“Gentlemen, please!” Freyr’s voice rose above the others, halting my steps and drawing my attention to the side of his home opposite mine. There he stood, glorious and commanding as ever, trying to get between a bickering baker and carpenter who I knew to usually be friends. “You two are as close as brothers, and you’re fighting over owing one another?”
The pair seemed startled to have drawn the attention of our lord, clearly not realizing where they had been standing for this altercation. The cart in question—I was not sure if it was theoriginal or the replacement—had one wheel off and the wood was cracked where it had toppled and impacted with the ground.
The baker and carpenter looked appropriately humbled by Freyr’s intercession.
“Forgive us for disturbing you, my lord,” the carpenter said, “but enough is enough. A true brother would be more respectful of another’s treasures and apologize appropriately.”
“I tried!” the baker protested.
“Please!” his friend dismissed, gesturing at the cart and then to Freyr. “Would you accept this clumsy excuse for a replacement?”
“I would accept my brother’s attempt to make amends.” Freyr paused after saying it, as if taken away by errant thoughts, and a strange smile flitted across his expression as he glanced back at his home before returning to the now humbled carpenter and smug baker. “Also, a gift given out of love should always be treasured, even if not up to par with a treasure lost. You could not expect a baker to have the skills of a carpenter, but nevertheless, he tried his best to honor you without burdening you after his mistake. Perhaps that is the true problem, to think honesty between friends is a burden. You should fix what has been broken together. Forge it anew as brothers, and you might end up with something better than the original, treasure and relationship both.”
I pressed my hand harder against the hidden pendant. Seeking it out had become a terrible habit. A crutch. But it gave me comfort. The movement also drew Freyr’s attention to me as mine was on him, and the genuine if haunted smile he offered me was all I would ever ask of him—for the chance to be a beacon leading him through the storm clouds of his past.
It was time I unburdened myself of this pendant, but first, I owed Freyr something else.
“Lest we forget our lessons old?” I called, catching the attention of the feuding friends, along with many townsfolk who had congregated to overhear the dispute.
Most had yet to take up seats for the evening meal, so I leapt upon the nearest table and cried out louder across the square. “Shall we hear a tale, dear friends, about slights and gifts and making amends?”
I was not the only storyteller in town, but I was a favorite and drew more of a crowd as those nearest to me answered.
“Tell us a tale, Ravnur!”
“Let’s hear it then!”
“Speak on, bard!”
I scanned the crowd, ensuring my audience was listening well enough and starting to hush, despite the evening din. Then I returned my gaze to Freyr and said, “This also happens to be myfavoritestory, one about our king, though before his eventual entrance, it starts with the god of mischief.”
Freyr’s smile widened, as if to say he knew which tale I had chosen.
He likely did. But not the ending.
Beginning a rhythmic clap, I urged the crowd to join in and help me keep the beat. Reciting the tale I’d prepared—albeit for a private performance originally—I leapt from table to table, ever keeping my lord within my sights.
CLAP
CLAP
CLAP
CLAP
“Loki, in his impishness, had gone to visit Thor,
when lo, discovered Sif asleep and snuck in through her door.
With conjured shears, his knavery did coax him to be bold
and sliced it all from nape of neck, Sif’s magic hair of gold.
“Found him then, Thor raged and raged and chased him ’round the room,
caused Sif to rouse from slumber and to see the truth with gloom.
Bid Loki fix this slight, Thor did, and Loki did agree,
