Mythological Locations A to Z: V is for Vanaheim
Mythological Locations A to Z: V is for Vanaheim

A small car drove along a branch on a tree, swerving to miss a large squirrel. The driver honked, then waved as he passed. "Ratatosk hasn't changed much."

His passenger giggled. "I wonder what Vanaheim is like now."

"Probably strip malls and fast food places, if they get around here like they do in Midgard." They drove in silence for a while. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I want to see home before it's too late." She reached out, touched his hand. His grip on the wheel eased, blood returning to his knuckles.

He smiled, reached over to stroke her golden hair. "Here's the turn."

The car coasted to a stop at the top of a rise. Below them was home. Green fields, just as they remembered them, the longhouses low and golden-roofed. In front of them, a horseman blocked the road. "Hold!"

Freyr rolled down his window. "Is that any way to treat the returning prodigals, Lýtir?"

The mounted man leapt off his horse. "Freyr! Freyja! Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

"Oh, here and there, this and that. You've noticed the worship got a little thin on the ground - for a couple of centuries, we didn't have the energy to leave, but some enterprising mortal developed 'moving pictures' and we found a way to eat again." Freyr's face grew long. "Which is part of why we're back now." He pointed to his sister.

"By the horn of Heimdall! What happened?"

"It's a little something she picked up doing a movie. She's been wasting away, but can't die down there, of course. So I brought her home one last time."

"Is it..."

"No. Not unless you're... intimate... with her." Freyr smiled grimly.

Later, in a bed placed outside a longhouse, Freyja lay in the sun. Freyr closed her eyes and smoothed her long golden hair. "Sleep well, dear sister. You gave the mortals all you could give them. Sleep, beautiful one." He kissed her cheek and walked away from the bier.