It doesn't, however pointed the remark; Thor is too drunk to feel the intended offense, and only kisses the corner of Loki's mouth, and goes on with unfastening green and black leathers. "I will have you to help me, when such things are important," he murmurs, with certainty if not much respect: in truth Thor would far rather be leading armies than listening to speeches, and he can rely on Loki to summarize them neatly enough after the council sessions are done, if he has not paid much attention. "I will have you always beside me when I am king. Father knows that. All of them do."

If they do not know, cannot know, the depths of intimacy that the sons of Odin have shared, all the Aesir can at least acknowledge that Thor and Loki are brothers inseparable: they know, as well as Thor does, that Loki's place is at his side. Thor is joyful with that certain knowledge. The future is a path towards glory, shining, and contentment at the end of it, the fulfillment of all he has dreamed of, and if ever he senses a dissatisfaction in Loki, he is certain his own great and gentle hands can smooth it away.

Thor moves from the bed, now, taking Loki's outer garments with him as he goes, and once he has put them aside kneeling at the foot of the bed to strip away his boots. Now he undresses himself, too, shedding ceremonial garb wrought in embroideries of gold and crimson, in leather and beaten metal, piece by piece until the only garment he wears is a pair of soft breeches. He climbs back onto the bed, reclining as a lion might, in splendor: smiling, his gold hair tumbling down. "Come here, Loki."