𝖎. heavy is the crown

VIVICA WAS LATE.

Her sandals struck the cold marble floor with sharp urgency, the sound ricocheting through the quiet corridors of the palace like a heartbeat. She clutched the sides of her silken gown to keep its delicate fabric from tangling around her legs, its flowing elegance entirely unsuited to the mad dash she now found herself in.

The library had done it again. It had proven to be a perfect escape. Hours had melted away as she sifted through centuries of knowledge, her mind lost in the labyrinth of Asgardian history. And now? Now she was paying the price.

Thor’s coronation.

It was the event her older brother had been crowing about for weeks, his booming voice echoing through the halls as he regaled anyone who would listen with stories of his destined reign. Vivica muttered a curse under her breath, frustration mixing with the unease gnawing at her. Of all the days to lose herself in ancient texts, why did it have to be this one?

The towering double doors of the Great Hall loomed ahead, their gilded carvings depicting scenes of Asgard’s glory and triumph. They seemed to sneer at her, mocking her tardiness with their grandeur. Vivica quickened her pace, her breath shallow and uneven as she tried to smooth her hair with one hand.

She reached the doors at last, their immense weight held steady by the guards stationed on either side. With synchronized precision, they pushed the doors open.

A wave of hushed silence rolled out to meet her.

The hall was magnificent, even more so than usual. Sunlight poured in from high windows, refracting off polished golden fixtures. Lavish tapestries swayed gently from unseen breezes, their threads shimmering with depictions of battles and victories.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to the entrance as one. Their faces were expectant, alight with anticipation for the grand entrance of Thor, the favored son of Asgard, the soon-to-be king.

Instead, they got her.

Vivica hesitated for the briefest of moments, her breath catching in her throat. The weight of the stares pressed against her, suffocating in its intensity. Then, as if on cue, the murmur of discontent began. A few disappointed groans rippled through the crowd, their annoyance subtle but cutting.

Vivica squared her shoulders. She could feel the judgment in their gazes, but she refused to falter. Rolling her eyes — subtly, so subtly that only the sharpest observers might catch it — she took a steadying breath and descended the staircase into the hall.

Her dress swayed with each deliberate step, the silver fabric catching the light and giving her the appearance of a figure carved from moonlight. She moved with grace, though her palms were damp, and the knot in her stomach tightened with every step closer to the throne.

Odin sat atop it, his presence as commanding as ever. Clad in ceremonial armor adorned with runes and shimmering gold accents, he held Gungnir with the ease of someone who had wielded power longer than most could imagine. His gaze was fixed firmly on the grand doors behind her, his expression unreadable, but his posture rigid with expectation.

Vivica stopped before him, her head dipping into a respectful bow. The silence stretched between them, an unspoken reprimand hanging in the air. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but steady, though laced with a hint of self-directed exasperation.

“Father,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back, “I apologize for my lateness. I lost track of time in the library again.”

Her words hung in the air, unanswered. Vivica straightened, willing herself to meet Odin’s gaze. But her father didn’t so much as glance at her. His focus remained resolutely on the towering entrance, his expression an impenetrable mask of carved stone.

The sting of his dismissal was subtle but sharp, like a sudden gust of icy wind. Vivica swallowed the flicker of hurt, folding it neatly into the depths of her composure. She drew a quiet breath, smoothing invisible creases in her dress before stepping aside.

She moved to stand beside Loki and their mother, hands clasped in front of her, her posture as poised as ever. Yet beneath the surface, her thoughts churned — frustration mingling with an odd pang of guilt.

“He looks mad,” Vivica murmured to Loki, her voice carrying just enough dry humor to mask the tension curling in her chest. “I didn’t interrupt one of his very important speeches, did I?”

Loki’s lips curved into a smirk, the familiar glint of mischief lighting his gaze. “Sadly, no. I would have applauded if you had.”

Vivica raised a brow. “You’re supportive like that.”

“When time calls for it, sister,” he quipped. But his playful air faded quickly, his sharp green eyes flicking toward the doors. “Thor’s very late,” he added, his voice now quieter, irritation threading through the words.

Vivica tilted her head, about to reply, but their mother’s gentle hand rested on her arm.

“Shh,” Frigga whispered. Her serene voice held a quiet authority that stilled Vivica at once. With a small nod, Vivica mouthed an apology, falling silent as the weight of the moment pressed down once more.

Odin’s gaze swept over the assembled crowd, the tension in the hall thickening beneath the force of his silent disapproval. His jaw tightened, a slight but unmistakable motion that sent a ripple of unease through the room. Conversations faltered; whispers broke like fragile waves against the strained quiet.

The Warriors Three stood across the hall, their stances disciplined but their shared glances betraying a thread of unease.

“Where is he?” Volstagg’s booming voice finally broke the silence, the sound cutting through the charged air like a blade. His broad frame shifted as he turned toward Loki and Vivica, his bushy brows furrowing with concern.

“He said he’d be along,” Loki replied, his tone clipped, irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

From her place beside them, Vivica caught the subtle shake of Sif’s head. Her expression was tight, her lips pressed into a thin line of restrained frustration.

“What?” Volstagg pressed, his voice low but resonant, rumbling like distant thunder.

Sif sighed, her exasperation evident in the subtle way her shoulders tensed. “He wants to make an entrance,” she said, her words clipped and filled with the weight of unspoken judgment.

Vivica let out an audible groan, earning a few raised eyebrows from the closest onlookers. She rolled her eyes, the motion exaggerated just enough to draw Loki’s smirk back into place.

“Too late,” she muttered, her tone laced with wry amusement. “I already did that for him.”

Fandral snickered, though his usual mirth was tinged with unease. “Well, if he doesn’t show up soon, he shouldn’t bother. Odin looks like he’s ready to feed him to his ravens.” The words were delivered lightly, but his quick, darting glance toward the All-Father betrayed genuine apprehension.

Loki's expression was a careful mask of indifference, though his voice carried a distinct edge of cynicism. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said, his tone dry. “Father will forgive him. He always does.”

Vivica turned her head toward Loki, studying him. She caught the subtle undercurrent of bitterness threading through his words. Loki’s resentment toward Thor was a familiar shadow that lingered in their family dynamic. Though Vivica often felt her own frustrations with their father’s favoritism, she believed it was best not to show it bothered her. For everyone's sake.

A sudden, resonant roar cut through the hall, drawing all attention. The sound reverberated like distant thunder, growing louder with each passing second until the floor beneath their feet seemed to hum with its intensity.

Mjolnir appeared first, streaking through the air with an ethereal glow, a comet of raw power and grace. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the hammer tore through the space above their heads, the light illuminating their awestruck faces.

And then, behind it, came Thor.

He strode into the Great Hall like a hero out of legend, his golden hair catching the light, his armor polished to an almost blinding sheen. His grin, wide and irrepressible, was equal parts confidence and charm. Mjolnir looped around in a flawless arc, and Thor caught it behind his back with practiced ease, the motion so fluid it felt like a dance he’d performed a thousand times.

The hall erupted into cheers. The tension that had gripped the room only moments before dissolved into jubilant adoration as Thor lifted his hammer high, a conductor directing an orchestra of roaring applause.

Thor basked in the attention, spreading his arms in a mock display of humility. His booming voice rang out as he greeted familiar faces, his laughter infectious. The energy in the hall became electric, the admiration so thick it felt as if it could be touched.

Vivica, standing near the front, allowed herself a faint, sardonic smile. “Always the showman,” she muttered under her breath.

Beside her, Loki’s expression remained unreadable, though Vivica noticed the subtle tightening of his jaw.

Her attention shifted to their father. Odin had not moved. His face was an impassive mask, but Vivica could see the faint twitch of his brow, the hard set of his mouth. His disapproval was as palpable as the applause ringing through the hall.

Finally, Thor approached the throne, the cheers fading as he knelt on one knee before Odin. His eyes flicked upward briefly, catching Frigga’s gaze. With a boyish grin, he winked at her, and despite herself, their mother’s lips curved into a soft, indulgent smile.

Odin rose with deliberate slowness, his imposing frame commanding absolute attention. Gungnir, gleaming and etched with ancient runes, struck the marble floor with a deafening boom. The room fell silent instantly, the sound of the staff echoing like a final heartbeat in the stillness.

The All-Father’s voice, deep and resonant, carried the weight of centuries. “Gungnir. Its aim is true, its power strong. With it, I have defended Asgard and the lives of the innocent across the Nine Realms since the time of the Great Beginning. And though the day has come for a new King to wield his own weapon, that duty remains the same.”

The hall was still, the gravity of his words pressing down on every soul present.

“Thor Odinson,” Odin continued, his piercing gaze fixed on his son. “My heir. My firstborn. So long entrusted with this mighty hammer, Mjolnir. Forged in the heart of a dying star, from the sacred metal of Uru. Only one may lift it. Only one is worthy. Who wields this hammer commands the lightning and the storm. Its power has no equal — as a weapon to destroy or as a tool to build. It is a fit companion for a King.”

As Odin spoke, Vivica’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, though she quickly masked the motion by clasping them together. Despite her efforts, the words stirred something in her, a gnawing reminder of her own place in the shadow of Thor’s endless spotlight.

She glanced toward Loki. His face remained composed, but his eyes betrayed him. Bitterness flickered there, sharp and unguarded for just a moment before it was buried once more beneath his usual façade.

Odin let the weight of his words settle before continuing, his gaze sweeping the gathered crowd. “Today, I entrust you with the greatest honor in all the Nine Realms: the sacred throne of Asgard.” His tone softened slightly, though it remained as commanding as ever. “I have sacrificed much to achieve peace. So too must a new generation sacrifice to maintain it. Responsibility, duty, honor. These are not merely virtues to which we must aspire — they are essential to every soldier and every King.”

“Thor Odinson,” Odin intoned, his voice resonating through the hall, “do you swear to guard the Nine Realms?”

Thor’s head lifted, his blue eyes steady as he answered, his voice unwavering. “I swear.”

“Do you swear to preserve the peace?”

“I swear.”

"Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and pledge yourself only to the good of all the Realms?"

A pause followed, heavy with meaning. Thor’s hand tightened around Mjolnir, his knuckles white, as he held his father’s gaze. “I swear,” he said at last, the conviction in his voice ringing clear.

Vivica stood with her hands clasped before her, though her fingers twitched with nervous energy. Pride swelled in her chest as she watched her brother, but beneath it simmered a faint unease she couldn’t quite explain.

Odin raised Gungnir high, its gleaming surface catching the flicker of torches. His voice, deep and commanding, filled every corner of the hall. “Then on this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you—”

The words faltered. A gasp rippled through the crowd as Odin’s eyes darted upward, his face darkening with alarm. Vivica followed his gaze to the banners hanging above. Her breath hitched as she saw it: a creeping frost, the deep red fabric cracking and splintering under the advancing ice.

The temperature plummeted. A chill swept through the hall, unnatural and biting, cutting through the warmth of the torches. Around her, murmurs of unease rose among the assembled Asgardians, their voices tinged with fear.

“Frost giants…” Odin’s voice was low, a growl that carried both warning and disdain.

Thor rose in a single fluid motion, Mjolnir already in his hand. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing with resolve as he strode toward the grand doors. His cape billowed behind him, the confidence in his movements igniting a spark of hope in the room. With a final glance over his shoulder, he disappeared into the pale, frosted light beyond.

The hall erupted into action. Warriors armed themselves, the clash of metal ringing out as swords were drawn and shields raised. The Warriors Three and Sif exchanged grim looks before rushing to follow Thor. Guards moved swiftly to secure the entrances, their movements precise despite the frost creeping along the walls.

Vivica’s heart pounded. She stepped forward instinctively, the call to fight, to prove herself, was irresistible.

But before she could take another step, a hand closed firmly around her wrist.

“Stay here,” Frigga’s voice was calm but resolute.

Vivica turned to her mother, her amber eyes blazing. “Mother, I have to help! I can fight—I’m ready!”

Frigga’s expression softened, though her grip did not. “No, my daughter. This is not your battle.”

“Thor can’t do this alone!” Vivica pleaded, her voice rising. “I can stand beside him. Let me stand beside him.”

Frigga’s gaze didn’t waver. “And you will. One day.” She stepped closer, her hands settling on Vivica’s shoulders. The warmth of her touch was grounding, but her words carried an unshakable finality. “Your time will come, my daughter, and when it does, you will shine brighter than you ever imagined. But for now, you must trust.”

Thor stood alone in the grand hall, the echoes of earlier festivities now haunting in the silence. Streamers drooped like wilted flowers, forgotten goblets sat in pools of spilled mead, and platters of untouched delicacies lay scattered on overturned tables. The air, once filled with laughter and music, was now thick with tension and Thor’s simmering fury.

He paced back and forth, his heavy boots pounding against the marble floor. With a sudden roar, he grabbed the edge of a long table and heaved it over, sending plates and goblets crashing to the floor.

"Hey! I was sitting here!"

Thor froze mid-stride, turning to see Vivica rising from a bench near the wreckage. Her golden hair fell in loose waves around her face, and in one hand, she clutched a slim leather-bound book, now partially covered in fruit. Her brows were furrowed, but her tone carried a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

"Vivica," Thor began, his voice tinged with surprise. He hadn't even noticed her there.

"Yes, me," she retorted, brushing off a stray grape from her book. Her piercing gaze bore into him, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that was all too reminiscent of their mother. "What are you doing, Thor? Flipping tables isn't going to solve anything."

Thor let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the day pressing down on him again. "I'm sorry, Viv," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He sank heavily onto the steps beside the mess he’d created, his shoulders slumping under an invisible burden.

Vivica looked at him, noticing the worry etched into his features. Her own expression softened, and she sighed, abandoning her book next to the crushed fruit. She crossed the room and sat beside him, her movements graceful despite the tension in the air.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence, and Loki appeared from behind a nearby pillar, his sharp gaze flicking between his siblings and the chaotic scene. Without a word, he joined them on the steps.

"It's unwise to be in my company right now," Thor said, his voice low, though there was no real malice behind the warning. When neither Vivica nor Loki moved to leave, Thor continued, his tone bitter. "This was to be my day of triumph," he muttered, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the hall.

"It’ll come," Loki said softly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic note of reassurance.

Vivica nodded in agreement. "In time," she added, her voice steady but gentle.

The hall doors creaked open, and Sif strode in, her sharp gaze sweeping over the destruction. Behind her, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg followed, their reactions ranging from amusement to mild concern.

Volstagg’s eyes widened as he surveyed the flipped tables and scattered food. "What's this?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and dismay.

"I told you they’d cancel it," Hogun said dryly, his voice betraying no emotion.

"If it’s any consolation, I think you’re right," Loki murmured to Thor, his voice so low that only his siblings could hear. "About the Frost Giants, about Laufey, about everything."

Vivica frowned, her confusion evident. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her gaze darting between her brothers.

Loki ignored her question, focusing instead on Thor. "If they found a way to penetrate Asgard's defenses once, who's to say they won't try again? Next time, with an army."

"Exactly," Thor said, his eyes alight with determination as the pieces of a plan began to fall into place in his mind.

Vivica, sensing where this was headed, leaned forward, her voice urgent. "There's nothing you can do without defying Father."

Thor suddenly stood, his movements abrupt and purposeful. The spark of an idea had ignited into a flame.

"No, no, no. I know that look," Loki said quickly, stepping in front of Thor.

"It’s the only way to ensure the safety of our borders," Thor argued, his voice resolute.

"Thor, it's madness." Loki’s voice rang out sharply, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Madness?” Volstagg asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What sort of madness?”

Loki quickly waved off the question with a dismissive laugh. "Nothing! Thor was making a jest!"

Thor’s jaw tightened as he took a deliberate step forward, his imposing frame commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “The safety of our realm is no jest,” he said, his voice a low rumble that carried an undeniable weight. "We’re going to Jotunheim."

The statement hung in the air like the distant roll of thunder, heavy and ominous.

Vivica shot to her feet. “Thor, stop and think!” she said, her voice urgent yet composed. Her golden hair caught the flicker of light from the hall’s torches as she stepped closer to her brother. “I understand your frustration, but barging into Jotunheim could spark a war. Do you really want that on your shoulders?” Her tone was steady, but beneath it lay a tremor of concern she couldn’t fully mask despite her efforts.

"Vivica’s right," Sif interjected, moving to stand beside her. The warrior’s eyes, sharp as her blade, locked onto Thor. "Of all the laws of Asgard, this is the one you must not break."

“This isn’t a journey to Earth,” Fandral said, his voice laden with caution. “Where you summon a little lightning and thunder, and the mortals worship you as a god. This is Jotunheim."

Volstagg threw up his hands for emphasis. "And if the Frost Giants don't kill you, your father will!"

Thor’s gaze swept over his companions, his expression unreadable at first, though the fire in his eyes burned brighter with every word spoken against him. He turned to them, his voice rising with conviction. "My father fought his way into Jotunheim, defeated their armies, and took their Casket! We'd just be looking for answers."

"It is forbidden!" Sif exclaimed, her words sharp as steel, cutting through the tension in the room.

Thor turned to face them all, standing tall and resolute, his determination unshaken. His signature grin — a mixture of charm and unrelenting confidence — spread across his face as he addressed his companions.

"My friends," he began, his voice warm yet persuasive, "have you forgotten all that we've done together?"

He turned to Fandral first, gesturing with an open hand. "Fandral, who brought you into the sweet embrace of the most exotic maidens in all of Yggdrasil?"

Fandral’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. "You did," he admitted, his tone almost begrudging.

Thor’s gaze shifted to Hogun, his expression no less animated. "And Hogun, who led you into the most glorious of battles, where we emerged victorious, hailed as legends?"

Hogun’s stoic demeanor softened ever so slightly. "You did," he said curtly.

Turning to Volstagg, Thor spread his arms wide, his voice taking on a theatrical lilt. "And who introduced you to delicacies so succulent, you thought you'd died and ascended to Valhalla itself?"

Volstagg chuckled, rubbing his beard. "You did," he confirmed with a grin.

Finally, Thor looked to Sif, his demeanor shifting as his tone softened with pride. "And Sif, who stood by you, proving to all who doubted that a young maiden could become one of the fiercest warriors Asgard has ever known?"

"I did," Sif replied, her voice steady, though a flicker of fondness crossed her face.

"True," Thor said with a nod, "but I supported you." Thor swept his gaze across them all, his tone growing more impassioned. "My friends, trust me now. We must do this."

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Thor's words battling with their shared apprehension. They knew the risks, but Thor’s charisma was undeniable, and his unwavering determination was infectious.

"Come now," Thor urged, his voice lighter but still commanding. "You’re not going to let my brother and me take all the glory, are you?"

At the mention of Loki, all eyes turned toward the god of mischief, who had remained quiet until now. For a brief moment, surprise flickered across Loki’s face before he masked it with a sly smile.

"What?" Loki asked innocently, as if he hadn’t been caught off guard by Thor’s invitation.

"You are coming with me," Thor declared firmly, his tone allowing no argument.

Loki hesitated for only a moment before nodding, his smile tightening. "Yes, of course! I won’t let my brother march into Jotunheim alone. I’ll be at your side."

Vivica’s voice cut through the moment, calm but filled with a quiet determination. "Can I come?" Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her gaze flicked between Loki and Thor, searching for a crack in their resolve.

The two brothers exchanged a glance, one that held an entire conversation between them. Vivica recognized that look — she had seen it before, a silent agreement to leave her behind. Her chest tightened at the realization.

Thor ran a hand through his hair, the motion a sign of the regret he was unwilling to fully voice. His voice, when he spoke, was gentle but unwavering. "I’m sorry, sister, but you must stay here."

Vivica’s brows shot up, her confusion quickly morphing into something sharper. “What? Why does everyone get to go except for me?” she demanded, her voice rising as frustration began to seep into her words. “I’m just as capable as any of you.”

Loki, usually the one to delight in teasing, now shifted uneasily. His composure faltered, and he avoided her gaze as he echoed Thor’s reasoning. “It’s too dangerous,” he said, though his words were far from convincing. His voice felt rehearsed, as if he was trying to sell the idea to both Vivica and himself.

Thor, ever the protector, hastily stepped in to further reinforce the point. "Plus," he added, his tone tinged with an edge of finality, "you yourself said that the plan was risky, Vivica. It’s not something to be taken lightly."

"I never said that," Vivica snapped, raising a finger to emphasize her point. "I may have implied it, but I never said it. And besides, none of you like the plan, yet you're all still going!" Her voice grew sharper, the frustration in her chest building, pushing her words out like a force of nature. "You both marched into battles when you were younger than me. Why is it different now?"

Thor and Loki froze, caught off guard by the intensity of her words. Vivica quickly caught herself, sucking in a sharp breath and recollecting her nerves.

"So," she asked again, her voice quieter but no less resolute, "can I go?"

The silence that followed was deafening. Thor’s gaze dropped to the floor, and Loki pressed his lips together, his face tight with the weight of the decision he didn’t want to make. Sif and the Warriors Three exchanged uneasy looks, their expressions a mix of sympathy and discomfort, none of them daring to speak up in her defense.

Vivica’s chest tightened, her heart pounding with the pressure of their collective refusal. The silence crushed her, leaving her feeling more isolated than ever. She took a shaky breath, trying to hold back the tide of emotions threatening to spill over. But it was too much — the hurt, the anger, the sense of betrayal — it all surged within her, impossible to contain.

"That’s alright," Vivica said sharply, her voice brittle with bitterness. The words tasted like ash in her mouth. She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, the mask of composure slipping over her like a hollow shell. "But when you gullible fools inevitably get hurt, don’t come crying to me for help or reassurance."

Before anyone could respond, Vivica spun on her heel, her boots striking the stone floor with force as she stormed out of the hall. Her footsteps echoed through the grand corridors of Asgard, the sound of her retreat louder than any protest they could have offered. Her heart raced, thundering in her chest, as the distance between them grew with every step.

The cool night air hit her as she stepped outside, and for a moment, it was a balm to the fiery anger inside her. But the chill didn’t touch the heat of the betrayal that still simmered in her veins. She leaned against a marble pillar, her arms crossed tightly, staring up at the stars scattered across the endless Asgardian sky.

Tears welled at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She furiously wiped them away, as if the act alone could erase the pain. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm inside her. But even as she breathed in the cool night air, the ache of being underestimated remained — a heavy, unshakable knot in her chest.