Chapter 276: Chapter 276: The Hayes Invasion – Part – 3

Frigga meeting the children was a spectacle all its own.

Elena arrived first, summoned from Sif’s side by the commotion. She was flushed, slightly disheveled from attempting advanced Asgardian combat stances, and radiating the particular high that came from physical exhaustion and new knowledge.

She skidded to a stop in front of Frigga, looked up, and went wide eyed.

“You are the Queen!”

“I am,” Frigga smiled.

“Mum, you made friends with the Queen?”

“I make friends with everyone, love. You know this,” Eileen replied easily.

Elena turned back to Frigga, practically vibrating. “Is it true you’re the best mage in Asgard?”

“Some would say so.”

“I can cast magic too. But Dad said our magic is weak compared to Asgardians. Can you show me something? Please? I want to see powerful alien magic.”

Frigga’s smile deepened. She raised a delicate hand. A bird of pure golden light materialized on her palm. It spread its wings, trilled a note that sounded like sunlight given voice, and launched itself into the air.

Elena’s face transformed into pure joy. She chased the glowing bird, laughing, arms outstretched as it swooped and dove around her in playful loops.

It landed gently on her shoulder, and she froze, afraid to scare it away.

“It’s warm,” she whispered. “I can feel the magic in it.”

“Can you?” Frigga said, and something sharpened in her gaze. She glanced at Arthur. He gave a fractional nod.

Frigga conjured a second bird and sent it toward Elena’s outstretched hand. It landed on her finger.

“Try to make it fly,” Frigga instructed softly.

Elena scrunched her face. The bird didn’t move. She scrunched harder. Nothing.

“Not with force,” Frigga said gently. “Ask it.”

Elena took a breath. Relaxed her face. Looked at the bird with pure intent.

It flew.

“YES!” Elena punched the air. “Did you see that? Dad!”

“I saw,” Arthur said. He and Frigga exchanged another look. That shouldn’t have been possible. The bird was Frigga’s construct, responding solely to Frigga’s magic. For Elena to influence it meant her raw magical potential was staggering.

—

Then Thor’s booming voice carried across the grounds.

“Mother! You must meet my smallest shield-brother!”

He was striding toward them from the gallery benches, Tristan perched comfortably in the crook of his massive arm. The boy had honey smeared on his chin and was looking thoroughly pleased with life.

Frigga turned. The moment she saw Tristan in Thor’s arms, her expression softened into something incredibly warm and curious.

“And who is this young warrior?” she asked, looking at Thor with amusement. “Already a shield-brother?”

“This is Tristan,” Thor said proudly, as if presenting a newly discovered treasure. “He is three years old, and he predicted five sparring falls in a row. Volstagg wants to recruit him to the Vanguard.”

Tristan regarded the Queen of Asgard with interest but no anxiety. He had spent his life around powerful people. One more didn’t faze him.

“Hello,” he said. Then, after a moment of looking at her: “You feel really big.”

Frigga tilted her head. “Big?”

Tristan frowned, searching for the word. “Like… the whole place. Like you’re part of it.”

The training grounds seemed to go quiet around them. Frigga’s expression changed. The warmth remained, but beneath it flickered something much deeper.

“You can feel that?” she asked softly.

Tristan nodded, unconcerned. To him, this was just what people felt like. Some people felt small. Some people felt medium. This lady felt like everything all at once.

Frigga looked at Arthur. The look lasted two seconds. Arthur met it steadily.

“Would you like to see something?” Frigga asked, turning back to Tristan.

“Yes.”

She raised her hand and summoned something different from Elena’s birds. A tiny creature of golden light – four-legged, long-necked, with branching antlers that shimmered and shifted. It looked like a stag, but not quite. Something older. Something that belonged to Asgard’s forests and nowhere else.

It stepped off Frigga’s palm and walked across the air in front of Tristan, leaving faint trails of golden motes where its hooves fell.

Tristan’s eyes went wide. All his composure dissolved into pure, breathless wonder.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“A lysar,” Frigga said. “A light-stag. They live in the deep forests beyond the palace. They are very shy and very gentle.”

The construct walked closer. Tristan held perfectly still. Not frozen with fear, but with the instinctive understanding that some things must be allowed to come to you.

The lysar touched its nose to his outstretched finger.

“It tickles,” Tristan giggled softly. Then, very quietly: “Can I keep it?”

“It will fade. But if you come back to visit, I will make you another.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Tristan looked at the golden creature for a long moment. Then he looked at Frigga with the devastating sincerity only a three-year-old can deliver.

“I like you,” he said. “You’re nice.”

The Queen of Asgard looked at the small boy with honey on his chin, and something in her regal expression cracked wide open. Not sadness. A hunger for exactly this kind of simple, honest warmth.

“Thank you, Tristan,” she said softly. “I like you too.”

Then, to the surprise of everyone there, Tristan wiggled out of Thor’s grip, climbed directly into Frigga’s lap, and settled there, immediately asking a barrage of questions about the lysar’s diet.

Eileen stepped forward, suddenly anxious. “Tristan, you shouldn’t…”

“No. There is no problem,” Frigga said, waving Eileen off. Her voice had changed. Softer. She wrapped an arm around the boy, listening with genuine attention to a toddler’s magical biology observations.

Thor met Arthur’s eyes. There was something complicated in the God of Thunder’s expression. Gratitude, mostly. For bringing someone into his mother’s world who saw her as a person, not a queen.

Pietro chose this moment to arrive, still sweaty from his races. He skidded to a stop when he saw who Elena was chasing birds around and who Tristan was sitting on.

“Is that…”

“The Queen,” Wanda confirmed, appearing beside him. “Try not to embarrass us.”

“When have I ever…”

“Bremen. Geneva. That incident at the airport.”

“Those were all misunderstandings!”

Frigga looked up at the twins with warm curiosity. “And these must be Wanda and Pietro. Eileen told me all about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” Pietro said, reflexively charming.

“She said you once ran through a glass door because you forgot it was closed.”

Pietro went red. Wanda smiled serenely.

“That,” Pietro said with dignity, “was a very clean door.”

—

The last hour was golden.

Frigga stayed. She sat with the family on the gallery benches while the training grounds wound down below. She conjured golden butterflies that Elena and Pietro chased in a ridiculous, chaotic race that Pietro somehow managed to lose to his seven-year-old sister.

Wanda sat beside Frigga, and the two had a quiet conversation about magical theory that Arthur couldn’t hear but could see the effect of. Wanda’s usual guardedness was gone. She was leaning forward, asking questions, her hands moving as she described how her power felt. Frigga listened with full, unhurried attention.

Eileen and Frigga talked easily. Arthur caught fragments. Children who grew too fast, husbands who were always busy, the exhausting reality of being the person who held everything together while everyone else was off saving the world.

Tristan sat on Frigga’s other side, watching the lysar walk in slow circles on the bench between them, its golden hooves leaving fading trails of light. Every few minutes, it would flicker and dim, and Frigga would renew it with a casual wave of her hand without interrupting her conversation.

Arthur watched from the training grounds, where he was helping Volstagg stack equipment. He couldn’t hear the words. But he could see the body language. Two women leaning toward each other. Wanda relaxing for the first time all day. His children settled and impossibly happy.

He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t brought Eileen here as part of some grand strategy to win favor with the crown. He hadn’t even expected this.

His wife had walked into a garden, started talking, and done what Eileen always did.

Made a friend.

—

When it was finally time to leave, Frigga walked them to the terrace.

Tristan’s lysar had finally faded. He held his hands cupped where it had been, as though the warmth might linger. Elena was still buzzing, recounting everything she’d learned to Pietro, who was pretending to listen while nursing his wounded pride from the butterfly race. Wanda was quiet, something new settling behind her eyes.

Winky reappeared with a soft pop, looking slightly windswept and carrying what appeared to be a small Asgardian pastry wrapped in cloth. Her eyes were bright.

“Winky had a wonderful day,” she announced. “Asgardians are very hospitable.”

“Did you make friends too?” Elena asked.

“Winky may have met some interesting people,” the elf said primly, tucking the pastry into her pocket.

Arthur decided not to ask.

“You must come again,” Frigga said to Eileen. “All of you. The gardens will be magnificent in what you would call autumn.”

“We’d love that,” Eileen said. She meant it.

Frigga embraced her. Not a formal farewell. A real embrace. Then she turned to the children.

“Elena. Keep training. Sif told me you have excellent instincts.”

“She said that?” Elena beamed, practically glowing.

“She did. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late!” Elena chirped, and Frigga laughed brightly.

“Tristan. I will have a lysar waiting for you next time.”

“A real one?” he asked seriously.

“We shall see. The forest stags choose their own companions.”

“Wanda. Come back and speak with the enchanters again. They were deeply impressed.”

Wanda’s pale cheeks colored slightly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Pietro. Fandral says you are very fast. For a mortal.”

“I am going to beat him,” Pietro promised, pointing a finger. “Eventually.”

“I believe you might. He could certainly use the humility.”

She turned to Arthur last. She extended her hand.

Arthur took it.

Frigga’s grip tightened, surprisingly strong.

The warmth in her eyes didn’t leave, but it deepened. Shifted. Became something older, sharper, and much more penetrating. Her gaze dropped from his eyes to his chest. Through the fabric of his shirt, through skin and bone.

To the Death Mark. The triangular brand burning over his heart.

Arthur held perfectly still.

Two seconds. Maybe three.

Recognition. Not surprise. She’d suspected. Perhaps since the very first reports of a powerful mortal moving through the Nine Realms. She’d just waited to confirm it herself.

She released his hand.

“Arthur Hayes.” Her voice was unchanged. Warm. Musical. But the words carried weight that the warmth couldn’t hide. “You carry something very old. I suspect you have questions about it. Questions the Archives could not answer.”

“I do.”

“Then we should speak. Privately.” A pause. “There are things I know that are not written in books.”

She glanced at his family. Eileen holding Tristan, Elena still bouncing, Pietro rubbing his legs, Wanda quiet and thoughtful. All of them sunlit and golden and alive.

“Your family is a gift,” Frigga said. “Protect them. And come see me when you are ready.”

She stepped back. The warmth returned fully.

“Safe journey. And do bring the children again. Tristan gave Volstagg a big hug before we left. The man has been inconsolable ever since.”

From across the grounds, a familiar bellow echoed. “THERE WAS DUST IN MY EYE!”

Arthur opened the portal. Elena went through first, already shouting plans for the next visit. Pietro followed, limping slightly. Wanda stepped through with a last look at the enchantment circles. Eileen carried the crystalline flowers and the mood-changing scarves. Winky popped through with her pastry.

Tristan paused at the threshold. He looked back at Frigga over Eileen’s shoulder.

“Thank you for the lysar,” he said. Then, after a moment’s serious thought: “I’ll come back. I will cry if Dad does not agree.”

He stepped through.

Frigga stood very still on the terrace. The golden city glittered behind her.

Arthur met her eyes. Something had shifted in her expression. The composure was intact. But her eyes were bright.

“He’s special,” Frigga said quietly. “They both are.”

“I know.”

He stepped through, and Asgard disappeared behind him.

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