Stroll around any group of dwarves at their leisure and you will certainly find a pair at a table with their hands clasped, grunting and straining in an attempt to force their opponent's arm down onto the table top. These intense contests of strength were as popular in my rough-and-tumble youth as they were when I returned, and I had always enjoyed watching them, even if I had never been approached and challenged very often, mostly likely out of fear of my reaction if I lost.

It seemed that things were much different upon my return.

That brings a smile of genuine happiness to my lips, even if it doesn't stay there for as long before twisting in a grimace of bitterness. It was under the guise of such an innocent arm wrestling match that Regin began his campaign against me that has now been carried far beyond the Mountain and out into the world of humans. And brought to my attention by Siegfried. 

How kind of him. 

At the start of winter when I came inside and took up more domestic pursuits, I was soon being approached and challenged by younger dwarves to a wrestle, their friends grouped behind them, urging them on with nudges or whispers of encouragement.

From my years in the forges, my right arm had grown visibly in strength and circumference, well beyond that of a normal dwarf. The news of my powerful arm was travelling from mouth to ear through the side caverns and tunnels -- the great complex that stretched out in all directions under the Mountain -- and now the young lads were presenting themselves to see if this audacious rumour was true.

That my kinsmen would challenge me to a wrestle like any other dwarf showed me that my future subjects accepted me in a way the courtiers did not, but it pleased me even more when one of the dwarves who had caught my eye sat himself across from me, slamming his elbow on the table and crying "So let's see what this arm of yours can accomplish, Fafnir!"

And I'd show him with great pleasure, normally being able to slam his arm against the top of long trestle table with a resounding slap within a matter of a few breaths.

Sometimes, though, I made it last a little longer, just to keep him there for a few heartbeats more.

No matter if the wrestle was long or short, however, it always seemed to draw a crowd of onlookers. I did sometimes make a bit of a performance out of it, as the attention agreed with me after having been so ignored by my father.

After beating one or two dwarves in a row, all of whom would stand up from the table rubbing their arms, I'd squint one eye and look around at the rest of my kinsmen, before saying, "Well, which one of you shall I humiliate next?" and then laughing. They often laughed with me, but there was always another of them who would step forward to try his luck. Sometimes even bets were laid, kinsmen leaving off their dice games or conversations to drift over and watch.

I beat everyone who sat down and offered me his hand.

It was easy.

And it would have remained so had I not been strongly urged by Otr and my mother to begin looking for a spouse soon thereafter.

"You are of the correct age, Fafnir, and it would please the king and myself to see you settled," our mother said, her foot nodding against the pedal of the spinning wheel as she gently rolled the taunt, white thread with her fingers. I stood in her chamber, gazing around at the tapestries, chests and carvings, but not knowing where to direct my gaze. Her maids went about their business as if I wasn't there and I, myself, would have liked to have not been present.

I coughed slightly and shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

"Fafnir, honestly, the fame of your right arm is spreading rapidly," Otr said from his chair in the corner where he sat, left leg propped on right his knee. "I've seen how they are starting to come and challenge you. It's even reached Father's ears. You should use every scrap of acknowledgement to your advantage! Your strength is much admired and your skill as a smith is not doubted by anyone who has seen the copper raven."

He smiled at me, and then glanced at our mother, whose attention seemed to be fully taken up by her spinning.

"You know our mind, Fafnir. See to it that you set yourself to the undertaking we ask of you," she said in an almost distracted tone, and I was allowed to leave. Otr followed me out.

"Is that what she was referring to when she said I would soon be given 'duties'?" I grumbled, my mouth a tight line of dissatisfaction.

"One of the things, I'm sure. But, listen, Fafnir. She's right. This is the best thing you can occupy yourself with right now. Trust me." He didn't say anything more, but his words were spoken with such sincerity that I did trust him.

In my chamber, I took the golden torque with love magic worked into the abstract patterns and runes out of my trunk and put it around my neck.

I had fashioned it in the Uppermost forge under the direct tutelage of Andrethi, believing that I would have a difficult time finding a partner when the time came for me to choose, although I had not thought I would be in need of it for many, many years to come. It was a pretty thing, but I prized it far more for the craftsmanship and effect than for its aesthetic appeal.

I knew deep within that I wished nothing more than to prove myself as dutiful as Regin and fully capable of carrying out what was expected of me -- despite Otr's warning that it wouldn't sit well on me nor be accepted nearly as well.

I wore the torque every day from that point on.

And I did attract the interested gazes of many kinsmen – both female and male -- and the reputation of my arm and skill as a smith drew them even closer just as Otr had predicted they would.

In truth, the gazes of men were rather more preferable to me and still are, but there were also many women who caught and held my own gaze. I was still quite unsure about my nature and unable to decide which direction I wanted to pursue. One day, it was women, the next, men. It was an issue that caused me much private lip chewing, even if I did not publically display my consternation.

When Otr noticed the looks I was exchanging with a few men, he clapped me on the back and said, "that makes two of us." He had long had male companions and would chose in that direction when it came time for him to take a spouse. I didn't tell him about my indecision, but he might have guessed at it after a time. Otr is nothing if not perceptive of things like that.

In the meantime, however, I continued to arm wrestle and my fame spread to the every edges of the Mountain.

It wasn't long until I noticed Regin drifting in and out of the shadows, his cloak of wolf trailing behind him like a long, serpentine tail, observing me as I wrestled. Sometimes, he would stand with a group of kinsmen, other times he would lean with his back against the wall, never taking his eyes off of me as I slammed down the arms of dwarf after dwarf.

Soon a rumour came up like a gale from the North, and spread through the Royal Hall. It claimed the reason for my constant wins was not the strength of my arm, but the magic that lay in the torque of gold around my neck. I had infused it with a spell to make me stronger than any living dwarf, therefore allowing me to gain a reputation I did not deserve.

I didn't need to be told that admitting to having forged love magic – or any type of magic for that matter – into the torque would have drawn scorn and jealousy to myself, and perhaps driven off any potential spouses, regardless of my rank. So I pretended not to hear the rumours that were whispered just within earshot, and continued to behave as if I knew nothing of the storm gathering just beyond sight that had no good intentions towards me.

One morning, quite out of the blue, I was summoned to the throne.

Regin and Otr were already there, along with what seemed to be every member of court. Otr glanced at me, smiling slightly, but making sure to keep his head tilted so that Regin wouldn't be able to see his expression.

The king was experiencing one of his better days, and we were ordered to kneel.

"My sons, I have decided it is time to announce your birth rights and inheritance before the assembled court. Rise, Otr."

Otr rose to his feet, head bowed.

"You will have the Western Gate, which looks out over the vast and moody water to which there is no limit because you are the most gentle and even-tempered of all the princes of our kingdom. You will use your knowledge of wind and water to keep us safe. You may step back."

Otr obeyed, but I could see the glow on his face and the pink flush that grew on his cheeks. He would never now be separated from the ocean he loved so much. I was happy for him, but my stomach began to draw itself into a tight bundle as the king spoke again.

"Rise, Regin."

Regin lept to his feet, the silver chain around his neck and the brooch that clasped his wolf cape jangling as he did.

"You will have the Southern Gate, which looks out over the peaks of the fjords, deep into the realms of humans, for you are the most intelligent and far-reaching in your vision of all the princes of this kingdom. You will use your knowledge of the world to keep us safe. You may step back."

"Thank you, Father," Regin said, and stepped back, placing himself next to Otr.

"Rise, Fafnir."

My breathing was becoming ragged as I rose and I pinpricks of expectation stung my skin. Was now the time? Would I be crowned or at least made co-regent? Was I ready?

The king coughed slightly, and began to speak.

"Fafnir, you will have the Eastern Gate, our most vulnerable point that lays open to the rising sun on two days of the year, for you are the most aggressive and cunning of all the princes of his kingdom. Your will use your strong right arm to keep us safe. You may step back."

Aggressive and cunning? Was that all? The Eastern Gate was the furthest away from the Royal Hall, and although it was the one I preferred to enter the Upper World through, it was little more than a military post.

I stepped into line with my two brothers, my mind churning with questions.

Apparently, I was not the only one.

As the king began to make movements to rise, Regin spoke, his voice echoing into the recesses behind the throne and taking on a sharp, almost barking tone.

"But who will rule the Mountain, Father? You have not declared a clear heir to the throne."

I looked at him, my mouth having dropped open. Why would a clear heir need to be declared? Wasn't I the clear heir?

"Have I not?" the King said, sitting back down again. He seemed not to know where he was for a few moments, mumbling to himself as his gaze tripped along the intricate tiles on the floor before our feet.

Then, gathering his wits again, he said, "All three of you will rule the Mountain jointly from your gates! There will be no one King. The Royal Hall will be where you will come together as brothers and equals to speak justice. You will --" His words were sliced through by a cough that shook him, causing foam to form on his lips and for him to hack phlegm down his beard and onto his robes.

Regin spared no moment dashing forward to fetch a cup of water and press it into the king's hand, bending over him and whispering soft words until the coughing subsided. Removing a cloth from his own pocket, he dabbed at the king's beard and robes until they were passably  clean again.

I looked to Otr, who shook his head slightly and remained where he was. 

The King was too weak to continue even after the cough had been soothed. After he was helped onto his feet and lead back to his own chambers, we were sent away.

Regin went with him, and  I did not see my brother until much later that night.