With a loud sigh, Odin pushed his palm into his forehead and squeezed his one good eye tightly shut, as if willing away the crossed paths of two of the greatest heroes.

“Tell me again, exactly what happened and how,” he ordered the wizened old man standing in front of him.

“As well you know, Allfather, the legends-“ he started before being interrupted.

“It’s simple, I wrenched the sword from the stone!” yelled Thor loudly and proudly.

“SILENCE!” Roared Odin, as the atmosphere in the hall abruptly shifted to darkness, thunder crashed outside causing the timbers to rumble, and the floor to shake. “I did not ask you what you did, I asked Merlin to explain this.” The two boys standing excitedly in front of the Allfather and Merlin sank into their seats, pouting.

“The legends are very straightforward. The first is simple enough and recorded well. ‘Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born of all England.’ Simple enough, yet the divinely appointed true heir of Uther Pendragon should have been the only one worthy of such a feat. The second is that Mjolnir is a fantastical piece of smithed work, judged the greatest of the gifts of Brokkr by you yourself. As is well known, it may only be wielded by those that Mjolnir itself deems worthy. Mjolnir, obviously, was to be located and earned by a worthy individual, expected by most to be Thor. In this case, we seem to have encountered a swapped set of destinies where Arthur has lifted Mjolnir and been deemed worthy by such an act and Thor has pulled Excalibur from the stone and been deemed the rightful King of England,” he sighed in resignation. Taking his time, he took a long draft from his mug of beer, before wiping his mouth with his long sleeve and standing up. He took three great strides into the middle of the hall before turning and looking at the two boys.

“You two stand at a crossroads of destiny. The Norns have written on the tablets your futures, not yours to know, merely yours to fulfil. Both of you have great destinies to lead and be great warriors, but in this Hall, where now we stand, we are not in the Norns flow of all that has been, is, and will be. We can now read that which has been in the grand tapestries and determine if there is a way forward which does not break the past and realigns the future,” he continued, looking sternly at the two of them. With haste, Odin took three strides and grabbed the boys by their collars, roughly manhandling them towards a pair of tapestries that seemed to have just appeared against the back wall of the hall. He pushed their faces towards them as Merlin continued his speech.

“Now then, look upon these tapestries and read them well, find the moment before you began your quest and read it carefully, looking to the point at which you can see even the tiniest hint of a knot that may violate a perfect weave. Once you find that point, call it out and then read out loud your story as it was foretold,” he ordered them. Merlin turned towards the great table, walked over, and sat back down. Odin, too, returned to the table with a frown. Together, the pair drank heavily of their mugs before placing them down carefully so as to not disturb their charges from their search.

“Are you certain that you can pull back this weft before the selvedge? If you are wrong, or something goes awry, it will take all of our combined abilities to convince the Norns themselves to reweave the urðr,” Odin whispered, careful to not disrupt the boys, nor reveal his own hesitation at their search.

“As certain as I can be, yes. I have never done such a thing, but from here, where we exist outside of the normal flow of the wyrd I believe it should be possible to, in essence, reenter the mortal realm before the boys cross their paths,” he whispered in reply. “I have written my fair share of prophecies and wandered among the mortal folk long enough to know that things are not always so easily seen nor so easily come to fruition. But in this we both must agree, neither should wield the others’ destiny so lightly.” The two of them nodded and turned back to watch the boy’s progress. It appeared as though Thor had grown a little bored and was taking his time, while Arthur was making good and steady progress. It had become a waiting game with the future of everything held in the balance.

“I’ve got it!” cried Thor loudly, waking his father with a start. In a flash, Merlin appeared beside him looking to where Thor was pointing.

“You have found it indeed, well done! You see here as the three colours intertwine and become a knot, the first is the colour of all destinies, the second is your own, the third, which appears briefly before this knot now seems to be a part of the entire future. Let us see if we can find this in Arthur’s as well,” he murmured, taking a long stare at the precise knotted location in the tapestry. He turned to his left to begin his search only for Arthur to find it.

“I’ve got it too, three colours almost out of nowhere!” He said with a smile. He looked at Merlin eagerly, as if awaiting praise.

“Yes, that’s it, well done. Well done to both of you. We must now prepare to make things right. Odin, if you would, please,” he replied, beckoning Odin over to them. With a grunt, Odin heaved himself up from his wide and intricate chair at the centre of the table. Taking careful and deliberate steps, Odin stood to his full height and shrugged his shoulders up, back, and then down as if stretching them out. From nowhere, a black cloak fell onto him, covering everything, his head included, in the flowing attire. In the rafters two ravens appeared, none of them cawing or making any noise. In his hand the spear Gungnir was clutched. As in the Allfather legends of old, Odin stood magnificently. He could not reveal that in truth he was nervous, for this was something he had only done once before and that was with the Norns' blessings then.

“Come Huginn. Come Muninn. There is a great task set before us and I would call out to your aid in finding the truth set out in Midgard. We needs must go to a certain time in a certain place and ensure that the urðr is woven correctly. Thor to Mjolnir and Arthur to Excalibur. This is something we must rectify and put back to the way it must be, for the good of all that inhabit the nine worlds,” he intoned. Taking a few careful, steadying breaths he prepared himself for the ritual, nodding at Merlin.

Merlin began making sweeping hand gestures and muttering under his breath as strange symbols flew through the air and bound themselves around the two boys. The symbols were similar but different as they rested upon the air about the two young reality splitters. With a loud clap of his hands, the symbols slammed into the boys’ skin and were thereupon etched into the very fabric of their now shared realities. As if awoken from his stillness, Odin clasped Gungnir in both hands and struck the ground in front of him with the butt of the mighty spear only once, but it shook the very foundations of Valhalla, causing the boys to look at each other with nervous glances. As their eyes met, they found themselves suddenly away from the hall, staring at a very tall woman dressed in stark contrast to the black of Odin. Behind her lay a massive hall, looking in some ways very alike Valhalla.

To Thor it was clear, before them in a mystical pearly white, wreathed in a mist stood Freyja, awaiting the boys in their journey. To Arthur, however, it was equally clear that before them was the woman from the stories told to him by Merlin, Nimiane. They stood alone in front of her, neither Odin nor Merlin with them. They felt very alone but very fearless as they stared at her. As with the differences in that which they see, there were differences in that which they heard.

To Odin, it made sense to hear Freyja say, “Mistakes were made, it seems, by both of your advisors. You should not be here, in Fólkvangr, for you are not yet mustered to the great Field at the time of Ragnarök. Worse still, you have not earned the right to cross the threshold of Sessrúmnir and dine with your ancestors. Your purpose is not yet served, and you have not yet fallen on the day that is foretold. I see where you were meant to be and there shall I send you, as it appears only I can do. I wonder, perhaps, if they meant to send you here such that I could do the task they feared failing. No matter, from here, I shall send you both onwards.”

Yet to Arthur, it was clear that the words were different and instead said, “Mistakes were made, it seems, by both of your advisors. You should not be here, in Brocéliande, for you are not yet called here to hear your destiny. Worse still, you have not earned the right to cross the bridge and claim your place among the Kings of Old, feasting with your ancestors. Your purpose is not yet served, and you have not yet fallen as the day that is foretold. I see where you were meant to be and there shall I send you, as it appears only I can do. I wonder, perhaps, if they meant to send you here such that I could do the task they feared failing. No matter, from here, I shall send you both onwards.”

Spreading her arms wide and above her head a feather cloak appeared around her shoulders, giving off yet more light, now blinding the two boys.

“I call upon the powers vested in me to take these to whence they need be, for chosen yet they are not. Go forth, seek your true destiny, not that of another whose greatness equates to your own. Find in your own greatness courage, bravery, goodness, and selflessness. When all is done and your days have ended, clutch in your heart the knowledge that you stood the test of time and battle. Withstand all of the pressures, for you are strong enough, lest you forget yourselves in moments of weakness. You were Chosen. You were Chosen before birth, Chosen again by your foci, yet you must earn your place as a Chosen among the Chosen in the Great Halls, for none are destined to drink with their ancestors and none are worthy, merely by birth. Go now and weave your fate.”