Work Text:
Loki didn’t notice at first, distracted as he was by sleeplessness and administrivia. The low-level drain of maintaining his disguise as Odin also ate at his energy.
But it kept happening.
At breakfast, a tiny plate with a single, perfect cherry tart—his favorite—appeared next to Odin’s usual heavy meats.
At lunch, set next to the large pint of Odin’s heavy mead, a tall, slim cup of cold juice, a drink Loki always preferred at mid-day, so his mind remained clear.
As he read through documents in the late afternoon, a small platter of cheeses appeared at his elbow, coupled with fruit and fresh bread, something Loki commonly requested years ago when he studied in his rooms.
Fires were banked low in meeting rooms rather than stoked to the blazing temperatures Odin had previously insisted on.
Once Loki noticed, the details were impossible to ignore. They were everywhere—everywhere, that is, that was governed by the invisibles.
In his head, that’s what he had always called them. They were the court staff that were supposed to be neither seen nor heard—the scullery maids and men, those who brought food to table and who cleaned after, those who lit the fires, dusted the lamps, mopped the floors, did the laundry. They were always punished for the infractions of the upper staff, forced to eat cold meats because they had worked long hours after the meals were long over. The unfairness of it all left a sour taste in Loki’s mouth. More than once he’d pranked upper staff when he’d noticed one of them taking egregious advantage of their station by weaseling out of work or a punishment by foisting things off on others. It had gained Loki no fans amongst those who wore fancy livery and dangled the oversized keys of office from their belts.
But the invisibles noticed.
And while they could never afford grand gestures, they did countless little things that had made Loki’s life more seamless, meeting his needs almost before he knew he had them.
Now it seemed they were at it again, though they never speak.
How did they know?
Perhaps the better question was, how had Loki thought they would not know? Their very livelihood depended, after all, on working from the shadows, on remaining unnoticed.
And Loki finds himself in a much better position to thank them for their care. “The servants’ dormitory is ancient,” he tells his new steward, Halle, using the deep tones of the Allfather. “It’s unbecoming of the royal dignity for its people to be housed so. The plumbing is crumbling, the furniture second-hand, the fixtures tarnished or broken beyond repair. I want it renovated. The cost should be covered easily with a small percentage of what we saved during the audits.”
“Very good, Your Majesty.”
“I will periodically overlook the work.”
Halle flushed uncomfortably at the implication that he needed supervision. “Surely that’s not necessary, Your Majesty. You must have more important matters that require your attention.”
“Odin” placed a heavy hand on his steward’s shoulder. “Nothing could possibly be more important to me than the welfare and dignity of my household, don’t you think, dear boy?”
Halle bowed his head. “Of course, sir. I will overlook the quality of the work myself to until every annex properly reflects the beneficence and solidity embodied by the House of Odin.”
“Excellent, young man. We must always strive to give others better than they deserve. If we all were to get what we deserved, none of us would escape whipping,” and Loki rumbled a perfect imitation of Odin’s laugh.
Halle smiled in return, though if it was a bit more anxious, “Odin” was good enough to not notice.