Disclaimer: I don't own Thor, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
War Stories
A/N: Pre-Thor.
When darkness comes, he does not cry. The covers come off the corner of his bed as he slips out and into the wide hallways, wandering down corners and up stairs until he finds her, sometimes asleep, and others wide awake, waiting for him.
Not once has she scolded him for being up in the dead of night, nor minimized his obvious fear. He worries for his father, gone away often to enforce peace within the Nine Reals. She merely takes his hand and leads him back to bed, where comfort is his companion; stories of the Allfather's triumph as his lullaby.
They sit in his room, great amazement in his eyes as his mother recounts his favorite tale. That of Odin's victory over Jotunheim.
And yet, each time she tells the story, it seems to grow shorter somehow, faster. Just like tonight.
But as Loki settles back down into bed, his mother's hand on his head, he thinks that, maybe, he is only dreaming. That, perhaps, the story only seems to pass him by so quickly because he's already fallen back into the realm of sleep.