Beside Ulf's funeral pyre, a drowsy, drunken Oskar is being supported on either side by South Shore men.

Gorm: Yes. Oskar will go on to serve Ulf in the next life.

Alvin and Solveig are outraged. 

Gorm sighs.

Gorm: True, he's so clumsy as to be nearly worthless as a slave. But Ulf was always amused by his hair.

Alvin: What the hell are you talking about?!

Gorm: Oh. This.

Gorm stretches out one of Oskar's corkscrew curls and lets go. The curl bounces back into place, and the nearby Vikings chuckle.

Alvin: You can't sacrifice this boy!

Gorm: Why not?

Alvin: Because! He's a child. He deserves to live.

Gorm: Nonsense. He's happy to go with his master. Aren't you, boy?

Oskar is oblivious.

Alvin: I won't let you do this!

Gorm: It is the Viking Way, Jarl Al. And if I may be permitted, you're awfully squeamish for a Lord of Destruction. Next you'll be saying we mustn't eat goats, because the beasts deserve to live!

The Vikings laugh.

Sten: Enough! Let's get on with it.

Sten draws his sword.

Gorm: Mighty Ulf, we send your servant Oskar after you for your aid and comfort. May his curls bounce merrily for all eternity.

Sten raises his sword. Solveig steps forward, shielding Oskar with her body and glaring at Sten.

Solveig: Strike with all your might, Sten, for you'll have to run your sword through both of us!

Sten hesitates, then grabs Solveig's arm and wrenches her away from Oskar. He lifts his sword again.

Alvin: Stop! As your Jarl, I forbid you to harm that boy!

Sten: You forbid me? First you murder my father, and now you dishonor him?

Sten turns to threaten Alvin with his sword.

Alvin: No. No, wait.

Alvin thinks frantically.

Alvin: It's just the opposite.

Alvin turns to Gorm.

Alvin: Gorm. Is Oskar a great warrior?

Gorm: A worrier? It's hard to know what he's thinking. He doesn't say much.

Alvin: A warrior, Gorm! Is Oskar a warrior?

Gorm: A warrior? Of course not. He can't pick up an egg without dropping it, let alone an axe.

Solveig catches her breath and looks at Alvin.

Solveig: Then Oskar can't possibly enter Valhalla.

Alvin: Right. So how can he serve Ulf? Unless Ulf fails to reach Valhalla.

Sten growls.

Alvin: Which is impossible, of course. It would dishonor Ulf's memory to even hint that he and Oskar might end up in the same afterlife.

Gorm: But how can that be right? It doesn't...we always...

Gorm strokes his beard. He paces around the funeral pyre, muttering to himself. He rolls his eyes heavenward. He counts on his fingers. Finally he walks back to the group.

Gorm: Jarl Al is right. To sacrifice Oskar would be the greatest affront to Ulf's revered memory.

Alvin and Solveig sigh with relief. Sten looks suspicious.

Alvin: It shall be as you say, Gorm. We bow to your superior wisdom.

Gorm: My wisdom? Oh, yes. These things are very subtle, very complex. The common man cannot fathom the mysteries of The Way.

Alvin: And Sten, I really think you'll be happier if you stop waving that thing around. It's not the answer to every question.

Sten sneers, sheaths his sword and walks away.

Gorm speaks to the two men still flanking the groggy Oskar.

Gorm: Let the boy go.

The men let go of Oskar. Oskar sways and Alvin hurries forward to catch him. Oskar opens his eyes for a moment, smiles sleepily at Alvin and closes his eyes, sagging against him.

Gorm: Well, he's yours now. Not only are you his new master, but as you saved his life, you're responsible for him forever after. Good luck! Now for some ale.

Gorm stumps off. Alvin looks down at Oskar's red curls.

Alvin: Fuck me, I'm a slaveowner.

Alvin raises his eyes and encounters Solveig's adoring gaze.

§

The funeral is in full swing. The Vikings are feasting, drinking ale, and indulging in recreational fist fights. Three men are beating on drums; others are dancing.

Gorm is sitting on a stool by a table laden with jugs of ale, beating his empty cup on his staff in time with the rhythm.

Alvin comes up to the table.

Alvin: Can I pour you some more ale, Gorm?

Gorm: What? Later. I need some more ale.

Gorm turns to the table.

Alvin: Gorm.

Alvin takes Gorm's empty cup and thrusts a full cup into his hand, then pours himself a drink. Gorm tilts his cup at Alvin.

Gorm: Skol.

They drink. Gorm downs his ale before Alvin can take three sips.

Gorm: You'll have to do better than that. One of the Nine Tasks involves drinking nine large horns of ale from sundown to sunup.

Alvin: Then I'd better practice.

He gulps down his ale and pours himself another cup.

Alvin: Maybe I'll drink myself conscious.

Gorm: I'm not sure what you mean, but too much ale usually puts me to sleep.

Alvin: That's no good. What I need is need to...reach a higher plane.

Gorm: Ah. For that you need brew of crows'-root. It's the only way I can hear the Norns clearly.

They drink in silence for a moment.

Alvin: Gorm, how can you tell if you're dreaming?

Gorm: Hmm. There are a few ways. Let's see. Close your mouth and pinch your nose.

Alvin obeys.

Gorm: Can you breathe?

Alvin shakes his head.

Gorm: You can let go. Well, then. Do you look the same as always?

Alvin looks down at his body and feels his face.

Alvin: I guess.

Gorm: Can you speak to people long dead?

Alvin studies Gorm and wrinkles his nose.

Alvin: I think so?

Gorm: Hmm. So far the results are inconclusive. Wait. I have it! You must fall. That always wakes you up.

Gorm gets up.

Gorm: Stand on this stool, and jump. Don't try to land on your feet.

Alvin steps onto the stool and jumps. He lands in a heap.

Alvin: Oof.

He gets up and dusts himself off. He looks worried.

Alvin: Gorm, what if...what if I'm awake?

Gorm: Of course you are -- you're talking to me!

Alvin: But this is impossible!

Gorm: What is?

Alvin: You! You're impossible.

Gorm shrugs and sips his ale.

Alvin: Tell me, has anyone ever come to Midgard by boat?

Gorm: No, nor left. The reefs are like dragon's teeth. They chew boats up and spit them out.

Alvin: And that silver wolf you saw in the sky -- have you ever seen others?

Gorm: Yes.

Alvin: You have?

Gorm: Of course. The Day Wolf and the Night Wolf, chasing the sun and moon across the sky. But I see them very rarely. The clouds blanket the heavens, ninety nine days in a hundred.

Alvin: And no one has ever come here? From the Other Worlds?

Gorm: You are the first. But sometimes things wash up on the beach. Small things. Odd things that have no earthly use.

Alvin: Like what?

Gorm overturns his empty cup and claps it onto the end of his staff. He grasps a leather thong around his neck and pulls something out from under his shirt. 

It's a pink glitter cellphone case with a Hello Kitty logo. The thong is threaded through its camera hole.

Alvin is stunned.

Gorm: It sparkles. See?

Gorm proudly holds the case up to the firelight.

Gorm: Strange wolf, though. Why would it have such long whiskers, and a red moth on its forehead? I have asked, but the Norns remain silent. Well, then! I think it's time to dance.

Gorm stumps off to join the dancers.

Alvin gapes after him in horror.

Alvin: This is no dream. This is real!

§

The Viking merriment continues. Alvin is sitting on the ground, off to the side. Oskar is sleeping with his head resting on Alvin's thigh.

On the ground in front of him, Alvin has an array of cups filled to the brim with ale. He also has a cup in each hand, from which he frantically sips alternately.

Erik comes over with two plates of food, sits next to Alvin and puts a plate in front of him.

Erik: Looks like you could use some food.

Alvin keeps drinking. Erik peers at him.

Erik: Is everything all right?

Alvin slurs his words as he answers.

Alvin: Erik, I can' stay here. I don' belong here.

Erik: But you left your home to come here.

Alvin: It was a mistake. An accident. I need to go back.

Erik: Can you go back?

Alvin: I dunno. I dunno.

Erik: It's not so bad here. Look. I do love a good funeral.

Erik gestures at the dancing Vikings.

Alvin: Funeral. Oh, God. I killed him, Erik. I really killed Ulf.

Erik: Yes. But did you have a choice?

Alvin: There's always a choice.

Erik: You killed one man -- Ulf killed hundreds. Some from his own clan, for petty, imagined treacheries. And he used to "borrow" other men's daughters and wives. Not many will miss him. I know I won't.

Alvin: But how can I live here? I'm so different. In every possible way.

Erik: Now that I know something about. It's difficult. But not impossible. Besides, you're the Jarl. If something's not to your liking, make it better.

Erik strokes Oskar's curls.

Erik: I think you've already started.

Alvin: Right, I'm the Jarl.

Erik: You are.

Alvin: I'm the Jarl.

Alvin puts down one cup of ale and picks up a piece of bread to gnaw on. He mumbles around a mouthful of bread.

Alvin: Shit, I am the Jarl.

Erik: We're agreed on that.

Alvin: I'm the Jarl. I get to tell everyone what to do. I can fix things!

Alvin gulps some more ale and slams down his empty cup.

Alvin: Erik, I'm gonna turn this place into Seattle.

Alvin gives Erik a drunken smile.

Alvin: With a dash of Fire Island.

They become aware of raised voices. 

Sten and Solveig are arguing a few feet away. Sten grabs Solveig's arm roughly.

Solveig: Let go of me!

Solveig wrests her arm free and takes a step towards Alvin.

Sten: You said you needed time and I respected that. I didn't lay a hand on you. But enough! You will be my wife. You must.

Solveig: I disagree. You said I would be a Jarl's wife. And a Jarl's wife I shall be!

Solveig drops to her knees in front of Alvin, takes his cup of ale from him and grasps both of his hands.

Solveig: Please, I beg you. You must marry. It's one of the Nine Tasks. Why not me?

Gaping, Alvin looks from Solveig to Sten to Erik.

Alvin: Solveig, I'm...really not good at relationships. Believe me, I wouldn't make you a good husband.

Sten: You've taken leave of your senses, woman. Would you choose a demon over me?

Solveig gives Sten a hate-filled glance.

Solveig: Some men are worse than any demon. Please, Al. You saved one innocent life tonight. Save another.

Solveig, Sten and Erik all wait tensely for Alvin's answer. Alvin looks into Solveig's beseeching eyes.

Alvin: All right. If that's what you want.

Sten takes a step towards them and hisses at Solveig.

Sten: I curse the day I laid eyes on you.

Sten turns and walks away. Solveig kisses Alvin's hands.

§

Sten, Knut, Leif and Arne are sitting under a tree, some distance from the feasting and dancing Viking, well-provisioned with drinking horns and jugs of ale. 

Sten is stewing with rage and swilling ale, while his cronies watch him anxiously.

Knut: Well, now you have no choice. You have to kill him.

Leif: Without a doubt. That demon has taken everything from you -- your father, the Jarldom, and now your woman! Death is too good for him.

Knut: Perhaps some torture first.

Arne: Well, you know I'm always in the vanguard of any attack. But can Surtur be killed? I would advise caution.

Leif: Without a doubt. Let us consider every angle.

Everyone looks at Leif. He coughs and gulps his ale.

Leif: Sten, what do you think?

Sten: He says he wants only peace. Ridiculous! Why would Surtur dilly-dally? I'm not convinced he is Surtur.

Knut: But Gorm Heard it. And Gorm is never wrong.

Sten: Gorm is the main champion of the claim that he's never wrong.

Knut: But if he's never wrong, then it must be true!

Arne: Shut up, Knut. Sten, if you decide to kill him, I'm right beside...behind you. But he is a black giant with a flaming sword. What if he is Surtur? Might we not be bringing Ragnarok down upon ourselves, and all of Midgard?

Leif: You have a point. He did kill Ulf with a touch. We all saw it. He must wield tremendous power. Who else could he be?

Sten drains his horn and pours himself some more ale.

Sten: My thought is he may be Loki, shape-shifted to disguise himself, come to sow trouble among men. On the other hand, he may just be a wandering giant from Jotunheim.

Arne: What's your plan, Sten?

Sten: Before the whole clan, he promised to perform the Nine Tasks, and step aside if he fails. I can bide my time for nine weeks. With any luck, he'll kill himself off in the attempt.

Arne: Or he may fail the Tasks.

Sten: I'll do my best to make sure he does. And if he does, it will prove he's no god, but as mortal as any man.

§

Pale morning sunlight streams through the shutters in the Jarl's house. Alvin is sitting at the table, glasses off, grimacing at his reflection in a polished silver mirror. Solveig is standing over him, vigorously rubbing his head with a cloth. Alvin groans.

Alvin: Have mercy, Solveig. How much did I drink last night?

Solveig: I don't know. But I can tell you that Gorm was impressed. There. Now you look like a true Viking bridegroom.

She removes the cloth. Alvin's hair is dyed platinum blond.

Alvin examines his reflection skeptically. Solveig's eyes meet his in the mirror. She laughs.

Solveig: Or as near as I can make you.

Alvin: Cool.

Alvin suddenly squints up at her in alarm.

Alvin: Wait. Did you say 'bridegroom'?