With the agreement reached, Loki wasted no time ending the match. Halvar, ever the dutiful soldier, obeyed. In the middle of an exchange that could have gone either way, he took a step back, raised a hand, and announced his withdrawal.
It was clean. Respectful. But it lacked conviction.
I saw it in his eyes—that flicker of protest, the bitterness that came from being denied the finish he had fought for. It wasn't the loss that stung; it was the lack of closure. The duel had been fierce, even, glorious in its symmetry—and then, suddenly, it was over. No warrior lived for that kind of end.
Loki, of course, didn't notice. He gave a satisfied clap, basking in the performance, not the consequence. He wasn't a warrior. He didn't understand what he had asked of Halvar. He saw the duel as theater, not trial.
Had I been in his place, I would have walked down to that sand-covered arena and offered Halvar my respect face-to-face. A warrior of that caliber wasn't just a guard—he was a treasure. The kind of man kings build legacies with.
"Excellent display, Sir Mordred," I said, my voice carrying effortlessly across the arena. "You fought well and proved yourself the equal of even Asgard's finest. But remember—forced victory is no true victory. Had you fought more wisely, perhaps the match would have been yours beyond question."
Mordred stood with Clarent resting across her shoulders, her expression tight. She didn't respond, not verbally. But I saw the way her fingers flexed around the hilt. She wasn't pleased either.
Neither of them were. Halvar looked like he had been robbed of something vital. Mordred looked like she had failed to earn it properly.
To soothe the tension, I straightened and addressed the crowd—and the fighters alike.
"These matches are to be taken in the spirit of a friendly contest," I declared. "From here on, let us rein things in. No magical skills, no special abilities, and no Noble Phantasms. Just strength, discipline, and the measure of skill. Let it be a celebration, not a declaration."
A murmur of agreement rolled through the arena, the crowd accepting the new terms. The next knights and Asgardians began to size each other up with more tempered expectations.
Privately, I was relieved. The strength of Asgard's warriors had exceeded even my cautious estimates. If these were standard, then I would have to reconsider my deals with Asgard as a whole. So hopefully, I will be able to learn more from the next few matches.
"It seems the clash of steel has brought even your brother here." I said, as I knew Thor had made his way into the spectating seats. Well, you could sit, but he didn't, he stood at the edge of the spectating area, watching the action below.
Right now, Lancelot was fighting yet another Asgardian. This match had begun without either Loki or me announcing it. The combatants were too eager to wait.
I couldn't blame them, the warrior inside me too felt excitement at the earlier fight, though, as a king now, I had to suppress that and instead focus on what was important.
Loki looked towards where I was pointing and quickly spotted his brother, Thor, who was dressed in mortal clothes, stood looking with burning eagerness in his eyes, wishing he could join the fight.
Yet, his mortal strength didn't allow him to compete against those down there.
Loki followed my gaze and chuckled dryly. "Ah, yes. My brother. Ever the warrior, even when stripped of his power."
"He wishes to fight," I said, studying Thor with a soldier's instinct. "But he cannot. Not like this."
"He cannot," Loki echoed. "And that is what makes it exquisite."
I glanced at him.
He smiled. "To sit on the sidelines and watch others claim the glory you once owned… it's the perfect punishment, wouldn't you say?"
"Exile is indeed a harsh punishment, more so for him to be stripped of his powers, while Mjolnir sits so close by, a constant reminder of what he has lost… the All-father is a cruel man when he needs to."
Loki's smile didn't falter, but his hand clenched into a fist. "Indeed, my father is a king, wise, but rarely kind."
"A king can be kind," I murmured, "but it is rarely easy. Often, kindness is mistaken for weakness." I couldn't help but think about my first reign.
Back then, I had been kind, a noble and ideal leader, I had given everything for my people, and in return, they all turned against me so quickly. Sure, many followed me and stood by Gawain's side in the rebellion, but just as many stood with Mordred.
I looked at Thor again. He stood so still, yet I could feel the tension in his frame. He longed to be part of this, hating to sit on the sidelines, just watching glory pass him by.
But it would be good for him. He would get over it, and finally, he would understand that glory isn't something a king can chase without thought.
"Do you wish to speak with him? I can call him up here if that is the case?" I asked Loki, who shuddered slightly.
"No, that's quite fine, it would be best that he remembers that he is no longer a prince of Asgard." His voice wasn't strong, but he clearly wasn't willing to sit with Thor.
I suspected it was shame, maybe, now that he had taken everything from him. I could only imagine the weight of his guilt.
"That's fine, it will draw less attention to him, right now, few know and believe who he is, should we invite him up here, it would cause him trouble. Better to leave him be for now." I gave Loki an excuse.
"Yes, that's for the best." He said, almost sounding grateful for the way out.
Below us, the two fighters didn't waste words; their blades clashed again and again. Lancelot was the most skilled of all my knights, and now, he faced someone no less skilled than himself.
Though this particular Asgardian wasn't as strong as Halvar, he still had centuries or millennia of experience, which allowed him to cause Lancelot a lot of trouble.
"Your warriors are great, Your Highness, they are worthy of being warriors of the realm of gods." I said, flattering the God of Lies.
"Indeed, though I must admit I am somewhat surprised that your knights can match them, it seems my mother's wisdom is proven right once more, you could easily join in the campaign against Jotunheim." He said with a proud smile on his face.
"I'm afraid I can't offer all my knights, Midgard still has its challenges, my realm is even now under attack, but I could offer some enforcement knights and a few of my own, but likely not right now." I offered.
It was pretty much an empty offer, I saw through his request, he wanted war, yes, but his mother was delaying, so was I until the time the war wouldn't happen..
"I guess that is the best I can get. I would love to have you join, but I doubt you can leave your city without it being attacked by all the greedy mortals eyeing it from the shadows."
I could only sigh in agreement, yes, countless people around the world wanted to claim my power, my realm, and ensure that this communist, fascist, authoritarian rogue state failed.
It was amusing that I was labeled both fascist and communist. Nevertheless, that was the perception; anything deemed evil was attributed to me by other nations, despite the fact that many more people appeared to appreciate, and in some cases, envy what I provided for my citizens.
"But enough of that, I owe you a secret, Your Highness, so why don't we get that out of the way before we continue, lest we forget." I didn't want him to hold such a thing over me, so it was better to have him ask now before I told him everything that wasn't a big secret.
Far better to have him ask that than something that really mattered.
Loki's smile returned, slow and sharp, like a knife being unsheathed beneath silk.
"Oh, how gracious," he said, the words wrapped in velvet. "I had half-expected you to delay again. Kings do so love to bargain with truth like it's gold."
"I honor my wagers," I replied calmly. "Even the ones made in jest."
"Especially the ones made in jest," he said, eyes gleaming. "Those are always the most telling."
He tapped a single finger against the armrest, pretending to think, but I could see the choice had already been made. He had known what he would ask from the moment he accepted my offer to end the duel.
"Very well then," he said, his voice lowering slightly.
"Since coming here," Loki began, his voice almost gentle with mischief, "there has been one question I haven't been able to stop thinking about. Mordred—you call him your son, though it is clearly a daughter. And in turn, you are addressed as father… while, pardon me, you are unmistakably a beautiful woman. Not at all able to be a father. And you are a king, once masquerading as a man, and I simply must know."
I smiled at his question, it was by no means a secret, but I needed it. It also wasn't something easy to learn, since my Knights wouldn't speak about such topics, and without a doubt, it was one of the most asked questions, but I only barely answered them. meaning countless new questions sprang up.
It was no surprise that after being on Earth for so long, he had picked up on this mystery, and while parts of the question had been answered many times, he likely wanted it from me, under our promise of telling the truth.
"Well, that is an old story, so I guess I will have to start at the beginning, before even my own birth." I said as I leaned back.
"Before my birth, my homeland, this place, was plagued with war, many kings fighting for power, invaders coming by sea, it was a dark time. It was then that a prophecy was spoken, of a king, a red dragon who would unite the land."
Loki tilted his head, visibly intrigued.
"My father, Uther Pendragon, was king at the time, and he did many things to secure his rule, among those was my sister, Morgan. She wasn't truly human, but a Fay, and would ensure my father wasn't just king of humans, but also the Fay."
I paused. "And it worked, but there was one problem. She desired the throne, as my father's only child, but the prophecy demanded a red dragon king. Merlin, the greatest magic user of his time, aided him in the pursuit that led to my birth, a child with the heart of a red dragon, the king of prophecy. However, there was one problem."
"You were born a girl." Loki filled in.
"Yes," I confirmed quietly. "Whatever the cause—divine irony, magical error, or simply fate—I was born a girl. But I was also born with the heart of the Red Dragon. I could not be replaced. The prophecy was tied to me, and only me. So… Merlin made a choice."
"You were disguised," Loki murmured, his voice no longer playful. "Transformed."
"Not as much transformed, it is easy enough to disguise a child." I nodded. "Eventually, my father passed away, and a new king was needed, but I was born in secret, so none knew of me at the time. Merlin then made a magical trail, a sword placed in a stone."
"A sword in a stone?" Loki repeated, voice tinged with amusement and awe. "I believe this is the scene shown by that statue that now holds Mjolnir."
"Yes," I said softly. "The blade was forged by the planet itself. Caliburn. It was no simple test of strength—it responded to the one chosen by the planet, the one bearing the heart of the Red Dragon. I didn't want to do it, I knew the weight, the responsibility of a king, I feared I couldn't do it, but in the end, I watched as countless men tried, until all gave up, then I pulled it out."
"And then?" Loki asked, leaning forward slightly.
"The sword held great power, with it, I didn't age from that day, still young enough to pass as a boy, and so, I became king. I ruled as best I could, I united the realm, fought invaders, and killed the evil white dragon." I spoke of the old times, those days long gone.
Loki studied me with an unreadable expression. "And what of Mordred?"
"As king, I had many duties—including marriage." I let the words settle, heavy and inevitable. "The people demanded it. The nobles insisted. A king must have a queen, must have heirs. That was the order of things."
Loki grinned widely, no doubt imagining the mischief that was my marriage.
"So, entered Lady Guinevere. She was the daughter of a powerful ally, the perfect match, except one thing: we were both women."
The grin on Loki's face just continued to widen. "And then?"
"She loved me dearly… or she loved the noble King Arthur, she loved the idea of me, she was heartbroken to learn the truth, that the man she loved was no man at all, that it was but a lie."
Loki's grin faltered slightly, just at the edges. "So what happened next?"
"Merlin," I said, my voice low. "Merlin wanted to help, figured that our marriage would be fine, if only we had a child… so he used his magic," I felt slightly embarrassed telling this story. "he used his magic to give me the… tool needed to conceive an heir."
Loki blinked.
Then blinked again.
For a moment, he said nothing—then let out a wheeze of laughter that spiraled into something almost hysterical. He clutched the arm of his seat like it was the only thing keeping him from falling over the edge of the balcony.
"Oh, that meddling old pervert!" he gasped. "That's brilliant, I wish I could learn that!"
I closed my eyes for a moment, exhaling through my nose. "It wasn't funny at the time."
"Oh, I don't doubt it," Loki said, wiping a tear from his eye. "But still! That poor queen! One moment she's mourning the man she thought she married—and the next, he returns to bed with an enchanted… apparatus!"
I decided not to humor him. "For one night, I was man enough to father a child, yet Morgan had never forgotten her desire for the throne, but she understood that the realm needed a red dragon. She couldn't get rid of me, unless."
"She could replace you!" Loki said, slamming a hand down onto the armrest.
"Indeed," I nodded. "She used her magic to replace Guinevere that night, the real one put into enchanted sleep, and Morgan took her appearance. Then, using my seed, my essence, Morgan made Mordred, a clone and child of mine, someone to replace me."
"Mordred is mine. Not in the way children are normally conceived—but still mine, in blood, in magic, in legacy. I sired her. Morgan bore her. She is both daughter and blade."
"And she calls you Father," Loki said again, more softly this time.
"Mordred was raised to be a tool; she, too, was born a girl, despite Morgan's desire for a son. So she hid her identity; no one knew who Mordred truly was. She did this by way of a magical armor. And Mordred, too, did not know I was a woman; she knew that King Arthur was her father. And from there… everything sprang."
"She was raised to believe in a lie," I continued, my voice quiet. "Just as I had once lived one. And when the truth came out, I didn't handle it well."
Loki was silent, his usual mirth fully gone now.
"She rebelled," I said simply. "She turned on me. Not out of hatred. But a desire to prove herself, to show me that she could be a worthy king, that I was wrong not to entrust her with the throne.
Loki said, silent and still like a rock, before, that… was him. I had just described him.
(flashback end)