I lifted the large horn up as it was handed to me, feeling the weight of it and of the drink offered — the golden liquid that shimmered invitingly within.
"To firsts," he said.
I touched my horn to his. "To hospitality."
The mead was beyond any I had tasted before — far beyond anything I had tasted either in life or as a divine spirit. It was beyond what mortals could produce. It ran warm and bright, smooth and sweet — not too sweet — no, it was perfect.
I couldn't help but widen my eyes slightly at the taste as I drank deeply from the horn. And drink I did. I slowly raised it higher and higher, pouring more of the sweet golden liquid into my mouth as I drank and drank, yet it poured out almost without limit.
It wasn't until I had drunk several times what the horn should have held that it finally ran dry, and I freed myself from it with a satisfied sigh.
What greeted me was silence — and the eyes of every person in the room. All had watched me drink, and now, as I finished, they burst into cheers loud enough that surely all of Asgard could hear them.
The cheers shook the very air, echoing up into the vaulted dome until even the starlit ceiling seemed to shimmer in response.
I blinked once, setting the horn down gently upon the table. "It was… a fine drink," I said simply, and that only made them cheer louder.
Across the table, Loki was laughing — one hand pressed to his brow, the other gripping his own horn as if to steady himself. "By the Norns, woman — have you been thirsting since you set foot in Asgard?"
I tilted my head. "It was offered, so I accepted. Should I have refused your hospitality?"
That earned a ripple of laughter from the court, sharper this time — the kind of sound that came from those who weren't sure if they were laughing with me or simply trying to match my tone.
A large red-bearded warrior slammed his palm against the table, rattling plates and goblets. "A drink worthy of a goddess! I say we toast again!"
Dozens of horns rose in agreement. Loki lifted his as well, still chuckling. "A dangerous proposal, Hrothgar. At this rate, we'll run the cellars dry before the night ends."
"Then Asgard shall be remembered for dying happy!" Hrothgar shouted, which earned more laughter and a new round of horns filled to the brim.
Frigga leaned toward me, voice a gentle murmur under the noise. "You've made quite the impression already. Few mortals — or gods — could drink from one of our feast horns and remain standing. You've won them before the meal's even begun."
"Was that your intention?" I asked quietly, though I already suspected the answer.
She smiled — the kind of soft, secret smile that could make any court move exactly how she wished. "Oh no, dear. Every guest is offered a horn like that, but few can handle it. A feat worthy of Asgard itself."
"Indeed!" Loki spoke up from beside me. "Behold the might of Arthuria! She who can drink like an Asgardian — a worthy guest of honor indeed! Now let us see if she can keep up with us all!" His words were met with great cheers.
The next few rounds of drink vanished almost faster than the magic could refill the horns.
Roars of laughter echoed through the hall, old songs rose and fell like waves, and challenges were shouted over the clatter of plates.
Hrothgar was quick to make good on his earlier boast — draining three horns in the time it took me to finish one — before promptly toppling backward off his chair to a chorus of cheers. The others toasted to his defeat as if it were a victory.
I couldn't help but smile faintly. "Do they fall this often?"
"Only on the good nights," Frigga replied, her tone dry but fond.
Loki leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying every bit of the chaos he'd created. "It's tradition. Asgard remembers its victories best when it can't remember anything else."
That earned a round of laughter from those close enough to hear, and I could tell by the way he basked in it that Loki had missed this — the eyes, the attention, the spotlight.
The food came next — roasted boar glazed in honey and spice, golden bread that melted on the tongue, platters of shimmering fruits that seemed to hum faintly with divine essence. I didn't eat delicately, but I ate properly.
And I ate a lot.
It wasn't just drink I could handle — it was also food.
As I ate, the Asgardians were quick to join me, as if fighting to see who could eat the most, and I had to admit that I was slightly surprised at how much they could eat. This wasn't some small meal — this was mostly meat, thick, fatty meat.
Very filling food all around, yet they ate it by the plate loads, servers struggling to keep up as everyone ate as if this were the last they would eat before marching into war, into death.
"You truly were a king once," Frigga murmured, watching me with that sharp, motherly gaze. "Even at the table, you rule."
"I eat," I replied simply.
"Exactly."
Loki chuckled, swirling his cup. "She reminds me of someone, Mother. You always said Father never wasted a bite either."
Frigga's smile thinned slightly. "Maybe it is just a trait of kings?"
Her words caused Loki to pause lightly and look at his own plate, still half full and only emptied once so far. Even the warriors below ate more than him — didn't that mean they had more kingly traits than he?
That thought soured his mood a bit. Only the sight of so many of Asgard's mightiest warriors all toasting toward him made him calm down.
So what if he didn't eat as much as them? Wasn't he the one on the throne anyway? So he shook his head, picked up his own horn, and drank — though he did use magic to vanish most of his drink.
He had long since learned that he couldn't match them without a trick or two, but so what? They never realized the truth, so he was the true victor.
Frigga naturally saw through her son's action; anyone with a bit of magical knowledge knew of his many little tricks. He might be good at hiding them now, but when he was younger his skills weren't quite as refined.
She hid her amusement behind the rim of her goblet. She had seen that small flicker in Loki's eyes — that stubborn need to measure himself against everyone, even at a feast. She didn't call him on it. Not yet.
Frigga set her goblet down softly, turning toward me with a graceful tilt of her head. "Tell me, Arthuria," she began, her tone light but curious, "what do you think of Asgard so far? I imagine it's rather different from Midgard's halls."
Her question drew the attention of those nearest to us — not openly, but subtly. Asgardians had an instinct for sensing when their queen was fishing for insight.
"It is…" I paused, considering my words. "Grand. Timeless, even. You've built a kingdom that feels like it has already conquered eternity itself. But it's also… loud."
Frigga's eyes sparkled. "Loud?"
"Yes," I said simply. "Once I had a dream of a kingdom eternal — a city that would outlive the world — yet it was… silent, sacred in a different way from this, more pure, less… alive."
That drew a quiet chuckle from Loki, who leaned lazily against his chair. "Ah, the voice of someone unaccustomed to divine company. You'll forgive us, Lady Arthuria — eternity gets dull if we don't fill it with a bit of noise."
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," I countered mildly. "In fact, I know now that my vision back then was wrong, which is why Camelot was built very differently — the current one, at least."
Frigga gave a soft hum of approval. "Indeed, I have heard nothing but good things about your Camelot. Loki sang it much praise — far more than from any of his earlier trips to Midgard. Your realm must be something special indeed."
Loki glanced at her sidelong, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Mother, you make it sound as though I write ballads about the place."
"You nearly did," Frigga replied with amused sharpness. "That one time you returned, you couldn't stop talking about her knights, and how you needed a group of your own — looking high and low for the mightiest of Asgard."
Loki swirled his mead lazily, eyes glinting with something halfway between pride and deflection. "Well, her knights are mighty warriors indeed. I couldn't think Asgard had less, and indeed I was proven right — Asgard hid many a great warrior indeed."
Frigga's smile lingered, though her eyes softened with something more knowing. "And yet," she said, "those knights of hers didn't just impress you with their strength, did they? You spoke, as I recall, of their loyalty. Of their discipline."
Loki's smirk faltered slightly. "I may have mentioned it."
"You mentioned it for weeks," Frigga said. "You held more tournaments in the following weeks than your father did in years."
Loki huffed softly into his cup. "And they loved every one of them."
Frigga turned to me, her voice still gentle, but the humor never quite left it. "You see, my son has always had… an appreciation for the mortal world. For centuries now, he's been sneaking off to play around in it, spreading tales and legends."
Loki groaned softly. "Play around? Really, Mother, must you make it sound so juvenile?"
Frigga smiled over the rim of her goblet. "Would you prefer I say 'interfere with the mortals' instead?"
"That's hardly better," Loki muttered. "I was studying them."
I raised an eyebrow. "Studying? That's what you call it?"
I had some idea of what Loki and Thor had been up to while on Earth over the years; the many different legends about them were proof enough of that.
From there, it was honestly not too hard to guess a few things. Sure, many details might have been twisted later as tales were passed down, but one thing was for certain — both Loki and Thor had spent time earning notches in their belts with Midgardian women.
Not that I could blame them for playing around. My knights had done the same — well, a few of them at least — and they still continued to do that to this day.
Though at least they didn't claim it was studying.
He gave me an almost boyish grin. "Oh yes, some things just can't be experienced watching from afar. Sometimes, you just need more of a hands-on approach."
Loki's grin turned positively vulpine. "Hands-on, yes. Immersion yields the truest data."
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Oh, I'm sure."
Frigga snorted rather loudly. "Oh yes, my sons never shied away from playing around in secret, but that is hardly the end of their little trips to Midgard — oh, all the times one of their brotherly dares sent them down there."
"Mother, please," Loki was quick to try to stop his mother.
"Loki, there is no need to be shy. Why not tell her all about your achievements? What about that one time you jumped out of one of those flying machines with bags filled with money?
Something I'm sure still makes many mortals question themselves about the truth." She giggled.
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mother—"
"D. B. Cooper," I added, deadpan.
Loki spread his hands with theatrical resignation. "I was young, I was bored, and it was… festive."
"You created a legend that day — an unsolved crime, one that likely never will be," I said.
"Well, clearly I did them all a favor, giving them something interesting to talk about," he said with all the shamelessness of a trickster god who thought great big golden horns made for a good hat.
(End of chapter)
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