This is a story about giant thieves, shotgun weddings and a very beardy bride.
The moment Thor opened his eyes from a deep, drunken slumber, he did as he always did
and reached for his beloved Mjolnir. But his table lay empty. Now, although he was
saddened, Thor did not shout, nor cry, nor tug at his beard. Instead he rose and went to the
only possible culprit. “Loki!”
Loki was, as usual, in the hall with a book on his lap.
“Oh, hello Thor, you’re as loud as ever. I’m reading quite the fascinating book on card
counting-”
“I don’t care for your books Loki.”
Loki looked up, tilting the half-moon glasses that Thor knew full well he didn’t need.
“Thor?” he asked, “Can you read?”
Thor snatched the book from his hands, tearing it in half. He lifted Loki by his
shoulders, his voice cracking he screamed, “Where is it Loki, where is it? I need it. Where is
it?”
Loki looked at him, toes a foot off the ground. “Where is what Thor?”
“The hammer! My hammer! Mjolnir, what else?”
“Ah, that. You know Thor, I did see a man creeping around the halls last night. I say
creeping, his head scraped the ceiling. Tell you what, I’ll do you a favour and go ask the
giants if they have it.”
By the time Loki returned Thor had gathered the AEsir in the great hall of Midgard. They
were all concerned about Mjolnir's disappearance, Thor because he had lost a friend and the
rest because they had lost their greatest defense.
Loki opened his mouth to speak and Odin raised a hand. “Wolf’s-Father, I shall hear
naught but just-sound from you. Speak.”
“Odin, I spoke to Thrym, King of Giants and he has the hammer. He is willing to give
it back,”
Thor stood up immediately at that, but Loki wagged his finger.
“No no Thor, let me finish. In his infinite mercy, all Thrym wants in return is beautiful Freyja’s hand in marriage.”
First, Freyja said an unprintable word that begins with an R and ends in one too.
Then she said, “I think you’d suit a veil far better,” and with that she dived on Loki, pinning
him by the shoulders with her knees and laying fist after gauntleted fist into Loki. After
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beating him, Frejya tied a veil made of table cloth around his now-bloody face. She stood,
dusting herself off. “There. Now he can go in my place. He’s skinny enough to be me, he can
marry the giant and stay there forever. And we can get the hammer back. Win-win.”
Thor snorted. “I shall go. Loki shall be my bridesmaid. The giant king won’t fall for it
otherwise, Loki is far skinnier than you. I am clearly the superior actor. And when I have the
hammer, I shall kill Thrym, and perhaps Loki too,”
The gods looked between themselves.
“Thor, you do have a bit of a, well, a beard,” said Heimdall, living up to the legends of
his foresight.
“Then get me an extra-long veil and I shall make a fine bride,” argued Thor.
And so, the gods did just that. They cut Thor a veil that would cover his beard, but try
as they might, they couldn’t quite make a dress that would obscure his barrel chest. Thor
was blind to their worries and left for the kingdom of the giants that night, with Loki in tow.
Thor had his dress hiked above his knees, ready to kick the door down before Loki put a
hand on his shoulder.
“Thor, that isn’t very ladylike. Now remember, just wait until he gives you the
hammer.”
Loki opened the door gently and they slipped into the hall. They were brought to the
head of the table and were greeted by a man with a shock of wire-like hair. Thrym, the Giant
King.
“Freyja! You came, and you brought a bridesmaid. Come here,” he brought Thor into
a crushing hug, which Thor returned. “Quite,” Thrym coughed, the air being pushed out of
him, “quite the grip you’ve got Freyja.”
Loki waved his hand, “Ah, she’s just very tense. This is all a bit much for her.”
“Oh, well perhaps some food would make you feel better, hmm?” Thrym lead Thor
by the hand to the right of his throne. Thor was faced with a spread of braised boar, whole
roast elk and brun?st, all on plates of rye bread.
“Don’t be shy Freyja, eat as much as you like,” said Thrym, rubbing his bruised hand.
He grew to regret his choice of words.
Thrym sat, looking at Thor, aghast. Not a thing was left on the table, other than bones and
gristle.
“I’m sorry for Freyja’s truly haunting table manners, Thrym,” said Loki, delicately
picking at a whole quail, “She’s been so nervous she hasn’t eaten in a week!”
Thor burped happily.
“Well, I like a woman who can keep up with me, maybe you’d like a drink Freyja. Servant!” Thrym called, “bring a mug of mead for my wife-to-be.”
“Bring the whole barrel!” rumbled Thor.
“Freyja, what happened to your voice? I’ve heard so many tales of your beautiful
singing. I don’t mean to be rude but you sound like more of a baritone to me.”
“Well,” said Loki, kicking Thor under the table, “Freyja hasn’t spoken for days so she
can sing you to sleep tonight , I suppose her throat has become dry. Perhaps that drink is in
order.”
And so Thrym watched on as ‘Freyja’, drank three barrels of mead, got into a fist fight
with his strongest giants, had another elk and wheel of brun?st and Loki made increasingly
improbable excuses for it all. Thrym hurried to the altar, before he changed his mind.
Although the priest struggled to wrap the marriage ribbon around Thor’s massive arm, they
were now linked in matrimony. Until death do they part.
Thrym lifted Thor’s veil to seal their marriage with a kiss, and was promptly met with
a forehead to the nose. Thor grasped his beloved hammer from the pile of wedding gifts and
did what he did best.
Thor and Loki walked home, a barrel of mead on each shoulder, Mjolnir in hand. Thor
stripped off his blood-stained dress, tore a section from the hem, left the dress on the ground
and tied Mjolnir to his hip. They walked home, laughing and recounting half-truths; Thors
hammer merrily swinging.
Not a bad party, all in all.
