She was gone longer than he'd expected. By the time she returned he'd done all the needful things.
A beast such as this was imbued with power, even in death. There were precautions to be taken. He slit the eyes that if it returned it might be blind, and, removing the heart, he burned it. There was power to be gained in the consumption of the organs, but he could not bear to give in to his longing for that power under the heat of Frigga's scorn. And besides that, he had failed. To avail himself of the dragon's power when they were thus stolen would be yet a new violation of all sacred ordinance.
And, unlike her, he knew the power of a word given. He'd vowed his life to the dragon. And yet it was he, doing the needful things to the monster's corpse.
One day, there would come a time when he would pay for the debt.
In his heart, he mourned for the beast. For her beauty and strength, and the power of her, gone out into the Void. But at the same time he crawled with the knowledge that he had been bested, and if it had not been for Frigga…and he'd wanted it. Wanted his own death. He'd failed. And it had been so long since the Son of Bor had tasted defeat…it soured on his tongue.
Frigga was flushed and dripping fresh water from her clothing and her arms as she came back. She found him sitting at the mouth of the cavern with all the needful things done.
They traveled the days back to her father's dun in a silence that was utterly different from that with which they had hunted. Frigga went before, sure of the path. She was flushed with the victory and strained to see what would be left of her people. Odin hung back, weary and aching with a thousand things he could not name.
They made good time and on the third day they came out of the forest and rounded the bend in the hills and they saw what remained of Billing's Dun.
They had done well for themselves, when all considerations were made. Many – most – of the outlying buildings had gone, but the Great Hall had suffered little, and the crops were – in the main – untouched. Of people and animals an impressive few were lost.
Frigga was caught up by her family, her sisters and her father and her people who loved her, crushed against them and greeted and plead with for her story and she was laughing and crying and holding a small child that had been thrust upon her, petting the head of her father's huge hunting dogs. She looked out at the wreckage and Odin saw in her eyes how she grieved for the lost, but there was none of that in her bearing. Her head was high and her shoulders straight.
She was the savior of her people.
And Odin. Through the pride of his own heart, he had nearly killed them.
He saw the burnt black beams of the ruined buildings piercing up from the ground like ribs extending from a corpse. He saw the fresh-turned earth above the hastily-dug graves and it didn't matter to him that there were few. What mattered to him was that – left to himself – none would have remained. As Frigga had said, life in the Valley would have been wiped out.
Tears washed painfully into his eyes and he turned his head away.
If he noticed the way Frigga glanced back at him, the quick flash of realization and the softening behind her blue eyes, he felt he no longer deserved it. And he did not let it dwell in his mind.