Welcome to the Family
Forget what you’ve heard about Valhalla. I’ve seen your mortal depictions. They’re all wrong. You’re missing its bellow of vitality. The miles of walls hung with chain-mail rippling like a silver sea. A roof of beaten gold pulsing like a blazing summer sun. The clamor of the fallen warriors and battle cries of the Valkyries. Valhalla, hall of Odin. Odin the High King. Odin the terrible.
Odin soon to be related to me by marriage.
The High King rose from his throne at our approach. He was broad-shouldered and firm, but there were lines on his face and his hair was iron gray shot with silver. He fixed me with his one fjord blue eye. The eye that some say can tell truth from lie.
“High King.” I dropped to one knee like a warrior. I don’t curtsy.
“Rise, Inga, daughter of Gymir.” Odin commanded. “Is this not a glorious occasion, the marriage of your sister to Frey? Does it not speak of further peace among our realms?”
“A glorious occasion,” I echoed.
Odin frowned. “Are you certain she is yours, Gymir? She offers so few words.”
My father fidgeted beside me, obviously regretting his previous admonition. Well, maybe he shouldn’t have said our lives depended on my ability to hold my tongue while in Valhalla. “You are gracious to honor us with this feast,” I offered, trying to match the King's formal tone. My gaze slid to Odin’s sword.
His eye gleamed. “Balmung,” he said, though I knew its name. Give me some credit. I live in a realm of ice, not under a rock.