A stunned silence reigned for several moments. The warrior maiden looked in astonishment at her savior – a slumping hook-nosed dwarf. Mime, trembling before her piercing look, calculated if he'd be able to hide in the deep wood where the stallion wouldn't reach him.
Finally the girl stuttered:
"What?.. How?! The Nibelungs live underground, how did you get here?"
"I was running away from the dragon," said Mime. Now the maid's black eyes were full of contempt. "And I got here by accident."
"But didn't Father listen to my pleas?" began the rescued maid and stopped. She remembered that in her despair she begged – not for an illustrious hero, but for an old man. It seems that this wish was granted by Wotan. But the Nibelungs live so much longer than humans!
Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. Link her life with a dwarf like this? It would be worse than death!
"What does your Father have to do with it?" Mime was confused.
Covering her face with her hands, she nevertheless told him the whole story, sobbing. Mime didn't hear everything clearly, but he caught the names of Siegmund, Sieglinde and the Valkyries.
"So you are the Valkyrie who was punished for aiding the Wälsungs!" he figured.
"Yes," nodded Brünnhilde. "But how did you know about it?.. Usually the Nibelungs aren't knowledgeable about humankind. You can't be Alberich, it means, it means... you're his brother!"
"The very same," said Mime. "And it looks like I'm going to get you for my wife."
Brünnhilde cringed. She didn't want even to think of it. At a single look at that Nibelung, shivering like a fallen leaf, she wanted to fall under the earth... no, underwater, to avoid other Nibelungs.
"It has to happen," she said sadly, firm not to cry anymore. The dreadful dwarf mustn't see her tears! She is a former Valkyrie, after all!
Mime was even a bit lost after such a turn of fate. A few minutes ago he considered himself lonely (save for Siegfried whom he mutually hates), deserted and shunned by everyone, and all of a sudden he was able to take this dark-haired beauty, Wotan's daughter, for his bride!
"You'll help me tame Siegfried," struck by a new pleasant thought, he said. Brünnhilde merely asked:
"How old is he now?"
"Four," said Mime with disdain, crushing her sweet hope that had started to grow. "A stubborn and wild boy."
"Don't you dare speak of him like this!" said Brünnhilde in a steely voice. Well, if she should become a motherly figure for the bravest hero and not his wife as she had hoped, she would do this better than Sieglinde herself could have done!
"You'll see for yourself when we come home," said the dwarf. "Actually, it would be better to go there right now if we want to return before nightfall. And there's the dragon..." he shuddered. The girl looked at him with unhidden hatred. She would have gotten used to her bridegroom's looks had they been accompanied by heroic nature. Oh, how gladly she would have thrown this Mime far, far away! But she figured that if Wotan finds out he'll inflict some worse punishment on her.
"At least," she thought, "Mime's obviously afraid of me, and therefore I don't have to worry about my maidenly honor."
What she said aloud was:
"If you insist, fine. We'll ride on my steed. And don't you try and forbid me to take Grane with us!"
Mime didn't even think of forbidding it. Quite the contrary, he was quick to realize that on horseback, especially on a magical stallion, they had more chance to get through the woods safely.
"I'll only look for the road we need," he said.
The newlyweds didn't speak much on their way home. Mime just one time tried, as a rescuer and a new husband, to embrace Brünnhilde, who threatened to push him off the horse if he ever attempts anything of the sort again. The threat worked, and for the rest of the time Mime clutched Grane's reins, fearful of even accidentally touching the Valkyrie.
Siegfried wasn't home. Mime sighed as he jumped on the ground and looked at the chaos in the rooms and the smithery.
"Ran away to the forest, the little rascal," he explained. "I'll soon have no strength left to deal with him."
"I repeat: stop speaking in this way of the Wälsung child," ordered Brünnhlide. "Why, why doesn't he have a worthier mentor?"
Mime had gotten over the initial shock after the events of the day and was able to argue immediately:
"Sieglinde handed the child into my care when she lay dying! She thought I'll be able to become like a father for him!"
"I believe it was because there was no one else nearby," said the former Valkyrie.
"And that's the thanks I get for selflessly raising that boy!" cried the dwarf bitterly. "I work like a slave day and night, I cook him his food and forge swords!.."
"You don't seem to make a good job of it all since Siegfried doesn't respect you."
"He doesn't understand, he's still a kid!"
"He's Wotan's child... grandchild, I mean," Brünnhilde corrected herself. "It is enough."
"If all Wotan's descendants have the right to bully me and get away with it and break everything I make with such care, I'm already sorry for bringing you to my house," grunted Mime.
Brünnhilde thought whether Wotan would be very angry if she left her groom herself. This dwarf doesn't seem to care about her, and perhaps Wotan wouldn't mind it that his daughter's punishment doesn't go quite according to plan.
But after thinking it over she realized she couldn't go anywhere. How could she leave Siegfried in Mime's care? If she had any duty left, it was to raise the future great hero. That's why she had to put up with the whiny Nibelung and stay with him.
Or should she give it a try and leave with Siegfried? But where would she go? They wouldn't take her back in Valhalla. She would of course be able to defend herself with Grane's help, but how would she feed both herself and the boy? It would come to her having to marry anyway. And nobody knows whom would she marry in that case. Probably a husband like Mime is better than some reckless fighter who'd rule the household with a fist of iron and drag Brünnhilde by her hair. Besides, how would he treat Siegfried? It would be tough work to convince everyone that Siegfried is her nephew and not an illegitimate son.
It seemed that staying with Mime was currently the best option she had.
"I promise not to bully you if you treat me well," said Brünnhilde with a heavy heart.
"That's a start," said Mime.
There was a sound of a horn.
"Here comes that rasc..." glancing at his bride, the dwarf stopped halfway. "Here comes Siegfried! As usual – when he's hungry, he comes home fast!"
He opened the door, and a blond boy with a small but authentic hunting horn in one hand and a wooden club in another burst into the room. He was well-built for a four-year-old, and promised to grow to be very tall.
"Mime! Did you forge me a new sword?" shouted Siegfried impatiently.
Giving him a look of outraged dignity, Mime said:
"I've had no time for that. Siegfried, you'd better meet this woman, she will henceforth be like a mother for you."
The boy looked at Brünnhilde with interest, and she smiled at him:
"Hello, Siegfried, dear. I am very glad to get to care for you, I was your parents' sister."
"My parents?" he said. "Ah, I thought so! So Mime isn't my true father!"
Now it was Mime's turn to give Brünnhilde a furious look.
"No, he's not," she replied. "But he – and now myself as well – we shall be raising you together. And you must treat us like your parents."
"I will treat you like my parents!" Siegfried assured her after some hesitation. "Will you tell me about my true Mom and Dad?"
"I will... later."
In Brünnhilde's opinion, the story of Siegmund and Sieglinde wasn't for children's ears. She should think now how to simplify it a bit...
"And tell Mime to make me a sword!" added Siegfried. "Mime once told me that sometimes men obey women."
"Sometimes", Mime said, irritated. Brünnhilde saw he was close to getting very angry and hurried to ask:
"Doesn't he forge you swords every day?"
"They break!" Siegfried shook his horn at Mime, and the latter stepped back.
"But one day there will be one that won't break," said Brünnhilde soothingly.
She said it in such an assured voice that it made Siegfried forget about the sword – or at least stop constantly asking about it – for a relatively long time.
