user1286 - Tumblr blog

user1286 · 14 hours

Text

Mimir's Valhalla

read on Ao3

words: 2369

When Mimir opens his eyes, he feels heavier.

Lush green trees, so tall that they seem to touch the sky, sway slightly with a gentle breeze. Sunlight fights to filter through the leaves, leaving small patterns of gold along the grassy path. The sound of quiet, distant woodland creatures fill the air, a familiar and comforting sound.

Mimir breathes deeply, knowing this is simply a memory that Valhalla has pulled for him, but he’s happy nonetheless. It’s his homeland, a place he hasn’t been in centuries, and he’s quite pleased at how intact his memory is.

When he looks down at himself, he nearly falls over. He had felt heavier for a reason, he marvels, as he lifts his arms slowly to inspect his hands. His body is reattached to his head for the first time in years, and he’d almost forgotten how nice it felt. He loves traveling with Kratos, but having his own means to move is incredibly freeing. He can still remember dancing with his friends in this forest, making stupid jokes, playing pranks, getting drunk. He knows it’s not real, but he has to resist the urge to call out to those friends. He wonders if they’re okay after all these years.

Suddenly, his body disappears from under him, and he materializes into a cage with fire gnawing at the bars. “Brother?” he asks, trying and failing to keep the fear from his voice.

Kratos claws at the metal, and for the first time, Mimir sees genuine fear in the man’s eyes. If he wasn’t about to die, he’d feel a little teary about it. If he’s going to go, he’s at least glad to know that Kratos cares for him, enough to stick his hands into fire for him.

But he doesn’t die. Sigrún makes sure of that. He’ll spend the rest of eternity trying to make that up to her.

Kratos goes back into Valhalla, and Mimir with him. One moment, he’s with him; the next, he’s standing in Odin’s chambers. Without thinking much of it, he walks slowly toward the large basin tucked against the wall, peering down into it. Within crystal clear water, he could see the scene play out in front of him.

“I come before you, Allfather, as a humble servant. I was forced from my lands for being too wise. They did not like to hear the truth from my lips. I bring you a gift, a well of knowledge, one that will bestow upon you the means to find the answers that you seek.”

Mimir, within the water, holds up a vial to Odin, who takes it curiously, inspecting it closer. “A well of knowledge, you say?” The man seems incredibly pleased by the gift, uncorking the vial to bring to his lips. “I should have you know that faerie poison does not affect me,” he adds, eyeing Mimir closely. “But I will know your intent.”

He chuckles heartily. “Now, Allfather, what reason could I possibly have for poisoning you? I am coming to you for help. This is a mere gift.” It isn’t poison; that, at least, is true.

Odin seems to think it over, then tosses the vial back, swallowing it in one gulp. For a moment, there’s silence, followed by a resounding crash as the glass shatters against the floor, Odin’s widened eyes darting around in shock and awe. “This...!” Perhaps a little unsettlingly, Odin laughs, reaching out to hold onto the edge of his desk for support. “I see it...but why...?”

His hand moves slowly from the edge of the desk toward something on top of it without looking down. Mimir doesn’t need to watch to know that what happens next is that he lifts the spoon to his right eye, gouging it. In the vision, though, he rushes forward to prevent him from doing the same to his other eye, holding his wrist back so tightly the veins on his neck bulge. The spoon clatters to the floor, and he knows he needs to choose his next words carefully.

“You’re now bestowed with greater sight, Allfather,” he breathes, slowly letting go of the man’s wrist as the danger subsides, blood trickling down to splatter against the floor and dropped spoon. “I knew this well would benefit you.”

Odin’s breathing is ragged, but his good eye roves up and down, sizing Mimir up. He knows it had been a trick all along, and yet...

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes. Mimir, was it? You are quite wise. I’d like you to be my advisor.”

Before he can hear his own response, Mimir is returned to Kratos.

The next time he’s separated from Kratos, Mimir recognizes the commotion almost instantly. Panic flairs in his veins as he rushes toward a fallen Vanir soldier, catching her before she could hit the ground. They look into each other’s eyes, and with the Vanir’s last breath, she spits on Mimir’s face, then goes limp in his hands. Feeling sick, he closes her eyes with his own hand, knowing this memory, wishing he wasn’t here.

When he places her body gently on the forest ground, she dissolves into wisps of smoke. Odin, behind him, hauls him to his feet. “Mimir! The Vanir have almost fallen. What is the best way to proceed?”

Still aware of Odin’s hand on his collar, Mimir looks around, the sound of screams echoing in the smoky air and rattling his brain. He needs to stop this war, for everyone’s sake. Odin would never stop, unless...

“A peace treaty!” he says, his tongue feeling much too big for his mouth. “Think about it. You can marry Freya, the Vanir’s princess. It will bring about peace for everyone.”

When Odin lets go of Mimir’s collar, he falls to his knees, the ground disappearing beneath him, bringing him to Goddess’ Falls. He watches Freya force a smile, unable to move from where he’s standing, feeling terrible for suggesting such a truce.

This was for the best, Týr’s voice says in his mind. That is what you thought at the time, yes?

“Yes, but...”

What would have happened if you hadn’t suggested the truce?

Mimir closes his eyes. “The Vanir would have been wiped out. Freya included.”

She knew that. That is why she agreed to such a marriage. And you have already apologized to her. She may never fully forgive you, but do not forget she reanimated your head. She knows you were doing what you thought was right. To reduce casualties.

His cheeks feel wet, and with some awe he reaches up to touch one. He hasn’t cried in decades, and he physically can’t anymore as just a head. It almost feels nice.

Then he’s back with Kratos, and his face is dry.

The last time he’s separated from him, he finds himself in the small Asgardian courtyard, sitting by the stream. The sun kisses his skin, filling him with warmth and calm. A hand rests on his shoulder gently, and without thinking, he reaches up to rest his hand atop it.

“I knew you would come,” he says, not bothering to keep the cheekiness from his tone. Sigrún scoffs, kneeling down beside him.

“Although you are smart, it does not give you free reign to be smug,” she replies, moving her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, her voice soft and familiar and everything he loves.

Mimir grins. “Oh, I beg to differ, milady. It surely does give me some room to be smug.” Laughing softly, she tucks her legs beneath her, folding her hands in her lap. Her helmet glistens in the sunlight, and he can’t think of anyone more beautiful. Birds tweet overhead, and finally, they have a moment together, alone. “Sigrún,” he continues, a little more mellow, “how are you doing?”

She turns her head, looking toward the water, and he doesn’t miss the way her shoulders droop. “I am...tired,” she admits. “Without the queen, I fear my sisters and I have little freedoms. The Allfather uses and discards us as he pleases.”

“I am sorry.” His gaze flicks to her hand, but he thinks better of taking it. “I wish there was more I could do.”

Their feelings on Odin were mutual. There was nothing either of them could do about their situation.

Sigrún turns again, taking his hand instead. “I am alright, love,” she whispers. “Knowing I can eventually come back to you keeps me strong.”

Trying and failing to hide a smile, he lifts her hand to his lips. “I look forward to it. Every single time.”

The ground melts beneath him, and he’s standing in the Shores of Nine. He remembers this memory so vividly - he doesn’t need to relive it - but Valhalla has other plans.

Odin stands in the center, with the nine Valkyries bound to their seats. They plead with anguish, but he doesn’t seem to listen.

“Odin, please!” Mimir begs. “They can still benefit you if you let them! This isn’t necessary!”

“Silence, Mimir. This does not concern you,” Odin says coolly. “When I ask for your counsel, then you may speak.”

Sigrún’s voice shakes, but Mimir can’t tell if it’s from anger or fear. “Allfather, the Valkyries are loyal only to you. I do not understand what we did to anger you so!”

As he bangs his staff onto the ground in response, Sigrún curls in on herself, pained grunts escaping her lips. He has a cold look in his eye, the one Mimir knows all too well, the one that makes him sick to his stomach. His lips move, but barely any sound comes out of it, and Mimir watches in horror as a black mist curls up from the ground, trailing around each of the Valkyries’ ankles and traveling up to their chests with surprising speed.

Without thinking, Mimir rushes forward, trying to grab the staff, but Odin moves quicker than he expected. The next thing he knows, he’s on the ground, dazedly blinking through stars. Odin must have hit him over the head with the staff. “You,” he murmurs, crouching down beside him, “have seriously been pissing me off. I know you tried to trick me with those hallucinations when we met. I know you and the ‘queen’ have been meeting in secret. And I know what you’ve been saying about me. My ravens tell all.” He grabs Mimir by the throat, squeezing hard. “Don’t worry, old friend. I won’t kill you,” he continues, clearly enjoying the fear in Mimir’s eyes. “You deserve far worse.”

“No!” Sigrún somehow breaks her bond, flying toward them. She tackles Odin to the ground, but she only gets a second of surprise advantage before he’s back up, this time forcefully holding her by the wings. He holds her up to look at her sisters, all standing strangely still.

“Don’t worry, your Highness,” Odin sneers. “It’ll all be over soon.” He tosses her to the ground, but before Mimir can get to her, Odin grabs him by the ankles, dragging him away, his face scraping against the stone. “Come along, Mimir. We have work to do.”

He lifts his head, and he meets Sigrún’s eyes, though shrouded by the helmet. He smiles weakly. “Save them. I’ll be alright.”

Mimir blinks, and he’s bound to the tree.

Why are you so troubled about Sigrún?

“I’m not who I once was,” he answers the disembodied voice, looking down at himself. “Look at me, Týr, old friend. How could she possibly love who I’ve become?”

You ask because you don’t think it is already true. But it is. You must put aside your own feelings and consider hers.

Where he is bound to the tree, in front of him, a rippling, distorted image plays on the wind. Sigrún, sitting outside Valhalla’s gates beside Eir.

“Are you alright, highness?”

“Yes, I will be. My body will heal. I fear, had I not been fast enough, my heart would not.”

“Even though he refused your advances a few days ago?”

Sigrún scoffs slightly. “I have had time to think. He isâ€¦frightened. We’ve never put our emotions out like this before. I put too much pressure on him.” She sighs thoughtfully. “I love him, Eir. I will wait for him to realize it.”

The scene disappears. Mimir realizes, with a start, that he is crying again, but this time he can’t free his arm to touch it. He watches as a tear plops onto the tree’s root below him.

Kratos was right, you know. Týr's voice is gentle this time. You ought not have such a low opinion of yourself, body or not, living or not.

Mimir breathes deep, closing his eyes. He remembers Kratos’ words, saying, If she deserves the best, then why should she not deserve the Smartest Man Alive?

When he opens them again, he’s back with Kratos, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful. “Well! Looks like I’ve missed everything!” Kratos pulls him up, and Mimir doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man so at peace before. There’s almost a smile on his lips. “Did you find what you needed?” Kratos nods. “We’re done here then, so, uh...what now?”

“Now?” Kratos’ voice sounds lighter. He sounds happy. Mimir can’t help but smile. “I believe I would like to sit here for a while.”

They sit. He isn’t sure how much time passes, but when Kratos eventually stands to pick him up, Mimir blinks, and he’s back in the sun-dappled forest of his homeland, back in his body. The difference, this time, is that instead of being alone, Kratos stands a few feet away, looking rather confused.

“Mimir?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Ach, you weren’t the only one seeing visions, brother,” Mimir replies, and despite the bad, he remembers the good. “I found what I needed, too.”

This time, Kratos does smile, and they find themselves walking toward each other. Mimir isn’t sure who initiates the hug first, but it feels so nice that he doesn’t particularly care. Kratos’ arms are strong around him, and Mimir turns his face up to the warm sky, thanking Valhalla for the chance to give his brother an actual hug.

#OUUUUU SAVING THIS FOR LATERR I CANT WAIT TO READ THIS ::33333

9 notes · View notes