. He and Thor would positively have to beat off her suitors soon enough.
"Not everyone has a natural aptitude for magic, my dear, so do not be disappointed if you don't take to it."
She nodded and brushed some hair out of her blue eyes. "Of course, Uncle."
"Hold your hands out like this," he modeled, cupping his hands together. "Now, concentrate. Try to imagine gathering your energy into your hands. Visualize it."
She nodded again, biting her lips as she focused her mind on his task.
"Now, form it into the figure of an animal. Any animal you wish. Add as much detail as you can think of."
He pulled his hands apart, revealing a small porcelain horse floating in the air between them. It was black and glossy with bright green eyes. It stamped its foot with an impatient snort.
A bright smile broke out across her face as she revealed a small horse as well, golden and unmoving, but very nearly perfect.
Loki couldn't help but smile. "Wonderful, it seems you have an aptitude for magic after all."
She met his smile with her own and he could see a hint of mayhem in her eyes.
Loki swallowed hard, barely believing the swell of emotion he was feeling.
"Sentiment," he scoffed under his breath.
Still, the sight of the young princess about to be wed was almost embarrassingly overwhelming. Sometimes Loki felt as if she were his daughter instead of Thor's; their dispositions were similar, and like Thor had said all those years ago, she did like him better. Her magical abilities had blossomed over the centuries until her powers almost matched his. Almost. She still had a long way to go. She had only agreed to marry if she could continue her lessons, actually. Her new husband was the usual handsome thug. True he was reasonably well in battle, but Loki was sure she'd be bored with his lack of wit or intellect soon enough. Not that she seemed particularly mad about him to begin with. But it was the Allfather's wish; they needed an alliance with the Vanir.
The couple turned to face those assembled and she caught her uncle's eye. He could see she was afraid, though few else would have seen it. He gave her an encouraging smile. She really was lovely. Bright and glorious as the sun.
Hours later the wedding feast was underway with most of the guests well on their way to being highly intoxicated. Loki sat silently at the high table in the great hall, watching instead of participating, as was his way.
Thor was dancing with his daughter; it seemed she was dancing with everyone but her husband. The song ended and she ran up to the dais. She grabbed his hand. "Dance with me, Uncle!"
After a few moments of protest, he stood with a smile playing at his lips. He really couldn't refuse her.
Reaching the dance floor, they fell easily into the well remembered steps. "Congratulations on your nuptials, my dear."
She gave him a wry smile. "Yes, he's quite…well, I can't say charming, but…" She trailed off in laughter.
"I'm sure it will not be as bad as you imagine."
"You're one to talk, Uncle, perpetual bachelor that you are," she teased.
The song ended and he let go of her. But he leaned in to place a kiss on her forehead before returning to his seat.
It was nearly morning and Loki was ready to go to bed. The feast was winding down and only a handful of people were still awake. He stood to leave, but not before he approached the bridegroom.
"May I have a word?" He gripped the young man's shoulder in a way that brooked no argument.
The young man nodded, a nervous look in his eye. Loki walked off to the side.
"My dear fellow, just a word of advice: the girl you wed tonight is quite precious to her family, especially her father and myself. If you ever cause her physical or emotional distress, just remember that."
He patted his new nephew's shoulder, and with a smile, sauntered off to bed.
It had been nearly two centuries since he had seen her. Their magic lessons had stopped when her husband decided to move them back to Vanaheim. He did not mean to lose touch, but her letters had come less and less frequently as she became caught up in her new life. Eventually he became buried in his research, willing himself not to notice how quiet and lonely the palace now seemed. It was a consolation to him that she seemed to be happy.
But here she was, standing in his doorway, the way he had stood in hers all those centuries ago. She was dressed in black and the bright light that he remembered was gone from her face. And like all those centuries ago she was crying. Not a pretty crying like many of the court ladies had perfected, but a messy crying. Her face was red and her eyes puffy.
Loki stood, startled by her sudden appearance.
"My dear! Whatever is the matter?"
Instead of replying, she ran to him and buried her face into his chest. He was caught off guard for a moment, but wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back. She was speaking now, but he couldn't understand her between the sobs. Really, crying women had never been his forte. Absently, he wondered if her father knew she was here, or if his apartments had been her first stop.
After a moment, Loki led her over to the bench. She sat dutifully and leaned her head against his shoulder. He continued to rub her back in what he hope was a reassuring way.
"He's dead, Uncle," she whispered before sobbing louder.
He should have known. They had been receiving reports for years that Vanaheim was at war with the dark elves.
"I'm sorry, little one. I wish I could tell you it will be alright, but I suppose life was easier when I could just conjure some simple magic to make you smile again," he whispered as he pressed his cheek into her soft hair.
"It all sounds so stupid, but I really loved him. he was so sweet and kind..." she choked back her sobs, "and now he's gone. Forever.
She paused again, and before he could think of what to say to sooth her aching soul, she spoke. "Promise me you'll never leave me, Uncle? I could not bear this world if you were gone from it as well."
"I'll always be here for you," he murmured.
"Promise?" She pleaded; it was breaking his heart.
"Promise," Loki whispered into the crown of her head.
He was the master of lies, after all. But if it gave her solace, at least for a moment, it was a worthy falsehood.