“Thou cannot hope to contend with that which thou dost not comprehend.”
You stand before the colossal Midgardsormr, having demanded an audience. His countenance is little more than contempt for what he clearly sees as a lesser, insignificant being.
“What can one so small and weak hope to impress upon me? Dost thou claim to know the nature of wyrms?”
You confidently explain your part in the Dragonsong War and all the knowledge and experience you gained from the struggle with Nidhogg, but this does not appear to elicit more than a low, reverberating laugh.
“My child’s song was fearsome, ‘tis true. But thou speakest to the father of all wyrmkind. Wouldst thou hear a true dragonsong? Would thy mortal mind be able to weather such a magnificent assault?”
His head draws closer and an enormous eye trains directly on you.
“I shall have my answer, and if I am satisfied, I shall humor this whim of yours.”
And then midgardsormr begins to sing.
At least, you assume that’s what he’s doing. You don’t notice any sound. Midgardsormr merely lilts his head very slowly from side to side.
A few seconds later, you think you can hear the wind whistling. The sound quickly grows and the winds nearly gusts you off your feet. Somehow, the winds suddenly change, nearly toppling you in the opposite direction. You can barely stand as the air around you sways violently along with the great wyrm.
There is a moment where you notice something odd. Your surroundings appear completely undisturbed by the gale. Not a pebble nor a leaf moves despite you barely being able to keep your footing. But you only have a moment to ponder this before you are finally swept off your feet.
But you don’t hit the ground. You fall right through it as if into water, breaking into a shimmering vastness. You sink slowly as the space around you shifts in color and texture, and the sudden overstimulation is making it hard to form coherent thoughts. It’s much more natural to feel. Whatever fills your surrounds feels smooth against some parts of you, and rough against others. The patterns shift, prompting you to rest your limbs against them, almost as if they’re guiding you, caressing you.
Looking at the shifting color of this boundless space makes your head hurt, so you close your eyes and let yourself flow. You’d never known how relaxing it is to let go completely.
Eventually, the flow stills and a firmness coalesces at your back. You let yourself lie against it, and from somewhere the image enters your mind of you lying on Midgardsormr’s back, flying through the air. The wyrm’s gentle bobbing and swaying is mesmerizing. A claw touches your face and you reflexively lean into its cool, smooth surface. Now you are lying on something soft and the wyrm’s face, smaller now, looms over you. His hot breath washes across your face, and you have the urge to reach up and touch him, but you aren’t sure where to find your arms. In the haze, it is difficult to tell where you end and the wyrm begins. You try to flex your fingers. Was that a claw that just moved? It’s so difficult to tell, but you are comforted by another sigh of warm air which washes over you, seeming to blanket you. Half-formed worries have no place here.
In the moment of respite, safe in the care of the watchful wyrm, you can’t help but fall deep asleep.
“Mortal, thou wouldst do well to know thy resting place.”
Midgardsormr’s voice rumbles through your head, wrenching you back to reality. No more floating, shifting, flowing. Instead, you feel...moist? You sit up and nearly hit your head on...on what?
A tooth. Midsgardsormr’s enormous jaw looms above you. You panic as you realize you are sitting in the center of the wyrm’s tongue, between two rows of massive teeth. The teeth and tongue remain still as you scramble out onto the ground, half expecting it to give way again.
A laugh exits the wyrm and shakes the ground. This time, the pebbles and leaves shake with it.
“Didst thou enjoy my song? Thy mortal mind seemeth to recoil in the face of such majesty. In thy stupor, thy corporeal form was mine to do with as I pleased. Thou seemed almost eager to step into mine open jaws.”
Midgardsormr laughs again. You stand up shakily. He is terrifying, but at least he spared your life.
“If thou knowest thine place, and thou remainest willing to put thy mind at my mercy, then thou shalt have thine audience.”
You don’t know what to say. The last…wait, how much time has passed? You have no idea. It could be days or minutes. Regardless, you were completely unprepared for these events, but at least you accomplished your goal. Somehow?
You suppose you never did ask what he meant by “satisfied.”