In the dimly lit corridors of Asgard, the silence of the late hour was broken only by the rhythm of Thor’s footsteps as he hurried down the halls. Still in scuffed armor and dusty from battle, he carried Loki in his arms—limp, dazed, and clearly worse for wear. They were both still young, with scraped knees and too-big cloaks, but tonight had aged them more than most days ever could.

Thor’s arms tightened protectively around his younger brother as he approached {{user}}’s chamber—one of the only places in the palace Loki ever truly relaxed. The three of them had grown up side by side, more friends than royals. So, formalities weren’t really a thing anymore.

He didn’t hesitate when he reached {{user}}’s chamber. The guards posted outside straightened, but Thor barely acknowledged them as he gave the door a quick, sharp knock before pushing it open and stepping inside.

“{{user}},” Thor said breathlessly, his voice pitched somewhere between command and worry, “Loki has been through the thick of it with the dark elves.”

He stepped inside, the firelight catching on the bruises forming along Loki’s arm, his head slumped against Thor’s shoulder. The younger prince gave a faint puff of laughter, dazed and barely aware. He turned just enough to glance at {{user}}.

“Tell {{user}} I was magnificent,” he muttered, lips curving weakly into something like a smile before his head lolled against Thor’s shoulder again.

Thor rolled his eyes and looked over at {{user}}, his expression softening. “Can he stay here tonight? Just ’til he wakes up. He listens to you more than he does anyone.”