Ring Legends of Tolkien

by David Day

  Sigmund is given mortal wounds by his enemies, yet he does not despair for he has lived long and he knows that his queen is heavy with child. The dying Sigmund tells his wife she must take the shards of Odin’s sword. For Sigmund knows the prophecy that he will sire a son who, with the sword re-forged, will win a prize greater than that of any mortal man.

  Sigmund’s queen flees the battleground and after a long journey finds refuge in the Viking court of the King of the Sea Danes. There, the exiled queen gives birth to her son, Sigurd, and raises him in secret under the protection of the Danes.

  THE APPRENTICESHIP OF SIGURD

  In the realm of the Sea Danes is a master smith. He is called Regin, and from his long, toiling hours at the forge, his powerful body is hunched and stunted like a dwarf’s. Yet from his fire and forge comes much beauty in jewels and bright weapons. Swords, spears and axes shine with a bright sheen. None know their equal.

  No one knows Regin’s age or his past. He entered the land of the Danes before the memory of the oldest king. He is no lord of fighting men, but a smith and a master of other crafts as well. He is filled with the wisdom of runes, chess play, and the languages of many lands.

  But Regin casts a cold eye on life, and none knows him as a friend. So the king of the Sea Danes is much surprised when Regin fosters Sigurd and becomes his tutor. There never was a pupil like Sigurd, so quick and eager to learn. He is well taught by the smith in many arts and disciplines, although in the warrior’s skills he excels most. Teacher and pupil are a strange pair. Some say Regin is too cold tempered, and Sigurd born too hot. Whatever the reason, over the years of learning, master and apprentice never form a bond of love or close friendship.

  Wise though Sigurd becomes with Regin’s teaching, there is something in his blood that beckons him to learn matters that are even beyond the smith’s teachings. So Sigurd often goes to the forest for many days of wandering. On one such solitary journey, Sigurd meets an ancient man in a cape and a wide-brimmed slouch hat. The old man’s bearded face has but one eye, and he uses a spear as a walking stick. This man tells Sigurd he may choose whatever horse he wishes for himself from his herd in the meadow.

  When Sigurd chooses a young, grey stallion, the old man smiles.

  “Well chosen. He is called Grani, meaning “grey-coat”, and he is as sleek as quicksilver and will grow to become the strongest and swiftest stallion ever to be ridden by a mortal man. For Grani’s sire was the immortal Sleipnir, the eight-legged stallion of Asgard, who rides storm clouds over the world.”

  Not long afterward, Regin sends for the youth.

  “You have grown large and strong, Sigurd. Now is the time for an adventure,” says Regin. “I have a tale to tell.”

  The two then go out onto the green grass before Regin’s hall. By an oak tree there is a stone bench on which the smith settles, while the huge youth sits on the grass at his feet.

  REGIN’S TALE

  “Know me now, young Sigurd, for what I am. Not a man, but one born in a time before the first man entered the spheres of the world. This was a time almost before there was Time. Giants and dwarfs were filled with terrible strength, and there were magicians of such power that even the gods feared to walk alone across the lands of Midgard.

  “In this time, the gods Odin, Hœnir and Loki went on an adventure into Midgard and dared to enter the land of my father, Hreidmar, the greatest magician of the Nine Worlds. On the first day, the three gods came to a stream and a deep pool. Resting a while, they soon saw a lithe, brown otter swimming in the pool. Diving deep, the otter caught a silver salmon in its jaws and, reaching the far shore, struggled to drag his prize out of the water. It seemed an opportunity not to be missed. Without a word, Loki hurled a stone and broke the otter’s skull.

  “Loki rejoiced at having won both otter and salmon with a single stone. He went to the otter and skinned it. Taking up their double prize of salmon and otter skin, the three gods walked on until evening, when they came to a great hall upon a fair heath. This was Hreidmar the Magician’s hall, which stood on the Glittering Heath just above the dark forest called the Mirkwood.

  “When the three gods entered the hall, they made a gift of the salmon and the otter skin to their host. Rather than glady accepting the gifts, the magician immediately flew into a rage and bound the gods at once with a deadly spell. Then he called to me, to bring my fire-forged chains of unbreakable iron; and he called to my brother, the mighty Fáfnir, to bind these gods tightly with my chains and his pitiless strength. Once this was done, no one but the magician-king might ever free those three gods.

  “Although my father much admired my craft and Fáfnir’s strength, it was his third son that he loved best. This son was the magician’s eyes and ears. He was a shapeshifter who travelled often in many forms of bird and beast, and told my father what went on in the wide world. He was called Ótr (Otter) after his favourite guise.

  “This was the reason for the magician-king’s terrible wrath. The otter that the gods slew at the pool, then unknowingly offered as a gift, was the flayed skin of their host’s favourite son.

  “For this outrage, the magician was intent on the destruction of all three who slew his son. But Odin spoke persuasively, saying truthfully that Ótr was slain in ignorance, and that in such cases, payment of weregild instead of blood was just and honourable compensation. Though much grieved, the magician-king laid the terms.

  Mirkwood, the dark and haunted forest of Midgard

  “ ‘Fill my son’s skin with gold and cover him with it too. Do that and I will spare you,’ he demanded, grimly.

  “Since Loki had cast the fatal stone, he was chosen to find the weregild, while the others remained bound. Odin advised him to quickly find the dwarf Andvari, who was renowned for his wealth. This hoard of gold he hid in a mountain cavern beneath a waterfall. Yet Odin warned that Andvari the dwarf was also a shapeshifter who hid his identity. Most often, he took the form of a great pike who lived in the pool beneath the falls, so he might better guard his watery treasury door.

  “Loki was not long in finding the waterfall. He stared hard into the dear pool and saw the great pike hiding in the eddies under the rocks. He dragged the pike to the land where, gasping, it took on Andvari’s true shape and begged for mercy. Loki was not gentle. He twisted the dwarf until his screams drowned out the sound of the water. Finally, Andvari gave up his golden treasure to Loki, but the dwarf begged that he might be allowed to keep just one red-gold ring for himself. Guessing at the ring’s importance, Loki snatched the ring from Andvari as well, and hurried on his way.

  “Now this was the ring called Andvarinaut, which means ‘Andvari’s loom’, for by its power gold comes, and treasure increases ever more. This golden ring breeds gold, though this was but one of its powers; many of its other powers are unknown. This one small red-gold ring that Loki stole was worth all the rest of treasure together.

  “The dwarf screamed after him: ‘I curse you for this! The ring and the treasure it spawned will carry my curse forever. All who possess the ring and its treasure for long will be destroyed!’

  “Loki returned to the magician’s hall with the gold hoard and stuffed Ótr’s skin tight with it, and piled gold over all. The price in weregild seemed to have been made, but the magician-king looked keenly at the treasure and pointed to one whisker that still protruded. Loki smiled grimly then and let fall the ring Andvarinaut which he had held back. The ring covered the last hair and the payment was made.

  “The magician-king packed up the treasure in great oak chests, but took the ring Andvarinaut and placed it on his hand. Then he released the bonds of his spell, commanded Fáfnir and I to unlock the chains, and the gods were given safe passage out of his land.

  “For a short time, all seemed well, but the mere sight of the ring was a torment to Fáfnir. And so, one night Fáfnir crept to our father’s bed and cut his throat while he slept. He placed Andvari’s ring on his hand, then appeared at my bedside with his bloody dagger.r />
  “ ‘Come,’ he said, ‘I have need of you.’

  “Fearfully I did as I was told and dragged the treasure out across the Glittering Heath and beyond to a cavern under a mountain deep in the Mirkwood.

  Shape-shifting Andvari the Dwarf transforms into a great pike

  “ ‘You make a good porter, my brother. You’ve earned your life, but little else. If you turn now and run, I will not slay you. Put this gold from your mind, for it shall never be left unguarded.’

  “So it was that Fáfnir won the ring and the treasure of the dwarf Andvari with the blood of our father. Over that treasure, he ever after brooded. Hateful lust has poisoned his heart and mind, and all who have come his way by chance or intent he has murdered. For now his outward form has matched his inner evil, and he has become a serpent: a huge dragon, the mightiest of this or any age.”

  SIGURD AND THE DRAGON

  “Slay me this dragon to avenge my father, and win for yourself great glory,” commands Regin. “Help me to my share of the weregild, and besides glory you shall have Andvari’s ring and the greater part of the treasure, as well.”

  Sigurd now sees his destiny and takes up Regin’s challenge.

  For such a mission, the valiant Sigurd desires a weapon to match his strength, and so goes to his mother and claims the shards of his father’s sword that had been the gift of Odin. These shards he gives to Regin in his smithy. Regin sets furiously to work, heating them in the hottest fire, re-forging the blade and tempering it in the blood of a bull. The sacred runes above the hilt recover their brightness, the rings engraved on the steel gleam like silver, and as the smith carries the sword out into the daylight, it seems that flames play along its edge.

  Sigurd the Dragon-Slayer

  Sigurd takes the weapon in his strong hands and swings it fiercely at the smith’s anvil. The sword slices clean through the iron and the wooden stock below it, as well. Yet the blade is unnotched by the stroke.

  “This truly can be no other but the sword called Gram, the gift of Odin, which my father swore would one day be re-forged and be given to his only son,” says Sigurd, smiling.

  So armed and mounted on his steed Grani, Sigurd rides on his quest with Regin. They come at last to the fire-scorched and desolate outlands of what was once the Glittering Heath. This place is a wild and blasted heath on the edge of the evil forest of Mirkwood. It is a scorched wasteland where many a hero has been slain by the dragon. Upon this heath is cut a deep path of stone that is the slime-filled track of a dragon road. The road leads to Fáfnir’s serpent cavern deep in the Mirkwood. There the dragon made his bed upon the golden treasure that was the ring-hoard of Andvari the Dwarf. Fáfnir left his golden bed only once each day, when he travelled his road to the foul pool on the heath where he drank at dusk.

  “Dig a trench in the dragon’s path and hide in it,” advises Regin. “When he comes over you thrust your sword up into his soft belly. You cannot fail.”

  While Sigurd is digging, Regin makes off across the heath and hides himself in the Mirkwood. A shadow falls over the pit and Sigurd whirs around. It was the same one-eyed, bearded old man who had given Sigurd his grey horse.

  “Small wisdom, short life,” murmurs the old man, leaning on his spear. “The dragon’s blood will sear your skin. Dig several pits and hide in the one in the left. There you may thrust your blade into the worm’s heart, while the boiling, poison blood falls into another pit.”

  By evening the work is done, and just in time. The stinking dragon comes down to drink, roaring horribly and slavering poison over the ground. Biding his time, Sigurd thrusts Gram’s blade into the dragon’s breast up to the hilt. The scalding, corrosive blood floods into the ditch, and Fáfnir collapses. His writhing coils shake the earth. His roaring fills the air with flame and venom. His jaws snap at an enemy he cannot reach, as he curses the hero who has slain him and the brother who betrayed him.

  When Sigurd emerges from his pit, Regin too comes from his hiding place and feigns both sorrow and joy. Claiming that he wishes to remove any blood guilt from Sigurd for the slaying of Fáfnir, Regin asks Sigurd to cut the dragon’s heart from its body and roast it. Regin claims that, by eating the dragon’s heart, he alone might be brought to account for its death.

  Sigurd does as Regin tells him and builds a fire and spits the heart over the flames. But as the dragon’s heart cooks, its juice spits out and scalds the young man’s fingers. He puts his fingers in his mouth and, upon tasting the monster’s heart-blood, at once finds he can understand the language of the birds in the trees about him.

  The birds speak with sorrow, for they know of Regin’s treachery. How the smith will gain great wisdom and bravery by eating the dragon’s heart, how he then plans to slay Sigurd in his sleep. The birds know that Regin will never share the golden treasure, nor the ring with the brave youth, despite his sworn oath. They know as well that Regin wishes to steal Sigurd’s sword and steed.

  Hearing this talk among the birds, Sigurd moves swiftly. With his sword, Gram, he strikes the false smith’s head from his shoulders. Then, Sigurd eats the dragon’s heart himself and sets to work clearing out Fáfnir’s lair.

  It is a whole day’s work, for the cave floor is carpeted with drifts of gold. No three horses could have stood beneath such a load, but Grani carries this with ease. The extra burden of Sigurd, now wearing golden armour, seems to require no effort at all.

  So, laden with the Ring of Andvari on his hand, Sigurd the Dragonslayer goes out of that burned wasteland in search of more adventures. He seeks and achieves further honour, for he makes war on all the kings and princes who murdered his father and his kinsmen, and slays them every one.

  THE RESCUE OF BRYNHILD

  Many other adventures the youth has as well, but then he goes south into the lands of the Franks. Travelling long one night he sees, like a beacon, a great ring of flames on a mountain ridge. The next morning he climbs that ridge called the Hindfell, where he sees a stone tower in the midst of the ring of flames. Sigurd doesn’t hesitate. He urges Grani into the ring of fire. Grani does not flinch. His leap is as high as it is long, and though his tail and mane are scorched, he stands quietly once they are through. There is an inner circle next: an overlapping ring of massive war shields, their bases fixed in the mountain rock. Sigurd draws Gram and shears a path through the iron wall of shields. Beyond this is a stone tower, and within it is the body of a warrior on a bier. Or so it seems.

  When Sigurd takes the helmet from the warrior’s head, he sees that this is a woman and that she is not dead, but sleeping. As he gazes on her, Sigurd sees she is of a warrior’s stature and a woman’s grace. He also sees a buckthorn protruding from her neck. When Sigurd draws it out, this sleeping beauty sighs and wakes. The shield maiden’s steady grey eyes look up at him with love.

  This sleeping woman is Brynhild, who was once a Valkyrie, one of Odin’s own battle maidens – his beautiful angels of death – who gathered the souls of heroes as they fell in war and carried them to Valhalla. But she once set her will against Odin in the matter of a man’s life. For this, Odin pierced her with a sleep-thorn and set her in a tower surrounded by a ring of fire.

  Only a hero who did not know fear would be able to pass through the ring of fire. When Brynhild opens her eyes, she knows Sigurd for the hero he is, and Sigurd knows that in the Valkyrie he has his match for courage and his master in wisdom.

  When Sigurd becomes the Valkyrie’s lover, within the ring of fire, he learns what twenty lifetimes might never teach a mortal man. For in that embrace of love, many things in Sigurd are awakened and he is filled with the wisdom of the gods; while in Brynhild many things are put to sleep, and filled with the unknowing of mortals.

  Sigurd, as the lover of the Valkyrie, knows that he must embrace strife and war, which give a warrior immortal fame. Painful as it is, Sigurd knows he must leave Brynhild and go out of the ring of fire into the world of men again, where he might earn glory enough to be worthy of his bride. Thi
s Sigurd resolves to do, but as a token of his eternal love and as a promise of his return, he places the Ring of Andvari – that all the world desired – upon Brynhild’s hand. While Brynhild sleeps, Sigurd rises at dawn, mounts Grani and passes out of the ring of fire.

  When Brynhild wakes, she remembers nothing of Sigurd, or Odin, or any of her past before that day. Upon her hand is a gold ring, though she does not know its reason. All she knows is that she must await the coming of a warrior who knows no fear and can pass through the ring of fire. To this man, and this man alone, she will be sworn in marriage.

  IN THE LAND OF THE NIBELUNGS

  As for Sigurd, great though his love is for Brynhild, he knows that his fate is that of a warrior. Like his father, he has been chosen by Odin, and in his service Sigurd travels to many lands, and slays no less than five mighty kings in battle. In time, Sigurd comes to the Rhinelands, which are ruled over by the king of the Nibelungs. The Nibelung king welcomes the now famous hero, Sigurd the Dragonslayer, with great warmth and friendship. In time, Sigurd and the king’s three sons – Gunnar, Hogni and Guttorm – become the closest of friends and allies in both war and peace. Sigurd and Gunnar swear unbreakable oaths of friendship, and become blood-brothers.

  Seeing how Sigurd the Dragonslayer’s friendship has so increased the power and wealth of their realm, Gunnar’s mother, Grimhild, the queen of the Nibelungs, wishes to keep him within their realm. To this end, she hopes Sigurd might marry her daughter, the beautiful Gudrun. However, although she knows Gudrun loves Sigurd, she also knows Sigurd loves another.

  Grimhild’s wish is not hopeless. For Grimhild, queen of the Nibelungs though she is, is also secretly a great witch capable of casting spells and making powerful potions. So in the feasting-hall one evening, Grimhild gives to Sigurd an enchanted drink. This potion robs Sigurd of his memory of the Valkyrie whom he swore to love always, and at the same time fills him with desire for the beautiful Gudrun.