Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Loki?"

Silence.

"I know you're in there, brother."

Still no answer.

"Loki?" The sound of the doorknob jiggling uselessly. "Loki, you had better let me in."

Loki groaned and rolled over. "Break down the door."

"You know perfectly well I can."

Silence again.

"Loki, please. Mother and Father are worried about you."

"Then why didn't they come?"

"Would you have let them in?"

"No."

Silence again.

"You know, a room is a lot less private when it doesn't have a door."

No answer.

"Loki, if you don't let me in within the next five seconds, I promise you I will break this door down."

No answer.

"Have it your way, then."

"Try the knob again, blockhead."

There was a pause. Then the knob turned and Thor came in.

Loki was standing at the window, looking out at the sunset. It was magnificent, the strength, the vibrancy, the power of its hues, the way one color flowed into another without seam or break, the way the clouds reflected the light and sometimes, like tonight, seemed to make a strange and mystical landscape. When he was small, Frigga used to tell him that on nights like this you got a glimpse into Valhalla. Loki knew now that it was only a folktale, but sometimes he would pretend to himself that he still believed it. What would it be like to live in Jötunheimr, never seeing the sun?

He felt Thor's strong hand on his shoulder. "Little brother?"

But I'm not your brother. It wasn't the first time he'd thought it, but it still hurt. Far more than it should have.

"What?" Loki asked, still looking out the window.

"I don't know," Thor answered quietly. "Only you can answer that."

"There are some things you can't force."

Thor let out a breath, too soft to be called a sigh. "I'm not going to try to force it. But you know it will help you, to talk."

Loki shook his head. "No. Not this time."

"Loki, don't shut me out. Please. I only want to help you."

Loki finally looked at him. "Can you not understand that you can't help me? This is different. It's not something going and bashing a few heads together will fix. And I don't want to talk about it." He turned and faced the window again.

"Okay," Thor said. "So it's not something I can fix. At least stop trying to bear it alone. Tell me what's wrong."

"No!" Loki laughed humorlessly. "So that's it. I'm too weak to bear my own problems; let the mighty Thor take it on his shoulders because he's so strong."

"Loki, you know that's not what I meant."

"No? What, then? Am I a frightened child, who still needs his big brother to protect him from his nightmares?"

"Loki, please—"

"When will you and Father get it into your thick skulls that I don't need to be mollycoddled, that I can stand on my own?" That I deserve to know the truth about myself from my father's—Odin's—own mouth?

"Leave Father out of this," Thor said, now beginning to get angry himself.

"Father's the center of it!" Oh, no. He had said too much.

Thor could usually be relied on to miss hints. He would fire back another angry phrase, and the hint would be past and gone. But Thor was quiet. Fear seized Loki, fear that he was thinking, working it out. Loki's mind raced. How much would Thor be able to guess? How could he divert him from the truth?

But all Thor said was, "Father and I love you, Loki."

Loki lowered his head. He had always doubted that Odin loved him, and now that he knew he was not Odin's son, he was certain. But Thor loved him. There was no question of that. And Thor's love made him blind.

"I know," Loki whispered. "But you have to let me deal with this on my own."

Thor sighed. "All right. But whenever you're ready to talk, little brother, I'll be here." He squeezed Loki's shoulder again and left.

Loki looked after him, feeling the tears gather in his eyes. I wonder if a jötunn can freeze his own tears. The thought steadied him, replaced sentimentality with anger and fear again. He knew those well enough; he could deal with them. He could not deal with the knowledge that his brother and his mother were not truly his.