Loki jerked awake from his sleep, shuddering with cold sweat. He drew in a shaky breath, blinking away the smoky wisps of a nightmare. It was still night, a sliver of moonlight shone through the clouds, falling upon the window panels. He fumbled for Guganir and sighed in relief as his fingers touched its smooth surface. Loki fell back into his covers and stared into the shadows; the silence seemed to buzz. His mind drifted into the past and he remembered a time when he was young.
The fire crinkled merrily in his bedroom as he and Thor hid under the blankets. The small reading lamp stood in between them and he could see that Thor's eyes were as wide as saucers as Loki spun his tale.
"And then…." Loki paused dramatically and Thor's mouth fell open in anticipation. Loki's mouth curved into a half smile, "the monster snapped his jaw upon the knight and killed him. The end."
Thor seemed to deflate in disappointment.
"That's not how the story is suppose to end," Thor whined, pulling on Loki's arm. They both gasped as the covers were whipped away and shrank back guiltily under Frigga's disproving frown.
"Both of you should be asleep," she told them firmly, placing the reading lamp on the table and winking off the light with a wave of her hand. She tucked them into the bed, making sure they snug and comfortable under the warm covers.
"No more talking. You two princes need your sleep," she said as she gave each of them a kiss on the forehead and dimmed the fireplace.
Frigga hovers at the door and whispers a good night before shutting it firmly behind her.
Loki felt the covers move as Thor shifted around in bed.
"Come on Loki," Thor whispers, "finish telling me the story."
"I already did," Loki snapped, keeping his eyes firmly closed.
"No. I want the real ending," Thor insisted, pulling at his sleeve.
With a loud sigh, Loki began from where he diverted from the tale. And because Thor was so demanding, Loki ends up telling Thor bedtime stories until the first rays of sunlight crept into their room.
Loki's eyes flew open and as he sat up groggily, there was another loud rap at the door. He growled in annoyance. It was still dark outside.
"Who disturbs me at this hour?" Loki asked curtly, feeling Odin's form drape over him. It was second nature to him now.
"It is your most humble servant, Caita," a mumbled voice said.
"Enter," Loki replied, unweaving the magical strands that sealed the doors.
The door creaked open and an elderly slumped man shuffled inside, his beard and hair as white as snow, shutting the door behind him.
"What is it, old man? Can it not wait till morning?" Loki asked irritably, allowing his glamour to fall.
Caita scratched his face nervously, his eyes darting everywhere except to Loki's face. "It is the Lady Sif," Caita muttered, "she begs to see your majesty as soon as possible."
Loki had to lean close to catch everything that Caita said. He was sure that the old man had lost his marbles a long time ago. When Loki first met Caita, he did not speak much to anyone, and after Loki had threatened him, Caita did not speak to anyone at all. Except to Loki of course—reporting back everything he heard from the servants. Caita had cleaned the guests' rooms, now he cleaned Loki's. Caita was proving to be rather useful, and if he revealed Loki's true identity, who would believe a crazy old man?
"Lady Sif?" Loki repeated, puzzled. He distantly remembered that Thor and Sif had traveled to Vanaheim to help Hogun with some scattered unrest. A pang of disappointment shot through him. He had hoped that Thor and Sif would stay there for more than a day. Just when he thought he could get some peace and quiet. Loki sighed.
"Lady Sif looked particularly distressed," Caita murmured and then furiously began to argue with himself under his breath.
"Tell her, I shall see her now," Loki told Caita. With a bow, Caita shuffled backwards out of the room still refusing to meet his eyes.
"She better not want to talk to me about her despairing relationship with Thor," Loki growled to himself as he flung on his robes and grabbed Guganir. He sincerely hoped that whatever Sif had to say was at least somewhat important or enlightening.