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The Saga of Lars Larson
and the Quest for Freya's Mantle
Written by Robyn Goodfellow
Come listen young heroes,
to the tale I will tell,
of great Lars the hero,
and his quest through hel.
For his clan's own safety,
was right in his hands,
and Loki's own mischief,
lead his father's demands.
Two brothers there were,
both sons of the chief,
one brave and mighty,
the other quite meek.
The chief he grew older,
and his choice was quite clear,
meek Jens the scholar,
would become chief that year.
The townspeople thundered,
'a chief should be strong!'
so the chief set a challenge,
to prove their choice wrong.
'Lars you must fetch me,
Freya's white cloak,
to prove me your worth,
to lead all of these folk.'
'Jens prove your might,
by slaying that beast,
who haunts my dreams,
afore midsummer's night.
'One year and one day,
I give to you each,
to complete your task,
and be here on this beach.
'Whichever of you,
completes first his quest,
in Odin's glory will bask,
and be named the best.'
Jens took a breath,
and questioned his sire,
'What beast must I slay,
that so raises your ire?'
Lars the elder looked back,
at his kind younger son,
'A reindeer you'll slay,
before this year is done.'
The people were angered,
by their chief's ill stroke,
but Loki just laughed,
at his cruel little joke.
The great goddess Freya,
saw the trickster's hand,
in young Lars' fate,
and so she planned.
Our hero set out,
with no plan in mind,
he walked to his ship,
and left his home behind.
At the side of the path,
an old woman stood,
crippled and hunched,
under her hood.
'Young man come near,'
she rasped and she coughed,
'and listen to me,'
now her voice was soft.
'Sail west t'wards the sunset,
'til in Niflheimr you stand,
you'll find Freya's pure white cloak,
in that forsaken land.'
Lars he just laughed,
at the old woman's show,
he glanced t'wards the sea,
and then he turned to go.
'You're a foolish old woman,
to make such a demand,'
there was naught where she'd stood,
but a feather on the sand.
The feather in hand,
he walked t'wards the sea,
and stopped at the shore,
where he whispered a plea.
'Help me great Freya,
to finish my quest,
'fore my father's fool task,
proves my brother the best.'
The hero Lars he called his men,
to man his dragon-ship,
their preparations quickly done,
into the sea they slipped.
His mighty ship the Sleipnir,
through the cold blue sea did shear,
and as they travelled quickly,
they sought heaven's wisdom dear.
Lars knew where they journeyed,
no man had gone before,
the crew knew they mightn't return,
it bothered not that Viking corps.
The weather started getting rough,
the dragon ship was tossed,
if not for the courage of the fearless crew,
the Sleipnir would be lost.
The ship it landed safe and whole,
an a distant unknown shore,
the land was thick with snow and ice,
and the sky was grey and poor.
Lars left his faithful men behind,
and continued on his quest,
he knew he must go on alone,
to prove he was the best.
Many forces tried to keep,
the hero from his task,
like the seven fleshless warriors,
that stood upon the path.
The leader he stepped forward,
a rusty dagger in his hand,
and advanced upon the Norseman,
to the cheering of his band.
Lars stepped in to meet him,
and the battle was begun,
swift and silent both men fought,
there could be only one.
Lars Larson stood triumphant,
his foe lay in the dust,
the six remaining warriors,
fell to bones and rust.
For many sunless days and nights,
Lars followed on that trail,
and as the days turned into months,
he feared that he might fail.
Ahead upon the darkened trail,
a blackened wood did loom,
and as he strode towards it,
he shuddered at the gloom.
He stepped into the forest,
and heard upon the wind,
a sound that likened Fenrir,
untied and loose to rend.
Deep in the blackened shadows,
green-gold eyes did glow,
a dozen monstrous wolves did leap,
and the howling winds did blow.
They circled Lars with malice,
and though he felt no fear,
he prayed for Freya's guidance,
as the deadly pack grew near.
The nearest latched upon his leg,
a second on his wrist,
and as Lars reached to draw his sword,
the others barely missed.
A deadly maul of steel and claw,
fur and leather armour flew,
Fenrir's get fought tooth and nail,
in a battle they did rue.
Twelve grey pelts lay scattered,
upon the frozen ground,
and as they bled, the forest,
made a wailing, mournful sound.
Further through the forest,
Lars came upon a spot,
where sunlight filtered to the ground,
and snow and ice did not.
Growing in the center,
was a mighty, aged oak,
and from the shaft of sunlight,
a right strange voice bespoke.
'You have faced my challenge,
and proven me your worth,
for you I will let my white cloak,
fly down and land on earth.'
With that a snow white falcon,
flew down the shaft of light,
and soared above a blackened branch,
where it paused and did alight.
Lars marveled at this creature,
that would fulfil his quest,
at wondered at the notion that,
he'd passed wise Freya's test.
Again he walked with purpose,
headed blessed east once more,
and passed through all who challenged,
with Freya's wisdom and the might of Thor.
Returning to his dragon-ship,
he ordered his men set sail,
and home they sailed with courage,
knowing they would not fail.
Meanwhile at the village,
Jens studied for his task,
and of the village hunters,
many questions he did ask.
The day before midsummer,
Jens went upon his quest,
and came upon a hag,
who had lain down to rest.
He stood and watched a moment,
and she startled to her feet,
and Jens asked this stranger woman,
where a reindeer he might meet
The woman pointed to the south,
and told him where to go,
to find a herd of reindeer,
where they roamed upon the snow.
Searching through the country,
shrouded in a cloak of fur,
Jens looked vainly high and low,
for where the reindeer were.
As the sun began to set,
He hurried back to town,
to search the market for his prize,
before the sun went down.
He went to see the butcher,
hoping he might have one there,
but the butcher told the chieftain's son,
he had neither hide nor hair.
A most enchanting woman,
with two green-eyed grey cats,
bought every single deer he had,
that wasn't in the vats.
Jens' hands were empty,
as he went home that night,
and Freya gave a hearty laugh,
at his now hopeless plight.
As midsummer dawned to day,
a ship sailed t'wards the beach,
and the sun had reached its highest point,
when the village Lars did reach.
As Lars stepped to the village square,
the falcon on his arm,
the trickster Loki tried to force,
his sire to do him harm.
The elder Lars was furious,
his chosen son had failed,
and as his fury turned to wrath,
at his own son he railed.
Forced to destroy his father,
since Loki's hold was sure,
Lars launched the mythic falcon,
with pelage white and pure.
At his father's flaming pyre,
Lars became the chief,
and as the burning ship set sail,
he howled out his grief.
Lars Larson was a leader true,
and came to revel in,
the destruction of his enemies,
and the lamentations of their women.
So ends Lars Larson's story,
a tale both bold and true,
filled with gods and demons,
and passed from me to you.
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