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The Forgotten Queen of War
Her bones were steel, and her heart was iron.
Valhalla was hers, and no one could take it away from her.
Oh, Odin tried — she would give him that — but her army of valkyries were the ones to collect the dead from the battlefields in Midgard. Odin’s favor with the valkyries had long since faded. Now he was just a wanderer whose all-seeing eye refused to acknowledge that his time had come and gone.
The problem was that the people of Midgard still told their stories of Odin and not her.
“Must you be so technical?” her brother Frey asked her one morn. “It isn’t a popularity contest. Who cares what the mortals think?”
“Oh, but you would be out of sorts if they didn’t sing you praises, wouldn’t you?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Frey’s lazy smile didn’t waver. “Luckily, I don’t have that problem. I don’t need to be a god to lure women into my bed. They take one look at me and trip over themselves just to have me. Can you say the same of the men who glimpse you, dear sister?”
Freya was quiet for a long moment before she said, “Just get out. I have to go review the retinue of souls that will be arriving.”
Frey said nothing but simply smirked before he took his leave.
