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. Iwasjealous, but I would not ask for what this mortalwould 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 orstumbled, 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 Ragnarök. 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 docileand 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 anyoneelse’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.
