So I carried Helm Gunnar's soul off the battlefield that day, and
Agnar lived. When we revived him back at Valhalla, the old king awoke
and looked around him. "Gods, you're beautiful," he smiled,
as he focussed his gaze on me. "Who are you?"
"I am Brynhild, the chief Valkyrie, and this is Valhalla,"
I replied.
"Wha-a? This is Valhalla? The Valkyries? Is it…? Have I…?
Am I…?"
"Yes," I interrupted him. "You're dead."
"The gods in heaven be damned!" he cried out as he tried
to lift himself up in his weakened state. "All the signs and wonders
predicted that I would win and I would live! What happened? What went
wrong?" At this point I was beginning to experience something that
most definitely felt like a guilty conscience.
Informing Odin, of course, was quite another matter. He could not hide
his shock and his bewilderment. He had been expecting Agnar. "What
in the name of every god and goddess at Asgard went wrong?" he
fairly screamed. "Where is my faithful and pure Agnar?"
"He lives, Sire," I said simply, deciding not to mince words.
"You see, I intervened."
"You did what?" he asked in a low voice that sounded ominous.
"Please forgive me, Odin," I replied, curtseying lightly,
"but I intervened."
"You intervened," he repeated calmly.
"Yes," I replied.
"You are not allowed to do that," he said, still calm.
"I know," I answered with equal calmness.
"Well, then, if you knew that," he started to whisper frantically
as his anger mounted, "what in the name of heaven and earth prevailed
upon you to do something that only a half-crazed idiot in a desperate
frenzy of insanity would presume to do?" Odin railed at me for
a full half-hour. He ranted and raved. Indeed, he nearly became apoplectic.
Finally, he ordered me to leave the room. When I reached my chambers,
I slammed the door behind me and tried to regain my composure. "Uh-oh,"
I whispered to myself. "I'm in trouble." I knew that Odin
would not recover from this assault on his authority too soon. That
evening, I was summoned back into the Chamber of Visions, Odin's personal
boudoir. His colour had returned. He was calm. He stood by the window
with his back to me.
"Brynhild," he began slowly, and I knew that something of
great import was about to follow, "as you know, you must never
intervene in the fate of humans, unless they ask." Odin began pacing
back and forth, his hands crossed behind his back. "You see, for
the most part, I gave them free will. Just think of it, if I were to
intervene every time something unpleasant happened down there, what
would they get out of it? How would they come to know their most divine
traits, their finest hours?"
"I know, Sire," I said, waiting stoically for what was to
come.
"Then if you know all this, why did you do it?" he asked
with patient resignation.
"Because I fell in love with the human incarnation of Agnar's
soul. And I felt pity for him," I replied.
"And you doubted my purpose, my will, and my intentions?"
he pursued.
"Oh, no, Sire, not for a moment," I assured him. "I
would never doubt the will of Odin."
"Yet, you fell in love with a human," he said, "and
it was love at first sight, no less. You disappoint me, Brynhild. I
expected much more discipline from you than that."
"I'm sorry, Sire. It shall not happen again," I assured him.
