The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Twenty-One: This Meal is Prepping for a Painful Death

I swung back-and-forth in the glove for a very long time. My stomach growled, first protesting my lack of dinner and then grumbling about my lack of breakfast.

You deserve this, said the voice inside my head. If you had been a better, smarter dwarf you would have been able to figure out you were in a giant's glove. 

Despair and hunger overtook me. I slumped against my constraints. Maybe this was the best way to go. I imagined The Daily Dwarf headlines back in Nidavellir: BILI's DELUSIONAL SON DIES IN JOTUNHEIM, TRYING TO AVENGE FATHER. Then, after some more time swinging in the glove, I realized that no one would ever know that I had died. I would be like Brokkr, neither alive nor dead. A mystery, a ghost. A tear trickled down my cheek. No return to maggots for me. 

My last hope was that Hearthstone would be able to find his way to Mimir. I was also very thankful that he had not slept with me in the glove. I would hold onto that little bit of solace as the giants cooked me into a dwarf stew or rolled me into Blitzen sushi. 

Finally, we stopped walking. I heard a knock on the door.

"Orick! My love! Gert and I have returned -- and with a treat!" called the giantess.

"Hi Pa!" called the giant boy.

"Ingrida! Gert!" called a booming voice. "Welcome back! How was Aunt Svala's place? And I am excited to see what you have brought me!"

I heard the door unlock and we stepped inside. 

"My dear," said the giant Orick. I heard the sound of a kiss and a giggle from the giant woman. 

"Gross," said Gert.

"How was your sister? Did you get her necklace?" Orick asked. 

"Yes, I got it. The trip went well. But Orick, we got a lovely surprise on our walk back. We have such a treat for you!" said Ingrida. "It appears a smalling has crawled into the thumb of Gert's glove."

"What a stroke of good fortune!" exclaimed Orick. "Hurry along, Gert. I want to see our dinner."

My stomach growled at the word dinner. Too bad I would be joining them for dinner, as their dinner. Then I remembered something that Náinn had told me.

"Guest rights!" I yelled. "I call for Hospitality!"

"What was that? I don't think I hear anyone talking." Orick's voice was thick with lies. "Hurry Gert, throw the glove onto the ground to kill him!"

"But Pa, I heard what he said! He said, 'Guest Rights!' which means we have to give them to him, right?"

The father let out a long, slow breath. 

"Yes, my boy. I suppose that is what should be done. Sit him by the fire." Next, I heard him whisper to his wife, which wasn't much of a whisper considering how loud giants talk. "Next time, take our dinner out back and kill it first, alright?"

"Yes, dear."

I was unceremoniously dropped face first onto something soft. I opened my eyes and surveyed my surroundings. This looked nothing like how I pictured a giant's house to be. The couch I had been put on was white as snow, with golden metal edges and crisp, clean lines. A crackling fire roared in the fireplace, beneath a chimney that rose one hundred feet in the air. An open floor plan led to a modern looking kitchen with granite countertops. My heart started pounding even harder when I laid eyes on the cutting board, the blender, and the block of knives.

Then, the giant family of three came into view. 

"A dwarf!" yelled Gert. "I want a thigh!"

I broke out in a cold sweat.