Episode 190 – Hammer Time – Myths Your Teacher Hated

Episode 190 Show Notes

Source: Norse Mythology

This week on MYTH, it’s one of my all-time favorite stories about mighty Thor. You’ll discover that you should be more careful about where your magic hammer is, that some gods can really rock a dress, and that you shouldn’t offer up someone else’s hand in marriage to solve your own problem. Then, in Gods and Monsters, the children of Loki are going to put the fear of Ragnarok into the gods. This is the Myths Your Teacher Hated podcast, where I tell the stories of cultures from around the world in all of their original, bloody, uncensored glory. Modern tellings of these stories have become dry and dusty, but I’ll be trying to breathe new life into them. This is Episode 190, “Hammer Time”. As always, this episode is not safe for work.
This episode marks an incredible milestone for MYTH – this coming Friday marks the 10 year anniversary for the podcast. I started out a decade ago with no idea what I was doing and no concept of where the show would go. I just knew that I missed having a creative outlet and that I loved retelling the old stories. Mythology has seen something of a resurgence in that time, and I couldn’t be happier. And I certainly wouldn’t still be sitting here telling these stories without all of you, so thank you for listening. And tell your friends about the show – I’m not going anywhere any time soon.
Since this is an anniversary show, it’s time to tell one of my all-time favorite stories, one I’ve been saving for a special occasion. The Thrymskvitha, more commonly called the Lay of Thrym in English, is one of the most popular and enduring poems from the Poetic Edda. These poems were likely composed by a variety of authors and passed down through the long years orally. The Poetic Edda’s exact date of origin is debated by scholars but is likely somewhere around the 10th century. I’ll be using the version from The Norse Myths, collected by Kevin Crossley-Holland in 1980.
Thor awoke one morning and, as always, the first thing he did was reach for his magical hammer, Mjolnir. It’s very much a phallic symbol. His hand found only empty air. He grasped and groped around, but no luck. The hammer hadn’t simply fallen over or been set down a few feet from its normal place – it was actually gone. Thor leapt out of bed, shaggy red beard bristling with anger. He stalked furiously across Asgard, speaking with every god he could find to ask if they had seen Mjolnir, but none had. He descended to Midgard, the realm of mortals, and asked the humans if any of them had chanced to see his hammer, but they likewise had no idea where it could be.
Thor was forced to come to a terrible conclusion: someone had stolen his gods damned hammer! And whenever something was fucky in Asgard, there was only one god who could possibly be to blame. “Loki! Where the fuck are you, Loki?” To Thor’s surprise, Loki actually answered this summons. This was highly unusual; whenever the trickster god was actually behind some mischief, he was sure to make himself scarce to try and avoid the repercussions of his actions. As a reminder, in the mythology, Loki and Thor are not brothers. Some sources have Loki and Odin swearing an oath as blood-brothers, making Loki Thor’s kind-of uncle. “My hammer is missing, Loki. None of the other gods have seen it, nor have any of the mortal men of Midgard. Someone has stolen it.” He stared his tricksy uncle in the eye, unblinking. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Loki looked aghast, bringing one hand indignantly to his chest. “Me? How could you even think me capable of such a terrible thing, Thor? I haven’t seen your hammer since the last time I saw you wielding it.” His voice dripped with the kind of self-righteous kind of offended that only a habitual liar who is telling the truth for once can manage to achieve. “I’m truly hurt that you think so little of me but, since I’m a forgiving god, I’ll help you look for it. Neither of us want word to get out that your terrible giant-slaying weapon is missing.” And that was true. Both gods knew that, once the deadly frost giants of Jotunheim realized that Asgard was without its mightiest weapon, they would waste no time in storming the city. And although Loki is half-jotun on his father Farbauti’s side, he would not be spared their wrath in the case of an invasion. He would be cast down into the dust along with every other god, buried beneath the rubble of the shining city.
The two confer for a moment before deciding to head to Folkvangr, the people’s field, a vast meadow where half of those warriors who died valiantly in battle went after being slain – the other half of course going to Valhalla. Folkvangr also held Sessrumnir, the hall of Freyja, goddess of love, beauty, fertility, war, gold, and seidhr, a type of magic used for seeing the future. Given her power and her status amongst the Aesir, the inhabitants of Asgard, Freyja was their best hope for figuring out what had happened to Mjolnir quickly. Loki was, naturally enough, already formulating a plan. “Freyja, be a doll and lend me your cloak made of falcon feathers? I’m sure you’ve heard that Thor’s hammer has gone missing, dreadful really. I’ve offered to help him look and figured I could cover ground a lot faster as a bird of prey.”
Freyja didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, Loki. I would lend it to you even if it were made out of precious silver or rare gold.” It’s a rare vote of confidence for a god that is often responsible for the problems plaguing Asgard. Smiling in thanks, Loki tossed the feather cloak over his shoulders and leapt into the air with a rush of wind. He climbed up and up and up until Asgard was no more than a bright haze off to the west. Thor had already searched Midgard and Loki didn’t imagine that he had left any stone unturned. Besides, if he himself hadn’t been behind the theft, then the most likely culprits were the jotuns. They stood the most to gain by its disappearance and would be the most dangerous to have it, so they were both the most likely and the most important to rule out quickly on the off chance that they didn’t have it.
Off in Jotunheim, Thrym, the king of the giants, felt that all was right with the world for once. He was in one of his favorite places, his stables, as he finished combing out the manes of his fine horses. He looked them over one last time, making sure that there were no tangles or snarls he had missed. Once he was satisfied, he sat down on a nearby green hill with a spool of golden thread. This, he began plaiting and weaving to make collars and leashes for his beloved but deadly hunting hounds.
This sense of peace was dashed by the descent of a falcon that quickly transformed into the Sky Traveler, a descriptive nickname for Loki. Still, it cost nothing to be polite. “Hail, Loki. How goes it with the gods of Asgard? How fare the elves? And what errand brings you all the way to Jotunheim alone?” Loki shrugged uncomfortably. “Things are bad, man. Real bad. Bad for the gods and bad for the elves. On a totally unrelated tangent, did you happen to, oh I don’t know, steal Thor’s hammer?”
This is either the least subtle and most random attempt to solve a crime ever or Loki knows more than he’s letting on. The giant could easily have been offended at being so bluntly accused of being a thief, but instead he threw back his head and laughed. It echoed off the stone like the sound of breaking ice. “Well now that you mention it, I just might have done exactly that.” He laughed again as Loki’s eyes narrowed. “Calm down, bro. I don’t have it on me. Obviously – that would be suicide. No, I’ve hidden it eight miles beneath the earth in a random spot that no one will ever find without my help. And no one is getting my help unless my price is paid.” “A ransom, Thrym? And what’s the price of Mjolnir?” “Freyja’s hand in marriage.”
That was one hell of an ask, but Thor’s hammer was one of the very few objects that might theoretically be worth the price to the Asgardians. Mjolnir’s power was the single greatest check to the power of the giants, preventing them from overrunning Asgard’s walls and ending the power of Odin and his Aesir as they so desperately wished. Loki grimaced at this statement, which only made Thrym laugh even harder. Its crackling echoes followed Loki as he transformed back into a falcon and climbed into the sky. He wasn’t sure how Thor would take this news: really badly or maybe really fucking badly.
Thor was waiting in the courtyard outside Bilskirnir, the mighty hall where the god of thunder dwelt. As soon as he heard the quiet whisper of the feather cloak heralding Loki’s return, he hurried over. “What’s the word, Loki? What’s in your head and what words are on your tongue? Actual news or some fucking mischief bullshit?” Lightning crackled in Thor’s eyes as a clear warning to the god of lies that he was in no mood for one of Loki’s usual tricks and that, despite sending him on this errand, he didn’t fucking trust Loki as far as he could throw him. Which for Thor is actually pretty far, but nevertheless. “Speak up! Tell me the truth, plain and unvarnished with none of your lies for once. With as twisty and crooked as your mind is, it must be hard to tell truth from lies sometimes but make the fucking effort. A lying liar finds it far too easy to keep lying.”
“Calm yourself, Thor. I bring news, but you’re not going to like it since it comes bound to someone else’s mischief. No lies and no tricks, I promise.” Even as he spoke as earnestly as he knew how though, Loki’s mouth curled up into a mischievous smile. He just couldn’t help himself – he was going to enjoy watching the Aesir deal with this ordeal. “Thrym, king of the frost giants, has stolen your hammer. He told me so himself. He also said that he has hidden it away where no one can possibly find it and won’t return it unless Freyja goes to Jotunheim to be his bride.”
Loki was right – Thor didn’t like it. But he also really, really wanted his hammer back so he was prepared to sacrifice someone else’s happiness for it. Thor’s a real sweetheart like that. The duo hurried at once to Sessrumnir to give Freyja the news of her own coming engagement. “Hey there, beautiful. Put on your best dress and bust out your bridal veil.” Freyja froze at this strange declaration from Loki, unsure exactly what to take from the Sly One’s words. “And why exactly would I need to do that?” Loki was grinning hugely now. He was really enjoying this. “Because you’re getting married. Congratulations! You and I are about to head back over to Jotunheim to meet with Thrym, king of the frost giants, who’s taken quite a fancy to you.”
Freyja responded to that about as well as you’d expect. “Fuck that, fuck Thrym, and fuck both of you.” Her rage was so potent, in fact, that the very walls of Sessrumnir began to quake with it, tossing the gold-studded benches around with a violent crash. She snorted with fury, breath coming deep and ragged. Her eyes burned with it, her neck muscles bulging as she attempted to restrain herself from beating the everloving shit out of these two self-righteous gods. Bear in mind that, although she has been adopted as one of the Aesir, Freyja was originally one of the Vanir until she was sent with her father and brother as semi-hostages to seal a peace treaty between the two groups. Thus, she’s not going to be the biggest fan of being traded off again, especially by the very people she was traded to as a bargaining chip. Her neck swelled with her anger until the precious Brisingamen or Necklace of Brisings literally snapped apart, spilling precious stones across the shuddering floor of her home. Very little is known about this artifact beyond that fact that is of dwarven make and very special.
Freyja hardly seemed to notice the destruction of this priceless artifact. She strode slowly towards Loki and Thor, each step radiating menace. “How dare you try to use me this way. How dare you try to buy back the hammer that you weren’t careful enough to protect by making me your whore! There is no way in the nine realms that I will be marrying this giant or any giant.” Loki simply smirked at her anger, but Thor had the decency to at least be ashamed of what he had asked of Freyja. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and looked everywhere except the goddess’ eyes. Freyja was not mollified, nor should she be. “If you want that fucking hammer so much, you marry the fucking giant! Now get the fuck out of my house!”
And so they did. Realizing that this wasn’t going to be as easy as simply paying the ransom, Thor called for a council of the Aesir. The gods all gathered in Gladsheim, the silver-roofed council hall of Odin, to discuss what was to be done next. Everyone was there to discuss how to recover Mjolnir, even Heimdall who had left his post at Himinbjorg watching over the Bifrost, the rainbow bridge between Asgard and Midgard. Like Freyja, the great watchman was one of the Vanir and thus possessed of the gift of foresight, of prophecy. As the Aesir debated what to do, Heimdal stepped forward to offer his wisdom. “If you wish to retrieve the giant’s-bane, then Thor…Thor must wear the bridal veil!”
There was a moment of shocked silence at this absurd proclamation and then the entire hall burst out laughing. The image of Thor dressed in a bridal gown was just too funny. Heimdal waited for the commotion to die down before continuing. “This is no joke. Let us swaddle Thor in the bridal veil and repair the Brisingamen to secure around his…pretty throat.” I’m not sure if Heimdal is also trying not to laugh or just realizes how absurd this plan truly is. “I’m dead serious here. Thor must be decked out in the most bridal of bridal dresses. It needs to be long and flowing and utterly blinged out. He must wear the housewife’s keys at his waist, as is traditional, and shining bridal jewels must be pinned to her breast. I mean his breast.”
There was more laughter at this horrifically funny image of the burly, manly Thor dressed up as a pretty, pretty princess but many of the assembled gods and goddesses were also beginning to see what Heimdal had in mind. This wasn’t about Thor’s humiliation – that was just a fun bonus to punish him for losing his deadly hammer. Heimdal was getting into it now and was, at this point, definitely mocking Thor a little along with giving good advice. “And of course we must top it all off with a dainty hood to complete the ensemble. He’ll make such a lovely bride!”
The only one not enjoying this whole affair was, of course, Thor himself. He was Not Amused at everyone laughing at the image of him dressed as a beautiful blushing bride. He was very much a god’s god, burly and manly to the extreme. To be clear here, the joke isn’t just a man dressed as a woman. Loki goes disguised as a woman all the time and it’s barely even a thing (though often he does actually transform into a woman because he is a trickster god, fluid in all things including gender). The joke is in making Thor do this because he is so uncomfortable with the idea. If his masculinity and ego weren’t so fragile, this would just be a spy-thriller disguise plan. In the stories, Thor is thick-headed, belligerent, and easily mocked. He’s ripe for ridicule because he’s so thin-skinned. And also possibly because Snorri Sturlson didn’t like him. It’s also about paying the thunder god back for trying to force an innocent woman to pay for his mistakes by making him do the thing he tried to make her do. It’s a very literal role reversal, one he brought down on his own head by losing his phallic symbol, his hammer.
Thor does not have the confidence to rock a dress though, and he was incredibly self-conscious about what everyone thought about him. “I don’t wanna. You’re all gonna make fun of me for dressing up like a girl.” Loki swaggered forward with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face “You’re gods damned right that we’re gonna make fun of you. Don’t lose your hammer next time. Now get moving, sweet cheeks – it’s time for you to become the bride you always knew you could be. Or would you rather have our fair city overrun with giants, murdering, raping, and pillaging as they go? No? Then put on the damned dress.”
Begrudgingly, Thor agreed. While he was being fitted for his dress, which of course had to be custom-made for his enormous frame, other Aesir repaired the necklace that Freyja very famously always wore. The fitted toque was sized for Thor’s bulging neck, sitting as neatly on his throat as it ever had on its true owner’s. He was swaddled in a shimmering dress down past his knees and his great bushy beard and red locks were hidden beneath the bridal hood and gauzy veil. Loki, enjoying this game very much, wanted to get in on the cross-dressing fun. “Looking good, Thor. I’ll dress up as your handmaid to accompany you to Jotunheim. We’ll be two beautiful women all alone and unprotected by those mean old Aesir.” And no one laughed at all as Loki did exactly that, because he was confident about it.
Thor’s enormous goats were found wandering free and driven to Bilskirnir, Thor’s home. There, they were harnessed and attached to the thunder god’s chariot where they pawed and bucked impatiently, trying to chew on their halters. Bride Thor and Handmaid Loki climbed aboard and, with a long-suffering sigh, the disguised Thunder god cracked the reins. In a burst of fire, the chariot took off, flying towards Jotunheim.
From his ice palace in the frozen lands of the giants, Thrym saw his bride approaching. “Holy shit you guys, she’s actually coming! We need to make ready for my wedding! Get off your lazy asses and spruce this place up; spread some clean straw on those benches for people to sit on. Move, people! Freyja, daughter of Njord, is coming to be my bride! I’m the luckiest giant in the world.” Thrym then proceeded to stalk up and down his halls being a total groomzilla, yelling at anything that didn’t meet his standards. There was a lot to do since he had put in exactly zero effort to plan a wedding until the bride was literally on her way to the altar.
Satisfied, he sat down on a bench to think. “Okay, I’ve got cattle in my herds with horns of gold, good. I’ve got jet black oxen too, beautiful animals who will gladden the hearts of any man. I’ve got piles of shiny jewels of course, and literal mounds of silver and gold.” He sighed wistfully. “I’ve got everything I could ever want except for a loving wife to share it with. And soon, I’ll have the most perfect bride a giant could ever blackmail for. What could go wrong?”
The two travelers finally arrived in the frost king’s halls in the early evening. They were welcomed with great pomp and circumstance to kick the celebrations off right. The servants who had spent the entire day cleaning and spreading straw now jumped to prepare and serve a great feast with plenty of good food and strong drink. Thrym himself welcomed the lovely Freyja all wrapped up demurely in her bridal veil, gown, and hood and led her to the feasting table. He happily pointed out to her the fine dishes that had been drawn from the land, sea, and sky in her honor, and his bride nodded shyly. Thrym then led her to the high seat next to his own, a place of great honor as befitted his bride-to-be. The woman’s handmaid immediately plopped herself down on the bench on Freyja’s other side.
As the food was served, it became immediately clear that travel had left his lovely bride famished. He hadn’t been sure what to expect from the Vanir goddess, but she had a warrior’s appetite. She devoured an entire ox by herself and then put away eight salmon. Having finished the main course, she then consumed the entire selection of dainty desserts set aside for the women and washed it all down with three great horns of mead. There are some men today who would call such behavior unladylike, but Thrym was not one of those weaklings. He watched his bride set to the feast with surprise, awe, and anticipation. “Most impressive, my lady! Has anyone ever seen a bride with such hunger and thirst on her wedding night?” Thrym’s eyes sparkled. “We’re going to have one hell of a wedding night, I think. I’ve never seen a woman eat so heartily or drink so deeply.”
Freyja was still occupied with finishing up the last few morsels, so it was her handmaid who answered. “My lady Freyja has been fasting these past eight days, unable to eat because of her excitement to meet you and her wild desire for her wedding night.” Thrym grinned even bigger at the confirmation of his bride’s confirmed sexual appetite. He could tell just by looking at her that she would be a hellcat in bed. He couldn’t wait to rip that veil off and ravish her. He leaned in, anxious to kiss his beloved Freyja for the first time.
The eyes that looked back from beneath the bridal hood were wild and flashing, a thunderstorm barely held at bay. The giant was so surprised that he jumped back in shock. “By the nine realms, Freyja – those eyes! Why are your eyes so dark and fearsome? They’re like two burning coals!” Again, it was the handmaid who answered while Freyja’s smouldering gaze simply lingered on the giant. “My lady Freyja has not been able to sleep these past eight days because of her excitement to meet you and her wild desire for her wedding night.”
Thrym thought this sounded hot as shit and he was ready to jump right in and get the ceremony over so that he could get on with the good bit. One of his poor sisters, an old spinster, had a cooler head on her shoulders since she wasn’t thinking with her erection. “Before we can get to the wedding itself, the bride must pay the bride price. What about the dowry?” She stared at the shy Freyja, who still hadn’t spoken. “If you want to be on good terms with your new family and with your new sister-in-law in particular, give me those red gold rings on your fingers.” The story doesn’t actually say whether she handed over the rings, but no one makes a big deal about it so I assume she does.
At last, all was ready. “It is time for the wedding, my friends!” roared Thrym. “Bring out the hammer! Bring forth Mjolnir to bear witness to our wedding vows and hallow the bride. Place the hammer between her knees so that Var will hear our oaths and give us her blessings!” Var is a minor goddess of oaths and promises. The mighty weapon was indeed brought out and placed before the bride, whose eyes widened at the sight. Her breath quickened in anticipation of what was to come. As soon as the hammer was placed between her knees (I’m not kidding about it being a phallic symbol), she reached down a hand and seized it in her fist. Casting aside her veil and hood, she revealed that it was not Freyja at all but, of course, Thor in disguise. It’s a full magical girl transformation sequence. Loki clearly did a great job of turning the mighty warrior into a pretty lady who fooled everyone who saw her (even if they were all giants, who aren’t known for being the brightest bulbs). Either he threw some extra glamor over the massive, hairy god to make him look more like Freyja, or the thunder god just has the ass to really pull off a dress. Freyja being a deadly warrior in her own right, which means she’s probably pretty yoked herself, didn’t hurt.
Mjolnir in his fist, Thor was revealed in all his might and power. The assembled giants froze in terror at the sight of the great Hurler standing armed in their midst instead of Freyja. After a brittle moment, Thrym leapt to his feet, followed immediately after by his assembled giants. Thor’s eyes were as red with rage as his bristling beard. He glared at the giants all around him. This is giving me strong vibes of that moment with Darth Vader from the comics where he is ambushed by enemy soldiers who demand that he surrender since he is surrounded. He responds with the incredibly badass “All I am surrounded by is fear and dead men.”
That’s Thor here. He strode forward and, with one mighty swing, he crushed Thrym’s skull into his neck. The main source of his indignity dealt with, Thor turned to the rest of the bridal party turned skirmish party. He showed no mercy. Every giant there, man and woman, he slew in the original Red Wedding. By the time he was done, the floor of the bridal hall ran red with blood and viscera. Bodies thickly carpeted the ground. The last victim of his mighty hammer was the elderly sister of the dead giant king. She had dared ask for his rings and instead, she got to watch her family be slaughtered before having her own skull caved in by the pitiless Thor. And thus did the Thunder God recover his mighty hammer.
And so with Thor once more in possession of his penis, I mean hammer, it’s time for Gods and Monsters. This is a segment where I get into a little more detail about one of the gods or monsters from this week’s pantheon that was not discussed in the main story. This week’s monster is Fenrir the wolf.
Back in Episode 129, we covered the birth of Odin’s eight-legged horse Sleipnir by his mother, Loki. And if you’re confused about how Loki can be the horse’s mommy, go back and check that episode out again. Anyway, Sleipnir was not even close to Loki’s only strange child, none of them with his wife Sigyn. See, the god of lies wasn’t one to be held to a promise, even a marriage covenant, so he had himself a mistress – a giantess by the name of Angrboda. The youngest child was his daughter Hel, who looked human from the waist up but was a decayed zombified monstrosity below. Her elder brother was Jormungand, the world serpent who we first met way, way back in Episode 51. And her eldest brother was the subject of today’s segment, the monstrous wolf Fenrir.
We’ll be once again using The Norse Myths, collected by Kevin Crossley-Holland for this tale. When the Aesir learned of the birth of these three terrible monsters by a fell giant and the never-to-be-trusted Loki, they were both furious and terrified. “Their mother is evil,” spat Urd. “But their father is worse,” snarled Verdandi. Skuld, one of the three Norns, the Norse embodiments of fate, shook her head with funereal slowness. “It is worse even than you think. Nothing good will come of these children. Expect nothing but the worst from them. Expect them to do you great harm and to put you in mortal peril. When the time of endings, Ragnarok, comes, they will all be there.”
Well shit. After that dour proclamation, it didn’t take the Asgardians long to decide that Loki’s children needed to be rounded up. At Odin’s orders, a group of gods crept over the border into Jotunheim under the cover of darkness. They snuck up on Angrboda’s home silently while Loki was away and burst inside, weapons drawn. The giantess was bound and gagged before she could even awaken fully, leaving no one to stand between the god assault team and Loki’s children. They were captured and brought back to Asgard.
In his wisdom and foresight, Odin knew what must be done with Jormungad. He seized the snake by its tail and whirled it around like an Olympic hammer toss before hurling into the oceans of Midgard. The enormous serpent sank immediately to the bottom of the sea, but it did not die. No, it thrived there, growing larger and larger until it encircled the entire world and bit onto its own tail. And there shall it stay until Ragnarok comes.
Odin was likewise certain of what to do with Hel, the serpent’s sister. She too was hurled out of Asgard, but instead of Midgard she plummeted down to the cold, dark mists of Niflheim, the world beneath the realms. As she fell, she heard Odin decree that she would rule over that icy world as its dread queen, watching over the dead of the nine realms who perished of disease or old age. She was bound to share out whatever food she had with any who came to her. She quickly made herself at home there, erecting her great hall Eljundir on the bare rock. A pair of enormous gates lay before it, barring the way. She was waited on by Ganglati and Ganglot, her manservant and maidservant, who are said to move so slowly that none can be sure they are moving at all. Her armor was Hunger and Famine her knife. She slept in the Sick Bed behind the shimmering curtains of Glimmering Misfortune. So basically nothing at all like the version from the MCU.
That left only the eldest, the monstrous wolf Fenrir. He was deemed to be the most dangerous of the three, and so Odin wanted the gods themselves to keep a close eye on the beast. Only he didn’t actually seem all that dangerous, appearing to be just a normal wolf. Thus, the gods decided that there would be no harm in letting Fenrir wander freely in the green fields of Asgard. What could possibly go wrong?
Despite all agreeing that he was just a wolf, the gods were also too chickenshit to approach the wolf alone to feed him. All that is except for Tyr, god of justice and son of Odin. He thus took it upon himself to feed the wolf massive hunks of meat to sate his hunger and enormous bones to keep him quiet. What dog doesn’t like a good chew toy? Fenrir grew quickly, and the gods realized that it had been a mistake to let the wolf run free. He would be an unstoppable menace in short order. Urd, Verdani, and Skuld repeated their earlier warnings about the children of Loki while making significant looks at the giant wolf. What’s more, they warned that the wolf would one day be responsible for Odin’s death.
Another council was called, and the first suggestion was of course to simply kill Fenrir and be done with it, but that was quickly overruled. It would be just as bad if not worse to have the holy soil and sanctuary of Asgard be stained with evil blood. Therefore, talk quickly turned to recapturing and binding the wolf instead. That seemed well within their wheelhouse, and so a great iron chain known as Laeding was forged. Being a son of Loki, the wolf had a supernatural level of intelligence for a wolf so instead of brute strength, they tried trickery.
A group of Aesir cautiously approached the wolf, Laeding in hand. “Hey, Fenrir. Word is that you’re pretty strong, but we’ve got a little debate going about whether you’re strong enough to break a chain. What do you think? Are you strong enough?” Fenrir sauntered over to inspect the chain. He snorted. “It’s a strong chunk of metal, sure, but I’m definitely stronger.” To prove it, he let the gods bind him up with Laeding, winding it around his neck and legs until there was only a small length left to hold onto. The wolf smiled as best he could with chain wrapped around his muzzle. “Finished?” he snarled. Then he planted his feet against the earth, breathed deeply, and flexed every muscle in his furry body. Laeding shattered immediately, flinging broken links at the gods as they ducked backward in surprise and fear.
Well if at first you don’t succeed, try the exact same thing again but better. Thus the Aesir lost no time in forging a second chain named Dromi that was twice as strong as Laeding. The links were massive, larger even than those used for the largest anchors. No mortal men could have moved even a single link. They brought this new chain to Fenrir as well with a challenge. “You were right about the last chain, but this one is stronger, maybe even stronger than you. If you can break it though, you’ll be famous throughout the nine realms for your incredible might.”
The great wolf sauntered over to inspect this new challenge. It was certainly much stronger than the last chain but he too was larger and stronger than he had been the last time. At last, he snorted in satisfaction. “It’s strong, but I’m still stronger. No risk, no reward. Let’s do it.” And so the gods were again permitted to wind the enormous chain around Fenrir, binding his legs and muzzle. The wolf smiled as best he could with chain wrapped around his muzzle. “Finished?” he snarled. Then he planted his feet against the earth, breathed deeply, and flexed every muscle in his furry body. He shook with a great clanging and grating of metal as he strained against Dromi. For a moment, it looked as though the chain would hold but then with a mighty crack, the links shattered and exploded from the wolf’s body. Shrapnel flew in all directions, forcing the gods to duck and cover. They fled in dismay, terrified that they would never be able to forge anything strong enough to bind the wolf.
It was then that someone finally had the bright idea to work smarter rather than harder. And that someone was Odin, because of course it was. You don’t put out one of your eyes for wisdom without getting a few clever ideas. “You know who can make a fetter stronger than anything we could ever hope to? The dwarves. They’re the finest forgers and smiths around.” Freyr’s messenger Skirnir was thus sent off at once to Svartalfheim, home of the dark elves (which may be the same thing as the dwarves or may be their neighbors). He traveled deep below Midgard where he soon found Nar and Nain and Nipping and Dain and Bifur and Bafur and Bombor and Nori and hundreds of others. And if some of those names sound familiar, I mean, where did you think Tolkien got his ideas from?
The dwarves were promised an obscene amount of gold if they could make a chain that could hold the deadly wolf. They were exactly as greedy as you think they are, and so they agreed quickly. Their eyes glowing like lightning bugs in the darkness, they got to work planning out a new chain. This third fetter was known as Gleipnir and, unlike the first two, it was thin and supple, more like silk than iron, almost a ribbon instead of a chain. It seemed far too thin and weak to ever hold the great wolf, but the dwarves generally knew what they were about and so Skirnir returned to Asgard with Gleipnir in tow.
Odin fingered the supple ribbon doubtfully. “What’s it made of?” “Six things: the sound a cat makes when it moves, a woman’s beard, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spit of a bird.” Which are indeed strange things to make a chain out of, but that’s magic for you. The gods were still skeptical but what did they have to lose? They’d already taken their best shot and failed – the dwarves were their hail mary. A large group of gods went out to find Fenrir and invite him to join them on a small island at the middle of Lake Amsvartnir.
Once they had all assembled, they produced Gleipnir and for a third time challenged the wolf’s strength. He eyed the thin ribbon dubiously. “It’s stronger than it looks, Fenrir,” said one of the assembled gods. “It’s as well-woven as the words of a good poem,” promised another. “Do you think you can break it?” The wolf was cunning enough to be incredibly suspicious of this. “This feels like a trick. It’s so thin and slender that, if I succeed, I’ll gain no fame or glory for doing so. If, on the other hand, you’ve used magic and cunning to create something much worse than it appears, then I’ll look even worse if I fail.” He sneezed dismissively. “Fuck that shit. You can keep Gleipnir. I’m not having that bullshit wound around my feet.”
The Aesir sensed that they were losing their last chance. “What are you scared of, Fenrir? You managed to shatter the heaviest iron chains anyone’s ever seen before. Surely a little thing like this won’t be a challenge.” The wolf eyed Gleipnir again, his ego bruised. “Besides, if by some impossible chance it turns out that you can’t break it, we promise to let you back out again. Pinky promise. Cross our hearts and hope to die. You can totally trust us,” added another.
Fenrir was nobody’s fool. He smiled wide, showing off all of his wickedly sharp teeth (which the assembled gods very much did not like). “Sure you will. If you manage to chain me up, I’m super confident that you’ll just waltz over and let me out again.” He snorted derisively. “Please, it’ll be a long fucking time before I can hope for help from any of you.” He sniffed again at the thin bindings with a growl, then prowled over towards the gods. “Let’s get things clear: I have no interest in being chained up by your bullshit ribbon, but I also don’t want to give you all an excuse to accuse me of cowardice. You say you’ll let me back out again if I can’t do this? Prove it. One of you is going to put your hand in my mouth and keep it there the whole time as a show of good faith.”
There was an awkward silence. The Aesir were absolutely going to betray the shit out of Fenrir and everyone knew it. No one wanted to volunteer to have their hand bitten off by an angry monstrous wolf. The gods shuffled a little and looked around at everyone else, but no one wanted to make eye contact. With a long-suffering sigh, Tyr stepped forward. Of all the shifty Asgardians, the god of justice was easily the one that Fenrir trusted the most. Thus, he was convinced to let them bind him with Gleipnir while he delicately pressed his teeth against Tyr’s flesh without quite drawing blood.
The thin chain was wrapped around and around the wolf, binding his legs and body and neck tightly. When it was all used up, they stepped back to let Fenrir try his Hulk trick again. The wolf took a deep breath around the hand in his mouth and then began to struggle with all his might. He strained, trying to kick or roll or flex, but the more he struggled, the tighter the bindings became. At last, he accepted defeat. “You win, I can’t break this chain. Now let me out like you promised.” He eyed the assembled gods, who all stared back grimly. No one moved. The wolf looked up at his friend Tyr, who nodded sadly and closed his eyes. With a guttural snarl of betrayal, Fenrir bit down savagely, cleanly severing the god’s hand.
The gods all cheered as they watched the wolf continue to struggle futilely. The deadly threat was finally dealt with for good. Everyone laughed and sang; everyone that is, except Tyr. He wasn’t a big fan of trickery and treachery and he had paid the price of the other gods’ plan knowingly. It didn’t make him feel better about the betrayal though. A large chain called Gelgja (I don’t know why all of these chains have independent names) was fastened to the end of Gleipnir, which in turn was bound to an enormous boulder called Gjoll. Even that still wasn’t enough. The Aesir drove Gjoll a mile deep into the earth to further fasten Fenrir in place.
For his part, the monstrous wolf had begun to fight his bondage again, growling and snarling fiercely. He opened his massive, blood-stained jaws and snapped at the gods standing just out of reach. Frightened by this show of force from their very bound captive, one of the gods drew his sword. He rammed the point home into the roof of Fenrir’s mouth, then wedged the hilt against his lower jaw, forcing his mouth wide open. Fenrir howled in pain and rage, his cries echoing across Asgard. Unable to close his jaws, slaver ran down his muzzle and dripped onto the earth in a constant stream. This soon grew into a river running from the middle of the island to the lake of Amsvarntir and was named Von, the River of Expectation.
Much like his brother Jormangand, the Midgard Serpent, waits expectantly at the bottom of the sea, or his sister Hel sits on her frozen throne in the nether realm surrounded by the inglorious dead, Fenrir the wolf awaits the day when he will be set free to wreak terrible vengeance upon the gods. Gagged and bound on Lyngvi, he waits for Ragnarok.
That’s it for this episode of Myths Your Teacher Hated. Keep up with new episodes on our Facebook page, on iTunes, on TuneIn, on Vurbl, and on Spotify, or you can follow us on Instagram as MythsYourTeacherHatedPod, on Tumblr as MythsYourTeacherHated, and on Bluesky as MythsPodcast. You can also find news and episodes on our website at myths your teacher hated dot com. If you have any questions, any gods or monsters you’d want to learn about, or any ideas for future stories that you’d like to hear, feel free to drop me a line. I’m trying to pull as much material from as many different cultures as possible, but there are all sorts of stories I’ve never heard, so suggestions are appreciated. The theme music is by Tiny Cheese Puff.
Next time, it’s a listener request story from Syria. You’ll discover that you should really keep better track of your relatives, that you should never trust the idle rich, and that sometimes you have to throw the whole man in the garbage. Then, in Gods and Monsters, a pair of woodcutters will debate what to do when there are lions around. That’s all for now. Thanks for listening.