This story is interesting in many ways. Here we learn how Loki through mischief ultimately plays a part in shaping the Norse gods’ history giving Mjollnir to Thor. Just as interesting maybe is the ever-flexible morality of the gods. Trickery and deceit are just as often accepted as frowned upon.
Being the trickster god, Loki is of course right in the middle of it all.
It was a gorgeous day in Asgard. Loki was wandering the streets and whistling out of tune, minding his own business, when a gleam of flaxen brilliance made him pause.
Loki knew a golden opportunity when he saw one.
There lay Sif, Thor’s beautiful wife, taking an afternoon snooze in front of the great hall. Sunshine glimmered in her flowing hair. It swayed in the breeze, shimmering and sparkling like a river of gold.
Everyone knew Thor was weak for Sif’s hair. It turned him dumb, like Odin after one too many cups of wine. One flip of Sif’s flaxen tresses could bring Thor to his knees. It was the core of her beauty, and thus, her most prized possession.
Loki slowly smiled. A wicked idea was brewing in his mind.
He tiptoed closer. He pulled his trusty shears out of his pocket, carefully leaning over Sif’s sleeping form. And with one satisfying snip! he cut her flowing hair.
The golden strands fluttered to the ground. Sif remained deep in dreamland, oblivious.
Loki snickered. He couldn’t resist adding some extra flair, humming a jaunty tune as he sheared every strand of hair off Sif’s head.
He stepped back to admire his work. Sif’s once-magnificent head was smooth as an egg. A true masterpiece.
Pocketing his shears, he skipped away. His day had become infinitely more delightful.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Thor’s voice thundered through the vast hall of Bilskirnir. He searched for the familiar flash of golden hair that always awaited his return home.
He frowned. Where was Sif? It wasn’t usually so hard to find her.
He searched every room, every closet, every cupboard. “Oh, dearest!” he called again and again. But to no avail. His wife was not safe at home, and who knew what dastardly dangers may have befallen her!
He leaped into action. His footsteps thundered through Asgard as he sprinted to the palaces of his fellow gods and goddesses, frantically shouting Sif’s name.
The afternoon of searching proved fruitless. Dejected and confused, Thor was forced to return home victory less. But this was not the end, he reasoned. No, he would find whoever had absconded with his dazzling wife and make them pay. He would go to war, burn cities to the ground, search every nook and cranny of the universe until he found–
He paused. “Oh, what misery,” he sighed. “Even the wind mocks me. Its whispers sound like the voice of my beloved Sif.”
“It’s not the wind, it’s me!”
Thor’s head whipped around. “Sif?”
Slowly, a figure emerged from the forest’s shadows. Flowing silk robes adorned its graceful limbs, so similar to the figure of Sif… but a dark veil covered the figure’s head.
“Prove yourself to me,” Thor said. “If you are truly Sif, reveal your golden hair.”
“I cannot,” the figure whispered. “Please, Thor, don’t make me show you what I have become. My beauty has been cut away. My hair…” The voice cracked around a broken sob. “I am ruined. I must leave Asgard before I bring shame upon us both.”
“What nonsense.” Thor stepped forward, grasping the figure’s trembling hands in his firm grip. “The Sif I know would never dishonor me by running away.”
“I am no longer the Sif you once knew.”
Thor tried to lift her veil, but she jerked away. “Please, don’t look at me!” she cried. “I can’t bear for you to see me like this. I would rather live in Svartalfheim with the dwarves than remain in Asgard as the realm’s laughingstock.”
“I will kill anyone who dares laugh at my wife,” Thor growled. Sif smiled sadly.
“Your laughter is what I’m most afraid of.”
“Me? Never!” Thor’s voice boomed with outrage. “How could you think so low of me?”
“Because my hair is gone!” Sif wailed. “My beautiful hair, the one thing that made me special and worthy of your love. And now…” Her voice trailed off, quieting. “I am hideous. And that’s why I must leave. I belong in Svartalfheim, where no one but the dwarves will be subjected to my ugliness.”
And with that admission, she finally removed her veil.
The wrath of Thor
Thor’s hands clenched. Sif watched her husband’s face turn red and his eyes flashed with rage. Her own veins coursed with shame and sorrow. She had lost her legendary beauty, and now she would lose her beloved husband.
“Who did this?” Thor asked, eyes locked on her bare skull.
“I don’t know,” Sif said. “It happened while I was asleep.”
“Asleep?” Thor bellowed. “What cowardice, to even think of harming a hair on my wife’s head while she lay defenseless. My wife, beloved of the mighty Thor!”
He stepped forward, grabbing Sif’s hands. His eyes burned with fire.
“I will find who did this to you,” he promised. “And I will make them pay.”
Sif sniffled. “You’re not… ashamed? Of me?”
Thor cupped her delicate face in his war-roughened hands. “I am heartbroken, my dear Sif. Shame has no room in my heart; not when I can see the pain in your eyes, the cost of this cruel deed. I will use all of my power to bring your fairness back.” He thumbed away her tears, eyes flashing with rage. “I will make you whole again.”
He took her hand. Sif covered her barren head again, shame still lingering. But as Thor led them to Odin’s great hall, her heart vibrated with something new: hope.
Loki the culprit
The doors to Valhalla slammed open, echoes booming like thunder through the great hall. Conversation quieted as every head turned towards the entrance.
Thor stood in the doorway, the air around him crackling with electricity, eyes glowing with fury. Sif stood behind him, head bowed. The veil shrouded her in shadows.
“Who dares lift a hand against the family of Asgard?” Thor’s roar shook the hall. The other gods and goddesses eyed each other warily. “Come forward, coward! Pay for the crime you have committed against my fair wife!”
Murmurs filled the hall. Sif shrunk further behind Thor’s commanding presence, aware of the curiosity and scrutiny being cast in her direction.
“What is the meaning of this?” Odin asked from his throne.
“I have come seeking justice,” Thor thundered. “Retribution! Vengeance!”
“Yes, yes.” Odin waved a hand. “But for what, my boy?”
“Someone has cut the golden hair from Sif’s head.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
“Who could have done this?” someone asked.
“Only one of us would do something so shameful,” another voice said.
“Surely, it was Loki.”
The whispers carried through the hall. When they reached Thor’s ears, the air crackled, dark storm clouds rushing to fill the sky.
“Yes, it must have been Loki, that conniving snake,” he agreed. “I will find him, and I will kill him. Justice must be served!”
“Absolutely not.” Odin stood. “No one in Asgard may kill another. You know our laws. Get ahold of yourself, boy.”
“I will summon Loki,” Odin continued, “and he will explain himself.”
“You will not kill him,” Odin said sternly. “But he will pay for his actions nonetheless.”
With that, Odin sent his call through Asgard. His ravens took to the sky, echoing their master’s message in a summons that no god nor creature could refuse. Not even Loki.
Loki the Culprit
Loki sat in a cliffside cave — embroidering one of his throw pillows with a stolen lock of Sif’s majestic hair — when he heard the ravens’ call.
“Damn birds,” he muttered. “I was just getting the hang of the Jelling style.”
With a sigh, he abandoned his pillow and headed to Valhalla. The Allfather surely wanted something tedious from him, like finding Freya a mirror or listening to another one of Bragi’s prattling poems. Loki simply wanted to embroider his velvet pillow in peace. Was that too much to ask?
Arriving at Odin’s hall, Loki quickly realized this was no mere social call. He would cut the tension in Valhalla with a knife if he weren’t morally opposed to cliches.
At the center was Odin, his expression stern. Somebody was clearly in hot water.
To his left stood Thor, his skin an alarming shade of pink and his body wound tight like a top waiting to spin. Loki would have laughed, but Thor’s furiously-bulging eyes were trained on him. And next to him stood Sif, her head covered in a black veil.
Lokie quickly connected the dots.
Crap. He was the one in hot water.
He quickly turned on the charm. “Most gracious Allfather,” he said, bowing deeply. “You look particularly pulchritudinous today. Is that a new robe you’re wearing? I’m getting quite good at embroidery, myself, so I–”
“Enough pandering!” Thor thundered.
“Ooh, nice word, big guy. Did you finally read the thesaurus I gave you?”
Thor stepped forward with fists raised, but Odin held up a hand.
“Loki,” he said, voice eerily calm. “Surely, you know why I’ve summoned you.”
“For my devilish charms and irrefutable good looks?”
Odin sighed, unamused. “This is no time for games, Loki. Admit that you have harmed an Asgardian, and pledge to right your wrong.” His gaze was steely. “Or I will have to punish you myself.”
Loki gulped. Thor was big and strong, but he was a blockhead. A few arrows were short of a quiver. Loki could best him in his sleep.
Odin, however, was dangerous. Calculating and strategic, brilliant and merciless.
Loki had no choice but to make amends. And quickly.
“Return Sif’s hair to her,” Odin commanded. “Restore the beauty that you stole.”
Loki’s mind raced. Return Sif’s hair? How could he pull off such a feat?
But after seeing Thor’s palpable rage and the condemning stares of the other gods, Loki knew he must find a way.
“Your wish is my command, Allfather.”
After leaving Valhalla, Loki allowed himself a brief moment of panic. There was no way he could accomplish this mission on his own, despite his talents. He needed help. And there was only one place to go.
Loki traveled deep below the earth to the caves and hollows of Svartalfheim, the land of the Dwarves. Wicked, ugly, and twisted, the gnomes kept to themselves, using their expert craftsmanship to forge the most astounding creations in the nine realms.
If anyone could help Loki restore Sif’s beauty, it was the Dwarves.
But how would he convince them? Svartalfheim had been a haven during his spats with both the Aesir and Vanir gods, but Loki wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity. He could count his friends on one hand, and not many of them were Dwarves.
Down, down, down he descended into the dark depths of the earth’s winding passageways. Finally, he arrived in Svartalfheim. He searched for his few Dwarven friends, finding them hard at work in their forges.
All Dwarves were master smiths, but Loki set his sights on two Dwarves: the sons of Ivaldi, a legendary master craftsman.
Loki watched them work, hammers and tongs glowing in the light of the mighty forges. He saw the brothers forge two spectacular pieces. One was a spear called Gugnir, expertly crafted and perfectly balanced to hit any target, no matter how poorly thrown. The other, a boat named Skidbladnir, could sail on any sea and then be folded into a pocket-sized bundle.
Loki smiled to himself. The sons of Ivaldi would save him from Odin’s hand. Now, Loki just needed to convince them.
Recruiting the Dwarves to help
“Well, if it isn’t Svartalfheim’s most prodigious smiths!” he said, striding into view. “What are these new splendors I see? Truly, the creations made by your miraculous hands are fit for gods!”
The sons of Ivaldi blushed. Loki sang their praises, buttering them up with his wily charms. How predictable, he thought smugly. Dwarves are no match for a bit of flattery, the fools.
“The only thing that could have rivaled the beauty of these treasures was Sif’s golden hair.”
The Dwarves’ eyes sparked at the challenge.
“But, alas,” Loki continued wistfully, “in a tragic accident, dearest Sif lost every hair on her pretty little head. Her devastation plagues Asgard. And Thor’s rage clouds the skies.”
With the Dwarves’ interest piqued, Loki laid the final piece of bait.
“Only master craftsmen like yourselves could ever restore such a precious treasure. Your renown will spread through Asgard until every god and goddess will seek your work. And of course, Sif and her mighty husband would be forever in your debt.”
The sons of Ivaldi, intrigued by Loki’s tale and buttered up like fresh bread, eagerly accepted the challenge. They threw a bar of the finest gold into the forge. When it was ready, they took it out, placed it upon their anvil, and struck the gold with their tiny hammers.
Over and over and over their hammers clanged until eventually, they morphed the gold into thin, delicate threads, fine like hair and softer than silk.
But the Dwarves kept working. They shaped and pounded the golden threads until they shone like sunlight in the glow of the forge. And finally, when they deemed their creation worthy to crown Sif’s illustrious head, they set down their hammers.
Loki stepped forward to inspect his salvation. When he picked up the threads, they flowed from his hand onto the floor, a pool of sunlight against the charred ground of the forge. He marveled at the threads, even finer than Sif’s original hair, so lightweight that a bird could fly for miles without feeling its weight.
“Remarkable,” Loki breathed. He felt giddy; not only would he avoid Thor and Odin’s wrath, but all of Asgard would see Sif’s beauty and know that he, Loki, was the one who gave it to her. Perhaps now the gods would show him more respect.
“I will take this masterpiece straight to Asgard, along with Gungnir and Skidbladnir,” he told the brothers, “and declare the sons of Ivaldi the best craftsmen in all of Svartalfheim! Your gifts will earn great favor among the gods.”
The brothers were pleased, and Loki gathered the treasures and headed back to Asgard. His victory awaited.
Loki presents the gifts
“I’m back!” Loki sang, entering Odin’s great hall in a burst of self-righteousness. Every head turned in his direction. He reveled in the attention.
“I come bearing miracles,” he said grandly. He strode towards Sif, ignoring Thor’s menacing stance. He reached into his satchel and dramatically presented Sif’s new hair, letting the strands glisten under the light of the candle chandeliers. An awed gasp ran through the crowd of gods.
“My dear Sif, I bring to you the finest gold in all of the nine realms! Even your previous locks pale in comparison to its dazzling beauty, don’t you think?”
Thor harrumphed, but Sif’s eyes shone with gratitude. She removed her veil, and Loki carefully draped the Dwarves’ creation over her shamefully bald head.
The gold fell over her shoulders like a shimmering waterfall. Fine, soft, and lustrous as her own hair. Even her skin seemed to glow.
“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Loki, thank you! You’ve returned my beauty, and thus, my life.”
“You are most welcome, my dramatic lady,” Loki said with a sweeping bow.
“She is breathtaking,” someone declared from the crowd.
“Even more beautiful than before!” Eir agreed.
Thor stared at Sif with his mouth wide open, practically drooling.
“Even I must admit you’ve done well, Loki,” Odin said.
Loki swelled with smugness. He saw the awe on the gods’ faces and heard the praise falling from their lips. Regaining their favor felt invigorating.
“That’s not all, dear friends! I have brought more gifts from Svartalfheim.”
He pulled Gugnir and Skidbladnir from his satchel. The gods oohed and aahed at the magnificent spear and ship. It was rare to have both the Aesir and the Vanir gods in agreement, and Loki basked in his triumph.
“Gugnir will always find its target,” he said, giving the spear to Odin. “And Skidbladnir will always sail with favorable winds.” He gave the ship to Freyr, chief of the Vanir.
The gods marveled at the craftsmanship, rejoicing over such wonderful and helpful gifts. Loki couldn’t help but boast.
“Only the Dwarves under my command can make such splendid creations,” he said arrogantly. “Sure, other Dwarves can attempt true smithery, but they are as incompetent as they are ugly. Only my servants, the sons of Ivaldi, are capable of such wonders.”
He puffed his chest out proudly. But in classic Loki fashion, he had put his foot in his mouth. Insulting an entire race? Not the smartest move.
Especially when one of them was standing in the shadows, listening.
The dwarf Brokkr disagree
Unbeknownst to Loki, another Dwarven master craftsman had heard his every word. Brokkr stood behind Odin’s seat, trembling with rage. Incompetent and ugly? Oh, Loki would pay for his insults. And he would pay with his pride.
Brokkr angrily stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The hall quieted. Brokkr was known as the most spiteful Dwarf in Svartalfheim.
“Ha! Loki, you braggadocious snake! My brother, Eitri, is the best smith in all of Svartalfheim. And he would never serve the likes of you!” He spat at Loki’s feet.
The Aesir and Vanir laughed. Poor Loki, outfaced by a Dwarf! Loki ground his teeth, temper rising.
“Silence, Dwarf!” he snapped. “Your brother has the skills of a toddler compared to the sons of Ivaldi. He could certainly learn a thing or two from them.”
“He did!” Brokkr fired back. “Eitri learned from the sons of Ivaldi, your so-called friends.” His rage boiled, and the great hall was rife with tension. “These trinkets you brought from Svartalfheim would be cast aside by the Aesir and Vanir if they saw my brother’s work.”
Brokkr and Loki wager
Loki scoffed. “Sure. Someday we’ll see what Eitri can do.”
“Someday? I say, now!” Brokkr countered. “I’ll wager my head against yours, Loki. My brother’s work will make the gods of Asgard laugh at your boasting, and they will see you for the liar you are.”
“I accept your wager,” Loki said. “My head against yours. I can’t wait to see your ugly face severed from your misshapen shoulders.”
Brokkr sneered, tiny body taut with resentment. “The Aesir will be the judge of my brother’s work. And when they declare his creations the best to ever come from the forges of Svartalfheim, you will pay your wager. Your head will roll.”
Brokkr turned to the gods and goddesses of Valhalla. “Will you judge this competition, Asgardians?” he roared.
“We will!” the Aesir responded. They loved a good wager, especially ones that gave Loki a taste of his own medicine.
Brokkr and Eitri
With that, Brokkr descended to Svartalfheim to his brother’s forge. Eitri worked before the glowing flames, bellows, and anvils and hammers clanging, surrounded by masses of metal — gold and silver, copper and iron.
“Brother!” Brokkr shouted over the noises of the forge. He told Eitri of Loki’s boastfulness and his slights against Eitri’s skills. “I have wagered my head that you can create things infinitely more marvelous than the spear and boat Loki brought to Asgard.”
“You did the right thing, brother,” Eitri said. “Rest assured, Loki’s head will pay for its rash words. But I will need your help. The pieces I have in mind will take two sets of hands, so you must keep the fire nice and steady. Don’t let it blaze up or die down for a single moment. Only then can I forge the greatest wonders Asgard has ever seen. Now man the bellows, and control that fire!”
The brothers got to work, and Eitri threw something surprising into the fire: not metal, but pig’s skin. As Brokkr kept his hands on the bellows and the fire burned steady, the pigskin began to swell into a strange shape.
But sadly for Brokkr, Loki had a trick up his sleeve.
Loki the shapeshifter
As Brokkr toiled over the bellows, a large gadfly flew into the forge and settled in one of his hands. But this was no ordinary gadfly.
It stung Brokkr. The Dwarf screamed at the excruciating pain, but still, he gripped the bellows and kept the fire steady.
Brokkr knew that Loki was the god of trickery and deceit. He wasn’t one to play by the rules. Brokkr was certain that Loki had used his shapeshifting to morph into the gadfly and tamper with Eitri’s work.
Brokkr steeled his resolve. He wouldn’t let the scheming god win so easily.
Again and again, the gadfly stung his hands. It felt as though hot irons were piercing his skin, the pain nearly blinding. But his grip on the bellows never faltered, and the fire did not blaze up or die down for a single moment.
Finally, his efforts were rewarded. Eitri looked over the fire and chanted words of magic, then stepped back.
“You may stop now, brother.”
Brokkr groaned with relief. The gadfly had flown away, but his hands throbbed with painful welts, sweat beading his forehead.
Eitri pulled his creation from the fire. He worked at it with his hammer, each stroke turning the shape from the forge into something spectacular.
Bringing Gullinbursti to life
The brothers stared at the wonder of their creation. It was a flying boar of pure gold, shedding light from its bristles as it flew through the air. The pain in Brokkr’s hands faded away as he shouted with joy.
“This is truly the greatest of wonders!” he declared. “The gods of Asgard will have to rule in your favor. I shall have Loki’s head!”
But Eitri frowned. “The boar Gullinbursti is magnificent, but will it match the splendor of the spear Gugnir or the boat Skidbladnir? We must make something even more wonderful. Work the bellows again, brother, and don’t let the fire die down or blaze up for even an instant!”
Eitri picked up a piece of pure gold, shining so brightly it illuminated the dark forge. He threw the gold into the fire.
Brokkr winced when he heard the dreaded buzz of the gadfly again. It landed on the back of his neck and stung him viciously. Brokkr felt like the pain would wrench him apart. But he kept his hands and the fire steady, though his pain was so severe he could hardly speak.
Draupnir the magical arm ring
Eitri said more magic words over the smelted gold, removed it from the flames, and worked it over the anvil. He eventually held up a magnificent circlet that shone brightly as the sun.
“An armring,” he said, “for a god’s right arm. And every ninth night, eight identical rings will drop from the armring, providing infinite wealth. I call it Draupnir, the Dripper.”
“I will give it to Odin, and he will surely declare Draupnir the most spectacular and valuable thing to ever grace Asgard!” Brokkr said.
“Let’s not be hasty,” Eitri said. “Our work thus far is undoubtedly good. But we can still do better! We must ensure that the Asgardians rule in your favor. I will not rest until Loki’s head is delivered to you.”
They manned the forge once more. Eitri threw a bar of iron into the flame. He went to fetch a special hammer to shape the metal, but as Brokkr worked the bellows, only his hands were steady. The rest of his body trembled with fear of the gadfly’s return.
The creation of Mjollnir
The gadfly darted into the forge yet again.
“Begone!” Brokkr shouted, watching with trepidation as the gadfly circled him. It eventually landed on his forehead, directly between his eyes.
Brokkr felt the sting, and suddenly the world was dark. The gadfly stung again, and Brokkr felt blood trickling down his face. But he could see nothing.
“Brother!” he shouted, “please, hurry! I cannot see the fire!”
He tried to keep his hands steady, but he couldn’t tell if the fire remained constant. When Eitri returned, he uttered his words of magic over the fire. He pulled out the iron with a sigh.
“An instant more, and the work would have been perfect. But you let the fire die down for just a moment while it was forming.”
Brokkr heard him shaping the metal over the anvil, and when his eyesight blessedly returned, he saw a magnificent hammer made of pure iron. The handle was slightly too short to balance the head, and Brokkr knew it was his mistake that had cost Eitri’s creation its perfection. But even so, Brokkr knew the hammer was truly exceptional.
“This hammer shall be known as Mjollnir,” Eitri said. “The greatest thing I have ever made. Only Thor the mighty will be able to wield it. The Asgardians will rejoice, and I know they will rule in your favor now, brother.”
The Dwarves present their gifts
Brokkr and Eitri traveled over the Bifrost bridge and brought their gifts to Odin’s great hall. A gathering of other Dwarves accompanied them, eager to hear the results of Loki and Brokkr’s wager.
“Welcome,” Odin said. “Let us see what you have brought, Brokkr. If their splendor and usefulness exceed that of Gugnir and Skidbladnir, we will judge in your favor.”
Brokkr revealed the first creation: Gullinbursti, the boar. The gods and goddesses gasped and clapped as the sparkling boar flew through the great hall, leaving a trail of radiance in its wake.
“Gullinbursti is truly a wonder!” they said. “But not better than a spear that always hits its mark or a boat that sails smoothly on the roughest seas and can be folded into your pocket.”
“Just wait,” Brokkr called to the crowd. He gifted the magical boar to Freyr, the Vanir chief and god of peace, fertility, and prosperity. “Now, I present to you: Draupnir!”
Brokkr held the gold armband high. Its luminance was blinding, filling the hall like a piece of the sun. When he told the gods of its magical ability to replicate every ninth night, they murmured in awe.
Brokkr grinned triumphantly at Loki, whose lips were pressed into a nervous line. Try slithering your way out of this one, you snake, Brokkr thought.
“For you, Allfather,” said Brokkr, presenting the armring to Odin with a bow. “And now, the greatest gift of them all: Mjollnir, the mighty hammer!”
With great reverence, Brokkr placed the iron hammer before Thor. “Only you can wield such power,” he told the god. “This hammer is unbreakable. When thrown, it will always return to your hand, and your hand alone.”
Thor grinned. He picked up the hammer, muscles bulging and uttered a war cry as he swung it around his head. The other gods and goddesses applauded, moved by Mjollnir’s magnificence in Thor’s hand. Loki rolled his eyes, but his face had paled.
“The greatest treasure to ever bless Asgard!” the gods agreed.
Odin stood from his throne. Valhalla fell silent
“Brokkr, the hammer you have brought us is glorious, indeed. In Thor’s hands, it can crush mountains and hurl the race of Giants from the fortifications surrounding Asgard.”
The crowd held its breath as Odin declared:
“Eitri the Dwarf has forged a greater creation than the spear Gugnir and the boat Skidbladnir. My judgment is irrefutable.”
A debt to pay
Brokkr bared his gnarled teeth in a sadistic grin. “Your head is mine, Loki!”
“You shouldn’t seek such heinous payment,” Odin chided. “Ask for another penalty as recompense for Loki mocking and tormenting you. Ask for anything but his head.”
“No, no!” shrieked Brokkr. “Of course, you gods and goddesses of Asgard would shield one another. But what about me? Loki would have taken my head had I lost the wager, so now Loki must kneel before me!”
Odin frowned. Loki stepped forward with a tight smile. “I kneel before you, Dwarf,” he said, lip curled. “Take my head. But be careful. My neck was not part of the bargain. If you touch it, I shall call upon the gods to punish you.”
Brokkr recoiled, enraged. “So this is the judgment of the Gods, huh? A fallacy!”
“The wager you made was evil,” said Odin, “and you must accept its consequences.”
Loki smiled, the derisive tilt of his lips igniting Brokkr’s rage. But it gave him a diabolical idea.
“I may not take your head, Loki. But I will stop your lips from ever mocking me again.”
The final laugh
“As my prize, I demand your lips be sewn shut,” Brokkr told Loki with a cold smile. “Your lying tongue won’t cause any more mischief and misery.”
Loki blanched. He desperately searched the hall for help, but the gods and goddesses showed no mercy. Loki knew he must accept his punishment.
He pressed his lips together, eyes flashing with loathing. Brokkr gleefully pulled a thick needle and special magical thread from his belt. His smile grew with every stitch, every stab of the needle imbued with wrath.
Brokkr stepped back triumphantly.
“Oh, Loki,” he said, sardonic. “You boasted that your Dwarven servants were better craftsmen than my brother. Now everyone in this hall knows that your words are lies.” He patted Loki’s cheek. “Good luck trying to lie again.”
And with great majesty, Brokkr strode from Odin’s great hall. The attending Dwarves marched behind him in procession. They descended the winding passages into the earth, their voices echoing as they sang a song of Brokkr’s triumph. And Svartalfheim forever remembered Brokkr and Eitri triumph over the god of trickery.
In Asgard, Loki’s lips remained sealed shut and the city was free from his mischief. To Loki’s chagrin, none of the other gods and goddesses pitied him. He walked Asgard in humiliated silence, head bent low. His lips were silent, but his mind still schemed.
He vowed to get revenge against his fellow gods for slighting him. But he would be patient.
Someday, the gods would pay.