𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋. The castle was polished from head to toe with the queen going so far to bring out familial artefacts of the royal family on display, and servants were held at a higher standard than usual, often becoming the bearers of harsh words and strict punishments at the smallest of mistakes, the entire kingdom holding its breath. 

His mother had insisted he get ready with the help of several servants—he had nothing against them, but his temper was already reaching its limits and he most certainly could dress himself just fine—and he had decided it best to stay on her good side, which, like everyone else's, was thinning; Talil spent the time attempting conversation with the three men, dodging the topic on everyone’s mind, but they would only shake their heads and smile politely, avoiding his gaze. 

"I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable," he said when he was ready, adjusting the collar in the mirror and feeling more aware than usual of its heavy weight, glancing apologetically at one of the men's reflection. 

He was dressed in a traditional pleated kilt and shoulder cape adorned with a golden collar—a wesekh—and beaded leather belt, along with falcon head clasps decorating the small buckles and nefer beads dotting the linen, his feet slipped into a simple pair of sandals and laced with ease. His headdress, or deshret, once again, was the final piece, and, for reasons he had never understood, no one other than the royal family or an appointed head were allowed to lay a finger on it, or any other piece of royal jewelry, unless by direct instruction. Made of a mix of copper accented with cloth, the headdress included the head of a cobra at the front, and was passed down from generations of princes—it had once been his father's, but now it was his. 

Nearly out the door, thanks slipping on his tongue as the servants bowed deeply, he was called back by one of the taller men, who held out four gold bracelets, molded with intricate designs, nodding his head when he took them, clasping them on his wrists before making his way toward the door. 

Just as his hand touched the doorknob, Talil heard someone snap, shortly followed by another, lighter voice, his grip tightening as he opened the door, startled to find his mother only inches from his face, a young woman inclining her head apologetically with a basket on her hip. 

"Where have you been?" she hissed, surveying him with a critical eye and adjusting his belt, her brow crinkled as she tried to rub something only she could see off his face, "Did I not tell you to meet in the entrance hall when you finished dressing?" 

"I've just finished," Talil told her, enduring her antics for a moment before brushing off her hands, smoothing his shendyt and shooting his mother an annoyed glance, one that she understood had nothing to do with her fussing. 

"Stand straight and don't fidget," the queen instructed as they began to walk side by side, and he couldn't help but notice how quickly her chest rose and fell. 

Talil had to scoff under his breath when they arrived in the entrance hall; his father had evidently gone to great lengths to impress Odin, judging by the glowing condition of the walls and the sheer number of ancestral ornaments carefully placed just so around the room to appear pleasing to the peripheral eye. More than a dozen servants stood to the side with trays and baskets and platters overflowing with food and drinks on hand, should their guests be the least bit thirsty the moment they arrived. 

As everyone in the room held their breath as they waited, Talil allowed himself a moment as he focused on the floor, an ornate white beautifully carved with intricate golden and bronze fringe snaking about that seemed to move the longer he stared. It was mesmerizing and proved to be a distraction, for at that moment, the space between the two largest pillars began to glow with more colors than one could identify, and several figures began to materialize. 

Several gasps filled the room as they watched, several men and women that could have only been royal advisors materializing first, expressions of astonishment crossing their face as they took in the room, only immediately adopting one of polite solemnity once their ruler began to appear. 

The first thing to take shape of Prince Thor's figure was several strands of blond and black hair braided together, quickly followed by a pair of arm guards intricately engraved and metallic chest armor, emphasizing the bare muscular biceps that came next. The finishing touch turned out to be a red cape that extended past his knees and nearly touched the floor, swinging back and forth like a pendulum.  

Odin, on the other hand, appeared all at once, a staff gripped in his right hand and a stern expression on his face, the wrinkles underneath his eyes visibly prominent, and the black patch covering the gaping hole, creased and weathered as if the injury had been a part of him since the beginning of time. 

Talil felt an involuntary shudder ripple through his body, averting his eyes so that his gaze fell on the council members behind them, taking note of how the Prince raised his head high and stared up at the ceiling, making an approving noise in his throat. 

"Allfather," King Masud greeted, bowing deeply as he spoke, the servants following his example, "We are honored to have you here in our humble kingdom." 

"A kingdom that conspires against an ally is far from humble," Odin hummed, slowing moving around the room and examining the room its entirety, brushing a finger lightly  over the rim of fingering a bronze vase, or amphora, and rubbing his fingertips together, as if to rid himself of grime only visible to him. 

The king's face paled, and the room fell silent for several moments as they watched the man continue his examination, until the queen quietly cleared her throat, her elbow discreetly jabbing her husband's side with a wide smile on her face. 

The king forced a smile of his own. "This is my wife, Amunet, and our son, Talil." 

As much as he would have liked to do nothing more than spit in the old man's face, Talil offered a bow, raising his eyes and looking up. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Allfather." 

Odin nodded, surveying at the small family and spending a moment too long peering at Amunet; if she noticed his lingering gaze, however, she didn't show it, instead extending her right hand—a clear indication that she expected it to be kissed—and it was to everyone’s surprise when he waved it away and instead touching his cheek to hers and kissing it gently, repeating the action on the other side. 

A painfully awkward laugh escaped Masud as he watched their interaction. Even despite his anger towards his father, Talil could clearly see the steely look hardening in his eyes and clenched teeth hidden behind a wide smile. To someone other than family—or perhaps a servant with impeccable observation skills—it would have been impossible to discern, but deciphering his actions was as natural as it was effortless. 

King Masud cleared his throat, capturing Odin's attention. "I hope your journey was not too tiring. I am very much fascinated by your method of travel, how does it work?" 

"I am not in the business of discussing our kingdom's technologies with you, Masud," he responded firmly, giving a dismissive wave of his hand, "Especially not with the likes of people that are not able to obtain information themselves, and instead rely on others to hand it to them." 

Talil knew tensing against the shaking of his muscles was useless, but he did it instinctively, trying to suppress his anger to the best of his abilities, chilling in the silence to counteract the fear that threatened to engulf him whole. As sharp as a blade and cold as ice, the silence chilled him, as if he were out late on a night devoid of moonlight or stars—more accurately, it was a poison, exactly like the Allfather's presence for in that void of sound the shallowness of the brief conversation was laid bare. 

The man's very existence was a poison better eradicated for everyone involved. 

He couldn't help but think of his sons—rather, his one living son—and of their own relationship with the ruler, seeing as how his own was more than strained; there wasn't any doubt in his mind that Odin was a terrible father as he was a person, wondering if Thor saw him as the benevolent ruler he claimed to be, or as the conqueror he really was. He shook his head  at the thought; the man was his father, of course the prince saw him in a positive light—they were the ones who were simple, he thought, incapable of seeing their ruler for who he really was. 

The sound of tense voices snapped Talil out of his thoughts, raising his head from where his gaze was fixated on the wall behind the Asgardians, tuning in and realizing they were making plans as to how they were to spend the rest of the day, Odin's condescending tone dripping with disdainful words paired with the king's uncomfortable apologetic ones. 

As they turned to make their way out of the hall, he noticed Prince Thor peering at him with what could only be explained as a curious expression in his face, as if he couldn't believe Talil was standing there. He couldn't help but crinkle his nose instinctively at the sight of him, and fell in step with his mother as they walked, leaving the blonde staring after him with the same bearing.

"Would you care to rest before the feast, Allfather?" Masud asked, glancing quickly at the other prince as if unsure to ask his preference as well. 

The man hummed, rubbing his chin in thought as if the matter required great consideration, before turning to his son. "What would you like to do, Thor? Fancy a rest before dinner?" 

"Yes, I quite like that idea," Thor mused, running a hand through his hair and exaggerating a yawn, only partially stifling it behind the back of his hand. 

"It's settled, then," Amunet said with an air of finality, placing a hand on Odin's arm and patting Thor's cheek affectionately, throwing her husband a look, "I will send for you when it's time for dinner, you must be very tired after your journey." 

"Not particularly myself," Odin drawled, pursing his lips as he surveyed the interior of the castle, "But if my son wishes it, then so be it." 

As much as he dreaded the moment, Talil knew his mother would stick to her word, and he was right, for cheerfully suggested her son show Thor to his chambers. He plastered a smile on his face that he hoped showed he would like nothing more to do so, seeing as how he simply wished he could either run far away from here or order someone to smack the older man upside the head. 

After another moment of deliberation, Odin nodded, allowing the queen to steer him towards his own quarters as her husband trailed behind with an air unmistakably associated with a shamed puppy with its tail between its legs. 

As he guided the Asgardian to his chamber, Talil made it clear that he was not interested in conversing with him, despite demonstrating the exact essence of a perfect host at the same time. When they finally made their way to the guest quarters, he opened the door with an exaggerated flourish, brandishing the room with a wave of his hand, watching as the blonde surveyed everything with a curious eye. 

"I trust you'll find everything to your liking?" Talil finally asked, because he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of the prince's presence. 

Thor nodded, brushing his fingertips ever so lightly along the crimson petal of a flower in a white vase near the bed—much more lightly than to be expected of a warrior, Talil mused—and faced him, the corner of his mouth in danger of turning up. "Yes, thank you. How will I know when to be ready for dinner." 

"A servant will send for you," he answered simply, already out the door in what he hoped was disguised as civility, shutting the door with a muffled thud, leaving the blonde to think in complete silence. 

He let out a small sigh as he closed the door roughly, leaning against the wall as he thought of the room's occupant before pushing himself to his feet and tucking a lock of hair that had escaped the deshret behind his ear, nodding at the two guards stationed beside the door before putting as much distance between the prince and himself. 

He didn't even know where he was going, truth be told, he only knew he wanted nothing to do with Asgardians or invasions or anything of the sort for a few short hours before the feast. His feet carried him nearly the length of the palace in his futile search of something to take his mind off things when he spotted a familiar curly head of hair pacing outside his father's throne room, accompanied by Rael and several armed guards. 

"Pabu!" he called, raising a hand in greeting as a genuine smile formed, making his way over to his friend. 

But when the man turned around, Talil stopped short in his tracks, staring. The normally playful Pabu stood bleary-eyed and unshaven, his hand nervously reaching up to his face before clenching and dropping it at his side, a grimace that he supposed was meant to be a smile shaping on his face. 

"Pabu, what happened?" Talil demanded, pulling the man aside away from the guards who were no doubt listening to report back anything suspicious to the king. 

He glanced nervously at the large double doors and back at the guards. "The king has requested to speak with all the heralds immediately. Privately, one by one." 

Talil almost laughed; he was expecting something far more serious than what he had just heard. "Is that all? I'm sure it's nothing, probably just something to ensure Odin is content with the absence of betrayal in our kingdom." He deepened his voice as much as he could while still keeping quiet, a mocking tone clearly peeking through his words. 

"What is wrong with you?" Pabu said harshly, staring at the prince in bewilderment, "This is serious, Talil! I might lose my position—or worse, I could be executed if your father or the Allfather deems me untrustworthy. I am in no mood for games, but I'm not surprised you are, considering how you've been acting recently." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" the prince asked, frowning, even though he had an idea of where this was going.

"Don't act as if you don't know," he said sharply, turning his head to find the guards scrutinizing their interaction, clearing his throat carefully. 

"No, I don't know," Talil pressed, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper, "How have I been acting lately? Maybe it's because my kingdom is being threatened by a bloodthirsty manic and I'm tasked with traipsing his son around. No, really, what is it?" 

"You're to spend time with Prince Thor?" Pabu asked, forgetting his rage in the moment in favor of inquiring about the matter he let slip, "Why? Surely you can't be that important to whatever Odin must be planning with this ridiculous—" 

"Excuse me?" he said, tilting his head slightly at his words, "I am the prince of Nekhen, I'm important to all our kingdom's matters, I'm sure it's just to keep him busy while his father decides there is nothing to worry about." 

The curly-haired man gave a bitter laugh that seemed to echo endlessly through the hall. "There it is again, that tone! You used it on Bea, and now you're using it on me, you think you're better than everyone else because you were born lucky, a silver spoon in your mouth. I hate to break it to you, Your Majesty," he said carefully, keeping his eyes trained on his friend, "But you aren't. Some of us were simply lucky to be born." 

Just as the last words left his mouth, the throne room doors opened only enough to allow a man through, and yet another guard stepped out, beckoning Rael and Pabu to enter, a grim expression on his face, stepping aside to allow a fellow herald to squeeze through. The three of them shared a look Talil couldn't read before Pabu made a sound in his throat and held up his hands, throwing him an easily interpreted glare as he fell in stride with the guards escorting him inside before the doors closed heavily, leaving the prince to gape alone outside, staring at the closed doors. 

There was no doubt in his mind that Odin was the reason everything was falling apart.

As his head swam with his interaction with Pabu, he hardly noticed where he was walking until he ended up in front of the palace library. A bitter chuckle escaped his mouth as he thought of how practiced the journey was—up the carefully carved stairs and through the seemingly endless ornate halls, until arriving at the heavy copper doors staring back at him like an old friend. 

Several royal guards stood outside with their spears crossed, opening the doors for him and closing them heavily, leaving Talil to take in the sights once more for what easily could have been the thousandth time. 

Thousands upon thousands of neat rows of books stacked orderly arranged and back-to-back where their inside could not be judged by their covers, each set in groups on five sides of wood as deep and rich as the precious metals the kingdom's miners unearthed from the ground, the titles all curled and looped in one direction and turned to the side in such a way that those wishing to browse had to tilt their head in order to read them. Each book held its own worlds and wonders, secrets and answers to short and lifelong questions that had lasted for millennia, long before the library existed, long before even Odin himself was born. 

As he toured through the stacks wondering where to begin once more, Talil couldn't help but notice the muffled whispers circulating the room, echoes of rumors partially hidden behind hands and books. When he went to turn the corner, a diplomat of his father's had been speaking with a handmaiden quite casually, before catching sight of the prince and coloring, shoving the book in his hands into her hands before rushing off, leaving the woman to lower her head apologetically and scramble away as well. 

So much for keeping things quiet, it seemed. 

He gave a small huff under his breath before moving on, his fingers reaching out to caress the leather spines and lightly brush the edges of the leather bound scrolls, finally choosing a thin volume high above his head. As he went to pull it off the shelf, however, an envelope of yellowing papers tumbled out, inscribed with beautiful calligraphy on the front with black ink. 

His annoyance quickly turned into curiosity as he studied the papers; the royal library did, of course, have volumes of first hand accounts, but those were kept in the archives, a separate area built specifically for such texts, so it made no sense that they should be confused with the books kept in the library. The only explanation that came to mind was that someone had simply carelessly handled their items and somehow left the papers inside, and he paid no more attention to it. 

Placing the envelope into the book and tucking it underneath his arm, Talil continued to browse the seemingly endless rows, and, finally having gathered several more books, made his way to a private corner furnished with several wooden stools woven from leather strips and animal skins, elaborately painted to resemble an ibis. 

He couldn't pinpoint why he even selected the book in the first place. But the intricate calligraphy unlike any other he had seen before, the smell of age that rose when he opened it, and his discovery that they were all personal letters caught his attention. A small part of him thought he shouldn't read anyone's private papers, but the fact that they were in the royal library only solidified his desire to understand what they were about, and it was this same part of him that whispered that it was something best kept to himself. He was afraid—fear was far too strong of a word, however—that an attendant might suddenly appear to dust the dustless furniture, causing him to act a bit fidgety and look over his shoulder a few times, before he settled and began to read. 

Akhmim, Nekhen

My dear and unfortunate successor — 

It is with deep regret that I imagine you reading the account I must transcribe. The regret is partly for myself, for I surely must be dead—or perhaps worse—or, at the very least, in trouble if this is in your hands. But my regret is also for you, because only someone who is desperate enough to go to such lengths as to obtain my letters will this someday be read. I have tried my best to steer away suspicion, but it would seem my best efforts were in vain, and I dearly hope that you will be treated far better than I ever was in your position. What the King hopes to accomplish with his plans, I don't know, but I hope to uncover this fact eventually, unless the inevitable comes first. 

Yours in grief, 
Nebetta 

The mention of the King made him stop cold, as did the letter itself. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed there was no one watching him—in fact, it seemed there was hardly anyone else in the library, just the few people he had already encountered—but despite his curiosity and horror at the contents of the letter, Talil hastily stuffed it back into its envelope, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, as if he had just run the length of the castle several times. 

He was suddenly struck by a sudden need to leave, to be alone, and he hoped there was enough time before the feast, seeing as how he didn't know how long he had sat there staring at the paper. With yet another backwards glance, he rose and made his way out of the library, casually raising the book in his hand—the letters now safely concealed inside—to the attendant as he left, indicating he was taking the book with him when he was stopped by a servant. 

"It is time for the feast," she said, motioning toward the book in his hands, "May I take your book so you can make your way to the dining hall?" 

As much as he didn't want to let the book out of his sight for the time being, he couldn't see any way out of it; there was no way his father would kindly receive him being late or bringing along a book to such an important affair. "Yes, thank you." 

The servant nodded and held out her hand, Talil's own clenching the spine before releasing his grip and handing it over, letting out a harsh breath as he began to walk, wishing there was some way the feast could be quick, but he knew better than that; even just by observing Odin in the small span of time since his arrival made it clear that he was going to make it as painful as possible. 

When he entered the dining hall, a small smile escaped him, remembering how much he loved the ornate decorum and attention to detail in everything present. It was a grand space, to say the least; the long mahogany table took up a considerable amount of room, left without a tablecloth as if daring guests to ruin the perfectly varnished shine with their unworthy fingerprints. Two tall silver candelabras commanded attention at the center, holding smooth white candles whose wax never dripped. 

The queen sat at her husband's right hand, a stern look instructing him to come closer, and he could see the worry in her eyes when he sat down beside her, lifting his eyebrow when he saw that Thor was present, but not Odin. Another look from his mother made him drop the expression on his face and simply look around while they waited, his parents painfully attempting to make small talk to fill the silence. 

"How are you fairing, Prince Thor?" Amunet asked, her hand on the table twitching as if wanting to extend it and place it over his, "How are you these days?" 

"I am quite well," he answered, albeit a bit awkwardly, clearly avoiding the answer on everyone's minds, "I enjoy the company of my friends and I train often, so I try to keep myself busy whenever possible." 

They all gave a small nod, falling into silence once more as they waited, each avoiding each other's eyes while Talil's parents leaned close together and began to whisper, their conversation indistinct to the princes despite being so close. At that moment—the timing, as always, was terrible—and the sound of heavy footsteps filled the hall outside, indicating Odin's arrival. As his figure appeared just beyond the doorway, the king and queen had separated, as if both were strangers. 

"Thank you for waiting for me," Odin drawled, taking his seat across from the king and offering a grim smile, "My apologies for keeping you waiting, but I was simply so preoccupied by my chamber, it was lovely." 

"I'm glad you think so," Masud replied, his own tone bordering on icy politeness, waving a hand to the servant standing near the door that led to the kitchens. 

Although the feast that lay before them would, under a commoner's circumstances, expected to last several days, the king had instructed the kitchens not to expect leftovers from the meal, seeing as he wished his guests to indulge as much as possible. The king and queen themselves, however, did not gorge themselves, instead offering heaping helping after helping to the two men, all the while merely pecking at their own plates. 

Thor, on the other hand, ate more than Talil thought possible, the servants catching sight of his ravenous appetite and followed with a handsome dish of seafood, laying a silver platter in front of him on top of which sat several fleshy pink strips of fish garnished with dashings of green herbs that he tasted and declared his approval of. As they whisked the dirty plates away and returned with new ones, the servants' heavy breathing harmonised with the screeching wheels of the carts they transported them with, until Masud spotted the annoyed look on the Allfather's face and ordered it to be replaced at once. 

For some reason, Talil found himself staring at the blonde across the table once during the meal—surely he couldn't have not known the crimes his father committed, or stood by them, and it was too much to ask for him to quietly sit by either of them as if nothing were wrong, let alone act as his personal guide. Adding insult to injury, the older man's disparaging comments continued the entire time, even to point out something as small as a scratch on the priceless wooden table, casually insinuating that they had no regard for cleanliness. 

He tried to sip some soup in an attempt to drown out his anger, but it seemed to only enrage it, painfully aware of both the next day's painful task and the boiling feeling now erupting in his stomach. The creamy liquid bubbling pleasantly in the bowl in front of him erupted in white wisps that etched themselves into the air, its mossy green contents interrupted with islands of orange floating through the broth. 

After over an hour of forced pleasantries, everyone began to leave their seats and make their way to their own separate chambers, and Talil was glad to escape his mother before she had the chance to propose meeting with Thor the following day, slipping away on the heels of Odin and Thor as they quietly whispered to each other, where a deeper, rumbling voice seemed to be dominating the conversation. 

That night when he went to bed, his mind was a futile tussling of conflicting thoughts—the Allfather, his parents, the letters he had hidden underneath a false bottom in his writing desk—all reason evaporating while still heaving like an unforgiving sea churning thunderous waves over and over again. A rested mind would have prepared him for what was to await him the next day, but it seemed tonight was not to progress the way it should have, the way he wished it would—normally, as if it were any other day. 

As the long minutes turned into long hours, Talil tried to lay as still as he could in an effort to lull his body to sleep, trying not to think of all that occupied his mind. But soon, against his will, visions of bloody battle figures and mysterious women soaked into his thoughts as he fought to rid himself of such sights, unbeknownst to him that his efforts were futile. And so he remained until dawn, when he fell into a restless sleep. 

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

Don't you love it when you write something that's just meant to be a filler scene and it ends up tying together the entire plot in a neat little bow? That's exactly what happened with the letter Talil finds, initially I just needed something for him to do before the dinner and this just kinda popped into my mind while I was writing. Now I actually have like, a vaguely cohesive conflict, it's great

Thanks for reading!