"We can triumph or we can die!" boomed the giant. "And if it is death — well, the Aesir have lived long and are not afraid to die, so long as we take our enemies with us." He tossed his great hammer in the air and caught it in outstretched hand, as though it were a willow wand. "Be not impatient, Miolnir. You'll not thirst long. And now to Valhalla, Jarl Keith."
Valhalla was blazing with torchlight when we entered it. Logs in the great hearth burned high. In the flickering torchlight, all the captains and great warriors of the Aesir were gathered at the many tables. The Aesir nobles were appearing, striding toward the high table on the dais. I took my place beside Freya. Beyond her were the two empty seats of Frey and Gerda, then Bragi and Idun, old Aegir and his wife, and brooding, silent Tyr.
Odin and Frigga entered, and we all stood up. The Aesir king's eye surveyed us with stern pride.
"Be seated, jarls and captains," he boomed. "Let us eat and drink as of old. Though war and death surge upon us tomorrow, yet is there no fear in our hearts."
"Skoal to Odin!" rang Forseti's deep voice.
We seized our drinking-horns and raised them high to a crashing shout of confidence and pride.
"Skoal to the king!"
We drained the mead and sat down. The tall serving-maidens hastened to bring us more drink and meat. The din of voices and laughter rang forth, loud as ever. The deepening shadow of dire disaster which lay over Asgard that night intensified, rather than lessened, the merriment of the feast. Horn after horn of the sweet, potent mead we drank.
Beside me, Freya's blue eyes clung to my face. The shadowed tenderness and love in them was more heart-stirring to me than all else.
"Come good or ill, Freya," I whispered, "it is worth having lived to sit here tonight with you and your people."