Friday

Frey's Day

Thor: Even a hammerhand deserves a book in the trilogy. Why can't I have a book, too?

Freyr: People say, Thank God for Friday. They need to know which god they're thanking. Who ever says, Thank God for Thursday?

* * *

"How long will Odin be gone?" Freyr asked.

Frigg shook her head. "You never know, the way he wanders."

"He won't mind if I steal a moment on Hlidskalf, will he?"

Frigg cocked a brow. "I won't tell."

Freyr strode to the highest hall, to the highest chamber, to the highest seat. The far-seeing throne Hlidskalf would make his day's work so much easier.

"What's this?" Freyr asked as he mounted the dais. "Can't imagine him leaving Draupnir behind." He picked up from the throne a golden armband, tutted, and shook his head. "Careless. Might fall into the clutches of a thief. I'll take it for safekeeping." He slid the famed arm-ring Draupnir up his left arm.

Freyr adjusted his sword – a treasure he'd never leave behind – and settled onto the throne. Sure enough, he saw Odin riding on his eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, heading over the Rainbow Bridge on his way to another of the Nine Worlds.

Looking another direction, Freyr saw Tỷr practicing swordplay left-handed. The stubborn fellow refused to step down from his role as god of war.

Fenrir slept in a courtyard, restrained by the chain forged by dwarf magic.

"Enough of that," Freyr told himself and set about balancing the weather in the uppermost worlds.

The giants' realm proved trickier to manage. Glaciers in the heights of Jotunheim hindered his efforts to bring on full summer. Steep mountainsides channeled frigid blasts of wind to the lowlands.

Freyr's glance came upon one of the scattered dwellings of giants who ruled that world. A tall young giantess stood on the threshold, raising a key to the lock. Her arms shone white as the sun, blazing and brilliant. When she looked over her shoulder, Freyr nearly swooned at the sight. Never had he seen such beauty!

Her size didn't bother him. He could easily shape-shift himself large to match.

Freyr leaned forward, gaze fixed, jaw dropping in fascination. His heart thundered and swelled. Her face filled his vision. He fell drunk at the sight of her.

Then she vanished. She'd gone indoors. Shut the door. Quenched that glorious vision.

Freyr sat, dazed. At last he stumbled home. He went to bed and stayed there for days.

His father Njord tried to rouse him. "Unseasonable hailstorms are freezing the crops in Midgard. Unending rain flooding Alfheim. You must do something!"

No response.

Njord sent in Freyr's most trusted servant, Skirnir, to uncover what ailed his son.

Skirnir returned, chuckling. "He's heart-sick for a maiden he spied afar."

Njord snorted. "Tell him to woo the girl, but get back to work as well."

* * *

"Marry her," Skirnir told Freyr.

His master leaped from the bed. "Father gives permission? I never thought— Well, let it be so. Who can I send as my ambassador for a formal proposal?"

"To Jotunheim? No one will agree. Too dangerous."

"You're daring. You go on my behalf."

"No, no, no." Skirnir backed off. "It'd mean my death!"

"I'll shower you with riches!"

"Wealth is no good without life. No, the only way I'd ever agree is if you gave me your sword that fights on its own."

"Done." Freyr unbuckled his scabbard.

"Wait. What--? I have no way to get there."

"Take my horse."

"What about the bride-price?"

Freyr stripped Draupnir from his arm. "This. Take some of the golden apples, too. Promise anything else within my power to give."

Skirnir took the armband. "Um, doesn't this belong to Odin?"

"Yes. So? Get on your way."

* * *

Freyr's horse leaped through the wall of flames that circled the dwelling of Gymir and Angaboda. Skirnir dismounted before the massive gates. He kept one hand near the hilt of Freyr's enchanted sword as he pounded on the gate. Would he be challenged to fight?

No. After the first barrage of jeers and insults, when Skirnir's errand became clear, Gymir and Angaboda reared back, shaking with laughter like a thunderstorm. "Ask her, if you wish," boomed Gymir, and summoned his daughter. "Gerðr, you have a suitor."

Skirnir backed up a step. Yes, the maiden shone like the sun in beauty and grace, but her eyes flashed with peril.

"A suitor? Where? All I see is a spider," she spat. "Shall I squash it?"

Skirnir leaped out of range. "I bring you a message from my lord Freyr, god of sun and wind and rain. His heart pines with longing, smitten by your loveliness, and asks you to wife!" He presented a bag of golden apples, filched from Valhalla.

Gerðr sniffed and turned her back. "I'll already live a good long life without your feeble youth-spells."

Skirnir presented Draupnir, and told of its powers of replication and unending wealth.

"What makes you think you can buy me?" Gerðr snarled.

Skirnir even offered Freyr's sword, which he'd hoped to keep for himself.

Gerðr's father snatched it. "Hmm. Nice. Marry the lout, daughter."

"I will not marry a puny, shrinking weakling!" she roared.

Giant-folk used giant tactics. Skirnir stood tall and declared, "If you refuse my master, I'll lay such curses upon you and all your kin that your lives will turn to misery and despair! Beware the wrath of the god who harnesses storm and tempest, summer sun and winter blizzard."

He added more threats until respect finally dawned in Gerðr's eyes. "Very well. My father keeps the sword. tell your snot-nosed master to meet me in nine days in the barley field yonder. Now go!"

The force of her words blew Skirnir out the door...

* * *

"Yes, yes, that's how Freyr won a wife," Thor blustered. "Enough of his exploits. Let me have the last few words of the trilogy. I am Thor, hammerhand to Odin, mightiest of all the Æsir..."