"I wanted to be worthy of that," he says quietly. "And at the same time I wanted to burn you all to the ground for the hurt I felt. I am in control of myself now, in a way I was not, before. But I still don't know what to think."

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to think on what she's telling him. And in a way it makes sense. Love doesn't cure all things. It is strong, but not omnipotent. And even gods make mistakes when dealing with the people closest to them. "I suppose I always expected you to know everything. And for Odin to know only slightly less than that."

Well, that tells you who he always felt closest to in itself, but his smile is faint, wistful and sad but real. "He tried to tell me, didn't he, that worship does not make us flawless? Ironic that I have held my family to black-and-white standards to which I know I could never adhere."

He wishes he could hug her once more. "I believe you, Mother. It still hurts, but I believe."

He lets the dissolving Asgardian illusion stay as it is, half there and half not. Blue beneath translucent ivory, red and green in his eyes. And he drops to his knees slowly, like anger has been the main thing keeping him upright. "It would be easier if you could all hate me, and I could hate you back. It would be so much simpler. But that's cowardice, isn't it?"

"It's my fault." He says quietly, unable to meet her eyes, forcing the words out. "It's my fault you were killed. You must know that now. I'm sorry."