The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Sixty: Epilogue

A falcon burst into existence. It fluttered above the well, landing neatly on the sandy shore. For a moment, the bird sat unmoving. Then, almost faster than thought, a woman stood in its place. 

She was beautiful in every way. From her chest gleamed a necklace of jewels. Her round earrings spun like suns in the soft light. A thick golden braid trailed down the back of her falcon-feathered cloak. Hundreds of feathers, forever stirred by an invisible wind, fell in smooth layers; they started at her shoulders and gently trailed to her ankles. The only thing not beautiful about the woman was the look on her face - her lips were pressed into a thin line of frustration.

"Mimir. Show yourself."

The water in the middle of the well began to bubble. With a pop! there sat the head of a decapitated god. Water from the well leaked out of his eyes. When he grinned, the corners of his mouth ran wet with knowledge. 

"Freya," the god gurgled, "So nice to see you. I expect your journey through Jotunheim treated you well?"

Freya bristled, the falcon feathers ruffling. 

"Don't flatter yourself, Mimir. I know you watched me follow Blitzen and Hearthstone through Jotunheim."

"And I know, you know, I know." Mimir smiled. 

The goddess scowled. 

"Do I even need to ask you my question out loud?" Freya said stiffly. "Or should I simply think it, so you can divine it in that sad, severed head of yours?"

Mimir paused. He looked deep into Freya's eyes.

"It is true," Mimir answered. "Gleipnir, the rope that restrains Fenris Wolf, has been loose for the last century. If nothing is done, he will be free within the next few years."

Shock flashed across Freya's face.

"Oh, poor Bilì," she said softly. "He was right all along."

For a moment, the two immortal beings paused at the thought of the dwarf's death. But not for long. Mortal lifetimes are but a flicker to those who cannot die.

"He was different than the others, you know," said Freya quietly. "He was not interested in... me." She paused. "He wanted to be a father, that was all. Bilì loved being a father more than anything."

Freya smiled softly. The kind, genuine expression radiated such power it would have brought Mimir to his knees, if he had any. 

The severed god spoke thoughtfully. "A noble soul, indeed. Always did what he thought was right, no matter what others thought." Water dribbled out of his nose. "However, there are some lines that cannot be crossed."

He turned to look the goddess in the eye. "Why are you trying to manipulate the Norns' prophecy?"

The faintest pink spread over Freya's cheeks. 

"I am not just the goddess of love," she said smoothly, the soft blush fading quickly. "I am the goddess of warfare, beauty, fertility and sorcery. Seiðr magic is mine. I wear many hats, Mimir."

"I am aware. So why mess with magic that is not your own?"

Freya frowned. With a wave of her hand, the Norns' most recent prophecy appeared above the spring. Four lines of words shone in glittering, golden letters. 

"Unless you know of another pair from Nidavellir and Alfheim, I think it is safe to say the prophecy is about my son meeting his new sorcerer friend."

"Your doing, of course."

Freya's shot the god a withering look. He raised an accusing eyebrow.

"Blitzen doesn't know himself like I do. And I often play a hand in bringing souls together," Freya explained. "But that was before I heard the prophecy. If I had known, I would have never sent my son and the only mortal sorcerer from the last few hundred years to this fate."

She jabbed a finger at the last line of the prophecy. The golden words shimmered innocently despite the dark truth they proclaimed. 

 "It's been quite some time since the Norns have been so... blatant," Freya said softly.

"Ah, you're feel guilty," Mimir gurgled. "You have accidentally set your son and Hearthstone on this path. But you cannot change their destiny, Freya. You of all beings know that it is unwise to intervene with fate. I saw what you did in Jotunheim."

"I did not intervene!" Freya insisted. "Brokkr was already nearby. All he did was follow a pretty bird." She shimmied her shoulders. Like an alibi, her cloak fluttered beautifully down her back. "You are one to talk, Mimir. Did you not just send them both to Midgard?"

Mimir smiled. "Oh no, that was their choice. I told Blitzen he was going to help Thor recover his hammer, and I told Hearthstone he was going to help Odin with..." He glanced at Freya. "A favor. I told both of them that I was sending the other to Midgard. Both Hearthstone and Blitzen insisted they not be split up."

Freya opened her mouth to counter back, to look for a flaw in Mimir's meddling, but could not find one. She snapped her mouth shut. It is near impossible to win an argument against a god who knows all. She glowered at him. 

Mimir continued on, his words deliberately slow. 

"Their lives are in fate's hands now. Please keep in mind that the Norns' prophecies are not yours to alter."

The two gods stared at each other for a long moment. 

Finally, Freya spoke. Her voice was clear and firm.

"I am not happy that my son is your bondservant. Nor am I pleased that you are manipulating the Worlds' one mortal sorcerer to do your bidding." She glared at Mimir. "That being said, I will continue to change destiny to what I see fit. I loved Bilì, and I love Blitzen, whether he chooses to believe it or not. I do not want to see him befall the same fate as his father."

"The Norns will learn of your meddling. You cannot change their fate."

"I am fate!" Freya exclaimed. "I am beauty and war. I am abundance and magic and love! I walk all Nine Realms. I have the power to see and influence the future. If it is within my abilities, I shall try my best to stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"Stop pain. To stop hate. To create a future where there is as much love as there can possibly be."

Mimir bubbled thoughtfully.

"A noble cause," he noted. "But move with caution, Freya. Keep an eye out, but do not move your hand. And when the Norns cast their next prophecy, do not come to me."

The goddess of love looked at the god of wisdom. He looked back, gurgling in the well, but did not speak. 

The conversation was over. They departed without another word.

As Freya swooped a single arm and flew off in her falcon-feathered cloak, as Mimir submerged himself back into the depths of ice-cold knowledge, the Norns' prophecy hung for just a moment longer in bright, glittering letters.

Dwarf from dark, Elf from light,

The Nine Worlds' extenders when they unite.

But bind of chaos costs a price,

To be paid by purest sacrifice.