Aaand here's part three, and last. After this, the narrative goes back to me. For a while. God help us.

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That day Billing led a hunt and Odin rode with the rest of the men. But he did not think of it. He thought of Frigga. The bend of her neck, the gentle lines of her body, that mocking mouth. He thought of the tryst she had promised. And soon enough the ordeal of the hunt and of the evening meal would be over. Soon the veil of the dark would fall.

Slipping out, Odin went to the river and secreted himself among the rushes in the cool wind rising from the water. No one else was there, but it was early yet. Surely, she would have to bide until the dun was dark. A warrior slipping out unaccompanied was no rare thing, but the chieftain's daughter was sure to attract notice.

He settled himself to wait.

Time passed and the dun had been dark a long while. Still, there was no sign of her and Odin's waiting ran strained and impatient.

Finally, he rose and crept back. Pulling his cloak tighter about him to ward off the rising chill he threw up one hand to the guards who stood about the place. They recognized him as he came and asked no question as to where he had gone and how it was he came so late back. Odin had learned that little care was spent among the Vanir in wondering such things.

Slipping in with the shadows he crept over the sleeping forms of the dun's inhabitants that had chosen to remain in the warmth by the long fire of the Great Hall. He made his way past them, silent as death down the hall and to the door that led to Frigga's own chamber. Perhaps in her wait she had dozed off, and a touch of his hand would rouse her.

Sure enough, in the dark of the room he saw a shape beneath the blanket on the bed. He ran a hand down the rise in the blanket from shoulder to hip, and the form shifted.

In the dark, Odin smiled.

A thick whine rose from the bed.

Odin's smile faded. He threw back the blanket to reveal the bound body of a dog. A bitch-hound from Billing's stock for breeding and his face flushed hot with anger.

Without a sound, he cast the blanket onto the floor, flung about, and left.

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May I quote Thor directly: "You" (– Loki –) "have her tricks…"