Fate threads your path

The Norns had a strange way of weaving fate. Sometimes, it seemed as if they were laughing not only in the god's faces but also in the faces of seemingly unimportant creatures. One of these creatures was a half elf, Dáinn.

His life was that of pain and tragedy, likes of which are sung of in ballads and sad tales.

Dáinn's mother was a dark elf and his father was a human. It was clearly seen from his features - dark grey skin, shoulder length and braided white hair, long pointy ears and nose, but most importantly, such bright green eyes that only humans could have.

When he was too small to even remember, his parents died in an avalanche not far away from their home. The poor boy, not even a full six years old, was stuck in the small hut, surviving with only a weakening fire and declining supplies of food. He was there for three weeks until the snow stopped falling and the blizzard moved off to the south. It was another week until some traveller found him and helped him, and another until his parents were found.

Orphaned and alone, stuck in some distant village, he survived by helping in the stables where he was allowed to sleep. He earned coin by grooming the horses and, every so often, sharpening arrows and axes. Sometimes, when the old warriors felt a little tipsy and bored, they would teach the young boy to aim a bow and, though not as much, to swing an axe.

Over the years he had learned much. After a good fifteen years or so, he bought a thin, raggedy mare and rode off, convinced he could survive on his own and with his skills. He was good, there was no denying it, but fate just didn't have that in mind, having him run off and live a normal, maybe even long life.

After a month of visiting villages, hunting and selling whatever he had hunted, he found himself on a crossroads he had passed maybe a dozen times before, only this time, in a moment of carelessness, he took the wrong path. Or rather, unknowingly, by some cruel fate, the destined path.

He didn't notice anything strange the first few hours. The blizzard had blinded him for the most part and he could barely see a thing. In his mind, his young, hopeful mind, he was a couple hours away from the next village. In truth, he was in the middle of no where, but even in no where, there was someone's place, that someone being Skadi and Yrsa.

They had just returned from the dwarves realm and, exhausted, they wished nothing more than to sleep and regain strength. Hopefully have some good dreams too, just a small distraction from the terrifying reality of the end of the world approaching. It felt as if any second now, the three roosters would awake and start screeching, warning of the beginning of Ragnarök.

Skadi fell asleep almost instantly and, being unconscious, created an aura of cold around her. A low mist, just hanging above her and lulling her to sleep. Yrsa, on the other hand, went outside, in the darkness and blizzard, and sat on the rocks by the stream of water next to the house. She turned into a bear to protect herself from the snow and cold, and just laid there in silence, thinking about the world. The stars, the universe. Fate.

Dáinn, now aware of the fact that he was lost, panicked. His mare, Särki, was frightened too. And cold. Her steps became heavy and slow. Frostbite was nibbling on their skin, despite the covers and cloaks.

Dáinn felt sleepy and closed his eyes, falling on the mare, but she continued, dragging through the snow. Almost if she'd sensed that something was awaiting them near.

Yrsa was just about to head inside, when she heard neighing. Painful and loud. She used magic to illuminate the path leading away from the house, the only path in miles, and saw some strange, chestnut apparition walking towards her.

She used magic to melt the snow and form a path into the protective dome surrounding the small area around the house. As soon as it stepped through, the mare collapsed on her knees. She touched its head, warming it and giving it enough energy to go to the stable. The mare shakily stood up and carried the boy to the door, where Yrsa placed him on the steps and took the mare to a warm, safe place next to her own horse.

She then returned to the boy and picked him up, carrying him near the hearth. His grey skin was blue at the fingers and nose, frostbitten. She took off his coat and cloak, and draped any blanket she found.

"Skadi," she whisper-yelled, "we have a problem."

The other one shot up from peaceful slumber and climbed down the stars. "My goodness... who is he? Is he alive?" she said, looking for a sign of heartbeat, a breath, anything. He sneezed and both of them jumped.

"I don't know who he is, but he isn't human. Not entirely," she replied, concerned.

"His mount is in the stable outside. They barely got here. Almost... almost froze to death" she said, hesitantly. "There's a blizzard outside."

"Let me take care of that" Skadi said, patting the other one's shoulder and going outside. She raised her hands, closed her eyes, and the storm bowed before her and disappeared, just like that. All the clouds cleared and what was left was a bright sky and a full moon, along with millions of stars and constellations. Skadi returned inside.

"Let me watch over him. You brew some warm drink, I'm sure he will need it when he wakes up... whoever he is," Skadi said, sitting a little away from the fire, observing the young one.

To most, he would look young, but there was something about his face - the wrinkles and frown, the sad expression - that pointed otherwise. Skadi knew it, better than most, because she had that same look on her face. She might have looked a few years younger than Yrsa with her soft, pale skin and bright blue eyes, but anyone in their right mind, anyone who had experienced life, would know there was a long history behind her gaze. Such was the gaze of this boy, even asleep, with his eyes closed.