King Gylfi (5:43)
On my travels across the stars, I came before three heavenly kings in the glittering halls of Asgard. They told me much of the realms above and the caverns below. They said there are nine worlds, all held in the branches of a mighty ash. Yggdrasil is its name, the World Tree. Its leaves are above the sky and its roots plumb the deepest depths. From its boughs the dew falls. From its roots the rivers rise. An eagle sits upon its highest crown, while deep beneath below coils a serpent gnawing endlessly at its trunk. Down in those depths lie four shadowed realms. Nilfheim, a land of mist. Moosebell, the world of flame. Jotunheim, home to the Frost Giants. And Hel, where the dead go to die. Up the trunk lie Three more worlds. Midgard, Alfheim and Nidavellir, the land of elves, dwarves and mortals. Then, cradled up top, high among the leaves, is where the gods dwell in their splendor. But even here, the divine are divided. Two tribes exist, and two worlds they own. The tribe Vanir, wise in magic, make their keep in Vanaheim, a world abundant in crop and nature. The tribe Aesir Odinskin, meanwhile, hold fast in their golden fortress of Asgard. Above and below, flame and frost, gods and monsters all hang upon Yggdrasil's limbs. The tree draws its strength from an inky black well whose waters feed its roots and keep it ever living. In that fathomless pool dwell many of the most powerful forces in all the cosmos. Chief among them are the Norns, three wise maidens who decide the destiny of all living things. With their knives, they carve ruins into the very bark of the World Tree. And through those marks, their will is carried into every corner of the nine realms. But Odin, gazing down from his high throne in Asgard, watched them with envy. A ceaseless hunger for knowledge burned within him and it gave the All Father his purpose. He was willing to pay any price to master the mysteries of life and death. Long ago, he had torn out his own eye to drink from a Frost Giant's well of wisdom. Yet still the Norns and their ruins held power and secrets that even he, the greatest of gods, could not command. Thus Odin went in search of the power the ruins possessed. But they do not reveal their secrets to just anyone, only to those who are worthy of such knowledge and fearful insight. And so it was that Odin chained himself to the trunk of Yggdrasil and hung from its branches for nine nights, peering into the shadowy waters below. His side was pierced by the point of a spear, his body buffeted and battered by the wind as life slowly drained from his feeble limbs. No food did he eat, nor water he drank for nine days and nine nights in the dark. But as agony closed, Odin's mind awoke and the ruins revealed their heart. With their mystery unlocked, his binds did snap and he fell. Shrieking from the tree he cried, then begin I to thrive, and begin I to get. I grew and well I was Ruins that shall find and faithful signs that the ruler of gods doth right. The Allfather had gained the power of magic. The world was now his to control. Yet Odin's thirst for wisdom was not still. For in the world there walked another, a goddess whose powers rivaled even his own. Freya of the Vanir, mistress of dark magic. And dread sorcery. She wandered from hall to hall, selling her craft for hire. And wherever she went, desire and envy followed in her steps. At last she came to Asgard itself. There the Aesir, struck by wonder at her skills, pressed her for her services. Soon they found their own laws, their oats, and of kinship and their honour undone, for each sought selfish gain from her witchcraft. And when strife and discord rose among them, they cast the blame upon Freya. They named her, greedy for gold and sought to destroy her. Three times they seized her. Three times they burned her body in the hall of the gods. And three times she rose again, reborn from the ashes, unbroken and unbowed as the poets the war I remember the first in the world when the gods with spears struck down Freya. And in Odin's hall they burned her body. Three times burned and three times born oft and again, yet ever she lives. Thus the Aesir came to hate the Vanir, and the Vanir in turn despised the Aesir. And so the first war of the world began on the host. His spear did Odin hurl. And in the world did war first come. The wall that guarded the gods was broken, and the fields of the warlike Vanir were trodden. The Aesir fought with steel and storm, their war cry carried on the winds of Asgard. The Vanir answered with cunning spells and hidden power, bending fate itself to their will. Blow for blow, spell for spell, the struggle raged. Neither side prevailed, and both grew weary of endless strife. At last the gods laid down their arms and made a truce. Oaths were sworn, peace was sealed. With the ancient custom of hostage taking, Freya, Freyr, her brother, and Nord, their father, crossed into Asgard to dwell among the Aesir. And in turn, the Aesir gave to the Vanir their own. From the ashes of two people, one was made, and peace reigned in Asgard henceforth. Thus did Odin bind together, gods of war and gods of wisdom, though at great cost. For it was he who hurled the first spear and brought strife into the world. He who won the ruins through suffering, and yet set the Nine Realms aflame with war. Such is the All Father, a bringer of knowledge, but also of chaos, a seeker of truth, yet never free from envy and hunger. More I could tell you of this One Eyed God, of his bargains and betrayals, of the many names he bears. But much have you already heard of Oeden's rise. To learn more, I have once again sought out the wisest in the land to help you better understand what I have told.