Disclaimer: I don't own "Ragnarok," on Netflix or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Inspired by: babyboy-laurits on tumblr, who had a post talking about how someday Erik is going to wake up in a cold sweat and realize why Magne and Laurits are constantly asking him about Norse mythology. I decided to go the route that Erik is also the reincarnation of Mimir and this is how he figured everything out after the events of 2.06.
Warnings: ptsd, drama, angst, transformation, reference to loss of a child, depression, reincarnation, season 3 au, Nordic mythology. If I reincarnated the grey well into a mug of tea that is my business.
Historical Vandalism
Chapter Two
He woke with a yell hours later. Hands scrabbling at his throat. Soaked in a cold sweat as he kicked himself upright on the couch. Coming back from a nightmare so real, for a moment he wasn't sure where he was.
What had he been dreaming about?
He rubbed his hand over his face. Heart racing. Shoulders shuddering.
There had been a battle.
No, a war.
He remembered the clang of swords and reek of blood. He'd been in the middle of it. Fighting. He remembered the weight of his armor. The way his sword sang its war song. Vibrating down his arm with every bloody stroke. Every parry. Every blow. He remembered the Giants looming in the distance. Craggy features hiding snarls and shadows. Spreading darkness as the ethereal light of his brothers and sisters flickered beside him.
There was more. He just couldn't-
Magne had been there. Lost. Standing in the battlefield in jeans, sneakers and a black toque. Surrounded by the enemy with only a small, toy hammer clutched in his hands. The yellow plastic was worn with age. Second hand and out of place as he stood there alone. Painfully young.
It was child's plaything.
The only real metaphor for a boy caught in the middle of a war.
He tried to get to him. Roaring his name through the rocky cairns. Trying to rally the others. But he was mocked by the echoes when four Giants closed a circle around Magne. Raising their weapons and-
A knock on the door echoed through the house. Killing the last wisps of the memory.
But he didn't move.
He couldn't handle this right now.
Another knock came quick on its heels.
For fucks sakes.
He gritted his teeth. Lips pulling back like he wanted to bare them. And maybe he did. He didn't feel right. He didn't feel well. He felt dangerous. Uneven. Like he could haul back and punch a hole in the wall when that had never been him. Not ever. He wasn't like that.
He wasn't.
He wasn't.
He wasn't.
The front door opened.
"Erik?"
No one locked their doors in Edda.
Magne appeared around the corner. Eyes flicking over him searchingly before his expression dropped. Making him wonder what he looked like.
"Are you okay?"
The only thing holding back the hysterical laugh was the knowledge he might not be able to stop.
"Yes," he lied, sucking in a breath as he made to stand. Wanting to be level with him before thinking better of it. Knees knocking and unsteady. "Yes. I'm not sleeping well. I took a pill. I guess it didn't work."
The details of the nightmare were slipping away. But he still had that image burned in his mind. Of Magne standing alone. Surrounded by enemies.
He glanced up, eyes drifting to the boy's empty hands. Half expecting to see a toy hammer in them.
"Why are you here?" he asked hoarsely. Swearing he could taste blood on his tongue as the memory of pulverized rock caught between his teeth made him want to spit.
Magne's eyebrow arched.
"Its later," he said simply.
Oh. Hell.
The parking lot felt like a thousand years ago.
He wavered, suddenly alone as Magne moved away. Banging cupboards in the kitchen until he heard the kettle ding. The mug of tea burned as Magne handed it to him. Handle towards him like the kid didn't even feel the temperature. He clutched it like a life preserver. Inhaling the steam. Forgetting he'd decided to let Magne down gently. He wasn't in the right frame of mind for this. They could do it another day. Not now. And yet-
"Thank you," he said automatically. Slipping into familiar rhythms. "What was it you wanted to know again?"
"About the other Gods? The ones close to Thor?" Magne replied, so laser focused that zing of discomfort prickled again. "Who fought beside him?"
He cleared his throat. Groping for his glasses as the liquid in his mug sloshed dangerously.
"Many gods stood with Thor. We know during Ragnarok, every god and goddess that could fight, fought till the end. When Thor fell, those who survived waned in power until they were gods no more. Most returned to the halls of Valhalla. But, if you're interested in the gods who accompanied Thor on his adventures, we don't have a complete record. Most of the myths are lost to time. …Baldr, though, is a good example of a god Thor seemed especially close to. It's said that his murder was the flashpoint for Ragnarok."
He frowned, rocking back and forth as Isolde's ghost flickered over Magne's shoulder. Smiling at him before fading just as quickly. The liquid in his mug rippled. Seeming deeper than it ought to be as light yawned like falling gravity, roiling at the bottom of his mug.
"Baldr...Baldr was the god of light, purity and joy," he pressed on, blinking quickly. "He's linked with the summer, the sun... He was also a son of Odin. And-"
"What about Mímir?" Magne interrupted. Brushing shoulders as he sat next to him. Hunching like he hadn't meant to get so close. Only he didn't move away. He stayed.
He looked up, mug sliding down in his hands before his palms tightened on reflex. Burning his skin. But he didn't let go. Instead, he fought to have it anchor him.
"Mímir?" he repeated, wondering why it felt so comfortable on his tongue. "Mímir?"
There was a novel in the gap between those sentences. And honestly, he didn't know what to do with it. Stuck between wanting to run and being perversely glad Magne seemed just as out of sorts as him.
"Erik?"
Somewhere, Mímisbrunnr was breaking new ground. Bubbling fresh from the spring under the roots of the Yggdrasill. The echoes of the water called to him. The rocks that knew his feet were lonely. The horn in which he'd drank its waters had long turned to dust. But it didn't matter. He could sense it all changing. All that was old was becoming new. The old world was waking up. He was-
"Erik?"
Magne shook him, one hand heavy on his shoulder. Blue eyes piercing.
"Hmm? Yes. Yes. Mímir could be considered one of Thor's inner circle. He was certainly one of the primary Gods. But not much is known of him. We know he was considered the wisest. The God of knowledge and wisdom. He was the keeper of the well of wisdom, actually. Mímisbrunnr. He drank from it every day. He was sent as a hostage during the Aesir-Vanir war and was beheaded. His head was sent to Asgard. Odin was known to carry it with him for advice. But because Mímir died before the final battle, not much is known about-"
He trailed off, staring at the mug in his hands. Wondering if he was having some sort of mental break as the shadows twisted into tree roots that broke through the sides of the ceramic. Growing until it widened out of his hands and became a well. He sat, frozen, as rocky cairns and massive roots erupted out of the floorboards of his living room. Water welling up to his knees until he blinked and blinked and-
The smooth line of his floor was the only thing he saw when his vison cleared. He shuddered as he set the tea to the side, hands shaking.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
"He wasn't- he didn't consider himself particularly wise in the beginning. But things changed. He got himself killed by thinking the Aesir wouldn't harm him. He arranged to be sent as a hostage. He thought he could find a way to end the war before it started. Stupid. He never considered the Aesir wanted the war. All the wisdom in the world, and he died due to his pride. Like so many of the Gods, even the knower of all things wasn't immune to ego," he shared, shaking his head. Running his hand through his hair. Feeling strangely lighter for saying it. "He should have listened to his own advice. He and Thor often drank late into the night, feasting together. He cautioned Thor not to be so deceived. That sometimes the beat of one's pride can be mistaken for a heartbeat. Something which was proven true when Jörmungandr-"
He swayed in place. Watching as the carpet rippled with unseen eddies.
"How do you know that?" Magne demanded, making him focus on him for the first time in minutes.
He blinked. Pulse speeding up. Sweating.
"I- I must have read it somewhere," he replied, quickly sorting through the mental spaces where he kept such things. Slamming filing cabinets and shifting papers as he realized he had no idea. Where had he read it? He must have learned it somewhere. An obscure text? Something that wasn't considered part of the canonized mythology? Yes. Yes, that had to be it.
"Where?" Magne asked again.
He opened his mouth, tongue tracing his lower lip.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. He had nothing.
But it was true. He knew it was true.
He felt it, like-
"I- I don't remember," he admitted, hands shaking like palsy. Feeling like he was about to shudder apart.
"I haven't found any of that online," Magne pressed, voice taking on a gravel pitch that seemed painfully familiar. "Nothing other than he was the wisest of the Gods, the keeper of knowledge and the great well. I read that after he'd been killed, Odin did magic over his severed head. Covering it in charms and spices so it could advise him until the end. But you- how did you know about that night in the Great Hall? It was the last time Thor saw him before he died. I remember. You asked me something. You told me- him that something was coming. Do you remember-"
His ears were ringing.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
He couldn't.
He couldn't.
When he opened his eyes, his hands moved without his consent. Picking up the mug of tea like it was the only real thing left in the world. Blind and deaf as Magne watched him bring it to his lips and drink.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, when the mug became a drinking horn. Feeling outside of himself, but also firmly present. Because instead of dropping it, he squeezed it firmly. Able to feel the antler and oak-wood. No, it was more than that. He knew this horn. Every notch. Every line. Every crack and yellowing pit. He was it's owner.
The well knows all.
When he finally looked up, Magne was looming over him. And without thinking, he did the same. Feeling strong on his feet for the first time in days as he rose to his full height. The empty mug slipped from his fingers. Unimportant. Because the boy with the toy hammer had grown into a man. Showing what had been and what would be as a wry smile tugged at his lips.
I see you.
Because he did.
Finally, he did.
"Erik..." Magne started. But instead of words, the boy reached out. Strong fingers drifting from the tears streaming down his cheeks to the ring of his neck. Following the exact line that hadn't stopped burning for days. "Tell me."
A spark of electricity shuddered through him. Jumping from Magne to him like static-shock. He gasped. Hands pressing against his temples as the rush of water roared in his ears. Knowing that whatever this was, it was going to either end or remake him.
Lightning cracked overhead. So loud the roof might have caved in. But neither of them flinched. Because something was happening. From the deepest reserves of desire and instinct he possessed, he forced himself to open his eyes and see. And in that moment, the world fractured. Mind imploding beyond the complexity of his own skull. Expanding wider and wider as things he'd never learned, stories he'd never known, facts, theories and ancient wisdom poured back into him like his mind was as bottomless as the great well he'd once protected.
He was the keeper of the river spring.
The watcher of the great tree.
The knower of every book.
The councilor of Father-gods and their kin.
He was the severed head that-
He fell to his knees. Barely registering Magne catching him. His fingers curled into claws, digging deep into Magne's shoulders. Wracked with gentle electricity until the thin blue bolts settled under Magne's skin like veins. His heart stuttered. Restarting. Reborn. When he looked up, Magne's eyes were glowing with that same unearthly blue. It seemed appropriate. No, it seemed right. Like nothing had ever made more sense.
And for the first time since Magne came to Edda, he looked at him and saw.
Thor.
Recognition was its own form of remembrance.
Especially when more than memory had been exhumed.
Later, when Magne brought him to the others, he'd wonder why it took him so long. For if Thor was to live again, he could think of no better vessel. Magne wasn't merely Thor, but the embodiment of everything Thor had inspired in others. A boy who always tried to do the right thing, even if he was alone.
But he wasn't alone anymore.
"Erik?!"
Magne stood him upright as he came back to himself. Hands firm around his shoulders as thunder rumbled in the distance.
"Erik? I need you with me. Are you with me?"
The meaning was deeper than the words. Far deeper than the way Magne's voice cracked. Or how he could tell nothing was more important to Magne than his answer.
And in that same way, he knew that by giving it, nothing would be the same.
He wouldn't be the same.
And he had no idea if he could handle any of it.
A wry, tired smile stretched across his face. The first in a very long time. In this life and the other.
His mind was teeming and full. His body unsteady. But the words came anyway. The old tongue spiced and powerful as it touched the world for the first time in eons. Strengthened with affirmative action as his hand fell on Magne's shoulder in answer.
"Until my last breath, Odinson. I am with you."
Magne was on him in a second, hugging him fiercely. Mouthing the words into the curl of his neck as skin there burned. Remembering the swing of the blade that'd parted it from his shoulders like a forgotten echo.
"I knew it. I knew it!"
All he could do was hug him back, coming back to himself one century at a time. Having no doubt that while he might regret it in the end, he still wouldn't change a thing.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – This story is now complete.
Reference:
- Mimir: ("The rememberer, the wise one") is the Norse God of knowledge and wisdom. He is the wisest god. He was the keeper of the well of wisdom, Mímisbrunnr, which is located deep beneath one of the roots of Yggdrasill. He was sent as a hostage during the Aesir Vanir war. He was beheaded by the Aesir and his head sent to Asgard. The God Odin carried the head of Mimir, which recited secret knowledge and counsel to him.
- Mímisbrunnr: In Norse mythology, Mímisbrunnr is a well associated with the being Mímir, located beneath the world tree Yggdrasil. The well contains "wisdom and intelligence" and "the master of the well is called Mimir. He is full of learning because he drinks of the well from the horn Giallarhorn. Odin went there and asked for a single drink from the well, but he did not get one until he placed his eye as a pledge."
- Yggdrasil: in Norse cosmology, is an immense and central sacred tree. Around it exists all else, including the Nine Worlds.
- Jörmungandr: the Midgard Serpent, Thor's nemesis. A monstrous snake who coils and twists itself around the world. Like almost all of the Norse gods, Thor is doomed to die at Ragnarök, the end of the world and twilight of the gods. But falls only after killing the great serpent with his powerful hammer Mjollnir, dying to its poison.