Chapter 720

With Frigga out of immediate danger, Odin could finally turn his attention to the affairs of the realm.

The throne room had lost much of its former splendor. The battle had ended only recently, and the servants had managed to clear away the corpses and scrub the blood from the floor, but the damage to the hall remained. Cracked pillars, shattered stone, and gouges in the walls stood as grim reminders of how close Asgard had come to disaster.

Yet the destruction did not make the room feel desolate. If anything, it lent the place a solemn grandeur. The scars of battle stirred something fierce in anyone who looked upon them, igniting a desire to take up arms and throw themselves into the fight, even if it meant strapping a nuclear warhead to their chest and taking the enemy with them.

Odin sat upon his throne, listening to the reports from his subordinates.

His expression was impassive, his posture as steady as the throne beneath him. Anyone looking at him might have thought the old king had grown too weary to be angered by anything.

They would have been wrong.

The fire burning in Odin’s chest could have melted mountains.

Age had tempered his bloodlust. He was no longer the hot-blooded warrior who had charged into battle in his youth, eager to settle every dispute with the point of a spear. But the Dark Elves had managed to awaken something he had thought long buried.

This time, he intended to slaughter them to the last.

They had dared to attack Asgard itself, penetrating its defenses and marching straight into the throne room. If word of this humiliation spread across the Nine Realms and beyond, what would become of Asgard’s reputation? What would become of the authority its king had spent millennia establishing?

As king, he could not tolerate it.

His father, Bor, had won his greatest glory by defeating the Dark Elves and saving the universe from their attempt to plunge it into darkness. That victory had been celebrated for generations, a defining moment in Asgard’s history.

Now the Dark Elves had returned, and their very existence seemed to spit in Bor’s face. Their resurgence might as well be a declaration that the old king had exaggerated his accomplishments, that his legendary victory had been little more than a boast.

As a son, Odin could not tolerate that, either.

And then there was Malekith.

The Dark Elf king had personally led the attack on Frigga’s chambers alongside a Cursed Warrior, leaving Odin’s wife poisoned and on the brink of death.

As a husband, Odin would never forgive him.

His remaining eye narrowed, the murderous intent behind it carefully concealed.

Once this battle is over, the Dark Elves will be exterminated. Only then will I be satisfied. Only then will the other realms understand the price of crossing Asgard.

Unfortunately, the situation facing him was not nearly as favorable as his resolve might suggest.

The man reporting the aftermath of the attack was not one of Odin’s own court officials. He was Fandral, one of the Warriors Three’s companions and a member of Thor’s inner circle.

Odin had deliberately summoned him to present the report. There was more to the decision than convenience.

A new king would eventually bring his own people into positions of influence. When Thor inherited the throne, his trusted subordinates would naturally rise with him. Odin wanted to see what sort of men they were before that day came, and whether any of them possessed the ability to shoulder the responsibilities of government.

Of the Warriors Four, Odin’s opinion of Sif had improved the most. Her willingness to risk her life to protect Frigga had demonstrated loyalty, courage, and filial devotion. Given time, she would make an excellent wife and mother. More importantly, she had shown that she possessed the qualities expected of a future queen.

Hogun, meanwhile, was a different matter.

Odin had no doubts about his loyalty or his fighting ability. The problem was that Hogun was a foreign prince in his own right. Treating him generously and keeping him close would be an excellent way to strengthen Asgard’s ties with the other realms. Entrusting him with a position of supreme authority, however, would be unwise. Odin could cultivate an ally without handing him the keys to the kingdom.

Volstagg was a straightforward man, generous and boisterous, with the kind of uncomplicated loyalty Odin valued. Unfortunately, his abilities had limits. He would make a fine commander of the palace guard, standing at the king’s side and protecting the royal family.

As for matters of state, it would be better to leave those to someone else.

And then there was Thor.

Odin was beginning to suspect that Evenson had been right about his son. Thor could rise to a crisis, but governing during peacetime required a different set of skills, and those were skills his son seemed determined never to acquire.

Give Thor the responsibility of managing the realm, and Odin feared the entire administration would collapse before the first week was out.

What the boy needed was a capable statesman who could advise him, anticipate problems, and keep the machinery of government running while Thor concentrated on the things he actually understood.

Once, Odin had believed Loki would be the perfect man for that role. If his younger son had remained loyal and kept his ambitions in check, the position of royal adviser would have been his by right.

Instead, Loki had chosen conspiracy and rebellion, severing his own ties to Asgard.

That left Odin with few alternatives.

Fandral, at least, appeared thoughtful and calculating. Perhaps he could be trained for the role. If he proved capable, Odin might eventually place him at the head of the royal administration, giving him a title befitting his responsibilities.

Administrator, perhaps.

It had a respectable ring to it.

"We still haven’t been able to restore the palace’s defensive barrier," Fandral reported.

As he spoke, his eyes kept wandering around the damaged hall. He seemed unsure where to look, and his voice carried a faint tremor.

Odin raised his eye slightly.

You had the courage to follow Thor in an attack on the Icecrown Citadel, and I thought you might amount to something. But now that you’re expected to handle an actual crisis, you look ready to faint.

Fandral, of course, had no idea what the king was thinking.

"Our cannons can’t detect the enemy," he continued. "Heimdall can’t see them, either..."

His lips quivered. At a loss for what else to say, he finally looked straight at Odin.

"Your Majesty, we’ve effectively lost our ability to defend ourselves. What should we do?"

Odin lowered his gaze and clenched his jaw.

What should we do? At the moment, I’m wondering how much trouble I’d get into if I had you dragged outside and beheaded.

He had asked Fandral to analyze the battle, not recite a list of problems that everyone in the palace already knew about.

An intelligence report was supposed to lead somewhere. After laying out the facts, a competent adviser would offer an assessment, perhaps even a proposal. It didn’t need to be perfect. Even a half-baked idea would have been better than standing there with his eyes wide open and asking the king to solve everything for him.

Today, you’re asking me what to do. Tomorrow, will you ask Thor the same question? If he knew how to handle these matters, why would I need you?

At this rate, Fandral would never become the head of the royal administration. Odin doubted the man could survive being targeted by two assassins, let alone navigate the treacherous currents of court politics.

He suppressed his anger with considerable effort.

Then Thor arrived.

And, apparently, his eldest son had decided that subtlety was for other people.

"You locked her up?"

Thor’s voice was sharp with accusation.

He had just learned that Odin had dispatched a squad of royal guards to place Jane Foster under house arrest, supposedly for her own protection. The Aether was inside her, after all, and the Dark Elves had launched their entire campaign to get their hands on it. Keeping Jane under close guard was the obvious thing to do.

Thor, however, had apparently decided that obvious things were optional.

He had come straight to confront his father.

"Everyone, leave us."

Odin waved a hand. Fandral and the other officials bowed and withdrew at once.

The moment they were alone, Odin felt his blood pressure rise another notch.

Your mother nearly died! And what are you doing? Instead of staying at her bedside, making sure she’s recovering, you’re running around demanding that I release your girlfriend!

Thank the Norns for Sif. At least his son’s future wife had enough sense to remain with Frigga and take care of her. If Sif hadn’t stepped in, Thor’s behavior would have amounted to a spectacular failure of duty on the part of the crown prince.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it.

Asgard had just suffered a devastating attack. The king had convened a military council to discuss the realm’s defenses, and the crown prince hadn’t bothered to attend.

Fine. Odin hadn’t expected Thor to come up with any brilliant strategies, anyway.

But now the boy had interrupted the meeting for the express purpose of demanding a woman.

By the Nine Realms, are we doomed? Is this how Asgard ends?

Odin turned his back and took several deep breaths, fighting the urge to roar at the ceiling.

When he finally faced Thor again, he descended the steps from his throne and forced himself to speak calmly.

"I have no desire to argue with you. You’re the crown prince, Thor. Learn to see the bigger picture."

He walked past his son and headed toward the exit.

His slow, weary steps and stooped silhouette made him look less like the All-Father and more like an old man whose heart had finally been broken by his own family.

"I don’t want to argue with you, either," Thor replied, turning to follow him. "I want to pursue Malekith."

Odin stopped.

Well. At least he’s not here solely to demand the release of his girlfriend.

It was something, he supposed. His son had actually given some thought to the affairs of the realm.

The proposed plan was terrible, of course, but it was still an improvement over Fandral’s contribution.

Odin turned to face Thor. If the boy was making an effort, then perhaps there was still hope for him. What else could Odin do? If he’d had a better candidate for the throne, he would have replaced Thor long ago.

"The Aether is in our hands," Odin explained. "Malekith will come to us. We need only prepare our defenses and let him make the next move."

If they held on to the Aether, Malekith would have no choice but to return. Asgard could choose the battlefield, prepare its forces, and crush the Dark Elves when they came.

It was a sound strategy. Patient, measured, and designed to minimize unnecessary losses.

"Yes," Thor replied. "He’ll come back and destroy us."

Odin frowned.

Thor wasn’t so foolish that he couldn’t recognize the enemy’s intentions. He simply had little confidence that Asgard would emerge from the coming battle unscathed.

"You overestimate those monsters," Odin said with a cold laugh. "The armies I dispatched to the other realms have already returned. Two hundred thousand Einherjar, thousands of seasoned commanders, three thousand cannons, and five thousand warships. Every one of them is ready for battle. If Malekith dares to come here again, I’ll bury his entire army beneath the Golden Palace."

The Dark Elves’ initial assault had succeeded because Odin had made a mistake.

He had expected them to attack the other realms first, using those territories as stepping stones toward Asgard. To intercept them, he had spread his forces throughout the Nine Realms, leaving the heart of his kingdom dangerously exposed.

He had not anticipated that the Dark Elves would infiltrate Asgard with a Cursed Warrior and exploit the weakened defenses from within.

That mistake had cost him dearly.

But the situation had changed. His armies had returned, and Asgard’s defenses were being reorganized. The Dark Elves were a remnant of a fallen civilization, a scattered people who had already lost their empire once.

Odin refused to believe they could defeat Asgard in a straight fight.

"I’m trying to protect our people," Thor insisted. "I’ll take Jane to Svartalfheim and draw the enemy away from Asgard. When Malekith removes the Aether from her body, it’ll be exposed and vulnerable. I’ll destroy him and the Aether together."

"That’s a reckless gamble." Odin shook his head.

Thor’s plan was simple enough. Take Jane into the Dark World, lure Malekith away, and destroy him when he extracted the Aether.

The problem was that the plan depended on everything going exactly right.

"If you fail, the Aether falls into Malekith’s hands. At that point, we may have no chance of winning."

Odin understood the value of a warrior willing to take risks. Courage and initiative were essential qualities in a prince. But there was a difference between daring and recklessness.

Asgard was a mighty realm with centuries of military tradition behind it. Its crown prince should not be treating the fate of an entire civilization like a desperate wager.

Odin’s strategy was to hold the advantage, force the enemy to attack on Asgard’s terms, and crush them with overwhelming strength.

Thor’s plan was a gamble with everything at stake.

If it succeeded, Asgard might win without suffering significant casualties.

If it failed, the consequences would be catastrophic.

"But if we sit here and wait, we’ll be in even greater danger," Thor argued. "Their fleet could be hovering above us right now. We wouldn’t even know."

Odin gave a faint, dismissive smile.

"We will win."

He couldn’t be bothered to explain the obvious.

Yes, the Dark Elves’ stealth technology made them difficult to detect. Yes, their ability to launch surprise attacks put Asgard at a disadvantage.

But once the enemy attacked, they would have to reveal themselves.

A rogue emerging from stealth could be dangerous, but not when facing an opponent who could hit hard enough to turn the entire battlefield into a crater.

And even if the battle went badly, so what?

As long as the Aether remained in Asgard’s possession, there was still a way to turn the tables. If necessary, Odin could sacrifice himself to ensure the enemy never claimed it. The moment he died, someone would surely appear to take care of the Dark Elves once and for all.

There are always people who come crawling out of the woodwork when the stakes get high enough.

"How many people will we have to sacrifice?" Thor asked.

He couldn’t understand why his father refused to consider a strategy that might spare Asgard’s people from unnecessary deaths.

"However many it takes!"

Odin slammed Gungnir against the floor.

The crack of the spear echoed through the hall, and his carefully restrained anger finally burst into the open.

Only now did he realize just how little Thor understood about being a king.

A ruler was responsible for protecting his people. Every citizen was a valuable part of the realm, and a wise king would never squander their lives without reason.

But there came a point when sentiment had to yield to necessity. A king who hesitated to sacrifice anything, even when the survival of the realm depended on it, would eventually lose everything.

And Thor’s plan, if it failed, would cost far more lives than the strategy Odin had chosen.

"Then how are you any different from Malekith?" Thor asked.

He had already learned the hard way that provoking his father in the middle of a rage was rarely a good idea. Even so, he couldn’t keep himself from asking the question.

The words struck deeper than Odin wanted to admit.

He let out a dry laugh.

"The difference is that we will win."

With that, Odin turned and walked away.

His son was still far too naive.

Kingship wasn’t about being good or evil. It was about victory or defeat. Every ruler was a bastard in the end, because the world would judge them by whether their people survived, not by how pure their intentions had been.

After all this time, Thor still didn’t understand.

What Odin failed to understand, however, was his own son.

Thor might be naive, but once he made up his mind, not even nine dragons pulling in the opposite direction could change it.

That evening, he summoned his most trusted companions: the Warriors Four.

Evenson was invited as well.

When Evenson arrived, he found the five men gathered around a round table in a cramped, candlelit chamber. Every face was grave. The room was so small and poorly lit that it felt less like a council chamber and more like a place where people went to plot their own executions.

Evenson immediately concluded that whatever they were planning, it was unlikely to end well.

He leaned against the wall rather than joining them at the table.

Once everyone had arrived, Thor spoke.

"Our plan could be considered treason. But don’t worry. I’ve already convinced Heimdall to cover for us."

Evenson’s heart sank.

He began edging along the wall toward the door, moving slowly enough that perhaps no one would notice.

Think about it.

The crown prince had secretly summoned his closest followers. He had already dealt with the king’s eyes and ears to secure their meeting. And the very first thing he said was that their plan amounted to treason.

Evenson could practically see the disaster unfolding.

Any moment now, Thor might slam his fist on the table, declare that no crown prince should have to wait three thousand years for a throne, and call upon everyone present to swear a blood oath before marching on the palace.

And somehow, Evenson would end up dragged into the rebellion with him.

Absolutely not.

He had survived too much to get himself executed over someone else’s family drama.

If Thor wanted to overthrow his father, he could do it without Evenson.

Preferably on another continent.

...