Unknownfate
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Chapter 146
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 15:17:06 +0000 UTCHosting Loki wasn’t easy; I could easily tell that he wanted to get the full royal treatment; he wanted acknowledgment, the only thing he ever really wanted.
That in of itself wasn’t a problem, but he was vain about it; for him, it wasn’t enough to just give me a bit of my time, he wanted more.
And given his childish, vindictive nature, I had to humour him.
I still remember one particular activity, though not one I disliked all that much myself, it was, a fight.
Naturally, neither of us would fight. I was a powerful divine spirit, my Fae Eyes were the bane of his illusions, allowing me to see through his tricks; he stood no chance against me, and he wasn’t someone eager to fight, preferring his tricks.
So, rather than us fighting, like Thor might have wanted in his place, it was our champions fighting.
He didn’t really have any, but he was eager to see how his royal guards stood against my Knights.
(Flashback)
“Greetings, your Highness,” I greeted Loki as he once again arrived in Camelot, for the fourth time this month.
Loki stood proud, he wore that long flowing green cape, and his golden-horned helm, and was flanked by tall, strong guards. Though what my knights and I mostly paid attention to was the spear in his hand.
Gungnir.
Odin’s spear. A weapon of legend in its own right, second only to Mjolnir in fame.
But while it paled in fame compared to Mjolnir, it outshone it in power by far.
With my eyes, I could see the magic, the power within it was far greater than even the Holy Grail, it was a weapon no less powerful than my own.
My knights weren’t able to see the magic, see the overflowing power of the spear, but they could feel the danger it represented, so they stood tense.
Though from Loki’s expression, I didn’t think he noticed, he seemed to think they were acting like that out of respect for him.
He wasn’t the brightest man, but he was acting Regent of Asgard, and that spear, forced me to wear Excalibur on my hip, housed within its sacred sheath, Avalon.
Gungnir’s sheer offensive might have demanded it. I could understand why even someone like Laufey died to one hit of that thing; it was monstrous.
Loki clearly didn’t realize any of this; he held it like a scepter rather than a weapon, casually, like he didn’t need it. Which, truthfully, only made him more dangerous.
Because he was clearly ignorant of what he held.
“Arthuria,” he said with a wide, toothy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How radiant your little kingdom looks in the morning sun. And how obedient your weather continues to be.”
“I command not the weather, it behaves because it wishes so, though I agree, I do prefer the sunny weather to rain, my realm often suffers under thick clouds.” I replied smoothly, tilting my head slightly. “What brings you here this time?”
“You make it sound like I’m not welcome here,” he said, with a mock hurt tone to his voice. “And here I thought we were close.”
I had to turn my head and give Mordred a hard look as she was about to open her mouth, and her hand about to unsheathe Clarent. “I meant no such thing, Your Highness, you are a guest, a most noble and honored one, but as a fellow ruler, I understand the burden of a crown better than most, so I know you must be busy.”
Loki let out a small, amused huff, clearly satisfied by the deference. He twirled Gungnir once—showy, almost careless, but I caught the glimmer of magic sparked by the motion. The spear responded like a living thing, and for a moment, I wondered if it resented being held by a trickster who didn’t understand its nature.
“Well,” he said, glancing around at my knights with his usual air of smug mischief, “Well, my mother happens to think much the same, that I could learn something from you. I’m not so sure, I mean, you rule over mortals, and I the realm of gods, but her wisdom never fails.”
I nodded, happy that Mordred wasn’t able to pick up on his hidden meaning. “And what wisdom does the queen mother offer this time?”
I was somewhat intrigued; I knew little about the wife of Odin and mother of Thor; she died pretty pathetically in the movie, but I’m sure she had her hidden depths.
“As I said last time I paid you a visit, my realm prepares to go to war, and my mother seems to think that as a good leader, I should not just go with my own army, but raise a grand force from the nine realms, a show of unity and all that.” He said, waving his free hand.
I gave a small nod; I was beginning to understand the bigger picture here.
Loki clearly still wanted to prove to Odin that he wasn’t loyal to Jotunheim, and his place belonged in Asgard.
Though for some reason, he didn’t intend to use the Bifrost to destroy the planet, I could only assume that his mother had some part in that. So instead, he wanted to take the war to them and destroy them, proving himself a mighty leader and superior to Thor, who attacked and failed.
Odin didn’t want war, so it was likely that Frigga didn’t want one either, so she whispered into her son’s ear, making excuses to delay the war.
If she could help him gather a mighty army, one able to crush the Jötunn underfoot with ease, but just before he set off to war, Odin somehow woke up and stopped things.
Loki could prove himself, someone skilled in diplomacy, someone who didn’t start a war without proper preparation and care. He would get the glory, and Odin would get to avoid the war.
From what I had seen of Odin’s performance, he likely wasn’t one to come up with such a scheme himself, never really thinking about his children’s thoughts, but Frigga? That was possible.
“A sound strategy, Your Highness, war is never to be underestimated, nor taken lightly, gathering an overwhelming force will indeed lower the overall casualties. Though Midgard has little to offer, few here can match the might of a single Asgardian warrior.”
Loki gave a slow, considering nod, clearly pleased by my words—praise was his favorite wine, after all.
“Indeed,” he mused, his tone lilting with false humility, “though I find that mortals have a certain… inventiveness. Desperation breeds creativity, does it not? And unity among scattered peoples? Well, that's always a story worth telling.”
I figured he was talking about the Mutants, they did stand out among normal humans, well, they might not be normal humans anymore, but still, on his trip around the world, he no doubt heard a lot about them, and no place in the world currently had more of them than Albion.
“Still, none of those compare with real legends, do they?” he continued, half pointing Gungnir at my Knights, who tensed.
“I’ve brought a few of my guards,” he continued with a theatrical gesture to the warriors flanking him. “They are loyal, well-trained, and rather eager to test their strength. I thought, perhaps, they might spar with some of your knights. Purely as a gesture of camaraderie between our great realms.”
Mordred perked up immediately, as I knew she would. She stepped forward before I could answer, her armored fingers twitching.
“I’ll take the strongest one,” she said bluntly, her voice sharp with challenge. “Unless the prince of Asgard fears a fair match?”
Loki gave her a smile that was more serpent than man. “Oh, I’m not the one who should be afraid.”
I sighed internally but offered no objection. Letting Mordred release some of her tension in a controlled environment was preferable to her picking a fight with Loki himself—or worse, embarrassing me before a fellow monarch.
“Very well,” I said. “A friendly duel, to mark the goodwill between Asgard and Albion. Not just Sir Mordred, but all my Knights may try their strength against the guards of our guest.”
Loki clapped once, slowly and dramatically, clearly enjoying the spectacle already forming before him. “Excellent. I always did love a good show.”
“A show it shall be then,” I declared. “Let us go to the arena, I do not wish to have fighting happening inside my castle.” I said, leaving no room for argument.
The words had barely left my lips before Mordred turned on her heel and strode out, already fired up by the promise of combat.
I could only shake my head with a sigh as the rest of us all followed along. Moving towards the arena.
As we walked, the buzz of excitement spread ahead of us like wildfire. Word traveled fast in Camelot—too fast. By the time we reached the arena, the stone terraces were already filled with citizens eager to watch the spectacle.
Loki soaked it all in like a performer stepping onto center stage. His grin never wavered, though his eyes flicked around, cataloguing everything.
Given his royal status, I brought him up to the royal viewing platform, where I had spectated the last grand tournament.
Both of us sat there, on stone thrones as the stands continued to fill with people eager to watch what was going on, and on the sand below, stood my knights and his guards.
“I guess the people are eager to see this fight, my Knights of legends against divine warriors of the Gods.” I said, adding some light chatter to the event, really just making small talk.
“Oh, naturally,” he said, voice honeyed with amusement. “Mortals can’t help but stare in awe at us superior beings, I’m sure you are well aware of that, Your Highness.”
I hummed in mild agreement. He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t like to consider myself superior, but it was the truth. “I’m afraid I didn’t have enough forewarning to get us a presenter, so unless Your Highness wishes to do it yourself, perhaps we will just forgo it entirely?”
Loki let out a soft, theatrical sigh, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “Oh, how tragic. A spectacle with no narrator? That hardly seems fitting for the clash of gods and legends.”
I glanced at him sidelong. “So you do wish to do it?”
He leaned back with a devilish grin. “Well, if you insist…”
“Go right ahead.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Loki stood, conjured a slim rod of gold from thin air—some enchanted device, no doubt—and tapped it against his palm as he projected his voice across the arena.
“People of Albion,” he began, his voice suddenly booming with magical amplification, smooth as polished silk. “Today, by the grace of your radiant ruler, Arthuria Pendragon, and by the humble wishes of your guest—Prince Regent of Asgard, Ruler of the Nine Realms, Yours truly, we bear witness to an exchange of strength and spirit between realms divine and mortal.”
The crowd applauded, more out of curiosity than loyalty.
“From the golden halls of Asgard come warriors handpicked to serve the throne of Odin himself!” Loki gestured toward his guards, who stood at attention, gleaming in their armor.
“And from the shining court of Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table—legends etched in time and myth, defenders of the realm, chosen by blade and fate.”
There was a much louder cheer for that, and Loki’s lips twitched at the noise imbalance.
“In the spirit of friendship, unity, and harmless entertainment”—he glanced down at Mordred—“we now commence a series of friendly duels.”
I had to admit, he did have stage presence. But then again, he’d been performing his whole life.
“First match,” I said quietly, gesturing to Mordred. “Let her have it.”
The announcer role passed back to Loki naturally. “Facing off in our first bout: Sir Mordred, daughter of the King, bearer of Clarent, and breaker of expectations!”
Mordred gave an exaggerated bow to the crowd, then cracked her knuckles loudly enough to echo off the arena walls.
“And from Asgard, warrior Halvar, veteran of the Frostfang Campaign, and wielder of the twin axes Stormclap and Bittersteel!”
The Asgardian stepped forward, taller than Mordred by nearly double, heavily muscled and stoic.
Loki sat back down beside me, Gungnir resting at his side. “Now then,” he murmured, “shall we place bets?”
I didn’t respond immediately. I was watching Mordred step into her stance—low, coiled, eager. And looking happier than I had seen in a long while.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked curiously.
Loki's grin widened, lazy and pleased. “Oh, nothing so vulgar as gold. I was thinking... information. A secret for a secret. If your knight wins, I’ll answer any one question—honestly, and without trickery.”
I arched my brow. “And if she loses?”
“Then you answer one of mine. Honestly. No royal deflections, no clever dodges.”
“Very well,” I said, offering my hand. “A secret for a secret.”
