He descended slowly and sadly from Odin’s throne, and began to wander aimlessly about Asgard, more restless and unhappy than before he had taken that unfortunate glance toward Jötunheim. For many days he roamed through the marble-pillared halls, seeking some distraction to make him forget the golden-haired maiden whom he loved; but always his thoughts turned toward the castle on the wind-swept hill, and he longed—till he grew sick with longing—for a sight of the giant’s daughter.
One day his trusted servant Skirner asked him why he looked so sad; so Freyr told him of his longing for the golden-haired maiden, and of how he had watched her from Odin’s throne. Then Skirner offered to make the journey into Jötunheim at once, and do his best to woo the giant’s daughter for his master. So Freyr gave him his swiftest horse, and filled his hands with rich gifts, and finally girded upon Skirner his own sword, which he promised to give to the wearer if the mission should be successful. Then he bade Skirner ride with all speed northward.
As fast as the faithful horse could carry him, Skirner hurried toward the giants’ country; and when the setting sun threw the long, black shadows of the hills across the snow-covered ground, he crossed the last of the fiords that lay at the edge of Jötunheim. Then a short, hard gallop over the frozen ground brought him to the foot of the castle where the giant Gymer lived with his beautiful daughter. As he neared the gates, two enormous dogs sprang at him, barking furiously; and it was with difficulty that Skirner guided his horse well out of their reach. Not far away was a shepherd leading his flock to the scanty pasturage; and Skirner, riding slowly up to him, asked how he might be able to enter the castle.
“What do you seek here?” inquired the shepherd. “No stranger ever comes to Gymer’s hall.”
“I wish to speak with the giant’s daughter,” replied Skirner.
The shepherd shook his head. “It is safer to have speech with Gymer than with the beautiful Gerd,” he said. Then, looking kindly at the horse and rider, he added, “If you are wise, you will not go too near the castle gates, but call aloud her name, and perchance she may come to answer you.”
So Skirner called loudly to the maiden until the hills reëchoed to the name of Gerd; and the giant’s daughter listened to the cry, wondering who the stranger might be that would dare to use her name thus boldly.
Angry, and yet curious to see who stood without the castle, Gerd threw open the great hall doors; and at the sight of her the two fierce dogs stopped howling and lay quiet at her feet. Then Skirner came boldly to the maiden’s side and begged her to listen to his story. As the laws of hospitality prevailed even in Jötunheim, the beautiful Gerd bade him enter; and when they were seated by a great fire in the hall, Skirner told the maiden how Freyr had seen her from Odin’s seat and had loved her with a passion that would surely kill the once-joyous god unless she consented to become his wife.
Gerd listened coldly to the speaker’s words, and his impassioned pleading left her unmoved. When Skirner finally spoke of taking her at once with him to Asgard, she cried angrily, “Go back to your master and tell him that though he should die for love of me, Gymer’s daughter will never wed with one who is the enemy of her race.”
Then Skirner brought out a wonderful ring and many costly gems—the gift of Freyr—and offered them to Gerd; but she haughtily refused to touch them.