Thor’s hand closed on an empty place beside his bed.
He reached farther, then sat up. The hammer was not beneath the coverlet or on the floor. He flung the bedding aside. By the time Loki came to him, the room had been searched down to its bare boards, and Thor stood in the middle of it with his beard bristling.
“Someone has taken Mjollnir.”
Loki looked at the empty hand. For once, he had nothing ready to say.
They went straight to Freyja. She heard them out, then fetched the feather garment in which its wearer could fly. She would have lent it, she said, even if every feather had been silver or gold.
Loki fastened it about himself. The feathers stirred. He rose above the roofs of the gods and flew east, until the bright halls lay behind him and the country below grew rough with the dwellings of giants.
Thrym sat upon a mound, fitting golden leashes to his hounds. His horses crowded near enough for him to smooth their manes. He looked up as Loki landed.
“What brings you here alone?”
“A missing hammer.”
Thrym’s fingers rested on a horse’s neck.
“I buried it eight miles beneath the earth.”
Loki watched him. There was no need to ask whether a gift of gold would loosen that secret. Gold lay in the grass at the giant’s feet.
“What do you want?”
“Freyja. Bring her here to marry me, and you may carry the hammer away.”
Loki returned so quickly that Thor stopped him in the courtyard before he had taken off the feathers.
“Tell me.”
When he had heard, Thor set off for Freyja’s hall. Loki followed at his shoulder.
“Put on a bridal veil,” Thor told her. “We must go to Thrym.”
Freyja rose. The floor shook under them. Her necklace broke at her throat, and the bright pieces struck the floor between Thor’s boots.
“No.”
Thor stood among the scattered gold. Freyja’s anger filled the room as completely as his own had filled the chamber where the hammer should have been.
She would not be carried east as the price of his weapon.
The gods gathered to find another way. Without Mjollnir, the strength that kept the giants from their halls was diminished; yet the weapon lay so deep that Thor could strike the earth for days without knowing where to begin.
Heimdall listened. Then he looked at Thor.
“Thrym must see a bride. Let him see one.”
Thor frowned.
“We will veil you,” Heimdall said. “Put Freyja’s necklace on you, and hang keys at your side. Loki can take you to the wedding.”
“No.”
Loki leaned forward.
“You can bear their laughter here, or hear giants laughing in these halls when they have taken them. Which will it be?”
Thor’s hands tightened. There was no hammer in either of them.
At last he held out his arms.
They dressed him in bridal clothes, fastened the necklace upon his chest and arranged a veil over his face. Keys knocked softly together at his belt. He stood very still while they worked, which was more alarming than his anger.
Loki dressed as his attendant.
“I will do the talking,” he said.
Thor looked through the veil.
“You had better.”
The goats were harnessed to the chariot. Wheels thundered eastward; sparks flew, and the mountains shook as the bride went to her wedding.
Thrym heard them coming. He ordered fresh straw laid upon the benches and called for the feast. He had cattle, horses, treasure enough to heap his hall with brightness. Now, he told his household, Freyja herself was coming to complete it.
Thor bent to enter beneath the door beam.
Through the veil he saw the long tables, the waiting giants and the place prepared beside Thrym. He saw no hammer.
Loki’s hand briefly caught his sleeve.
Thor sat.
The food arrived. He ate an ox, then eight salmon, then the sweet dishes set before the bride. Three great vessels of mead followed them. The emptier the table became, the more closely Thrym watched.
At last the giant set down his cup.
“I have never seen a bride eat like this.”
Loki answered before Thor could lift his head.
“For eight nights she has scarcely touched food. She could think of nothing but coming here.”
Thrym’s concern melted into pleasure. He moved nearer, lifted the edge of the veil and bent to kiss his bride.
Thor looked straight at him.
Thrym sprang back, stumbling away along the bench.
“Her eyes!”
Loki lowered the veil again with careful fingers.
“Nor has she slept for eight nights.”
The giant stood breathing hard. Beneath the veil, Thor could see his shape wavering in the firelight. One word now, one movement too soon, and the hammer would remain hidden beneath the earth.
He kept his hands upon his knees.
Thrym’s sister approached and held out her palm. If the bride wanted her affection and welcome, she said, she should give her those golden rings.
Thor did not move.
Then Thrym called for Mjollnir.
The sound of its name passed through Thor more sharply than all the taunts of the gods. He turned his head towards the door.
“Lay it on the bride’s knees,” Thrym ordered. “Let the hammer bless our marriage.”
It was brought through the hall.
Thor watched the short handle approach. He knew its shape even through the veil, knew the dark head and the weight that belonged in his hand. He made himself wait while it was lowered.
Mjollnir settled across the bridal cloth.
His fingers closed.
Thrym saw the bride rise. The veil fell back, and the hammer rose with it.
Thor struck him first. Then the wedding hall broke into shouting and the crash of overturned benches. The giants of Thrym’s household fell beneath Mjollnir; his sister, who had held out her hand for the rings, fell with them.
When it was over, Loki stood clear of the wrecked tables. Thor tore the veil from his shoulders and let it drop among the straw.
The keys still hung at his side. He unfastened them with one hand.
The other held his hammer.