As Loki happened to be acting honestly for once, he felt somewhat aggrieved at this.
“Well have I succeeded in doing my errand,” he answered; “Thrym the King of Giants has your hammer. No man brings it back unless he gives him Freyja as bride.”
Thor snorted so that his red beard streamed far out, and down on the earth people thought they had seen the fiery northern lights streak across the sky.
“Is it to win her that he has made all this trouble? Ride we to Freyja without delay.”
They mounted the chariot, and in an astonishingly short time the lightning-swift goats had drawn them to Folkvang.
Freyja the Lovely sat in her high-seat playing with her wonderful necklace, whose beads sparkled and flashed like water-drops in the sun. When she heard wheels, she guessed that the Strong-One was approaching and came out into the courtyard to meet him.
“I give you good greeting,” she said, smiling kindly as Loki flew to her and dropped the feather-dress at her feet.
But she did not smile so sweetly when Thor had reined in the goats before her and told her of the giant’s demand.
“Dress yourself, Freyja, in bridal robes,” he finished, “together we will ride to Jotunheim.”
The Lovely One straightened up so quickly that her hand caught in her necklace and broke it into a shower of sparkling balls.