In My Arms
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor
Prompt: Loki and his son
His son falls asleep in his arms, small body slumping against his chest. Vali is five but he has so much potential, he knows. He has already seen the magic spark at his finger tips, the spells that come half-hazardly from them. His mother remarks that he was like that once while her mother only raises a sculpted eyebrow and says that Sigyn did no such thing at her age.
He holds the boy close, carrying him to his bed. Occasionally the child turns, hands grasping fistfuls of his clothes and pressing against his father like a pillow. He feels a little guilt at how soundly the boy sleeps, thinking that maybe he tried to teach him too much, gave him too much to work with. But, he concedes, the child needs to learn, needs to understand what he can do.
He eases the boy from his arms into his own small bed. He pushes back stray dark hair that falls in the boy's face, bringing the sheet up around the child. He pulls back, leaving the room when he hears rustling and pauses.
"Papa?"
He glances back at the small face staring at him, bright gray eyes clouded by sleepiness. "What is it?"
"I'm afraid."
He goes back to the child's side, sitting on the edge of the bed. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
The boy grabs at his father's shirt, pushing his face into his father's side. "I want Mama," he says, voice muffled by fabric.
He puts his arm around the child, running his hand in circles on the child's shoulder. "We both do," he says softly, staring down at his son. When the boy doesn't let go, he makes a decision.
He gathers up his son, sheet and boy, carrying him back. He sets the boy on their bed, watching the child hold his blanket tightly in his fist, seemingly in a sea of blankets and pillows. He laughs a little while the boy only stares back with eyes like saucers.
"What?" The boy squeaks.
"It's nothing." He lays on his side of the bed, noting how the child takes over Sigyn's place, still clutching his blanket. He reaches out, brushing back more hair that falls into the boy's eyes. "You need to sleep, Vali."
"Will Mama be okay?" He asks, inching towards his father.
"She will be fine." He curls his arm around his son, kissing the child's forehead. "I promise."
The boy lays his head on his father's arm, blanket twisted around his thin limbs making it impossible for him to move further. "Tell me a story," he demands softly.
"What do you want to hear about?"
"Something," the child mumbles.
He smiles. "Once there was a pretty maiden who spent her time raising flowers. It was a task that the queen had given her because she knew it to be one of the girl's talents. And the queen enjoyed the beauty of the flowers that only the girl seemed to be able to grow. One day, the prince came searching for his mother and found the girl talking to the roses."
"Talking to them?" The boy looks up at his father frowning.
"Yes, talking to them. The prince thought she was strange but saw how the roses bloomed when she spoke. So he watched her continue, seeing how the buds opened at her touch and her words. He thought he was well-hidden but at once she stopped and looked at him, telling him to come out."
"What did he do?"
"Well, he walked over to her and told her he'd never seen magic like that before. She smiled at him and held out a single white rose and told him to present it to his mother. And this continued for many days. He would come and find her kneeling amongst the flowers and spoke to her. Their conversations always ended with her giving him a white rose for his mother. Finally, the prince asked her if she would spend a day with him outside of the garden and she said she would if, and only if, he could tell her what her favorite flower was."
The child raises his head. "That's too easy."
"It was far from easy for she only gave him one guess."
The boy continues to stare at his father, brow still furrowed. "What did he do?"
"He accepted her challenge but didn't guess that day. Or the next, or the next. He continued meeting her in the gardens and conversing her, all the while trying to decide what he would guess. Finally, after four days, she looked at him and asked if he would ever guess. He said he knew the answer and pointed to a single yellow rose that grew in the garden."
"Was he right?"
"Yes. The maiden stared at the prince before smiling. She told him he had guessed correctly and she accepted his request."
"How did he know?"
"Well, during those four days, he observed her and watched her make the flowers bloom. He saw how she careful she was with that particular flower and would allot it the most attention. That was how he saw that she favored that particular flower."
The child yawns, shifting slightly to bring his blanket under his chin. "And what happened to them?"
"They lived happily ever after."
With eyes closed, the boy wrinkles his nose. "That's a love story."
"What did you expect?"
"She should have turned him into a flower or something," the child says, yawning again. "If he'd guessed wrong. He should have guessed wrong."
He laughs, running his fingers over his son's waved and knotted black hair. "Not every story can be like Thor's."
"His stories are always exciting an-" the sentence trails off as the child falls further asleep against his father.
He continues to smooth the boy's hair, sighing, letting his nerves overtake him. Gradually he falls asleep, arms still around his son, taking comfort in the small body pressed against his side. He is woken by a hand to his shoulder. He struggles to focus his gaze, finding the short, thin frame of the healer standing over him.
"Wha-?"
"Come," she says, walking to the door, wearing a smile. He eases his arm from under his son, watching how the child slides over to where he slept, taking up the warm place that his father abandoned.
He follows the healer, wiping sleep from his eyes. "How is she? Is something wro-" He asks, his voice weak.
"She's just fine," the blonde haired woman says, smiling back at him.
"Eir, is it the-"
She stops, touching his shoulder. "He's perfect."
"A son?"
"Another son," she says, nodding, allowing her smile to grow wider.
She isn't surprised when he hurries past her. She continues at her same pace, reaching the healing ward when the queen is leaving. "My Queen," Eir says, bowing her head.
The elder woman touches Eir's shoulder laughing. "There is no need for that."
"Of course."
"If you would like a break, I believe now is the best time." She glances back, smiling at the sight. "I think they need some time to adjust."
At this, Eir frowns. "Adjust? But they've been through this before."
Frigga rests her hand on Eir's shoulder, leading her away. "Oh, Dear, it does not matter if they've already had a son before. There is always a need for time to adjust." She laughs, able to recollect her own experiences with introducing the adopted infant Loki to Thor who had only been a toddler at the time. They've gone before they can see him take the child from her arms, cradling the baby close to his chest, matching smiles with his wife.
He is there when his son awakes, smiling when his son stares at him. "Would you like to see your new brother?"
"And Mama?" The child clarifies.
"Yes, and Mama."
The boy leaps from the bed, dashing from the room in his rumpled clothes. His father is left to run to keep up with him, attracting glances from the servants they pass. Just outside of the healer's ward, he catches his son, scooping him up into his arms.
"Remember to be careful," he says, carrying the boy inside, the child's eyes scanning the room for the familiar form of his mother. He sets the boy down and the child, upon locating his mother, crawls up beside her.
The boy stares at the baby in his mother's arms. "He's so small," he finally says.
"You were, too, at this age," she says, smiling.
He leans against his mother, peering at his new brother. "What's his name?"
"Nari," she says, pushing back the blanket to allow her elder son a better look at his sleeping brother.
"Nari," the little boy repeats. "My little brother."
She smiles, kissing her elder son's cheek. "Yes," she says. The boy nestles himself against his mother, thankful for her when his gaze falls upon the single rose sitting in a vase beside his mother's bed.
"It's yellow," he says, staring at it.
"What is?" She asks, looking at him.
"That." He points at the flower before looking at his father who stands beside his mother. "You were the prince," he says matter-of-factly, gray eyes focused on his father.
He only laughs when she glances between them. "What is he talking about?"
"I told him a story," he says, kissing her despite the frown that Vali wears.