The frost-giants were lost in conversation by the time Eitri awoke. His hearing too impaired to make out their incessant mumblings. He writhed against his captors in an attempt to slip from their grip, but their hands were clasped too hard on his arms. They laughed at the futile efforts of this elderly man and mockingly coaxed him to try again. His writhing was not for the sake of their jests but to escape the shackles that were clearly made for children.
‘Welcome to Jotunheim dwarf,’ one said. The other laughed then spat a curse.
The frost-giants were dragging Eitri’s limp body down a dark corridor. Blood dripped from the fresh wounds they gave him with spiked clubs. The giants had ambushed him and his family on their journey from Asgard.
‘My son—where is my son?’ he groaned.
The giants ignored him and carried his body to the end of the passageway. With one boot, the door swung open and a wave of heat came rushing over them. They unshackled his arms and in unison, they swung and threw Eitri into the room. He landed on his face and let out a groan.
‘Your workstation, peasant.’
The air was hot and stuffy, and the only source of light emanated from a lamp and a block of metal. Eitri could see it wasn’t hot but enchanted with magic. It glowed as Asgardian symbols floated from its surface. Eitri knew it was the same coveted metal used to forge Mjolnir and the norn stones. It was a channel for the power of Odin; therefore it had to have been plundered from Asgard itself. That meant they were in the midst of a traitor. But who would ally themselves with the frost-giants?
‘You will build us a hammer,’ one shouted. Eitri’s eyes widened with enlightenment. Is this why they took me, he thought.
Eitri was more than a mere blacksmith. He was the greatest blacksmith of the dwarfs and has forged weapons for Odin, whom he considered a brother. The saying of the giant sounded like a weird thing to him.
‘You’re insane,’ he laughed in a gruff voice.
Eitri pulled himself up and leaned on a table with one hand. The giants were twice his size and were so realistic; they had to have been sculpted by some divine hand. If he were young he would slay them without mercy.
‘Jotunheim requires a hammer dwarf.’
‘I know the desires of your heart,’ he said. ‘You seek a weapon to match the mighty Mjolnir, but you will not succeed.’
‘Then you must not care for your children. If you are too see them again, you will build us a hammer.’
The giant slammed the door and left Eitri alone with his tears. He prayed to Odin and his family and pleaded for their forgiveness. The room was small and the floor jagged, but it possessed all the necessary tools. Eitri hadn’t forged a weapon in years and was unsure of his ability. However, his rage would not allow him to falter under uncertainty.
‘Odin, forgive me.’
He knew not if Odin heard his prayers, and he no longer cared. All he knew was that he had to forge his greatest weapon yet. For the sake of his children, and his children’s children, he would build a greater than Mjolnir. He would call it Stormbreaker.
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