Introduction

Týr (TEER) is a Norse god featured in the foundational texts of Norse mythology, the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda. His defining moment comes in the Prose Edda, penned by Snorri Sturluson, where the Gylfaginning (GIL-fuh-GIN-ing, meaning "The Tricking of Gylfi") section narrates his sacrifice of a hand to bind the wolf Fenrir. These works highlight Týr’s significance in the myths, placing him firmly within the Æsir (AY-seer), the principal family of gods associated with war, power, and rulership in Norse tradition.

Raising Fenrir

In Gylfaginning, Fenrir emerges as a significant figure early on, born of Loki (LOH-kee), the cunning trickster god, and the giantess Angrboða (ANG-er-BOH-tha) alongside other ominous siblings: the serpent Jörmungandr (YOR-moon-GAN-dr) and Hel, ruler of the underworld. Loki and Angrboða are a notorious pair in Norse mythology, their union producing monstrous offspring destined to challenge the gods. The Æsir, aware of prophecies foretelling their doom, decide to neutralize these threats. While Jörmungandr is cast into the sea and Hel is given dominion over the dead, Fenrir is brought to Ásgard, the realm of the gods, to be raised under their watch—a risky decision reflecting their hope to control his fate.

Týr, a god associated with war and justice, stands out as the only one brave enough to approach Fenrir. As the wolf grows, the Æsir provide for him, but it’s Týr who takes on the dangerous task of feeding him, showcasing his courage and perhaps a sense of duty. Fenrir’s rapid growth soon alarms the gods, aligning with prophecies that mark him as their destruction, particularly at Ragnarök.

Gylfaginning, Page 43

The Wolf was raised by the Æsir at home, and only Týr dared to approach him to give him food. But when the gods noticed how much he grew each day, and when all the prophecies warned that he was destined to destroy them, the Æsir came up with a plan to escape this fate: they crafted a very strong fetter (a chain or shackle), which they named Lædingr (LAY-thingr), and presented it to the Wolf, challenging him to test his strength against it. The Wolf didn’t think it was too tough, so he let them put it on him. The first time he struck out against it, the fetter shattered, and he broke free from Lædingr. After that, the Æsir made another fetter, half again as strong, called Drómi (DROH-mee), and told the Wolf to try that one, saying he’d gain great fame for his strength if such a massive creation couldn’t hold him. The Wolf saw that this fetter was much stronger, but he also knew his own strength had grown since breaking Lædingr. He figured he’d have to take a risk to earn that fame, so he allowed them to put it on him. When the Æsir said they were ready, the Wolf shook himself, slammed the fetter against the ground, fought it hard, kicked at it, and broke it apart, sending the pieces flying far. That’s how he burst out of Drómi. Ever since, people say "to loose out of Lædingr" or "to dash out of Drómi" when something is incredibly difficult.

After that, the Æsir started to worry they’d never manage to keep the Wolf tied up. So Allfather sent Skírnir, Freyr’s messenger, down to the land of the Black Elves, to some dwarves, and had them make a fetter called Gleipnir (GLAYP-neer). It was made from six strange things: the sound of a cat’s footsteps, a woman’s beard, the roots of a rock, a bear’s sinews, a fish’s breath, and a bird’s spit. Even if you don’t get how these work, you can see the proof right away that I’m not lying: you’ve noticed women don’t have beards, cats don’t make noise when they jump, and rocks don’t have roots. I swear, everything I’ve said is just as true, even if some parts you can’t check for yourself.

Then Gangleri (GANG-leh-ree) said: "I can definitely see that’s true: those examples you gave as proof, I can confirm them myself. But how was the fetter made?"

Hárr (HAWR) replied: "I can easily explain that."

The fetter was soft and smooth like a silk ribbon, but as solid and strong as you’re about to hear. When it was brought to the Æsir, they thanked the messenger for a job well done. Then they went out to the lake called Ámsvartnir (AWM-svart-neer), to an island called Lyngvi (LING-vee), and brought the Wolf along. They showed him the silk ribbon and dared him to break it, saying it was a bit tougher than it looked. They passed it around, each testing it with their hands, and it didn’t break. Still, they told the Wolf he could snap it.

The Wolf said: "About this ribbon, it doesn’t seem like I’ll win much praise for breaking such a thin strip. But if it’s made with tricks and cleverness, then no matter how small it looks, I’m not letting it near my feet."

The Æsir replied that he could easily snap a flimsy silk band, especially since he’d already smashed through huge iron fetters—"but if you can’t break this one, then you won’t scare the gods, and we’ll set you free."

The Wolf said: "If you tie me up so I can’t get loose, you’ll leave me stuck for a long time before I get any help from you. I don’t want that band on me. But instead of you questioning my guts, let one of you put your hand in my mouth as a guarantee this is all fair."

The Æsir looked at each other, and no one wanted to lose a hand, until Týr stepped up and put his right hand in the Wolf’s mouth. When the Wolf thrashed, the fetter hardened, and the more he fought, the tighter it got. Everyone laughed except Týr—he lost his hand.

When the Æsir saw the Wolf was completely tied up, they took the chain attached to the fetter, called Gelgja (GELG-yah), and ran it through a huge rock named Gjöll (GYUHL), anchoring the rock deep in the ground. Then they grabbed another big stone, drove it even deeper into the earth—it was called Thviti (THVEE-tee)—and used it as a peg to hold everything in place. The Wolf snarled fiercely, thrashing around and trying to bite them. They shoved a sword into his mouth: the hilt caught his lower jaw, and the tip hit the upper—that’s his gag. He howls horribly, and drool pours out of his mouth, forming the river called Ván (VAWN). He’s stuck there until the Weird of the Gods comes.

Then Gangleri (GANG-leh-ree) said: "Loki (LOH-kee) sure had some nasty kids, but all these siblings are seriously powerful. So why didn’t the Æsir just kill the Wolf, since they knew he’d cause trouble?"

Hárr (HAWR) answered: "The gods valued their sacred space and sanctuary so much that they didn’t want to pollute it with the Wolf’s blood, even though the prophecies say he’ll be the one to kill Odin (OH-din)."