Chapter 4
The arena was packed, full of eager patrons filling the oval structure with loud, unrecognizable chatter. There were mostly Asgardians, followed by Frost Giants, mixed in with a few Gnomes and Dwarves and even a couple Fay here and there with one ominous Valkyrie sitting in the front row just below the small covered platform where King Odin and Queen Frigga sat next to Prince Loki nervously waiting for the announcement of the tournament to start. The family knew that their precious Thor would only be fighting small monsters and kids similar in age, but it did little to ease their hearts, even if they chose to read the prophecy in a different light to everyone else, doubt was a heavy dark cloud that was too easily cast their way. They knew all too well what people had to say about their ridiculous notion that the prophecy depicted love; how could love be found in such a place too often filled with anger, mistrust, blood, and life ending weapons? Even the bluntest of swords could kill. Anyone who has chopped a vegetable knows that the dullest knives are the most dangerous. The royal family was thick with denial. The only thing that could rip them from their delusions of love would be witnessing the plundering and ripping of Thor’s young heart out of his chest in an act of murderous victory. Such a tournament was not meant to be a fight to the death, but what was a good fight or show without a little danger?
At five, of course, Thor knew nothing of the prophecy that, no doubt, had filled most of those seats and caused his family more sleepless nights than he could count on his tiny, pudgy fingers. His family had somehow managed to shield him from it and would continue to do so until the next tournament. Ten was old enough to fully grasp the weight of its words and their meanings, double or not. Yes, to his family’s relief, he would make it to ten; only to fight once again.
“Bringggg!” The ceremonial gong cut through the noise of the crowd, quieting everyone down as they turned their heads to the male announcer leaning against the gong’s mallet like a staff, letting a subtle breeze pass through his auburn hair, wagging the tail of his tight updo hiding under his ceremonial announcer hat matching his long, draping, red and black ceremonial robes.
His voice was crisp and loud as he addressed the crowd and the lines of fighters standing in the ring, shoulder to shoulder, in an uncharacteristic show of cordiality with one another. “We are gathered here today to honor, not only the tradition of our ancestors, to show all those who may wish to oppose us, our strength and courage, but on this glorious day of battle, we shall also celebrate the birth of our prince, Thor Odinson.” Eyes wandered to the golden child of their King and Queen, he was decked out in silver plated armor over his white ceremonial tunic flowing over his beige khakis with a helmet tucked under his arm. “Today marks both his eligibility to participate in this renowned tournament as well as his eligibility in marriage, as his parents have offered up his hand to any who can defeat him.” Murmurs spread through the crowd as a couple disgusted faces graced the more seasoned challenger's features, they didn’t appreciate this change and were secretly glad they didn’t have to fight the young prince, gaining his money and access to the throne was one thing, but having to marry someone so young was unthinkable. Thor’s heart hammered in his little chest. The five-year-old knew of the concept from his mother’s reading of story books and recounts of her own marriage, but this was the first time he had heard of getting married if he lost. His mother had always explained that it was something done in celebration of two people's love for each other and how he could only marry when he was much older. The rest of the announcer’s speech droned on like background noise as his young eyes searched his mother’s and father’s. Why had they not told him? He certainly didn’t feel much older. He couldn’t imagine himself getting married. Did they really have that much faith in his fighting ability? He was suddenly full of pride at the thought. He puffed out his chest and gripped his helmet tighter. He would make them proud. He would win. Fight after fight, clutching his small silver sword tightly in his hands, to everyone’s astonishment and praise, win he did, making sure to stop at the fatal blow like his teachers taught him and allow the honor of a rematch at the next tournament. A five-year-old did not deserve to know death so intimately and the Odinson family couldn’t bear to be the cause of another family's hardship just to curb their own.