The doors of the great hall loomed high above, massive gates of gold and cosmic divine alloy with great carvings of Asgard's legends, mighty battles of Odin and his forefathers etched into the metal — a shining, eternal testament to the might of Asgard.
With Frigga at my side, who fussed about making sure we were both perfect — or rather, mostly making sure I was perfect — the doors finally began to open.
They did so slowly, with a deep, resonant hum that rolled through the hall like the prelude to thunder. All conversation died away, goblets lowered, music halted. Dozens of heads turned toward the entrance as the light from the corridor spilled into the room, golden and sharp as sunrise.
A young crier stepped forward, his voice ringing clear and strong.
"Her Majesty, Frigga, All-Mother of Asgard — and her honored guest, Arthuria Pendragon, the King of Knights, Goddess of Midgard!"
The announcement rolled through the hall like a wave, commanding silence, awe, and the faint rustle of movement as the court rose in reverence.
Frigga stepped first into the light — serene, regal, her gown woven from threads of starlight and wisdom alike. I followed a half-step behind, the hem of my silver-white gown trailing over the marble like water. The enchanted fabric caught the glow of the chandeliers, each movement scattering faint ripples of light that shimmered like moonlight upon calm seas.
The hall itself was a masterpiece — gold and crystal, its vaulted ceiling painted with constellations that moved in slow, deliberate orbit. Beneath them, hundreds of Asgardians watched in perfect silence, their faces a mixture of admiration and curiosity.
I heard the whispers before I saw the smiles.
"By the Norns… she's radiant."
"The Midgardian goddess walks like she was born among us."
"That gown — did the All-Mother craft it herself?"
Frigga's hand brushed my arm lightly as we walked. "Don't scowl," she whispered. "They just don't know how to react in the presence of someone of your beauty. Take it as a compliment."
"Surely the realm of gods isn't without its beauties," I muttered, my eyes scanning the room. It was primarily men — big, strong, and wild — with a few women sprinkled in, and all of them were either handsome or beautiful.
In truth, I couldn't help but feel that there was a mismatch between this grand room and the people inside it. This chamber had class and grace to it, while the people filling it… well, they didn't fully look like the type of people who could truly admire it.
More likely to puke over those carefully crafted wall carvings than admire them.
Only a small handful of those inside the hall seemed to be the type who could admire beauty in more than women or weapons; these were mostly warriors, with few generals.
That said, I had no doubt that this room alone could force most civilizations around the cosmos to surrender and submit; each man and woman here was powerful, each giving off a potent aura of strength.
Truly, Asgard was far more than what the movies showed. Legends and gods walked these halls, and now it seemed that Loki had gathered the greatest of them all.
As I thought of Loki, I finally looked toward the far end of the hall. There Loki sat upon the throne of Asgard — adorned in green and gold, his horned crown gleaming beneath the starlit chandeliers. When his eyes found us, his smirk faltered for a heartbeat.
Then the trickster mask returned, smooth as ever. He rose gracefully from the throne, raising Gungnir in salute.
"Behold!" he called, his voice rich and theatrical. "The All-Mother, light of our realm, and Arthuria Pendragon, the blade of Midgard — guests of honor at Asgard's table!"
Thunderous applause erupted, cheers shaking the air as goblets were raised high. Even the music resumed, swelling into a triumphant march.
I offered a polite nod, composed but distant. Frigga, ever the queen, lifted her chin in quiet acknowledgment before leaning closer to me and murmuring, "You see? Already they adore you. Asgard has always had a weakness for those who are both beautiful and strong."
I allowed myself a faint smile. "I hope their enthusiasm lasts through the evening." I couldn't help but wonder how they would react at the sight of my rather legendary appetite.
Loki descended the dais to meet us halfway, his steps measured and theatrical. The golden light caught on his emerald cloak, each motion perfectly calculated to command attention without seeming to ask for it.
He stopped before us and inclined his head in a gesture that was half bow, half performance.
"Welcome again to Asgard, Lady Arthuria," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with charm. "I trust my mother has been a generous host."
"Almost to the point of overpreparation," I said, my tone calm but not entirely without humor. "She has gone through great effort to make sure I am dressed well enough to meet your expectations."
Loki's eyes lingered briefly on the gown — longer than he meant to, I suspected — before returning to my face. "Then I am truly blessed. It seems Asgard is not the only realm that knows how to forge beauty from light."
Frigga smiled faintly. "Flattery suits you, Loki, though you should know it only works when it isn't quite so obvious."
A ripple of polite laughter spread through the hall. Loki's lips twitched upward; he knew he'd walked into that one, but he took it in stride.
Frigga's hand rested lightly on my arm, guiding me toward the long banquet table that stretched nearly the entire length of the hall. "Come, dear. You must sit with us. The seats of honor are kept for those who have earned them."
Before I could respond, I realized where she was leading me — the head of the table, beside Loki.
Subtle, yes. Obvious, also yes.
I raised a brow. "Surely there are others more suited to such a seat."
"Nonsense," Frigga replied in that serene, motherly tone that could smother resistance as effectively as any divine spell. "You are a queen among kings. And it's only fitting that the ruler of Midgard sits beside the ruler of Asgard."
"I am hardly the ruler of Midgard, only of Camelot and Albion," I quickly said, not wanting the responsibility of ruling all of Earth on my shoulders, because with that came the duty to both protect and police it.
And while I had no problem defending Earth, policing it was something else entirely. It would be beyond grueling work, requiring me to truly conquer the entire thing before I could even begin — and I really didn't want to go through that thankless task.
Just taking over the United Kingdom and turning that into a proper kingdom that puts its people first was difficult enough and still had men swamped with work. All of Earth? No thank you.
Loki chuckled softly — that smooth, melodic sound that always seemed halfway between mockery and admiration. "Only Camelot and Albion, she says — as if those names don't already weigh heavier than kingdoms ten times their size."
"I would hardly call them heavy," I replied dryly. "They simply require… attention."
Frigga's eyes glittered knowingly as she took her seat beside me. "Who else but you is worthy of ruling Midgard? The mortals? Oh no, they aren't able to handle the task. Just look at this mess. No, you are clearly the superior choice. A ruler who claims so little of their power often is the most worthy of it."
"That's quite the compliment," I said, meeting her gaze. "Though I assure you, I am no empire-builder. I only wish to preserve what's mine."
"Preservation requires strength," she countered gently. "And restraint — rarer still. Odin used to say the strongest rulers are those who rule least. You would have gotten along well with him."
"Then perhaps," Loki said, swirling the golden wine in his goblet, "we should count ourselves fortunate that she prefers small realms. If Arthuria Pendragon ever desired the whole of Midgard, I suspect even Asgard would need to prepare its defenses."
Laughter rippled through the nearby guests — polite but edged with curiosity. It was clear that the Asgardian court found the idea of a mortal kingdom, reborn under divine guidance, something both alien and fascinating.
Frigga, ever the queen, leaned slightly forward, her tone effortlessly light. "I doubt we'd need defenses. A ruler like Arthuria would be far too wise to waste time on conquest. She would win hearts long before she raised her blade."
Her words carried more meaning than her tone betrayed. I felt her eyes on me again — assessing, measuring — and then, subtly, flicking toward her son.
I decided not to acknowledge it.
"Winning hearts can be far harder than winning wars. Once upon a time, my subjects rose in rebellion against me, bringing my kingdom to ruin — all because I failed to understand the human heart," I said, remembering my own past.
"Then perhaps," Frigga mused with a faint smile, "the hearts of gods are more easily understood for you?"
I glanced toward her, the weight of her words sitting somewhere between challenge and jest. "I wouldn't presume to know the hearts of gods, Queen Frigga. They are far older, far prouder — and far more dangerous — than the hearts of men."
Frigga's lips curved faintly, the faintest glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Perhaps. Yet I have found that they aren't all that difficult to understand…"
Loki chuckled into his cup. "Careful, Mother, you are taking the godly out of the gods," he interrupted her. Clearly, he didn't like being ignored.
Frigga clearly wasn't happy with his interruption — mostly because I could feel that she was moving toward something, and now she'd lost her chance. Something I was rather glad for, because I had a feeling about where she was going, and I didn't want to go there.
"Mortals look upon us with awe, my son. Arthuria here is already divine; she already knows what a god really is," she said, trying to send her displeasure his way. But Loki seemed to either ignore it or miss it.
"Now, ladies, before we continue our talks, maybe we should begin the feast? The others are getting hungry and the food is getting cold," he said, moving the topic along and away from his mother's plans.
I couldn't tell if he knew those plans, but clearly it was just so ingrained in him at this point that he derailed them on instinct.
The clinking of goblets and the murmur of shifting plates began to fill the space, but Loki, ever unwilling to share the attention, rose from his seat before anyone could touch their food.
"My friends!" he declared, his voice cutting across the hall like a blade gilded in charm. The conversations died at once. "Before we begin this feast — before Asgard's tables overflow and our cups run never dry — let us take a moment to speak of what tonight means."
He raised Gungnir high, its tip glowing faintly, runes thrumming like a living heartbeat. "Our All-Father rests, yes. Yet Asgard stands as tall as ever. The bonds between the Nine Realms are what we celebrate tonight. Often we host guests from Alfheim and Vanaheim, yet never before today have our halls hosted a Goddess of Midgard. This is a historic moment."
A wave of energy rippled through the crowd. His voice carried, smooth as honey, his words perfectly rehearsed yet burning with genuine conviction.
"I have walked around the mortal realm, and I must admit, it falls far short of the glory of our halls. So I say, today we show Lady Arthuria the full glory of Asgard — we welcome her with such a welcome that it shall echo through the ages!" His words drew loud cheers through the hall.
The Asgardians were all the type to seek new experiences, to seek glory and achievements — something Loki clearly knew as he played to that while he spoke.
The cheers rolled like thunder off the gilded rafters. Loki drank them in, basking, then let his voice ride the crest.
"Tonight, we dine as one — Asgard, and the realm whose goddess graces our table. Let Midgard see that Asgard's welcome is as mighty as our arm!"
He struck Gungnir once to the floor. The sound rang like a bell, and the hall burst into motion.
Lids lifted from great silver platters in a wave, steam wreathing upward like mountain fog. Boars glazed in honey and juniper, whole sturgeons crusted in salt and bright herbs, wheels of cheese split with knives the size of swords.
There were braided breads lacquered in egg and seeds, bowls of jewel-dark berries soaking in mead, roasted root vegetables with butter pooling in their cracks, and a forest of little pastries filled with spiced venison and something that sang of pine and winter.
A horn the length of my arm was pressed into my hand, already brimming with a golden drink that smelled of apples and lightning. Across the table, Loki raised his own goblet, expression soft for a heartbeat — then fox-sly again.
"To firsts," he said.
I touched my horn to his. "To hospitality."
(End of chapter)
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