Title : A Thread of Destiny
Fandom : Thor (pre-movie)
Characters : Odin and Frigga + OCs
Rating : PG-13
Author's Notes : Set a long time pre-movie, takes elements of Norse mythology and interweaves them with elements of a Chinese fairy tale. Nothing in here should be taken as true to either actual Norse mythology, movie-verse!Thor or any actual Chinese fairy tales.
Written for the prompt of "Fairy Tales theme – any, any, The Red Thread"
Disclaimer : All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
A Thread of Destiny
There was a time when things were different in Asgard, when the palace did not ring with the sound of voices and there was not the sound of footsteps racing through its arching empty corridors. The palace, despite its quiet and aura of emptiness, was not deserted at all. In it lived many people, King Odin and Queen Frigga and their many, many servants. Yet still the palace was quiet.
The King and Queen were good and loyal rulers, interested in the lives and well-being of their subjects and servants. They spent their days ensuring the safety of the kingdom of Asgard and travelling down into the city beyond their palace walls to take care of the needy under their rule.
Yet still they felt as if their lives lacked something. They knew not what. Nonetheless they were saddened by their unidentifiable lack.
One day a stranger came into their midst, a silver-tongued bard who brought glorious music. King Odin Allfather requested that the stranger stay in the palace a while and play his music to lighten the mood and cheer the folk within. Graciously the stranger accepted.
Each evening as the King and Queen feasted, the bard would join them to eat and then as the meal finished, all the servants would gather in the Hall at the Queen's behest, and the bard would take a seat in front of all and begin to sing and play his most delightful music.
The crowd before him would sit rapt as he played, yet never did he see a smile. Night after night he played and while he was certain that his music was enjoyed, he never once saw a smile in the whole of the palace.
He thought on the matter long and hard and then in the privacy of his own quarters, he set to work.
A week later, as the meal finished and the bard took his place at the front of the hall, he announced that he would be singing a new song, a song written for the King and Queen to thank them for their kind hospitality, their generous hearts in welcoming a stranger into their home and giving him both food and shelter, without asking for anything.
Odin stood and spoke offering their thanks for his kindness in making a new song for them, but assuring him that they felt his gift to them of music had been of far more value to all of the people in the palace that what they had offered in return.
The bard stood and began to play. The tune was mournful at first and when he began to sing, he told a song of loneliness and the hurt it caused. The tune began to change, its mood moving forward becoming lighter and more of a steady pace. He told a story of a man and his wife who began to follow a magical thread that spun itself out from their hearts and lead them through the world to seek their hearts' desire.
The song began to climax in a hearty, full bodied chorus of sound as he played and sang of the joy of the man and his wife as they found their hearts' true desire.
As he finished the room echoed with enthusiastic applause with calls for more and of people wanting to know what happened next and what it was that the man and his wife had found. The bard just smiled and said, "Follow your own thread and find out what it was they most desired."
"Our own thread?" cried the kitchen staff in confusion. "We have no thread to follow!"
"Nor us," called the housemaids. "How do we get a thread?"
The bard smiled. "Dream and believe," he said earnestly.
That night everyone in the palace went to bed and dreamed of threads, intermingling, intertwined and nothing was clear. In the morning they awoke disappointed.
That evening after the feast when all were gathered together again to listen to the bard, they called for the new song again, hoping this time that more would become clear, that they would understand how to earn their heart's desire.
The bard played and sang and watched his audience as they carefully attended to each word and pondered its significance. No clearer when he had finished, they demanded the song again or at least an explanation as to why they had seen their threads but not their heart's desire.
The bard quirked an eyebrow in and smiled in fond amusement, saying only, "You saw your threads. Surely this is good progress, what you need now is to follow your threads."
"But our threads were all tangled, crisscrossing with those of other people and round all the furniture and ornaments here in the palace. How are we to follow them through so many knots and entanglements."
"Would it not be worth it if it meant one found one's heart's desire at the end?" the bard responded.
That evening the folk of the palace of Asgard left the Great Hall early and quiet, seeking out their beds for a good night's rest and plenty of time to follow their threads.
The bard watched as over the coming days there were hints of smiles within the palace. People who in their dreams had followed their own threads through the morass and found their heart's desire, yet still the King and Queen, watching kindly over their servants, seemed unmoved, no hint of lightening, no glimmer of true happiness and the bard began to wonder if they had not found their threads in their dreams, or maybe they had chosen not to follow them.
He pondered what he should do before finally deciding to approach them both and see if they would share with him, for they were good to their people and, in the opinion of a poor bard, who traveled from one court to another and from one inn to another, they were among the best to rule and lead their people.
Loitering after his evening performance as most of the palace staff exited the Great Hall, the bard approached them both and kneeling low before them, he begged a moment or two of their time.
Graciously they agreed, despite the late hour, both concerned that perhaps the bard had decided to move on again and knowing they could not justly keep him within their palace. Reassuring them both of his intention to stay at least for a time longer, he asked if they had seen their threads.
Both nodded sagely, assuring him they had. He asked if they had followed their threads.
Odin breathed deeply before answering, "What right have we, who have all of this, to ask for or expect more?" The King gestured at his palace, his treasures and his servants, widening his arm to indicate his kingdom beyond the palace walls.
The bard was surprised for never before would he have considered a King to be so humble as to not seek more. This was a King who deserved what he had and whatever lay at the end of his thread. "Perhaps, King Odin, what lies at the end of your thread, while it may be your heart's desire, may also be of benefit to your people. Perhaps it is what your realm is in need of."
The King and his wife looked surprised by this proposition and after sharing a look, they both agreed to follow discuss the matter further and to consider following their threads. With that the bard bid them both goodnight and departed for his own quarters, pleased that he had decided to speak with them and still further impressed by the deep love and compassion both rulers showed for their subjects.
Over the coming days the bard watched the King and Queen even as they watched and listened to his performance. Still no smile, but each showed a determination so he felt that perhaps they had at least begun their journeys.
A week later and Queen Frigga requested that the bard attend her in her private rooms. The bard hurried through the corridors, hoping that all was well and that the Queen was not suffering from her attempts to follow her thread.
Queen Frigga waved him into her room, offered him mead and a seat with her before the fire. "My husband and I have reached somewhat of an impasse," she said quietly. "We have done as you suggested and begun to follow our threads and it has been some work to untangle ourselves from our dearest folk around us. At times it seems as if our threads become quite thin and tenuous for there are tendrils that leave our thread and lead off into the palace or . . ." The Queen gave the barest hint of a lifting the corners of her mouth into a smile, a slight rosy blush coming to her cheeks as she finished, "to each other."
The bard smiled warmly, "I think this is because of the true depth within both your and your husband's hearts that desires nothing but the best for your subjects. It is a lesson many could learn well, to be more selfless in their pursuits."
"Our threads seem to tangle round and round each other. I have spent many a night trying to unravel the knots between us and now I find myself at quite the loss how to even being to separate the two and, well, my husband is not best suited to working with thread. He has neither the patience for it, nor the finesse of movement. Were I to allow him to attack the current tangle with an axe we should move forward in no time, but then there would be no knowing which thread belonged to whom. And at this point as far as my eye can see our threads are entwined, I begin to think that I could spend the rest of my days trying to untangle these threads and still never reach the end of the tangle, let alone the end of the thread."
"Perhaps," replied the bard, "there is a message in this, that you and your husband need not untangle your threads. It may indeed be that your threads lead to the same heart's desire."
She looked at him startled for a moment, then agreed quietly, "Well, they do seem well entangled and like I said, as far as the eye can see they are both tied. You make a good point. Perhaps for a time at least, we should travel together and not worry about fixing the knots that tie our two threads together. You, my dear, are a very wise man. I should tell you that my husband and I are delighted that you have joined us here and we would like to make sure that you know you are most welcome to stay as long as you like."
That night Queen Frigga and King Odin left the Great Hall early, leaving everyone else to enjoy the bard's music. They retired without fuss or ado to their chambers, waving off the offers of assistance from their personal servants. It didn't take them long to climb into bed and together they fell asleep and set off in search of their thread.
Frigga found Odin waiting for her in the dreamscape. He took her by the hand and together they passed through the palace. Their path wove to and fro, checking in or so it seemed on many a favored servant. It led them down through the palace and out into the gardens. Hither and thither they wandered together, passing orchard and flower bed, vegetable patch and verdant lawn, down and down until they reached the palace gates.
They slipped together through the gates and found their path led them into the town, stopping here and there where they saw retired servants, living out their old age in comfort with their families, townspeople who had spent time with them in the palace; women who had married, men who had returned to look after families after parents or siblings had passed on, but all of them reminding the King and Queen of fond memories of times past.
On down through the town their journey took them and out beyond the town walls. There they passed fields of healthy livestock and others full of crops almost ready for harvesting. "Tis not the time of year for harvesting," Frigga said to Odin.
"But we are in a dream," he replied, "Perhaps what we see is potential, given we are seeking our heart's desire. I wish for plenty of food so all in our kingdom may eat well through the winter."
"I wish," she agreed, "for the sheep to have thick fleeces, so all may be warm come winter. I wish for plenty of calves from the cows and piglets from the pigs so none may be hungry. I sincerely hope that what we are seeing may come true."
On they walked without tiring, without slowing; miles and miles they covered without the thought of stopping. Suddenly their united thread led them away from the road and into a forest. "I think," said Frigga, "I have never travelled this far from the palace since the day we wed, my dear husband."
Smiling at her, he said, "Whenever I have had to travel this far, I have always been counting the days until I could return to your side, my love."
On into the darkening cover of the forest they went, until the path petered out and they had to pick their way over roots and through undergrowth, still following their thread which seemed as strong as ever. The King led the way, just a step ahead of his wife, so that he could ensure the safety of the path, always stopping to help her over each small obstacle and through each tight space.
The forest grew ever darker and Frigga's hand tightened its hold on that of her husband. "What could we find in here that we desire so much?" she asked.
"Trust me, my love, for I shall always keep you safe," Odin replied, not answering her question, but reassuring her enough that she kept walking along with him, their steps never faltering despite their trepidation.
Finally the trees began to thin a little and as they finally broke free there in front of them was a huge mountain bathed in glorious sunshine, so that it appeared that gems glimmered and glinted from with the very rockface. Their thread headed upward. Frowning back at his wife, Odin said, "I shall go up but first I must find you somewhere safe to rest."
"No," she said firmly. "No, this is our quest, our hearts' desire. I feel we must go on together, however difficult the path may be. Without effort, why should we deserve our hearts' desire?"
"As you wish," Odin agreed, but his concern for his wife was plainly writ upon his visage.
They began their climb, Odin leading the way cautiously, testing each step before moving his weight fully, turning back to assist his wife continually. Time seemed endless. The sun did not move in the sky, was in fact in the same place it had been as they had left the palace so much earlier. Yet despite its brilliance and the warmth of its rays, neither King nor Queen felt the adverse effects of its rays, neither too hot, nor too cold. Still they trudged on diligently.
Climbing over a particularly difficult outcrop, Odin found a level platform and with some relief, bent down to pull his wife up alongside. They sat and rested for a while, for although not exhausted, they were both somewhat out of breath and the relief of reaching a safe resting spot seemed too much like good fortune to ignore.
Standing again, they turned back to follow the thread and found it led down a narrow crevice between two towering rocks. Turning sideways they squeezed their way through, both thankful when the path began to widen again. Turning a corner, the thread vanished into a cave. Still undeterred, the two followed its trail.
They paused just inside to give their eyes time to adjust to the dim light and gradually began to make out shapes within. There was a murmur and a shuffling from one side of the cave, their eyes both turned that way uncertain.
It was echoed by almost the same sounds from the other side of the cave. They walked forward slowly and finally saw as their threads separated, one thread heading to each side of the cave. Yet as they looked closer to try and work out whose thread went which way, they realized there were not the two old threads at all. Leading from their united thread were two threads, equally strong and each holding an equal amount of both Odin's and Frigga's original thread.
"What can it mean?"
"I think this means, we are being granted two gifts, but that we both desire the two gifts equally and so they are ours to treasure jointly."
Looking to the right, they saw the figure of a woman, ill-kept and emaciated, her hair was long and golden, her clothes torn and ragged. Odin moved to her side, reaching out for her hand only to find her cold and dead. "It is too late. We cannot save her."
Watching her husband, Frigga's heart was filled with sorrow, not understanding why their thread could possibly have brought them here, until she looked closer and saw that the thread did not lead to the woman, but to a squirming bundle beside her.
"Odin!" she gasped, already pushing past her husband to reach the bundle. Unwrapping the covers carefully, she saw it was a baby, not new born, a few months old. The baby's hair was blond and he looked to have had the best his mother could offer him. "Poor thing," she said. "Abandoned here alone. We cannot leave him here."
"I don't think we are supposed to," replied Odin, "for the thread goes from us to him. I think he is ours to raise as our own, to treasure and nurture and give him every opportunity we can to grow up to be a good man."
"We can do that," Frigga replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead.
"Help!" a thin wisp of a voice spoke from the direction in which the other thread had gone. "Help me!"
Odin rushed toward the voice, leaving Frigga to remain where she was with the baby, ensuring its safety. He dropped to his knees beside another woman. She was as ragged and thin as the first, barely alive. Her hair was long and dark, unkempt and unwashed, her skin grimy over bruising and other signs of damage.
"You've come to save them," she said. "Our sons."
"Sons? What about you?" Odin said gently.
"It is too late for me," the woman whispered hoarsely. "I am dying. Please though, save our sons. They are strong and healthy. They will grow up to be good sons to you." She shifted slightly, her cape falling open to show another baby; this one dark haired with captivating, green eyes. "His name is Loki," she said, reaching for Odin's arm and pulling him closer, resting Odin's hand on Loki's forehead.
"What happened?" Odin asked, only taking hold of the baby when her hold on him seemed to slip. "We escaped and were running for our lives, but the Warlord sent his men after us. It is not us they wanted. It was the babies. They wish them to grow up to be mighty warriors. They will never be children, never learn any lessons other than to fight and those for war. We wanted more for our children." She coughed weakly, her time growing short.
Odin leaned in closer, "I promise you that both children will be looked after. They shall grow up in a palace and have lessons in many things. I cannot promise they will not learn of fighting and of war, but we shall do everything we can to ensure that is not what defines them. "
"That is all we would have asked," the words were a struggle. "The other baby, she named him Thor." And with that her lifeforce was spent. Her eyes closed and she stirred no more.
Odin took the second baby over to Frigga. "I present you with our son, Loki and his brother, Thor," he said with great formality. "I promise you my wife to do all I can to raise our sons to be men we can both be proud of. Men we four can be proud of," he added with a gesture to the two women.
"We should do something for them," Frigga said mournfully. "No mother deserves this."
Odin guided Frigga to sit just inside of the cave entrance, then carefully, Odin set Loki into Frigga's other arm. With great respect, he moved the bodies of the two women to lie together, side by side, in the center of the cave. Then taking of his cloak, he covered them both, so it looked as though they were sleeping. With a prayer and a wish to the Gods for their safe travel onwards, he lit a funeral pyre and when it finally burnt low, leaving nothing but ashes, he collected stones and built a cairn over their resting place.
"We have done the first part of our duty to these women," he said to Frigga. "Now we must return home with our sons in order to fulfil the rest."
Neither ever fully remembered the journey home to the palace with the children. They remembered a step or two on the mountain, passing a particular tree or pushing through some undergrowth on their way through the forest. They remembered walking along the road that would take them back to the palace, but not for anywhere near the length of the road.
They did not remember passing in through the Town's gate or up through the streets to the Palace. They did not remember the Palace gardens, nor the corridors inside. They did not even remember reaching their rooms. Yet somehow they must have done all of these things.
For when they awoke in the morning, not in their bed, but in chairs before a softly glowing fire, each of them had a baby in their arms. Frigga held Loki, whose gaze was not on his new mother, but rather on his hand where it held the vibrant green emerald she wore around her neck. She ran a gentle finger down his cheek and whispered, "Loki, our beloved son."
She looked up to see Odin in the other chair, holding Thor who had a grip on his new father's finger and was pulling it back and forth with great strength and laughing as he did so. Odin smiled fondly and said, "Thor, our beloved son."