Andvari's Bride
As told to Elizabeth Vongvisith by Loki
For many
years, Loki and the foster-child of Njord had loved one another, but Njord
decreed that they could not marry until he deemed her ready. Finally, when
Sigyn’s fifteenth summer approached, Njord gave Loki his blessing, and Loki
went straightaway to Sigyn and asked her to be his wife. She agreed with much
love and enthusiasm, and a date was set within half a year for their wedding
feast.
Before that happy day, however, Loki greatly wished to obtain a wedding-gift for his young bride, something lovely and rare which would make her think of him each time she looked upon it. Sigyn loved jewels, more with a child’s delight than with any trace of greed, and Loki decided to have made for her a gift which would show all who dwelt in Asgard the extent of his love, for though they would not marry according to Jotun custom, as he had married Angrboda, Loki would have his new wife bear his Lightning Clan totem anyway. So he decided to commission from the Duergar an arm-ring for his young bride. Thus Loki bade Sigyn farewell, telling her that he would return before long, and he took himself off to Svartalfheim to seek a smith who was capable of creating what he had in mind.
He went to Nidavellir, the great city of the dwarves, and wandered the streets until he came to a tavern full of Duergar. They regarded him with suspicion and curiosity, for though the Duergar have many travelers in their land and welcome visitors (especially those with fat purses), some of them already knew who Loki was, for his reputation preceded him. No one would answer his inquiries until at last he began to jest and tell stories nearly as winningly as Bragi himself, and began buying rounds for the company. Then the dwarves, who were very fond of tales of far-off lands (and drink) warmed to him and clamored for more. Loki was not averse to being the center of attention, even in the midst of a serious errand, and he had supplied himself well with gold from the coffers and strongboxes of various households in Asgard (which, certainly, no one would begrudge him, as he was the blood-brother of Asgard’s lord and soon to be married to one of their own) so the merrymaking went on long into the night, with drink, laughter and song.
During this evening of gaiety, one dwarf who sat in the corner of the tavern kept regarding Loki with an apprising gaze. Loki was not unaware of this, but as the hours passed and the dwarves’ heady and very strong ale began to take effect, he dismissed it from his mind, and it was with a great deal of staggering that he left the tavern at sunrise, with the advice of the Duergar the only clear thing in his mind: Go to the deepest cavern under Mount Clearspring, and find you there the door to Andvari’s hall. He is the oldest and best of the gold-workers in this land.
So Loki wandered off, none too steadily, and if behind him a furtive shadow slipped through the mountain-rooted land, gradually overtaking and then passing him entirely, he did not see. The Duergar ale was something he had never tasted before, and he had drunk rather too much of it. His vision was blurry, his head hurt and his stomach felt queasy, and he really wanted to lie down, or perhaps even to curl up and die, but the thought of Sigyn’s face when she saw the arm-ring kept him moving one foot in front of the other, until finally he came to Mount Clearspring, where there lay a deep, clear and cold lake. Loki paused and peered into its waters at his own reflection; his hair was wildly messed up, his green eyes were dull and ringed with dark shadows, and he had the general look of one who has been run over by a cart. Nevertheless, after splashing some water on his face and making some attempts to improve his appearance, Loki took a deep breath and only a little unsteadily bore himself to the door which led under the mountain and to Andvari’s home.
He knocked, and the door was opened by one of the smith’s many children, a half-grown dwarf whose beard was only just coming in. “Welcome, stranger,” he said politely. “Who are you and what brings you to my father’s home?”
Loki said, somewhat faintly, “My name is Loki Laufeyson. I come from Asgard, seeking Andvari’s skills in gold-working.” He smiled in what he thought was a charming manner, and he was mostly correct, but the effect was rather spoiled by the alcoholic fumes which rolled off him as he stepped closer to the young dwarf standing in the open doorway. Andvari’s son took a pointed step back and managed to refrain from waving a hand before his face. “Come in,” he said, and held the door open for the strange and obviously intoxicated Jotun whose clothing bespoke wealth and position.
The young dwarf led Loki down a series of twisting corridors until they came to a large room right underneath the mountain’s heart. Loki paused as his bleary eyes adjusted to the dim room. One wall was taken up entirely by a mighty forge. A great anvil stood in the center, and on the other walls, many metalworking tools were suspended, from the largest, heaviest mallets to the most delicate, tiny pinchers for setting jewels. And from the ceiling... Loki blinked and was momentarily startled enough to forget his throbbing head, for there were hung many fine rings and brooches, jewels set in elaborately worked settings, cups and drinking horns trimmed with gold, and silver-inlaid weapons and pieces of armor which gleamed in the bright firelight coming from the forge. Truly, I have chosen well the one who can make what I want, he thought, staring at the treasures overhead, which wavered slightly in his gaze.
Overcome with awe and liquor, Loki put a hand out on the door frame to steady himself. He did not see, at first, the form of the dwarf who had been eyeing him in the tavern, but when Loki caught sight of Andvari standing there, he smiled. “So, you yourself gave me the advice to seek you out. That was cleverly done.” The dwarf only bowed, and taking a slightly wobbly step forward, Loki went on, “You already know who I am. I want to commission a piece of jewelry, an arm-ring for my wife-to-be, Sigyn Njord’s daughter, and I want it to be a wonder of the Nine Worlds. I have the wealth of Asgard at my disposal and can pay you very well for this,” he added.
He saw the old dwarf smile in a manner in which, frankly, Loki had never expected to see on the face of a Duerg. Andvari came closer so that he and Loki were standing face to face, or rather, face to chest. He leered at Loki up and down, from his feet to the ends of his bright hair. “And what else would you be willing to give me, son of Laufey, were I to say that I have wealth enough already, and that there are other things I would consider as fitting compensation for such an undertaking?”
Loki raised an eyebrow, then let his mouth curl into a lazy smile. “I would be willing to, ah, negotiate further,” he said, and that was true. And after all, Sigyn need never know what he had done, exactly, to win her wedding-gift. He only hoped he was capable of rising to the occasion. There was a roaring in his ears, and the heat of the forge by now was growing intolerable, even for one with the blood of the fire-etins, especially if that one was as drunk as Loki. As much as for his own comfort as for effect, Loki unclasped his cloak and let it fall, then untied the lacing at the neck of his tunic and pulled it off over his head. He saw the old dwarf’s gaze greedily follow his movements, eyeing Loki’s lean body, and thought smugly, Yes, I am fair, and I am not above bargaining as the Vanadis bargained for what she wanted, if it comes to that.
“Come and sit, friend, and let us discuss this further,” said the dwarf, and indicated two chairs set close to the fire. “And I would pledge your health, and our bargain, and of course your soon-to-be marriage to the lady Sigyn,” Andvari added. There was nothing for Loki to do but comply, and though his head was buzzing, he followed the dwarf to the place indicated. They sat, and Andvari leaned very close and set his hand on Loki’s knee. Loki did not draw away, but sat grinning rather foolishly at the Duerg, wondering if he would pass out before Andvari led him to his bed.
“My wife died a few years ago, and my sons and I are alone, without the comfort of a lady in our household,” Andvari was saying, but the Sky-treader was not really listening. Loki’s dizziness increased, though he tried hard not to let it show. The dwarf gave him a horn positively brimming with ale, and at the sight and smell of it, Loki’s stomach gave a great heave, but he managed the tiniest of sips. “That’s no pledge,” the dwarf admonished, and so Loki took a great gulp...and another, and another after that. “To marriage!” Andvari cried, and he heard his own voice echoing the sentiment. They drank some more. When the horns were empty, Loki was in a very bad way. He stood up, babbling incoherently as the dwarf nodded and answered him. Something was being said, something important, but he had lost all sense by then. He heard himself agreeing to some bargain, and it dimly penetrated his fogged brain that he was in no shape to be giving his word, let alone showing Andvari a fine time among the linens, but maybe that didn’t matter. Andvari had taken his hand and was leading him away. The last thing he remembered was the dwarf’s satisfied smile.
Loki awoke in a bed, though he was alone. His head ached and pounded. His tongue felt as if it was coated in fur. His stomach...without even opening his eyes, Loki rolled over and heaved over the edge of the bed. Someone was holding a chamber pot for him. When he finished, he looked up and saw a group of young Duergar, all boys, staring at him. The eldest one, the one who had opened Andvari’s door for him, was the one holding the pot, which he hastily set down.
“Mother!” they all cried.
Loki stared at them without saying anything at all. I do not remember giving birth to such a brood of Duergar, he thought in confusion. How long have I been asleep? Then he noticed that his own clothes were gone and he was clad in a shift. His hair seemed to have lengthened, and looking down at himself, Loki saw...Oh. His voice had changed and was now pitched higher than before. He had apparently taken woman’s form at some point during the preceding drunken night, but he knew he was now too exhausted and hung over to resume his own shape. Well, so what? he thought waspishly. Loki clutched the open neck of his shift together, more out of nervousness than modesty, and said, “Where is Andvari? Bring your father to me.”
One of the young dwarf children scurried off, and in moments, Andvari appeared in the doorway of the small bedchamber where Loki had lain. “Ah, I see you are awake, my dear. Good.” He came to the bedside and kissed Loki as lovingly as any husband kisses a wife. Loki did not move away; he merely stared at Andvari. “Children,” he said, “leave your father and me alone for a moment.”
The young dwarves filed out, glancing curiously at the two. Loki waited until the door had closed behind the last of them, then dropped his hands and said flatly, “Andvari, tell me. What is all this?” He gestured at the lady’s clothing hanging on pegs on the wall, the table upon which rested a box of jewels and a bunch of keys, and his rather more prominent chest. Andvari smiled, and the smugness in it did not escape Loki.
“Don’t you remember? You asked me to name my price. We discussed your terms—that I would craft for your new bride the fairest, most delicate golden arm-ring ever seen in the Nine Worlds, and in return, you would live as my wife for the duration of its making. And then you changed your shape into woman’s form, and you and I took to your bedchamber here to seal the bargain.” He sighed happily. “And so today I will begin work upon the arm-ring, and you will be mother to my sons and mistress of my household, Loki Laufey’s son. Or ought that to be Laufey’s daughter?” he chuckled.
Loki narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists among the dainty linen bedding, but he could think of no way to refute this, and no way to get out of the bargain since he did not, in fact, remember much of anything except that he had agreed quite enthusiastically to something, and he realized that he must keep to his word. So Loki nodded slowly, and told Andvari, “Fine, then. Leave me now, so that I may dress and see to the needs of your...our sons.” Andvari took his leave, and when the door shut, Loki sighed deeply, got out of the bed, and tried to decide which gown he should put on for that day.
For several long weeks, Loki lived as Andvari’s wife in every way. He saw to the management of the household, which consisted of Andvari, his seven sons (some of whom were very small and little more than babies), and a few apprentices and servants. He cooked for the family. He spun wool and linen and wove them clothing. He bore the keys to Andvari’s household and saw to the servants’ duties. He brewed ale and collected honey from the hives on the mountainside, and he milked Andvari’s cows and made butter and cheese. He slept with Andvari too and made no complaints, though he found all the work rather tedious (and Andvari rather tedious as well, after the first few nights). He did become fond of the gold-smith’s young sons, and often found himself dreaming of the day when Sigyn would bear him children. But for now, the distaff and the spindle were Loki’s lot.
The arm-ring was a true wonder, however, and well worth the price of having the youngest of Andvari’s sons occasionally wetting himself (and Loki) whenever Loki held him on his lap, or being seen and pointed at by passing Duergar as he struggled down the mountainside in his skirts, carrying buckets of milk. First, Andvari took red, white and yellow gold and carefully, painstakingly hammered them into the finest strands, no thicker than spider webs. He then wove them into an intricate repeating pattern, the three crossed flaming arrows of Loki’s Jotun clan, and placed fanciful knotwork all around it, all of which was painstaking work. If he dawdled a little more than necessary during this task, Loki did not mention it.
However, the day came when the arm-ring was soon to be finished, and Loki was very pleased with it, eagerly anticipating Sigyn’s happiness when he presented it to her at their wedding. Andvari now did positively drag out the finishing of the arm-ring, for he was loath to have Loki leave, and he knew too his young sons would miss their “mother” when Loki had gone back to Asgard. But Andvari thought he knew of a way to keep Loki there under his mountain a while longer.
One day, Andvari called Loki into his forge and showed him that the arm-ring was done. It was truly magnificent, light and fragile-seeming, but strong—like Sigyn herself, Loki thought. He was so delighted that he threw his arms around Andvari and kissed him heartily, and did not miss the look the dwarf gave him as they parted. “Come, let us drink to the arm-ring’s making, and to the conclusion of our bargain!” cried Andvari, and he called in his apprentices, servants and sons to join them in their merrymaking. Loki soon found himself surrounded by many burly Duergar, and at once he guessed Andvari’s plan, to intoxicate him again and force another promise and a lengthy stay, and to have his men prevent Loki leaving if he chose not to engage himself further. But Loki had prepared himself for this eventuality.
“I have just the thing, my husband,” Loki simpered, and going to a storage-room, he came back with two large jugs of ale which he had brewed himself. The dwarves uncorked them and inhaled the fumes rising from within; it was indeed a fine batch, and as they tasted it and gazed upon Loki in his comely woman’s form, many of them thought that the Jotun man had made a better wife than even a Duerg woman might have. They set to drinking, and though plied with cups, Loki did not get tipsy along with the rest. The ale was of a kind often brewed in Jotunheim, and while to Loki it was a commonplace drink which he was used to quaffing in great quantities, to the dwarves it was novel and fascinating, so they drank much more than they had planned. Soon they became inebriated, while Loki alone remained in command of his senses.
Finally, Andvari and his men were roaring and staggering about, sweating and cursing in the tremendous heat. Some of them looked as if they would soon come to blows, while others were weeping with their arms over each others’ shoulders and vowing eternal brotherhood, and a few had collapsed and were snoring loudly on the floor. Loki hid his smile as Andvari came stumbling up to his “wife” and said, leering, “Now is the time when a man’s thoughts turn from the pleasures of drink to those of the bedchamber.”
Loki batted his eyelashes and said, “All right,” and they left the crowd of drunken Duergar and went to Andvari’s chamber. And Loki, reaching up and letting his long red hair fall free down his back, said, “I would ask you for one thing, my husband.”
“What’s that?” Andvari asked, reaching out to draw Loki closer to the bed.
“That you don’t wake up,” Loki said, in his own voice. He spoke a few words in the ancient Jotun tongue, and the old dwarf fell backwards on the bed, senseless... unharmed, surely, but not to awaken for a long time. Loki pulled off his gown and shift, having taken his man’s form again, and put on his own clothes. He went to find Andvari’s sons and bade them farewell, and though it grieved him to see their dismay at his leaving, he promised that he would not forget them. The eldest dwarf-lad in particular was quite upset, as he had come to admire his “mother” greatly, but Loki made him yet another promise. Then he went to the great forge where Andvari’s men were still making merry, and shouting those same words he used in the bedchamber, he caused them to fall asleep where they sat (or sprawled, in some cases).
Loki took the finished arm-ring from Andvari’s bench and wrapped it carefully, then hid it among his clothes. He hoped that Sigyn had not become alarmed at his long absence, but then she was already used to his frequent comings and goings by now. Surely if she was upset, she would forgive him when he returned to her and made her his wife at last. Loki smiled again as he left the mountain, and by the shores of the clear lake, he changed himself into a falcon and left Nidavellir, winging his way back to Asgard.
He returned not long before the wedding date. Sigyn had been worried—not that Loki had abandoned her, but that some misfortune had befallen him. It was not the last time she would worry thus. However, she greeted Loki with the same loving affection she had always shown, and they were married within a few days’ time. When Loki produced the ring and placed it on her arm, everyone gasped at its wondrous beauty and Sigyn’s eyes filled with tears, for she knew that Loki, in having it marked with his clan totem, was naming her his wife among his own people as well as the Aesir, no matter what the Jotnar (or his first wife) might have thought.
At the wedding feast, Odin came up to Loki and remarked, “You have won for your bride a fair enough treasure to inspire envy among Freyja and her women, and many a covetous glance from others besides. How did you manage it? For you could not have, ahem, borrowed nearly enough gold to pay for this rare gift.”
Loki only smiled and said, “My brother, all it took was a woman’s touch.”
The morning after Loki’s departure, Andvari awoke with a pounding head, and he was sore vexed at Loki, but in time eventually he did find himself another wife of his own people and was content, though the memory of his Jotun bride irritated him greatly, and he ever after swore loudly at the mere mention of Loki’s name. And in later days, the Duergar said that Loki had instead snared Andvari in his net and forced from him his gold and so earned Andvari’s curse.
Andvari’s sons, though, found that Loki kept his word. To their father’s immense displeasure, he came to visit and brought them fair gifts when each of them became men and married wives of their own. He also kept his other promise. When his bride bore a boy-child, Loki named him Narvi, after Andvari’s eldest son, though Sigyn did not know the reason why until many years had passed, and then, as Loki intended when he told her this story, she laughed.