Thor scoffs, ducking his head even more, absently flexing his empty fingers and wishing that false ale she'd brought was something stronger. "I can't do anything. At least... this way I don't feel it so much."

Part of the problem. He knows that. She's said as much. But is it so wrong to protect himself?

He drops his face into his hands, pressing against the closed lid of his good eye, as if to push the hangover out of his skull. Is he hiding? Perhaps. Almost certainly. He is only fifteen hundred years old, and yet he feels as ancient as human think him to be. "I'm tired."