Courtyard, Koganusan Palace, The Second Ring, Nidavellir.

Angrboda was tired. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was socializing with a bunch of drunken, stuck-up Dwarves and some Asgardians who probably hated her guts. No matter what their mentor preached about her and her brother belonging in Nidavellir or how much time passed since they started living here, Angrboda knew they would always be outsiders to the Dwarves. Few across The Nine looked favorably upon the Jotnar.

So what if they were Jotuns? They were the Jotuns, who would be better than the Dwarves at their own games. They would be Forge Masters in time.

Choosing to follow in their mentor's footsteps did not help the two with making friends with the nobles or commoners of Nidavellir alike. Angrboda doubted many would be happy with them being in the feast any way. So, unlike her brother, she decided to stay outside of the palace halls in the comfort of the dimmed starlight with Svadilfari instead. They didn't need friends nor allies. They only needed each other, Svadilfari, their mentor, and the approval from the king-to-be. Most of which they already had and the last they would get tomorrow when they inevitably win the crafting exhibition. Angrboda had no doubts about that.

Her hands swayed left and right on Svadilfari's dark metal mane. They had done well with him. The prototype had gradually integrated into her family as if he had always been an essential part of their makeshift household. Their mentor had been so proud when they presented the artificial horse to him. By tomorrow, Angrboda and her brother would show the whole of Nidavellir what they could really do.

"May I ask what his breed is? I have never seen anything like him before, and trust me, I've seen some strange horses."

Startled by a voice behind her, Angrboda gripped the black-metal mane tightly. Yet she was too proud to indicate her surprise in any other way. She held herself back from even turning around to the stranger. She did, however, noted that the stranger talking to her lacked the usual surprise or annoyance in his voice, which was quite strange.

"He has no breed, and you will never see one like him again." She replied, her heart still beating rapidly despite the calm tone she hoped to project.

"Something unique?" The stranger stepped into her field of vision. Angrboda now saw a face that made her worried despite his smaller size and calming smile. "My, that is the second time I've seen something unique tonight." He continued with a glint of mischief in his orbs of emerald.

Curiosity got the better of Angrboda, and despite her better judgment, she found herself asking. "And the first?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out." He replied, locking gaze with her, his eyes a shade of green probing into her crimson ones.

Angrboda should have been nervous. She should be treading carefully with the person in front of her, for she knew that many of her kind had been butchered by his people in their last war and the disdain Asgard held for the Jotnar. Yet, she felt nothing of scorn nor malice in his tone.

"I am flattered. To be complimented by an Asgardian." Her voice dripped heavily with sarcasm, pushing her luck further. "Not only that, a prince too. Dark hair, eyes a vibrant green, skin pale as the driven snow—Prince Loki, if I presume correctly."

"You're familiar with me, then?" Loki inquired, his expression unfazed, his smile persistently playing at the corners of his lips.

"Only from tales widely told and what my mentor had shared with me. Though he said you were simple." Her response was poised and teasing.

"Who…who may I ask is your mentor?" Loki's voice faltered ever so slightly, betraying his irritation at the comment.

"That, Prince Loki, is for me to know and for you to find out." She shot back with a smirk.

This feeling was new. Engaging in banter, conversing freely, and taking a harmless crack at someone other than her family was a rare occurrence. She had chosen to overlook many aspects of life to focus solely on her apprenticeship. However, no matter what she said, Angrboda found herself yearning for connection and friendship. She was still a growing Jotun, after all.

"Ahh, a mystery. Mysteries are something I quite enjoy." Loki acknowledged and gestured to Svadilfari. "Your steed. It bears runework on it. Is that correct? I can feel it in the air."

Angrboda confirmed with a nod. Gently, she ran her fingers over Svadilfari's frame, brushing the small fibers that made up his fur in a manner she knew he liked.

"You take pride in him." Loki fixed on her every movement. His head tilted lightly, and his arms folded neatly in front of his chest. "Not from ownership, no. It's something more. It's a deep bond akin to a mother's for her child. You haven't, by chance, birthed him, have you?" Loki asked with all seriousness, though he couldn't quite hide the cheeky sparkling in his eyes.

Angrboda played along with the twinkle of mirth that mirrored his own. "You jest, but who knows? Nidavellir is very different from Asgard, or so I've heard."

"No." Loki leaned in, his gaze intensifying as he examined the intricacies of her crafted horse with interest. "He's not a natural-born. Is he your creation?"

"Close. My brother and I worked on Svadilfari together." She revealed with pride.

"Quality work, truly." he began, his voice carrying an undertone of genuine admiration, which Angrboda appreciated. "Except for the coloring, I could barely tell him apart from the real thing. That begs the question." Loki rubbed his chin in contemplation. "Who among the people I've recently met would think of me as a dolt? Furthermore, who would be capable and open-minded enough to train two Jotun craftsmen of such impressive caliber?"

Loki nodded and clasped his hands together. "I believe I have the answer. However, a fitting reward is appropriate for the correct answer. Don't you agree, my lady?"

"I do not know what you mean, Prince Loki." Angrboda's gaze sharpened. Though Prince Loki looked a couple of decades younger than her—a minor difference by Jotun or Asgardian standards—she remained cautious. With princes and men in general, one could never be too sure where a seemingly innocent suggestion might lead.

Loki raised his hand in defense. "Please, a simple reward for a simple mystery. Your name will suffice."

"I suppose I can give you that much." Angrboda relented, though she was still somewhat on guard against the prince of Asgard.

"It is Forge Master Throyo, is it not?" Loki guessed and continued. "I think if we meet again, he would think quite differently of me."

"Angrboda."

"Pardon?" Loki seemed momentarily taken aback.

"My name is Angrboda, Prince Loki. You sought it, and now you have it." She clarified, with a sigh that betrayed her softening stance. Angrboda supposed that she was a bit too harsh on the prince. He had shown nothing against her despite what she had learned about the Asgardians.

"Angrboda." He repeated, rolling her name off his tongue and testing it out. "A name I shall not forget."

"I highly doubt that, your highness." She replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite her attempt to remain indifferent.

The moment, however, was abruptly shattered by a mixture of shouts and the distinct sounds of furniture being thrown resonating from the palace's feast hall.

Both Angrboda and Loki turned towards the noise, their expressions mirroring each other's frustration. "Brother." They muttered in unison.

The Jotun and the Asgardian glanced at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "You too?" They asked almost simultaneously, recognizing the troubles their siblings could get into.

______________________________

Feast Hall, Koganusan Palace, The Second Ring, Nidavellir.

Somr was tired. He and Angrboda had been putting their all into Gullinbursti for a year now, and their efforts would all be worth it in the coming day. With all their preparation finished, Master Throyo believed they should 'let their hair down' and enjoy the King's feast. To the better of his judgment, Somr decided to believe him. His meeting with the King and the King-to-be had been a quiet and calm affair. They seemed nice and respectful enough to his kind, which deluded Somr to think that the others would be like them. They were not. After spending some time being brushed off by the majority of the nobility of Nidavellir, he was ready to just call it quits and go home. So, he resigned himself to the outskirts of the celebration, safely tucked away from the disapproving eyes of the Dwarven nobility, and waited for his master to finish whatever business he had with the royal family.

He had spent the entire night avoiding the Asgardian delegation, which was relatively easy to do, considering the Dwarves were giants by their own rights. A little hiding here and a little dodging there helped shield him from their line of sight, but as he looked up from his mug of mead, Somr saw a small black-haired Asgardian girl bee-lining in his direction. To the day he died, Somr would never admit it, but his body froze in the same way it had when Master Throyo caught him red-handed, trying out some of his treasured liquor in the cellar.

The girl was quickly upon him. "You're a Jotun!" She observed, her sky-blues wide with curiosity.

"Yes. I know that. Thank you for pointing it out." Somr responded, his tone dry as his mood, yet he couldn't help but notice her genuine interest. "And you are an Asgardian."

"I am." She paused and looked upward as if in thought. "Sort-of. Asgardian in most ways. But also, Olympian and Midgardian too."

"Ah, I should have realized." Somr already knew that, of course. Who in The Nine didn't hear about the adopted daughter of Odin and one of the few remaining Olympian descendants of the cosmos? "Forgive me, Princess, if my appearance offends you, I can leave your sight." Choosing his battles, Somr decided to cut his losses and leave his peaceful corner for somewhere else. Anywhere else. Sort of Asgardian or not. She was going to draw eyes in his direction, and Somr only wanted to leave quietly and go back to his bed at this point.

Diana crunched her face as her eyebrows wiggled in contemplation. "No, it's not that. I've just never met one of the Jotnar before. Pardon me, what is your name?"

It is too late now. Somr knew it. He didn't think he was going to leave this conversation for a while. Although, it was genuinely nice for someone, a princess at that, to approach him for a change. "I am called Somr Byleiptson. It is an honor to meet you, princess." He introduced, bowing slightly out of respect.

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"The honor is mine, Lord Byleiptson." She replied with grace.

Laughing lightly, Somr corrected her. "I'm no lord, princess. Just an apprentice to a nagging Forge Master. Somr is fine."

"Then you can call me Diana." she offered, her smile warm and inviting.

Somr glanced around, noting the occasional turns of heads in their direction. "I don't think others would find that appropriate." His eyes landing on Lord Amberchin who was making his way towards them. The Dwarven Lord did not look happy. In fact, he looked both smug and furious.

Lord Amberchin, his disdain barely concealed, addressed Diana directly. "Princess Diana, might I caution you against socializing with ones such as him? Frost Giants are not seldom seen to be kind to young maidens. It is a surprise that he is even allowed to be here in our presence."

Somr, his voice steady but hiding none of his annoyance or frustration, responded. "I do not know what you are insinuating, Lord Amberchin. I am invited to the feast just like any other craftsman competing on the morrow."

"You? A craftsman? If only barely. Master Throyo's recommendation of you was a mistake. A boy, an outsider, and a Frost Giant no less. What was he thinking? The man has grown senile in his age." Andvari scoffed.

It was a common insult, calling him a 'Frost Giant' and a 'boy' to underline his craftsmanship despite his age nearing half that of a Dwarven lifespan. Such remarks were nothing new to him, but they never failed to irritate the apprentice. Although, it was the latter part of Andvari's comment that truly ignited his anger.

"Call me whatever you want, but I will not tolerate any disrespect towards my master." Somr retorted, his voice growing colder.

"You see? He's threatening me already. As vile as can be." Andvari sneered. "No matter how long you've resided in Nidavellir, you will never be one of us. What could brutish Jotuns like you possibly understand of our craft? You're destroyers, not creators."

Somr countered. "Then I am glad our prince will judge us by our work and not by the myths and prejudices you cling to."

Diana with her shaking fist, stepped forward in front of Somr as if she was trying to protect him. Her size was dwarfed by both the Dwarf and the Jotun alike, yet she feared neither. "I find what you said to be quite rude, Lord Amberchin. I may not know what the dynamic is between you two, but there's no need for your insults."

Lord Amberchin, momentarily taken aback by her reaction, tried to defend his stance. "Princess, you do not know our realm…"

"And I do not presume to." Diana interjected. "But I had hoped mutual respect was common, no matter the realm. Was I wrong?"

"No, Princess, you weren't." Andvari conceded, his bravado fading. "My apologies, I'll take my leave." His parting jab at Somr was bitter. "Having your sister flashing her eyelashes at the prince won't help you win the competition, Frost Giant."

As Andvari turned to leave, Somr's surroundings seemed to drop several degrees in temperature. The icy chill of his anger surged through him, prompting him to lunge forward, his fist aimed with at the retreating Dwarf. However, Diana was quicker and to his amazement, stronger. Her hand met his fist mid-swing, guiding it harmlessly, crashing into the ground. "Violence isn't the answer here, Somr." She cautioned, her voice steady yet sympathetic.

Before Somr could react, another commotion erupted away from them. "Aggggh! My beer! Who did that?" A sudden roar pierced the air. The words barely registered with Somr before, out of nowhere, a blur of golden locks and a force as unstoppable as a raging storm barreled into him. The impact sent Somr flying.

"Thor!!!" came a shout from Princess Diana, a split second before Somr collided with what felt unmistakably like a wall–it was indeed a wall.

…

"It's a fight!"

…

"It's a brawl!"

…

"I always hated you Undri!"

…

"You slept with my wife, Karsak!"

…

Somr was vaguely aware of the commotion around him. His senses dulled as he struggled to regain his bearings. The surroundings grew louder and louder with yells and screams, or was it the ringing in my ears?

"What in father's name were you thinking, Thor?" This voice sounded familiar. It reminded Somr of someone he had recently met.

"I said I was sorry! I thought the Jotun was attacking you, Diana." This voice was new, and he didn't have much taste for it. Go away, annoying voice.

"My brother's name is Somr, and your sister said it herself, he wasn't! You didn't have to tackle him like that!" This was someone he knew. It was his sister, Angrboda. She grew up so fast. Their father would have been proud. Father, why did you not come with us here?

"That was just the first thing I thought of!" Not this one again. Somr no likey.

"I think he's probably alright." Another new voice. This one was smooth and calming.

"Probably? Is he or is he not?" Ah, sister. You always get so worried.

"He is intact, Angrboda. A little bit dazed and probably will be nursing a headache for a little while." Daze? Is this what that feels like? He doesn't feel dazed. He feels like he's dreaming.

"Should I be here…or…" This one was different. Much, much younger.

"Otr? You didn't leave with your father?" Otr. Otr. He knew this name. Andvari's son.

"Ummm…father ran out when everyone started fighting…" What a total jackass.

"They're really getting into it out there. I think I should join in! It looks fun. Loki said he is fine, yes?" Yes. Leave. Go away.

"No!" Somr flinched as the voices yelled out. Not so loud!

…

"STEADY YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY!"

The shout sent Somr bolting upright. Disoriented, he scanned the gathering, only to find every eye turned not towards him but to the high table where King Ivaldi stood, flanked by Prince Sindri and Somr's master.

"What is this you've done on the eve of my son's coronation? A brawl in my halls, in front of our honored guests?" King Ivaldi's voice thundered, reverberating off the stone and metal walls of the grand feast hall.

A momentary silence fell, heavy and expectant, before King Ivaldi's features changed into an unexpected chuckle. "Ha! By my beard, if you're going to have at it with each other, then at least make it worthy of songs! I've seen toddlers squabble meaner than that! And you dare call yourselves Dwarves?"

King Ivaldi's mood shifted abruptly from amusement back to serious anger. "The feast ends now! Disperse! And mark my words, I expect to see every one of you on the morrow! Injured or not! The Dwarves do not make excuses! ROCK AND STONE!!!!!"

"ROCK AND STONE!!!!!" The hall erupted in a unanimous response.

______________________________

Throne Room, Koganusan Palace, The Second Ring, Nidavellir.

King Ivaldi was tired. Tomorrow marked the day his son would ascend to the throne of Nidavellir. His son, who had grown much since he was but a squealing babe. Now, Sindri was a man of his own right, steadied and resolved to take upon the duty for the Dwarven realm. One more day until Ivaldi could embrace a long-awaited retirement filled with simple pleasures of leisure and ale. Yet, as he surveyed the guilty features and restless shiftings of the oldest son of Odin and Throyo's apprentice, he couldn't shake the feeling that the coming day would stretch endlessly for him.

"So, it has come to my ears that you were the ones that started the 'fight' in my feast. A Jotun and an Asgardian stirring trouble. I should have expected." Ivaldi remarked dryly from his imposing Iron Throne. His words hung in the air, sowing anxiety into Thor and Somr. "Do you not have anything to say for yourselves? Prince Thor? Apprentice Somr?"

Before him, the two young men stood under the eyes of their kin. Prince Loki made a move to speak, but Throyo's firm hand and a shake of his head stopped the Asgardian.

Thor looked around at the other children of Odin and to the Jotuns before he spoke up. "King Ivaldi, it was I who tackled Somr. I will take responsibility for what happened."

"My king, it was my retaliation towards Lord Amberchin's comments that forced Princess Diana's hands and incited Prince Thor's actions." Somr interjected. "The responsibility is mine."

Thor insisted. "No matter what, I was at fault for attacking first without understanding the situation. I am ready to face any punishment."

"No, the mistake was clearly mine since I raised my fist first." Somr argued.

"Enough." Ivaldi cut through the back and forth. "While you did attack one of my citizens and a Forge Apprentice on that matter. Somr seemed to harbor no ill will towards you, Crown Prince." Ivaldi's gaze settled on Somr, who confirmed with a nod.

Ivaldi sighed and rubbed his beard in thought. "Punishing you would result in your father, with the golden stick up his arse, coming here himself. I do not want that. At all. I thought I was blessed that he sent you three to Nidavellir, but it seems I was wholly inaccurate in my expectation."

"And you." Turning to Somr, Ivaldi's tone grew more stern. "While Lord Amberchin will have his own talk with me, you should have known better. Picking a fight with a noble is bad enough. You nearly came to blow with the Princess of Asgard. If she did not insistently repeat that you did nothing wrong. Then, even your master, the consistent pain in my arse, will not be able to save you."

"Now. given the absence of major harms or damages, I'm inclined to overlook this incident due to youthfulness. However, do not misunderstand my leniency for a lack of will to act. I am merely a day's breath away until I can cast off all these burdens and retire. Suppose you do anything else to disrupt my retirement. Believe me. There will be consequences. Do we have an understanding?"

Thor and Somr echoed their hesitant agreement. "Yes, King Ivaldi." and "Yes, your majesty." Ivaldi nodded in response, his mind already drifting to the forthcoming discussion he would need to have with a certain Dwarven Noble regarding his conduct at the feast, especially the one about his young son who 'stayed behind' after he left. A deep sigh escaped him as Ivaldi felt his years catching up to him. He was officially too old for this shit.