Frigga chuckled, and set the bottle on the table.
She gently hefted the baby to lean against her shoulder, then rubbed his back in a soothing circle.
She started patting his back, making shushing sounds, which more mostly drowned out by the noise in the dining hall.
“Is all well, my wife?” Odin asked, leaning towards them.
She smiled at him. “All is well, husband.”
“He just drank too fast, that is all.”
Odin nodded, and allowed his wife to return her attention to their newest son.
And as Loki was facing the other way, no one noticed the bright purple sparks bursting from his tiny fingers with each hiccup.
Another feast, another case of the hiccups. Frigga bounced the baby in her arms, once again patting his back, when she felt Thor tugging on her sleeve.
“Mother, I don't like fish.”
“I know, honey, that's why I gave you-” she glanced at his plate, and did a double take. “Fish. I could've sworn I gave you veal.”
“I don't like fish.” Thor muttered dejectedly at his plate.
Loki hiccuped in her arms, and she failed to notice several other meals changing into fish.
Odin stared as his wife once again alternated between rubbing and patting Loki's back. “Are you certain he is well? He does this at every feast.”
Frigga threw her husband a reproachful look, daring him to question her knowledge of infants again.
“Perhaps it is too much excitement.” He offered in lieu of apology.
She accepted it, thankfully. “I should think he'd be used to it by now. We hold a feast every week.”
Igr, sitting near the royal couple, did a sudden spit-take of his mead, as did seven other men. Together, they managed to spray a sizable part of both table and food.
Odin scowled at them. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“My Lord Odin.” Tỳr spat at the ground, and rubbed roughly at his mouth. “There is something wrong with the mead.”
Odin frowned, and grabbed his goblet, taking a sniff. He promptly winced. “This isn't mead. Servant girl, where are your eyes?!”
The girl was staring from the King to the goblets. “I- I don't understand, sire.” he finally managed. “When I poured it earlier it was mead, I swear.”
“And yet now my goblet is filled with... this.” he threw the goblet to the floor, the foul liquid spilling onto the golden floor.
“If it helps, it smells like Troll piss.” Someone offered from down the table, and Odin blinked.
“Are you certain?”
“It is difficult to forget such a stench.”
A lady stood up. “Pardon me, but my goblet is filled with blood.”
“Mine tastes like apple juice.” Another voice called up.
“Mine burned through the goblet. I think it's eating through the table now.”
Odin scowled at all present, then ended the feast early.
All the while, Loki continued to hiccup against his mother's breast.
Thor blinked, and leaned away from his plate. “Mother, my food moved.”
Frigga chuckled fondly. “Thor, there is nothing moving on your plate.”
“But the leg twitched.”
“Nonsense.” Odin added, eying his goblet warily. “Perhaps you moved it yourself by accident.”
The young prince pouted, and stabbed his chicken with the fork.
The chicken wailed. Thor jumped in fright, and smashed his small fist into the creature's head, silencing its cries.
Everyone stared at the young prince, who just shrugged. “I told you it moved.”
Very little meat was eaten at that feast.
Odin rubbed at his forehead as yet another servant stepped into a puddle of green something and fell to the floor. This was getting ridiculous.
“It appears we may have a trickster in our midst.” he muttered tiredly, watching as yet another tray went sailing through the air.
“Should I order a search, sire?” Svaldigg, the King's chief advisor, asked.
“No. This is magic, however it's obviously uncontrolled. The perpetrator is most assuredly a child.”
“We should find it nonetheless.” Svaldigg said, staring at the fruit that used to be mutton. “This is most troubling.”
Tỳr stood up suddenly, his chair falling to the floor with a loud clatter. He pointed an enraged finger at the Queen's lap, and bellowed “Jotunn!”
Frigga blinked in shock and looked down, and it was true. In her lap, Loki indeed looked like a Jotunn. Blue skin and red eyes included. “Wha-”
“It is a Jotunn changeling!” Tỳr continued, taking hold of his sword. “It is the cause of all this chaos!”
Tỳr blanched visibly, and Ingr gaped. “That Jotunn looks like a Dwarf now.”
“A dark Elf?”
“Now he's a fox.”
Svaldigg scratched at his head. “A pup with two heads?”
Frigga laughed, and lifted her son, turning his around so that she could look into his now golden eyes. “A shape-shifter.” She said proudly.
She hugged her son, now once again a Jotunn. “What a Talent our son has, my husband.” she beamed at the King, but Odin frowned in thought.
“Shape-shifters usually possess magic.”
Since this time everyone's attention was on the princeling, all witnessed the little purple sparks flying from the tiny fingers.
The hog in the middle of the table burst into flames.
“Well, that solves that mystery.” The King murmured, giving his youngest son an indulgent smile.
Odin blinked, and the smile slipped from his face. “Wife, what is on my head?”
Frigga bit her lip, staring at what moments before was her husband's helmet. “It appears to be a live goose.” she managed to say, and the table's occupants did their best to stifle their laughter.
“Of course it is.” Odin had the feeling that life at the royal household was not going to be even remotely normal for many years to come.
An infant magic-user...
“More mead!” The All-father called, lifting his goblet.