Norse Mythology Series: Mead of Poetry Finale
When last we left our not-so heroes in Mead of Poetry, Odin the Allfather has disguised himself and indebted Suttung’s brother, Baugi, to him in order to get a chance at Suttung’s mead, made from the blood of the first poet Kvasir by a pair of murderous dwarves.
Baugi decided that a straightforward approach would be best at first. He took Odin to Suttung to ask for a sip of the mead, but his brother straight out refused. But Baugi didn’t get off that easily. Odin had the poor guy bring him to the mountain where Gunnlod guarded the mead and show him where it was closest to the underground chamber.
Not even content with that, Odin gave the giant a drill and bid him to start digging. Poor Baugi dug and dug, but couldn’t get over the idea of betraying his brother to the god. So he did the only thing he knew to do, and tried to fuck Odin over.
“It’s finished!” he told Odin, after digging for a long, long time.
But Odin was more clever than that. He blew into the hole and found that dirt was still coming up in his face– which meant the tunnel wasn’t done.
“Seriously, Baugi,” he said, laying on the guilt real thick. “I helped you an entire season. You’re kind of being a giant troll right now– which is straight up rude, because I know some pretty cool trolls! Dig this damn hole and we can be done with each other, for my–I mean, Odin’s sake!”
So Baugi kept digging– for real this time because he was kind of a big push over. And this time, he finished the hole. Odin even did the test and when he found that the debris fell through the hole, he realized he was no longer being fucked with. He thanked Baugi, turned into a snake, and fled into the hole. Baugi had another moment to try and protect his bro’s secrets: he tried to stab the fleeing snake with his drill, but Odin was too fast.
Once he was in the hole, Odin decided that in order to get a sip of that wonderful mead, he was going to need to plunge into another hole. He turned himself into a handsome, young man and approached the now devilishly-featured Gunnlod.
Poor Gunnlod had been down in the mountain for a long time and she was probably getting pretty lonely. Not to mention, remember, that her father had turned her really, really ugly so that people would fear her, because ugliness apparently makes people scary. He’d obviously never heard of Galadriel from JRR Tolkien’s books.
When she saw handsome Odin, she probably thought herself pretty lucky that he had managed to stumble down into her particular mountain. She immediately wanted to do the bone dance with him, but he begged her:
“I will sleep with you for these next three nights if you will promise me three sips of this magic mead you’re guarding.”
Gunnlod thought this was a pretty good deal.
After a dramatic fade to black and the falling of a curtain, we cut to three days later when Odin goes to take his delicious three sips. Being that he’s Odin and he can do whatever the heck he wants, he ended up taking exactly three sips. For, you see, the mead was being stored currently in three, giant barrels. With each ‘sip,’ Odin imbibed each entire barrel and stored it in his cheeks.
Then, still in the mood for some shape-shifting, he turned himself into an eagle and bolted for Asgard. Somewhere around now, Suttung realized that his daughter had been tricked (or maybe she was cool with it and just wanted to get out of the mountain). He set off after the fleeing Odin.
But the gods hanging around in Asgard soon realized the Allfather was under attack, so they sent some containers out to help Odin out– it’s kind of hard to run with three whole barrels worth of mead in your mouth. Suttung saw this and freaked out, retreating– and counting his beloved mead up to a loss.
Odin reached the containers and spit the mead (which, you’ll remember, was originally spit from himself and the other guards into them. A few drops caught on his beak and fell down below, to Migard, where the humans live. These drops are the source of inspiration for all the bad poets and scholars. In a modern context, they’re probably saved for people who don’t know the difference between their, they’re, and there, or people who write Miley Cyrus songs, or something.
But the best poets, scholars, and story-tellers are those who are given mead personally dispensed by Odin himself. Probably only after he’s shape-shifted himself into a mongoose or a really sweet hunk of granite or something.
Read the first part or read the second part.