Someone asked a little child, sheltered, protected, loved, "What is happiness?"
His answer was not unpredictable, he said, "Father, and mother, and Brother of course"
Just a few years later,limping and wincing, with purple bleeding into the fair skin around his left eye, the question was put in front of him again,
"Making them taste their blood", he grinned like a shark, his teeth cherry stained, "like they make me taste mine", he swiped away at his mouth and his hand came away red, "see if they like it as much as i do"
Decades pass. The child is a boy now, growing into his bones, too tall, too thin, too fair, too beautiful. He doesn't return the punches anymore, doesn't give as good as he gets, doesn't grin at the taste of the blood! Instead, he tricks and plans and lies, he uses spells as his armor and his tongue as his weapon; he weaves half truths and half lies in a twisted fabric and lets anyone who would want to hurt him get entangled in it and suffocate. Soon enough, people leave him alone-he isn't fun anymore, he can't be hurt, and can't be won from; he is like a girl...fragile and magic. If you ask him the same question again he would look just look sad, too old for his age, too burdened.
"To be more like my brother", he would wish though, "to be loved by father the same way", he would yearn.
Years would make him bitter. Cast out for being different, shunned for being unique, disliked for the things he can't help change, being hated and hating himself- time would do him no kindness. Don't ask him about happiness then, because you will get spit in your face and a snarl of "there is no such thing".
If in the coming years , "to gut you with a spoon" "to be king of a wasteland" "to have you kneeling in front of me" "to not be bothered" "to be left alone" , is his answer each and every time you might ask him what would make him happy... you would know he is not to blame.
But happiness is tenacious, and he would find it again, in unlikeliest of places. He would find happiness in arms of one genius playboy millionaire, who would love him because he is different, who would cherish him because he is unique, and would find him absolutely perfect the way he is. Please do go to him then, and ask,
"What is happiness Loki?"
He would smile, one of his genuine smiles- not bitter now, not sad, not full of regret or hope- which aren't all too rare now, and he will answer you and laugh beautifully at your absolute stunned look. He would say,
"Happiness is wanting to be happy, because someone else's day gets better because of it!"