I had Caliburn at my waist as I stood waiting for Loki to arrive. While his sudden appearance was unexpected, it wasn't unwelcome.
He had visited many times by now, and my people didn't dislike his presence, mostly because he loved their attention, their praise and awe, and this made him appear friendly to them as he walked through the streets waving and smiling.
While they still stared in awe at a god walking around, they didn't fear him.
Despite having seen the battle between his guards and my knights, despite knowing their might and strength, they didn't fear them. This was something Loki could feel, and it did him good.
I wouldn't have been surprised if he spent even more of his time down here in Camelot, or out exploring all of Midgard. Just so he could be surrounded by that, rather than back home, where the Asgardians didn't really love him the same way.
Here, he was seen as somewhat of a celebrity, but back home? Well, at least his saving Odin did make him a hero, but it was hard for most people to forget his dark past of tricks and lies.
Finally, the doors were pushed open, and there he stood, Loki, Son of Odin, and in his hand, the spear of destiny, Gungnir.
I wouldn't be surprised if he slept with it in his arms.
Loki himself wasn't all that strong; he had his magic, and compared to a human, he was indeed godlike. But among his own? He was nothing special.
His guards? Elite veterans and followers of Odin? Any one of them could defeat him easily.
The spear however? That made all the difference. With Gungnir in his hand, he could indeed defeat almost anyone in the entire universe. Few could survive getting hit by that spear, and given it was a spear that never missed, few could stand against Loki while he had that.
So I understood why he treasured it dearly, as even I had to take him somewhat seriously when he had that.
"Allow me to be the one to welcome you to Midgard, your Highness Lord Loki." I stood to greet him.
He merely laughed and shook his head. "No need for that, my dear friend, just call me Loki."
Despite what he said, I know that should I greet him as just that, he would no doubt be displeased. He was still rather vain like that.
"Then, Loki, welcome to Camelot. I trust that Sir Lucan was nothing short of welcoming." I once more welcomed him, this time a little less stiff.
"Oh, yes," Loki replied, his smile as polished as gold leaf. "Your knights are a credit to you — so well-drilled, so regal. Enough to inspire envy in all who behold them. Were I not already blessed with my own guard," he motioned to the four veterans at his side, "I might be tempted to steal a few away."
I gave him a wry smile. "Then I am thankful Asgard overflows with excellence of its own, lest Camelot find itself raided by its friends."
"Raided?" Loki's laugh rang light, amused. "My dear Arthuria, I would never raid. I would… borrow."
He moved easily toward the chair opposite me, and I gestured with a hand. "Then borrow no further, and sit. We have much to speak of."
Loki happily sat down and looked at me with interest in his eyes. "Is that so? I am most curious about what we must talk about?"
I gave him a gentle smile as I leaned back and adjusted the sheath at my side. "While I always welcome your visits, I rarely find they are for no reason, and I indeed have something for you, or rather someone."
At the mention of a someone, a hint of unease covered Loki's face. "Thor?" he asked.
"Oh no, nothing like that. As I have said before, I am more than happy to allow Thor to remain in Camelot, where I shall keep him safe until he passes the test Odin has laid out for him. And despite his current mortal state, his essence is still that of an Asgardian, so even if it takes him centuries, I will host him." I said, and Loki let out a small breath he had been holding.
Despite fate having changed due to my presence here in this universe, Loki still didn't look forward to Thor's return. While he might not kill him to stop it, that was only because he didn't think he would return.
That said, I doubted he would try something like that; he had been able to push forward his plans and been named as a grand hero for saving Odin, so he feared Thor's return a lot less. All the same, he wasn't keen on getting him back just yet.
"No, I hold in my dungeons another Asgardian, one who caused some trouble here in Midgard. I figured sending her back home would serve as her punishment for what she did here. I will not cast my judgment on one of yours lightly. I still feel like banishing them from this world is fair." I explained lightly.
Loki leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his chair. "Another of ours? Then who could trouble you enough to warrant such an… honor? Few of Asgard's kind bother themselves with Midgard."
I let my smile grow faint, controlled. "Amora."
The name made him pause, his lips parting with a soft, incredulous laugh. "Ah. Of course. Who else but the Enchantress? Leave her unattended, and she will try to topple a kingdom before the sun sets twice. I can see her causing trouble, yes."
"Indeed," I said evenly. "She dabbled where she should not, twisting hearts and sowing chaos. It was brief, but disruptive enough to draw my eye. She has sat in my dungeons since, awaiting the chance to be sent home."
Loki tilted his head, weighing my words. "How generous of you. Many would have slain her outright, and fewer still would dare hold her alive."
I nodded lightly. "I did not intend to host her in my dungeons at first, out of respect for Asgard, and for you, but she proved more troublesome than expected, demanding my knights quite fiercely." I couldn't help but grimace at the memory of those few days.
Amora wasn't as evil as she was insane. Constantly falling in love, and that love, causing her to wish to control others, so that they would love her back. Yet nothing made her love someone more, than when they resisted her control, but still showed kindness towards her.
To her, this was the ultimate declaration of love.
Many of my knights were able to resist her control thanks to their Magic Resistance. In particular, Tristan was able to resist and win her heart the most.
Tristan… he was someone who didn't think he could love anyone, or deserved love. And once Amora heard his tragic tale, she only wished to love him all the more and heal his broken heart.
Her attempts had gotten so bad that I had no choice but to send her into the dungeons, where she wouldn't constantly trouble both me and my knights.
Loki gave a low, knowing laugh, though there was no true mirth in it. "Yes… that sounds like Amora. Ever the storm that mistakes itself for a breeze. And your Knights are excellent, I can see how much she might like those."
"Precisely," I said. "She hounded Tristan to the point he had to hide inside the vaults themselves! My other knights, too, found themselves targeted. Each kindness she received, she twisted into a declaration. Each refusal she romanticized into proof of destiny. It was as if every act of mercy, every denial, made her more insistent."
"Tristan," Loki repeated softly, tasting the name as though trying to place it among Asgardian tales. "A knight who believes he does not deserve love? Mm. No wonder she latched onto him. The crueler the irony, the sweeter she finds it."
I inclined my head, my voice steady but edged with fatigue. "And so she remains below, not harmed, but… contained. She sings sometimes. Cries often. And yet, she never stops whispering to my jailors about how she has found her 'true beloved' here in Camelot."
Loki arched a brow, amusement and exasperation mingling in his expression. "And you mean to gift this tempest back to me? You are either far too merciful… or far too cruel."
I allowed myself the faintest of smiles. "I call it fair. She is Asgard's to claim, not mine to condemn. And if she troubles you as she did me, then at least I know I spared Albion her chaos."
That earned another laugh from him — lighter this time, less guarded. He leaned back in his chair, the glimmer of Gungnir's tip catching the torchlight as he tilted it idly in one hand. For a time, we spoke of other matters.
The hours passed easily. Loki had much to share — reports of Jötunheim's growing unrest, his designs for keeping the Nine Realms from slipping further into disarray, his endless dance of court politics in Odin's absence.
His war against Jotunheim was still not doing well, or rather, hadn't even started, and already it was causing him trouble. Jotunheim had lost its king, and now Asgard had declared war, they were nervous, scared and at the same time rearing to go.
But Loki? He was struggling to make the war happen. I knew that his mother, Frigga, was likely to be behind that. No doubt trying to spare the Nine-Realms from war, and as such, Loki was struggling.
He wanted to raise a grand army, a united front of the realms, to show his power. Yet, that was proving to be difficult, as no one wanted to march into war; they all came up with one excuse after another.
Problems and reasons for why they just couldn't help him right away, and he would then have to help them solve those problems before they could help.
Every step, his mother was pushing him to do just that, help them with their problems, and that was easier said than done. Some of those 'urgent' problems had plagued the realms for millennia, and now he suddenly had to fix them.
His effort was for the benefit of the realms and their people, but it didn't do much to push him closer to the war he wanted. And slowly, just as his mother wanted, he grew distant from the idea of war, finding it too much trouble.
I would offer him advice, hear his complaints, and offer encouragement in return. He was new to being a king, and in some ways, so was I. So it was easy to just spend hours going back and forth, complaining about the work we suffered as rulers.
At length, the shadows grew long, and the servants moved quietly about the hall, laying a table for us both. Dinner was prepared — a simple thing by Asgardian standards, but no feast in Camelot was without dignity. Bread, roasted meat, and wine filled the air with warmth.
It was then I gave the order. "Bring her."
The knights hesitated only long enough to ensure my meaning, then descended into the dungeons. Loki raised a brow, his smile sharp with curiosity. "So I shall see her again, then. I wonder—will she fawn? Rage? Or try to claim this Tristan of yours even as she is dragged away?"
"She will no doubt make the attempt," I said dryly.
Amora entered soon enough after that; no chains bound her, and she had been allowed to freshen up. She swept into the hall as if it were a stage prepared solely for her, clad in emerald silks that shimmered like forest leaves in the torchlight.
Instantly, her eyes darted to my knights. Love — or the facsimile of it she so easily conjured — bloomed across her features. Her lips parted, her gaze soft and dazed, as if she had just stumbled into a hall of angels.
"Oh, Tristan," she sighed, though her gaze lingered on three others before finally settling on him. "My star, my sorrow, my salvation… how cruel of you to hide from me in the shadows, when I would gladly chain myself in your light."
Tristan shifted uncomfortably where he stood, eyes firmly fixed on the wall.
Loki's laugh was immediate, sharp, and incredulous. "By the Norns, she is even worse than I had expected."
I felt myself quickly regretting allowing Amora to join this feast before leaving Camelot, because she would no doubt prove as troublesome as she would be entertaining.
Only I would feel the trouble, and Loki, the entertainment.
(End of chapter)
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