The Song of Fafnir -- A Norse Mythology Novella

10. Fame & A Strong Right Arm

Stroll around any group of dwarves at their leisure and you will certainly find a pair at a table with their hands clasped, grunting and straining in an attempt to force their opponent's arm down onto the table top. These intense contests of strength were as popular in my rough-and-tumble youth as they were when I returned, and I had always enjoyed watching them, even if I had never been approached and challenged very often, mostly likely out of fear of my reaction if I lost.

It seemed that things were much different upon my return.

That brings a smile of genuine happiness to my lips, even if it doesn't stay there for as long before twisting in a grimace of bitterness. It was under the guise of such an innocent arm wrestling match that Regin began his campaign against me that has now been carried far beyond the Mountain and out into the world of humans. And brought to my attention by Siegfried. 

How kind of him. 

At the start of winter when I came inside and took up more domestic pursuits, I was soon being approached and challenged by younger dwarves to a wrestle, their friends grouped behind them, urging them on with nudges or whispers of encouragement.

From my years in the forges, my right arm had grown visibly in strength and circumference, well beyond that of a normal dwarf. The news of my powerful arm was travelling from mouth to ear through the side caverns and tunnels -- the great complex that stretched out in all directions under the Mountain -- and now the young lads were presenting themselves to see if this audacious rumour was true.

That my kinsmen would challenge me to a wrestle like any other dwarf showed me that my future subjects accepted me in a way the courtiers did not, but it pleased me even more when one of the dwarves who had caught my eye sat himself across from me, slamming his elbow on the table and crying "So let's see what this arm of yours can accomplish, Fafnir!"

And I'd show him with great pleasure, normally being able to slam his arm against the top of long trestle table with a resounding slap within a matter of a few breaths.

Sometimes, though, I made it last a little longer, just to keep him there for a few heartbeats more.

No matter if the wrestle was long or short, however, it always seemed to draw a crowd of onlookers. I did sometimes make a bit of a performance out of it, as the attention agreed with me after having been so ignored by my father.

After beating one or two dwarves in a row, all of whom would stand up from the table rubbing their arms, I'd squint one eye and look around at the rest of my kinsmen, before saying, "Well, which one of you shall I humiliate next?" and then laughing. They often laughed with me, but there was always another of them who would step forward to try his luck. Sometimes even bets were laid, kinsmen leaving off their dice games or conversations to drift over and watch.

I beat everyone who sat down and offered me his hand.

It was easy.

And it would have remained so had I not been strongly urged by Otr and my mother to begin looking for a spouse soon thereafter.

"You are of the correct age, Fafnir, and it would please the king and myself to see you settled," our mother said, her foot nodding against the pedal of the spinning wheel as she gently rolled the taunt, white thread with her fingers. I stood in her chamber, gazing around at the tapestries, chests and carvings, but not knowing where to direct my gaze. Her maids went about their business as if I wasn't there and I, myself, would have liked to have not been present.

I coughed slightly and shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

"Fafnir, honestly, the fame of your right arm is spreading rapidly," Otr said from his chair in the corner where he sat, left leg propped on right his knee. "I've seen how they are starting to come and challenge you. It's even reached Father's ears. You should use every scrap of acknowledgement to your advantage! Your strength is much admired and your skill as a smith is not doubted by anyone who has seen the copper raven."