I had to admit, the feast was enjoyable. The atmosphere was lively in ways only my own knights could match, yet here there were hundreds of people who could match them in merriment.
More so since even now my knights often fought — often just with sharp remarks and words — but the rift of Mordred's rebellion and Lancelot's betrayal were far from forgotten.
Here, I didn't doubt there were plenty of rivalries as well, but it was nothing compared to the shared joy and cheer that filled the room.
Indeed, even someone as arrogant as Loki couldn't help but smile for real as he too got swept up in the atmosphere. Here, all schemes were forgotten as only joy remained — singing, drinking, and eating.
Of course, we also chatted and talked, trading stories back and forth. Frigga was all too happy to tell me all about Loki's folly; each story of his was told while Loki tried to save himself by bringing up equally embarrassing tales about Thor.
Though Frigga always cheerfully explained Loki's role in those tales — often with him being behind it in some way — she always brought it back to him.
Yet despite the embarrassment he no doubt felt as his mother revealed all his stories, including the fact that she knew the truth behind many of his tricks, he never grew angry.
The cheerful atmosphere had gripped him, plus despite his tricks, he was still drinking plenty of godly mead, so he was more relaxed than normal.
Still, I did get the feeling that Frigga was trying to take this opportunity to learn all she could about Loki. Sure, the stories she told weren't always flattering, like how he had once cut the hair off Sif to catch her attention.
Yet the tone she spoke with was one filled with the love only a mother can have for her children, and the stories didn't come off as putting Loki in a bad light. They always turned toward how he was, in truth, just sensitive.
While I could feel the not-so-veiled intent behind her actions, I struggled to understand it. I'm sure Merlin would have laughed long ago, maybe some of my knights as well, but it just felt so confusing.
I understood that as fellow rulers and allies, it was essential to know one another, and this time was one for building alliances, but surely this was taking it a bit far. I almost thought she might be trying to set me up with Loki — however ridiculous such a thought was.
Still, with Loki at my side, he made it clear that I was just hearing things — that I was merely imagining the hidden intention of Frigga — which only made it all the more mysterious. Just what was the Queen of Gods hinting at? What game were she and Loki playing that I was blind to?
Despite this unsolved mystery, I had to say the feast was a blast. The food was great, and as much as I ate — as much as I was given — new roast pigs, sheep, and cattle were placed on the tables, generous cuts served to everyone, and everything was washed down with divine mead.
Even I, despite my reservations, found myself laughing — a soft, genuine thing that startled me when it escaped. It had been some time since I'd allowed myself to laugh like that. The last time might have been long before Albion rose, back when the Round Table still felt like a family.
Perhaps that was why this night felt… almost healing.
The Asgardians had a way of celebrating that just felt so pure, so true and honest. They hid nothing; they cheered in friendship or brawled on top of the tables, only to laugh and drink with one another moments later.
Indeed, Asgard was a magical place.
…
It was somewhere between the third and fifth roasted boar — I had lost count — when I first noticed them watching me.
Not in suspicion, nor in challenge, but with a kind of cautious curiosity. A woman with fierce golden hair braided back with silver wire, and three men beside her, all armored and proud even in celebration.
They stood near one of the pillars, cups in hand, trying to appear casual — though none of them succeeded in the least.
Frigga noticed too. Her smile turned just a little knowing. "Ah," she murmured softly enough for only me to hear, "I was wondering how long it would take them."
"Who?" I asked, following her gaze.
"Friends of my sons," she said simply, and sipped her mead. "Both of them."
Loki followed her glance as well and smirked faintly, reclining in his chair. "Ah. The loyal few. I was wondering how long they'd manage to stay quiet."
The four Asgardians hesitated a moment longer before approaching. They were brave enough to have faced frost giants and dragons — but even bravery bends a little when Loki sits on the throne.
It was the woman who finally spoke first. "Lady Arthuria of Midgard?"
Her tone was firm but respectful. I rose from my seat slightly, offering a polite nod. "Arthuria Pendragon," I corrected gently. "And you must be Lady Sif. Your reputation reaches even the mortal realm."
That startled her a little — not the words themselves, but the calm certainty with which I said them. She recovered quickly and inclined her head. "Then it seems my name travels farther than I thought."
The three men behind her grinned — Hogun with his quiet, grim smile; Fandral, all courtly charm and confidence; and Volstagg, whose booming laugh carried even over the music.
Volstagg was the first to speak, predictably. "So this is the one they call the Goddess of Midgard! I must say, she looks like someone you might find in Vanaheim!"
I smiled faintly. "That is kind of you, as I have seen what beauty that realm has given birth to with your Queen." I nodded toward Frigga, who hailed from there.
Frigga's soft laugh chimed above the table. "You flatter an old woman, Arthuria," she said, but there was clear delight in her voice. "Though I will admit, Vanaheim has always had a gift for producing the fair and the bold."
Volstagg raised his cup with a grin. "Aye! And both stand before us tonight!"
"Sit," Frigga said, gesturing to the open seats near us. "You've hovered long enough to make even Heimdall curious."
That drew a ripple of laughter, but it was nervous all the same. Loki's presence beside me was like a blade left on the table — visible, sharp, and waiting.
Still, they obeyed.
Sif sat straight-backed, shoulders tense, her knuckles pale where they gripped her cup. Hogun sat in silence, eyes fixed forward; Fandral filled the air with light conversation about Asgard's harvests, and Volstagg ate as though no tension existed at all.
For a time, it was polite. Harmless. They drank when Loki drank, laughed when Frigga did. But as the mead flowed, restraint began to fade.
It was Fandral who first broke the unspoken wall. "Lady Arthuria," he said suddenly, leaning forward with that sly grin that men wear when courage and foolishness have mixed in equal measure, "we've heard… stories. That you host a certain prince of Asgard within your halls."
That silenced the nearby tables. The music carried on, but the air shifted.
Loki didn't move — not yet. But I felt him turn his attention, like a shadow stretching toward the question.
I met Fandral's gaze and inclined my head. "You've heard correctly."
Sif's composure cracked, just slightly. "Then… he is well?"
"He is alive, strong, and perhaps wiser than when he arrived," I said softly. "Thor has adapted well to life in Camelot."
A ripple of relief moved through the group.
"Ha!" Volstagg barked. "The brute survives anything! I told you, Sif — Thor would sooner charm the Midgardians into feeding him than starve!"
Loki chuckled then, low and smooth, the sound cutting through their laughter like a knife through butter. "Indeed. I wouldn't leave my brother to suffer now, would I? He fares well in his exile, so maybe now you will stop trying to go behind my back and see him."
His tone was easy, even amused — but his eyes didn't smile.
Sif's spine straightened; she was choosing her words carefully. "He was… always meant for more than exile."
"Was he?" Loki asked softly. "Well, it was our beloved All-Father who threw him out, so I guess we must ask him about his thoughts… once he awakens."
Sif's jaw tightened at Loki's words, but she bowed her head slightly, choosing silence over open defiance. Even so, her eyes burned, and for a moment, she looked ready to speak again before Fandral lightly touched her arm, urging restraint.
Frigga's tone broke the stillness, smooth as silk drawn across steel. "Now, now. Let us not spoil the table with talk of banishment and thrones. The night is for peace and memory, not judgment."
"Of course, Mother," Loki said easily, though the smile that followed was all teeth. "Forgive me. Old habits."
He raised his goblet, and the gesture was practiced, graceful. "To my brother, then — may Midgard teach him the lessons Asgard could not."
The toast echoed down the table; horns and goblets lifted, voices rising to meet it — most too drunk by now to fully understand what they were toasting to.
Sif drank without speaking.
Fandral forced a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I will drink to that," he said, "so long as the lessons bring him home sooner rather than later."
Volstagg sighed deeply. "Aye… the halls feel quieter without his laughter."
Loki's smirk twitched. "Quieter is not always worse."
That drew a few uneasy chuckles, quickly dying when no one followed his lead.
Frigga set her cup down with a gentle tap — the kind of sound that commanded silence without raising her voice. "Thor will return when he is meant to," she said softly. "Until then, we trust that the Fates and the company he keeps will shape him into what he must become."
I met her gaze and inclined my head. "He grows, Your Majesty. Slowly perhaps, but surely. He learns to build instead of conquer."
Her eyes warmed. "Then there is hope yet."
Sif's voice, quiet but steady, joined in. "We only wish to see him again."
Frigga smiled faintly. "You will, my dear. Of that, I have no doubt."
For a while, the table fell into gentler conversation — talk of battles past, of legends retold for the hundredth time. The tension faded, not gone but sleeping, smothered under song and laughter.
Still, I could feel Loki beside me — a storm contained behind a charming mask. He watched them all with the eyes of a serpent in sunlight, waiting for the moment they'd speak out of turn again.
"Loki," I said gently, "Thor is your brother, and from what I have seen, he has the heart of a great warrior, but he is no statesman. I have no doubt that once you regale him with the work and struggles of a king, he will beg you to take the throne for real, once the All-Father chooses to pass it on."
Loki relaxed a little at my words. Clearly, he was still not entirely comfortable with the risks of Thor returning and claiming the throne from him. Loki, despite his arrogance, was actually somewhat insecure, constantly seeking to prove himself.
Yet he struggled to do so, since the approval he sought was that of Odin's — and Odin slept, content with letting things play out.
Which meant Loki was trying to live up to a lofty ideal — something I once had done. I had lived up to the ideal of an ideal king, and that hadn't ended well for me.
That was the thing about ideals — they were, by design, unreachable.
(End of chapter)
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