April 10, 2008
The Well.
If Mimir hadn’t been expecting him to come by, Vidar’s sudden appearance at the well would have taken him completely off-guard. Never let it be said that Odin’s son isn’t silent, the seer thought.
Out loud, he asked, “What do you want?”
“The same thing my father wanted, when he visited you,” Vidar answered in his slow, deep voice.
Mimir’s laugh was harsh and scornful. “Give me an eye, then, son of Odin.”
Vidar raised his head; his silver-etched eyes caught Mimir’s. “That’s not what you really want.”
The seer sat back. “If you can see that, you don’t need the well water,” Mimir said, watching the reflections in said water’s surface.
Vidar simply waited until Mimir looked at him again; again, it was Mimir who looked away.
“Then again, maybe you do.” He paused and poked at the water. “Come here, then, boy.”
Vidar glided over, silent like nothing else, and knelt next to the seer. Mimir grasped the back of his neck, fighting back a flinch as he touched the icy metal in Vidar’s skin, and kissed him – and then inhaled.
A moment later, Mimir sat back. “Let me draw some water,” he said, and his voice was deep and resonant in a way it had never been before.
Vidar stayed where he was, once more looking at his hands.
