Mordred still didn't know what was going on with the other Knights of the Round Table; they were all still acting weird.
Some of them had just suddenly started being nicer to her, and it was creepy as hell.
She did like that they seemed to be more accepting of her, because despite everything, she still needed their acceptance if she wanted to become king.
But she still had no idea what caused all this change, and she really wanted to know.
No matter who she asked, she just got vague answers.
Mordred really regretted not showing up when that Captain America guy showed up. She hadn't expected much, and she hadn't wanted to miss out on a meal just to listen to titles being traded back and forth—crap she could do without—yet apparently something huge had happened.
Some big secret that she wasn't in on.
Thankfully, she didn't miss anything when Thor came to visit. If she had somehow missed out on another big secret, she would have gone crazy.
Still, a big feast and a celebration—now that was something Mordred could get behind.
It wasn't just Thor's friends who were invited; as a full feast and banquet hosted by the King of Camelot, the event was massive in scale.
It wasn't just the people of Camelot who came; people from all over Albion flocked to the location.
From workers and farmers to nobles and the wealthy—everyone who loved their new king, their new kingdom, wished to take part in the event.
More so since Thor was famous. It was well known now that the Prince of Asgard—the man who had commanded the storms and lightning over New York to fight the invading aliens—had spent a long time living as a mortal in Camelot.
And compared to Loki, Thor had indeed displayed far more of what people expected from a Norse god.
With the number of people showing up, and with so many commoner guests, even the great hall couldn't host them all, so Arthuria had set up a massive outdoor venue on the grassy plains outside the city walls.
Many great fires were lit all around the grounds. Tables after tables were placed on the grass, and those tables were groaning under the weight of food—whole roasted boars, stacks of bread taller than men, wheels of cheese cracked open and bleeding their rich scent into the air. Barrels had been rolled out by the dozen, already tapped, already halfway emptied.
The feast had started hours ago.
Mordred knew this because she was already full—and still eating.
She sat on the grass with her back against a barrel, legs stretched out, grease on her gauntlets and crumbs caught in the fur lining of her armor. A half-empty platter rested on her knees, stacked high with bones and bread crusts, and she was chewing noisily on a chunk of meat that had once been part of a boar bigger than a horse.
This was her kind of celebration.
No walls. No rules. No pretending.
From the moment the first fires had been lit, Mordred had claimed her place at the heart of it. She'd been there when the first barrels were cracked open, when the musicians were still tuning their instruments, when the cooks were shouting at one another over spits and cauldrons.
And when someone—some poor fool—had suggested turning the feast into a competition?
That was when things really got interesting.
The eating contests had started small.
A loaf here. A wheel of cheese there. A few drunken challenges that ended with laughter and applause.
Then Thor got involved.
No one quite remembered who challenged who first. One moment Thor was laughing with a group of soldiers; the next he had lifted an entire roast boar with one hand and declared—loud enough for half the field to hear—that he doubted anyone here could eat faster than him.
That had done it.
Tables were dragged together. Food was piled high. Rules were shouted, argued, rewritten, and promptly ignored.
Mordred had shoved her way to the front immediately.
She remembered cracking her knuckles and grinning up at Thor.
"Hope you're hungry, thunder-boy."
Thor had laughed like he'd been waiting for that. "Girl, I have eaten entire oxen in a single sitting."
"Yeah?" Mordred had replied, grabbing a haunch of meat nearly as big as her head. "Then keep up."
The crowd had gone wild.
Now, hours later, the eating competitions had escalated into something approaching legend.
Whole roasted animals were brought out one after another. Bread disappeared by the armful. Someone introduced spiced pies from the western provinces—dense things, packed with meat and roots and gravy thick enough to slow a blade.
Contestants dropped out fast.
Some collapsed backward into the grass, groaning. Others surrendered dramatically, pounding the table and swearing never to eat again. A few tried to cheat—only to be booed mercilessly and pelted with crusts.
Thor was still going strong.
So was Mordred.
She tore into another serving with brutal efficiency, barely pausing to swallow before grabbing the next piece. Grease smeared her cheeks. She laughed through mouthfuls, eyes bright, utterly in her element.
"This doesn't count!" someone shouted. "She's cheating!"
Mordred looked up, offended. "Cheating how?"
"You're not even slowing down!"
"That's not cheating," she said, pointing her bone like a weapon. "That's skill."
Thor slammed his empty plate down beside hers. "Well spoken!"
They locked eyes for a moment, both grinning, both refusing to yield.
The crowd chanted now—names overlapping, voices hoarse from shouting.
When the final platter was set down between them, piled obscenely high, silence fell.
Mordred cracked her neck.
Thor rolled his shoulders.
They ate.
In the end, much to Mordred's shame, she lost. She—the heir of Camelot, and the second biggest eater—was beaten.
She was glad that her father was busy entertaining the noble guests and couldn't witness that… though she was also sad that he hadn't seen how hard she fought for Camelot's honor.
Thor was the first to lean back.
He did it slowly, deliberately, one massive hand slapping down on the table as he let out a thunderous laugh that rolled across the field louder than the cheers themselves.
"HA!" he roared, rising to his feet. "It is decided!"
The crowd erupted.
Thor planted one boot atop the bench, raised a dripping bone like a trophy, and shouted, "Hear me, people of Camelot! Tonight, I, Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard, God of Thunder—"
Mordred groaned and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"—declare myself the greatest eater this city has ever known!"
Cheers followed immediately. Someone banged a mug against a shield. Another chant started—THOR! THOR! THOR!
Mordred pushed herself up onto one elbow, scowling up at him.
"Oh, shove off."
Thor blinked and looked down at her, clearly delighted. "What was that, little warrior?"
Mordred sat up properly now, jabbing a thumb toward the distant noble tables.
"You beat me," she said. "Congrats. That makes you second-best."
The chanting faltered.
Thor frowned, confused. "Second?"
Mordred grinned, sharp and unapologetic. "Yeah. Best eater in Camelot is my father."
The crowd oohed as one.
Thor followed her gaze instinctively—toward Arthuria, seated among nobles and foreign guests, posture straight, expression serene, already on her third platter without the slightest sign of strain.
For a heartbeat, Thor simply stared.
Then he threw his head back and laughed even harder.
"By the Nine Realms!" he boomed. "So that is the mountain yet unconquered!"
He slapped his chest proudly. "Very well! Another challenge for another day. I would gladly test my strength against the King of Knights herself!"
Mordred snorted. "Good luck. She eats like it's a battlefield."
Thor wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "Then I shall return armed and hungry!"
-----
While everyone was having a grand time, I, however, was forced to sit next to my nobles and chat politely with them. It wasn't how I wanted to spend my time, but as a king, it was something I had to do.
I was just thankful that those I had restored to nobility were the smart kind—those who quickly figured out that I was in no mood for idle chatter—so they mostly left me alone.
That allowed me a chance to mull over what I had learned from Thor: the events of Asgard as they returned from New York.
I had indeed been interested in that, to see how my inclusion in events would change things.
And I was surprised by just how much they had changed.
I naturally expected that the fight between brothers wouldn't happen.
Loki had matured a lot; he was far closer to the man who would selflessly take up the burden of holding together all timelines after the fall of the TVA than he would have otherwise been.
I had known he had it in him, but it was still satisfying to have it confirmed—confirmed that I hadn't wasted my time when I played nice with him, when I pushed him to be better, to mature faster.
I could only say that Odin was rather lacking in his understanding of his adopted son.
Thor was easy; even now, he showed it as he drank with Mordred and the other Knights. He could be forced to grow up through trials and stress.
But Loki was different; he was too smart to fall for such things. He would see the trial and would actively resist it out of foolish arrogance.
He couldn't be tricked into learning a lesson like Thor; he needed to be guided with love and care, with respect and recognition.
His mother could give the love and care—and while he clearly wanted Odin's respect, another god, another divine ruler, could also do.
And that was my role.
But still… to think things would change to this degree.
To have Odin strike at Thanos himself…
For him to go right back to the Odin-sleep, and leave Loki on the throne?
That was very unexpected, and could change many future events. For one, not having Loki in prison might change the death of his mother—or it could make things worse.
I didn't know, but I was curious to see what would come.
If nothing else, I was sure my path would once again cross with the princes of Asgard once the next grand convergence takes place.
(End of chapter)
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