Chapter 9: Divine Domesticity – Breakfast with Gods, Bureaucrats, and One Overly Helpful Trickster
[ASGARD ROYAL BEDCHAMBERS – MORNING]
I woke to the distinct smell of burnt toast and ozone. Day one of being 're-engaged' to the All-Father. It felt exactly like being married, except now my chaos was officially sanctioned.
I slid out of the golden four-poster bed. Odin was already gone, but not without leaving a note pinned to my pillow with a tiny, ornamental dagger.
"My Queen, Treaty review at 0900. Breakfast is served. P.S. Loki is helping."
My eyes widened at the last line. Loki is helping. That was never P.S. news; that was a five-alarm emergency.
I threw on the nearest silk robe and stormed out. "Loki, what unapproved element have you introduced to my life now?"
[ASGARD ROYAL KITCHEN – MORNING]
The royal kitchen, a vast chamber of polished copper and perpetually roasting boar, was a scene of controlled anarchy. Odin sat stoically at the head of a massive table, casually reading a scroll while a frantic Thor tried to butter a piece of toast with Mjolnir.
Loki, meanwhile, was conducting the kitchen staff. He wore a crisp apron embroidered with tiny, mischievous-looking ravens.
"Ah, Mother! Just in time," Loki chirped, gesturing grandly toward the cooking station. "I've revolutionized breakfast! Gone are the dull boars and dusty mead. We are now serving 'Existential Crêpes of Confusion' and 'The All-Father's Perfectly Charred Toast.'"
The smell of burnt toast suddenly made sense.
"Loki," I said, pinching my nose, "Why are you in the kitchen?"
"To ensure efficiency and emotional support," he replied, dramatically flipping a crêpe so high it nearly stuck to the ceiling. "Besides, Thor has a major issue."
Thor looked up, distraught. "Mjolnir is useless! It simply won't gently apply the butter. It keeps aiming for the table."
"Because you're trying to use a cosmic weapon for domesticity, you glorious himbo," I muttered under my breath.
I took my seat beside Odin, who gave me an approving, if slightly distracted, smile. "See, my Queen? Domestic bliss."
"Domestic bliss involves neither fire alarms nor Loki in an apron," I whispered back.
"He's being helpful," Odin insisted. "He volunteered to manage the morning's bureaucracy. He even organized the treaty scrolls."
Loki approached the table and presented me with a tiny scroll wrapped in green ribbon. "Your schedule, Mother. Very efficient."
I unrolled it. It read:
0900: Treaty Review. (Bring snacks.)
1000: Consult with Dark Elf Decorators. (Must choose between fuchsia and obsidian velvet for the dungeons.)
1130:Accidentally Discover a Critical, Hidden Threat. (Required for plot progression, no pressure.)
1300: Lunch, followed by nap. (Bring more snacks.)
I stared at Loki. "Accidentally discover a critical, hidden threat?"
Loki winked. "Just a little structural advice for the afternoon. A good queen must always be aware of things lurking beneath the surface, yes?"
Odin merely raised a brow. "Astute, my son. Efficiency demands foresight."
[ASGARD VAULT – LATER]
After successfully negotiating a compromise on the dungeon color scheme (glitter-infused grey, naturally) and sitting through Thor's 47th toast rehearsal, I decided to take Loki's schedule item seriously.
"Where would Odin hide a critical, hidden threat?" I mused, walking down the long, echoing corridor toward the royal vault. "Somewhere obvious, yet deeply symbolic."
Loki, who had indeed materialized to help, skipped along beside me. "Perhaps in the family crypt? Father loves his melodrama."
"Too morbid, even for him. No, he'd hide it where he stores his deepest insecurities."
I stopped before the massive, rune-covered door to the main treasury. Inside was every mythical weapon, relic, and power source Asgard had ever collected.
"The Vault," Loki agreed, a genuine spark of mischief—not malice—in his eyes. "Where he locks away his failures."
We slipped past the silent Einherjar guards. The Vault was breathtaking: relics glowed softly on pedestals, whispering tales of old wars.
"Okay, Yuta," I thought. "Ragnarok is next. I need knowledge of Hela and the location of Surtur's Eternal Flame."
I scanned the room. The Casket of Ancient Winters, the Infinity Gauntlet (fake, thank heavens), and countless other artifacts.
"Not the relics," I whispered to Loki. "He wouldn't hide the secret in plain sight. He'd hide it behind something. Something he never wants to talk about."
I headed straight for the enormous, gold-plated pedestal where Gungnir, Odin's spear, rested.
"Why the spear?" Loki asked, genuinely curious.
"Because he wields it every day," I replied. "It represents his rule. But what does a conqueror like Odin fear most? The cost of his conquest."
I placed my hands on the Gungnir pedestal. "Accidental magic, don't fail me now."
I closed my eyes and focused on the first thing that came to my mind: The MCU timeline and the inevitability of Hela's return.
Shadow Clone no Jutsu! (No, wrong spell.)
Open Sesame! (Too simple.)
I am the Queen of Asgard, and I command you to reveal your terrible secret!
A faint, sickly green shimmer pulsed from my hands, mixing with the gold of the pedestal. I was drawing on Frigga's power mixed with pure, dramatic conviction.
With a low, grinding groan, the entire pedestal rotated.
Behind it, a hidden alcove was revealed. Inside was a single, plain, obsidian slate. It wasn't magnificent; it was terrifyingly simple.
Loki gasped, his usual smirk replaced by shock. "A hidden compartment. I have never seen that before."
"Because it wasn't meant for you, Trickster," I said, reaching for the slate.
I turned it over. Scrawled in Odin's spidery, ancient hand were runes that glowed cold and deadly. Even without being able to read them perfectly, Yuta knew what they were.
The Prophecy of Hela: Odin's Firstborn, The Executioner, and the Path to Ragnarok.
Loki leaned in, suddenly serious, reading the dark runes faster than me. His face went pale. "The prophecy... the one Father said was 'only a myth.' She's real. My older sister. And she's coming back when..."
He trailed off, reading the final lines with mounting horror.
I took a deep breath. "When Odin dies, Ragnarok starts."
"And we are supposed to prevent the End of All Things by decorating the dungeons," Loki finished dryly, regaining his composure but not his cheer.
"Exactly," I said, gripping the slate. "Domestic bliss is about to get very complicated. And this time, we aren't using confetti."
To Be Continued…