Of Golden Thread and Ivory Claws

• Of Prophecies and Prologues •

         One evening in Asgard, specifically the realm of Valhalla, the home of Odin and all brave heroes slain, there was a grand celebration. This was not an unusual occasion, as renewed banquets were held every night in honor of the warriors who had fought and died with glory; however, more food was brought out on this night - bounties of bovine, poultry, and the finest of water fowl - for it was a time of greater merry. For they had a visitor.

         From Fensalir, this individual had traveled. She had come to see her husband, the great ruler Odin - father of all.

         Frigg had just paid her lovely son Baldr a visit in his home of Breidablik. No matter how many times she tried, the boy would never see the reason in her words - he was simply too naive to realize that the safest place for him was beside his mother.

         Even though he had lived for several centuries, she knew Baldr's innocent kindness would one day be his downfall.... But she couldn't accept it. The world did not deserve to witness his light. No, it was far too unworthy.

         Baldr was her baby boy - loved and cherished by all! In her mind, no one could possibly do him wrong; but, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, she just could not rid herself of this gradual sense of foreboding. It had been plaguing her for only a short while, but long enough for an overprotective mother's worry to bloom. For when she received these feelings about anything, it was not to be taken lightly because she had the gift of foresight and was a revered and very powerful völva. Typically, in most circumstances, such feelings were foreshadowing to some sinister event within the future, though she did not even wish to acknowledge it.

         For once, in her long existence, she did not want to be right, because if something happened to him, Frigg knew not what she would do....

         Which reminded her of another problem that had her concerned, though with admittedly quite a bit less apprehension, was her step-son Thor. Whereas Baldr was a complete and utter angel, Thor was thoroughly different - he more resembled a reckless ruffian.

         He worried Frigg for entirely different reasons, which were due to his current lifestyle. All Thor wanted to do was fight all day and indulge in horrendous affairs at night. She fervently believed that these adolescent ways of his were going to come back and bite him one of these days, either in the form of being beaten to death by a fiendish giant or by the appearance of some unknown bastard child(ren). Even though he was not of her blood, after years of pointless glares and sadness at how he came to be, she had begun to care for the rather barbaric child. Although a tad untactful, the boy had a good heart and she honestly wanted him to be happy, but the life of an unmarried hooligan was neither becoming nor what would lead him to a life of genuine merriment or one of joy. But, out of all the wisdom she was said to possess, she was wholly befuddled at how to proceed, and was not keen to the idea of using underhanded methods, unless left with no other option. So, first, she would have to talk to his father.

          Frigg sighed heavily, slightly slumping in her gilded throne as she watched the men and few women drunkenly move about, consuming the new foods provided with an infatuated vigor, due to its scarce availability to them. Every now and then, the large dining hall would break out into scattered shouts and cheers to celebrate her generous visit and praise the All Mighty Odin seated to her right, as a thanks for being granted the privilege of residing in Valhalla. All of it was always the same to her - too noisy and brutish for her taste - far too exhausting for a queen, such a herself, to deal with day in and day out. But Odin, on the other hand, was different. Even though he typically remained stony faced to their loud cries of jubilation and admiration, she knew, without having to search his face, that it filled him with sublime joy to see the warriors, who died with his name upon their lips, idolizing him in such a way even in death.