We returned to the King's chamber and I set the axe down. Regin's blood was already drying.

"It's done, Father," I said, knowing he could not hear me, but perhaps Odin in his omniscience could. "I've driven out the wolf in his cloak. May peace come to the Mountain now that Odin's curse has been realised."

I don't know where those solemn words came from. Perhaps those weren't the exact ones I spoke and my memory is creating a far more dignified picture than reality actually presented, but I do believe that was the gist of what I said.   

My missing golden torque was found hidden among Regin's personal possessions, as were a collection of small, earthen pots. The thin, whitish liquid inside knowledgable kinsmen recognised as a potion made of snake venom and pain-killing herbs. 

How cunning Regin was. How cunning he still is.   

Otr oversaw the funeral preparations. I wasn't able. My mother visited me in my chamber and we wept together. She had also not suspected Regin, even though she knew of Odin's curse on us. "We were all blind," she said, wiping the corners of her eyes with the hem of her dress.

My mother made me swear an oath that I would not raise my hand or voice against Odin or any of the Aesir for my long years of exile in the forges. Nor would I curse their names for the death of my father nor the betrayal of my brother. I had risen from the forges of my own accord and through my own skill and perseverance. It was now time that peace return to the Mountain, and two younger kings take up the throne in peace and accord. 

That was her wish, and I was so heart-sick that I accepted it. And I have kept my word, although at times it has been difficult.

Who has not asked why and how he came to be wrapped up into a web of circumstances that have nothing to do with him personally? Who has not been misunderstood and unjustly judged and damned?   

I am no different. There is nothing special about me, although I wear a crown. 

I am a Mountain Dwarf like any other.

The king's body was burned and his ashes scattered in a grand ceremony.

In the weeks following, Otr and I had a join throne constructed that we occupied together, ruling side-by-side. 

I asked Otr on our first day as kings if he preferred the shadows, as our father had done. He shook his head and so we have always ruled in the multi-faceted light of the candelabra that hangs high over the royal dais.

I've often wondered if the darkness that I knew from my childhood was our father's attempt to hide from the sight of Odin? If he thought he would be able to see the approach of the All-Father in his Hall if he enveloped himself in a perpetual night, while staying invisible himself. 

Perhaps, but it also made his murder so much easier. 

What one can't see, one can neither prove nor stop.  

I'm glad it's gone and my one remaining brother and I sit where all of the dwarves of the kingdom may see us plainly.

As the years have passed, Otr has stayed longer and longer at the Western Gate next to the ocean he loves so much, taking up his rightful place in the Royal Hall only at regular intervals and on special occasions.  He took a husband some sixty years ago and they are happy where the shrieking of gulls and the crashing of waves form the background wash of sound that accompanies their lives.  

I have taken a bride and we have four children, none of whom show any signs of aggression nor an interest in jewels and finery. 

Each one of them I have taken aside at one time or another and asked if they have seen or spoken to an old greybeard with only one eye and a long, gnarled staff. They tell me they haven't, and that has relieved me more than I would care to admit.  

Regin, however, is still alive and physically healed, as Siegfried informed me.  

He has approached the Eastern and Southern Gate on several occasions since the day he was driven out almost seventy years ago, poking around and rattling at locks and stays. 

But he will never return to The Mountain. I've made sure of that with exactly the same magic he always accused me of using. For you see, I have gone back down into the Uppermost forge and indulged myself in smithing a small item from time to time. 

I am a smith after all, and Andrethi welcomes me with a grunt and a nod of his massive head towards an unoccupied anvil. 

That's all I ask. 

Regin still spews his lies, however, and men have woven it into a song to warm their bones in the depths of winter. 

Does he know he is calling himself by my name, or, in his hate, he has come to believe his own skewed tales? Did he ever know minutely he was forging himself in my problematic image?

I warned Siegfried not to trust my brother, but also not to take revenge on him.

"He bears the weight of Odin's curse and only Odin can free him," I said, clapping Siegfried on the arm in friendship. "Regin is weak, but not harmless. Never take your eyes from him when he is near you. And always refill your own goblet!"

Siegfried laughed, and clapped me on the shoulder in the acceptance of friendship. 

"I will. And if I might say, you are an astounding creature, Fafnir. You are not a dragon, but a dragon lives deep within you. I see he was tamed long ago, however, and he no longer threatens this kingdom nor his family. I wish I could say the same for some warriors of my own clan. Thank you for the hours by your hearth. There is nothing more for me here. "

Hoisting his pack and strapping his sword around his waist, Siegfried he took his leave. 

I sincerely hoped he would take my warnings to heart as I locked the Eastern Gate and made my way back into the dark caverns and the endlessly curving tunnels of the Mountain Palace. 

A mountain dwarf like any other but no more a dragon than you are. 

The End

A/N  For interested readers,  the actual Nibelungen story says that Regin DOES try to poison Siegfried later, but is found out. 

That is the idea I based this retelling on: If Regin tried it with Siegfried, who is to say he hadn't tried it before? 

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