Beautiful Freyja lounged about in her hall Sessrumnir, her pale arms resting on her armrests Alfdis and Alvdis. The goddess stood up from her throne Einmyr and descended the steps Frejdis, Gudlaug, and Jordis, all named after the roles she filled: Frey's Woman, Good Wife, and Sword Maiden. She floated gracefully over the floorboards Lifdis, Liv, and Lurdin and out the door Kari to dress herself in her war-clothes.

Once clothed, she boarded her chariot drawn by the cats Joe and Dave and rode down Bifrost to Midgard, where she and Odin would divide the honored dead, as it was their sacred duty to do so. Flanked by Valkyries, the two gods journeyed to the meadow Saldis, where the most recent battle had taken place.

There, the All-Father and the Lady divided up the dead like choosing teams for a sports game. "Agnar. Bjorn. Bjarte. Canute." Until they came to one fallen warrior, Gandalf. (Yes, that is actually a Norse name.)

"He is mine." "He is mine." "He is just the warrior I search for to fight by my side at the End of Days." "He is just the man I search for to be my next husband." And so the argument raged on. The gods took sides. The elves took sides. The dark elves of Nidavellir and the dwarves of Svartalfheim took sides. The giants took sides. On Midgard, armies marched against each other, mirroring the heavenly clash. Even Hel's corpse half and human half disagreed on the matter. And Loki delighted in the chaos that one slain Viking could cause.

Finally, Freyja and Odin agreed that they would take a poll of all spirits living and nonliving. Whichever god received the most sacrifices before Loki returned from copulating with Angrboda would claim Gandalf for their afterlife.

Loki never returned. Freyja and Odin still disagree. Gandalf's spirit waits for a decision to be made. And this is the root of the tension between men and women.