The myth of Fenrir often gets reduced to a story about a dangerous wolf that needed to be stopped before he destroyed the world. But the more we look at this story, the more tragic it becomes.
Fenrir wasn’t born evil. As a son of Loki and Angrboða he was born powerful, as were his two siblings. Which makes a huge difference. The gods learned through prophecy that these children of Loki would one day play significant roles during Ragnarök, and as whenever that event is mentioned, fear settled over Ásgarðr long before any crime had actually been committed.
Jörmungandr was cast into the sea. Hel was sent to rule over the dead. Fenrir alone remained among the gods. He was a shapeshifter like his father. But more often than not he preferred his wolf form. In this guise he was more primal and fierce.
Like all young ones, he was rowdy and borderline uncontrollable. With a prophecy hanging over his head no one was brave enough to raise him except Týr. Why? I like to think that Týr saw the child while everyone else saw a catastrophe waiting to happen.
What did raising him entail? Did Týr feed him? Did Fenrir follow him around the halls of Ásgarðr like an oversized puppy before he became impossible to manage? Was he more a foster-father than a dog catcher? We’ll never truly know as the sources don’t tell us. What we can see is that over time trust existed between them. Fenrir was the only one that was kept within Asgard. Perhaps it was thought that keeping him close to hand would allow them to see the danger before it arrived.
But as Fenrir grew larger and stronger, the gods grew increasingly uneasy. Not because he had attacked anyone, but because they feared what he might eventually become. So, a decision was made. Without consulting Týr or Loki, mind you. To set the stage, the gods challenged Fenrir to prove his strength with chains. They would attempt to bind him, and in return he would attempt to break free to show his capabilities. A simple and humorous game, yes? Twice they placed chains of increasing power, Leyding and Dromi, twice he broke free without much effort. This was a fun game, he thought. But each time the gods’ concern grew deeper.
Seeking to find what they would need to bind him permanently, the dwarves were called upon to create a magical binding made from impossible things: the sound of a cat’s footsteps, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the breath of a fish, the spittle of a bird, and the sinews of a bear. They named it Gleipnir. At first the gods were skeptical at something so light and weak in appearance. Yet Fenrir had grown since the last chains and they were running out of time. Calling him out on to the lake Amsvartnir, they challenged him once more. They encouraged him to follow them to an island named Lyngvi.
Fenrir immediately sensed something was wrong. He wasn’t foolish. He understood that the rules of the “game” had just changed. So he asked for a guarantee. Who would be brave enough to place their hand in his mouth as a sign of good faith. A symbol that once the game was over they would free him? The gods stood silent. No one wanted to take that chance knowing that in the end they would lose. Fenrir’s suspicions became stronger until Týr stepped forward. Their eyes locked and both understood.
Imagine the weight of that moment. The one god Fenrir trusted standing before him, fully aware of what was about to happen. Týr knew the gods intended to betray him. Fenrir knew something wasn’t right and that only Týr had the courage to hold fast in the face of that betrayal. Yet both of them participated because events had already moved beyond either of their control.
When Fenrir could not break the binding, he bit down. Týr lost his hand. Fenrir lost his freedom. The gods all laughed in triumph but Týr did not. He continued to face the wolf, eyes never leaving Fenrir’s and they both accepted what had happened. The world had moved one step closer to Ragnarök. The gods then took a cord called Gelgja and hung it from Gleipnir, inserting the cord back through a large stone slab called Gjöll. Then they fastened the stone slab deep into the ground. Afterwards, the gods took a great rock called Thviti and thrust it even further into the ground as an anchoring peg. Fenrir reacted violently; he opened his jaws very wide, and tried to bite the gods in mounting frustration at the bindings. Then the gods thrust a sword into his mouth. Its hilt touched the lower half of his maw and its point the upper one causing the wolf’s jaws to be spread permanently apart. Fenrir howled horribly through this process, saliva pouring from his mouth in such quantities that it formed the river Ván. There, bound and tortured he would remain until Ragnarök.
The gods had responded to a possibility instead of reality. Fear had not prevented disaster. Fear had helped create it. They treated the prophecy as certainty thus creating the exact problem they had hoped to prevent. They chose perceived control over relationship. And in doing so, they transformed trust into betrayal.
That doesn’t make Fenrir innocent, nor does it make the gods entirely wrong. He may have been the danger they feared. Or he could have been a child, torn from his parents and raised amongst strangers that didn’t want him. The tragedy is that everyone involved was acting from what they believed was necessity.