Prologue #2
I dared not hope that the return of the sword meant the exit of Gerdr from Freyr’s life, yet as he neared, I knew it to be true, if from nothing else but the even more hardened mask of his false smile.
Our king was heartbroken, devastated, but unwilling to show his people any cracks in his strong facade.
Was he otherwise changed? Would he still know me as the close friends we’d once been?
Before I could even dare to wonder about being more to him, I had to still be that.
I raced forward to take my place at the base of Gullinbursti and to accept the great beast’s reins once Freyr leapt from its back.
His sword, in far more genuine celebration, flipped about in the air and danced all around him as he dismounted.
It danced around all of us like a leaping hound before it dutifully returned to its master and sheathed itself.
Freyr would not meet my eyes even as he smiled wider and handed me the reins as expected. He would not fully meet anyone’s gazes.
“Rejoice, my people, my hirdmen, my friends, for Ragnarok has ended and a new age of peace is upon us!”
The crowd cheered. Word would spread quickly throughout the rest of Alfheim that all was well, and many would travel to visit the city and pay the king their respects, as well as to learn what stories they could of how Ragnarok had transpired beyond our borders.
As a storyteller, it was my duty and privilege to learn of Freyr’s exploits and to relay his tales as fanciful adventures to the people.
In years past, I had often spent hours lending him my ear, rarely taking notes but simply absorbing his stories as the treasured fables they were.
I had often been praised—by others and by Freyr himself—for how well my retellings captured the essence of the events and painted a picture like tapestry.
I sensed without ever having to ask Freyr that his memories of Ragnarok held no stories he wanted to tell.
Of course others asked him for some as he moved through the throng, greeting everyone as cordially as he could.
He did know us. He was the Freyr we had lost with all his memories intact.
But he was still changed. As usual, no one else seemed to notice how pained he was by their thoughtlessness.
Our lord had died. Who wanted to be reminded of their end, even if it gave way to a new beginning?
I was forced to stay back as Freyr moved away from me, for Gullinbursti was no small creature to lead through a crowd, but while Freyr was still within earshot, I made haste to stable the beast and returned to listen. The golden boar could be tended to later.
Freyr was hushing the crowd when I returned to the front, and as everyone obeyed and fell silent, a falling feather could have been heard landing in the grass.
“I will say no more than this: all transpired as foretold by the Norns, the Jotun sisters who weave the tapestry of fate. I charge you all to please, for your sakes and for mine, look to the future now and not the past.”
“But what of Gerdr?” one feckless voice asked. “What does it mean that your sword has returned to you, my lord?”
Perhaps even the most incompetent of observers could see the way Freyr’s brow pinched and his smile wavered at the question.
“I have released her,” he said to an echoing answer of gasps.
“In lieu of this new age, she requested it, and I have granted it to her. In our parting, she returned the sword. I have no desire to wed another, for I can imagine no love greater than what I lost.”
Oh, that one day, someday, any day, I could change his mind about that.
There were disappointed maids, of course, and just as many disappointed men.
But having sworn off love and marriage did not mean Freyr would abandon his virile nature.
In the days that followed, he returned full force to his philandering beginnings, though in the weeks and months after that, as he seduced and brought others to his bed to seek solace in their bodies, the sadness deep within him behind his clouded eyes only grew worse.
I no longer wished to be one among many. I did not only want to warm my king’s bed. I wanted him to tire of his exploits and see that he could have more again, this time with someone who would return his love as he deserved.
Then he brought a mortal to our realm.
SOME TIME LATER
“Hail!” I pushed through the crowd as usual upon seeing that Freyr had returned from his most recent outing.
He often hunted alone or went riding, I assumed to have some peace away from his burdens.
In my excitement, I did not immediately notice that Freyr had not dismounted Gullinbursti alone.
I imagine I hardly contained my disdain once I caught sight of the beautiful young man who accompanied my king.
He was tall, broad, and as beautiful as any man from the higher realms above Midgard, yet this was a Midgardian.
He was mortal. Fair in face, masculine still with a fine dusting of ginger scruff among equally ginger-colored freckles.
His hair matched that sunset color, long on top and neatly knotted, with the sides and back shaved close.
His turquoise eyes studied me as hard as I studied him.
There was tension in his brow and beads of sweat forming, like others I had seen being stealthily prepared for Freyr’s endowment. I knew what device worked within this fellow. Everyone knew of it. Many had experienced such a device, but few had mastered the stretch to receive Freyr's true gift.
It was a point of honor among the people who had tried versus those who had succeeded—being speared by the king.
The device for stretching someone to prepare them for greater girth was elven made, so many like it existed, small and narrow at its peak, then more bulbous, and tapered slightly again until it ended with a hilt to hold it snuggly in place once inserted.
Each was tailored to match their owner and would slowly grow within whomever bore it from its meager initial size to the size of its owner’s cock.
The only difference with Freyr’s compared to others was just how large his grew.
It was tasteless how the people snickered, noticing what I had, and it seemed only I saw Freyr’s dallying for the denial and downward spiral that it was.
It wasn’t only jealousy that made me glower at this ginger mortal. I was jealous, but I would not ask for what this mortal would be gifted. I would not be brought to Freyr’s bed unless I knew no one else would ever take my place there again.
Perhaps, I would be waiting forever.
“You bring a mortal to our kingdom?” I asked Freyr.
“Courtesy of our wiliest brethren.” He laughed and patted my shoulder.
Any touch from Freyr softened my composure, but registering the greater meaning behind his words, I couldn’t help but glare again at the mortal. “Should I be worried, Fricco?”
The mortal’s eyes widened, knowing the intimacy of that name only used by those closest to Freyr.
Good. Know that he is precious to me. Know that you are nothing but a passing fancy.
Again, Freyr laughed and squeezed my shoulder where he held it firmly. “Not as some latent threat, dear Ravnur! Loki mourns as we all do and means to make up for his slights.”
“As we mourned for you, my king.” I dared to brush my cheek against Freyr’s hand. I had found it easier to do such things of late, to try to convey my longing that ran so much deeper than the dalliances others sought with him. If he noticed, I could not say.
The sadness others failed to see in our king filled his voice as much as his expression. He released me and stared off distantly. “Can one truly mourn what is returned to you? Only for what one loses forever should tears be shed.”
“Or what one never has,” I muttered, too loudly, too petulantly, but I doubted Freyr heard me, for he swept the mortal away down the path into the city.
With Gullinbursti’s reins in hand, I followed several paces behind.
The boar was nearly twice the size of any horse, and so those on the path with me had to make way, and following Freyr was not on the way to the stables.
I couldn’t stop my feet, however, nor look away when the mortal man flinched or stumbled, proving the device within him grew and grew, and he continued to weather it.
Others of my kind who recognized what I had chortled amongst themselves as Freyr and the mortal passed. They thought our king an insatiable rascal, but it was not desire alone he longed to satiate, it was the emptiness inside him left behind by the love who left because she never loved him at all.
I couldn’t confront Freyr with such observations.
We had grown close over the years as we often spent time together trading stories or even simply sitting in quiet contemplation, but how could a lowly hirdman chastise his king, no matter how much it hurt to see him suffering?
And to suffer myself the loneliness of having him just out of reach, even when in his presence.
Silently, helplessly, I followed them to the very edge of the city that dropped down a steep hill to the lake.
Freyr would summon Skidbladnir no doubt, his magical boat that could be carried in a pocket and transformed when called upon to be the largest ship ever made.
He would bed the mortal and continue his charade that all was well and this was what he wanted from the age after Ragnarok.
Had he been with every willing elf other than me and had moved onto the other realms?
Surely, there was nothing special about this mortal.
But then, was Freyr to never tire of this?
Was he truly to never let himself love again?
Perhaps I was the mistaken one, deluding myself, and Freyr did want nothing more than bedfellows.
The mortal glanced up the path and caught me spying on their descent, and I thought his gaze held a touch of sympathy. Sympathy from a mortal, genuine though it may be, filled me with such… sorrow that I couldn’t stay to witness more.
I traipsed back the way I had come, turning down the path to the stables.
The final stall was made especially for Gullinbursti, twice as tall and wide as those for horses.
The boar was a docile and obedient creature unless tasked with being a battle steed, but largely because it was not truly an animal but a mechanical mount.
I still treated it like any of the horses I tended to.
While Gullinbursti did not need food, water, or brushing, it did require oiling and cleaning both inside and out, and I would chat with the beast, telling it how pristine and gallant and useful it was, how well it served its master, to which I believe it appreciated the compliments like any animal made of flesh.
A hatch in its side opened into a compartment that allowed the steed to act as a sort of carriage when needed, large enough to fit one or two occupants comfortably. From the outside, one could not look in, but on the inside, the gold was magically translucent, allowing its riders to see out.
Gullinbursti did not need much cleaning today, but I wiped it down regardless, oiled its joints and gears, took care of its extra-large saddle, all in a sort of haze.
I tried to not think about what Freyr and that mortal were up to, but how could I not?
Every time I closed my eyes, even just to catch my breath, I pictured them tangled together.
What a coward I was, thinking I was so above those who sought my king’s bed, when I couldn’t even bring myself to tell him that I wanted that too, but I wanted it forever.
I wanted more than a single dalliance. I wanted more than to share him.
Now, perhaps, I had waited too long, and he would never see me as I wanted him to, because he didn’t know how much my heart was already his.
My cottage was near the stables for ease’s sake but also neighbored Freyr’s.
I had requested so when I requested my vocation.
While most gods had halls in Asgard as their seats of power, the entire realm of Alfheim was Freyr’s, this city especially, so his dwelling was here, no grander than anyone else’s, only differentiated by the designs in the glass of his windows.
All elven buildings had crystal-like glass in various colored pieces to create designs unique to the home’s inhabitant. Freyr’s depicted his sword with his runic symbol in its center, like two interlocking arrow heads so, together, the lines almost looked like stitching.
The rune meant beginnings.
Having left Gullinbursti, I passed those familiar windows and slipped inside my own cottage.
The colored glass made our homes and shops look beautiful from the outside, but even more so inside when the sun struck the various hues and lit everything up as if one were walking upon the rainbow bridge.
Or so I imagined. I had never been to Asgard.
The colored glass in my windows depicted a raven in the center panels to honor my namesake.
I pressed a hand to my chest, for beneath my tunic was a necklace of similar shape and design to what adorned Freyr’s windows, but on the back of the sword, instead of Freyr’s rune there was a raven. I had hoped to gift the pendant to him someday but had yet to find the courage.
I knew not what to do now. I couldn’t even leave the comfort of leaning back against my cottage door.
Life would move on, but for me, no amount of dazzling colored glass or bright future beyond Ragnarok could make up for what I had lost. Even when I might have said something, I had chosen to be a spectator and missed my chance.
I was content to wallow in misery as that truth settled, when a knock at my door jolted me away from it. I was startled, breathless when I opened it to discover—
“My king—”
“Do you love me, Ravnur?”