I don't know what woke me, only that it made me start. Seconds later, I found what it the cause: The menacing sorcerer that threatened me last night.

Thankfully, I'd hid the translated chapter back under the cushion last night, though I didn't get very far into it. I fell asleep before I could read three paragraphs.

Currently, Loki was laid up in bed, groaning and seemingly annoyed. His color was terrible, and for Loki's pale complexion, that's saying something. Shadows seemed to loom under his eyes and his midnight hair pooled around him on the pillow. A poor comparison to his usual stature.

"holy shit" I remarked as I rolled over on the sofa and rubbed my face before approaching him. "What happened to you".

He glared over at me, then shut his eyes as the sunlight blared into his face. "Shut the window, would you", he croaked. "Can't. No shutters". What could possibly be wrong with him? I reached for the stack of books and set them on the window seal, blocking out the sun. I made it higher as I found more miscellaneous literature lying around.

"Better?" I turned to him, hoping for appreciation . "Slightly". I flopped back on the sofa and stared at him. He's silent for a couple minutes, then opens his dry mouth.

"It seems I had what you would call, a little one too many last night".

So that's what was wrong with him last night. And it's what's wrong with him this morning. What do they even do for hangovers here?

"Do you want some… tea", I ask lamely, unsure of how to help him. Though he undoubtedly doesn't want assistance from me. "I can manage myself", he rasps and sounds like a demon.

Yeah, I'm getting him some tea.

I breeze out the door and stand in the hallway as I conjure a mental map. The kitchens are… wasn't the room I tried to escape from Loki out of that one time a kitchen? Pretty sure it was. And I got there from an armory, which was next to the observatory.

I go through the armory, and sure enough, I find the side kitchen. It looks simple enough. A stone stove, burners, pots, pans, spoons, all that jazz. When I don't see any lighters, or campfire starters or any of that, I get a torch from the hall, setting it to the gas burner.

There are mugs in one of the shelves, but no herbs for tea. That means another mission.

Their gardens are very well looked after, but mostly consist of flowers and these weird golden apples. It was actually really hard to find. I never would've guessed that the gardens are behind the castle, on the brink of the forest.

I find some licorice down under the colorful growth, and get a handful of it. I'm about to turn and head back to the side entrance from whence I came in, when a soft voice calls to me.

I turn on my heel, but I'm not that surprised. More and more people can see me nowadays and I'm getting pretty used to it. "You there, young girl", I see a tall, fair skinned woman with white robes swishing around her ankles. She stands at the base of the encroaching forest that looms out behind her.

"What brings you to my garden?"

I hold up the licorice. "Are these simple herbs so crucial to you, that you would pilfer them from me?", her clear voice speaks with no anger, only clear wisdom. "I just thought it was a garden, I'm sorry. It's just my … friend. No. this guy is in need of some herbal assistance and-".

"Enough, girl. Who is this 'guy' you speak of, with whom you contemplate being friends?", her skin shines bronze under the sun as she steps towards me, completely serene. "A … a Loki…of the castle. He's got a hangover", I add.

Her blue eyes squint just a bit, and she seems to sniff. "If Loki Odinson is whom you speak of, then be sure that he is no friend of yours", she pulls her flowing golden hair to the side and turns back towards the forest, "But in any case, mere herbs will not offer much to any god of Asgard, no matter how small they are. I suggest taking one of my apples upon the tree. This will help you in your plight to cure the Trickster"

I look back to the golden apples, then back to the woman, but all I see is the tail of her robes as she disappears into the forest.

"Though I cannot fathom why you would do such a thing", I hear her clear voice on the wind.

I'm back in the kitchen with a golden apple from the woman who seems to have beef with Loki, and licorice, because I already picked it and I'm not going to just throw it away. The water is hot, and I bind the fennel in a piece of cloth and dunk it in there. unconventional, I know, and I don't even know if it'll work.

But when the slightly yellow color bleeds into the water, I've reached success at long last.

I'm carrying the mug of tea in one hand, and an apple in the other. It's an opportune moment to trip and look like an asshole, so I'm being very careful until I reach the room.

I can't just breeze through the door, because I have solid objects in my hands. Remember Loki's brother+ my toast? That's because solids can't pass through each other, only spirit can.

So I set my findings down and do something I haven't done since we brought the pilfered sofa in here; opened the door. I pick up my things and shut the door behind me with my foot. Loki is still here, and still looking miserable.

"I suppose you're feeling very sorry for yourself", I tease him and set the tea on the table, devoid of books due to my making blinds out of them. He's laying there, the blanket tossed away, and a haze is covering his usually sharp eyes. His cheeks are blotched a really very ugly red.

"I told you, I'd manage", how he remains so threatening in such an inferior state, I've no idea. "You sound like a demon", I chide, but my smile disappears. He looks really bad.

When he sees the apple, his eyes widen slightly, then turns to squint at me. "Where did you get that". "a tree of golden apples", "Did she give this to you?".

"a beautiful woman, yes. Try the tea", I lift the mug and impose on his face, that's turned a hue of white, though his cheeks look positively feverish. I'm not going to touch his head.

Not because I don't want to, mind you. In fact, I need to know how hot he is right now. I don't put my hand to his face, because he would bite my fucking fingers off.

He sits up and holds the tea, letting his head fall against the headboard. He looks to be in extreme discomfort, and he's not eating the apple, or drinking the tea.

It hits me that he probably doesn't like this. I mean, of course he doesn't like hangovers, who does. Heaven knows, I remember. But someone else being here, seeing him like this, when he's usually so poised and in control.

He'd probably feel like a dog taking charity if I sit here watching him take what I give.

I purse my lips and head for the door, shutting it quietly behind me. I hear the 'clunk' of the mug on the table.