So, in this story I would place Loki around 14 and Thor 16. Sorry, I know I changed it, but I feel more comfortable having them as teenagers now that I look over the language I used in the next chapter. Again, I don't know how far I will bother taking this story, and it was originally meant for one-shots, but we see how that went. Please review!

Laying out an Asgardian book on history off to my side and positioning a blank parchment and inkwell with quill in front of me, I furrow my eyebrows in deep contemplation. Before picking up the quill and reopening my brilliant green eyes, I slick back my hair once more with a palish-grey hand. Finally, I gaze down upon the paper and grab the feather pen, my black fingernails shouting out in contrast from light skin.

"This is it," I tell myself. "I need to start this."

For days I have been planning out to write an article on my own thoughts behind history, on how Odin really should have felt when he created man with Honir and Lothur, what the true deep meaning is behind the War betwixt the Aesir and Vanir, and all things of that nature. Surely, there must be some deep underlying message of all that has happened in the past, some hint to what life means and that nonsense. I do not discuss my findings with anyone else, but I truly do have a philosophical, ever-questioning mind. It is my nature, though when I ask Father how he feels on the matters of life, he calls me a fool and tells me to not question the great powers of the gods. I may have hid the question behind a silver tongue, but never did I mention that the Aesir should not have power. His mind confuses me.

Quill now dripping with the dark ink, I lay a pen on the paper and start scratching out the sharp letters of our alphabet into coherent sentences. My mind is racing as new thoughts come to my head, my fingers in constant motion between writing down new paragraphs and looking up some new subject in the history book. And I am absolutely enthralled by all of this! I am as giddy as Thor is when he beats someone older than him in combat! Perhaps when Father sees how well my theses are going, he will be proud of me! Oh, how fast my heart beats as my fingers fly even faster, not missing a beat or misspelling a word.

I am barely aware of what I write, but as I skim through the text every now and then, my consciousness fully agrees. It is like my awareness of the world around me becomes numb as my mind demands my hand to get down every last drop of information, every last reasoning that hangs in my mind. This feeling is absolutely sensational and wondrous and -

"THOR!" I shriek.

As I had just been finishing up the first chapter of my theses, my oaf of a brother just charged in, running as though there was a Jotun chasing after him. And as he halted in front of me, he tripped himself on all of his fumbling steps, crashed into the table, and spilled the permanent ink all over the page! My day's work after weeks of studying, ruined! I barely remember what I wrote, so how can I possibly reclaim every last word? How can I make this back up? Oh, now I'll never get this done!

"What's wrong, Brother? It was just some old paper. I'm sure there's a copy of it somewhere else in the library," Thor assures me, making it worse.

I pick up the black-drenched paper, careful not to stain my hands in the process, and stare helplessly at the lost words. When Thor mentioned there being another copy, I set aside the fresh loss and glare at him. I lower my eyelids and narrow my eyes and glare and frown at him as hard as I possibly can, furious at his actions. But he looks so clueless, unaware that he destroyed the only copy I have of my thoughts, something I can never recreate, and totally oblivious of his insult-to-injury remark of there being another, which, no, there is not. In complete frustration of my racing, depressing thoughts, I totally break down. Letting the paper fall from my fingers, I raise my hands to my face and sob.

Usually I do not let my emotions show so easily. I am naturally situated behind a mask of indifferent coolness, only coming alive when someone angers me, such as Thor. But when so much of my time and knowledge has been lost like this, I just can't help myself. That document meant so much to me. It was my key to gaining Father's love, now lost by Father's favourite.

"Thor, tell me. Do you try to make my life miserable? Or does it, Yggdrasil forbid, come naturally?" I ask him, almost in disgust over his reckless behaviour.

"I don't try to make things bad for you, Brother. It just happens. I'm sorry. Is there another copy of it?" Thor says, and he is genuine.

He's so much like a lost puppy, clueless and always causing damage, but he does not realise that it was damage. He's just too caught up in his own world, in his own selfish actions, trying to prove he is best at everything because he is Odin's son. He doesn't realise a whole lot of stuff, he is kind of slow. But I know he means well, no matter what.

"No, there isn't. I was writing out my own theses on history," I confide in him.

"Why? That sounds boring. If you've read all of the books here, then maybe you can ask Father for more, instead of resorting to this," Thor suggests, appearing rather appalled that people still write stuff down.

"No, that is not why I wrote it. I have been noticing that there were underlying meanings in history, so I thought I would write it down before anyone else could. I was about to go tell Father, too, but now I can't," I sigh.

"Can't you just write it down again?"

"Nay, Brother, for I go into a sort of unconscious state when I write, so a second edition of this would not turn out as right."

"Well, you're good at magic and sorcery and that stuff. Isn't there a spell to clear off all of this ink?" he asks.

Of course! Why didn't I think of that? There were always spells to recover stuff, either by memory or just clearing off the ink itself. As I try to pull my thoughts out of despair and confusion, Thor sits down next to me. Within minutes I have thought up a spell that would clear off most, if not all, of the wretched ink.

"I've got it!" I exclaim, my voice quiet, though, since we were in the library.

Snapping my fingers, I start reciting a short spell to make the ink drip back into the well. Thor holds the small container directly under the paper as I make motions that would encourage the mess to clean itself up. Just before the words start to slide off, too, I stop the whisperings and put down the paper. I have only done the spell once before in practice, so I had to say it out loud. Usually it takes me a few tries before I can accomplish an entire spell without speaking a word.

After a few moments of this, I hold up the redeemed article and smile slightly, all worry draining from my heart as my mind cheers. Even Thor smiles for my success in not only getting back the original copy, but afterwards, completing it. He sat patiently the entire time as I edited the few mistakes and concluded the article with a short paragraph on how much the past can teach us. I sign my name quietly at the bottom and stare at it merrily.

"It's finished?" Thor says. He had been resting his head on his arms but sat up when I set down my quill.

"Yep, all done and correct and in order," I smile. "Thanks for holding the inkwell."

"No, I cannot be thanked, since I caused all of that to happen. And I'm glad you thought of a spell. I knew that you could fix it. I guess that's why I'm always so careless around you," Thor shrugs.

"Yeah. Well, I'll try to always be there when you need something, Brother," I nod. "So what brought you here in the first place?"

"Oh. Right," Thor says, closing his eyes as he tried to remember what he came for. I waited patiently. "Oh no! Now I remember! Come on, Loki!"

"What? What is it?" I ask. Thor catches my wrist and pulls me after him. I only have enough time to snatch up the article before I am running as fast as I can after him.

"Father? I got Loki as you requested," Thor says shakily as we enter Father's Throne Room.

"What took you so long?" Odin asked, his face grim.

"I was running when I fetched Loki and so I accidentally tripped and spilled ink on Loki's paper. But don't worry, because Loki used all of his smarts to fix my mess. Oh, sorry for being late, Father," Thor explains, smiling at me when he complimented me.

"Right," Father says slowly, looking oddly at Thor's merriment.

"So, why did you want me, Father?" I interrupt.

"I wanted to remind you two that tomorrow is your mother's birthday, so I expect you two to make her something, on your own, that she'll appreciate, as a gift. And arrive here early so that we can start the celebrations immediately. Loki, please make sure you get Thor up and ready, by whatever means," Father tells us, sighing when he mentions Thor.

"Yes, Father," Thor and I respond, in sync.

"Oh, and Father. I wanted to give you something," I whisper, walking up to him.

I hand him the paper I worked so hard on carefully, my hand barely brushing against his fingers, and then step back shyly. As he scans my work, my heart drops and I feel absolutely scared about what his reaction would be. It is no great physical feat, but it is the best I can offer and the whole study meant so much for me. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait as he scans through the paper, wanting to just get his response and then flee. I can feel myself shaking.

"Steady, Brother," Thor whispers. He puts two firm hands on my shoulders to steady me, but I still shiver with fright.

"But what if he disapproves?" I whisper back.

"That's his opinion. It only matters if you approve."

Wow. Thor can be wise? His last statement makes me open my eyes and stop my shivering in surprise. My eyebrows furrow and my tongue forms the question of where Thor could have possibly pulled up such encouragement, when Father clears his throat loudly and let's his hand fall back against the arm of the throne. I jump slightly and glance up, Thor mimicking my actions on his own.

"Loki, some of these thoughts of yours are far off. I am proud of creating man, not suspicious on how their civilisation will advance. This is not worthy for staying in the library, son. Redo it, get more information, and we'll talk. Good start, though, okay?" Father scolds.

I am about to turn away, but he speaks again.

"And Loki? Perhaps this time, instead of writing this garbage of morals, you can do something productive and learn something from Tyr. I'm sure Thor can help you around, build your strength. You must have some talents of strength, you're just not trying enough. Put away that knowledge of yours, it shall do you no good in battle, and start training to be more like your older brother. Besides, us Asgardians are known for strength, not silly little articles about each other's thoughts," Father says. He then waves, telling me that he is finished.

He holds out my article so I run up and grab it, then sprint out of the room, my hands already in front of me to push open the doors. As I crash through the doors, I pass Mother on my way, making her jump aside in fright of my wake.

"Loki! Where are you going?" she calls after me.

I continue, though, not hanging around to hear Father's explanation. My eyes sting as I suppress the tears welling up, ignoring my urgent need of a tissue. I just keep running, pushing past the servants and guests, but I knew no one would question my situation. I have run away from Father in a fit of depression so many times that no one thinks twice now. Except maybe Thor and Mother, because Mother cares and Thor has some sympathy towards my situation. Sometimes I wander if deep down, he has realised the notion that Father favours him over me.

Bursting through the last double doors into the open air, I blink in confusion of the sudden bright light of the sun. But I push on towards the meadows of Asgard, passing by statues and fountains to a large willow tree. It's slender branches reach down to the ground in such a way as to make an outdoor bedroom, of sorts. I have spent so many days under it's drooping leaves, hiding from the world, that I consider it my second room. No one ever really finds me here, though, since it creates absolute privacy.

Slipping past it's wall of leaves, I climb up the gentle incline to the trunk, careful to leap over the thick roots, and sit down, my back resting against it's slightly tilted trunk. Here I relax my rigid, stony expression, and let all emotion cross my face. I pull my knees up to my chest and let salty tears run over the cloth, the dark material becoming even darker as it stains. I let out a few strangled sobs, my breath terribly shallow due to the yells halted in my throat. If a servant passes by here and chances to hear my cries, I might be found. I must be silent.

As I calm down, my breathing deepens and the only sound I make is hiccups, so dreadfully annoying. My body slackens from it's locked stance and I shift more of my weight against the willow's trunk, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. Throughout this process, my only thoughts are to stay quiet.

But soon my mind is racing again, retelling me the tale of Father's disapproval of my work. He mocked me so! My chest feels so empty right now, so lonely and alone. I tried my hardest to guess at his feelings over the past, I did my best to sum all of my thoughts together in one telling, but it was not enough. It's never enough. He cares not how far I have gotten in my studies, how knowledgeable I am. And my only hope is that Thor may have contradicted him. But I know he wouldn't have, Thor doesn't even know what the document is about. I am sure he just shrugged over my misbehaviour and then went back to the training fields. But in the back of my mind, I can see a daydream of his standing up to Father for me. Would he, though?

No. Probably not.

There's just, nothing else I can say. I tried my hardest to gain the pride of my father, but I was wrong, so now I must start all over. And if anyone does approve of my meager attempts, I am glad for that, but it is not other's approval that I crave. Perhaps Mother's, but she has the love of a mother anyway, and she cherishes both Thor and me. For that I am thankful.

"Loki? Are you here?" I hear a boy's voice call. I clear my throat a few times and respond.

"Thor? Is that you?" I ask, my voice still shaking from the strangled sobs.

"Ah, here you are, Brother. You ran out so fast that I was not sure where you went. I checked the library and your room and then the servants told me that you were heading this way, and here you are!" Thor explains, walking towards me. "Anyway, Mother wants you. Please come with me."

"Why? So she can mock my failure, too?" I throw back bitterly. Sarcasm is my natural self-defence.

"No. No, that's not it at all," Thor opposes, confused on how I could question Mother. "She wants to make sure you are okay."

"How can I be okay? I just got my belief's rejected by Father!" I shout.

"Yeah, that was harsh of him."

"Did Mother say anything?"

"No, she didn't. But I told Father how much you worked on the paper," Thor tells me, smiling proudly to himself. I look up with a tearful glance.

"Really? What did he say?"

"He just said that maybe you should have gathered more evidence before showing it to him. That he had no time for such things," Thor shrugs.

"But I have asked his opinion! He just told me not to worry about it, that I was a fool for even asking. And he always has time to see your physical accomplishments!" I scoff. How could he lie?

"I know. I guess Father prizes brawn over brains," Thor says, apologetically. He sits down besides me softly, trying not to disturb my own fragile body.

"I just don't understand. Normally I don't care that he cares about the competitions over my knowledge, but I designed the document just so I could prove to Father that I was worthy, that I was an equal Asgardian. I put him in good light and everything!" I continue.

"I'm sorry that there is no place for brainiacs here, Loki. I'll change that when I'm king, Loki," Thor assures me.

Ha, like that's going to happen, I think to myself, but I hold my tongue against the doubts.

"Thank you, Thor."

"So will you come with me to Mother?" Thor offers. He stands up and holds out his hand. I take it and am instantly pulled onto my feet.

I nod and we go back to the Throne Room. Mother is sitting there, but Father is absent. She runs down to me, picking me up and embracing me, but it is just love, not pride. In my hands, I still hold the paper I worked so hard on. Mother sits back down, stroking my black hair and telling me it will all be okay, but it is not that same thing as her telling me my work was right.

And this was only one of the different memories I have of Father being disapproving of me while he gloated over Thor, his physical strength and all. These thoughts carry me through the years, though, and someday I will prove myself equal to Thor! Someday I shall be king and usher in an era of knowledge, instead of another of strength. Someday, I will be worthy!