#thrymskvida

That one myth

‘Blushing bride with huge apettite’ Thor and ‘handmaid’ Loki, bridegroom Thrym

art by Hellanim on deviantart

Some of the members of my kindred put on a re-enactment of the Lay of Thrym

Left to right we have Heimdall, Freyja (crouching down), Thrym, Thor, and myself as Loki

Loki: Well, I volunteered but they wouldn't let me try- They thought I might just go ahead and marry him for the fun of it.

Thrym, king of the ice giants, pounded his flagon of starmead into the table. His new wife glowered over at him, eyes stern behind her veil. She would not be glowering soon.

“Jötnar!” he cried, and the party fell silent. “Æsir, Vanir, guests, all.” He paused to take in the hall, all those gathered for the celebration. Many had come merely to see Mjölnir, the dwarf-cast god-hammer stolen from Asgard, or the fabled beauty of Freyja, the bride he had won for the hammer’s return. He had not seen much sign of her beauty yet, just her ravenous appetite. Let it be so: a Vanir woman would need meat on her bones to birth stout Jötnar sons.

“The moon waxes, and so does the hammer of my loins. Let us be wedded, so my bride may be bedded!”

The giants roared in appreciation, and pounded their great feet. Even Loki, that effete Æsir, smiled and clapped. Thrym exploded to his feet, and with a hefty hand dragged his wife up as well. With the other he took Mjölnir, and wrapped her fingers around the haft.

“Behold, those with eyes to see!” he boomed. “I have given her the hammer of my kin! Recently recovered,” he snickered, with a wink to the giants, who jeered and cheered at the Asgardians. Loki’s smile was broader than ever, though, and Thrym’s brow furrowed. When he felt his bride’s nails digging deep into the meat of his arm, he knew something was wrong. The pain was so great he released his wife’s hand, and she tore the veil from her face, revealing not Freyja at all, but Mjölnir’s true master, Thor himself.

“Freyja sends her regards,” he growled, before setting about with his hammer.

Loki munched on a pear salvaged from an overturned fruit bowl, the ice giants dead or fled. Thor slung the hammer onto the sash of his dress, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Excellently done, brother,” Loki complimented him. “I am curious though, given the veil, why the mascara was necessary?”

“All part of the characterisation,” Thor said.

“Do you want to keep the dress on?”

“I like the way it goes in at the waist,” he muttered.