She tries to roll over one night, only to bump into something at the foot of her bed. Blinking groggily, she forces herself to sit up and investigate.
She laughs aloud at the sight that greets her.
The king of Asgard is sprawled across the bottom of her bed, dark hair tousled by sleep, and his usual leathers replaced by soft sleepwear. She'd known that he had begun to spend more time in her chambers – after she had discovered he had cheated death yet again – but she certainly had not expected this.
Nudging his sleeping form with her foot, she nearly rolls him off the bed before he finally wakes. He squints at her through the darkness.
"Here," she whispers, holding up the covers in invitation. He crawls upward, shimmying beneath the soft blue fabric without a word. She huffs in irritation at his lack of thanks. For all his princely manners, he is often still very much a child.
Just before she drifts back to sleep, his arms encircle her waist, gently tugging her backwards until she leans against his chest.
"Thank you, Sif."
She smiles.
Tonight, they sleep.