Sinric the Wanderer

The acoustic in the tavern of Ribe were excellent for storytelling, passing sound down the hall just right.

Sinric was sprawled on a bench, holding court as he told his tale.

It was the story of Baldr, most beautiful and beloved of all the gods.

But with a twist. For everyone knew the story of Loki’s jealousy and Baldr’s death and the hands of the much maligned mistletoe, but what became of Baldr’s earthly family.

“For like many of the gods, Baldr walked among men, loved and been loved. For who could not love Baldr as soon as see him? Men had raised sons and daughters proudly, knowing their fair hair and sea blue eyes had been a gift from the shining one.”

“But Baldr’s death had sent a shudder through the land. And even those who did not know they descended from the bright god had wept and wept. Just as all the objects, alive and dead, wept to free him from Hel’s hall. All but the Sly One. “

He took a dramatic breath, hand over his heart to relive such a suffering. “The children of Baldr wept and wept till they made lakes of their homes. They wept so hard that their shining beauty faded and their eyes, once blue as the calm seas turned white as snow or dark as earth for all the water in them was wept away.”

Sinric held the crowd spellbound with his words, letting them wonder if this strange creature with his dark eyes and his odd looks was in fact a child of Baldr.

“And so they go still, Baldr’s tear-wrung descendants, till Ragnarök when he and his brother Höðr will make a new world and beauty will return.” He lifts his mead cup in salute. “Baldr!”

“Baldr!” Many voices call back, giving the skald a chance to wet his parched throat.

Sinric looks around the room as many voices come together to fill the silence after his story and more drinking goes on.