"I'll only be gone for about a week, don't you worry." Aswren yelled from the closet as she packed her bag.

"What exactly is this ceremony, again?" Thor bellowed.

"I have control over the rain and water on my planet—my birthday marks the beginning of the wet season after the harvest. A weeks' worth of water that turns autumn into winter. Everyone takes the time off for holiday."

"Sounds like a lot of fun. You sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Well, you could if you wanted. I didn't realize whether you had business here or not to attend to. It's not the kind of festivities you're used to."

"Oh, I can appreciate any kind of party, don't you worry. I'd love to come, since you'll be traveling alone this year."

The princesses' hands froze inside her suitcase. "...Thank you, Thor."

"You're very welcome, Aswren." He smiled, bending down to kiss the top of her head.

Thor hadn't bothered to ask how Aswren continues to make such frequent trips to her home realm without the BiFrost, but as he followed her on horseback to the broken bridge at the end of the city, he wished he had.

"Wait a minute, the bridge is out! Aswren!" Thor called after her, galloping to keep up with the woman ahead.

"Just wait, you'll see! We're right on time!" She called back.

"On time for what? Aswren, STOP!" Thor immediately pulled back on the reigns, skidding to a halt as the princess rode on.

"NO!"

But before he could finish the portal that had appeared from the blackness swallowed the horse and rider, sparking away into nothing.

"...W-What?" Thor gasped, looking around for traces of the woman.

The prince followed suit, forcing his horse on and praying that a similar light would carry him away from the abyss at the end of the rainbow bridge. He trusted her explicitly, perhaps wrongfully he thought as the world around him collapsed into a black absence of sight.

"Welcome to Alfheim, Lady Aswren and friend."

Gasp. Thor opened his eyes to find himself on solid ground. They were in the forests he recognized, where the BiFrost used to open up. A young male Elf was standing tall to greet them, all smoldering green eyes and a head of long blonde hair tied back from his face.

"I am Halcyon, Admiral Chief of the Royal Guard. This is my Captain, Marius, Commander Rochirion, and 3 of our finest Mages: Lain, Badhor, and Abonnen, all of whom are senior officers. We are to escort you to the capital, your majesty."

All at once the six men bowed, their right bracer folded over their heart—a sign of ultimate respect.

"Wow, six guards? I guess father's still so rigorous with security. Lovely to see all of you, though. This is my plus one for the week: Thor Odinson."

"Sir." Halcyon acknowledged, bowing his head.

"Gentleman."

Thor had never seen the inner territories of Alfheim, and his curious blue eyes eagerly scanned the expanding horizon. He noticed that with each terrain a new "race", "species"—he wasn't sure what to call them—would emerge. The further North they traveled, the lighter the shades of flesh became, and the shorter their ears. Children played in the street with strange dogs that walked on six legs, birds as big as full-grown horses blacked out the forest sky for moments at a time.

"Don't you worry about animal attacks here? Every shape and size seem to be abundant and awfully close to the villages."

"My people worry about very little, Thor. Especially not the wildlife. There's an energy here, you see, and the planet is very much alive and connected to its inhabitants by this invisible force. The Elves worship it much like they worship you and I: their Gods. The electricity excites all living things, and has been compared to a soul. All the animals, plants, ground, and people are connected. They communicate on a level deeper than our own, and even I don't understand fully the mutual respect that exists here. This planet is an ecosystem functioning perfectly in the balance between elf and beast, and is something truly beautiful."

The thunder God looked over at his friend, watching the way her eyes darted back and forth to admire the forest around her. "I never knew you were so passionate about your home…"

"You never asked."

Elves filled the horizon, packed in a crowd that was too wide to be seen for its entirety. Upon the balcony of Freyr's palace, he, his wife, Thor, Aswren, and a handful of guards stood on display for this majority of the kingdom. The princess stood proudly against the railing, the morning sunlight reflected from the jewels that rested upon her tiara. Thor smiled amused a few steps behind her, watching the young woman relish in the breeze that carried the smells of the feast and grass up to the third floor.

Gerd, Aswren's Jotun mother, came up to stand beside her. Her large, thin hands came up to fix the velvet of her sleeve as she leant down to whisper. "You didn't wear the gown I had laid out for you."

"No, mother, I didn't. I figured I would at least be comfortable on this very long day ahead of me."

"And you didn't pin your hair back."

"At least I had it brushed. Brushing curls is hard."

"Yes, well, thank the Gods for that."

"Always lovely talking to you too, mother." Aswren smiled.

Thor and Freyr looked at both women, then to each other, and back at the girls. Freyr alone felt bold enough to respond.

"Everything all right?"

"Dad, how do I look?"

"Beautiful as always." The God responded immediately, and flapping his mouth shut as Gerd met his eyes.

"…Well, that other dress might have been better. I think. I don't know. Your mother thinks so."

Thor's eyebrow shot up into his hairline.

"Let us begin. Shall we?"

"Of course, Aswren." Her mother resigned.

The princess turned to address the crowd, catching the eyes of those who looked over at just the right time. Every soul hushed within seconds, and she realized that they had been watching for the moment she would begin to address them. The words she intended froze on her tongue, and a shy chuckle bubbled up from her throat.

"Citizens of Alfheim. This is not the first time I have addressed you on the anniversary of my birth, but I still am not used to the sight of seeing so many elves in one place, united under one occasion. For some of you, home is here in the Capital, but I know most have traveled dozens and hundreds of miles for more than a few days. It is of the highest honor that I welcome you all here today…"

Thor whispered to Gerd as Aswren continued to speak to the Elves.

"What's going to happen after Aswren's speech?"

"As per tradition, the royal family from each province will present a single or set of gifts." Gerd whispered back as a parade rounded the left column of the palace along the road. The colorful band of elves were advancing quickly in a steady hum of bells, music, and footsteps dancing in time. Children bolted for the road and climbed upon any available pair of shoulders to watch the carriages and carts pass by. All animals, soldiers, entertainers, even royalty had festive garb of silk, color, jewels, and even gold. Those that weren't fully dressed were painted completely in complicated designs and written language.

For the politics of the ceremony, each province of elves brought forth their own representatives. The selected royal bloodlines of each state were easily distinguished from one another in the parade—from the tiny fairies to the Light Elves—each varied in color, size, and culture. Oberon had his brothers and sisters performing a light show with their magic for the princess, scattering pixie dust and flowers over the excited spectators. They flew in intricate swirls and geometric shapes, blinking in shades of green, yellow, pink, orange, and purple. Oberon flew personally up to the balcony, bowing low in mid-air as he carried a velvet bag of Aswren's favorite color.

"My lady. I present to you on behalf of the Northern Lowlands, a pot of Lavolin Nectar. May your year to come be blessed."

"Ooh, Oberon, this is lovely. Thank you very much." Aswren smiled as she took the bag from him. With a flash of light, the blue fairy fluttered away to meet his family.

Overall, about 20 provinces were paraded past the palace, each with a gift specific to their skills and biome. The Sea Dwellers brought a pearl necklace harvested from their deepest trench, the Mountain Nomads presented a set of gemstones, those from the Poles—their name hadn't been easily heard— offered a collection of furs.

Aswren especially lit up at the fur coats and rugs, anything she considered practical. But of all the gifts she received, the High Elves from the Capital offered her favorite. Their present was alive.

"What... is this?" Freyr gasped, standing from his chair to look down at the crowd below.

Aswren's eyes blew wide and she pressed against the railing to look close. The Councilor of the High Elves dismounted, gesturing with one long, elegant hand.

"From the finest breeding and training the Avalon Family can offer, Lady Aswren, I give you: Baldir—Dontae Tigris."

All eyes looked forward to watch the creature approach with massive, nearly silent paws. The enormous cat, resembling a tiger with size comparable to a horse, stopped obediently in response to a huff from the elf holding his reigns. Canines as long as an adult's arm protruded from his upper jaw, and the length of his body was covered in a short summer coat of burnt orange fur and dark stripes, defined in black patterns especially around his cheeks and eyes. Golden glass they were, scanning and alert. He was a majestic creature, his broad head raised in waiting for his new master as Aswren scrambled to get to the first floor.

The elves, his previous masters, had dressed the animal in ceremonial armor for the occasion: a saddle encrusted with precious stones, a chest plate of platinum, and a collar of blue sea glass, silver, and black leather. He seemed to wear it proudly, his rolling shoulders coiled back to display pectorals of feathery white fur and shining metal.

Aswren could barely believe the gift offered to her, and the Avalon family looked incredibly pleased with themselves to be able to afford the fortune that must have been invested in this animal. He was young, barely a prince himself, and bowed his body in a lean line when the princess came forward to study him with wide eyes.

All her childhood Aswren had watched the High Elves training for battle atop their "mounts", enormous cats with magnificent speed and stamina. Large cats as soldiers were specific to the elves, especially in the southern territories. The Avalon family had pioneered the taming of the Tigris and other species for their strength advantage, but never had a war to prove the potential of these feline soldiers. For that reason and more important traditions, Freyr rejected that his army make the transition to feline mounts and continued to breed horses and boars. The Avalon family was making a very public and controversial statement here by gifting the princess—who had recently raised her status to warrior—with their innovation. But Aswren completely disregarded the political implications, and could only focus on the beautiful creature bowing at her feet.

Some elves are skilled in telepathy, and Aswren briefly wondered if they had bothered to teach him language.

"Baldir. You may rise and present yourself."

"My lady. I am at your service." A foreign voice declared inside her mind. The cat briefly met her eyes, standing and lowering his head so that she may touch him.

Aswren's hand hovered above the warm nose, hesitating before pressing against the short fur. This was Baldir's submission, to avert his eyes and surrender his sensitive snout to touch. The crowd recognized the formation of a sacred bond, and erupted in a roar of applause.

Aswren broke into a grin as she turned to address her people, the enormous mount waiting patiently at her side.

"Citizens and Members of the Council: I want to thank everyone for their attendance in our Capital on this most glorious day, as well as these lovely gifts. I'm sure you're all anxious for dinner—especially I—so let me not keep you any longer. The Games will begin in exactly two hours in the Piscine Garden, but for now let us feast."

The crowd clapped wildly, taking off in the multiple directions of long outdoor tables set with a cornucopia of different foods.

"This entire festival is amazing..." Thor said as he followed Aswren.

"We try our best."

"What did you mean by 'The Games'? What happens in two hours?"

"As part of the entertainment, we host games: feats of strength, magic, agility, intelligence, so forth, and each province submits a contestant. They are usually a member of the royal family, but we invite the common people to watch and place bets. The winning nation is given a gift."

"You host events every day?"

"No, just on the first day. Then the real festivities begin. Everyone throws their own party, and then the rain comes. People dance under the downpour in the streets, children play in their soaked clothes, workers sit down for a long rest—it's going to be beautiful."

Thor only stared at her for a few long moments, deciding finally to lean over and place a kiss on the top of her head.

"I don't know how I went through so many years of my life without having seen what you do for these people."

"Ladies and gentleman: Welcome to this year's Freyrlief Games, as per tradition hosted in our realm's capital, Valakunta." Freyr proclaimed. He addressed the grassy lawn full of seated elves that surrounded the arena dug deep into the planet below.

This "coliseum" was a great crevice below ground-level, accessible only by a single flight of stairs that ran along the east wall. The ground was level and void of imperfections, but mages were already filing down the staircase to create an obstacle course from the vulnerable ground at their feet. Therefore, each challenge was different with a unique terrain.

"The object of the games is to conquer each challenge by submitting one contestant from each nation to compete. Each test will represent one 'round', and can have a focus on a multitude of strengths. The first contestant to successfully complete the challenge will earn one point of credit. The nation with the most acquired credits after all 19 challenges will have a gift bestowed upon their citizens. This year, the prize is 100,000 Mons."

Aswren had tuned out her father while he rambled on with the formalities not long after he said welcome, and leaned over to Thor when she saw his eyebrows peak. "There are 19 nations, and each challenge is modeled after a single country. Therefore, each contestant has the chance to earn at least one point. You earn multiple points however, when you can adapt and succeed in an environment that is not your own. That is what creates victors."

Freyr continued. "Let me introduce to you the competitors. From the Weyland Sea: Castiel. From Tordor: Sanje. From the Northern Lowlands: Leek. From the Bergarass Plains: Brunhildor. From Isgasil: Marcus—"

"—Wait a minute." Aswren whispered, not disturbing the king as he rattled off nations and names, waving his hand at each young man.

Young men. She thought, eyes following the lads that walked across the platform at the mouth of the arena.

Thor was unperturbed as he admired the warriors dressed for battle. In Asgard, the men still fought more than anyone else, and he wasn't fazed by a lack of women presented as contestants. But Aswren knew better, who had in her youth seen many women and even children come forward to claim first prize.

These men were obviously handsome, some lean, some built, and painted across their chest and cheeks in delicate arches. She knew those marks, although they had never been directed at her. They were like neon signs, proclaiming a person's fertility as obvious as a woman carries her mature hips and breasts. And that wasn't the only anomaly here—Aswren recognized many of the men from the banquets and diplomatic meetings she had frequented before.

Princes.

The widow narrowed her eyes before taking her seat again by Thor with a frown.

He leaned down to whisper. "Is everything all right?"

"Freyr has turned the games into a competition of suitors."

Thor's eyed darted from Aswren to the arena and back. "Suitors? How do you know?"

"I recognize their paint. It's a romantic dialect of Elfish, meant to proclaim viability and unwed status... Even today my parents couldn't leave the subject of marriage at the door."

"...Are you going to be all right?"

"...Fine."

Several hours later, Marcus was proclaimed the champion: a well-built lad from Isgasil, the only upper-class city just east of the capital. The boy was covered in filth and obviously exhausted, but brown eyes peered from beneath his brown fringe to smile at the princess. His ears were short and leaf-shaped, as is consistent with this eastern race. The war-paint that once read "First born, viable, available" was smeared across his brown skin in red and gold streaks.

Aswren cradled the box of ten 10,000 Mons credit pieces, her expression having not changed from cynical and accusatory.

"Congratulations, Marcus of Isgasil." She quipped.

"May your nation have eternal days of peace and prosperity."

"Actually, Aswren." Her father interjected.

"I have invited Marcus to dine with us this evening, privately. It is a privilege for the people of Isgasil."

"...I'm sure it is."

Freyr rested his hand on his daughter's shoulder, fully aware of how uncomfortable she was.

"I will have 2 servants show you to a bathing room, Marcus, and have a fresh change of clothes waiting."

"Yes, your majesty." The boy obediently replied, licking at his salty lip.

"We look forward to having you at dinner. Don't we, my darling afir?" The god squeezed his daughter's shoulder.

"The pleasure is all mine."

Most of Aswren's patience was channeled at her parents, who ate together at the head of the table. Every question intended to encourage a conversation was answered swiftly and concisely, as chaste an answer as was respectable. The prince at her side could sense her passive aggression, and did not talk for most of the meal, choosing only to speak when spoken to, usually to answer either Freyr or Gerd about his upbringing, training, parents, the usual jargon.

The meal's end was the most noise made for the past hour, concluded with bows, handshakes, and quick goodbyes.

Aswren was following Thor up the stairs to their room when a voice called from the ground.

"My lady Aswren!"

Her head looked around for the man, spying the prince at the bottom of the staircase. "Marcus."

"If I might have a word in private, your majesty. I would be most honored."

"...Okay." She replied, waving Thor away when he turned to look back down at her.

"You go on, Thor. I'll be up in a few minutes."

The prince extended his hand to helped her down the steps, a last ditch attempt at a smile on his lips. Her smile as equally half-hearted, ticking up only one corner of her petal-shaped mouth. But despite her animosity, Aswren allowed herself to be led into the parlor, a roaring fire already stoked inside the fireplace. Marcus gestured for her to sit, and she reluctantly took a spot against the arm of the plush couch.

For what seemed like a long while he didn't speak, pondering his hands threaded together as he leaned on his knees. Finally, he managed to mutter into the tense silence of the room, his accent slurring his quiet words.

"...Is it I that you are not pleased with?"

"No, Marcus. That's not it at all. I just... was surprised that my father turned the games this year into a 'Tournament of Suitors'. Against my wishes, I'll add."

He looked surprised, sitting up. "You're not looking for a husband?"

"No, it's actually the furthest thing from my mind right now. I'm not ready yet."

The warrior's features softened as he scanned her melancholy eyes. "Your husband, 'the Green Prince' the elves called him, you have not gotten over his death."

He watched her sit still, giving only a vague answer as she refused to meet his eyes.

"I do not blame you, my lady. I, too, was not here by mine own choosing. My father entered me into the games upon Freyr's request, but I don't want to be married."

"Why did you win, then? No one would have blamed you for coming in second."

"I thought winning and earning a dinner with a princess might convince me that I want to marry one. But when I saw how unhappy you were, I remembered how unsatisfied I am. For my heart belongs to another, one I am not allowed to possess."

Aswren sat up as he peaked her interest. "You are love with a citizen?"

He chuckled bitterly. "She is my chambermaid. You understand the scandal that would ignite for my family."

"…You know, Marcus, it's only since my husband's death that I finally see how many souls live unsatisfied. Love unfulfilled is so much more widespread than we care to admit. Especially in those most privileged."

"What a shock it would be to the people, then? To learn that the common man is the only one truly free to love. Perhaps then they would stop worshipping us, when they find out that they alone hold the greatest treasure in all the nine realms."

"They wouldn't stop their worship, but they would begin to pity us. And rightfully so. Is this the price for royal blood?" Aswren said.

"I go to sleep every night pondering that same question. Would it mean I could marry any woman I please, I would forfeit my status."

"For love, I would give my powers."

The next morning, the princess had to drag herself from her bed, dreading the tense breakfast that she knew was already waiting downstairs.

"Aswren." Freyr quipped from another part of the entryway.

"May I have a word?"

"Yes, father. What of?" The princess made a swift turn from the dining room, hiking up the spiral staircase after him.

Freyr kept close to the door as he motioned for her to sit, and he made sure to click the door shut before he joined her across the parlor. Sun drifted in from the open windows behind them, already starting to fade as the makings of clouds crept up on the horizon. Aswren suspected the nature of her father's discussion but she continued to wait patiently as he sighed and fought for words while running a meaty hand through his curly red hair. He tugged at his beard, scratching the short hairs as his blue eyes bore holes in the rug.

"…I'm sorry. I had nothing to do with the games yesterday, Aswren, I swear to you. Please believe me, I never meant for your birthday to take such a distasteful turn—"

"—oh, spare me, father." The princess snipped. "You had to have known something."

"No, truly! I have nothing to do with the games, your mother is the one who always—"

"—Freyr." A deeper female voice warned him from the doorway.

"Freyr, darling, if you don't mind I would like to speak to my daughter alone, please."

The god sat perfectly still until Gerd's icy stare finally panned over to him. He relented, leaving the room with a last glance at his youngest child.

Aswren only spoke when the room was quiet again. "Tell me, mother, what exactly was your plan?"

"To create an engagement, of course."

"Why?" She spat.

"Aswren, this is madness. It's been what, 3 years? 4? You must pick another suitor. I gave you over a dozen men to choose from and you had the audacity to make that dinner as uncomfortable as possible. Marcus was ashamed, Isgasil is outraged that you rejected their prince, do you realize how SELFISH you are?! 19 men, Aswren. That's more of a choice than I had!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You don't understand the privileges you take for granted. Do you know many young women would fight to the death for a choice in their husband? I didn't even want to marry your father, but his status was in my best interest. For the god's sake, he had his servant boy court me for him. I want more for you than that. And certainly, more than waiting for a man who isn't coming back."

Aswren refused to face her mother as a single, silent tear fell upon her cheek.

"You want me to have a choice? I choose the man I am already married to."

"Oh, Aswren, put your self-righteous notions aside. If not for me then for your father. I should tell you that the vision of his death is complete. During the final battle of the Gods, Surtur will end your father. He won't tell me what will become of you or me, but we must assume the worse. Everyone will be called to fight and an heir of Freyr's bloodline must take the throne."

"You doubt the elves. Let the conclusion of Ragnarok mark the beginning of a period of self-government."

"They haven't been self-governed for millennia, Aswren. Texts on the subject are in a dialect that is only read by a handful of scholars, and such a drastic change in leadership would cause chaos. I don't doubt that our time in power is dwindling but transition must be smoother than a war that leads to the devastation of this planet and no one to pick up the pieces. You must bear an heir, sooner rather than later."

" I'm old enough to make decisions for the betterment of my people independently, and I don't believe that marrying Marcus, or any elfish prince, is the answer to our problems. So in regards to my personal life, I will do my waiting for Loki as long as I please."

Gerd's face tightened as she fought to still her raging blood. She took one last shot in the dark.

"Then you will not do it here. Either you pick a suitor by the winter or you return to Asgard and stay there. Indefinitely. I will have succession moved to your cousin, Gersemi. She is to be wed in the spring. "

Aswren froze, her mind threatening to derail. "And my powers?"

"Are at stake. You know very well that our gifts are a privilege, Aswren. They must be earned. With so much in the balance, we cannot leave these decisions to the chance that Loki will return as your husband. You must accept that even if he was to come home, what all is left of your marriage? The god is a criminal, a traitor, who as soon as he sets foot into Asgard will be arrested and tried—"

"Have care how you speak, mother. You're threatening to extradite me and insulting my husband in the same sentence."

"I have to. This isn't a game—this is the burden of ruling. If we were not facing another war, I could let you have 100 suitors and turn them all away one-by-one. But circumstances change. You can either have the hope that you cling to so desperately, or everything else."

Icy eyes stared hard into ones equally blue as the goddesses' mind raced. On one side of the argument she could wait long enough for Loki to return, reclaim her place at his side, perhaps even start the family she had wanted for years now. Her mother couldn't really take her power, she would need a judicial order, and the courts won't grant one for anything less than murder or treason. But the other option would still leave her with a throne, husband, and children, only with her parents blessing and all within a reasonable amount of time.

"…I will send you my decision on a prince before the end of the season."

Gerd let out a sigh, her shoulders falling. "I am so pleased to hear that. Despite what you may believe, Aswren, I only want what's best for you. A princess has privilege, choices, and a grieving widow is no way for her to spend a lifetime."

"Perhaps not. I should get back to breakfast, Thor is probably wondering where I am."

"Oh, yes of course! Go on, you must be starving. I'm sorry to have kept you for so long."

The towering woman reached out to her daughter as she turned to leave, grasping her head to lean in and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Aswren."

The daughter smiled back at her as practiced and calculated as the smirk of a certain trickster she knew.

"And I you, mother."

She left the room in a huff, obvious to anyone who watched from the stairs or long, white hallway. Only as the young woman made a bee line for her room to pack a suitcase, she missed the hunched figure of her father outside the parlor, waiting patiently on a couch along the wall. He jumped to his feet, outraged that an intense argument between his wife and daughter left the latter storming up the stairs and locking her door.

He met Gerd in the doorway and forced her back into the room. The lock clicked behind them. "Gerd, darling, what did you say—?"

"—there's no need to worry, Freyr. Aswren and I amended the succession situation. She's going to marry one of the princes after all."

"What... What succession situation? What are you going on about?"

"You came to me with your vision, I'm merely securing our place in power. You said yourself our bloodline must survive after Ragnarok."

"Yes, I said that because I saw it, Gerd. I SAW the one will survive the war: Aswren's son. And Loki, he… I doubted Aswren too about her faith that he will return. But now I know he must. The warrior who emerges to claim Alfheim's throne is the trickster's son."