I'll Never Tell

Hope

A strangled scream broke the silence of the frigid night.  Loki was on his feet before fully conscious, dagger in hand as he oriented himself.  Another shriek echoed down the hall.  One by one he resituated his fingers around the knife's hilt and scaled the wall with silent steps.   Pressing his ear to the door of the spare room, he held his breath and listened.

Muffled whining sounded from inside and he flung the door open.  He was met with dark silence.  Then, someone whimpered, which was followed by the sound of labored breathing.  He'd heard the noise enough times to know it was Petra.

Light poured in from the hallway, illuminating the girl's face.  Confused when she appeared to remain unconscious, he scanned the room for invaders.  Determining he and Petra were the sole occupants of the room, Loki inched forward to her side.  Her blanket was strewn on the floor, sheet twisted between her legs and her forehead was damp with perspiration.  The silvery white of her brows was furrowed as she reeled away from something he couldn't see.

"Skapning," he whispered.

Another moan.

Grumbling under his breath, he prodded her with an indigo finger.

"Skapning."

She flinched away from his touch with a hiss.

"Petra," he growled, shaking her shoulder.

The hand flying at his face was unexpected, but he caught the elf's wrist.

"Petra!"

She bolted up, crying out and yanking her arm to reclaim her hand, which Loki held firmly.

"Enough!"

Chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath, she squinted at him in the dark.  "Loki?"

"Yes."

Loki stared at her as she blinked, her eyes focusing and thoughts clearing.  "I'm on Jötunheim," she murmured to herself, wiping her face.  "That was a dream."

"It would appear so."

Cheeks burning, Petra glared at Loki's unhelpful commentary.  She couldn't control her unconscious.  It's not like she chose to have a nightmare.

His face was paler than normal, his eyes sleepy.  She'd woken him up.  Petra almost mentioned she was sorry to rouse him, but his grumpy affect made the thought a fleeting one.

Gaze flicking over her form in the dark, Loki made eye contact with her for a moment, blinked, then turned for the door.

Her mouth opened to thank him for pulling her from her nightmare, but the door slammed closed before she got a word out.  Rolling her eyes to the ceiling, she untangled herself from the sheet and tried to settle back into bed.  She tossed and turned for a few minutes, then decided to light a candle and read until she grew sleepy again.

Sprawled on his bed, Loki slept soundly.  Out of habit, his right arm was buried beneath his pillow, knife in hand.

His eyes cracked open when he felt his bed dip and before he registered what he was doing, his blade was flying through the air.

"Loki!" someone hissed.

His dagger stopped inches from Petra's face.  She sat on her knees next to him.  Loki's eyes shone in the moonlight, gleaming with rage.

"Jeg kunne ha lagt det gjennom øyet ditt!"

He didn't have to speak in the common tongue for her to know what he said.

"I know, you could've run it through my eye.  I'm lucky you're so sharp," she recited.