Unknownfate
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Chapter 169
🕑 Added 2025-06-25 12:17:01 +0000 UTCAcross the darkened skies of France, across the belt of water known commonly as The Channel. Within the new realm of Albion, and inside the great white city of Camelot, home of the pure white lion king Arthuria Pendragon.
This once legendary city had reached an equally legendary status as the cleanest city in the world, the safest city in the world, the best place to live, and the number one tourist attraction.
Even if only a few people were able to visit it due to visa issues. Those few were still counted in the tens of thousands of daily visitors from around the world.
These people came in many types, but a few things all of them had in common were the things they had to see while in the city of purity.
Camelot had much to offer, from a glimpse into life for people living in a medieval city, such as how they managed to accomplish tasks without electricity. But also just sights like the great gates of eternity, the grand markets, and authentic stores and taverns.
These, however, were just small things, bigger things on everyone’s must-see list were things like the statue of the Young King, the castle of the Red Dragon, the grand arena, and the knights of the Round Table training in one of the many training grounds.
There was also the endless hole, a grand mysterious hole leading to another dimension, or so he rumors said, and a new thing, the hammer Mjolnir, which would grant anyone worthy the powers of a God.
It was even possible to see the God Loki from time to time, rare, but some people had seen him around on rare occasions.
What people didn’t know was that there was another Norse God wandering around the city of Camelot. That being Thor, God of lightning and thunder, owner of Mjolnir.
Thor had been living in Camelot for quite a while now, he had mostly gotten used to it. It honestly was that far from life inside Asgard.
People lived simple lives, working, drinking, eating, fighting, or at least watching fights. That was the life he lived inside Camelot. And while it might not be the life people lived outside of this city, it was enough for him.
He had no desire to leave, unwilling to leave Mjolnir behind despite the hammer not responding to his touch. He still felt a bond with it. One that kept him coming back to it daily, mostly just watching it, but once in a while, he would try to lift it.
Each time was followed by the crushing disappointment of being unable to move the hammer, which led him to drink heavily; thankfully, the mortal drinks of Albion were to his liking.
Yet, that alone wasn’t why he kept to this city; there were plenty of reasons, one being Loki, his brother, spent some time here, and while he wasn’t able to talk to him, he was at least able to see him, and see that he was doing good, which he took as a sign that Asgard was going good, that no war was happening, and his friends all safe back home.
Outside of those bounds, the arena and the training grounds also kept him here, as did his new friends.
Thor had made many new friends while living on Midgard, including both mortals and members of the Round Table, whom he was blessed enough to call his friends.
Thor awoke with the sun, not because he needed to—but because the castle bells rang loud enough to wake the dead.
He groaned, rolled over, and promptly fell off the low wooden bed with a crash that startled a pair of pigeons from the open window ledge. Grumbling, he rubbed his tired eyes and slowly climbed up from the floor.
One thing about being reduced to a mortal was that he got drunk more easily. So just one night of drinking left him with a painful headache the next morning.
He made his way to the small kitchen and drank a large mug of chilled water. “Ahhh, that’s better.” He smacked his lips as he finally began waking up.
Even though he didn’t work in trash disposal anymore, he still woke up early in the morning. Often far before the tourists came crowding the streets, even after he had a long night of drinking.
Stretching and getting dressed in some loose but sturdy clothes, he stepped outside on the cobbled streets.
Even at this hour, there were those living in Camelot, others waking up early, and people moving about. Thor joined them and started to move towards his first stop of the day.
A small café, owned by a lovely elderly couple, was located in a small house near the central market square, with their windows overlooking the Statue of the Young King; from there, one could see the lines of curious people who would try their luck with Mjolnir.
They had turned their small balcony into a café, just two small tables, only open to locals of Camelot. Thor had gotten to know them, and now, he ate his breakfast there every morning.
Thor sat alone at the small table on the balcony, the stone still cool beneath his bare feet. In front of him, a simple breakfast: roasted bread, fried eggs, thick-cut bacon, and a pot of black tea that steamed in the early morning chill.
He ate slowly, methodically, his eyes fixed on the plaza below.
It was still too early for tourists to come and try their luck, so for now, it was just the statue of a younger Arthuria and one of her enforcement knights who kept Mjolnir company. It wouldn’t be long before tourists would start lining up, eager to try their luck and snap photos.
He had mixed feelings about it, part of him wanted everyone to keep their hands off his hammer, but at the same time, he himself couldn’t wield it, and his father had thrown it down, placing the enchantment that any worthy person who lifts it will own it.
So if he wasn’t worthy, what right did he have to keep others from trying?
He sighed heavily.
“Here, have an extra sausage.” The kind voice of the owner of the café, the gentle old lady Grace, said as she placed not just one, but three extra sausages on his plate.
“Please, Lady Grace, there is no need for that.” He said, though he didn’t stop her, he had tried that many times before, and it never worked.
“Nonsense, a young man like you, working so hard, you need to eat more, and my husband, well, he can’t eat it all.” She brushed off his protest with a small wave of her hand.
Thor gave her a grateful nod, already spearing one of the sausages with his fork. “You spoil me, Lady Grace.”
She chuckled as she wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, you always leave the plate clean, and you work hard, I still remember when you first started pulling trash down to the hole, always going well beyond what was expected of you.”
He bit into the sausage—perfectly crisp, full of spice, the food on Midgard was simple, yet it had a charm of its own, a care cooked into the meat that was rare to find even in Asgard.
“Ahh, there comes the first of the day.” Old lady Grace said, drawing Thor’s attention. “From morning to night, everyone is chasing after the power of a God, never stopping to question what they would do with all that power.
Thor looked down onto the plaza, and indeed, a family of four had reached the Statue. A young boy, likely not even ten years old, jumped into the water and waded through it until he reached the great stone holding Mjolnir.
There, under the watchful eyes of his family, he smiled brightly as he tried to lift the hammer. And while it didn’t move, his father happily snapped pictures as the boy didn’t seem too disappointed.
“I doubt someone so young truly thinks much about power at all.” Thor muttered between chews.
“Maybe not… but really, what is the king thinking, leaving it out there… not everyone would use such power like she wields hers, for the betterment of the people, for good. Just look at the news, so many out there are only thinking about war.” She continued as they watched, as the rest of the family, the daughter only half her brother’s age, the mother, and father, all tried their luck, all while laughing.
Thor felt a heavy weight on his heart.
Once, he had been like those described by Lady Grace, someone with great power, using it for himself, boldly charging into a war. He had called it valor back then. Righteous fury. The duty of a prince. But now…
He took another bite of bacon, chewed slowly.
Now, he wasn’t sure what he would call it.
The laughter below was honest, bright, and free of the weight he carried in his chest. The boy’s hands had barely wrapped around the handle of Mjolnir before he’d been pulled back into a warm hug by his mother, the whole family clapping like it was a festival game.
They hadn’t come hoping to conquer anything. Just to try. Just to say they did.
Thor lowered his gaze.
He envied them.
“Another pot of tea?” Grace asked gently, already holding the kettle. She didn’t wait for an answer—she never did—and poured more steaming black tea into his chipped cup.
“Thank you,” he said, voice softer now.
Grace sat beside him for a moment, not to chat, just to be there. Watching. Quiet. The sun rose a little higher, warming the stone at their feet.
After a while, Thor pushed his plate away, wiped his hands on a cloth napkin, and stood. “I should be off.”
“Training?” Grace asked with a knowing smile.
He nodded. “It helps clear the mind.”
“Well, if you knock someone into next week, remember to apologize properly this time.”
“I make no promises,” he said, grinning faintly as he stepped down from the balcony.
The path from the café curved gently past the outer edge of the market. Vendors were only just beginning to open their stalls—laying out fresh bread, sharpening blades, or polishing wood carvings. A few greeted Thor by name, waving cheerfully. He waved back, offering smiles and nods.
They didn’t know who he really was.
They didn’t know the weight of the hammer, or the shame that followed him like a second shadow.
To them, he was just Thor. The quiet, strong man who lived near the wall. Who trained hard. Fought sometimes in the arena. Carrying heavy things for old people. Gave candy to crying children. Who once single-handedly hauled a broken carriage out of the mud.
And maybe… maybe that was enough.
As he reached the stone stair that led down toward the lower training grounds, he caught sight of two familiar figures already moving in rhythm—knights of the Round Table, sparring under the morning light. One of them spotted him and raised a hand.
“Oi! Thor! Come take your beating early so you’ve time to recover before the crowd sees it!”
He smirked and rolled his shoulders.
“Only if you promise to make it quick,” he called back.
And with that, he jogged down the steps—no thunder, no cape, no legend to weigh him down. Just a man with calloused hands, sore shoulders, and another long day ahead.
(End of chapter)
