The golden harp dropped down, down, DOWN. Crashing through leaves and bouncing through birds’ nests. It snagged for a moment on a narrow branch before slipping free again. It fell past the fields and forests of Midgard, past the dark caves of the Dwarves, and onward into the mists below.
It tumbled along twisting roots, finally landing in a patch of grass with a thunk. It fell forward, knocking into something hard and unmoving.
The thing the harp had knocked into was large, scaly, and until just now had been asleep. But it is hard to sleep when something has rolled into your ear. The dragon, Nidhogg, opened one eye and looked around. He did not like mornings and was in no mood to deal with things hitting him on the head before he had even had breakfast.
Nidhogg dwelt in the land of Niflheim, the lowest and darkest of the Nine Worlds supported by Yggdrasil. It was flat and empty except for scrubby grass and endless swirling mist. Niflheim was the land of mist and shadow, one of two worlds that Vikings could find themselves in after death. Niflheim was the final destination of Vikings who had died in embarrassing or cowardly ways. There they roamed around telling each other lies about how great they had been when they were alive and getting lost in the endless mists.
Nidhogg was the only living thing in all of Niflheim, and he loved to terrorize the dead Vikings that were sent there. When he fancied a break from blowing fire at them or trying to whack them with his scaly tail, he would chew on the roots of the great world tree, hoping to bring the upper worlds crashing down. He was about the size of a small house, with dark red scales and distinctive fins that flared out around his head when he was annoyed. He uncoiled his long red tail and flicked it from side to side, sending a crowd of unworthy dead who had crept forward to check out the harp fleeing in terror.
Nidhogg lifted his scaly head and belched out a huge fireball. Looking around for the thing that had woken him, the dragon spotted the harp frame lying innocently in the patchy grass. The dragon aimed a gust of flame at the golden harp, intending to incinerate it and teach it a lesson. But instead of turning into ash, it glowed brightly. Nidhogg tried again, heating the harp until it glowed white hot. The dragon watched as it cooled slowly, emitting a faint plinking noise, seemingly completely unharmed by the fire.
Dragons have excellent eyesight and very good hearing, and despite living in a world of mist and shadow, Nidhogg was no exception. So when he screwed up his yellow eyes and peered high up into Yggdrasil, although they were very far away indeed, the dragon could clearly see two tiny people.
Nidhogg puffed out some smoke and stretched his claws like a cat. The two little people might think it was funny to be throwing musical instruments at him now, but soon they would make an excellent snack.
The dragon started to climb.