And Thus, the Skald Spoke (Poem) (Patreon)

I've been trying to write a good closing poem for Rites of Hope, and I finally have something I like. I've attached a PDF if you'd like to read this in the intended format.

By the fire, the old skald sat,

his fur grizzled with time, and yet his eyes still clear,

his vision still solid,

and when the young pup sat down by him,

the skald smiled, fangs flashing, not in threat,

but in warmth.

He reached out and lay a paw on the child’s shoulder,

and he leaned down, so the pup did not have to tilt his ears.

The pup looked up unsure, but in those eyes,

he saw something both wondrous and scary.

And thus, the skald spoke to the pup,

about what was to come and what he was to do.

This is what he said.

“Listen child, and remember these words

For I don’t know how many years I have left,

but you should know what I have to say,

and I will speak of the end foretold of all things,

that the old skald’s have passed down to us,

to warn us about the future.

Do not be afraid child, and let your tail be still,

for what I tell you now is only prophecy,

and all prophecies are only visions that could be,

and I speak of just one vision of the future,

even though many others have had them,

and the future is made by those of us who still live.

Long before our time, in a world before us,

in a time when the Aesir still walked the world,

a wolf was born, a monstrous child of a god—

a wolf whose strength would be immense,

and who is fated to kill one of the gods,

only to die at the hands of that god’s son.

You know the names of course child.

You know I speak of the great wolf Fenrir,

and the god Odin, destined to fight during Ragnarök,

while Fenrir’s children consume the sun and moon,

as the world ends and it is born anew—

it is enough to make us all cower in fear.

Do you know that 400,000 men or more will sally forth from Valhalla,

to fight a wolf, that only a god can slay?

It seems foolish to send that many warriors out,

to meet their fate,

if there is nothing they can accomplish?

But men do foolish things, and that slaughter has been foretold.

But child, I speak not of the end that could be,

but the hope that should be,

for currently, Fenrir suffers, with a sword in his mouth,

unable to do more than drool,

bound by a fetter he cannot break—

a wolf bound to his tragic fate.

And from his drooling muzzle, springs the River Ván.

Do you understand the irony?

Oh, you know not the meaning of the old words.

I know only a few myself, so do not be mad.

Ván in Old Norse translates to hope or expectation.

So yes, from Fenrir himself springs the river of hope.

It’s not Fenrir’s hopes either, but hope itself.

Bound and in pain, the wolf still hopes.

What expectations does the bound wolf have? We do not know,

but did anyone ask him if he wanted his fate?

As far as I know, no one ever did.

The Aesir chose to let his fate and theirs be as prophesized.

And if the gods can’t change their fate, what hope do we have?

Mere mortals stuck on this world,

but hope is all we have sometimes,

and the Aesir are but one set of gods,

whose time has come and gone,

So perhaps hope is still with us.

And if great Fenrir, who remains bound, can hope,

perhaps we should also.

Perhaps fate and the future should not be dictated by the past,

but by those of us still alive to make it better,

not that we should disrespect our ancestors,

but that we should make the world they left us better.

Ragnarök will come when Fenrir is released, and yet…

why must it come at all?

It is not that Fenrir wishes to remain bound,

But the Aesir helped raise him, and in the end they tricked him.

They chose this path; they chose it all,

because they were afraid; they set these expectations.

The men in Valhalla seek to fight a great foe,

and they wait for Fenrir’s release,

the gods have said their fate is written in the prophecies of ash—

they had their chance to strike the great wolf down,

and yet they never lifted their blades,

choosing instead to see a sundering of the world.

But Fenrir, his fate is his to choose,

and in his pain, he gives us the River Ván,

and if he can still see a better world in his state of captivity—

for why else did they call the river that—

then let us dwell not on what darkness could come,

but on what light we can make.

There are stories still to be written,

and loves still to be had, and yes, work to be done.

Would you rather live to see Ragnarök or something else?

Anyway, what wolf could fight 400,000 men alone?

I know I couldn’t, and you couldn’t either,

so maybe the prophecies are wrong.

And maybe, far away, a wolf who was made to be just a beast,

he knows we can do these things,

That we need only to try.

It’s not what the skalds of old recorded, but theirs was a different time,

and the future is made by those of us still alive,

so head my words and go forth.

Do not let old men with fears that bind them,

And drive you to despair.

Do not let darkness into your heart,

or let your own pains consume you,

and certainly do not let others tell you your fate,

if you do not wish to meet their dreams head on.

Go to the mountains, go to the rivers and the seas,

be the light, be yourself, and never stop dreaming.

Not because it is easy, but because it is hard,

and if an old wolf like me can still hope,

if Fenrir can still have hope, why can’t we all?

Indeed, why can’t we all?”