There are many tales – other tales – of how the gods of Asgard would compete amongst themselves to see who might give the finest gift to we who dwell below.  All of the gods engaged in this sport except one: Odin, the Allfather.  For he never felt the need.

It began in the beginning, when the world was new, the gods were young, and man was barely born.  In that time everything – from the flight of the smallest bird to the splash of the tiniest fish – was ruled by the iron hand of Fate; caught in the web of the Norns.

Even the gods had to go before the Norns to claim their special gifts.  Thus did Thor claim his strength of sinew, mighty beyond all others; and Loki his quickness and changeability; and Tyr that keenness of eye which made him the god of war and justice.  One by one they went, and one by one they knelt, until it came the turn of Odin.  But the Allfather did not claim some single strength or power.  Instead, he demanded the right to drink from the springs that fed the world-tree Yggdrasil.  There were three such springs, they were sacred to the Norns, and they were ill-pleased with this request.

Nevertheless, the boon had been granted and the gift could not be withdrawn.  So instead they determined to charge a price.  Before he might even sip from the first of the springs, Odin must pluck out his eye and lay it at the feet of the Norns.

To the shock of all the gods he did this, and thus dipped his cup and drank from the Well of Wisdom.

Very well then.  The second price would be steeper.  Before he might sip from the second spring, Odin would have to hang from the Tree itself for nine full days and nine full nights, exposed to all the evils the World contained.  Only then might he drink from the second spring.

Now this was enough to kill even a god and Odin had drunk from the Well of Wisdom; he knew it full well.  But he understood other things too.  And so he did so hang, for nine full days and nine full nights, without never a drop to drink or even a bite to eat, pierced to the Tree by his own spear.  When the ordeal was finally done he collapsed to the earth, but he made his way over and dipped his cup into the Spring of Memory, thereby learning of the sacred runes – the ways and means of writing.

As to the third price, no man can say for Odin never told.  This only is known:  before that day he was hale and strong and sound, and ever after his beard and brow were gray, his hands would shake, and often he was seen to walk with a stoop.  But it was a price he never regretted, for this was the Spring of Making – the well and font of poetry.

He dipped his cup into the sacred waters, and a light came into his eyes that had not been there before.  He looked upon the Norns . . . and he smiled.  And then, before they might speak a single word, he cast the mingled contents of the cup out upon that wind, that it might be shared by we who dwell below.

In the moment the Web of the Norns burst all asunder, and the Norns themselves disappeared to whatever hidden place they now reside.  For with wisdom a fate can be foreseen and understood; with memory and writing the lessons we learn need not be forgot, from now even unto the ending of the world; and with creativity the problems we face can be solved, in new and different ways that even the Norns could never have guessed.

There is no immutable fate.  No unchangeable destiny. Our wills are free.  Our decisions our own.  And that was the gift of Odin, the Allfather, whom men and gods revere.