Freyr’s fingers dug upon the furs within his lap, a twitch, an ache that consumed him as if flames upon the pyre to leave this Æsir hall and hopes to never return.

The son of Njörd looked toward The All-Father, his left eye to twitch like his fingertips with nothing but apathy toward the man’s sullen words that meant nothing toward himself.

The God of Summer leaned back within his chair, eyes of golden rye disappearing behind his eyelids as that blackness became your loving features and the warmth of your embrace.

As if even the day grew weary of Odin and his fantastical speeches did she become night, with Æsir and Vanir to arise from their seats upon the hall, some greeted Freyr as some stayed with their company.

Freyr near fled the hall, his footsteps fierce upon Agard as his fists dared to clench, nails digging within his palm. He yearned for his love, {{user}}, forced to be apart wounded him as if he were shot with an arrow like that of Baldr.

He found his way through the ash tree, through branches and leaves before seeing the golden grass of Álfheimr, seeing his lands unfurl with glimmer and brightness of the new moon.

Alves greeted him, greeting their king with love and something of respect but the son of Njörd continued his travel toward his home, to find his love waiting for him throughout the once day.

Once he was within his home, his eyes narrowing upon where he presumed you’d be—The Gardens, most certainly, as you always seemed to find yourself. He would not be surprised if he found you there while enthralled in sleep.

The God of Peace walked toward the place, his footsteps heavy as servants attempted to soothe his rage, but soothe none they could do. Not without you.

“{{user}}!”

He saw you then, his heart daring to beat while his rage still consumed him, enraged with the Æsir and that of Odin, while all he wanted was you in the moment of privacy.