Loki stood in front of the mirror, his breathing slow and heavy. His mind was intensely focused. It still took a great deal of effort to make the transformation; strange, that a mask could become more natural than the true form. It began at his heart, a burning cold that seared through his body with an agonizing pain. A wonderful pain.
He didn't know why he kept doing this to himself. He had had the full-length mirror installed when they still shared this room, as a jab at Thor and his perfect blond locks. Nothing got under Thor's skin as much as teasing about his hair. Then they had gotten older, and Thor had moved to a room of his own, and Loki had almost forgotten about the mirror. Until now. From a brotherly joke, it had become a place for Loki to indulge the morbid desire to see his other form again and again.
Loki placed his hand against the mirror. For a moment, nothing happened; then frost began curling out from his fingers and clouded over the mirror, obscuring the hideous, sneering iron face. He turned away with a shudder.
Why? He had asked it hundreds, thousands of times. This time, though, something was different. This time he wanted to ask it aloud, and he wanted to ask someone who knew the answer. Not Odin. No, he had not sunk so low yet. Nor his mother—no, not my mother—Frigga—not my mother… No, that would be worse than telling Thor. It would break her heart to know that he knew the truth. Knew that she had been lying to him all his life, too. Just like Odin.
No!
Loki's hard grey hand smashed into the frozen mirror. It shattered, showering him with shards of ice and glass.
He slipped through the palace invisible, letting down the illusion only when he reached the stables. He looked like an Asgardian again. Replacing one illusion with another. Loki saddled Vonbrotne. She leapt from the stables without his urging and galloped toward the Bifröst.
"Welcome, Loki, son of Odin." Only Heimdallr could mock someone in a voice entirely devoid of emotion.
"Come now, Heimdallr, let's have none of that." Loki gave a brittle laugh. "You know why I'm here." He had left the mare at the edge of the bridge and approached the Guardian on foot. Heimdallr had not stirred, had not acknowledged him with so much as a flick of his golden eyes.
"I do."
"And? Are you going to tell me what it is my right to know?"
"I am not."
"Of course not," Loki muttered. Why had he even bothered coming here? When had Heimdallr ever revealed anything someone truly needed to know? Especially to him. Especially… to a Frost Giant.
"It is not my place to tell you," Heimdallr said. "It is your father's."
"My father?" Loki laughed mirthlessly. "You mean some—some Frost Giant Odin probably killed when I was an infant?"
"No. I mean your father, the one who raised you and loved you as his own son. That has not changed."
"No," Loki scoffed. "No, nothing has changed. I merely know now that the man I thought was my father has been lying to me all my life."
"He lied to protect you."
"From what? That I—I'm the monster parents tell their children about at night?" Loki stammered, his voice breaking. He shuddered again, remembering that hideous face in the mirror.
Heimdallr was unmoved. "From the shame and fear you feel now. He meant for you never to know. I knew that there was danger in your going to Jötunheimr. I would have spoken with your father—"
"He's not my father!" Loki snapped.
Heimdallr took no notice. "—had he come to me first. Instead he brought a delegation bent on one thing and one thing only: learning how the jötnar entered Asgard without my knowledge. Had I made any attempt to stop them, they would have suspected, as some were beginning to already, that it was not without my knowledge that the jötnar entered. And if Asgard had begun to doubt the fealty of its Guardian, then none would have been safe. I had to trust to fate and the success of negotiation. The insolence of the jötnar and the impetuosity of your brother Thor made that hope vain."
"He's not my brother," Loki said, but without the same vehemence.
Heimdallr finally turned his golden eyes on him. Loki shivered; he could never hold that piercing gaze for long. "I can say no more," the Guardian told him. "Ask your father."
Loki's eyes slid away. "I can't."
"Then I can do nothing more for you." Heimdallr turned and strode toward the golden globe behind him.
Loki stood, silent and pensive until Heimdallr was nearly out of sight. Then, "Wait!"
Heimdallr turned and looked at him expectantly.
"The queen—the queen of Arendelle. What of her?"
Heimdallr sighed. "Your answer is here. Do not look for solace in the ice queen."
"What happened that night? After we returned? Did she keep her kingdom?"
"She is still the queen."
"And the people? They have accepted her?"
Heimdallr shook his head.
Maybe we are not so different after all. "Send me to her."
"Do not look there for your answers. You will not find peace in Arendelle."
Loki stepped into the golden globe and crossed it, standing face to face with the Guardian, daring to meet his eyes. "If Odin is still my father, then I am still prince, and I still have the right to command you. Send me to Arendelle."
Heimdallr sighed and lowered his head. "As you wish, my prince."