Freya Hidden Away

Freya’s hidden away, she’s deep in a cavern deep in the earth, in a gash, a canyon filled with trolls. Numb, so numb, disgusted ; her head bobbing from side to side listless, her eyes smile a sweet misery. Locked in the castle of the goblins, her own brother joyless and tied to serpents, the stone walls are freezing cold. She shivers, forlorn betrayed eyes never believing hope will ever come. Singing, singing, muttering to herself, as she hears the footsteps of Gotwara coming up the stairs. Gullveig will smile icycles and tell her once again how much she loves her, as she probes her mind for more secrets, prying, prying, the betrayal of the long lost childhood playmate turned sour. “White his shroud as the mountain snow, Larded with sweet flowers ; Which bewept to the grave did go With true-love showers,” she whispers to herself, over and again. How many times must you be raped before you cannot believe in even the existence of spring? Maybe the memories of happy childhood days with flowers in her hair were implanted just to torment her in the long, barren nights.

Out her window, ravens feed on elf-carrion scattered by the jotunns, Weland’s exquisite golden and silver tapestries warped and brittle on the ice, and while Day still rides through the sky, lending soft and faint glow, Sol doesn’t seem to have risen for forever ; maybe she weeps in Idavoll beneath Wyrd’s wrinkled and gnarled loving hands. Freya looks out : Is this Ragnarok? She has heard birds speaking that even Idunn, keeper of the apples, has fallen into the wolfdales, her sweet nature wrapped in a wolfskin baring vicious teeth. How did it all come to end this way? How could Woden possibly have allowed all this?

Freya thinks of the sweetheart dreams promised her prophetically, such beautiful prince, poet, dashing lunatic, armed with nine spells ; now she knows that word “never” is forever. Closing eyes, she focuses on the Art she made, and sends her mind away forever, far from Gotwara’s graspings, awaiting final release into darkness, now the universes are over.

O when Swipdag arrives, what woeful wooings he will hopeless need to win her heart! For never was there a light again, she thought, and closed herself off. Raving mad, as one who threw the mind down a river, shut herself into a nunnery, forever running away, cold to the touch. He will wonder, is this the beauty for whom I’ve sacrificed so much? O Swipdag, can she be reached? Can you awaken her with the warmth of her fire? When was the last time anyone could remember a harvest? Your uncle, power mad-driven, has stolen the world’s warmth, wreaks heartless revenge, elfsoul banished by gnashing giant. How much rests on this rescue! And even She, beloved, will flee as a sparrow on the wind ; keep going, Eloquent One, world awaits your winter-overcoming!