The Price of Honour
a Norse myth re-interpreted
By Christine G. Richardson
"Fenris grows larger and fiercer each day," Odin told the council of the Aesir. "We must restrain him before it is too late."
The gods nodded their heads. The famished howling of the great wolf was a nightly reminder of the danger.
Loki the Trickster and the giantess Angrboda had produced three offspring powerful enough to threaten the very existence of the gods: Hel, half-woman, half-corpse; Jormungand, the giant serpent; and the wolf Fenris.
Following the counsel of the Norns, Odin had banished Hel to the underworld and thrown Jormungand into the ocean surrounding Midgard. However, he was partial to wolves, and the pup Fenris had seemed harmless enough to allow free range in the woods and fields of Asgard.
Tir, the god of war, stood alone in defending Fenris. "He has done us no harm," he said. "We took him from his mother by force--now he is our responsibility."
"Your compassion blinds you, brother," Thor thundered. "He will soon be able to gulp us all down with a single bite." He turned to Odin. "Let me strike him down with Mjolnir, so that we can sleep at night."
The argument continued for many hours. At last, Odin decreed that Fenris must not be killed, but bound so tightly that he could never escape.
Dragging the great iron chain Laeding, the Aesir followed the sound of Fenris' howling. When they found him, they challenged him to a contest of strength. Fenris sniffed the chain, tried its links between his teeth, and readily agreed to be bound. As soon as the Aesir had finished winding the chain around him, he popped the links apart with a single movement.
"Well done, my friend!" Tir laughed. "This fat sheep I have brought shall be your prize."
Fenris bowed his head in thanks and threw himself upon the meat. Of all the Aesir, Tir was the only one he trusted, for Tir alone had bothered to seek him out and feed him when he was a hungry pup.
"We must find something stronger," Njord, the god of the winds, said gloomily as the Aesir retreated with their broken chain.
Eventually, they returned to challenge Fenris a second time with the chain called Dromi, which was twice as heavy as Laeding. There was no human strong enough to lift even a single link.
Once again, Fenris broke free, and received his reward from Tir.
Odin sent a message to Svartalfheim, asking the dwarves to construct a fetter that Fenris could not break. The haggling over price was long and hard, but eventually the dwarves agreed to create a ribbon with six magical ingredients: the sound of a moving cat, the beard of a woman, the roots of mountains, the voices of fish, the sinews of bears, and the spit of birds.
The ribbon Gleipnir was as light as the trim on a lady's gown, and looked as if could scarcely hold a butterfly. But Fenris was no fool: he knew there was magic in it, and refused to let himself be bound.
"It is only a game," Thor told him. "If you cannot break free, we will let you go, and no harm done."
"You will have to give me more assurance than your word," Fenris growled.
After all persuasion failed, Tir stepped forward. "I will put my hand between your jaws," he said. "If the Aesir do not keep their word, you may avenge yourself on me."
"You will give your sword-wielding hand as pledge?" Fenris asked.
"So be it," Tir said, and put his right hand between the monster's teeth.
The gods lost no time in binding the mighty wolf. This time, no matter how much he struggled, he could not move.
"I yield," he snarled at last, being careful not to let go of the hand in his mouth. "Untie me."
None of the Aesir made a move.
"Untie me!" Fenris repeated, the fur on his back bristling with fury. His teeth loosened their hold on Tir's hand.
"Now!" Thor shouted. "Pull your hand away!" But Tir refused to take advantage of the opportunity to break his promise.
When Fenris saw that the Aesir had no intention of releasing him, he clamped his jaws together, biting off Tir's hand.
The gods cried out in horror and outrage. Tir alone remained silent. Hardly a muscle on his face moved as he bandaged the gushing stump with strips of his cloak.
After making sure that Gleipnir was well secured, the gods returned to their palaces, trying to close their ears to the yelping behind them.
The next day, Tir returned to the forest with meat for Fenris, but he refused to eat it.
"You betrayed me," Fenris accused. "Do you imagine you can undo your dishonour so easily?"
"I did not lie to you," Tir said. "I promised you my hand in pledge, and I gave it."
"A warrior speaks plainly, without sophistry," Fenris said. "Your words were true, but your heart was not."
"I did what had to be done," Tir said. "You are what you are, and I do not blame you for that. But I could not allow you to harm the Aesir."
"So do all rulers make a necessity of their evil deeds," Fenris replied. "You and the Aesir chose what you chose because you yielded to your fear."
Tir retreated, leaving the meat behind. When he returned three days later, it was gone.
"I offered it to my brothers in the forest," Fenris said. "They mourn my fate nightly."
"Do they hunt food for you?"
"My dreams of vengeance feed me well enough. I cannot die until my time, and my time is not until the great battle of Ragnarok."
Tir shifted uneasily from foot to foot. The Norns had predicted that Fenris would be the instrument of Odin's death at the end of the world.
"Who has read the runes for you?" Tir asked.
"I have no need of runes. Suffering brings wisdom, and I have suffered much."
Tir began to walk away, then turned back. "They are singing about us everywhere in the nine worlds," he told Fenris. "Fenris the Fell and Tir the Left-Handed will not be forgotten."
"Fame is of little worth without freedom," Fenris said.
Tir's hand tightened on his sword. He longed to slash through Gleipnir, but he knew no blade was sharp enough to sever the magical bond. What was done was done, and he could not undo it, any more than he could change the threads the Norns spun and wove.
"Perhaps we will feast together in Valhalla," he said.
Fenris laughed hollowly. "There will be no Valhalla when the gods are dead. New gods will come, and we will have no place in their realms. The best I hope for is a peaceful sleep."
Tir did not return again. In due time, the great darkness came, Gleipnir lost its magical power, and Fenris slaked his thirst with Odin's blood before he met his own death. The nine worlds were devoured by primal flame and sank beneath the sea.
When the earth rose again, fresh and green under the healing rays of the re-born sun, the old gods were no more, but their tales still live.
Glossary:
The Aesir: the Norse deities, a race of half-giants, half-gods, powerful and long-lived, but neither omnipotent nor immortal. Their world (one of nine) was called Asgard.
Odin: the king of the Aesir.
Loki: one of the Aesir, a chaotic being given to trickery and lies. Sometimes his trickery was helpful; mostly it was malicious. He was responsible for the death of the sun god Balder, which brought on the Apocalypse Ragnarok.
The Norns: the three goddesses of fate, usually represented as spinning and weaving the threads of destiny.
Midgard: the world of humans.
Thor: the storm god. His magic hammer Mjolnir always returned to him when he threw it.
Svartalfheim: the world of the dwarves.
Valhalla: the hall of warriors who died in battle.
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