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.
Nightlife
In the nights following his brother's banishment, he would wake from fitful sleep, caked in cold sweat that clung so tightly to his skin. And, his mother, having always had that otherworldly instinct, would come rushing to him, a song upon her quivering lips.
Frigga was permitted to make that mistake, believe that one son mourned the sudden loss of the other. But it was quite the opposite with the dark prince. He dreamed not of Thor's absence, did not wish for his brother's companionship, but feared his return. Of all the shining glory that, as always, would once again be his. And Loki, now king of Asgard, would be swept back into the shadows, never to claim again what ought rightfully have been his.
His mother would sit beside him as he lay, her voice quiet as she sang, trying to keep her golden son out of her mind as Loki knew she had done.
Some nights, he would escape before she had chance to come. Pace the halls of the palace, stare blankly out across the balconies, even settle himself upon the throne, imagining that, at any moment, the mighty Thor could walk through those great doors and take him down for all he'd done.
But on this night, he had slipped away into Odin's chamber, the curtain of light over his bed warm enough to burn a hole through Loki's blackened heart. Were there only a way to end him, the once great king, without his intentions, his deed, being known.
With her eyes upon him, the trickster knelt at his father's bedside, the god's withered hand held tightly in both of his. The notion of feigning affection, concern, for the liar Odin was sickening to him as he sighed, and brought the hand to his lips.
Frigga came and held him then, her touch gentle, as if she believed that she might startle him. She knelt beside him, head resting on his shoulder as Loki's arm wrapped around her shoulders.
"He will wake," she said with certainty. "And, when he does," her hand moved to touch his face, a sad smile on her lips, "your brother will return to us. We will all be whole."
The liar prince nodded, eyes alight with flame as he allowed her embrace.
Were there any true justice in the cosmos, the great Odin would not wake, that bastard Thor would not return, and the throne would remain as his, with Asgard in his grasp.