The floor lights reflected off the blue-grey walls of the Statesman's newly renamed king's suite. Thor rolled over and smiled when he saw that Loki still lay beside him. To be perfectly honest, he'd almost feared Loki would take the opportunity to leave without saying goodbye. Although, it was hard not to laugh when Loki mumbled something that sounded like, "Mole 'pires." Well, at least it wasn't a nightmare, or not a serious one anyway. Even before everything, everything being his failed coronation 6 years ago, Loki'd had nightmares about Surtur and the Draugr. For all he knew, they would gain a new intensity now.
A lock of stray hair had fallen across Loki's forehead and come to rest beside a pale ear. Two conflicting urges - one to smooth it back, the other to fiddle with it - made his fingers itch maddeningly. So started a game of reaching, stopping and reaching again because Loki'd always been a light sleeper. What seemed like ages later he gave in and smoothed the hair, congratulating himself when he didn't misjudge.
Unsurprisingly, sleep-hazed emerald eyes fluttered. "I missed you."
"Now there's a real tragedy. Where's the choir ? Oh, wow, you really did miss me." Hair brushed his left clavicle as Loki burrowed into his side.
"Nowhere, the Mighty Thor is all mine. I've been thinking of writing a new play. Ahem, as a morale-boost, of course."
"Of course." He stroked Loki's nape. "Do I get to be in it ?"/p
Cool lips pressed against the underside of his throat. "The First Downfall of Surtur would technically require one have both eyes, but what's magic for if not gaming ?"
"I can think of something. Might be a bit shocking though." Damn the Grandmaster to Hel, but the man'd given him an idea.
"Here I thought that little lightning rod of yours was useful."
"Little ?! Did you just insult your king, Loki ?"
"As Prince of Asgard ? I did. As the rightful King of Jotunheim ? You can get fucked, Thor."
Like he hadn't been about to.
Three weeks later...
Thor had to admit that Loki's illusions made far more convincing effects than the Royal Theatre's normal ones.
"Surtur shrank amidst a river of red hot lava. "You cannot escape Ragnarok, Allfather ! When I regain my true power I will shake, no, I will crush the mountains with every step and your precious Asgard will fall to my fearsome blade, Twilight ! It is destined. Destined !"
"Unfortunately, that is hard to do when you are only the size of a hut." He couldn't help the little improvization. Cheers and clapping erupted from the audience as the curtain fell for the last set change. The fiery caverns of Muspelheim's Throne Room were replaced by the ancient stone Hall of Asgard.
Gertrude, who was playing Mother, walked up in a shimmering golden dress. "Is Your Majesty ready for our final scene ?"
After a deep breath he replied, "I think I am." It wasn't Gertrude's fault that he felt uncomfortable kissing his mother on the lips. He glanced off-stage to Loki and nodded for the curtain.
Gertrude backed up before it rose then raced to clasp his hands. "My king, thank God, you're alive."
"It would take more than a little fire and brimstone to separate us, my queen. You have always looked out for me, so I will always protect you." The memories of Father's telling brought tears to his eye. He pulled Gertrude closer and kissed her. Suspicion rose as the normally nervous woman's tongue slid over his bottom lip, which was confirmed when most of the crowd gasped. In the wings someone giggled. At least they had good taste. Even he didn't know if he wanted to smile or scowl as he opened his eye, so his lips just ended up twitching.
In the front row Korg muttered, "Well, I have to admit I've never seen that in any Kronan productions. You ever seen something like that, Miek ?" Miek buzzed.
At the very back Hulk chortled. "Hulk like funny play. Loki make Thor pull stupid face again !"
Loki smoothed his hair, his eyes glittering with familiar mischief. "What's that old saying, the play must go on ? Gertrude got cold feet and no one else was going to kiss that ugly mug of yours. Wah !" Luckily for Loki, the people caught their newly beloved prince and pushed him back on stage.
"My ugly mug ?! I think you got grease on my lips, you snake."
"Better than your mucous on mine, you frog."
It was then he noticed that the audience was much closer than they'd been a minute ago. The half-amused/half-annoyed sigh left his mouth as a ribbit, which got a few hearty chuckles. Gertrude giggled when she picked him up and the rest of the cast joined them for the final bow.
Maybe they'd have to put more plays on in the future ? But they'd need a Royal Playwright to maximize efficiency. From what the troupe had said Loki had experience with almost every aspect of a play and he knew Loki had the common sense not to get bogged down with little details. One could almost say Loki was the right wright. Now if Loki'd just remedy his being Throg he'd be all right too. But if his previous stint was any indication that wouldn't be until tomorrow morning.
Time to start hopping for bed.