“They are settled for the night. Stories read, covers tucked.” Loki declares, dropping down onto the bed next to his wife and folding his arms with satisfaction behind his head. Sif lowers the knife she has been sharpening into her lap and looks over at him, raising one brow in a curious arc.
“For the night you say?”
Loki looks at her, a smug sort of smile upon his face.
“I do.”
“This night? Truly?” Sif can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from her belly. She reaches out to touch her husband lightly on the shoulder. “Loki, you cannot teach your children magic and trickery the rest of the year and expect them to remain abed for the eve of Yule.”
“Well perhaps they shall not stay in their beds the entire night, but I assure you my lady -” Loki captures one of her hands in his own and kisses her fingers. “- we shall have a peaceful rest this night, and tomorrow a fine day.”
“Your hope is truly endearing.” Sif replies, cupping his cheek in her callused palm affectionately. “But these are the same children who hid beneath our stairs to try to catch their midnight visitor in the act last year.”
“They took me by surprise then.” Loki protests, a shade of indignance in his tone at being reminded of the incident. “But neither did they catch me, and I shall not be surprised twice.”
“Such little faith in our progeny.” Sif smirks, pressing upon his lips with her thumb before she returns to stropping her blade. “They are smart boys, they will figure it out you know.”
“Such little faith you are showing in ME my dear.” Loki laughs, sitting up and sliding himself closer to her. His hands rest upon her shoulders, fingers slipping beneath the heavy twist of her braid, caressing the curve of her neck. She hums, appreciative, satisfactory, and Loki bends to kiss her nape next, inhaling the warm and familiar scent of her.
“I suppose you have a point.” Sif concedes after a few moments of this attention, her hands slowly going slack in her lap again. She can feel Loki’s smile against her skin. “You do have much more experience in mischief than they do…”
“I have prepared myself for whatever attempts they may make in full this year, do not worry.” Loki tells her, kissing lower along the curve of her neck. “Do not fret over them or I this night, my love. Neither their bodies nor their beliefs shall come to harm.”
Sif sighs in content as he nibbles at her collar and pulls her closer, smiling slyly as she sets her knife aside on the night stand.
“I shall give my best effort to forgetting my concerns, then.”
~
They made a very organized effort to be fair. That is plain from the moment that Loki emerges into the hall and surveys the foyer below. It is barely light outside, much too early for sleepy children who have tried to stay up the whole night in hopes of catching the Yule Father, and the house around him is silent.
Ullr, as eldest, has clearly taken the helm of the operation in a way that reminds Loki very much of a young Sif. He has utilized his younger siblings with specific purpose, posting each of the twins at differing ends of the hallway, positioned just so as to have the best view of the entryway and the hall leading to the hearth room.
Loki finds Narfi at the bottom of the stairs, in the entryway. He is asleep on the shelf underneath their hall table, strings of magic trailing from his small fingers to a messy tangle of sedir-threads laid upon the floor, waiting for the touch of the Yule Father’s enchanted boots. Being only in normal house-slippers Loki treads upon them with ease, pausing to watch his son stir a bit and then settle again, his little body shifting on his shelf-bed.
Narfi sleeps heavily - as sound in rest as he is animated and bright in waking. It does not seem to trouble him that his head is canted awkwardly against the leg of the table, padded slightly by his free hand. He snores open-mouthed into the sleeve of his night-shirt, dark hair mussed into a tangle. Loki bends and gently tugs upon his clothes, adjusting him until he is lying flatter on the shelf, his neck unkinked and mouth closed again. Narfi sighs in his sleep, the quirk of a smile that is a mirror of his own emerging, and Loki smiles in return.
How big he is already, close to emerging from toddling age. This will be the year that the twins join their brother in lessons... How far away such a thing had seemed for so long, but now that it approaches Loki looks forward to it less and less.
He rises again and continues along the hall, watching the sedir-threads shift in colour as he makes his way to where Váli is nestled in the closet. Loki cracks the door open, careful to keep it from making a sound, to keep the soft early morning light from falling over the sleeping boy. Váli dozes on, curled in the opposite direction to his brother, left hand rather than right looped with signal threads.
There are three upon each finger! The excessive nature of it makes Loki want to laugh. Váli reminds him most of his young self, if he is truthful; the boy is curious and intense, a quietness about him that makes his mischievous streak seem nearly surprising. He shifts and sighs in his sleep and Loki knows that he must move on before he wakes, for Váli rests more lightly than the others.
Loki continues from the hall, moving past the sedir-sensing rug of threads the twins have laid, and into the hearth room where Ullr is sleeping, still fixed in his position on the lounge.
Their little warrior has clearly tried very hard to stay awake, his back rigid, his hands at the ready upon the training sword in his lap. But his head has been too heavy, his chin resting upon his chest, and he makes soft snoring sounds still even as Loki approaches him.
He has always been the heaviest sleeper of the three and so his father feels at ease in gently combing his tangle of blond hair aside, tipping him ever so slowly until his body is more comfortably laid upon the seat of the chaise, his head resting on its arm and sword laid beside him. How bold and brave, Loki cannot help but think with pride. Much too confident for armour or shield, calmly awaiting his prey as he would on a hunt with his mother.
Loki smiles to himself as he moves to the hearth at last, admiring for a moment the garland piled along the fireplace top and the socks laid out below. It is only a moment’s magic to fill them all with the treats his children have expected, and a few gifts besides. He needs no sound, little motion, his stealth complete. He is well experienced in this routine.
He surveys the scene one more time to be sure he is satisfied with it, then at last he turns to head back to the stairs. The boys will sleep a little longer, he may yet have some time to curl around his wife in bed…
~
Sif is woken at the very crack of dawn by a shout of surprise from downstairs.
Her eyes open right away at the noise, tuned for the sounds of chaos in her home after several years of raising her sons. There is shouting, surprised yelping, confused cursing, and then the racket of the children bursting from their hiding places, their feet pounding the floorboards as they rush to the hearth room.
“WE GOT HIM!” she hears Ullr’s voice echo up and that brings Sif fully awake, the realization of what has taken place breaking through her early-morning sleepiness. Oh stars, what have they managed this year?!
She rushes to throw on her robe and descend the stairs, moans of disappointment meeting her as she makes it to the main floor. By the time that she is in the doorway to the hearth room all three children are standing sullenly around the central point, looking wholly annoyed.
Suspended from the ceiling, one foot caught in a well-constructed hunting snare, dangles the startled Loki.
Sif presses a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“That’s not the Yule Father!” Narfi protests with a huff and a dramatic flap of his arms. “That’s just ordinary Father!”
“Papa you set off our trap!” Váli scolds, stamping his foot.
“Awww…” Ullr looks more than a little crushed. “It’s just Papa? I thought it had worked for sure.”
Loki is staring around at the lot of them, looking both dizzy and a little impressed all things considered, but he is clearly unfit to make the necessary suggestion as Sif can tell he is stifling relieved laughter. She takes pity upon him and clears her throat, drawing the attention of her sons.
“Perhaps since he is not who you were hoping to catch you could let your Papa down?”
Once reminded the boys scramble over to where the rope is tied off to lower their father back to the floor, clustering around Loki as Ullr goes to unknot the snare.
“It was a good trap if it caught Papa, right?” Narfi reasons.
“A fine trap indeed.” Loki agrees, composing himself for the space of a few words. He ruffles Narfi’s hair, then Váli’s, accepts the hug that Ullr foists upon him next with warm enthusiasm.
“Well, good morning my sons. You have not caught the Yule Father, but he has left you gifts still, look.” Loki points out, nodding to the hearth. All too quickly the boys are swept up in the delight of their treats, leaving their parents to share a long look and a stifled mutual laugh.
“I told you!” Sif hisses under her breath, grinning as Loki climbs to his feet and steps over to the doorway. He slides his arm around her, pressing her against his side as they watch the children unpack their socks.
“Not a word, I shall not hear it.” he tells her with affection, placing a kiss upon her cheek. “They have not figured it out so they have not bested me yet. Do you hear, this does not count.”
“Of course not.” Sif agrees, smiling slyly as she leans into his shoulder. “But I wonder whatever are you going to do next year when it is four on one?”
“....What?”
Loki turns an incredulous look toward her, and then Sif cannot help but laugh aloud.