Ásgarðr, inside the Golden Palace, was vastly different from Týr's solitude in Vanaheimr.
Freyr and Freyja, the treasures of the Vanir, had come here as a 'bridge of peace' and felt not the slightest chill.
Odin showed them great respect, and the most beautiful side hall of the Golden Palace was opened for them, with delicacies, wines, and rare treasures presented daily like flowing water.
The one-eyed Father of the Gods constantly watched them, trying to discern the reality of Vanaheimr and the true intentions of the mysterious God-King Narcissus through their every move.
However, the siblings behaved impeccably.
Freyr spent all day riding his golden steed, Gullinbursti, smiling as if he only cared about his horse and the land where the sun could shine;
Freyja enjoyed her magic and beauty, exchanging secrets of jewelry and charm with the goddesses of Ásgarðr, the Brísingamen necklace on her neck shining brightly, but never touching on sensitive topics.
Odin could not see through them.
He only knew that on the eve of their departure, Narcissus had spoken to them in secret and given them something.
His vision was clouded by a soft and resolute power, and he saw only faint light and shadow.
He thought it was probably some lifesaving trump cards or contact tokens; otherwise, it would be impossible to explain how Freyr could so nonchalantly show off his brilliance and wealth in the enemy's camp, and how Freyja could be so calm.
To win them over, Odin sent even more treasures—a gold ring capable of enhancing divine power, adorned with an ancient rune talisman.
The siblings accepted everything as it was, with sweet smiles, and following Narcissus's instructions, they simply collected the gifts, had fun, didn't think about anything else, and made no promises.
Such slippery behavior made Odin's suspicions grow deeper, but he was also helpless for the time being.
In this delicate balance, a pressing practical matter lay before the gods of Ásgarðr.
On this day, Thor, as usual, went to the eastern border to fight the mountain trolls and frost giants that were causing trouble.
Thunder roared on the border, and Mjölnir was invincible. However, as soon as Thor left, Ásgarðr seemed to lose its strongest barrier, and although it was still golden, a faint unsettling silence prevailed.
In the absence of its mighty guardian, the threat in the shadows became particularly evident.
In the Council Hall of the Golden Palace, Odin sat on the throne, the ravens Huginn and Muninn sitting silently on his shoulders.
His one eye glided over the gods—the silent Heimdallr, the cunning Loki, and the invited Freyr and Freyja.
"We cannot always rely on Thor's bravery," Odin's voice was low and majestic, like muffled thunder in the distance.
"Ásgarðr's peace requires more permanent protection. Giants will attack from Jötunheimr, and trolls will thrive in the shadows. We need our own barrier... a barrier that never falls."
Heimdallr, the guardian god, his eyes like torches, able to see for thousands of miles and hear a leaf fall, asked in a deep voice: "Father of the Gods, what do you propose?"
Odin slowly raised his hand and pointed beyond the Golden Palace, at the boundless void and the mountains surrounding the magnificent city-state of Ásgarðr.
"A wall," his voice held undeniable resolve.
"A towering wall that would make even the largest frost giant hesitate to look up, insurmountable; a wall as thick as a mountain, enough for the most ferocious trolls to beat against it in vain, unshakable!"
As soon as these words were spoken, a small commotion arose in the hall.
Building such a magnificent fortification was a project of unimaginable scale.
At this moment, a voice that always chimed in inappropriately intervened: it was Loki.
He leaned against a pillar, his habitual smile on his face, as if he found the proposal both absurd and amusing.
"A wall? Oh, Father of the Gods, your thoughts are always so grand." Loki drew out his words.
"But to build such a wall—so high and thick, worthy of our glorious Ásgarðr—I'm afraid it would require mobilizing all the craftsmen of the Nine Realms, demanding countless valuable materials, and... many, many years."
He spread his arms and swept his gaze over the gods, as if to say, "Is this realistic?"
Odin's one-eyed gaze at Loki was not angry—he knew Loki was telling the truth, but he also heard the hidden doubt in his words.
"Time and resources, Ásgarðr can afford," Odin said slowly.
"Building such a wall," Loki concluded in his annoyingly lazy tone,
"would take many years to build such a high and thick wall, Father of the Gods. I'm afraid by the time your beard hangs down to your toes, the giants will already be feasting in the Golden Palace."
Odin's one eye was deep, and he did not get angry at Loki's mockery. He simply nodded slowly, his voice like stone: "But we still need a wall."
This consensus weighed heavily on the gods' hearts.
However, the 'loom of fate' always seems to insert variables just when it seems locked in a dead end.
The next day, a stranger, stepping on the first piercing cold wind of winter, came to the golden gates of Ásgarðr.
He was unusually tall and sturdy, dressed simply, like the most ordinary smith, stained with stone dust and soot.
But the most striking thing was the gray stallion that followed him—Svaðilfari.
The horse was tall and broad, muscular, its coat flowing with a metallic sheen in the gray dimness, each step bringing a calm vibration to the ground, and its eyes were submissive yet radiated extraordinary spirituality and strength.
"I heard you're going to build a wall." The stranger's voice was loud, with a mountain echo, and he directly addressed the guards, asking to see the Father of the Gods.
He was led into the Golden Palace, where he met Odin and the assembled gods without fear of the scene.
"Proceed," Odin's one eye looked at him like a hawk.
"I can build a wall for you," said the stranger, the mysterious craftsman, with a steady but undeniable confidence.
"A high wall that the tallest giants cannot scale, and the thickest, strongest trolls cannot breach. I can make it so perfect that stone stands next to stone, and even ants cannot crawl over it. I can build for you this wall that will stand for a thousand years."
"This project is huge and would take a lot of time," Loki interjected again with suspicion.
"No," the craftsman shook his head, his gaze gliding over the gods and finally stopping on Odin.
"I can complete it in three seasons. Tomorrow is the first day of winter. I need just one winter, one summer, and another winter to finish it."
Three seasons? To complete such a wondrous project?
The gods stirred in confusion, and even Odin's one eye narrowed slightly, revealing a sharp light.
"If you can build this wall," Odin said in a low, questioning voice,
"what do you want in return?"
An imperceptible smile appeared on the craftsman's face, and he spoke, his voice clearly echoing through the council hall:
"All I want are trifles. First, I want to marry the beautiful goddess Freyja, and enter the wedding hall hand in hand."
The entire Golden Palace instantly sank into deathly silence, followed by an uncontrollable whisper of shock.
Freyja, the treasure of the Vanir gods, the goddess of love and beauty, married to a craftsman of unknown origin?
Even if he could build a wall, this was a double insult to Ásgarðr and the Vanir!
"That's no small thing," Odin replied.
"If I build this wall for you," he said, "I will marry Freyja, and you will give us the sun that hangs in the sky by day, and the bright moon by night. If I build this wall for you, you will pay me these three things."
"You wait outside," Odin's voice was cold. He neither agreed nor refused immediately; he needed time to weigh everything.
The price was too staggering, but the temptation of this wall was no less great.
The craftsman obediently bowed and withdrew, politely asking where he could find food and water for his steed, Svaðilfari.
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