Page 16 of Last Thrall of Asgard

“Only a farm boy would scoff at luxury.”

“That doesn’t answer my—”

“If you really like nature so much,” Loki spoke over me, “I know precisely the god to send you to next.” He spun us in a circle, and then swept me down the road toward Midgard.

“Wait, I—”

But as soon as I halted my momentum, the view changed, just as instantaneously as when I’d found myself transported to the realm of the gods.

I was in a wood again, but a very different, very alien, very intimidating expanse of one. The trees were massive, as tall as the mountains in the distance, mountains so majestic, they looked purple in the sun. I could hear as well as see a great waterfall nearby and almost feel the coolness of its spray.

This wasn’t Midgard. Not Asgard either.

Loki had sent me to Vanaheim.

The following chapter contains:

Anal Douching, Anal Training, and Size Kink.

Chapter three

The Romantic

OLI

Iwas in the strange yet beautiful world of Vanaheim, home of the Vanir race of gods, lost within its radiant woodland.

Utterly alone.

“Help—!” I started to cry, but before the word left me as little more than a curse atHelherself, I turned to find a sword point less than a step in front of my face. No hand, no warrior wieldedit, but it hovered, aimed at me, as if about to strike and skewer me between the eyes.

“Hold! I believe the young man merely needs assistance, not a thrashing.”

The voice caused the sword to lower and back away from me. It swept upright and then down to point at the grass, as if mimicking a bow.

“That’s its way of apologizing. Do forgive it. It only means to protect its master. And who might its master’s trespasser be?”

I raised my eyes from the blade of my near demise to see a man walking out of the trees behind the sword. If Heimdall was dazzling brightness, all white, and difficult to look at when the rays of the midday sun further illuminated him, then this figure was the comforting bronze of a sunrise. Friendlier looking, at least on the surface, like on a summer day, early-morn, before it grew too hot.

He was equally as beautiful as Heimdall, but his long hair was a rich auburn, full and wavy with only a few intermittent braids as if he preferred the wildness of a mane. His green eyes matched the verdant foliage around us, and his auburn beard, while not long enough to add baubles or braids, was an attractive medium length that well framed his face. He was dressed like a hunter, in leathers and furs, all in the same colors as the wood.

“Well?” he pressed, coming close enough to seize his floating sword and sheathe it.

“Freyr,” I gasped, standing in awe of him. He had always been one of my favorite gods to hear stories about, gallant and charming and everything a young man should idolize.

“That’s my name!” He laughed and pounded a fist against his chest.

“I know that!” I blurted, feeling like an idiot. “I’m not… I meant… my name is Oli. I know who you are.”

“So it seems.” Freyr planted his hands on his hips, like posing for a statue to be sculpted, and if one was, it would have been worth every shave of the stone. “May I ask why you are plodding through my wood?”

“Then thisisVanaheim?”

“Naturally. What’s unnatural is having a mortal here. This is Vanir land.”

The Vanir, a different tribe than the more war-hungry Aesir like Odin and Thor, embraced nature and the prosperity of the simpler “farm boy” life, like Loki had teased me. They still were warriors when needed and summoners of great magic, but their passions lie elsewhere than on the battlefield. More than enough for two otherwise similar peoples to fear, hate, and war with one another.

Eventually, the Aesir and Vanir tribes had called a truce, and to solidify a new age of peace between them, Freyr, his sister Freya, and their father Njord were given to the Aesir as sort of ambassadors. Maybe “prisoners of war” was a better term, but they had freedoms to live as they pleased, if it pleased the other gods.

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