Thorskegga

Loki had settled very happily into his new home at Stormbright Hall.  He now had a generous run of rooms beside Sigyns, an easy walk from the larders and the ale cellar.  He had also found an excellent lolling place on the roof of the stable-block where he could watch the industry of others.  He was reclining there now with his lap filled with a platter of spice cakes.  

There was plenty happening below to pour honey sauce on the delights of idleness.  Thor was readying his wain for a long journey in the Outlands.  The hallfolk were running to and fro with supplies and equipment:  hay for the goats, ale, cheeses and hams for the Os, spare set of bridles and traces, and bundles of cooking gear.  Thor himself was lashing bronze cauldrons to the tail-board.  "Meilli, there you are at last!' he cried, spotting his blood-brother in the crowd.  'Go and fetch your travelling clothes and we can leave.'
'But Thor, these are my travelling clothes.'
Loki roared with helpless laughter, Meilli's shirt was a riot of embroidery and ribbon trim.
The sounds of mirth from the rooftop drew Thor's attention.  'Ah, Loki, want to come too?'
The Trickster considered briefly, weighing the pleasures of the vast hall with less male competition for the females, or an adventure.  'I will come' he decided and slid carefully from the roof shingles, landing light as a cat in the yard below.
'Run and get some warm clothing then.'
Loki wasted no time and hurried to his room to fetch his own travelling clothes and a warm, black, felted cloak.  He leapt back down the stairs and happily took his place on the wain's tail-bench.
Sigyn approached with a roll of blankets.   'Yes, I thought as much, you have packed enough food for an army but not a stitch of bedding between you.'
Thor kissed his housekeeper fondly 'Thanks, lass.'
With the two Osfolk finally settled Thor urged his goats forward and with a din-full rattle the wain left the cobbled court and rose into the heavens.  

After a long ride above the clouds, during which a whole net of hams was gnawed to the bone, Thor brought the wagon down onto a stony road in the Outlands.  They were in the mountains beyond Hymir's Stead.  The region was remote and most of the wights living there were hostile to the folk of Godhome.

The wagon's heavy wheels rumbled; the spark-throwing goats' hooves clattered on the rough rocky lane and the cauldrons hanging on the back-board rang loudly.  The din caused many an ettin to bolt his door and the trolls and the mountain hags to scatter.  'Where is everyone?' asked Loki.
'Avoiding trouble' Thor answered smugly.

Not all the inhabitants of the wilds were so wise.  The wagon rumbled around a bend in a steep sided valley and they found their way barred by a towering ettin.  The goats skidded in the loose stones in their efforts to stop.  The ettin was three times the height of a man of Middle Garth, bore three hideous heads on his shoulders and swung a tree trunk as a club.  The outlander roared a challenge.  Thor shouted back 'Think again, rock-dweller, this is Jord's Son you are facing.  If you strike at me you will never strike another.'
The creature roared again advancing on the travellers.
'Hmm,' mused Thor, 'maybe you need smaller words.  Ettin, get off the road or I will kill you.'
Undeterred the outlander bellowed, spraying the godfolk with three helpings of spittle.  Loki cowered: the ettin was close enough to do them some serious damage.  'Maybe there is another road through; we could turn around.'
Thor ignored Loki and addressed the giant again 'Last chance!'  He turned to his brother 'Satisfied Meilli?'
'Yes Thor.'  Meilli sat calmly on the wagon's rear bench above the terrified Loki.
There was a net of large spherical stones on the front bench beside Thor. He hefted one, tossed it from hand to hand and there was a blur of movement that Loki registered only as an explosion as fragments of ettin skull were hurled in all directions.
'Uck!' cried Meilli peeling pieces of skin from his fine clothing.  'Can we stop to wash brother?'
'And eat too' Thor agreed eagerly.

Thor halted the goats where the valley's small stream formed a pool and the three Osfolk washed off the worst of the grime.  Thor used a pebble to bring down a deer and soon had it spitted.  Loki, ever hungry, gathered wood and lit a fire.  Thor and Loki sat tending the roasting flesh while Meilli explored the plants on the stream's banks.  

Loki watched bemused as Meilli exclaimed in delight at the flowers he found and stored them away in layers of fine linen and wooden panels.  He enthused about each one: this would work well as a pattern for weaving or carving.  Once he wandered out of hearing Loki asked 'How by Ymir's Beard can you two be brothers?'
'We are foster brothers.'
'Ah, that partly explains it.  But he is so... innocent, how can you stand him?'
'Sometimes I need reminding that there is good in all of us.'
'What, even in the rock-ettin back there?'
'Probably,' Thor laughed 'but you would need to divide him a thousand times with an axe to find the good bit.'

After their feast the Osfolk rested and took turns to stand watch.  On rising they continued on their journey through the most dangerous lands in the Outlands.  The way had opened out with pine forest on either side of the track.  To their surprise a young trollwife stood in their way and waved for them to stop.  The trollwives avoided the Osfolk and so the gods' curiosity was strong.  The troll was short for her kind, about five feet to the tips of her horns and very stocky.  She smiled hopefully revealing the full length of her tusk-like fangs.  'Mighty Jord's Son, I am here to warn you' she said.  'My sisters are planning to ambush you beyond the next river crossing.'
'Your sisters?' asked Thor, puzzled.  'Why would you be betraying them unless this is a trap?'
'This is no trap, my love for the Osfolk is stronger than that for my kin.  Their hatred of you is abhorrent to me.'
'She lies!' warned Loki.  'The trolls love none but their own.'
'I believe her' objected Meilli.
'Huh! You would!' scoffed Loki.
'Hush' Thor muttered and he leapt from the wagon.  'There is an easy way to settle this.'  
'Careful Thor,' Loki warned.  'Trollwives have powerful magic.'
'Indeed', said the trollwife, 'but not as powerful as the skills of the Vans.  My tribe heard that you have made peace with the Vanfolk and are teaching one another your lore.  They want to try and kill you before your training is complete.  I pledge my service to you, Thor.'  The trollwife drew a flint knife and cut a lock of her hair which was thick and white like the coarse tail of a horse.  She drew the blade across her palm and wetted the hair with her own blood and then spat on in.  She placed the stained lock on the ground at the thundergod's feet and crouched down in front of him.
'What is she doing?' asked Meilli.
'Its a trollwife's act of submission' Loki replied, greatly surprised.  'Hair, blood and spittle are used in trollish magic, she is offering him the means to attack her.
'How do you know that?' asked Meilli.
'I grew up here.'

Thor regarded the trollwife 'What's your name, lass?'
'Gytha.'
Thor reached out and touched her lightly on the forehead between her horns, her thoughts, memories, hopes and dreams were laid bare to his inspection.  No hint of mind-wall blocked his way.  He nodded satisfied.  'I am honoured to know you, Wise Mother.  I accept you as a member of my household.'
Loki near choked in surprise.  'Have you gone mad, Thor?'
'No.  Gytha will you look after Meilli for me?  I will deal with your sisters and return for you.'
Meilli, ever trusting stepped down from the wagon as Thor leapt back aboard.  
The Thunderer seized up the reigns and looked meaningfully at Loki.  'Stay or come as you please, but I warn you, there are forty trollwives up that road.  I might not be able to protect you.'
Loki stood a moment with mouth agape.  'Have you totally lost your wits?' he finally burst out.  'We can't fight that many witches, we should call the Vans to fight with us.'
'And show the trollfolk that we fear defeat?  I don't think so.'
'Fear?  Ymir's beard, of course I am afraid, and so should you be too.  Thor, don't do this, we need you alive.  And think of Meilli!  Are you going to abandon him in the Outlands at a trollwife's mercy?'
'Meilli should be safe.'  Thor urged the goats forward.  
Loki ran after the wagon and hauled himself onto the tail bench.   'How many stones do you have?'
'Nine' muttered Thor.  He was groping under the bench and drew out the spit iron they used for roasting meat.
'Oh great,' Loki wailed, 'rocks and kitchen equipment.  Why does that not fill me with confidence?'
'Hah!  I can do a lot of damage with a spit iron; just ask my mother'.
Convinced that Thor had lost all reason, Loki reached out with his mind to Freya in distant Godhome.  She greeted the Trickster warmly and listened to his pleas with interest.  Forty troll wives! she thought at him Well that should be interesting to watch.
Watch? We need you here!  
Why? I would only get in the way.  You boys have fun.  She broke the link with a mind–kiss, which, on any other span, Loki would have been happy to savour for hours.
Thor grinned at his jittery friend 'Courage, Loki, you distract a couple of them with your spellcraft, leave the rest of them to me.'
The goats rushed onwards.  Standing stones stood either side of a wide shallow river marking a safe crossing.  The wagon rumbled through, barely slowing.  On the far bank Thor bellowed a command and the goats swerved, halting the wagon across the track.  A circle of troll women emerged from the forest, their earth-coloured tunics blending with the forest.  'Oh Hel!' whimpered Loki.
The Osfolk's senses prickled at the strength of the spells the trollwives were casting.  Some of the foul creatures tore off their clothing baring their sagging breasts and extended their arms enticing their prey to lust.  Loki felt his prick harden unbidden, resolve fleeing, panic fading into surrender as the spells took hold.  

Thor roared defiance as the spells battered his mind-woven defences.  He seized up a stone and shattered a troll's skull and then, with a second, brought down another.  Two more fell to the missiles and with each troll dead he felt a little relief from the onslaught.  The goats kicked out with their hooves at the advancing foe.  Thor spared a glance for Loki only to find one of the creatures with a flint knife almost at the helpless Trickster's heart.  He grabbed the trollwife by the throat and hurled her against a tree, shattered the trunk and broke her bones.

Thor pushed out his mind-shield to provide cover for Loki and the goats.  All disguise abandoned to the fight, the flames of his Os-strength blazed brightly about his head.  The remaining five stones each found a target. The trolls were not so easily routed.  They had  prepared long for this battle.  Despite their heavy losses, they fought on with spell and knife, tusk and claw.  Thirty trollwives screamed in rage and determination.

Bereft of stones, Thor snatched up the spit iron and used it as a wand to direct his Os- strength against the remaining horde.  His first attempt caused a blinding explosion that threw one of the creatures off her feet, killing her instantly and setting the fat of her lich on fire.  The spit iron survived six such blasts before the metal melted in his hand.  He flung the softened iron away.  The remaining four and twenty trolls screamed in triumph and pushed forward, straining against the Thunderer's mind-shield that still protected the wain.   He lashed out at the next hag with a mind-bolt of such strength that the troll's skull exploded and one by one the remaining trolls fell to the deadly mind hurled missiles.  The air was thick with foul smoke and when Thor searched for the fortieth attacker he found that she had fled.   The Thunderer stepped down wearily from the wain, checked that Loki was still breathing and that his goats were hale and finally checked his hand for injury but found no sign of burns where he had held the white hot iron.  He shook his head in wonder and gazed, sickened, over the devastation on the riverbank.  He started to drag the burning and shattered corpses into a pile.

Loki woke coughing as the stink of burning troll flesh caught in his lungs.  He kept his eyes closed fearing the worst and noted with surprise that his hands and feet were not bound with troll-ropes.  That could only mean ... he opened his eyes and found himself safe in the wain.  He looked about baffled, the clearing smoke revealing scorched ground, shattered tree trunks and lifeless liches.  The air was acrid with the smell of a fierce storm.  He spotted Thor piling the corpses and staggered over to the Os and embraced his friend with relief.  'Thank Ymir!' Loki cried.  'I thought we were dead: there were too many of them.  So Freya did come and aid us.'
'Freya?'
'Yes I asked her for help.  Frey then?'
'No Loki, I killed them, and I hope it is a long tide before I see that much blood again.'
'You killed them?' the Trickster gasped 'But how?'
'I threw nine stones.   One troll I threw against a tree.  Then I used the spit as a wand and set six of them on fire.  I killed three and twenty with mind spears.  The last one ran away.'
Loki looked again at the troll liches.  Some resembled roasted meat, this was no kind of spell-craft he knew of.  He regarded the Thunderer in confusion, then noticed the flames that still flickered about Thor's brow, half hidden against the glow of the pyre behind.  'Have you been keeping things from me?' he ventured.
'Yes, since you sent me to Freya's spell chamber' Thor sighed.
'But why, how?  Oh please explain, you are making my mind ache.'
Thor smiled apologetically 'Many reasons.  Firstly the best weapon to have is the one your foes don't know you have...'
'Devious' grinned Loki.
'Secondly, to ensure that when the trollwives did try to kill me, they underestimated my strength.  Otherwise there could have been a hundred of them.'  Loki gulped and nodded.  'Our enemies will now try every trick they can think of to gain an advantage.  The stakes have been raised, Loki, dangerously high.  I also had Vanfather Njord to consider: the war between his kin and Mother Jord is still vivid in his mind.  This knowledge will make him greatly uneasy.  He has long hoped that I am what the warriors of Battlehall delight in believing, weak in spell-craft.
'Now Loki, you should know I am deeply aware and grateful that you fought with me when you could have fled.  I would be honoured to have you as my travelling companion, but would you be willing?  Now that you know it will make you a target for all manner of Outlandish schemes?  In fairness I think you are one of the best able to bear such a burden.'
'I am not sure I know you anymore', Loki admitted, concerned.  'Was your carefree and cheerful nature part of your bluff?  I would hate to be tied to one as serious, grim and gruff as Odin has become.'
'You do know me, Loki, I have little in common with Odin.'
'Then I agree, gladly: let the trolls do their worst.'
'Splendid.  Now let us rescue our companions and head for home.  I will be happier when Meilli and Gytha are safe.'
Thor climbed back aboard his wain and with a word caused the pyre to burst into roaring flames, then urged the goats back across the ford and down the lane.  Meilli and Gytha were delighted to see them returned, safe if battle weary.  Thor took Gytha in his arms and kissed her on the forehead.  'I may well owe you my life.  I wish I could reward you with the husband you crave.  But come back with us and maybe in time one of the Osfolk will see the beauty within you.'
'Oh Wisemother, you have seen my dreams, impossible fancies, I am not worthy of a husband in Godhome.  I would be content just to sweep your hall.'
Meilli laughed at this.  'Wisemother!  That's a good name for you, Thor.'
Loki explained, still regarding the Thunderer with awe, 'It's the name a troll clan give the highest ranking female, the one most gifted in magic.'
Meilli giggled 'She called him a woman; that's funny.'
'Not really, male trolls don't do magic.  They are very dim witted.  It's the most respectful title she knows.'  Loki shook his head trying to settle his thoughts.  'Remind me never to pick a fight with you, Jord's Son!'

...

A single trollwife strode with dragging tail back to her elder's tent at the camp of the Stormcrows.  'Alas Wisemother' she said as she entered, 'we have failed.'
'I know that' snapped the angry, ancient troll. 'What I don't know is why you left before the battle was won.'  
The younger troll hissed.  'Are you calling me a coward, Wisemother?'
'Maybe.'
'Then listen, Wisemother, and mock me not.  Seven and thirty witchwives had been downed by Jord's Brat.   I stood, rune staves in hand, the breath of the goats warm against my knees, the smoke of my burning sisters harsh in my throat.  I saw Fylga fall, leaving only two of us.  He cleaved her shield-spells as if they were cobwebs and with a thought alone he broke her mind-stone and sprayed me with her brains.  The stink of his strength was strong, unfailing, and his brow glowed with power.   To stay and fight would have been a useless gesture.  I chose to live, to fight again.'
'I saw the glow from my spell trance' the elder admitted.  'Yes he is strong.  I have only your word for the smell of him.  So was there any lessening in his reek of power to give us hope?  Could an army of a hundred sisters bring him down?'
'I think not.'
'Then were must be more cunning.   Somewhere in the Nine Worlds, there must be a thing that can hurt him.  If I have to chew every leaf, slice up every beast and turn over every stone, I will find it.'
'My honour weeps with our defeat.  I will help you.'
The elder nodded 'That is well, youngling, I will need your strength.'
...
Although short, Gytha was heavy and with her added weight the wain was a little overloaded.  Thor urged the goats up onto heaven's vault and turned laughing 'How would you like to be enjoying Sigyn's cooking and a hot bath within the next watch?'
'That would be wonderful' agreed Loki 'but...'
'Hang on then.'  The cloudy skies of the Outlands were suddenly replaced with bright sunlight over the fields of Stronghome.  Meilli and Gytha cried out with delight seeing the towering hall just below them.  Loki swore: any lingering doubts he had over Thor's spell-skills melted away.  Thor guided the goats carefully down to the courtyard to find his family and the hallfolk there ready to greet them.  A delighted Frigga threw herself into her brother's arms and kissed his cheek.  'Welcome home, Almighty Thor!' she laughed, a cry that was taken up by everyone that heard it.  
Freya playfully seized hold of Loki and kissed him. 'You were wonderful, I saw everything' she praised him, making him blush.  The hall was in joyous uproar with the folk all eager to hold a feast in honour of the Thunderer's victory.
Word of the battle spread through the halls of Godhome as fast as a falcon can fly.  The warriors were subdued about the feasting tables at Battlehall; the subject of their scorn had been stolen from them.  Finally a spearman spoke up, 'There is always Os Braggi, I have heard that he has never held a sword.'  
'For shame' muttered his companions, and gradually they found fresh conquests for their ridicule.

Notes
This tale is my own invention and serves to reveal Thor's magical abilities and introduces Gytha who has a role to play in later tales.  
Thor has a natural and instinctive talent for magic, of which he is not aware until he consents to be trained, rather unwillingly, in the magical arts by Freya.  They decide to keep this a secret as long as possible to distance Thor from the legacy of his mother, who killed the previous generation of gods.
Thor's magical abilities follow on from his magical training in 'The Kindling of the Fire Crown'.  His control of lightning is new and takes even Thor by surprise.  All he needs now is a tool strong enough to channel this ability without melting.
The trollwives in these stories are extremely dangerous, so Loki's panic is well justified.  
Thor's title 'Almighty' comes from the Icelandic legal oath 'so help me Frey, Njord and the Almighty Os'.  The Icelanders invoked Thor for legal matters so this must refer to him.

In the tide after the building of Friendly Hall there was much unrest in the Outlands.  The Eastern ettins had grown in number and fought over land and hunting grounds.  Many of the Outland folk were forced out of the hills and wastelands by their mightier kinfolk and moved into the land of the trolls.  The trolls were driven ever closer to Middle Garth.  Tempers were high and wisdom lacking as fury bred violence.  Thor was kept busy holding the Ettinhome's western borders and had not been seen in Godhome for many a tide.  Frey and Skirnir were likewise busy on the borderlands of Elfhome.

Odin was also concerned about the safety of Godhome and tried to rally the remaining Osfolk to improve the Garth's defences.  He found little support.  Frigga shook her head and said nothing, meaning that she could see ahead into the web of wyrd but wasn't going to speak of it.  Freya simply replied 'If the ettins attack Godhome, Os Thor will defend us.'
'He is not here' Odin replied, angry that no one agreed with him.
'If we need him I will go and fetch him back' Freya replied sweetly.
'But what use would he be?'  Odin persisted. 'Spellcraft is spreading through the Outlands like the pox.  I agree he is strong but he is not exactly gifted in magic, is he?'
Freya smiled: while in Godhome Thor was a frequent visitor at her hall.  It was well known that the folk of Battlehall thought it a great jest that he was still struggling with the simplest spellcraft.  Meanwhile Thor and his sister shared her bed, drank mead, played chess and laughed at the mockers.  'I assure you that between us we can keep Godhome safe.'

Finally, Odin took the matter into his own hands and used his mind-magic to bellow for his blood brother.  Loki flew across the fields of Godhome and scurried through the halls of Battlehall to heed the summons of the impatient Os.  Odin's private chamber was unexpectedly barred before him, the Warfather himself blocking the threshold.  Loki fought for balance on the rush-strewn flagstones. 'Why did you want me?' he asked sulkily, moody for the interruption to his sport among the farm lasses of Stormbright Hall.

'I need your counsel' Odin replied briskly. 'How long would it take to build a stone wall, twelve fathoms high and six fathoms wide, around the Garth of Godhome?'

Loki gaped, caught off guard by the question.  His brain struggled to measure the distance around the gods' dwellings.  There were many estates in Godhome and all of a good size, even by an ettin's standards.  Beside the rambling Battlehall, there was Fenbank with its lakes and gardens, Stronghome with its towering hall and endless fields, Friendly Hall with its orchards and weaving sheds, Folkfield, Yewdale and Heavensmount. To build a wall around all that, why it would take… 'A very long time' Loki answered.

'So,' the Warfather encouraged him 'you don't think it could be done in the time it takes a woman to quicken, bare, and birth her bairn?'

'No, I don't think that would be possible,' Loki replied.  'Not a wall of stone so high and wide'.

'Thank you', Odin replied and slammed the door, leaving Loki alone outside and none the wiser to the purpose of the question.

Within Godhome the folk were enjoying a peaceful tide and lived contentedly together among the golden fields and lush gardens. The complacency was marred by the arrival of an ettin leading the stockiest stallion the gods had ever seen, standing fifty hands at the shoulder, and a young man of mortal build. The ettin, a rough, uncombed fellow clad in untrimmed ox hide bellowed for Odin from Godhome's gate. For a stranger among potential foes, he showed great confidence and paid no heed to Heimdall, who dutifully barred the outlander's way.

Odin strode proudly to the gate to meet the newcomer with his brothers Vili and Ve beside him, 'Greetings, Hrimthurs' he cried.

The giant spoke again in his rumbling voice. 'I have come, as we agreed. Do you have the virgin girl by which our bargain can be measured?'

Ve pulled a young woman forward 'Here'.  Odin's brother held a woman of Middle-Earth.  She averted her eyes from the ettin in fear, but her beauty was clear beneath her black locks held by a crudely beaten band of gold.

'Is this your bondsman?' Odin inquired, nodding at the young man holding the stallion's reigns.

'Oh yes' the giant beamed proudly.  'This is Fal. He is a good servant and I trust him in all things. He has fathered many a bastard rutting with my house maids. He will be quick to report if you have cheated me.'

'You will not be cheated in this wager' Odin responded, hurt by the suggestion.  'Let the two of them be joined, and join me at my table for your welcome feast, for you will be eager to start work soon, I am sure.'
'Oh yes,' the ettin responded 'I am eager to claim my pay.'

There was much speculation among the Osfolk as to the ettin's business in Godhome and the nature of Odin's bargain, but the Warfather kept his knowledge to himself.  Hrimthurs ate heartily from the platters of meats and bread served at Battlehall's tables and spent much of his time admiring the sigwives.

Fal returned after an hour, grinning from the pleasures of his sport 'It is done, master.'
'Was she a virgin then?' demanded Hrimthurs.
'Oh yes,' Fal replied and brandished the girls blood stained linen shift for his master's inspection.
'Excellent' the giant acknowledged as Fal helped himself to a joint of meat from his master's trencher.  'Go back to her boy! She must bear you a child or this rascal' (the giant nodded towards Odin) 'will find some excuse to break our bargain.'  Fal grinned and accepted a full horn of mead and returned to the girl's chamber chewing on his supper.

Soon after the feasting the ettin got to work. The halls of Godhome shuddered as he delved deep into the earth below the existing boundary banks. Hrimthurs' magnificent horse dragged great boulders straight from the packed earth. Despite the size of the excavation, the work progressed fast, and the foundations of the new wall were both cleared and laid when the girl's belly was swollen by Fal's child. Both ettin and horse proved amazingly strong and the walls rose at an alarming rate.

The birthing came ever nearer but Odin was greatly fearful that he might be forced to pay the ettin after all. He summoned Loki to his chambers. 'You were wrong, Loki' he said bluntly. 'Hrimthurs has nearly finished. You must prevent him from completing the wall.'
Loki was puzzled 'But surely you want the wall completed?'
'Started, yes, but not completed: the price would be too high', Odin answered, scowling with concern.
'What did you promise him?' Odin passed over a formal carved tablet which recorded the Warfather's promise to Hrimthurs. Loki read it and gasped.
'Stop him!' Odin commanded.

Loki had no wish to tangle with the ettin, but as Hrimthurs relied so heavily on his stallion he thought a different approach would work well. The outlander was encouraging the horse to pull one of the last great blocks into position. The horse paused and his nostrils twitched as a familiar scent reached him. The unmistakable, irresistible smell of a mare in heat.

The stallion reared and jerked aside. The traces snapped and the great stone block and its oak sledge tumbled back down the step path. The giant howled in fury and frustration as the horse galloped straight down the slopes and vanished into the misty forest below.

'Odin!' Hrimthurs bellowed, storming into Battlehall and carelessly knocking his lofty head on the lintels 'Where's my horse?'
The Warfather glanced up from his battle charts, feigning annoyance at the interruption. 'How should I know?'
'You will not get away with this. This is a deliberate attempt to delay the building past the birthing.'
'Don't be ridiculous!' Odin retorted 'Get another horse if you cannot control the one you brought.' He looked at the panting girl on the bottom step of his high seat. 'You might wish to hurry Hrimthurs, you have very little time.'

Hrimthurs cursed and turned to leave but stopped as the girl cried out in pain. Eir ran forward to attend the girl and hitched up her skirts to examine her. 'You are too late, Hrimthurs' said Eir.  'The child's head is emerging.'
'Hah, you have failed to complete your work and your pay is forfeit!' cried Odin in triumph.

'No!' Hrimthurs tore his bushy hair in anger as Fal's child gave its first lusty cry. He rounded on Odin, eyes blazing in accusation. 'I want you to make a holy oath Odin.  Swear that neither you, nor any other Os or Oswife, servant or elf of Godhome, had any hand in the loss of my horse. Swear that and I will leave peaceably and without payment for my work.' Odin hesitated and Hrimthurs was convinced of his suspicions. 'Then I will claim my payment now.'  The ettin strode purposefully out of the wide door of Battlehall.  Odin shouted for his warriors to follow him and ran in pursuit of the long-legged outlander.

Hrimthurs strode directly to Folkfield.  Oswives from Friendly Hall and farmers from Stronghome ran to see what was happening. Alerted by the commotion Freya came to the door of her hall to be confronted by the determined ettin. 'Pack your dresses and jewels Freya', demanded Hrimthurs. 'You are coming back to the Outlands with me.'
'Well' laughed Freya 'I have heard some terrible courting speeches, but few as bad as that.'
'I am not courting woman.  You are mine, you belong to me.'
'Pardon?'
'Read this' Hrimthurs tossed her a wooden stave carved with runes.
Freya glanced at the carving, then clutched it in both hands, noting every word, she rounded on Odin who had just arrived in the ettin's wake. 'How dare you?'
'What's wrong?' asked Idun.
'That, traitor, has bought the services of that ettin, by bargaining with my life and the possession of the sun and the moon.'
'Never!' cried Idun shaking with anger.
'The bargain is sworn, Freya', Hrimthurs cried.  'Even you must agree that you are bound by it as much as Odin!'
'Surely not.' Freya searched the crowd for an ally but the godfolk averted their eyes, unable to approve breaking Odin's sworn oath.
Hrimthurs reached forward and clutched Freya's shoulders with his heavy hands.  'Enough talk woman, now come with me.'

'Let me go!' Freya shouted in fury, shaking herself free of the ettin's grip. 'If you are so sure of yourself outlander, you can explain yourself to Thor.' Freya's last word rang with all her mind strength through the Nine Worlds causing every Os and Van in Godhome to wince.
'Huh!' laughed Hrimthurs.  'He's not here.'
'Think again, lofty' the Thunderer replied shoving the ettin away from the Vanlady.  Hrimthurs stared down at Thor in shock, the Os had just appeared out of nowhere.  Thor grinned at his sister 'Lucky you know that spell, Freya.  Can I assist you in removing this angry ettin from your garden?'

Freya sighed and replied 'As pleasing as that would be, Thor, I am not sure that would be a worthy deed under the circumstances.  Odin asked Hrimsthurs here to build a wall around Godhome. He kept very quiet about the price he promised in return but now that Hrimthurs has come to claim his reward, the truth is known.'  Freya passed Jord's son the rune stave. 'I can only assume that Odin was confident that he had set an impossible task and would never have to pay.'
Thor frowned at the carving, and looked towards Freya.  'You knew nothing about this?'
'No,' Freya replied, glaring at Odin.
'Did Loki have a hand in this?'
'Yes.' Odin replied with relief, 'I asked his advice, he said Hrimthurs had no chance to complete the wall.'
'But was he aware of this?' Thor waved the tablet.
'Er, no' Odin replied with great reluctance.

'Look' interrupted Hrimthurs; 'Freya you are coming with me. If Odin didn't tell you about our agreement that is your problem.'
'No', said Thor, 'it is his problem, and yours. Odin cannot promise what is not his to give. You must agree on a new payment. Never fear, ettin, Odin has enough treasures to pay you!'

The outlander bristled.  'I could take this knave's lands, his treasures, the shirt from his back and his tricky tongue from his head, but I WANT Freya, I want the sun and the moon. I will not leave with anything less.'
'No' Thor repeated.

Furious, the ettin swung his fist at Thor, the Thunderer stepped aside and the ground shook as Hrimthur's blow connected with Freya's threshold. 'You certainly know how to lose my sympathies, ettin!' laughed Thor dodging another wild swing. One of the pillars of Folkfield shattered from its footing in a shower of splinters.

'Shut up and die, you interfering bastard,' Hrimthurs howled, trying to stamp his foot on the Thunderer's head. Thor grabbed the ettin's foot as it descended and hurled him over, then sprang to the outlander's chest wielding a shard of the broken pillar as a heavy spear. The ettin died, screaming obscenities. The gore splattered thundergod glared at Odin 'You are very, very lucky.'
Silent, the Warfather turned and trudged back to Battlehall.
As they were left alone the Vanwife smiled at her brother 'I don't believe you got away with that.  As if I could bring you here by way spell when I didn't know where you were, hah!  Come in while your are here, Beyla has a new batch of mead.'

Time passed and Odin's treacherous bargain was, if not forgotten, a wound that smarted less.
Loki returned to Godhome leading the ettin's mighty horse and a foal, remarkable in itself for it pranced on no less than eight legs. Although quiet of late, Odin was delighted by the arrival of the remarkable beasts. Ever an admirer of fine horses, Odin greeted Loki warmly 'Well done, well done, I will take those two to my stables.'

Overhearing, Heimdall snorted from the door to his hall at Godhome's gate. 'What makes you think you have any claim to these beasts? I know well what has been happening in the forests below
Godhome since we last saw Loki. I would not deny him his well earned reward for his services.'

The Osfolk were gathering to hear the exchange and seeing Freya, Loki smiled and led the horses to her. 'Freya I realise that you suffered from Odin's bargaining, I want you to have Hrimthurs' stallion to give to whom you will.'

Freya smiled 'Thank you Loki, I will give him to Frey, he will add good seed to the horses of Vanhome.' Loki turned to Odin who was watching the exchange miserably.
Loki nodded to the foal, 'You really want this horse, don't you.'
'Yes.'
'You can have him on one condition.'
'What?'
'Release me from my oath of brotherhood.'
Odin frowned, then shrugged. 'Very well, I release you. I no longer look to you as kin or expect any service from you.' The Warfather put his arm around the foal's neck and proudly led away his new possession.

Loki surveyed the gathered folk of Godhome and laughed 'Well Oswives, now I am a free man, who will offer me the shelter of their roof?' Many Oswives giggled and whispered among themselves for most had already enjoyed his company. One came forward, coal-skinned, practical Sigyn, Thor's housekeeper.
She smiled 'I might be able to find you a corner somewhere.'
Loki hugged her fondly.  'A corner of Stormbright Hall eh? That may suit me very well indeed.'

Notes
This retelling of the famous myth of the Building of Godhome's wall is very close to the surviving Eddic version. Who is responsible for promising Freya, the sun and the moon to the ettin is not clear, but Loki is blamed and has to save the day. It fits within the pattern of the Loki myths for him to be at fault, but I have chosen to pin the blame on Odin, a god with an equal reputation for untrustworthy behaviour.

In the Eddic tale Odin uses his status as creator and Allfather to sell the lesser gods to achieve his aims, but here he stands among them as an equal and has no such authority.  Thor can safely break the bargain as it is unjust and kill the ettin who has threatened his life, despite standing on the hallowed ground of Folkfield.  Thor appears here in his role as god of justice. The attempt to reason with the ettin makes more sense to me than the original version which simply has Thor thump the aggrieved outlander into the ground, adding murder to the crimes of oathbreaking.

Thor's ability to appear magically from the distant Outlands when the gods call him is from the original tale, and in this version of the myths his ability follows on smoothly from his tuition from Freya in 'The Kindling of the Fire Crown'.  Thor's talents at spellcraft are still a closely guarded secret.

I have placed this story chronologically before the tale of Loki's children. This means there is no wolf chasing the sun; day and night do not exist and therefore nor does measured time. To get round this I am using the 'nine months' of pregnancy as the duration of the wager.

After the raising of Folkfield Hall the gardens of Godhome rang with the voices of children.  While Odin's young sigwives raced and wrestled on the lawns of Fenbank a very different gathering of younglings played among the flowers of Folkfield.

For each sigwife born the Oswives bore a goddess of help, protection and healing.  The first was Blyth the daughter of Freya and Meilli, the second Bjort the daughter of Beyla and Loki, the third Blythur, daughter of Gna and Ull, the fourth Frith daughter of Fulla and Forseti, the sixth Hlif daughter of Sybil and Heimdall and the seventh Hlifthrasa daughter of Hlin and Thor.  

The seven frithwives were raised as sisters by Freya and Beyla.  It was after the last of them marked their womantide that this tale begins, when a young elf woman flew up to the gate of Godhome.

Heimdall had watched her approach for many a mile with his wonderous gaze.  He had seen that she came unarmed and carrying naught but her feather cloak, a food bundle and a tine box.
'Who are you' he asked when she approached 'and what is your business here?'
The weary falcon landed, emptied its claws of its burdens and shrugged off the feathered cloak revealing a green-gowned elf.
'My name is Alfdis, daughter of Lady Embla, the elf queen of Elfhome's northern hills, and Ivaldi the master smith of Darkelfhome.'  Her appearance matched her claim, for she was short, black haired and very pale skinned, but also showed the breathtaking beauty of the noble elves.  'I am seeking a tree that lies between Fenbank Hall and Stormbright Hall.  The Lord Frey told me its fruit would heal my sick husband.'
'Then come in, lass' Heimdall answered kindly.  'I will take you to Frigga: she will know the tree that the Vanlord spoke of.'  He led her awhile along the main road that curved towards the heart of Godhome, and Alfdis gasped at the sight of the towering Battlehall.  Heimdall then drew her down a track that led to the right through a thick grove of alder and then out onto the causewayed paths of Fenbank.  Frigga's estate was more comforting to her elven upbringing with its trees and wild flowers, and they made their way through the fens to the Oswife's gaily painted hall.

Little is hidden from Frigga and the goddess had gathered the Osfolk about her linen spread table and an extra place was already set ready for their guest.  
'Welcome, Alfdis' said Frigga.  'Fear not; I know that your needs are urgent.' The goddess addressed the assembled godfolk, 'Alfdis has come to collect some apples for her sick husband, very special apples, from a tree that grows not far from this hall.'
'The tree of the angry apple wight?'  Hlin guessed.
'Indeed.' Frigga confirmed.  
The Osfolk with the mind-sight looked up in interest, for of all the wights in Godhome that spirit had proven the most difficult to deal with and the grove was now marked with posts and ribbons and charms to keep the Osfolk away, and the troublesome elf content.'
Thor paused in the act of helping himself to yet another cup of his sister's most excellent wine. 'Who is your husband, Alfdis?' he asked.
'My husband is Braggi, the foremost poet of the elf folk.'
'Ah, excellent,' nodded Odin, 'such a worthy talent for a man, to be able to boast of his war deeds in verse; has he composed many battle epics?'
'None, Warfather' Alfhild replied.  'He sings of the flight of birds, the freedom of the stag and the beauty of meadow flowers.'
'Who would listen to such dreary tales?' spluttered Tyr.  'Anyone would think he has never raised a sword in anger.'
'He has not' replied Alfhild.
The folk of Battlehall muttered indignantly while Freya laughed at the boorish warrior gods and grinned apologetically at the elfgirl.

Frigga glared at the godfolk until they fell silent.  She spoke to Alfdis: 'The tree that Frey sent you to find does indeed grow here, and not far from this hall.  But I must warn you it is guarded by a most angry spirit.  I have seen the events of this span in Wyrd's web, and it seems that you are the one to tame him, and claim whatever treasure he protects.  Come, lass, we will take you to the place.'  

Frigga lead Alfdis out of her hall and over the flag-fringed earthen banks out of the fen lands and up onto the drier rough scrubland beyond.  Far to the left towered gleaming Battlehall, its roof bright with the golden shields of its warriors, while to the right lay Folkfield and Stormbright Hall.  Yet before them all was wild.  As they wove their way between thorn, ash and elder, they came to the rough fence tied with red ribbons.

'The apple tree lies within that grove,' Frigga told Alfdis.  'You must enter it alone, and good luck go with you.'

The elfgirl stepped forward and approached the fence carrying only the tine box that Frey had given her in her arms.  She hitched up her green felt gown and climbed the barrier and with a deep breath pushed her way through the thick undergrowth within.  The grove was strangely silent; not a sound from bird or beast or breath of wind disturbed the place.   Her way was hard through the matted grasses and tangled branches, but finally she found the tree that she sought, a fine apple tree strong limbed and wide crowned.  To her surprise she noted that it bore both blossom and fruit.

The tree shook and the spirit emerged; she shivered at the sight of him.  He had long limbs, thin and gnarled like tree branches that gave him the appeared of a white haired spider.  'Why do you disturb my grove?' he asked.
'I am here to ask for an apple for my husband who is sick and close to death.'
'Your love for him is strong?' asked the tree spirit.
'It could not be stronger' Alfdis replied.
'Then why have you left him alone on his death bed? '
'He is not alone; my sister watches over him and will never leave him.'
'So will you pay any price for my fruit?'
'I will pay any price that is fair.'
'I want your soul.'
Alfdis stared at the spirit, 'No' she muttered.
'You have little time elf-woman, already your lover walks the Hel road, when he reaches the chasm he will be lost to you forever.
Tears leaked from Alfdis's eyes at his words and she knew she would pay any price.  'Then take your payment' she said.
The tree spirit came forward on his spindly legs and grasped her shoulders with his twig-like fingers and put his mouth to hers and sucked her soul out between her lips.  Alfdis staggered, keenly feeling her loss.  The tree spirit was glowing with her soul strength; he scuttled back to his tree and wrapped his long limbs about its trunk.  Before her eyes the spirit merged into the tree and the glow reached along each branch and root until the leaves shone and fresh blossom broke out beside the apples already on the boughs.
Alfdis stepped forward and reached up with arms shaking from lack of strength.  She plucked an apple and placed it safely in the tine box.  Wearily she made her way back out of the grove, and this time the trees and grasses leant back from her path to ease her way.

At the fence the Osfolk reached out to help the weak and shaking Alfdis over the hurdles.  Frigga said knowlingly: 'You have your fruit then.'
The girl nodded and sagged into the Oswife's embrace.  
'We have no time to waste,' urged Frigga.  'Gna is here with her stallion ready to seek out your husband and here is Fulla with a warm cloak for your journey.'  Fulla draped a soft cloak of white wolf skins about the elf woman's shoulders and helped her to mount up behind Gna.  
'Ride swift' Frigga commanded.  'Take her to the death road.'  
Gna's steed pounded over the course grass and soon took to the heavens, Gna guided the beast towards the entrance to the underworld beneath the World Tree while Alfdis clung grimly to her waist.

The horse touched earth and pounded onwards, ever downwards, into the caverns below.  The sun's light was lost to them and their way was marked only by the ghostly light flickering about the dead as they trudged their final journey.  The road was long and the bone-weary elfgirl had difficulty staying awake until Gna's voice roused her.  'We have found him, Alfdis!'

Alfdis slid stiffly from the saddle and looked about the dim cavern.  She stood where the Hel-road ended at a deep chasm; the ghosts walked towards it blindly and drifted down into the silver swirling pool below.  She saw a woman near the edge clutching something in her arms.  She stiffly walked over and recognised her sister 'Oh Eir, is that you?  Do you have him?'

'I have him sister' she replied 'but he pulls so from my grasp; I am losing my strength.'  
Alfdis reached into the tine box and pulled out the apple and held it to her lover's misty lips.  The apple glowed and turned to mist and was consumed by the ghost.  The eyes opened and knew her, his faint form became solid and colour returned to his flesh.  

'It is done!' said Gna. 'Let us get you all out of this deathly place.'  Eir helped her sister to her feet but, even leaning onto one another, they could barely stand.  Gna picked up the tine box and was surprised at its weight.  'How many apples did you bring?' she asked.
'Only one' muttered Alfdis.
'Then you cannot count,' grinned Gna, 'open the box.'
Alfdis lifted the lid and gazed in surprise, the box contained four shining apples, she smiled. 'Vanlord Frey was always generous with his gifts.'  She took out another fruit and handed it to her sister and took another for herself.  After the first bite they both felt more health and strength than they had ever known.  Curious Alfdis opened the box again and was delighted to see it filled again with glowing apples from Godhome.

Much relieved, Gna mounted her stallion, pulled Alfdis up before her and Braggi and Eir behind her, and urged the beast back up the death road towards the light of Sol.  Her strong horse sped tirelessly back to Godhome, despite the heavy load.

Frigga was expecting their return and had again gathered the godfolk about her table.  The three folk of Elfhome were greeted most formally and courteously by Frigga and her handmaidens and given seats of honour in Fenbank Hall.  Eager godfolk called for them to tell of their adventures and it was Braggi who replied with a praise poem for the sisters, recounting their selfless efforts to save him.  The godfolk were deeply moved by both the tale and the skill of the speaker.

Braggi nodded his thanks to them and pulled his wife into his embrace.  'In truth,' he said 'no words are adequate to tell of this woman's worth.  She has been my rebirth and so she should be named, let her be called Idun from this day on.'  The godfolk again called out their approval.

Idun, as we must now call her, smiled, and lifted her tine box in her hands.   'We have here a great marvel.  Vanlord Frey gave me this box after he saw the apple tree from his high seat; he has blessed it with his powers of increase.  Puzzled, the godfolk watched as Idun rose from her chair and prized the lid loose.  Walking about the long table she handed an apple to each of the gathered godfolk, who murmered in wonder as it became clear that far more apples emerged than the small box could possibly contain.  Idun continued handing out the fruit until all the Osfolk had received their share and she took to her seat once again.

Idun spoke.  'I have never been more weary or weak than when I came upon my husband on the death-road, and one of these apples not only restored my strength but doubled it.  So eat and see if they have the same effect on you.'

The godfolk obeyed and soon expressed their appreciation as they felt the effects of the life-giving fruit, for even gods can feel the weight of time and that burden was suddenly lifted.  Frigga smiled and spoke for them all.  'This is a great gift you have brought us.  Will you all stay among us and make your home here?  I am sure we would be deeply grateful and honoured to count you all among our number.'
'I thank you,' replied Idun, 'though in truth I am bound here as surely as my soul is bound to the life giving tree.  I will make my home beside it and ward it well.'
The godfolk responded with many a cheer, and many a toast of welcome was drunk from Frigga's golden cups.

And so Idun claimed her own garth in Godhome and the eager gods helped to raise her dwelling which she named Friendly Hall.  Her sister Eir cleared the wild scrub about the sacred tree and planted herbs and blooms for the godfolk's health and enjoyment.  Once the hall and gardens were complete to the sisters' satisfaction, they planted a hedge of hazel all about the garth and declared it a frithstead of health, wisdom and peace.

In time the seven daughters of the Oswives also made their home at Friendly Hall.  There they listened to the prayers of the folk.  They eased the path of the birthing, the pains of teething, the ache of fever, the pain of age and gave comfort to the dying.  

Notes:

The goddesses of peace and healing are mentioned in the story of Svipdag and Menglod from the Eddas.  Very little is known about them.

Idun's origin as an elf and the daughter of the dwarf Ivaldi are taken from the Eddas.  

There are fragments of a tale about Idun travelling in Hel with a cloak of wolf fur which I have used  as the foundation of this story.

The apples of youth are one of the best known elements of Norse mythology but their origin is not explained.  I have positioned the tree in the very heart of Godhome in the gardens watched over the goddesses of wisdom, health and love, which seems very fitting.  

A frithstead is a sanctury of peace and the hazel was used to mark sacred ground where weapons were forbidden.

The Kindling of the Fire Crown

Loki had tired of life in Battlehall.  Odin appeared intent on seducing half the maids of Middle Garth and had not been seen now for nearly three seasons.  Hoenir was still in Vanhome, Mimir griped and complained from Odin's high seat and Tyr spent most of his time at Saga's secluded hall.  With hardly anyone left to fuss over, Mother Bestla had turned her kindly attentions to Loki and Hermod.  Loki had taken as much grooming advice and fussing as he could bear.  
The Trickster unrolled his new falcon feather cloak, a recent gift from Freya. He smiled remembering her offer to teach him the spellcraft of the Vanfolk, a gift he had gratefully accepted. Afterwards it had been highly questionable who had learnt most from the meeting of two skilled minds, gifted in similar but subtly different ways. Loki threw the feather cloak around his shoulders and leapt into the air in a falcon's guise.
Delighting in the freedom of flight he swooped low over the fens of Godhome. The handmaidens resting on the sun dappled sward at Fenbank scolded him as he snatched counters from their gaming board with his claws and dropped them in the thick rush beds. Over Thor's lands Loki flew more respectfully:  the Thunderer might be away but Loki did not wish to incur the anger of Earth's formidable son.  He circled and made his way to the newly established garth of Folkfield and Freya's own residence.
The Osfolk were still working on the finishing touches of the hall and the beautifully carved and painted barge boards were being raised. Loki found Freya watching the workers and swooped down beside her. He let the feather cloak slip back revealing his true form, and looked up at the towering walls graced with carved birds, boars and stags heads. 'I thought you might like a break' he said with a wink.
'I'm busy' Freya muttered her thoughts elsewhere.
'Not even a drink then?' Loki pressed, his disappointment obvious.
'No, if it is a drinking partner you are wanting you could try Heimdall. He is having a bit of a celebration.'
'Heimdall? Revelling? Never! He's always too busy playing watchman.'
'Not anymore, since I taught him the seeing magic. Now he can keep his minds eye on our enemies and his real eyes on his mead horn and a good woman or two. He is making up for lost time.  You should find him better company than he was before.'
'Well that is good news' said Loki happily, he gave Freya a playful hug.  'But I would still rather stay with you.'
'You never give up do you Loki?' Freya scolded.
'No'.
'Then maybe I will indulge you soon, but it will cost you. You will have to do me a favour.'
'Anything' Loki grinned.
'I earned the lands here in return for teaching magic to the Osfolk of Godhome.    I have yet to complete this task and I want that payment to be made in full before my hall is completed.  One of the Osfolk is less than keen, if you persuade them to come and learn I will give you what you want.'
'No problem' Loki boasted.
'Then bring Os Thor to my witching bower.' Freya laughed and turned her back on Loki, who cursed under his breath.
'That is hardly fair.  Thor is still in the Outlands' Loki called after her.
'No, he has returned, so go and earn your fun.'
Loki swore loudly.

Loki wasted no time in searching out Thor, reverting to his falcon form he sped straight back over the fields to Stormbright Hall. In the alehall he was greeted by Thor's housekeeper Sigyn who directed the Trickster towards the stables.  There he found the thundergod busily polishing the bronze panels on his chariot. 'Wassail to you' said Loki cautiously.  Thor grunted an acknowledgment, intent on attacking a particularly stubborn stain of troll blood. Sharp sand and vinegar had failed to shift it and the thundergod had decided to try stubborn determination instead.

Loki stepped forward to inspect Thor's handiwork, 'There is an easier way than that.'
Thor scowled and tossed his polishing cloth aside, it was now smoking. He looked up at the Trickster 'What way?' he asked.
Loki closed his eyes and mumbled a chant under his breath. Thor stared at the now perfect gleaming bronze, he could see his face reflected in it. 'Not quite what I had in mind' Thor groaned.
'But you wanted it clean didn't you?'
'That was too easy, I was enjoying the challenge.'
'Enjoying?' Loki scoffed.  'You were really losing your temper!'
Thor sighed, 'It's not a challenge if it's not difficult. Now what I am going to do with my time?'
Loki laughed 'What any god should be doing when relaxing at home, making love to a beautiful woman.'
'You may have a point there' agreed Thor with a thoughtful smile.
'That's the spirit.'
'So, which particular woman were you thinking of? One of Frigga's pretty handmaidens?  A playful maiden from Middle Garth? A wild insatiable ettinwife?'
Loki pretended to consider and said 'A fine fellow like you? You should have the very best!'
'Who?'
'Freya' Loki whispered.
Thor sighed 'In case you have forgotten, Freya is my sister.'
'Half sister.'
'That makes no difference, the Osfolk don't bed close kin.'
'So I have heard' Loki agreed grinning. 'So says a man whose father is also his uncle, and his mother is also his grandmother.'
'That is unfair.'
'Its true though, stop hiding from it.  You don't live in Middle Garth, I know you grew up there but you don't need to live by their rules.'
'It would be hopeless anyway.  She has been on at me to learn her poxed witchcraft,  I don't need to tell you I have no interest in that.'
'That's a shame.' Loki sighed 'She does want you, I am sure of it.'
'Really?' muttered Thor.
'Yes, and can you imagine anything more desirable than a tumble with Freya?' Loki did not have to pretend to look wistful.
'I can imagine where that would lead, no spell-craft, no fun. I would be better off with a trollwife' Thor said sulkily.
'Oh, give her a chance, she just wants you to be worthy of her.'
'Worthy?' Thor retorted loudly, making Loki jump. 'Of course I am worthy of her!' The Thunderer snatched up a spare axle beam and snapped as if it was a twig.
'So that is the measure of worthiness,' mocked Loki, 'that you could break the poor woman in half? Have you not considered that she might want you to match her mind?'
'I am knowledgeable enough in a god's skills' Thor growled.
'Oh magic has its uses. You must confess it is a great help in keeping your wain shiny. And then....' Loki magically conjured an image of the Vanwife forcing Thor to view the exquisite curves he was desperately trying to block from his mind.
Increasingly suspicious Thor demanded 'Why are you suggesting this anyway? What have you got to gain?'
Loki shrugged smiling.
'Out with it!' Thor pressed.
'Er well,' Loki replied, 'we have the same problem, until you allow Freya to teach you the magical arts, she won't sleep with you and she won't sleep with me.'
'Aha! So you have your own interests at heart, that makes far more sense. So if I were to go through this unmanly charade, for your benefit, what will you give me?'
'Are you crazy? You will get Freya!'
Thor pressed mercilessly, 'So will you.'
Loki thought quickly, he had underestimated Thor badly, 'I could offer you my friendship.'
'Don't I already have that?'
'You drive a hard bargain' Loki sighed.  'Then I could offer you a blood brotherhood.'
Thor laughed 'You want her badly don't you.' He laid a hand on the Trickster's shoulder 'I don't want any friendship tied by an oath, I want it offered freely or not at all.'
'Very well then.' Loki grinned.
'I don't promise anything,' Thor cautioned 'but I will go to Folkfield.'

Thor made his way not to Freya's hall but to the Great Ash to speak to his sisters.  Sybil greeted him warmly and offered to scry the Wyrd loom for him.  'What troubles you?' she asked.
'A few spans ago I spent a tide with an ettinwife called Grid.  She enjoys my company and I enjoy hers so I visit her cottage when I am passing her way.  She said something that made me most uneasy.  She said I caused her to remember how happy her mother used to be when she received a visitor from distant parts.  A man who treated Grid very kindly as a child and brought her gifts.  She showed me one that she had treasured:  it was a small statue, so finely wrought that I have only seen its like once, in the golden chessmen that once belonged to your father.  I asked the name of the gift-giver:  he was called Perun.  I have been blind, that storm-eyed, red-haired ettinwife is my sister.'

As he spoke Sybil had teased out the threads on the loom to find the ettinwife, 'Well no harm has been done there' she said.  'You should keep visiting her.  We need friends in the Outlands.  Is that all that troubles you?'
'No, that chance happening led me to think of Freya.  I confess I am drawn to her, sister or not, but  I would have your council.  Would ill come from such a mating?'
Sybil waited as the threads on the loom tangled into new patterns at his words.  She gasped.
'What's wrong?'
The Norn hushed him and looked intently at the threads, it was a while before she met his gaze.  'There are four strands to each life thread: health, joy, worth and luck.  All are interlinked, for joy brings health, worth brings luck and so on.  All I will tell you, is that if you bed Freya, it will greatly increase your luck.  Go to her brother, it is woven.'
Thor hugged her fondly and made to leave.  Sybil watched him walk through the mists back into godhome, and shook her head in wonder at her own lifethread, which now gleamed like gold where it hung beneath the loom.

After a hasty bath and a hunt for clothes that were not too battered from his adventuring, Thor made his way to Folkfield.  The garth had a high hedge about its gardens to protect the Osfolks' eyes from the lusty behaviour of the Vans.  The stout gate had a carving of rearing rutting boars, clearly the work of Meilli.
Jord's son pushed open the gate in some dread at what he would find within, but the gardens were quiet and peaceful.  The air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle and he walked the timber path to the hall's door.  Beyla greeted him, as soberly dressed as he had ever seen her, and she pushed an ale horn into his hands.  This was not what he had expected.  'Ale?' he asked confused.
'Yes ale.  Is that not the custom in Godhome?'
'Yes it is. Thank you.'
He drank the offered drink down and Beyla led him through the fine new hall to the spell chamber beyond.  Freya was also gowned in the manner of the Oswives of Godhome.  She sat on the chamber's outer bench with a baby girl-child at her breast.  She smiled in welcome at the Thunderer 'Welcome home Os Thor.  Come and meet your new kinswoman.'
'Your daughter?'
'Indeed, mine and Meilli's.  I named her Blyth.  Odin has been busy wooing women in Middle Garth to bred him battle goddesses, so I thought Hlin Gna and Skuld will need some help to watch over the peace loving folk.'
'Then Meilli is a good choice for a father' said Thor, smiling.
'Indeed.  I am glad you are here, for I fear I have been a poor sister to you.  Since peace was agreed I have spoken many times to my father.  I have tried to understand how the Osfolk and Vans are so different.  He told me a tale of how he visited your mother soon after your birth.  He said he was greatly shocked to see how she had changed.  How she had wrapped herself in heavy clothes to hide her beauty.  It made me realise that such a shock could work both ways.  I confess that when I learned you were my brother I thought of you as a Van, not realising that living in Middle Garth would mould you in a very different way.  I have driven you away from your home, and caused you pain by flaunting my flesh before you.  I beg your pardon.'
'Maybe I am more Van than you know' Thor admitted, and laughed with relief at her kindness.  'But tell me, what tale did your father tell of my childhood, I do not recall his visit.'
'I will happily pass on his words.  After his kin had fought, burning and flooding the lands of men, Father Njord took a small boat and sailed away far out into the open sea.  He was deeply grieved and had no wish to live.  He let the boat drift unguided into the deep ocean.  He ate and drank nothing for span after span until, despite his holy blood, he was close to death.  Finally he saw a sign, a floating lily drifting past his boat, as fresh and bright as if rooted on an inland lake.  He turned, for the first time, back towards the lands of men, and saw a path of flowers leading back across the open sea.  He raised a flower with shaking hands and ate of the petals and slowly his strength returned.  He turned his boat, called the wind into the sail and made his way back to Middle Garth.  

'He followed the path of flowers dreading what he would see when he reached the land.  But many tides had passed and the land was green again and pleasant to behold.  The flowers marked a path inland and he followed them, until he came to a sheltered inland valley where he found the cottage of your childhood.  He was surprised to see so humble a stead, as the Osfolk had lived before in soaring towers and palaces.  But he hurried forward, forgetting the past in his loneliness and need for his wife's embrace.  He pushed open the low door and the sight within caused his heart to sink.  Oh Thor how can I explain?  Do you remember how we appeared to you when we faced you at Godhome's gate, naked, lusty and dangerous?  That is how Mother Nerthus had always been, flaunting her body to invoke desire and loyalty in her allies and desperate longing in her enemies.  And to see her swathed in a heavy gown with her beautiful red-gold hair hidden in a scarf, Father Njord knew that the Oswife he loved was no more.

'Yet there was another surprise for Father Njord to bear.  In front of the hearth was a row of eight cribs, seven holding one babe and one holding two.  Mother Nerthus gave him food and good ale and waited until he was done, and then she spoke.  "Dear loyal Njord, I am glad to see you for I have a task for you.  These are the children of my three husbands.  Six are the children of wise Fjorgynn.  I have bound their might to the path of Wyrd, so that our kin will never again to blind to the cost of their deeds.  The pair in one cradle, they are your children, I have named them Frey and Freya, I have fettered their thew so their power will lie in spell-craft alone.  I will teach Fiorgynn's daughters for I cannot teach them ill, they will see any error for themselves.  Will you take your own children?  Take them to Elfhome:  let them enjoy the best of our lives before, free in lust beneath the trees.  But make them wiser as to the weight of their tread upon the Wyrd.''  
'Father Njord agreed readily, and was in part reassured at her words and glad that she had fettered her children's power with such care.  She pushed the crib with the two infants into his arms and led him out of the door.  But Father Njord is no fool, he knew that two and six do not make nine.  He asked of the child of which she had not spoken.  "The last is Perun's son" Jord admitted.  She offered no more and Father Njord feared that this child's strength had not been fettered in any way.
"Oh dearest Mother, dearest Wife, let me take Perun's child with me to the peaceful woods of Elfhome.  Seven children would tax anyone, let me ease your burden."

'Mother Jord could see the path of his thoughts and begged him to leave her one man-child in her household, to remember the loves she had lost.  She wept and his love won over his fears.  He has often wondered if he did right that day.  Why Thor, if he had persisted, you would truly be a Van.'
'A sobering thought' Thor agreed.  'But why should I cause such concern?'
'It is clear that you have your mother's strength of thew.  Father Njord feared that you might also have her strength of mind.  Mother's strength in dragon form near destroyed the Nine Worlds and killed two Os of great power.  That is why he is wary.'
'But surely if I had her spell-power I would know, it is now many tides since our birth.'
'Indeed, I am sure your strength is fettered the same as the rest of your siblings.  Only by working together can we match her strength, a useful safe-guard.'

Still deeply touched by his sister's loving apology, Thor spoke of his visit to the ettinwife Grid and his words with the Norn Sybil.  Startled, Freya called for Beyla and passed her the sleeping child.  She looked on her half-brother as if seeing him for the first time and said: 'Oh poor Thor, your mind must be exhausted, let us lay that one ghost to rest.  Then you will think on your spell-craft all the clearer.'  Laughing she pulled him up the stairs to her bed.
Beyla prepared a fine breakfast for Folkfield's guest that so delighted Thor that he almost forgot the reason for his visit.  No longer fearing of upsetting her brother, Freya was wearing a thin white gown that hid nothing of her charms.   When Thor's hunger was sated Freya raised the other matter he had been dreading.  'I do not know what spells I can teach you.  Our Mother shared out our skills with great caution.  The Vanfolk have little strength of thew but can work difficult spells with little effort.  The Norns are bound to the paths of Wyrd, and have little strength left for spellcraft.  In you I would guess your power lies almost entirely in strength of thew, though I hope I can teach you a little to keep you safe from the trollwives.  Would you let me look at the paths of your mind?  I promise to be gentle this time.'
Thor winced remembering the Vanwife's mindbolt but submitted to her.  She lay her hands on his head and sent her spirit gently within.  Freya felt warmth, tasted it and smelt it, the feel of power was almost overwhelming to her.  She felt her father's fear, that their mother had left her terrible strength full force in Perun's son.  But then she noticed that the strength was not unchecked.  She felt a wall within his mind, a deliberate barrier blocking much of Thor's potential.  Freya withdrew, breathing heavily;  the room felt cold about her.  'Well?' asked Thor smiling, grateful that she hadn't hurt him.
'I have never looked into Mother's mind but I would guess that yours is similar.  Though I am glad to say that she has fettered your strength.  So I will assume that your ability in spellcraft will be limited like that of the Norns.  All your sisters have mastered the use of the seeing-spell, the ability to look into other worlds.  I think you will find that diverting and useful.  Come let us see if you have the talent.'  She led him into the spell-chamber.
The Vanwife smiled and led the thundergod to her new high seat, a riot of Meilli's finest carving.  Thor hesitated at its steps as if relishing his ignorance of the magical arts, then resignedly climbed the delicate steps and sat on the seat's soft cushions. Freya climbed up beside him and to his surprise urged him to remove his tunic. She sat behind him her legs pressing close on either side, and her breasts warm on his naked back. Thor's misgivings melted away.
'This seat is my watching tower,' said Freya 'it represents the great World Tree. Here we can imagine that we sit within its branches, like the far sighted eagle, and see to every corner of the Nine Worlds. As the tree has roots so does the highseat have pillars, one represents the Outlands, one the Underworld, and one the lands of Middle Garth. And now that I dwell among the Osfolk I have added a fourth for Elfhome. Each pillar bears runic verses describing the Garths, and each is made of timber taken from that world. The platform is not necessary to see beyond Godhome's walls, but it allows such magic to be worked with far less effort. Following me so far?' Thor nodded and the Vanwife continued.
'As in all things it is better to learn by doing. Your sisters strove a full season to learn this art so I will lead our first journey, and I hope you will see that their efforts were worthwhile.  Try and relax.' Freya gently massaged Thor's shoulders and gently eased her thoughts into his mind and guided his thoughts into hers.  Through her thoughts they shared the calm that allows the soul to fly free of the lich.  The room became cloudy and indistinct. Folkfield Hall faded away and they seemed to be floating high above Middle Garth, with the mountains of the Outlands just visible in the distance.  'I have a ward I need to watch over' Freya explained.  The image of Middle Garth came nearer until Thor could make out the individual trees and grazing beasts. The fields of men sped below them as if they rode on the back of a soaring bird. Freya focused on a settlement with a large communal roundhouse surrounded by outbuildings and cattle pens and ringed with a high embankment. The roundhouse roof offered no resistance and they could see a feast in progress below them, the walls and roof tree were decked out with greenery and the celebration was clearly a wedding.
'Can we be seen?' asked Thor.
'No' freya replied. 'We are here only in spirit. It is possible to use the platform to move by way-spell to another Garth but that takes a great deal of skill and, as you know, only the greatest of the Vanfolk can master it.  Maybe if you do well now I will try and teach you that some other time.'
'Which is your ward?' asked Thor.
'The bride,' replied Freya.  'Observe and know her'. The young woman sat in her wedding finery, a dress of red wool embroidered with spirals at the hems, jewellery of amber and crudely beaten sheets of gold, her hair and face hidden by a veil. Thor could see her clearly but slightly distorted as if through thick glass, and he could sense more than her appearance. Her thoughts also came to him clearly: she was very young, barely a woman, a confusion of joy, pride and a consuming nervousness spilled from her.

'Good' said Freya encouragingly 'and now the bridegroom.'  Several seats away the bridegroom sat drinking heavily, laughing and swapping crude jokes with his fellows. His thoughts struggled through a haze of ale, but his lust was strong and demanding. 'Well?' asked Freya.
'She's a maiden, and he is too drunk to care.'
'Indeed, let us look out for her.'

The feast was over, the last platters cleared away and young men were chanting for the newlyweds to take their leave. The bridegroom heaved himself upright, swaying slightly he walked around the trestle, tugged the girl roughly behind him, and made for the curtained sleeping area down one side of the roundhouse. Freya smiled as Thor willed their vision after the couple.  He could sense the growing terror in the young woman and, filled with compassion, had not realised that he had taken control of the seeing-spell. The bridegroom tore the veil from her head and kissed her roughly.
'What can we do?' whispered Thor.
'Help her find passion' Freya replied 'use your mind to soothe and delight her.'

The bridegroom hauled the dress from her shoulders, the girl backed away sobbing now in fear. Her terror was like a rearing beast, Thor embraced it with his own thoughts willing her to be calm. Gradually the weeping subsided, the bridegroom reached forward to clasp her barely budding breasts. Thor filled her mind with thoughts of pleasure, awakening her body as if with a tender caress, and heard her gasp of delight a moment before the drunken hands grasped her exposed flesh.
'Very good' laughed Freya. 'I think you have a natural gift in the witchman's art'. The vision had gone and Thor could only see the walls of Freya's chamber. 'So do you think you could use your new found skill?'
'I don't know,' Thor replied 'I still don't think a god should practice magic.'
'Oh Thor!' Freya teased him 'after what you have just done for that girl, do you still think magic is unmanly?'
'Er, well, maybe not that part.'
The Vanwife pushed Thor onto his back, pulled off her gown and sat aside him. 'Now!' cried the goddess. 'Let's see just how unmanly I have made you.'

Eventually, and after no short length of time, sated of the pleasures of the lich, they decided to continue Thor's training. Freya suggested that the Thunderer should try to make a journey of his own without her assistance. 'What would you like to see?' she asked.
Thor considered, 'The outlands I suppose, then I can see what the ettinfolk are up to.'
'Not very original' laughed Freya 'but very practical.'
She settled herself once more behind him on the cushions of the high seat. 'Lead the way,' she said.
'What? I don't know how.'
'Try,' said Freya.  'Close your eyes and think of a place you know very well and will yourself there.'

Thor concentrated, closing his eyes to block out the sights of Folkfield Hall, he considered the desolate wilderness of the Outlands. He remembered the ettinwife Gjalp who lived on the stony road far to the east. Thor had befriended her and often stopped to rest at her cottage when he passed that way. He remembered tiny details of Gjalp's dwelling, the dry stone walls stuffed with moss, the log roof with its soot dusted cobwebs, her fishpond. He recalled sitting with her helping catch fish for supper and the ettinwife's infectious laugh when he splashed her with water.
With the place firmly in his mind Thor felt the spell take hold and opened his eyes to see the landscape of the nearer Outlands rushing below him. It took longer than before, but the far Outland border was much further from the gods' Garth. And there was the cottage, Gjalp was stooped over the stream beating her washing.
'Can I talk to her?' Thor asked Freya.
'You can, but she will hear you speak with her mind rather than her ears. Never try this with a mortal unless they are asleep, otherwise they tend to get overexcited.'
Thor sent a greeting to Gjalp. The ettinwife, wise in magic herself smiled.  'Wassail my dear Thor' she said.  'Well, what is Godhome coming to if you are dabbling in the female arts!'
'That's enough of that', Thor replied indignantly.  'How are you faring?'
'All is well for me, all is not well in Middle Garth.'
'How so?'
Gjalp sighed 'Lut made his way west three waking spans ago, he had a hunger for mortal blood and I am sure he has found some by now.'

Lut's name was known to the Thunderer, the monster had enough troll blood in his veins to give him a hunger for manflesh.  Thor acknowledged the news with some choice swear words and willed the vision back towards Middle Garth, following the shattered trees marking the ettin's wake. They crossed into Manhome and the smoke of burnt out houses and discarded human bones marked the trail. At the next settlement the fires of destruction were newly lit and the air was rent with the screams of human suffering. Lut towered over the carnage, his form hideous. The ettin had nine heads, each one uglier than the next, and four arms dangling from his humped back. He was gloating over four women that he had bound to the broken stump of a tree. Two men struggled helplessly in his talon like hands. 'Don't worry my pretties' growled one of Lut's heads, dribble pouring between its tusks. 'I wont eat you yet a while, not until after I get to play with you.' Lut casually raised a screaming man and bit a great chunk out of his thigh. Another arm reached out with extended craw to tear away a woman's clothing.
Acting on instinct and driven by a boiling rage Thor leapt from the high seat, and howled his challenge at the ettin.  Lut barely had time to register surprise at the Thunderer's sudden appearance before Thor grabbed the arm holding the injured man and tore it from the ettin's body. Lut screamed in pain, and screamed even louder as the other arm clasping a captive was also ripped away. The ettin staggered back, blood pouring from the ragged stumps where his limbs had been.  Weak from blood loss he sank to his knees. 'I thought I told you to keep your filthy lich out of Middle Garth!' shouted the enraged Os.  Lut spat defiantly, Thor advanced for the kill, anger giving his eyes the glow of laver and his brow flickered with flames.  He grabbed Lut's remaining arms, planted his foot on the dying ettin's chest and pulled, Lut's abused body fell into a deepening pool of his own blood.
For a moment Freya had stared in shock, then she gathered her scattered wits, whispered a hurried chant, gathered her power and leapt after her brother.  Freya ran to the aid of the injured man, but his wound was too severe even for her healing arts and he pleaded for her to let him die so that he would not burden the womenfolk. The Vanwife wept at the tragedy and her golden tears settled on the stranger she would never know. Thor released the women from their bonds and was instantly embraced by relieved, sobbing farmwives.
'Comfort them' said Freya.  'Let them have one happy memory of this terrible time. I will wait for you on the high seat, call me when you are done and I will bring you home.

With the farmfolk safe asleep and the ettin's lich dragged far from their steading, Thor called out to the Vanwife and they worked the way-spell together to bring him back to Folkfield Hall.  Freya regarded her half-brother with concern, his gaze had returned to its calm stormy blue but a spark of fire remained in its depths.  In the gloom of the spell-chamber his brow flicked with unearthly fire.  
'Your head is glowing'  Freya told him.  
'Glowing?  Should it be?'
'Its your mind-strength, you are much stronger than I thought.  For good or ill we have awoken it.  They will fear you.'
Thor brushed his hands about his hair and felt the unfamiliar warmth there and shared her worry 'Who will fear me?'
'Everyone.'
'Including you?  Oh Freya, I would never harm you.'  he pulled her into his arms.  'I made a promise to Mother Jord and I make the same promise to you, I will never let darkness take me.  There.'  He forced a smile 'Is that better?'
Freya regarded him again, the strange glow was gone, though standing so close she knew the power had not diminished and could feel the heat of his presence against her skin.  'Oh Thor, you can work shapechanging too?'  she realised she was staring and lowered her gaze.  'This happening has thrown both of us' she admitted.  'Go and rest your mind with women or ale and we will meet again in the next waking span.  My mind aches in confusion and I am sure yours does too.'

Thor took his leave from Folkfield willingly.  For a long while he sat alone in his chambers at Stormbright Hall, deeply concerned about his new found strength.  He could feel it simmering in his soul, ready to lash out at any gentle urging.  He sat on his bed and rested his gaze on the gold chessmen that stood on a cupboard of Meilli's carving.  All too easily could he see himself following his mother's destructive path, using his terrible strength against his own family in a moment of rage.  It had already happened, thanks to Gullveig's wicked spells, and now the consequences would be so much worse.  Freya spoke truly that some would fear him, Njord it seemed already did.  

He felt the need for comfort and made his way down the many steps to Sigyn's door.  Sigyn listened and, as he had so desperately hoped, accepted his new strength without fear.  She asked him to drop his disguise and show her the strange glow that had so alarmed Freya.  He did so and she cried out with delight 'It so becomes you, your hair now glitters like gold.'  She ran to fetch her dressing mirror and held it up before him.
'I look like some fiend from Muspell' Thor wailed.
Sigyn shook her head at him 'It's a crown for the chief of the Osfolk.'
'All the more reason to hide it.'
'Well I like it' Sigyn declared stubbornly 'and I promise you when Meilli sees you thus he will want to weave your image or carve you.'
Thor swore foully at that threat, but her reassuring words had greatly eased his mind.  She hugged him tightly nestling her head beneath his hairy chin, and said 'I can feel your power here like the warmth of a hearth, I have never felt so safe.'
Sigyn drew him to her bed and held him until his troubled mind found sleep.

After a quick but hearty breakfast Thor returned to Folkfield.  Freya was glad to see him well rested and after hugging him fondly pressed on with his lessons.  'Now we need to make sure you won't be worried by any more mind-spears, like the one that felled you at the gate.  This should be easy after what you achieved in the last span.  Think up a wall of iron about your mind and the spell won't touch you.'
Thor did as he was bid.
'Ready?  I will use the same spell as before.'
The mind-wall felt strong but his memory of Freya's attack made him nervous;  he chewed his lip and nodded.  Freya chanted and focused her strength and let fly, then staggered back, gasping.
'Are you all right?' asked thor concerned.
'You did well, that was like running into a cliff face.  Did you feel anything?'
'I felt a strange shiver when you were chanting and a slight nudge when you cast your spell.'  Thor grinned:  he could keep the Vanfolk out of his head.  After Gullveig's tricks that felt good.
Freya swallowed her indignation that the powerful spell had been so little felt.  'The shiver, have you felt it before?'
'Sometimes, when people come up behind me unexpected, and before you attacked me the first time.'
'You are feeling the tug of the Wyrd threads when you might be in danger, that is a rare skill and most useful.  You know what to do now:  raise a shield with your mind.  If the danger might be from thew you can weave a larger shield out of spellcraft.  You can shield buildings and farms but the larger the shield the more strength it will cost you.  Your second-sight has saved us a lot of work, for the Osfolk must be able to call you when they are in danger.    It is better to keep your mind open as much as you can.'

Freya completed his lessons by teaching him shape-changing, a skill he had already made use of to conceal the signs of his powers.  Under her guidance he easily took the form of an eagle and a bear.  She was deeply envious that he could make the changes with little effort.
She regarded him fondly and said, 'I know a thousand spells of lesser note, but you have achieved the greatest skills with so little work, I don't think you need to learn them.  So go and put my thinking to the test.  Warm your bath water with a wish and light your hearth with a thought.  Weave a way between your hall and the Hel-road for your people to tread. Your mother built a bridge through heaven, I think with effort you could achieve equal wonders.  Your learning from me is done, my friend.  Now you must teach yourself.'
'Have I earned your favour?'
'Of course.  You need to ask?'
'Good.' he swept the Vanwife up into his arms and carried her up to her bed.

Notes:
Although this tale is new most of the fragments within it are drawn from ancient lore.

Freya is said to have taught spellcraft to all the gods of the Osfolk – that includes Thor.

Travel seems to be a problem for the gods, in the myths they ride horses through the sky or change into birds.  Journeying from one Garth to another clearly takes hours or even days.  The one exception is Thor who can somehow travel back to Godhome in an instant during an emergency.  He can also hear when he is needed even when riding in the furthest Outlands.  In this version of the tales this talent is shared with the Van gods Njord, Frey and Freya.

Thor does employ shapechanging spells in the tale of his fishing for the World Serpent, where he takes the forms of both a boy and a giant.  Symbols of Thor often incorporate bird heads that may be a forgotten animal aspect of the god, most likely the eagle that is connected to thunder and lightning in many cultures.  One of his nicknames, Bear,  may also point to a forgotten animal form.

Thor's control over the weather and land fertility (as confirmed by Adam of Bremen) can only be explained by magical ability.  His very name means 'thunder' so it would appear that he was born to be a thundergod, and is not totally reliant on chance treasures obtained in later life.  He was also the main god invoked for hallowing ceremonies and sacred artefacts.

Thor's odd appearance is also traditional.  Most sources give Thor red hair, a colour associated with magic and sanctity, hence the use of red caps, rowan berries and red yarn in folk charms.  Many depictions of Thor made between the seventeenth century and circa 1900 show the god with a crown of flames, a halo of stars or a combination of the two.  Where this imagery derives from is not clear.  One single Eddic reference says that he has hair more beautiful than gold which might possibly be a reference this phenomenon.   That his eyes blaze with fire when he is angry is mentioned in several myths.  The idea that there is a slight hint of fire in his eyes when he is calm is my addition.

The fire crown may derive from Thor's elevation among the gods by the common people who loved him best.  For them Thor was the most powerful, most dependable, most noble and one of the wisest of the gods and goddesses (1), but sufficiently down to earth to be likeable.  A total contrast to the scheming, ambitious, untrustworthy Odin.

Lutt is recorded as one of the ettins killed by Thor in the Thulur, the Eddic list of poetic kennings. No description is given for the ettin or his demise but his name means 'stooped';  similar mutant ettins are described in the sagas.

In the interests of continuity, Freya's powers are shown to be less than they are after the Brisingamen story.

1: see Magnus Magnusson's 'Hammer of the North' if you think I am raving, he agrees.

For many waking spans after Kvasir's birth, the Osfolk and Vans made merry together and celebrated the peace.  They feasted at Stronghome, danced at Fenbank Hall, shared epic poems in Battlehall and hunted and wrestled at Yewdale.

Then the time came for the Vans to make their way back to their own lands, led by their Father Njord.   Beyla the mead brewster stayed in Godhome to help Freya run her hall.  With the Vanfolk travelled Os Hoenir who had promised to teach his knowledge to the Vans.  He took with him the lofty ettin Mimir as a companion.

With Mother Bestla's tearful help Hoenir packed up his clothes, his weapons and tools and packed the chests and sacks onto a wagon. Mimir stuffed his few spare clothes into a leather sack.  Together they joined the the procession of Vans and elves leaving the Garth.  The company tramped league after league heading first into the wilds of the Outlands and then south into the lands of the elves.  Every few hours the Osfolk were brought meals by the Vans' servants.  The elven food was beaten nuts, mushrooms, oil and leaves which Hoenir found very filling.  Mimir complained bitterly 'Do you call this food?  This is not fit for an ettin of my lofty standing.  Have you no meat, no ale?'
The beleaguered elf replied 'It is our custom not to eat flesh in the presence of the Vanfather, but I know he values the peace.  Let me search among our baggage for a skin of mead and I will ride ahead and hunt a beast for your resting feast.'
'If that is the best you can do, then do it.'
The elf soon returned with mead and a bow upon his shoulder, he rode off ahead of the travellers.  Mimir swilled the mead to sate his rumbling hunger which made his mood worse.
'I have always wondered' Hoenir asked cautiously, 'why you eat meat and Odin devours only wisdom.  Did you not both drink from the same magical spring.'
'We did' grumbled Mimir, 'but unlike Odin I did not gulp the water, I only sipped it.  A little craving for knowledge is enough.'

As the waking spans passed they travelled ever closer to the sun and the air grew ever warmer.  The elves and Vans cast off their clothes and walked naked.  Hoenir, feeling uncomfortably hot, followed suit and pulled off his heavy woollen tunic and breeches.  Mimir grumbled 'Put your clothes back on, Hoenir; you will bring shame on the Osfolk.'
'Oh cheer up, Mimir, the sun is so warm here, and I have kept covered what needs to be covered, though it seems only from you in this company.'
Mimir swore foully: his own clothing was even less suited to Elfhome, being the leather and fur worn in the wilder Outlands.  Determined to prove himself to be a better wight than the elves, he slogged along the forest way sweaty and irritable.

Hoenir drove his wagon into the groves of Vanhome, cheerful and full of wonder for the beauty of the forest.  Mimir dragged his feet behind with his pack weighing heavy as a millstone.  Ettins are hardy and rarely suffer from such blights as blisters, but after spans of long walking in his heavy furs Mimir was red raw in a dozen painful places.   They were lead into a pleasant grove bordered with lines of ancient trees positioned like the pillars of a hall.  The Osfolk were led to a raised mound where the Vans sat together seated on cushions of green felt about Frey's high seat, which was a natural outcrop of mossy stone.  The elves of Elfhome danced and sang to welcome the Osfolk and brought cups of mead and platters of food.  'Great!' muttered Mimir. 'More nuts.'

With the waning of the waking span the elves and Vans left the gathering in groups of two or three, finally leaving the Osfolk alone with Father Njord and the Van Skirnir.  The old Van spoke:  'Tell me Os Hoenir, what do you need from us to start your teaching?'
'I thought I could start by building a small timber hall here.  Can you tell me where I can fell trees for the building.'
'You propose to fell living trees?'
'Of course he does' scoffed Mimir.
'That I cannot allow.'  Hoenir's face showed his surprise and disappointment and Father Njord explained.  'You must understand why, now that there is peace between us.  These groves of Vanhome are the sacred heart of Elfhome.  There is nowhere in the Nine Garths where the elf folk and land spirits live so numerous and so hale.  Every tree, every bank of willow herb or bramble and every stone has its elves.  You take an axe of iron to a tree trunk here and one of the elves will die.'
'But you must work in timber Father Njord' said Hoenir 'you are famous for your shipyard and boat sheds.'
'And so I am' Njord replied proudly 'but I have never taken the life of a treeman or woodwife to build them.  I claim only the trees that fall in storms or wash ashore from the open sea.  Many of my ships have taken the lifetime of a man to build.'
Mimir was still dubious 'Why not take timber from Middle Garth or the Outlands?  Thor has harvested thousands of trees for the building of Godhome's halls.'
'Os Thor does not share my burden' replied Njord sadly.  'He never saw Middle Garth burnt and barren, as I have.  Yet the elves speak fondly of him and I am sure he chooses his timber with care.'
Mimir still frowned in contempt and Hoenir spoke hurriedly to keep the peace.  'Forgive us Father Njord if we have offended you, it was never my intention.  But I have promised to teach the skills of building and have learnt much from Os Meilli that I can pass on.  Do you have any timber stored that I can use?'
'I have boards from three trees in my wood store which you may use, and you are welcome to search the woods of Vanhome for fallen trees.  It is a while since I have looked for timber due our concerns over the actions of the Osfolk.  Skirnir, will you go with them and aid their searching?'
The Van bowed 'Of course, Father Njord.'

The Osfolk were shown two large nests woven under sheltering trees, these were the open air beds where the elves and Vans slept.  Hoenir thought the arrangement strange but, eager to please the Vanfolk, he accepted the curious bed.  Mimir said he would rather rest on the ground 'I am not a bird' he declared loftily.

Hoenir had doubts about the nest's comforts until he woke well rested and cheered by the scent of the fresh herbs strewn in his bedding.  Mimir had spent a miserable resting span lying against a beech trunk and if anything he was even crankier.

Skirnir greeted them and offered to take them in search of the timber Hoenir needed.  'Put some clothes on boy' Mimir groaned, 'I dont want to look at your prick span after span.'
'Mimir please' urged Hoenir 'we must respect their customs in their own home.'
'And they must respect the peace, find something to wear.' Mimir insisted
'I will not' declared Skirnir. 'Would you like me tell Father Njord you have refused my services?'
'That's enough' cried Hoenir glaring at the ettin.  He quailed a little at Mimir's obvious fury: he had always been a little in awe of Mimir.  They set off out into the forest.  Skirnir asked the wights they met for news of fallen trees and they followed their directions, but they found little of use.  Much of the timber they saw was rotten, the boughs soft, their life strength long ago seeped back into the Earth.  As they tramped through the ferns and springy moss Skirnir told them a little of his history.  He had been born in Middle Garth and Frey had saved him from a fierce troll.  He had served the Vans ever since and now looked to Frey as a father.  
After nine spans of searching they found only three trees of worth.  'So few' sighed Hoenir 'I had so hoped to build a small hall for the Vans but it would take many more trees than this.'
'You could appeal to the wood spirits', suggested Skirnir.  He called into the woods and a tree spirit appeared.  He was four feet high with oak leaves growing amid his hair, beard and prick.  'Hail to you good wight' Skirnir greeted him.  'I name to you Hoenir and Mimir of the Osfolk.  They are searching for fallen trees that could be used to build a hall in Vanhome.'
The spirit bowed, 'There are three such fallen trees near Vanhome which no doubt you know having come so far.  I know of one other to the north of here, that is all.'
'Ridiculous' muttered Mimir, 'when there are trees everywhere for the taking.'
'There are indeed wise ettin, follow me.'  The wight spoke grimly and the three followed him to a beautiful glade, its sward thick with flowers and the sunlight broken by the spread of a large oak tree, healthy and in its prime.  'Will that tree do for you?'
'That looks perfect' said Mimir.
'Kill me and it is yours, I share my soul with that oak.'  Hoenir blanched white at his words but Mimir laid a hand to his blade.  Skirnir spoke coldly, 'Harm that elf and this whole Garth will hunt you as a murderer.'
The elf spat at the ettin in disgust and turned his back on the Osfolk.

With the help of the elves the four trees were yoked to horses and dragged back to  Vanhome.  The damp wood would need to be stacked for a long tide to dry before it could be worked.  Hoenir again expressed his disappointment that his plans for a hall could not be realised.  
'Worry not, there is more than one way to build a hall' said Skirnir.  'Show us what you want to build.'
Hoenir led the crowd of elves to the dry mud of a stream bank and used a stick to show them what was in his mind.  He drew the hall as it would be seen from the door, from the side and its shape upon the ground.  The elves whispered excitedly.
Skirnir smiled in understanding.  'Now draw the hall's outline upon the ground, as you would build it, slowly.'
Hoenir did so, Skirnir chanted and the line that Hoenir drew glowed and sparkled.  Skirnir raised his voice louder in song and the elves sung with him, tiny shoots writhed out of the grass and pushed out leaves and rose higher and higher, thickening into saplings and then mature willows.  The boughs wove together as they grew forming walls and finally a roof.  
His spell worked, Skirnir asked 'will that serve you?'
'That is wonderful' cried Hoenir delighted.
'Then this will be your hall, Os Hoenir.'
The elves cried out with delight and seized the Os and raised him to their shoulders and carried him into the hall.  Woodwives followed with felted cushions in their arms and soon a large gathering was seated in the new hall, the elves were bellowing 'Hail Hoenir, Hail the friendly Os!'
Mimir grumbled with sour mood, 'There is no covering but leaves, the rain will pour in here.'
He snatched a cushion away from a surprised elf as no one had brought one to the miserable ettin.  He sat muttering in the damp grass and then sighed loudly as a woodwife brought in a large basket of food 'Great!  Nuts again!'

Hoenir used a single precious tree to show how the Osfolk built in timber, and showed the elves how to carve a mortise and tenon and join beams together with pegs.  The finished pieces were stored carefully away in Njord's wood stores.

Hoenir's lessons had become very popular among the Vans and elves and a large gathering had assembled to hear his next words.  There were leaf decked tree spirits, little hedge wights with their feathers, fur and horns, water wights with hair of dripping reed and the tall and beautiful noble elves who watched over the hills and valleys of Elfhome.  Hoenir spoke on this span of the working of ore to make tools and weapons.  Many of the elf folk scattered when they heard the dreaded word metal.  Hoenir's heart was greatly tugged by concern.  'How have I offended those wights who have left?'
It was Skirnir who answered 'The elves of hedge and wood are greatly fearful of iron, it even burns their flesh when they touch it.  That is why the Vans use tools of flint and bone.'
'Ah, that would explain why I have never seen an elf in Battlehall.  Tell me Van Skirnir should this lesson continue?'
'Yes, the Vans and less wood-bound elves should know it.'
Somewhat shaken Hoenir spoke on and told the gathering of the finding of iron ore, how it could be dredged from rivers, found in star-thrown stones and dug from the ground where the stones and soil were stained with rust.'
'Why not sing for it?' suggested Skirnir.
'What do you mean?'
Skirnir again raised his voice in song and called lovingly the the iron in the earth a mile beneath his feet.  He called to it gently and patiently and soothingly as a man would call to a timid maiden and finally he held an apple sized ball of the metal between his hands.  He held it carefully, hovering above his fingers, for it was glowing red and liquid.  He sung to it to urge its cooling.
Some of the scattered elves crept back and even came close looking at the ball of metal in wonder.  One brave hedge elf held out his hand and lightly touched the cooling iron.  He made no cry of pain.
'Did that not hurt you?' asked Hoenir surprised.
'No.  It feels warm but it does not burn.' The elf looked as surprised as the Van.
'Could you use this?'
'I think I could.' the elf admitted.  He whooped and danced and his fellows joined him.  'Honoured Van Skirnir, honoured Os Hoenir, this is a new thing, you have made an iron that we elves can use.'
'I am amazed' admitted Skirnir 'I thought you feared iron because of the damage it can do to the land.'
'It still feels warm in my hand even though your spells have cooled its heat, but it is not painful.  I think the manner of its fetching made the difference.  You called it from its bed like a lover, causing no harm to the earth above.'
'Well, that is good news for the elves, and good news for the Vans that they may use iron tools in Elfhome without causing you pain.  Hoenir, shall we make a gift for Frey?  A knife, perhaps?'
'Willingly' Hoenir agreed.  He fetched a small anvil from his wain and worked the metal into a blade.  All the folk of Battlehall had a deep interest in the working of metal and this was one skill at which Hoenir excelled.  The eager elves watched with great interest as Skirnir called the fire back into the metal and Hoenir hammered and folded and twisted the blade blank until it glistened with waves like the sea.  Then he shaped the blade, point and tang, explaining its making to the elves as he did so.

No longer fearful of the metal the elves had thronged in great numbers about Hoenir, some even clinging to the tree branches above in order to see.  The blade was finished with a handle of stag bone and the great gathering made their way to Frey's grove-hall.  Frey looked up from his high seat in surprise to see two delighted hedge-wights carrying the new forged blade between them with a huge throng of elf folk dancing behind them.

'What wonder is this?' asked Frey.
'A new thing' cried one of the bearers. 'Skirnir called the metal from the ground with spellcraft and we can hold it without harm.  Hoenir wought this blade as a gift for you.'
'A generous gift!'  Frey smiled and raised his hand to acknowledge Hoenir and Skirnir who stood behind the crowd of elves.  'Let this be known as elf-iron if it has your blessing.'

The lessons continued and each waking span Hoenir was surrounded by an eager crowd of Vans and elf folk.  He taught many skills in metalcraft and then taught them the skills of the warrior, the lore of the sword and shield.  These lessons were followed with instruction in spinning and weaving with fleeces sent from Godhome.  The elves took happily to weaving but the only clothing they favoured was a cloak that they used as an ornament during the waking tide and as blanket in their nests.  Mimir, who had never tired of criticising everything in Elfhome, had much to say on their continued nudity.

As the elves loved Hoenir they grew to hate the sour Mimir.   Before long even the Vans were deeply frustrated by his weary complaining and even his approach made their blood seethe.  

Vanwife complained to elf about the tedious ettin, elf to hedge wight and hedge wight to woodwife.  Finally word reached the oak spirit that Mimir had so offended and hearing the tally of the ettin's ill behaviour he swore to destroy him.  He climbed his beloved tree and ran and leapt from bough to bough from tree to tree until he reached the edge of the Elflands.  There he found Gullveig in her tent of hides, shunned, bored and restless.  Frey had sent her far away fearing mischief, but not far enough.

'Vanwife Gullveig' the oak spirit cried 'there are Osfolk in Elfhome.  Rude Osfolk, plotting the murder of elves and the murder of trees and wishing to change every worthy thing about our life.'
'I know there are Osfolk here, but why do you come to me?  It would cost me my life to meddle against them again.'
'Not this time.  Os Hoenir is well respected but his companion the ettin Mimir is hated by all.  There is not a hedge ghost or Van in all the Garth who does not wish him dead.'
'Indeed?  Then maybe I should return for the sake of the Garth.  Frey and Njord were ever too soft and peace-loving.'

Though the Vans were angered by Mimir's sour comments they were unwilling to risk the valued peace.  Gullveig had always cared little for such concerns and gleefully returned  to take action.  She hid herself in the thick leaves of an elder and waited until Mimir sat alone.  The bashful Hoenir had become a favourite among the elfwomen so her patience was not taxed.  When she saw Hoenir led away to some elfgirl's nest Gullveig shapechanged into a woodwife.  She crept up to the ettin where he rested against the beech that served him as a bed.

'I have heard that you thirst for knowledge' she whispered.
'That is true.'
'Then would you know what the Vans keep hidden on their most sacred island?'
'No, I know of no such island.' A mystery, this had his attention.
'Alas I hoped you would know.  Only the godfolk sworn to the Mother get to see it.  Surely you, great Os, should have been told?'
The well water Mimir had drunk in the Outlands boiled in his veins and scratched at his mind, urging him to know, to seek, to learn.  'Tell me what is this secret?'
'Simple woodwives are not told.'
'Where is this island?'
'East.  If you find out tell me and you will not find me ungrateful'.  The woodwife kissed him adding lust to his desires and fled into the branches above.  He lay disturbed in mind and finally rose and made his way to the east.  

Most of the elves were sleeping or rutting in their nests and they did not see Mimir making his way towards the sacred heart of Vanhome, none but cunning Gullveig leaping stealthily from tree to tree in woodwife shape.

Mimir walked the causeway where the flag flowers tossed in a fitful breeze and came at last to the island.  He saw a throne of limestone, massive but unremarkable and behind it half hidden in the island's trees a shelter of woven willow boughs, like an upturned basket.  He ducked within and saw a shape hidden by a draped cloth of pounded felt.  He pulled it away and saw the precious relic of the Vanfolk, a carved figure of their Mother Nertha.

Gullveig dropped down behind him and spoke 'Oh Mimir you are undone, for seeing this you will be slain.'
'And so will you if any are told.' Mimir feared nothing from a woodwife.  But then the woodwife's form shimmered and changed.
'I think not.' Gullveig laughed seeing the terrified recognition in Mimir's eyes.  He remembered the games she had played in Godhome all too well.  She advanced on him naked and confident with an antler tine knife in her hand.  'I am Njord's daughter and a godwoman of Nertha, I am free to see and free to know.  And you, unworthy ettin, must give yourself to our Mother.'
'Gullveig no, the peace treaty!' No!'
The Vanwife attacked and struck, plunging the knife into every expanse of flesh that she could reach on the lofty ettin.  Mimir howled in pain and flailed at her but Gullveig spun like a dancer and evaded his desperate fists and her every thrust cut deep.

The giant's screams alerted the elfolk from their slumbers and they called to their Lord.  Frey used a wayspell to enter the shrine and held Gullveig's hand to save Mimir's life.  The ettin's flesh below his neck was in ribbons and his heart torn in two, so Frey cut the head from the body and sung charms of change and healing until the head could live alone.  It was fortunate for Mimir that, after drinking from the well of wisdom, he was sustained as much by the mind as by blood and flesh, otherwise he would have been lost.

Frey was angry almost past speaking 'You have betrayed us again Gullveig and caused strife against Godhome.  I warned you before that you would be punished if you raised hand or wand against them again.  And here lies Odin's friend, near dead but for my spells.'  
'But all Elfhome cried out for his death, there is not a single wight in all this land that he hasn't offended.  
'Possibly not, but Mimir is Odin's friend and through marriage Odin is my brother and the peace must hold at all costs, and thanks to you it may be ruined.  I said I would destroy you if you meddled again and I meant every word.'
'The oak spirit of Three Stone Valley begged me to end his life.  I struck for the good of the Garth.'
'Then he will pay too for breaking the peace.'
Frey lashed out with the mind-magic and she sought to defend herself, but Gullveig's strength was no match for Nertha's Son.  He stole her speech, then her witch wisdom, then her woman wisdom and even her form.  When he was done she was naught but a she-goat, dim and docile.  
Frey reached out with his mind to the oak tree and followed the wyrd thread that joined the oak to the wood wight.  The terrified spirit was hauled by way-spell before the furious Vanlord.  'What have you done, elf?  You have helped to bring disgrace to Vanhome and you must help pay the price.'  Frey tapped the frantic elf with his antler wand and the elf also lost his reason and form.  He fell squealing into the form of a pig.

Frey mind-spoke to his sister and urged her to seek the Warfather and plead his return to Godhome.  Shocked by the events his thoughts conveyed she readily agreed and ran to her high seat to seek the Os and ease her way-spell.  She found Odin abed with the second of Fjolvar's daughters.  The Warfather was surprised to see the Vanlady appear without warning in his chambers and shooed the girl away so that they could speak in peace.  'Forgive me, Os Odin, you are needed urgently in Godhome, will you take my hand, that we may fare back together?'
'I will' he agreed and took up Freya's hand.  She chanted, drawing power from the Earth to aid the spell and shifted them both to Battlehall.  After learning of her magic Odin had great respect for Freya, but the presence of the other leaders of the Vanfolk, all serious and solemn convinced him that their news was grave indeed.  He was surprised to see Njord holding the tether of a nanny goat and Skirnir leading a fat pig, but that was nothing to his shock when Frey passed a cloth wrapped bundle into his hands.
'Mimir!' screamed the Warfather and nearly dropped the head.
'I am not poxed deaf' grumbled his old friend.
'What has happened to you?'
'Gullveig tricked me, tried to kill me, slash slash slash!  Blood everywhere.'
'Gullveig' Odin answered weakly, remembering.
'Frey turned her into a goat, that's her.'
Odin stared blankly at the goat, who dutifully bleated.
Frey spoke formerly: 'As you can see nothing remains of the woman who troubled you so.  Her life-strength can now be put to better use.  Weregild is owing and we are here to pay.  Come.'  

Frey led the Warfather to one of the wide doors of Battlehall.  Frey stooped and prised up some cobbles from the paved garth outside and dropped a strange seed into the hole.  He sang a spell song and a thick stem writhed out of the ground, thickening and sending forth dense reddish foliage.  It was like no tree that Odin had ever seen, its thick growth smelling both bitter and sweet.  The she goat climbed eagerly up the twisting trunk and started to eat the inviting leaves, and after a while a steady stream of golden liquid poured from her udders.  'You might want to fetch a bucket' Njord suggested.  Odin, still cradling the head, bellowed for one to be fetched and one of his warriors came running.  The liquid soon proved to be a fine, strong ale.  Odin's warriors happily put down their spears to taste it with great enjoyment.

Always curious, Odin asked 'What kind of tree is that?'
Frey smiled with relief to see Odin's interest. 'It has no equal and therefore no name, let it be called Betrayal's End and I hope the peace between us can hold.'
'It can.' Odin agreed, for the weregild had been generous.

'Gullveig did not act alone'  Frey continued, 'she was encouraged by a wood elf who will also serve your hall, this pig is all the remains of him.  Wood elves suffer little when their flesh is cut and regrow lost limbs easily like the trees that give them life.  I have used my spellcraft to add further to this pig's life-strength.  Frey drew his new blade and carved a great slab of meat from the pig's flank.  The wound healed itself within moments and the pig made no complaint.  That should help feed your followers.'
'It will indeed' said Odin.  The goat and pig were valuable gifts and no longer would he need to beg for food stores from Stronghome.

Mimir was less easily satisfied. 'What about me?  How can I search for wisdom with no legs to carry me and no knees to grip a horse?'
'You can sit on my high seat.' Odin promised 'And watch everything in the Nine Worlds.  My ravens will tell you where to look if you miss anything of interest.'
'Humpf' muttered Mimir.
Odin carried his friend to the high seat that Freya and Meilli had built for him and sat Mimir upon its soft cushions.   The giant's muttering grew softer as he became absorbed in the vision of the Nine Worlds laid out before him.  

It became a great joke among the Osfolk that the terrifying Gullveig was now tamed and serving them so willingly.  The fall of the troublemaking Vanwoman made the ale of Battlehall taste even sweeter.

And Hoenir?  He stayed in Vanhome and finished his teaching.  The Vans took the arts of the Osfolk and made them their own.  They shaped the living wood of the forests into bowers, wove cloth from the mosses of the forest and called metal from the green earth and forged it with spells.


Notes:

The sharing of the lore between the Vans and the Osfolk causes many changes, so three tales overlap:  The Raising of Folkfield Hall, The Daughters of the Wolf and the Osfolk in Vanhome.

This tale is based on a tantalising fragment of a myth in the Eddas which tells that Mimir angered the Vans and they cut off his head.  As an appeasement they preserved his head with magic.  The attempted murder seems a strange event to follow so shortly after the amicable peace so I have found a scapegoat (literally) in Gullveig who already has a reputation for trouble.

Frey is often overlooked in Norse mythology and overshadowed by the lore surrounding Odin and Thor.  Here he shows his true strengths as a master magic worker and a very dangerous opponent.  His weapon is not the sword but the antler wand.  He has many similarities with Thor: he is a god of the farming folk, a keeper of the peace and Man's capable defender.  

The secret shrine is borrowed from Tacitus's accounts of the shrine of Nerthus which was forbidden from view on pain of death.  In these tales Nerthus (under the more female name Nertha) is the mother of the Vans.

The tree called Betrayal, the ale producing nanny goat and the ever healing pig are found in the Eddic accounts of Odin's hall.  Their origins are not explained in the surviving myths but they make perfect peace offerings for the Vans to give in this tale.  They also solve the problem of how the vast hoards of Battlehall are fed.  Weregild is an old English name for a legal penalty paid to compensate for death or injury.