"Well," said Alviss and there was a shrewd look in his eyes, "perhaps, if you were to bring me Thrud...."
"Thread?" exclaimed Kevan, relief coming with the misunderstanding. "What kind?"
"Not thread," said Alviss. "Thrud. Do you mean, mortal, that you do not know the story of Alviss?"
Kevan shook his head.
"What's your name, mortal?"
"Kevan MacGreene."
"'Tis a good name," said the dwarf.
Alviss sat down on the floor and for the first time his face lost its look of anger. "It was long ago," he said. "More years than you mortals can reckon. But I was an adventurous lad and one night I crossed the bridge Bifrost from Midgard to Asgard. Asgard, you understand, is the land of the old gods, but I was safe there as long as it was dark. While I was there, I met Thrud, only daughter of Thor, god of the yeomen and peasants, dispenser of thunder. Aye, she was beautiful—more beautiful than you'd know, Kevan MacGreene—and I knew she was the lass for Alviss. It seemed that she felt the same way about me, despite the fact that she was three times my height. Hand in hand, we went to see Thor—faith and there's one for whom I would set bear traps every night if he were my father-in-law."
"I gather that he turned you down?" Kevan said.