Orn and Rodmar celebrated this by a justifiable drinking bout. Before the fumes of their intoxication had quite passed off, Ingolf and Leif returned home, having, as was apparent, quite succeeded in their object. Orn and Rodmar went on drinking to celebrate the good news. Then Orn went to bed and slept for a night and half the following day. When he had had his sleep out, he began to arrange everything for the double marriage which was imminent. He also wished to have a hand in the preparations for the feast. He let all and each know that since the gods had been so kind as to allow him to celebrate both his children's weddings, and that at the same time, there should be a feast which should be known far and wide and be long remembered. He had the temple, together with every house and every cottage on the estate, swept from roof to floor, and all the woodwork cleaned. He himself selected the cattle and the swine which should be fattened for the feast. He tasted the liquors brewed, measured out the meal and the corn, and was everywhere.
Rodmar was homeless in all this disquiet. He tried his old device of going to bed and keeping himself to himself in his darkness. He counted the days and was morose. About three weeks were to be occupied with preparations for the wedding, and then a week with the festivities themselves. Rodmar drained his drinking-horn deep. The future looked very empty to him.
Orn sent Leif and Ingolf out to invite people to the feast. They spent many days in travelling from house to house. Orn questioned them every evening as to where they had been, and made plans for the next day. He was indefatigable. A peculiar excitement, which he did not remember to have felt before a festival since his early youth, deprived him of his appetite for food, and partly also of his tendency to drink. He was about from early morning to late in the evening. All the same, it was difficult for him to sleep at night.
Helga sat in her room and sewed at her bridal dress. Every hour of leisure which Leif found he spent there with her. He was considerate towards Helga, and avoided disturbing her with talk or caresses. He could stand for hours together and watch her, as she sat and sewed, eager and absorbed, with busy hands and hot cheeks. Leif was very happy at that time. But as soon as he had not Helga before his eyes, he could not realize that in a few days they should be man and wife, and had to go in again and watch her sewing the bridal dress.
Orn had the banqueting hall draped with costly tapestry, and shields hung up.
At last the day dawned. And the same day spring made its entry with southern winds and genial temperature. Already from the early morning guests began to assemble at the house. Somewhat before noon came Frode with his daughter and son and a splendid retinue. Then the wedding could begin. With eight days' unbroken festivities the marriage bonds between Ingolf and Hallveig, Helga and Leif, were sealed.
Frode showed great gladness at the connection, and celebrated his daughter's marriage with all the customary sports and pageants. Orn only celebrated his son's with sacrificial feasts, with, as became a host, the usual meals and drinking bouts. The meals were many and luxurious, and the drinking bouts were long. Quantities of mead and wine were drunk, and many swine and oxen eaten, besides game and other food common at festivals.
Once more Orn was able to sit in stately fashion in the high-seat and preside over a feast. During the days of this festival Frode shared the high-seat with him. They knew each other well by the wounds received in their youth and manhood. Many cheerful memories were revived, and they shared in great friendliness their drink and the high-seat.
Orn had become an old man. Age had bent his back, made his face puffy, and dulled his hearing. Nevertheless, he wore an air of dignity on such an occasion. The chieftain was uppermost in him, and his natural courage blazed up in one last victorious flame. Ingolf had rather feared that his father would not be equal to preserving his dignified bearing through such a trying festival, but his fear proved groundless. Orn rallied all his powers and held out. He took part in every meal. He emptied his drinking-horn at every health. He sat as host in the high-seat, and still on the last day of the feast his spirits were unequalled, his thinking power unaffected. He held out till the last guest had left the place. Then the spring had already done its work. The snow had gone. Everywhere one caught glimpses of the first signs of summer's approaching splendour.
The next day Orn lay dead in his bed. His right hand clasped the knife with which he had just succeeded in cutting the sign of the Hammer on his breast. He had secured his seat in Valhalla.