It all started with Sif’s hair. Specifically, her lack of it, on the morning she woke up to find it shorn. Being understandably displeased with this state of affairs, Sif summoned her husband, Thor, and the pair determined the haircutting prankster to be none other than one Loki Laufeyjarson.

And so it was that Thor found Loki, took him by the shoulders, and threatened to break every bone in the jötunn’s body. Unenthused by this possibility, Loki swore to Thor that he would seek out the services of the dvergar, the greatest craftsmen in the Realms, to make Sif a wig to cover her stubbly scalp. And not just any wig, Loki claimed, but one with hair made from solid gold, and enchanted such that when Sif placed it on her skin, it would become part of her, and the hair would grow as if it were her own.

Sif was pleased enough with this promise, secretly thinking Loki would never be able to keep it, and so Thor released the hapless jötunn, in order that he may make the long trek through the Myrkviðr, to the placed called Niðavellir, where the dvergar made their home.

In the town of Sindri, Loki found a pair of brothers, the sons of the great smith Ívaldi, who agreed to forge his magic wig. Loki, of course, had no gold with which to pay the commission, but instead promised Ásgarðr’s favor for the task. Keen for good relations with the gods, the sons of Ívaldi agreed, and added more treasures besides. One of these, Skíðblaðnir, was a ship that could be folded up like cloth and placed into a pocket when not in use. The other, Gungnir, was a spear fashioned from the tooth of a mighty dreki, whose bloodlust could curse any man with violence.

Pleased with his success, Loki found another dvergr, this one named Brokkr, and bet his head that Brokkr’s own brother, Eitri, could not forge gifts that rivaled those produced by Ívaldi’s get. The houses of Brokkr and Ívaldi had been in conflict for an age, and Brokkr saw Loki’s task as a way to once and for all settle whose crafts were the greater. And so Brokkr agreed, and the bargain was struck.

In order that the forging might be done, Eitri set his brother to work manning the bellows. He laid a pigskin within the hearth, and bade Brokkr not cease his work until the skin was fully cured. The moment Eitri left the forge, however, a fly landed on the laboring Brokkr’s hand, biting deep into his flesh. Yet Brokkr did not pause his work, and when Eitri returned unto the forge, he removed the pigskin, which had turned into a wondrous golden boar, Gullinbursti, that would ride truer than any other mount.

Next, Eitri laid a piece of gold inside the hearth. Once again, he bad Brokkr blow on the bellows. And once again, when Eitri left the forge, a fly settled on Brokkr’s neck, biting even deeper than before. Still Brokkr did not relent in his task, and when Eitri returned, the lump of gold had been forged into a ring, Draupnir, that would create eight copies of itself on every ninth night.

For the last treasure, Eitri laid a lump of iron within the hearth. Once again, Brokkr worked the bellows, and once again he left the forge. This time, the fly—desperate, perhaps, for the safety of its head—landed on Brokkr’s eye, and bit down hard enough to draw blood. Still, Brokkr did not fail at his task, not so much as flinching from the bite. And yet, soon, the blood had run into his eye, clouding his vision of the forge. Quickly, he scrubbed his hands to clear it, and yet not quickly enough; as he did, the bellows grew flat.

When Eitri returned to the forge, he was furious at Brokkr’s failure. For though the hammer within the coals was forged, it was imperfect and had come very close to being spoiled.

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Still, the three treasures were done, and Brokkr returned with them to Loki. If Loki’s lips seemed stained with blood, Brokkr did not mention it, and the pair traveled back to Ásgarðr.

Once there, the gods assembled at the seats of judgment, with Odin, Thor, and Freyr to decide which treasures would be deemed greatest.

To Thor, Loki presented the wig of golden hair, forged for Sif exactly as he’d promised. To Freyr, Loki gave the ship, Skíðblaðnir, and to Odin, Gungnir. Loki, being Loki, explained at length the great benefits of these gifts, and the gods were pleased.

Then it was Brokkr’s turn. To Odin, he presented Draupnir, to Freyr, Gullinbursti. Finally, to Thor, Brokkr presented the hammer, which he called Mjölnir.

“It is a fine thing,” he told the gods. “And will always strike true, as hard as you might wish. If you throw it, it will go as far as you command, and it will never miss its mark.”

Thor looked at the hammer, expression slowly folding into doubt. “It’s a little short, isn’t it?” he finally asked.

“Ah,” said Brokkr, silently cursing every wicked fly. “Yes, well . . . that is, um. To keep the size modest, you see. So that you may carry it with ease upon your belt.” Then, at the dubious looks from the three gods. “Er, well. Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, it’s a little short.”

Loki, meanwhile, grinned, thinking his head safe for one more day.

And so Odin, Thor, and Freyr turned to deliberations. After some time, it was their verdict that the hammer, Mjölnir, was the greatest of the treasures, and thus Brokkr was the victor.

Loki, it must be said, was not enthused by this ruling.

“But the handle!” he said. “It’s so . . . so short!”

Odin looked at Loki, and grinned his rictus grin. “Ah, true,” he said. “But it is the best defense against our enemies, the jötnar, don’t you think?”

As with many times, Loki did not think. And so he said, “But the spear!”

“Is made from a jötunn’s tooth,” Odin countered, eyes bright with knowing. “It may make great wars among the lands of men, may fill Valhöll to overflowing with their warriors. And yet I cannot trust a jötunn’s magic as defense against the jötnar. Surely you must understand this?”

Loki, in his black and seething heart, did. And so he gritted his teeth and hissed, “I bet my head.” Keenly aware that every eye was now turned upon him, least of all being Brokkr’s.

“Well,” said Odin. “Sadly, that is your mistake, not mine. What else would you have me rule, when we so clearly have a victor?”

And so it was that Loki’s head was won by Brokkr, who did not forget the bite of the fly upon his skin, nor of the blood in Loki’s mouth. Loki, for his part, was fond of his head, and less fond of the way Brokkr had drawn his knife, and so fled from the judging place.

“My head!” Brokkr said, turning to Thor. “That thief Loki has absconded with it!”

Thor could not deny the truth of Brokkr’s words, and so he retrieved Loki from his flight.

When Thor returned with his struggling quarry, Brokkr bade the panicked jötunn still, that he might return to Niðavellir with what had been promised as his prize.

“Wait!” Loki cried, as the knife gleamed above his flesh. “Wait. I wagered you my head, yes. This is true. And yes, you may have it. But I did not promise you my neck. Take my head as you will, but should you touch once single inch of other flesh, then well, my friend, I think that would be a problem!”

Brokkr, displeased, looked to Odin, who said, “I’m afraid he has you there. The head is yours. But only that.”

So Brokkr looked to Thor, and to the other assembled gods. Far more so than one angry dvergr could deal with all alone. And so he sighed, and said, “Fine.” And put away his knife.

Loki, it must be said, also sighed, and was halfway to standing when Brokkr pulled something else from out his pocket. Something long and thin and sharp.

An awl.

“Your neck you keep,” Brokkr said. “But your head is mine. And your words, which are too clever by half, I think. Perhaps we should sew you up, and spare us all the hearing of them.” And, in his other hand, he held up a leather thong.

Loki, gripped tight within Thor’s hands, could not run.

Nor, after the first few stitches, could he scream.