Thor's pride and joy resided not within that bubbling, raging lust for battle, not within the endless eyes of his beloved wife, not within the vast, glittering halls of Asgard, and not even within the golden throne. It lived, flourished and grew and blossomed, within a single child, a mere boy with bright grey eyes and golden, shining strands of blond hair, with a smile so wide that it could rival Loki's mischievous grin, a laugh so carefree that it gave the choirs a run for their money, eyes so deep that they could shame the library and all its books filled with countless, limitless words and knowledge.
They'd named him Ullr, when at last he'd been born, round cheeks flushed with warmth as he'd wailed relentlessly in his mother's arms, and nothing had soothed his breathy, trembling cries. Finally, Thor had sought aid from his brother, and they all came to realize that only Loki's chilled hold could quiet Ullr.
After the revelation, Thor had never seen Loki smile in such an odd, genuinely pleased way, and Sif had stared so intently at the three of them, recovering from the birth, eyes wide and round and glinting with caution. Only later did Thor discover the reasons behind her wariness, only years and memories and moments later did he realize the error, the missing piece, in his life.
His days were each a new chapter in a long, almost endless story, all dozens of pages long and filled to the margins with every detail he could remember, but sometimes those details eluded him, as they did now. Thor's pride and joy, his sun and his moon and his stars and his skies, practiced magic. It wouldn't be such a shock to the god, if only he did not know what he very well did.
For a mere child to practice magic, it nearly had to infect their blood, live within their genes and contaminate their body. They almost had to be born with it, to know sorcery well enough for it to be of use, and since Ullr wasn't any older, couldn't devote himself and his time to building his abilities prior to practicing them, magic was a trait he'd carried from birth.
There was only one magician in Asgard, and Thor's heart had never pounded so fiercely with rage at the realization. For the first day, the first day of knowing and thinking about it and being haunted by it, Thor remained silently locked away in his childhood chambers, trying to avoid Sif as much as possible while desperately hoping that he wouldn't run into Loki.
That would be unbearable, to stare his brother, whom he had loved and revered and cherished for all of his life, in the eyes, knowing that Loki had betrayed him in a way that no other could, had taken his trust and turned on it with no thought to the consequences. Sif was Thor's-his wife, his love, the mother of his child. That was where Thor stopped thinking, where his mind realized the falsity and curled in on itself all over again. She wasn't the mother of his child; Ullr wasn't even his child. And all of that betrayal and sorrow and shock turned into a deep, dark rage that tugged at his thoughts until it was the only thing consuming them.
That was also when Loki walked into the room.
Thor looked up, hands balled into fists upon his lap, blue eyes vivid as Loki caught sight of them, smiling uneasily as the tension in the air alerted him to the danger he was in.
"…Thor?" Loki asked hesitantly, almost as if he'd rather turn around and walk out the door, and he carefully stepped further into the room, frowning in concern.
"Are you alright? Sif hasn't been able to find you; she's worried sick." Thor looked up, swallowing thickly.
"I'm sure you're eager to go take my place and comfort her, then." Loki blinked, but his gaze was confused rather than dishonest, and Thor sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thick, calloused fingers.
"Why is Ullr's hair blond?" Thor asked lowly, his skin reddened from what looked to Loki like crying, and the trickster stared, wide-eyed and just a bit scared, shaking his head slowly.
"I don't know what you mean," he murmured, and Thor caught the lie in the twitch of his mouth, the nervous tilt of his head, the anxious glint in his eyes. When he wanted them to, Loki's eyes had always spoken volumes, and Thor stood, angry but just a bit grateful for the honesty.
"Sif's hair always was a nice, fair, golden color," Loki drawled softly, and he looked to his feet, suddenly unable to meet Thor's stare as he ground his teeth together, his jaw muscles visibly tensing.
"Then perhaps I should have words with her," Thor spoke casually, evenly, and calmly, managing to relieve Loki's twisted nerves for the moment they were in, and he stalked past his brother, preparing the speech he'd give Sif to glean from her how exactly Loki had ever managed to woo her into bed with him, and why in all of Hel she had decided to keep it a secret for so many years.
He reached out and grabbed Loki's arm, just before he left, so that he was dragging his brother into his and Sif's chambers when he walked through their door, ignoring the way she stared at them like they were aliens, ignoring the way Ullr sat on their bed, gazing over to them with his big grey eyes and tiny face, blond locks falling down his forehead and past his eyes, his small smile enough to both warm Thor's heart and leave a bitter taste of shame in his memory.
Based on a prompt given by natashabromanoff over on Tumblr.
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