SWANHILDE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DEATH COMES

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DEATH COMES

Noatun - Palace abode of the Vanir, in the city of Asgard.

The adjoining quarters of Frey and Freya.

'Hela take me!'

Freya's eyes flicked open. 'Brother? Is that you?'

'Aye, what's left of me,' came the reply, followed by a rumbling groan. 'Farewell sister, I fear death comes for Frey ... and not a moment too soon!'

'Cease thy melodramatic whining ... and explain.'

'Explain what?'

'Why you are upside down!'

Her brother's face veered closer - he was scratching his beard. 'I am not.' His head moved to the side as he crouched by her, seeming to right itself. 'Did you fall asleep like that, sister? I assert such a position cannot be good for the neck.'

'I am comfortable like this,' she replied, shifting slightly so that the top of her head brushed the floor as her mass of flaxen hair pooled around it. 'In fact I might sleep cushioned by my hair every night.'

Frey shrugged. 'For myself, I prefer to recline on divans without my head draping off the other side. In truth I ... what is that infernal  racket? Did we not dismiss all servants from these quarters after the thirtieth flagon? It was the thirtieth was it not ... wait, I shall ask the wench I awoke with, what was her name?'

His sister shifted her eyes. 'Which one? I count three on thy bed ... what is the bed doing out here? Wait, I recall. You bade that troll drag it here because you were wearying but could not be bothered to retire to your room. Is the troll still here? I see several men at arms and sundry others asleep but not ... what is that infernal pounding?'

'It's imps dancing inside my head,' Frey groaned.

At that exact moment the door crashed open and a tall impressively built figure stormed in.

'WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?'

Frey turned pale. 'Njord!'

Freya attempted to turn right way up, but her attempts were curtailed by the grey bearded face that leaned in - a hand grabbed her hair and yanked hard, pulling her from the divan.

'Father, please ...'

'SILENCE ... Say nothing,  daughter. Nor you, son ...not until I have composed myself. As for the rest of the carrion ... OUT, OUT ... BEGONE THOU WRETCHES, WHORES AND ... why is there a troll abed in the corner!! OUT!!!!'

Some minutes later when the bedraggled and hungover children of noble Njord, king of all the Vanir, were sat alone before their angry sire, Njord broke the silence he had maintained since clearing the room.

'Why have I returned home to ... this?'

Frey looked as if he were about to vomit. 'Sire, we did not expect thee ...'

'Evidently.'

'Many long months has it been since you ventured out of Vanirheim.'

'And do my children take my absence as an excuse to carouse and debauch themselves? Is that the case, my son?'

Frey hung his head in shame.

'I am here because mighty Odin hath summoned the Council Imperial. Matters of serious import the raven did impart - the All-Father hints at a cosmic upheaval in the mortal realm which... ah but later for that. Where is thy mother?'

Anger flooded through Freya at the mention. 'Our mother is dead sire, as well you know. If however thou dost speak of the slattern you took for wife, then no doubt she is out cuckolding you ... perhaps with the Allfather himsel ...'