Title: Sleeping Arrangements

Author: Girl Who Writes

Characters: Sif, Loki

Word Count: 1415

Rating: G

Genre: Gen, Fluff

Summary: She is so tired of this fear, that lays so heavy upon her shoulders. There might have been a time when fear was something easily discarded but she will not think of those things that have come before. Not now. Not yet.

Notes: Just a quick apology that Aristeia hasn't been updated on in a long time. As soon as I get an hour to myself, I'll update it with the five missing chapters.

This particular one-shot fits into Aristeia-verse, and is referenced.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: The MCU belongs to Marvel and Disney, and I make no profits from this fan-based venture.

Lightning ripped through the night sky, illuminating the branches of Yggdrasil, and throwing strange light and shadows through the hallways of the palace. The thunder rumbled in the distance, and the delicate panes of glass in the windows lining the hallway rattled.

There were few people awake at such a late hour - there would be a small contingent of guards at certain points; a few maids and attendants tending to continuous tasks like washing and sewing and cooking that the palace, housing such a large population, required at all times. But the residential halls, those were empty.

Except for one small girl.

Clad in a white nightdress, and with long golden hair that fell in tumbled plaits down her back, she looked like a little ghost haunting the halls.

And with every crack of thunder and lightning, she would whimper.

She was not alone on her pilgrimage - ducking in and out of the shadows was a cat. Not one of the queen's pets, or a common stable cat, this was clearly a pet. Large, with orange and white fur, the sleek creature wove down the hall at the girl's side.

"Almost there, Viska," she managed, her voice wobbling, her cold, bare feet silent against the stone and iron tiles that were laid throughout the residential halls.

Viska offered up a rumbling purr, pausing only to wash a paw before padding after the trembling child.

The Royal residence was in a private wing of the palace, overlooking the formal gardens. Whilst there were dozens of rooms reserved for the family's comfort, only a handful were used. Queen Frigga had decided that since the princes were still so young, that they could share sleeping quarters.

The room was large, with an enormous curved window at one end, and two carved beds at the other. The first bed, carved with stories of warriors and lightning and swords, was piled with crimson and gold bedding and furs and cushions, a snoring lump in the middle, and a worn red plush dragon poking his head out from the blankets. Thor - who was snuffling happily in his cocoon and paying no attention to the raging storm outside.

The second bed was carved with stars and animals roaming the branches of Yggdrasil, and made neatly with bedding in emerald greens and gold. Unlike Thor, Loki slept neatly, curled on his side, his plush grey wolf tucked under one arm.

Sif was no stranger to the Royal wing - she knew ways in that the guards did not know of, so that no one would catch her sneaking in. The wards guarding the rooms, too, recognized her and alerted no one to her presence.

It was like the running races she had with Thor and the other children at the palace, the ones that looped around the grounds.

The other children were frightened of the forges right at the back, where the old soldiers would craft weapons and building materials. They all knew the stories of the child who wandered too close and was burned worse than even Lady Eir could heal. The constant, angry hiss of the metal hitting the water made the other children wince, as did the sight of one of those horrible iron masks glowering back at the children who did pass by.

Sif's second oldest brother worked in a forge in the city; she had no fear of them. The liquid metal was not going to leap out of the pots and out of the sheds and over the fence to burn them ugly. The other children were frightened enough that they ran the fastest past the forges.

No, it was the dead part of the forest that Sif hated. Her heart would pound and she breathed funny, when she found herself on that dark, damp path, her shoes sliding in the mud and branches catching on her clothing.

That was what it felt like when she crept out of her own bed during a storm. The pounding heart, the terror, the panic bubbling just underneath everything. That any second, it would be too much and she would break and cry and scream until someone came to fetch her.

Until she crossed the threshold; it was just like crossing the finish line. That soon she would be far, far away from that bad place, and it was all over now.

Slipping into the princes' room, Sif waited for Viska to slink in, and closed the door carefully. Tip-toeing across the room, she sidled up to the second bed and leant over.

"Loki," she whispered. Nothing. "Loki?"

"Sif?" his voice was soft and sleepy. "What's wrong?"

Sif frowned; she had reached her destination and now she was reluctant to reveal her purpose. "It's raining."

"I know," he blinked at her. "Are you afraid?"

"No," she answered fast, just as a crack of lightning ripped through the sky. She whimpered, looking over her shoulder at the window.

"You're afraid," Loki said sleepily. "Of rain."

"Not the rain," Sif scowled and stopped. "Can I stay with you tonight?"

Loki considered her for a second before nodding, and wiggling over as Sif clambered in, huddling under the covers. Viska appeared out of a shadow, leaping soundlessly onto the end of the bed.

"You could just say you're afraid," Loki whispered as they settled together, facing each other with their foreheads touching.

"Warriors don't get frightened of anything," Sif whispered back.

"Then why didn't you ask Thor to protect you?" Loki whispered back.

Before Sif could answer, thunder crashed around them, and she buried her face into his shoulder, whimpering. Loki's arms looped around her, hugging him to her.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's not going to hurt you."

She nodded, but left her face buried between his shoulder and the pillows.

"Do you want me to tell you a story?" he whispered back and she nodded again. "Okay. Once, a very long time ago, there lived a sorcerer…"

"And a warrior."

"...And a warrior…"

It had been an unusual start to the day, that morning. The storms overnight had flooded the main training ring, one of the greenhouses and wrought destruction in two of Queen Frigga's gardens. The first few hours had been dedicated to sorting out drama from genuine destruction, and making arrangements for repairs in the city. Thor had popped up at the usual hour, his usual sunny self, and had ventured off on his own when he realised that both Odin and Frigga were occupied.

But Frigga had not laid eyes on Loki. Whilst he was naturally a solitary child with a very small group of friends, he usually did make his presence known in the mornings. And Frigga had long since learnt that an absence of Loki meant either mischief had been made or was being plotted.

As she neared the princes' bedroom, she heard a strange scuffing sound. Curious - and cautious, for she had not forgotten the newt incident quite yet - Frigga opened the door.

And a familiar orange and white cat darted through.

Peering into the room, Frigga smiled at the sweet scene before her. Tucked up in Loki's bed, little Sif was sprawled out, with one leg and an arm thrown over Loki, her head resting on his shoulder, and one of her braids splayed across his face.

Loki had his head against hers, and was still sleeping, the erstwhile limbs and hair of his friend doing little to bother him. Both were still sleeping soundly, and Frigga only ventured into the bedroom to pick up a discarded Hati and tuck him back in at Loki's side, before slipping out and gently closing the door.

It would be at least another hour before Loki woke up, and would wait a little more time after that for Sif to wake and retract the offending limbs. They would be up and moving quickly, finding clothing and food and tumbling into the damp gardens in the same whirlwind that Sif did most things. And not once would he mention her terror of the storm, not to tease or torment or remind her. He would pull her pigtails and complain about the mud, fling a handful of wet leaves and petals at her when she teased him.

And the very next storm, she would creep from her own bed in her father's rooms and slip like a little spirit across the palace, to where Loki would keep her safe and would never tell anyone that she was afraid of anything.