Chapter Text
Gudrun was six months old the day Loki felt the tides shift. She was ruddy and giggly and plump, newly weened and accustomed to spending her nights in a cradle in the corner of Thor’s bedroom. She was as comforted when being held in the early hours by the golden heir to the throne of Asgard as she was when falling asleep in Loki’s grasp in the low of evening.
Loki roused in the dark of a witching hour and moved through the room with a pointed silence, giving no glance to the cooling gap on his side of the bed. He gathered no satchel, drew on neither trousers nor boots. Clad only in a green cloak and one of Thor’s large tunics he let his feet carry him to his daughter’s crib.
If he had been pressed, Loki would have refused to acknowledge the slight tremor that set in his arm as he reached to stroke his daughter’s cheek. Fortunately there was no one there to bear witness. Every soul in the palace slept (of this Loki was certain).
The cherry wood of her bed creaked as he held tight, weight heavy behind his wrist. A summer wind, a whisper through the curtains, caught Loki’s hair and dragged it across his cheeks. He rubbed his chin against his shoulder before settling, his eyes fixed on the little motions of her chest.
“You are to be great.” He rasped tongue clicking on the ‘t,’ gaze shifting to the flutter of her closed eyelids. Her dreams pushed her little hands into even littler fists. She kicked once, her lips turning into a pout. Loki’s eyes softened as he added “This is a certainty. Never doubt it.”
Even in her sleep she turned her cheek into the comfort of his touch. His fingers twitched then settled against her skin, recalling the shape of her in his hands. Half a year old and she still felt so tiny, swallowed up in the curve of Thor’s big hands, hardly a weight in Loki’s arms. He bit his tongue and gripped the bar of her crib tighter.
“Happy half-birthday.” He managed to whisper, a twist to his lips. “I was once certain you would be dead before this day. Now look at you.” Stroking one tiny, fuzzy brow with his thumb, he smiled.
“Still alive.”
Jerkily he shifted his weight forward, leaning down over the bar, but he halted inches away and swallowed hard. He drew himself upright, and forced his fingers to uncurl from the edge of her cradle.
His throat was thick like choking, his teeth were tightly clenched. “Be good for Thor, my daughter.” His hand withdrew from her head, fingers pulling themselves into a fist. “He will keep you safe.”
Loki swallowed once.
Then he went away.