The three roots that lie under Yggdrasil were massive, their girth appearing to stretch on infinitely as they traversed the nether regions. They twisted and turned and extended to the far reaches of the world, each destined to stop at only one realm, each at an eternal spring. Elsa stood at their intersection, and pondered the dilemma before her; which root would lead her to Mímisbrunnr, to wisdom and truth, and which paths would be folly. As she stood there thinking she was startled by the thunderous sound of footsteps approaching her, and they were not the footfalls of a mortal being.

Acting on instinct, Elsa turned to the sound and stretched out her wings as far as they could go, and then waited.

Óðinn passed from Yggdrasil and ventured down to its three roots, fully intent this time to finding what he was looking for, the truest of wisdom. But as he passed the threshold to the netherworld he stopped abruptly, completely surprised to see the smaller creature before him. It was familiar, but only to a certain extent, and at the present time it appeared to be taking on a defensive stance.

The god tilted his head slightly and regarded the creature. "I am sure you have a name, and a reason to be here?"

Elsa felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "I do, to both of your queries. I seek Mímisbrunnr, and the wisdom therein. You may call me—Elsa."

"Then you seek the land of Jötunheimr as I do." Óðinn stepped closer to Elsa and walked around her, carefully noting her appearance. "You are a creature from Midgard, are you not? Yet, I have never seen one with wings and horns as you have."

Elsa, despite her current height, had to crane her neck to see into Óðinn's face. "I am destined to become Jörmungandr, the Midgard serpent, and to wreck havoc on those who would wish to destroy my Kingdom."

Óðinn's eyes widened, and he ran his hand over his beard. "So you are Jörmungandr—the Miðgarðsormr. I have heard of your coming." He leaned down so he could be face to face with Elsa. "But you must beware, great serpent. Do not trust Thor, he is your mortal enemy."

"Thank you for your concern… I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are." Elsa squirmed a little under at the god's close scrutiny.

"You do not know who I am? Why, I am Óðinn, Allfather of the gods, and ruler of Ásgarðr."

"The king of Ásgarðr?" Elsa took a step back. Of all the events that had happened to her over the past few months, this one was the most surprising: coming face to face with a being who claimed to be a god. She could accept the existence of magic, as her ice powers evidenced, even the existence of beings that were not human or earthly animals, as the trolls evidenced. But this—this was something completely new and unexpected, and it completely unsettled her to the core. It wasn't as if she had not grown up with the images of an afterlife all around her; the image of Arendelle's cathedral came to mind, and its depictions of an entirely different cosmology. The truth of the matter was she had never been much of a believer in such things. But now… "So, you are bound towards Jötunheimr? Perhaps I could come with you?"

Óðinn put his hands on his hips and laughed heartily. "You wish to accompany me?" He regarded the small human. "It is amazing, I think. Then you must tell me all about yourself—Elsa. How are you to be the Midgard serpent, and what of this Kingdom that you speak of?" He turned and began to walk away. "Yes, I know of all the worlds and all their kingdoms…"

Elsa flapped her wings and did her best to keep up with the god's long strides.

Berith paced back and forth in her extravagantly ornate bedroom, running a comb through her long auburn hair, and tried not to worry. But it was a luxury denied her, and she stopped to look at herself in her mirror. She turned to the side and noted her distended belly and remembered what her physicians had told her about worrying; it was dangerous for the baby. Her bedroom door opened quietly.

Magnus walked slowly to his wife's fireplace and placed his drink on the mantle. He lowered his shaking hands towards the dying fire in a vain attempt to bring warmth to his heart and body. "There is still no word from Stinus, and I'm beginning to have dangerous thoughts."

The Duchess moved to her vanity and put her comb down. "My doctors tell me it is unhealthy to worry, Magnus—it could harm the baby. Perhaps it is no good for us, as well."

The dark-haired man sighed heavily and put his hand on the mantle. He glanced at his wife before turning again to the fire. "I'm sure of it."

Berith regarded her husband with great concern. Magnus was a complex man, prone to fits of sometimes-terrible cruelty towards his subordinates, while at the same time doting over her and the family. Sometimes she felt as if she knew him better than he knew himself. "Magnus, about the war with Arendelle…"

The Duke shook his head. "I'm really not in a mood to talk about it, wife." In his mind he could see buildings burning; Arendelle's castle bombarded with cannon fire. He shook imperceptibly, his mouth dry and his soul bereft. "I'm tired, oh so tired." The ghost of his father haunted him, with his terrible ambition and sense of retributive justice.

Berith tilted her head, and watch her husband closely. Magnus was never a cheerful person, not even when he was younger, and brooded constantly, much like father did. But as of late his moods were most foul, and she blamed the Southern Isles. "Perhaps we both could use a few days rest, away from everything."

Magnus didn't say anything for a long time, but finally he released a harsh breath. "That's impossible, Berith, my schedule is long and the days are short."

"I worry over you."

"I know you do." Magnus bent to put more wood on the dying fire. "You ought not to let the cold creep in; it could make you sick." He wiped at his hands. "General Voljor is going to betray me."

The comment was so innocuous, so matter-of-fact, that Berith thought he was kidding. "Surely you jest."

"I hate to have to execute such a capable officer." There it was, the coldness that would occasionally creep into the Duke's voice that was so reminiscent of his father.

"Then don't." Berith felt a small kick in her stomach, but chose not to tell Magnus.

"He leaves me no choice in the matter, Berith. But, we've known each other since we were both children…"

The Duchess was privy to the Duke's many moods, but she had never seen him despairing and it was quite unsettling. "Come here, my husband."

Magnus ran his hands through his dark, long hair and then walked over to his wife. He looked at her belly and a small smile graced his features. "How is my son?"

"We don't know if it's a boy, Magnus."

"But I know, don't I?" The Duke deadpanned. His smile faltered, and he had to turn away. "Aida is a pompous jester, and she thinks she can make a fool of me, as well." It wasn't hard to notice the coldness in his voice again.

"Then that is her misfortune." Berith sighed, and began to rub her belly. "Why is it so difficult for this family to be happy?" It was their constant argument, and it usually involved either his bad behavior or the Countess'.

"I am my father's son, in every way, Berith." Magnus walked back to the fireplace and grabbed his drink off the mantle. He downed it and then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. When he turned back towards his wife his features had hardened, again. "I have many meetings today concerning my war against Arendelle, so I will not join you for dinner. Good day, Madam."

When her door shut with a bang Berith turned towards her mirror again, noting her now solemn features. Not only was Aida a fool, so was Magnus. He was competing with a dead man over power and its struggle, and she began to have doubts he would prevail.

"Good god, woman, stop moving!" Hans grabbed at the woman below him, pinning her arms to the bed as he continued to lunge deeply into her. The bed creaked rhythmically, and his grunts could be heard in the hallway beyond.

The courtesan winced; this prince was just as inept as Ingleif at love play. But she endured it for the sake of her position at court. "Please, don't stop…"

Hans ignored her, intent only on his own pleasure, and not caring at all for the woman. He didn't stop, and the sweat ran off his forehead and back. He reached up to wipe at his face; and when he did the woman below him tried to reach up and touch him. He ferociously batted her hand away and sneered. "Don't touch me, woman!"

The mistress shrank back and tried to turn her head away from him.

"Look at me!" His pounding continued, at a fierce pace.

The woman turned her head back to the prince, and tried to coax him into finding his release. She moved in time with his thrusting, her hips rising up to meet his.

Hans' head rolled back, and with a final push, grunted out his release, pumping into the courtesan again and again. He collapsed on top of her, and closed his eyes. An image came to him, unbidden, but clear. In his mind's eye teal eyes looked up at him, and a certain, familiar smile caught his attention. His eyes snapped open and he gasped.

The woman below him winced again. "Are you alright?"

Hans rolled off her immediately and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He cradled his head in his hands. "Get out."

The courtesan knew it was time to leave. She got up without saying anything and quickly gathered her clothes; the door closed quietly behind her.

Hans glanced at the door before turning his attention towards the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a generous glass of sherry and sat back down on the bed, bewildered at his own thoughts. He closed his eyes again and his imagination conjured up another image—a freckled face, long red plaits, and that smile…

"What did you do to her?"

Hans looked up abruptly and whirled towards the door. "What are you doing here, Roman?"

Roman closed the door and tossed a dressing gown at his brother. "That prostitute, she ran down the hall like a banshee. So, I'll ask again, what did you do to her?"

Hans looked at the empty glass in his hand and walked over to the liquor cabinet again. This time he poured brandy. "You can stop with the inane questions. I'm in no mood for them."

Roman looked carefully at his younger brother, trying to determine his current state of mind. "Are you alright?"

Hans put on his pants, and then sat on the bed to pull up his boots. "I wish people would stop asking me that!"

Roman frowned, and then poured himself some brandy. "Fingaard informs me that you captured a spy from Arendelle?"

"Yes, what of it?"

"Well, I was hoping I could accompany you to his interrogation."

Hans started to button up his jacket. "You want to be there? I don't plan on sitting down to tea with this man, Roman. You know what happens to infiltrators in this country."

"Yes, I do know. That is precisely why I want to be there, to make sure he pays for his insolence."

Hans clasped his sword to his side, then eyed at his reflection in a mirror. "I must say I'm a bit surprised, Roman. You've never taken an interest in torture before." He grabbed a comb and ran it through his hair, making sure his appearance was just right. "After all these years, why now?"

Roman faltered for a moment. "I don't want you to get all the glory, alright?"

Hans got the feeling again—the one that told him things were not as they seemed, and that Roman was hiding something from him. "Okay, you can come. But if you interfere on the prisoner's behalf, I'll have you arrested for treason."

Roman merely smiled, and nodded before he finished his brandy in one swallow.

When his older brother was gone, Hans let out an uncertain, ragged breath. He looked at his reflection again, and, for the first time in weeks, felt the weight of responsibility heavily. But the feeling lasted for only a few moments, and then dissipated like smoke in the wind.

Elsa and Óðinn spoke of many things as they walked down the long winding root, and passed many creatures as they did. Some of them bowed out of respect, some completely ignored them, and others still sneered and cajoled—as did the wyrm Níðhöggr, who had stopped gnawing at the root over Niflheim in order to follow the pair.

Níðhöggr ran past Elsa and Óðinn and stopped about twenty feet in front of them. The creature whirled around and hissed. "Why do you follow this one, Allfather of the gods? When it will only bring ruin for us all!"

Óðinn stopped, and frowned at the dragon. "How dare you assume that I don't know all things."

Níðhöggr growled, and looked pointedly at Elsa. "You are the catalyst for doom, Jörmungandr! You bring Ragnarök wherever you go, and it is the end of us all! You may fool Allfather and the rest of his kind, but you will never deceive me. Away with you!" It advanced towards the Queen.

Elsa immediately lifted her arms, and an icy blast came forth from her hands and sent the dragon flying backwards. It landed on its back and screamed again, growling obscenities and curses. But before she could say anything the wyrm flew past them and returned to Niflheim.

After the dragon was gone Elsa noticed Óðinn staring at her, a strange expression on his face. "I'm sorry about that… but I don't know what Ragnarök is?"

"Don't you? I seek the wisdom of Mïmir for precisely this; I travel down to Mímisbrunnr on behalf of my people, for they are afraid of the Ragnarök—it is the end of all things as we know them.

"Brothers will fight and kill each other,

sisters' children

will defile kinship.

It is harsh in the world,

whoredom rife

—an axe age, a sword age

—shields are riven—

a wind age, a wolf age—

before the world goes headlong.

No man will have

mercy on another."

Elsa swallowed and looked up into the god's face. "This is also the Fimbulvetr, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, great Jörmungandr." Óðinn hesitated, an incredulous look on his face. "There is something I do not understand, and it brings great sorrow to my heart to have to ask you this?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Why did you accept the responsibilities of being the great serpent of middle-earth? Surely, you know of your ultimate destiny, Elsa."

Elsa frowned. "My—shaman died before he could explain the fullness of the prophecies to me. I always assumed I was to become Jörmungandr to save Arendelle and my people in our war with Weselton and the Southern Isles."

"It is so much more than that. It is the great war of all things—Ragnarøkkr, or the twilight of the gods, Elsa. Not only will the armies of men fight in this, but the gods themselves. The war will cross over into many worlds, and to the realms therein. There are many destinies to be fulfilled, and yours is to die."

Elsa went cold, and a frost came forth from her hands to coat her scaled feet. Her heart clenched, and her soul cried out. "What?"

"We cannot halt the events that are to come, and can only prepare for them—our destinies are immutable, certain. This is why I am astonished by your decision to take up the mantle of the Midgard serpent, as I thought you were preparing for your certain death."

The blonde dropped to her knees, her spirit broken. "I—did not know this." Her hands fisted and great sparks of ice flew in all directions, hitting everything in sight, including the god. "Oh, curse you, Pabbie! Why didn't you tell me this, why keep such a wretched secret from me! Ahh…!" She raised her head and roared unto the heavens, the beast within writhing ferociously and then bursting forth to scream out of rage and frustration.

The roar caused the earth to rumble and Yggdrasil shook, its branches and leaves quaking, and it's humming to rise to an unbearable level.

Óðinn stood by quietly as Elsa sobbed, his heart mourning for the fragile human before him. "The sons of Mím are at play—curse you," he whispered.

After a long while Elsa finally calmed enough to look up at Óðinn; she wiped at her eyes before standing. "Are you certain about all this, that my destiny is sealed and cannot be altered?"

"Elsa, I am certain. Do not think that it brings me joy to speak of these things, for my own sorrows are to come, as well."

"Just tell me one thing, then. Tell me who is it, who tries to kill me. I want to know so that I may kill him first."

"This is why I wish to take counsel with Mímir and to drink from the Mímisbrunnr, to know for certain what is the truth, and how to wisely follow my own path."

"Answer my question, Óðinn!"

"Who are you, Jörmungandr, to question a god, or fate?"

Jörmungandr stood to full height. "Because I reject the notion. How can I leave Anna when… when…"

Óðinn tilted his sizeable head. "Who is Anna, and what is her part in this?"

"She is both my sister and my mate—and she is pregnant, with my child."

If the god was shocked and surprised he didn't show it. But he lowered his head in thought, and finally looked up with a hopeful look on his face. "Líf and Lífþrasir…" He took hold of Elsa's hand, and began to walk towards Mímisbrunnr. "Perhaps there is hope after all, Jörmungandr."

But Elsa wouldn't have it, she dug her heels into the ground and didn't budge. "Wait, please. What is this Líf that you speak of?"

Óðinn let go of her hand, impatient to be going. "I cannot answer what I do not know. But the prophecy of Fimbulvetr speaks of survivors, two of them—who will go on to replenish the land once the Ragnarøkkr reaches fruition. Come, we must consult with Mímir, and know the truth to all things."

Elsa relented, and once again, followed the god down Yggdrasil's root. But her heart was still broken and in turmoil, for she did not know how she was going to tell Anna about the Ragnarök, and Jörmungandr's end.

Master Kai stood at Arendelle's docks and looked through his scope at the approaching ship. Its flags indicated that it was from the Duchy of Weselton, and something else, it was obviously the flagship of the realm, as its standards indicated. The master lowered his scope and glanced at Crispin, the Chief Admiral of Arendelle. "What do you think, Admiral?"

Admiral Crispin straightened out his uniform jacket, and wiped perspiration off of his brow. "I have absolutely no idea what they are doing here. Unless, of course, they come to negotiate a peace treaty."

Kai remained silent, he knew exactly why the ship from Weselton was approaching; they were looking for Countess Aida, and she was dead. He silently cursed Gunnar for keeping him in prison for as long as he did. If he had been released sooner he would have seen to the removal of the Countess' personal ship, which was still docked in the harbor; and now the people who were approaching on the flagship could see it clearly.

At that moment Captain Steiner strode up to the pair and looked out on the ship. "Master Kai, I have come from the Council proceedings and they want answers."

Crispin snorted. "We don't know any more now than we did an hour ago! Go and tell the nobles that the Flagship from Weselton approaches, and have them send out a delegation and a contingent of Royal Guards."

Steiner nodded. "Would not soldiers from the army send a clearer message?"

Master Kai shook his head. "No, sending the army to greet them sends the wrong message; it could be interpreted as a hostile act, and that's the last thing we need right now."

The Admiral looked pointedly at Steiner. "With all haste, Captain!"

Kai looked out to the harbor again and wished that Queen Elsa and Princess Anna were in Arendelle. They would know how to greet the incoming ship. He finally turned towards Admiral Crispin. "There is something you need to know, Admiral."

Before long Elsa and Óðinn found themselves on the bank of Mímisbrunnr in the land of Jötunheimr, one of the nine worlds. The land looked rather parched and arid, and there was a mountain range beyond towards the north that was completely covered in snow, and yet lava flowed from one of the peaks on the snowy range and ran slightly southeast towards a deep dell.

"You are in the land of the frost jötnar, Elsa of Arendelle." Óðinn's voice was solemn, as if he had no desire to be in this place, notwithstanding his haste to get there.

Elsa looked up towards the opposite bank of Mímisbrunnr and saw a giant approaching the spring; he was huge, at least two and a half times bigger than Óðinn, and he carried the Gjallarhorn in one of his hands. The giant bent towards the wellspring and dipped the horn in it until it was filled to the brim. When he was finished drinking he seemed to notice her and Óðinn for the first time.

The giant ignored Elsa for the time being, and glared harshly at Óðinn. "What would you ask of me, Óðinn—oh, great Allfather of the gods? Would you tempt me with pledges and oaths? Both of which we know you cannot fulfill!" He placed the horn on the ground and ran his hand over the surface of Mímisbrunnr. "You heart is troubled, is it not? You desire wisdom because the Ragnarök is at hand, and the Fimbulvetr is nigh."

Elsa moved closer to the bank in order to get a better look at the giant, and almost stepped into the well.

Mímir noticed this and sprang to his feet. "Get away from the spring, foolish human!"

Elsa spread her wings far apart. "I am Jörmungandr!"

The giant's eyes went wide, and a tremendous gasp escaped his lips. "Óðinn, what folly is this? You bring the Midgard serpent into Jötunheimr? Is not your son, Thor, destined to slay this beast?"

Elsa was shocked that Óðinn failed to mention this to her, but she refused to show it. She confronted the giant instead. "Yes, I am Jörmungandr, but this does not mean that we are enemies, or that there is enmity between us. I have come along with Óðinn to seek wisdom and guidance. For I am deeply invested in the Fimbulvetr that is upon us, and my mate and my people are looking to me for leadership. I do not wish to disappoint them."

Mímir hesitated in his judgment, and eyed Elsa. "You wish to drink from Mímisbrunnr?"

Óðinn panicked. "No, I claim first right to drink from this sacred spring!"

Elsa whirled towards the god. "What are you doing?"

"I am claiming my right as Allfather of the gods, lowly serpent!"

"Enough!" Mímir shot Óðinn a pointed look. "Can you not feel Garm at the Gates, Allfather—his fetters loose and his killing jaws ready to strike?"

Óðinn backed down, the reference chilling him to the bone. "I would give anything for just one chance to drink from this spring."

"Anything, Allfather?"

Now it was Elsa's turn to be surprised, her intuition telling her that Mímir was going to demand a terrible price. She scooted closer to the god. "Can I talk with you, alone?"

But Óðinn's eyes remained on the rippling water of the spring before him, unable to tear his gaze away from it. "What do you need to tell me, Elsa?"

Elsa finally took hold of the god's hand and forced his body to turn around and face her. "Please, don't pay his price. It doesn't bode well for us, I can feel it."

But Óðinn remained undeterred. "What are you talking about, Jörmungandr? I have not come this far only to be turned away." He turned away from Elsa, and cleared his throat. "I will do anything—pay any price, Mímir—to drink from Mímisbrunnr."

The giant bent down and filled Gjallarhorn with water, and slowly walked the bank of Mímisbrunnr until he was upon Óðinn. He smiled down at Allfather. "First, the price."

"What would you have me do?"

"A simple act, really. All I want is your eye. Take it out and cast it into Mímisbrunnr."

Elsa was horrified, and wondered if the giant would demand the same from her. "No, Óðinn, don't do it…"

But Elsa's entreaty was too late, and the god reached up and plucked his right eye out of its socket; a river of blood followed, and Óðinn bent over at the excruciating pain that followed. He blindly threw the eye at the spring, and it sank with a noticeable plop. As the eye sank he grabbed at the horn and drank its entirety in one huge swallow. But the water of knowledge and wisdom hit him like a terrible blow, and he sank to his knees from the weight of it—his body now infused with wisdom so terrible in its beauty that he gasped for breath.

Elsa wanted to shrink back and run to the root for safety, but she managed to hold her fear in check as Óðinn's body heaved before her. After a short time, she looked up into the giant's face. "A terrible dies Iovis, indeed. Why did you demand his eye?"

Mímir shrugged. "Why do all creatures do the things they do, Jörmungandr? For power—it is the basest of all motivations." He walked over to Óðinn and ran his hand over his body, not quite touching him at first. Then he grabbed the god's hand and pulled him to his feet. "This is not a time for sleep, Allfather."

Elsa carefully scrutinized the god, and noticed that his body appeared to be shimmering slightly, as if he was shrouded in a gentle glow. She waited for Óðinn to say something, but he remained silent as he looked at her. "Why isn't he talking? Hey… wait!"

But Óðinn was already walking away from her, back towards the root, and back to the Æsir.

Elsa watched him go, and a strange feeling stole over her heart—a melancholy of some sort. "Goodbye, my friend." She turned angry eyes onto the giant again. "So, what price do I have to pay for wisdom?"

"What do you have that I could possibly want, Jörmungandr?" The giant smiled, but there was no mirth behind it. "You spoke of a mate…"

"No!" Elsa reared to her highest, and spread her wings far apart. "You leave her out of this, or I will freeze your spring!"

Mímir tilted his head and laughed, a deep rumbling sound that spread out to the land beyond. "Look at the little one! What power do you have over the elements?"

"Do not test me, you'll be extremely disappointed." Elsa lifted her hand and shot out long shards of ice. They collided with the rocks at Mímir's feet and splintered into many pieces.

The giant's smile vanished, and he now regarded Elsa warily. "How did you do that?"

"We all have out secrets, Mímir. Shall the spring be next?" Elsa lifted her hand again and pointed at Mímisbrunnr.

"No, please, Jörmungandr."

Elsa was satisfied that she had the giant's complete attention. "I will ask you again. What price do I have to pay to drink from this well?"

Mímir sighed and slowly walked over to where Elsa was standing. He regarded her intently. "Your horns—I want your horns." He looked up and made a pretense of examining the great root. "We all have our reasons for wanting the things we want. Óðinn's eye will pass on to me some of his godly power, and I will have a strength that the other jötnar lack." He bent down on one knee to be close to Elsa. "Your horns will serve me the same purpose, Jörmungandr." He picked up Gjallarhorn and dipped it into Mímisbrunnr. "Your knowledge awaits, great wyrm."

Elsa looked at the horn and the water therein, and realized that this was her moment of truth. From the very beginning of her ordeal she had wanted nothing more than complete understanding of what was happening to her, and why, and drinking from this horn could provide everything that she wanted. The knowledge to protect Anna and Arendelle, and an understanding of what motivated her enemies; why did they do the things they did? Everything from her parents failure to prepare her for the Fimbulvetr to Pabbie's reasons for dying when he did all lay within the horn that Mímir was presenting to her; and the most important thing, the possible secret knowledge to conquer everything that could possibly stand in her way, for all time.

For a moment, Elsa wondered if such knowledge could help her to live forever. She reached out to grab the Gjallarhorn, but the giant pulled it away.

"Your horns, Jörmungandr."

Elsa reached up and grabbed at her horns and tugged at them with all of her strength. She twisted her head as she did this, her face contorting with pain as they began to loosen. With a final tug they popped off of her head, and blood began to roll down her face and neck. Elsa shrieked and fell to her knees, as the pain was too much; she dropped the horns and they fell to the ground. Whimpering, she crawled over to Mímisbrunnr and dunked her whole head into the water before the giant could react.

"What are you doing, no….!" Mímir shrieked, for never in his long years had a creature been so imbued with wisdom as Elsa was now. He dropped the Gjallarhorn and ran off into the hills, screaming as he did so.

Elsa emerged from the spring, her eyes and mouth full of water, all she had to do was drink it. She wiped the water from her eyes and spit out the water onto the ground; after standing up she undid her plait and shook her head to clear it. The bleeding was over, and the lesions were completely healed.

In the great end of her sojourn down to the nether world she had rejected the very thing she was after—complete and total wisdom and understanding—in favor of something else. Elsa looked at her bloody horns on the ground and hit them with an ice blast, shattering them forever; making them unusable to anything or anyone. The truth of the matter she was glad to be rid of them. If, indeed, she were going to be Jörmungandr, it would be on her own terms.

Elsa let out a ragged breath and looked at the great root ahead of her. The truth was she had no desire to be all knowing, to be a god; such pressure would have surely killed her, and she had a kingdom to run—and if things went her way was soon to be a parent. Anna, and there was Anna to return to, to fight for, and to love.

Elsa made her way up Yggdrasil's root, towards her destiny.

Thank you for reading. As always, comments are more than welcome.