The Death of Kvasir and the Mead of Poetry

At a Glance

Central figures: Kvasir, a being of pure wisdom created from the mingled saliva of the Aesir and the Vanir; the dwarves Fjalar and Galar, who murdered him; Suttung, the frost giant who took the mead; Odin, who stole it back.
Setting: The nine worlds - Asgard, Jotunheim, and Midgard - in the age after the Aesir-Vanir peace. The story comes from the Norse mythological tradition preserved in the Prose Edda.
The turn: Odin, disguised as a wandering laborer named Bölverk, seduces Gunnlod and drinks all three vessels of the Mead of Poetry before escaping in eagle form.
The outcome: Odin carries the mead back to Asgard, securing it for the gods; a few drops spill during the chase and fall to Midgard, giving ordinary mortals the gift of poetry.
The legacy: The drops of mead that fell to Midgard became the explanation for human poetic ability - those said to be true poets were touched by Kvasir’s blood.

Kvasir came into being at the end of a war. When the Aesir and the Vanir finally made peace, both sides spat into a great vessel - their saliva mingling as a sign of truce. From that mixture they shaped a god. He could answer any question put to him. His words were wisdom and poetry both, and he wandered the nine worlds giving them freely to anyone who asked.

That was what killed him.

Fjalar and Galar

The two dwarves had heard of Kvasir. They sent him an invitation, pretending they wanted his counsel, and Kvasir came because that was what he did - he went where he was needed and he answered.

They cut his throat.

His blood ran into three great vessels: Bodn, Son, and Odrerir. Into each they stirred honey, and from the mixing came the Mead of Poetry. Whoever drank it would be gifted with wisdom and with words - able to speak and compose as Kvasir himself had spoken. Fjalar and Galar told the Aesir that Kvasir had choked on his own knowledge, because no human vessel had been wide enough to hold it. The Aesir believed them, or seemed to.

The dwarves were not done murdering. They invited the giant Gilling to their hall next and drowned him at sea for sport. Gilling’s son, Suttung, came looking for answers. He found the dwarves, dragged them to open water, and told them he would leave them there. Fjalar and Galar had nothing left to offer but their greatest treasure. Suttung took the three vessels, carried them back to Jotunheim, and hid them deep inside a mountain called Hnitbjorg. He set his daughter Gunnlod to guard them. The Mead of Poetry was gone from the world.

Odin noticed.

Bölverk at the Farm of Baugi

He came to the farm of Baugi, Suttung’s brother, disguised as a man and calling himself Bölverk. Nine thralls were cutting hay in the fields. Odin offered them his whetstone, promising it would sharpen their scythes to something beyond iron. They all wanted it. He threw it into the air among them. In the scrambling and cutting they killed one another, and Baugi had no laborers left.

Bölverk made him an offer: one man’s work, all season, in exchange for a single sip of Suttung’s mead. Baugi was desperate. He agreed.

Odin worked. He worked through the season and Baugi could find no fault with him. When autumn came, he held Baugi to the bargain. They went together to Hnitbjorg and Baugi asked his brother. Suttung said no. Not one drop.

So Odin handed Baugi an auger and told him to drill. Baugi bored into the mountain. When he said it was through, Odin blew into the hole and the shavings blew back in his face - Baugi was still short of the chamber. He drilled again. This time the shavings blew clean through. The tunnel was open.

Odin shed his shape and became a serpent. He was through the hole before Baugi could think.

Three Nights with Gunnlod

Inside the mountain it was dark and cold and the mead sat in its three vessels, sealed and waiting. Gunnlod stood guard.

Odin did not fight her. He talked. For three nights he stayed in that chamber, close to her, and he was good at talking - better than anyone alive, better perhaps than Kvasir had been. By the third night Gunnlod told him he could have three sips.

He put his mouth to Odrerir and drained it. He put his mouth to Bodn and drained it. He put his mouth to Son and drained it. Three sips. Three empty vessels. Every drop of the mead was inside him now.

He became an eagle.

The Eagle over Asgard

Suttung saw him coming out of the mountain and went eagle himself. Two great birds crossed the sky, one chasing the other hard, and word ran ahead of them to Asgard. The gods were waiting at the gates when Odin came in low and fast over the walls. They had set out great vats and he released the mead into them - heaving it from his throat and filling the vessels before Suttung could reach him.

Suttung turned back. There was nothing to chase any longer.

In the rush and the haste, a little had spilled. Some drops fell from Odin’s beak during the flight and kept falling, all the way down through the branches of Yggdrasil, past the clouds and the high cold air, down to Midgard. They hit the earth where men lived. Those drops were not reclaimed. Anyone might step in them, drink from them, breathe them in - and from that came the ones who craft words well, who find the right line and feel it land. The poets. The skalds. They carry what the dwarves bled out of a wandering god, what a giant locked in stone, what Odin stole back and could not quite hold.

The mead is in Asgard now, kept for gods and the poets they favor. The rest is what fell.