Odin found himself in the dizzy, whirring workings of the dark. There was power in the realms. Power he had pursued from the beginning.
And, as all things, power has price.
He had not understood that in his youth.
Frigga had known it. And she had been the first to try and impart to him that lesson. He would that he had been able to teach it to his sons. But his efforts had failed. Thor was lost, on Midgard, his future uncertain, and Loki – his heart was in a darkness greater than Odin had guessed, plagued with hurts Odin had never known. Odin longed to offer healing he knew not how to give.
Nor did the Norns allow him time.
The Odinsleep washed over him in a wave of pain and dizziness, then a numb darkness that burst into a thousand colors and noises and when he became aware of it, when he knew the place for what it was, he fought against it.
It was the price of the power he held.
The voices fluttered about him. They laughed.
Odin would give up all the power ever he had held to right his realm.
Nothing could shatter the hold of the sleep on him.
Perhaps, he allowed, Frigga had been right. Perhaps it was time to let another direct the realms. Perhaps he had done enough. He was so weary…
Odin heard voices above him. He knew not the meanings
…through fractured nothings, he understood…