In Loki's Honor

Ruling a nation of - as contradictory as it sounds - spartan hippies was stressful. I was snapping at people, and getting in a bad mood. Yesterday I almost turned into a boggart in the middle of the court session because two stupid elves were fighting about the best way to cook some stupid fruit that grew on a stupid tree and wanted me to mediate their disagreement.

Basically, they were trying to press-gang me into becoming the judge for their cooking show.

Today was no better. I don't want to talk about it. I ended the court session and teleported to my room. I could move through trees and even teleport to another. When your whole palace is one huge tree, it led to that kind of thing.

I sent all my clothes to the storage, the best and fastest way to undress and sunk in my bathtub. Nenandil picked a hot water perk so she readied the tub for me. The fairy sat next to me on the tub and hummed some tune.

Which reminded me I sang my little pony song in front of the whole nation! It felt natural at the time. The truth was, I was shaped by my own body. Apricot was a cold-blood murderer that only cared about her family. Silverstreak was a wild spirit that hated the idea of getting the fairies enslaved. And now this. Alloralla. Sometimes I still don't understand myself.

Maybe I too was a spartan hippie.

Maybe I should explain why I call the elves "spartan hippies".

Starting with the fact that my idea of Spartans came from Frank Miller. The elves were a warrior culture. When on the field, facing enemies, they were stone-faced, brutal, and efficient. We didn't argue with each other. Each elf's mindset was one of trust in one another and swift death to the enemies of the People.

Like when I ordered Taeral to kill that conniving human noblewoman. I didn't need to talk twice. He knew what I wanted. And how I didn't regret having her killed. She was a threat, however minor. She had to die.

And then they had this cheerful, easygoing and silly demeanor when the threat of combat was far away. Our voices were just too damn beautiful to not be used. And our musical instinct is as developed as an orc's animosity. Bad analogy. Just thinking of orcs makes my blood boil.

I easily catch Nenandil's tune and hum along with her. Being able to sing two notes at the same time - although the breathing pattern has to be the same - is awesome.

I start to get dizzy and the fairy notices, "Time to leave your bath, Your Majesty. Come, I'll dry you."

I giggle and stand up. I could soak the water with the pseudopods but she wants to pamper me. I don a robe made of my own silk and walk to the bedroom.

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