Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.
Music: "Wodan Heerst" by Heidevolk
Dining Like the Saxons
In hindsight, I know I was way too trusting and gullible in my youth. But verily, what could I have done differently? The peace of the hall is an ancient tradition throughout the realms. Father had insisted on impeccable behaviour, now that lasting peace with Svartalfheim seemed to be within reach. All I was supposed to do was sign the prepared treaty, then eat and drink heartily. I could do that. Or so I thought.
We left our weapons outside the hall as instructed. I felt naked without my shield and battle axe (that was before Loki procured Mjölnir from the dwarves), but it could not be helped. My brother dropped his sword Lævateinn, which he only bore on formal occasions and never practised with anyway, and our friends and retinue discarded their weapons as well. Servants opened the carved oaken doors to the hall wide for us to enter, all the Dökkalfar nobles inside standing and cheering.
Fires burned in the pits; the long tables bowed under platters with delicacies, mead flowed, and we sat feasting and toasting our host Malekith as if among friends. In hindsight, I should have been more suspicious. Everyone else was, really. By the time Sif pointed out to me how armed darkelven guards filtered in through hidden doors behind the tapestries, Volstagg had already concealed several gnawed-clean elk and oxen thighbones under the table to use as a clubs if need be, and Hogun was weighing trivets for use as shuriken. At least that's what Fandral told me later. At the time, I was too deep in my cups to notice much or do anything. In my youth, I sometimes drank more than adviseable.
The wine slowed me down, so, when the Accursed's men charged, I did not rise to brawl as I used to do on other occasions. Trust me, a heavy oaken bench in the right hands can be as mighty a weapon as a greatsword.
So Sif took command. Unarmed and outnumbered though we were, warriors of Asgard would not go down without a fight, much less surrender. From where I was resting my head on the table, I think I noticed my brother diving under it, as if frightened. That confused me somewhat at the time, since I had never seen him frightened of anything except a scolding from father, secure in the knowledge his magic would allow him escape from any calamity. Judging by their shouts and jeers, our friends were none too pleased by this show of cowardice either. The Dökkalfar, though, focused on those of us standing and paid him no heed.
Thanks to good Fandral, who shook me mightily, I found my way into the fray eventually, and may have felled the one or other of those traitors who had trapped us, as is my way. We fought without hope, but bravely, sure to end up in Valhalla on that day, unless the Allfather would ride in to the rescue.
And rescued we were, but by my brother. A shout from the high seat made the darkelven guardsmen retreat. Injured though we were, many of us bleeding freely from swordstrikes we could not parry without shields in the melee, we set out to pursue them, myself in the lead, but level-headed Sif called us to reason once again. All eyes turning to the king's seat, we saw my brother sprawling in the Accursed's lap, grinning broadly and holding one of his throwing knives to the pulsepoint in the Elf's neck.
I do not recall what vexed me more in that moment: the interruption of an extraordinary battle, or the fact my brother had broken ancient law by bringing a weapon to the hall. Only after his apparent death, centuries later, when contemplating our past adventures, did I fully understand how useless and inglorious our deaths would have been, a disappointment to father.
I am happy to say Loki enjoyed himself that evening, even though we did not give him full credit for saving our lives. For my part, I shall blame the latter on the wine I was unused to. Re-lodged to sit behind Malekith on the high seat, legs clasped around him, one knife still at his throat, my brother insisted that the feast proceed. Soon, we ate again, and cheered the king our host, whom Loki fed tidbits speared on another knife, so declaring his knives cutlery instead of weapons. (I did not understand this until much later.) The elven king sat stony-faced and rigid, knife at his throat, while we were merry, until Loki took to tickling him.
In the end, even the treaty was signed. Of course the dark elves broke it soon after. I am ashamed now that I never thanked my brother for saving all of us that day. When contemplating those long-past events recently, I decided to carry a pocket knife with me at all times. Sif informs me that she took up that practice centuries ago. Wise woman.
A/N
(The headline refers to a tale recorded by the brothers Grimm, in which Saxons and Thuringians meet in a hall for negotiations over peace and a land deal neither side is happy with. No weapons are permitted, but the Saxons figure their long daggers („seaxes") are cutlery. Seeing the Thuringians neglected to bring cutlery of their own, the Saxons murder them. Land issue solved. They claim the tribe took its name from this event.)
