Finding Compassion Under the Pagan Umbrella

I wrote the following as a summary of some of the discussion that occurred surrounding Cherry Hill Seminary choosing to support the Charter for Compassion. The question up for discussion was "Is Compassion a Pagan (/ Heathen / Polytheist / Pantheist / etc.) Value?" By and large, we (a few students, such as myself, as well as faculty participants) affirmed that it was.

The following is a summary of the points made in that discussion. I am not a spokesperson for Cherry Hill Seminary, and the views on the rest of my blog are mine and mine alone. My intent here is merely to provide a resource for the discussion of Compassion in a Pagan context, compiled from multiple viewpoints in an academic setting.

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 Thoughts on Compassion, as Prose

• Hades, Ruler of the Greek Underworld, was moved to tears of compassion by Orpheus' pleas for his deceased bride. Compassion hears the suffering of others.
  
• Forsetti is a Norse god of mercy and reconciliation. Those who entered his presence fighting left as brothers. The ability to listen to those who are different and transcend our borders (personal and national) is a hallmark of compassion.
  
• When Baldur, a god of hope and truth, died, all were called upon to weep for him. When one did not, and he stayed dead, he became instead a god of renewal and rebirth. Compassion and hope are twins, because every act of compassion is a seed hoping to blossom an emotional desert into an oasis.
  
• The one who did not weep was Loki, and he too, experienced compassion from the goddess Sigyn. When all encouraged her to think of him as a lost cause, she did not. Compassion sees the roots of hatred are actually fear and pain, and that most "lost causes" are simply lost people, who need the right guide for them.
  
• The Web of Life and Weaving of Wyrd shows us that suffering affects the entire pattern, not just one thread. Compassion shows us that "out of sight, out of mind" is an illusion that ignores how the injustice and sufferings felt by a few have an impact on all of society, acknowledged or not.
  
• "We are all connected, to each other biologically, to the earth, chemically, and to the rest of the universe, atomically" - Neil DeGrasse Tyson. Humanistic Pantheist Pagans rely on natural models, moreso than mythology. Nature itself shows that when one part of an ecosystem is endangered or one resource is polluted, everything suffers. Even when not anthropomorphized, nature holds a lesson in compassion - for compassion, like nature, knows that we need each other, with all our diversity and differences, to survive on this little blue dot.
  
• A mortal couple, Bacchus and Philemon, showed compassion to strangers beyond the call of hospitality itself. What they did for the strangers was discovered as being done unto the gods. Compassion sees the divine in the hungry stranger.
  
• This most recent example may strike some as similar to the "Good Samaritan" and corporal works of mercy - but just because one group has an idea (especially an extremely general one) doesn't mean another can't also come up with it. Does Asatru own the concept of mead, or do practitioners of Shinto and Buddhism own the concept of the novel after the Tale of Genji? Then why do western Pagans think of compassion and forgiveness as "too Christian?"
  
  Perhaps we are afraid of our own shadow, and afraid we will try it and fail as badly as many others have. Compassion teaches us to try anyway, despite our fears.
  
• Baubo was Demeter's nurse. When her daughter Persephone was kidnapped, Baubo was the first to make Demeter laugh. Compassion shines a light in the darkest night.
  
• Elos, the spirit of Mercy and compassion worshiped in Athens, had a simple altar. It bore no perfect Greek statues, no libations, and no incense. Her offerings were the shorn hair of widows, the clothes of beggars who had risen out of poverty, complaints, and tears. Compassion offers a shoulder to cry on, when words and actions may not be enough.
  
• In the Fifth Sacred Thing, Starhawk shows the bravery of compassion. Compassion knows that the best way, and the most difficult way, to remove hatred is not through destruction, death, and violence, but through making an enemy into a friend. Compassion, like Maya Greenwood, says "There is a place for you at our table, if you will choose to join us."

Wunjo Meditation

(Content Warning: This is an older blog entry and contains references to Harry Potter fandom stuff. It was written in 2016 with references to events in 2014. I do not support the author's current horrid campaigns.) 

Joy. Light. Fulfillment. Completion or feeling complete or content.

For Wunjo, we're going to break the forth wall a bit, because in some respects it ties very well into an experience this author has had which most, fortunately, never do: Homelessness.

To clarify, this is NOT going to be the kind of “It could have been worse!” post the internet loves to hate, where someone makes you feel like your problems aren't real if you're not starving on the street. That is not my intent at all.

I was a full time student in college who had exhausted their loans and had to choose between rent and tuition. There was no way in Midgard I was going to make such an investment of time, debt, and work, let alone be able to pay it back, without getting that piece of paper. I'll always remember one particular night – being outside at 5AM, in the snow, praying the doors to the next warm place would be open. Looking at the stars, and the light reflecting off of snow and ice, but hungry and very cold in the 0*F weather, I was just content to be breathing, surrounded by beauty that was also very, very harsh.

It was the little things that got me through that time. On a different evening, I found a study cubicle, took off the Harry Potter scarf (which I'd been using both for warmth and a mood boost), and proceeded to “decorate” my cubicle with said scarf, laying a few herb bundles I'd been given on top of a corner of it, with a few oils (since I couldn't leave them to freeze, they came with me in my backpack at all times), stacks of books, and a tarot deck. I got, perhaps, a bit too comfortable for public, even though this was a back corner at 11PM, taking off shoes and socks, and giving my tired feet a massage. Since I was in public so much, with no real privacy, being barefoot was a luxury. Tending to how sore I had been, between that and my growing arthritis, made me feel... human. Cared for... Even if it was just self care. And with my little decor job it was, sort of, an attempt to bring “home” with me wherever I went.

The thought process that formed much of my basic awareness during this time was one of mindful evaluation. Time seemed to stretch longer when, even for someone without much routine, I lost what little I had. I realized that I needed to evaluate my needs, and carve out my own space. I looked hard at what was “enough.” At some point, I literally rewrote my definition of happiness:

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Defining Happiness

Unfortunately, those studies about happiness not being based on money say "beyond having basic needs met..." Money and stuff don't affect happiness. [I was referencing: https://www.princeton.edu/~deaton/downloads/deaton_kahneman_high_income_improves_evaluation_August2010.pdf , more or less.]

So I will define happiness as being warm, having clean water, having clean clothes, having showered within the last few days, and having had at least one light and one moderate meal unless I'm on a day of religious fasting, having had at least five hours of sleep, and having spent at least one hour of my day playing a game, reading a book with a plot, or making something - whether that is knitting, or writing a ritual or something theological, etc.

Bonus points if I got in some meditation time and/or didn't experience any major physical pain in getting around.

Super bonus if I have an organized to-do list. ;-)

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Most days and nights, I came nowhere close to that. Still, it gave me something concrete, and sometimes helped me spell out for myself and others reasons why I was unhappy or irritable, which in turned help me try to address the problems or opt to take a nap, if I could, instead of snapping at people.

One small exercise I've used is a journaling question that, I admit, was inspired by a tweet made by the Pottermore account some years ago. “What would be in your Room of Requirement today?” At first, I list the ideal – other living beings aside, what would help me accomplish whatever goals or tasks I need to do that day? Then I bring it down to what's available, what's there that could fill the same need. If I can't have cider, at least I have water or tea. If I really needed caffeine, I'd get a $1 black coffee, or some cheap instant espresso mix. If I can't have a fireplace to write by, I can wrap myself in a blanket with a fireplace video while I draft in a paper notebook. It also helped to remember past times where I got whatever it was I wanted and wasn't any happier or more content. I substituted things, and I did my best to make certain the actual need, including an occasional need for aesthetic beauty to soothe the mind and soul, was met. I also did my best to find reasons to laugh, even if I had to look a little harder for them sometimes. It got easier, with practice.

The important bit was that I was taking the time to listen to what I actually needed, and reassure myself that I was meeting those needs as best I could. Similar to the Room of Requirement exercise above, if something is really bothering you, it helps to look more closely at what you can do, and less at what you cannot. If you can't do this, there is nothing wrong with that. Not everyone can, and I strongly recommend talking to a therapist if you are having issues with depression in particular. But it is worth trying!

In the end, this is part of what Wunjo is about. Sometimes the fulfillment, joy, or contentment comes because everything is going well. Wunjo applies the most, in that case, if things went well precisely Because you worked with circumstances, not against them, to achieve that positive outcome. However, it can also apply to working with your circumstances even when things go poorly - a rune not just for standing in the light of joy, but kindling your own, like a need-fire, in the darkest of nights.

Gebo Meditation

A gift. A mercy. Hospitality. One good turn – or unearned boon – deserves another.

“A gift for a gift” says Havamal. Accepting a gift is also a social obligation to give something in return – whether to give back to the gods from one's bounty, to give bounty to the gods in exchange for a new boon, to exchange gifts with friends or neighbors, or even to accept a gift of mercy or charity with the understanding that you must someday “pay it forward” when you can.

In other words, accepting a gift pledges a troth. Forging alliances – whether accepting an oath ring or a wedding ring – is a strong example. So, too, is the notion of basic cooperation. If one person has a bit of a green thumb and can grow food, and another is a skilled tailor, they do better communally than if one person had to handle both tasks. I benefit from the things you can do which I cannot, as you do from my skills. There is progress in forming such human networks that would not be possible otherwise.

It is likewise true with the gods, the wights, and other beings. Several times, most notably in exchanging hostages after the Aesir – Vanir War, the gods have shown that they too are bound by these social contracts – though some have wondered if Hoenir and Mimir really was a fair trade for Njord, Freyr, and Kvasir (some suggest that Freya went voluntarily and was not part of the deal), especially once Mimir died. But then, some may also wonder what we could offer the gods. Is the exchange truly fair? But what is fair in such a case? But consider: Mere water seems a small thing compared to gold and silver and technology and cures for illness, but liquid silver, so far as we know, will not sustain life. Even in human history, there have been periods where the people described themselves as having “plenty of gold, but going without bread.” Though the gods can certainly find their own way to intervene in our world, the simplest way is often through us. Perhaps this is enough, or perhaps they merely like the taste of human brewed mead more than their own, much as many Americans prefer a German or Irish imported beer if they can get it. It is not our place to ask why whatever we can give has meaning to such beings – only to trust and respect that, somehow, whatever we can offer is of worth.

Relationships with deities and with other humans should be healthy ones, however. One has a choice of obligations, of where to spend one's energies. Sometimes one must also let go – whether of a grudge, or of deciding when a task or project has been accomplished “well enough” and further effort would be wasted. This is especially true if one is trying to fulfill ones obligations without creating new ones. The best place in the cycle, perhaps, at least in this cultural framework, to leave such things is to turn down an offer, boon, gift, or opportunity from the gods, or from other people. Just as one does not need to attend every college one gets into, one does not need to oblige themselves to every deity at once.

This also involves knowing when one needs to push oneself, to make sacrifices in order to achieve something greater for themselves or their communities, like a scientist sacrificing sleep to find a cure on a timetable... and when one is unnecessarily over-obligated and needs to say no. One owes it to oneself to take care of themselves, but also to know when there is a need to be pushed past current limits. There is a time and place to drop all excuses, to run “full burn,” to sacrifice for the sake of wisdom and community, and there is also a time and place to say no. By learning this balance, it becomes possible to begin to make decisions that allows for growth into one's best self.

Kenaz Meditation

The Torch. Discovery - The Hard Way. Understanding of life & it's meaning.

Walking in darkness down a path, you come to a dead end. This thicket is too thick. There is no way through.

Reluctantly, you turn back.

You choose a different path, only to achieve the same end; but this time when you turn back, you see a side path, and take that. Again, another dead end.

You try again, and again, until you no longer remember how you got here.

Eventually, you find a path with many thorns at the end, but beyond it you see fire. The air is beginning to chill, and you desperately want the warmth and safety of that fire...

Without thinking, without hesitation, you grasp at the thorns, only to find your fingers scratched. This won't do! You'll never break through that way! After a moment of cautious consideration, you think you have a solution.

So, you pull your sleeves over your hands to form makeshift gloves, the thorns dig into the sleeves, but not as much, and don't quite sting like before. You worry, briefly, about your shirt or sweater,

but you aren't exactly sure what plant this is, and just hope it isn't stinging nettle.

You eventually break through, and add some wood from a nearby pile to the fire. The warmth is soothing, and you know the flames will keep critters at bay. The fire pit is well made, and there is a source of water nearby. Eventually, you drift off into an exhausted sleep.

In the morning, you wake a bit sore, but more clear headed, and better able to see in the thin early light. You go to examine the thorns you broke through, and discover, with relief and a laugh, that they were not the dreaded stinging nettles, but blackberries. There aren't many left in the early autumn chill, but you pick some of what's left, and begin your journey home.

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This is the sort of situation in which the fires of Kenaz light our way. Kenaz isn't so much about being inspired by the possibilities like Ansuz,so much as clawing one's way to discovery because one must. Some of what we make, like art, or fine cuisine, we do for its own sake, but other times it's do or die: Learn to make fire or freeze. Learn to preserve food or starve,. Learn how to treat the illness, or watch the village population drop. Learn to work sustainably with the environment, or watch the streets flood and the lakes go dry.

Sometimes we don't learn because we *want* to, but because we *have* to – and we pray it isn't too late. (But then, even if it is, if anyone survives, that hard won knowledge, too, is part of what Kenaz speaks of.) A real Fact in life is true, whether or not one wants it to be so. Accepting this allows one to prepare for potential danger instead of denying it, and, with others, become a sort of “herd immunity” of knowledge – whether literally, in the case of the recent ridiculousness over vaccines, or metaphorically, in the case of those who, from one “side” or the “other,” deny one finding of science or another for political gain.

To move from mere survival to thriving, one must find a way to solve problems at the first sign, and this is often a process of trial and error. No one human can do this for everything within their lifetime, and so it benefits us to find people we trust to know what they're talking about – whether or not we like them personally – and learn from and benefit from one another's findings. A dozen flames burn brighter than one. Perhaps, in giving away some of what you know, the return will be someone else making a discovery you could not have, but which would likewise not have been possible without you.

Like proverbial enlightenment or gnosis, the trick is, there is no final destination, only the journey. The moment you believe you have “arrived” is merely the moment you set your things down and refused to budge – but others around you will still be walking, whether or not you do. Needing rest is one thing, stubbornness another.

Such is the nature of discovery and evolution alike.

Raidho Meditation

Journey, Experience, Facing the World

Like it or not, many of us are hobbits. We love stories, but deep down, we'd rather read about an adventure than go on one ourselves. Adventure means struggles and challenges - and what's worse, it means setting foot outside our front door.

Many of us build fortresses, with or without realizing it. We expect adversity to find us, so who in their right mind would go and seek it? Our comfort zones, our indulgences - even our procrastinations and addictions - were created for good reason, with the best of intentions, right? To numb some pain, or avoid feeling too overwhelmed, in and of itself, is sometimes a good thing. When taken too far or clutched for too long, however, it can also lead to stagnation, or even do us worse harm than whatever we were retreating from.

Sometimes we need to gather our courage to take that fateful step over the threshold. It may be that we were terrified over something, only to discover that we turn out to be more powerful than whatever we were afraid of. Other times, the problem or task at hand is as big as we imagined, but we can "level up" and grow in our ability to tackle it. Sometimes this occurs little by little, by breaking it down into smaller parts.

We can only be one place at a time, taking one step at a time. The important part is to take one step after another, and to keep going. Maybe the distance covered, or how long it takes, or what gets accomplished, will feel like either too much or not enough. Still, you will go further by being on the road than staying in your comfort zone.

And yes, the journey can change a person - in fact, it usually will. Just as Bilbo returned stronger, braver, and more powerful, with new friendships and tales of inner strength, your journeys can change you as well. Knowing that, when challenge knocks, you can meet it and defeat it, is well worth the effort. (And yes - you can go home to some sort of comfort zone again, changes and all. We all need rest from the road.) The hands on experience gained will teach you things about yourself which all the stories and books in the world cannot.

So often we are jealous of the adventures in books. In reality, this jealousy comes because we could be having adventures of our own, but have come to believe that we cannot, or that we would fail. Our unbeatable challenges seem so much more difficult than those in books - but if we were living the stories, unable to see how things would turn out, we would be just as overwhelmed. It is far easier to read of hobbits searching for the last crumbs of lembas bread, than to stretch only a few dollars into food for far too many days. It is far easier to read of a battle of riddles than to go on a job interview. Yet these are our stories, which we are living, and by banding together and forming a fellowship and claiming agency over our lives we can indeed make changes.

What is a Doran? (The answer is far more Celtic than Norse, bear with me.)

  Someone asked me this question on another social network, and I felt compelled to save a copy here as well for future reference.

  The term is from Monica Furlong’s Juniper / Wise Child / Coleman trilogy.

  What I love about the first book she wrote in the series, which was the middle book "Wise Child," is that it’s basically magic-based fantasy created using *only magical practices that can actually be done in real life.* The prequel and especially the sequel use a lot more Hocus-Pocus-esque fancy fantasy stuff, but Wise Child - which can be read alone - is full of bits of wisdom and is 100% legit stuff.

  Best bit? The writer of this excellent stuff was actually a Christian, and as someone who does a lot of Interfaith work, I appreciate that. Furlong is actually far better known in the UK as the Anglican Church theologian who lead the push for women to become priests in that denomination of Christianity. Yet here she sat, writing a book about magic *that totally gets it right.*

  But back to the  question.

  Please note that I have no problem with the word witch, and the opening quote is from the book, not me. Also note that while anyone can cast spells, there’s more to being a Doran (even if it is, technically, a fictitious category - though it’s solid enough in the book to be real, as I said). It involves a lot of direct energy and trance work, not just casting spells. It also sounds a lot fluffier from these bits than it winds up being in the rest of the book(s). The characters in it are pretty hardcore. For all that is said, in the prequel, Juniper, there’s knives, blood, extremely hard work, borderline starvation during hard winters, etc.

**********

“[Witch is] just a vulgar word for it that can mean all kinds of things. The word we use is doran.” Juniper went on to explain that the word doran comes from our Gaelic word dorus, an entrance or way in (the English have a word very like it.) It was someone who had found a way into seeing or perceiving.
“Seeing or perceiving what?”
Juniper hesitated. “The energy,” she said at last. “The pattern.”
…
“So what does a doran do then?”
“Some of us do healing things, like me and my herbs. Some of us sing or write poetry, or make beautiful things. Some of us don’t do anything at all. They often stay in one place, and they just know.”
“Know? Know what?”
“How things are,” said Juniper mysteriously.

***

“Not everyone is familiar with the vocabulary of witchcraft,” [said the inquisitor.] “Perhaps you will tell us now what a doran is.”
“It is someone who loves all the creatures of the world, the animals, birds, plants, trees, and people, and who cannot bear to do any of them any harm. It is someone who believes that they are all linked together and that therefore everything can be used to heal the pain and suffering of the world. It is someone who does not hate anybody and who is not frightened of anyone or anything.”
I could see from the expression on the inquisitor’s face that he had not expected such a reply.

*********

  All above quotes are from Wise Child, by Monica Furlong.

  Doran, a word invented by British writer Monica Furlong in the late 1980’s for her book “Wise Child,” is a reference to standing in the door: between darkness and light, between the natural world and the supernatural. The original Old Irish / Scots Gaelic root from which Furlong derived this word is doras/dorus, which has a related Irish term doirseoir. Before it became a term for a caretaker, by way of being used to mean “porter” in more modern times, doirseoir originally referred to the job of a gatekeeper. A Doran, then, is one who lives at the gates between dimensions of reality. Furlong also tied the term to the idea of the Cailleach. While Cailleach can refer to a specific Celtic goddess of Winter, the term cailleach can also simply mean hag or wise woman. The Cailleach and Brigid were two halves of a whole, and the word Cailleach is similar to a word meaning “stranger” and “outsider” in multiple languages and cultures.

  With the addition of these connotations a Doran takes on, in addition to the idea of a spiritual gatekeeper, the attributes of the wise person who is capable of surviving even in solitary (during a time when such things usually meant a very hard survival - you grew your own food, made your own clothes, etc), with the wisdom to not only thrive in spring, but to maintain power during the harsh winters of life. Unlike the more common English term “witch,” the word “doran” does not have historical baggage attached to it, and might feel less exclusionary to Non-Wiccan Pagans not wishing to be confused with Wiccans, or even to members of Abrahamic faiths with an interest in the magical or mystical.

  (Yes, I know that there is the perfectly good word "seidkona," and one can talk of Galdur, but this is an umbrella word that also carries ethical and theological implications, and can be a shared path among those of vastly different perspectives, whereas a seidkona is specifically Norse.)

Loki Steals From Ratatoskr (fiction based on two UPG's, written for a university class)

“Pour me a shot of whiskey,” the red bearded stranger says, “and I'll indulge your longing for a story.”
    I oblige, and he takes a sip. “So this is that new honey whiskey, eh? It's like mead, but stronger. I like it!” he says, before tossing it back.
    Recaling himself, he clears his throat.
    “Such good spirits indeed deserve a tale. Let me see...”


===<>===

    Once upon a time, some dwarves had wandered to Jotunheim, in search of rare materials. While Svartalfheim has metals aplenty, there are rare stones they can't always obtain – such as a crystalline obsidian, which shows an entire rainbow of colors, only darker, as deep as night itself, the darkest shades still perceptible as “true” reflecting in its depths. These they would polish and use in the hilts of swords, or fine diadems, and their magic was great, especially in the hands of a shapeshifter.

    However the treasure they were after was not the only one they possessed. On their journeys they had also visited Alfheim to trade for gold. Already they had shaped this lovely treasure into a new form – that of three delicate golden acorns.

    Loki, noticing the dwarves so far from home, and observing the way they were trying to keep the evidence of their visit to a minimum, realized they must be mining in secret.
    “Well how lovely! I wonder what else they may be hoarding, and if the other Aesir would reward me for... delivering it.”

    Hidden behind some trees, Loki turned inward, and slowly turned himself into a rabbit. He hopped over, looking as simple and boring as he possibly could, trying to pass for being part of the scenery, and no more. He slowly hopped towards the supply pack of one of the dwarves, and pawed the acorns out of it. He dug a small hole and buried them, hiding the treasures until they went to sleep.

    None of this was noticed by the dwarves.

    Loki, still congratulating himself on his theft, and sure that this would put him back into the Aesir's good graces after that incident with Sif, walked into Odin's council chambers. Before he could even speak, Huginn few off of Odin's shoulder, snatched the string of the bag, and delivered it to Odin's waiting palm.

    “What is this?” growled Odin. “What have you done?”

    “... I thought I was giving you a gift, but now I am not so sure.”

    Odin pinched the bridge of his nose, desperate to calm himself before he lashed out at his blood brother needlessly. His fury still seeped into his voice, edging it with a hard grit.

    “Well, Loki, next time you steal a gift, make certain it was not one I gave. The gold for these trinkets came from Alfheim. The dwarves you stole them from owed Ratatoskr quite a large debt, and were given the gold to pay it back as a payment from me, in return for making a few items at my request. Gold of that purity was not cheap, Loki. That offering was to buy the silence of that nattering squirrel!”

    Odin sighed and sat down, but when he looked up, any sign of weariness was replaced by a look of steel. “Muninn?”

    Memory took flight, fetched a scroll, and delivered it to the All-Father. He picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and handed the scroll to Loki.



Odin fixed his eye upon Loki - "Take the acorns wherever the dwarves stayed before you found them. Unfortunately for you, I believe they were staying as guests of Frey, so you'll be sneaking into the home of another god, not an elf. But then," Odin paused to make his point, "If you had any qualms with sneaking into any of our homes, my daughter in law would have a slightly different hair color right now, hmm?"

Loki winced. Of course Odin had guessed what he had intended to do. Unfortunately, this also meant he had reinforced the memory!

Odin had already moved on, however. "Take this scroll. Disguise yourself as a messenger - they might guess the truth if they know it's you. Deliver it to them after you have hidden the offering at Freyssalr."

So Loki left. First, he carefully placed the golden acorns on a window sill. (He knew, from having stayed there when Frey's father married Skadi, that this was the window nearest to where the guests slept.) Then, as he had done so many times before, he turned himself into the tiniest of flies, and found a way in through the roof joinings. Carefully, quietly, he opened the other side of the window, and reached along the sill for the once prized treasure, which had become his burden.

He dropped the acorns near where the dwarves had slept, in a casual way. They were just out of sight, but still seemed to have been accidentally kicked there while packing.

"Well, that went smoothly." Loki thought to himself, re-latching the window and sneaking back out into the crisp pre-dawn light.

He turned from Freyssalr, and set off for the dwarves, careful to disguise himself before setting foot in Svartlheim.

By now, the dwarves had returned, and Loki could feel the forge's heat leaking under the door as he knocked.

A dropped "clang" sound and some angry words echoed from within, but whoever he had startled was not who came to the door - or so Loki judged from the speed with which it opened.

"A message," Loki's voice squeaked out, sounding like a nervous young boy. "From the All-Father himself!"

The dwarf skeptically eyed the boy before him, dressed in rags and freckled. "And what was one like you doing in Asgard?"

"I, um, work as a stable hand," Loki replied, wincing at the thought of his son and hoping it wouldn't give him away.

"I thought the horses were under Gna's care?"

"The goddess of horses?" Loki's eyes grew wide, and his voice squeaked again. "The messenger goddess?"

"Aye, the same. Or that mortal kin of Odin's - Hermod."

"The hero? But he died! His duties are in Valhalla now."

"And Gna?"

Loki thought quickly. "She's there, sometimes, but the All-Mother has need of her often these days. Someone has to groom Sleipnir when she is busy, or feed and re-shoe Hofvarpnir when she is busy or tired."

The dwarf seemed to accept this answer and stepped back, allowing Loki to enter.

"It isn't often we get two messengers from the gods in one day. Considering the other just left, we thought you might be an imposter, or a thief!"

Loki gulped nervously.

"Don't worry so much boy! We know yer okay now, and the harm's been done anyway. Ái was forgetful again and we mistook his lapse for a theft."


The dwarf moved back to a table, and filled a horn with mead.

“Well? Don't just stand there gaping! Rest yer feet, have some mead, and let's have a look at that message.”

Loki handed the scroll over and sat down to his mead. The dwarves' eyes skimmed over the paper.

“I see. So he heard from the Jotnar, and knows the squirrel squeaked about what we were up to. Only wants the diadem now, eh? Well, that tracks. We can return the stones for the armband to the Jotnar. That should stop their grumbling – they need never know how many we actually mined.”

His eyes flicked up to Loki's.
“You'll rest here and eat with us, but in the morning, you'll have to make yet another journey, to Jotunheim.”

“At last,” thought Loki. “Home.” He almost wanted to make up some excuse about Odin having requested his return as soon as possible, so he had better leave immediately and rest there, in order to return to the All-Father in fewer days.

But then he remembered.

Angrboda.

Was she the one who had demanded the gems back? Of course it was her. It wouldn't be the ruler of Utgard – the place where the dwarves had been mining was out of his domain. He gritted his teeth that Odin had neglected to share that... detail.

Now he dreaded his return home, and thought better of staying the night with the dwarves.
He needed time to plan.
What was he going to say?
He never could fool Angrboda.
… or could he?

The next day, he set off again. This time, however, he made certain that he simply looked like himself before he set foot in Jotunheim.

The road, by now, was all too familiar – the path home, indeed. Before him, eventually, was that hall of old wood, etched in runes and knotwork, obscured by antlers and polished bones, like ivory, above the door. The home of the Wolf Mother.

He entered, and a shard of pottery exploded above his head.

“You missed.” he said, fixing his once-paramour's gaze with his own.

“No. I didn't. Get out!”

“Shh. No, I'm here to make amends.”

“How could you? What amends could you possibly make?” the giantess lowered her voice to a growl, and approached. “You let them take our son,” she pinned him to the wall, “ and then, you go and marry that Vanir bitch!”

“I care, though. Look, I heard you were angry about some dwarfs stealing from the land, so... I used my position among the Aesir, and took care of it.”

“Took care of it how?” Angrboda growled out.

“Look!” he put up his hands to get space from her, and pulled out a neck purse with a handful of polished, medium sized stones.

Mesmerized, Angrboda took one of the rainbow obsidian stones from his hand.

“Loki...”

Blinking and recovering herself. “Well. Good. They're not still in the ground where they can resonate with the local magic, but at least they have been returned home. You've been useful. Thank you.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “So no more throwing things, ok?”

Angrboda sighed. “You may return to the Ironwood in peace, and leave in peace. I just... don't want to see you, for awhile, ok?”

Loki sighed, for part of him did miss her. “I understand.”

He turned, and, for the first time in many long years, went to his childhood home to rest his head.

===<>===

“Of course,” the red bearded stranger smiled, “It wasn't long after that when I saw him myself, and let him in on the joke. The only thing he ultimately changed was that the arm band was never made. Odin had ordered two pieces for close loved ones, you see. One for his wife, and one... for his blood brother. In the end, for once, Loki stole from himself!”