The Binding of Fenrir

Odin had brought Fenrir, Loki's fierce wolf-son, to live in Asgard. The All-Father hoped that the bright, wholesome air of Gladsheim, the sight of the fair faces of the goddesses, and the brave words of heroes might change the cruel nature Fenrir had inherited from his father, making him worthy of a place in the city of the gods. To Tyr, the brave and strong-handed, Odin gave the task of feeding Fenrir and watching him, lest in his cruel strength he should harm anyone unable to defend themselves. It was a grand sight, and one that Odin loved, to see the two together when, after the evening feast in Valhalla, Fenrir came prowling to Tyr's feet to receive his food from the one hand strong enough to quell him.

Tyr stood in his calm strength like a tall, sheltering rock in which timid sea-birds find a home; and Fenrir roared and howled round him like the bitter, destroying wave that slowly undermines its base. Time passed. Tyr reached the prime of his strength, but Fenrir kept growing—not so rapidly as to awaken fear, as his brother Jörmungand had done, but slowly, surely, continually, a little stronger and a little fiercer every day. The gods and goddesses had become accustomed to his presence; the gentlest lady in Asgard no longer turned away from the sight of his fierce mouth and fiery eye. They talked about the smallest things, and every daily event was commented on and wondered about; but no one said anything of Fenrir, or noticed how gradually he grew, or how the glad air and strong food, which gave valour and strength to an Aesir, could only develop fierceness and cruelty in a wolf.

They would have gone on living securely while the monster grew, if not for Odin's one eye, enlightened by the upspringing well of wisdom within, which saw more clearly than the eyes of his brothers and children. One evening, as he stood in the court of Valhalla watching Tyr give Fenrir his evening meal, a sudden cloud of care fell on the All-Father's placid face. When the wolf, having satisfied his hunger, crouched back to his lair, Odin called a council of the chief gods—Thor, Tyr, Bragi, Hoenir, Frey, and Njord. After pointing out the evil they had allowed to grow up among them unnoticed, he asked their counsel on the best way to overcome it before it became too strong to withstand. Thor, always ready, answered first.

"One would think, to hear the grave way you speak, Father Odin, that there was no smithy near Asgard, or that I, Asa Thor, had no power to forge mighty weapons and had never made my name known in Jotunheim as the conqueror and binder of monsters. Set your mind at rest. Before tomorrow evening at this time I will have forged a chain to bind Fenrir; and once bound in a chain of my workmanship, there will be nothing further to fear from him." The assembled gods applauded Thor's speech, but the cloud did not pass from Odin's brow. "You have done many mighty deeds, Son Thor," he said, "but if I mistake not, this binding of Fenrir will prove a task too difficult even for you." Thor made no answer, but seized Mjolnir and strode to the smithy. All night long the mighty blows of Mjolnir rang on the anvil, and the roaring bellows breathed a hot blast over all the hill of Asgard.

None of the gods slept that night; every now and then one of them came to cheer Thor at his work. Sometimes Frey brought his bright face into the dusky smithy; sometimes Tyr asked permission to strike a stout blow; sometimes Bragi sat among the workers, his eyes fixed on the glowing iron, pouring forth a hero song to which the ringing blows kept time. There was another guest who made his presence known at intervals. By the light of the fire, the evil form of Fenrir was seen prowling in the darkness, and every now and then a fiendish, mocking laugh filled the pauses of the song, the wind, and the ringing hammer. All that night and the next day Thor laboured and Fenrir watched. At the time of the evening meal, Thor strode triumphantly into Odin's presence and laid before him Læding, the strongest chain ever forged on earth.

The gods passed it from one to another, wondering at its immense length and the ponderous moulding of its twisted links. "It is impossible for Fenrir to break this," they said, and they thanked Thor loudly; only Odin kept a grave, sad silence. When Fenrir came into the court to receive his food from Tyr, Thor and Tyr seized him to bind him. They held their weapons ready, expecting a fierce struggle, but Fenrir quietly allowed the chain to be wound round him and lay down at his ease, while Thor with two strokes of Mjolnir riveted the last link into one of the strongest stones on which the court rested. When the gods were about to congratulate each other, Fenrir slowly raised his ponderous form, which seemed to dilate as he rose, and with one bound forward snapped the chain like a silken thread, walking leisurely to his lair as if nothing unusual had happened. The gods stood looking at each other with downcast faces.

Once more Thor spoke first. "He who breaks through Læding only brings upon himself the still harder bondage of Dromi." He lifted Mjolnir from the ground and, weary as he was, returned to the smithy and resumed his place at the anvil. For three days and nights Thor worked. When he appeared before Odin again, he carried Dromi, the 'Strong Binding.' This chain exceeded Læding in strength by half, and was so heavy that Thor himself staggered under its weight. Yet Fenrir showed no fear of being bound by it, and it cost him little more effort than before to free himself. After this second failure, Odin called another council in Gladsheim. Thor stood among the others, silent and shamefaced. This time Frey offered an opinion. "Thor, Tyr, and other brave sons of the Aesir have spent their lives fighting giants and monsters, and much wise lore has come to them.

I have spent my time peacefully in woods and fields, watching how the seasons follow each other and how the silent, dewy night leads up the brightly smiling day. In this watching, many things have become plain to me. One thing I have learned is the wondrous strength in little things, and that labour carried on in darkness and silence brings forth the grandest birth. Thor and Mjolnir have failed to forge a chain strong enough to bind Fenrir. Since we cannot be helped by the mighty and renowned, let us turn to the unknown and weak. In the caverns and dim places of the earth live a tiny race of people, always working with unwearied, noiseless fingers. With Odin's permission, I will send my messenger Skirnir to seek aid from them. Perhaps what passes the might of Asgard may be accomplished in the secret places of Svartheim." Odin's face brightened.

He rose and broke up the council, urging Frey to lose no time in returning to Alfheim and sending Skirnir on his mission.

In spite of the cloud over Asgard, all was fair and peaceful in Alfheim. Gerda, the radiant Alf Queen, made perpetual sunshine with her bright face. The little elves loved her and fluttered round her, keeping up a merry chatter that sounded like the sharp ripple of a brook over stones. Gerda answered in low, sweet tones like the answering wind among trees. But Frey hardly gave himself time to greet Gerda and his elves before he summoned Skirnir and told him of the danger over Asgard and the important mission the gods had entrusted to his sagacity. Skirnir listened, playing with the knot of his wondrous sword, as he often did to show everyone he possessed it, though it was somewhat too heavy for him to wield. "This is a far different mission than the one you once sent me on—to woo fairest Gerd," he said. "But since Asgard's welfare requires it, I will depart at once, though I have little liking for dark caves and cunning people."

Frey thanked him, put a small key into his hand—the key to the gate of Svartheim—and bade him farewell. Skirnir set out. The road from Alfheim to Svartheim is not as long as you might imagine. It is possible for a careless person to wander from one region to another without being aware of it. Skirnir, having the key, took the direct way. The entrance gate stood at the opening of a dim mountain cave. Skirnir left his horse outside and entered. The air was heavy, moist, and warm, and he needed his keenest glances to see his way. Innumerable narrow, winding paths, all leading downwards, opened before him. As he followed the widest, a faint clinking of hammers met his ear. Looking round, he saw groups of little men at work on every side.

Some wheeled small wheelbarrows full of lumps of shining metal along ledges of rock; some dug ore with elfin pickaxes and spades; some, herded together in little caves, kindled fires or worked with tiny hammers on small anvils. As he continued downward, the last remnant of daylight faded. But he was not in total darkness, for he saw that each worker carried on his head a lantern in which burned a pale, dancing light. Skirnir knew each light was a will-o'-the-wisp the dwarf had caught and imprisoned to light him in his work during the day, to be restored to the earth at night. For many miles Skirnir wandered lower and lower. On every side lay countless heaps of treasure—gold, silver, diamonds, rubies, emeralds—which the cunning workers stowed away silently in dark hiding-places. At length he came to the very middle of the mountain, where the rocky roof rose to an immense height, and found himself in a brilliantly lit palace.

Here were hung all the lights in the world, which on dark, moonless nights are carried out by dwarfs to deceive the eyes of men. Corpse-lights, will-o'-the-wisps, sparks from glow-worms' tails, the light in fireflies' wings—carefully hung in tiers around the hall—illuminated the palace with a cold blue light and revealed grotesque, hideous shapes of the tiny beings. Hump-backed, cunning-eyed, open-mouthed, they stood round laughing, whispering, and pointing with shrivelled fingers. One among them, a little taller than the rest, sat on a golden seat thickly set with diamonds and appeared to be a chief. To him Skirnir addressed his message. Cunning and wicked as these dwarfs were, they entertained a wholesome fear of Odin, having never forgotten their one interview with him in Gladsheim. When they heard from whom Skirnir came, they bowed low with many uncouth gestures and declared themselves willing to obey the All-Father's commands.

They asked for two days and two nights to complete their task. During that time Skirnir remained their guest in Svartheim. He wandered about and saw strange sights. He saw the great earth central fire and the swarthy, withered race whose task it is to ceaselessly feed it with fuel. He saw the diamond-makers, who change the ashes of the great fire into brilliants, and the dwarfs whose business it is to fill cracks in the mountain-sides with pure veins of silver and gold, leading them up to places where they will one day meet the eyes of men. Nearer the surface he visited the workers in iron and the makers of salt-mines. He drank of their strange-tasting mineral waters and admired the splendour of their silver-roofed temples and dwellings of solid gold. At the end of two days Skirnir re-entered the audience hall. The chief of the dwarfs put into his hand a slender chain.

You can imagine its size when I tell you the dwarf chief held it lightly balanced on his forefinger; and when it rested on Skirnir's hand, it felt no heavier than a piece of thistle-down. The Svart King laughed loud when he saw the disappointment on Skirnir's face. "It seems a little thing," he said, "yet I assure you that in making it we have used up all the materials in the whole world fit for the purpose. No such chain can ever be made again, nor will the least atom of its substances be found more. It is fashioned out of six things: the noise made by the footfall of cats, the beards of women, the roots of stones, the sinews of bears, the breath of fish, and the spittle of birds. Fear not to bind Fenrir with this; no stronger chain will ever be made till the end of the world." Skirnir now looked with wonder at his chain, thanked the dwarfs, and promised to bring them a reward from Odin.

He set out for home and reached Valhalla by the evening meal, gladdening the hearts of the gods with his success.

Far to the north of Asgard, surrounded by frowning mountains, lies the dark lake Amsvartnir. Above the level of its troubled waters burns Lyngvi, the island of sweet broom, flaming like a jewel on the dark brow of Hel. In this lonely isle, to which no ship but Skidbladnir could sail, the gods assembled with Fenrir in their midst to test the dwarfs' chain. Fenrir prowled round his old master Tyr with a look of savage triumph in his cruel eyes, now licking the hand that had so long fed him, now shaking his great head and howling defiantly. The gods stood at the foot of Gioll, the sounding rock, and passed Gleipnir, the chain, from one to another, talking about it while Fenrir listened. "It is much stronger than it looks," they said. Thor and Tyr vied with each other in their efforts to break it, while Bragi declared his belief that no one among gods or giants could perform so great a feat, "unless," he added, "it should be you, Fenrir."

This speech roused Fenrir's pride. After looking long at the slender chain and the faces of the gods, he answered, "Loath am I to be bound by this chain, but lest you doubt my courage, I will consent to be bound, provided one of you puts his hand into my mouth as a pledge that no deceit is intended." There was a moment's silence among the gods. They looked at one another. Odin looked at Thor, Thor looked at Bragi, and Frey fell behind, putting his hand to his side where the all-conquering sword, which he alone could wield, no longer rested. At length Tyr stepped forward valiantly and put his strong right hand, with which he had so often fed Fenrir, into the wolf's cruel jaws. At this signal the other gods threw the chain round the monster's neck, bound him securely with one end, and fastened the other to the great rock Gioll. When he was bound, Fenrir rose and shook himself as he had done before, but in vain.