The Last Words of Frigga
Gather round children. Join me by the fire and let me tell you the tale of when we last heard our mistress’s voice. This tale was told to me by my father, as it was by his father before him.
Rain. All she could see was rain, clouding her vision wherever she looked. She knew something was there, just on her periphery, but every time she turned to see, it would fade among silvery droplets that glistened in the moonlight.
“Frigga!”
The wizened voice of Mimir snapped her out of the vision in which she had lost herself. She looked at him sternly, unimpressed at his interruption and frustrated with herself with her inability to see clearly.
“You drifted off mid-conversation again. This one has been particularly troublesome for you, hasn’t it?” he asked.
She nodded slowly, a headache brewing behind her eyes. This had been going on for a number of weeks. Usually, her visions came fairly freely… simple matters presented themselves in simple ways; the death of a Jarl, the birth of a child, the deed of a warrior. But this… this had happened only twice before, and she dreaded what fortune this would bring.
They continued their conversation for a few hours before retiring for the evening. As she walked to her room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror wearing a robe she had not worn in many years. It brought back sorrowful memories of grief and loss, of a time when all Hel was let loose. Upon arriving, she fetched the garment, wrapped in a silver cloth. A soft linen robe, gifted to her by Nanna from Helheim. She undressed, casting her dress aside and slipped into the robe. The cloth was still damp after all these years from the tears she had shed for the loss of her son and her husband. She hugged herself, and began to cry, consumed by the power of her own sorrow.
Through her tears, the vision came again, stronger than ever. The glistening of her tears matching that of the rain, silvery silhouettes dancing and moving to the weave of prophecy.
The air began to crackle and spark as magic arced throughout the room, the runic inscriptions around her door began to glow and sputter flame. Image after image flashed before her eyes, bombarding her with visions of the fate of the Realms, the rise and fall of empires, death, glory, loss, hatred and nothingness. Wood splintered and cracked, metal sheared and howling winds tore through her home. Her back arched and hands outstretched she let out an ungodly scream, heard by all throughout Asgard:
THREADS WILL SNAP AND POWER BE BROKEN
A CHILD’S FATE IS THE FATE OF ALL REALMS
BORN OF AN EYE, A GOD UNKNOWING, NO APPLE THEY YET CONSUME
A SECOND CHILD, BORN OF NOTHING
A CURSE THAT BRINGS RUIN TO ALL OF AGE
A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH AWAITS THOSE ON THE LOST REALM
THEY SHALL WIELD THE POWER OF THE GODS
YET BLACKENED THORNS SHALL TWIST AND SNARE
YGGDRASIL SHALL WEEP ONCE MORE
In the coming days, Gods from throughout all of Asgard came to Fensalir. Never before since the fall of the Bifrost had so many gathered in one place. It was a time of wonder for mortal kind, yet the air weighed heavy with the words of the Seeress. For weeks, we heard and saw nothing more as the Gods joined Frigga in counsel. Eventually, they departed, leaving our mistress to her isolation and contemplation.
One day, she may grace us with her presence once more, but until that day, remember these words and tell this tale to your children as I have told it to you, for the fate of the Realms may well be in their hands as it may be in yours.