Once in the war between elves and trolls, it happened that Skafloc fled England to seek help among the Sídhe. He was a mortal who had been fostered by elvenkind; he bore with him the halves of the sword called Tyrfing. Could that weapon be forged anew, it would bring victory to his folk. They were in sore plight. But no smith could mend it save Bolverk, the blind giant afar in Jötunheim.
Mananaan MacLir befriended Skafloc in Ireland, and they set sail together on the quest. Though their boat was small, her hull and rigging were charged with the force of Mananaan, who had been a god before the White Christ came, and who was still a might to reckon with on deep water. Also, at the prow danced the figurehead of Fand his lady.
Farther northward the twain fared than a man-built ship would have gone before making landfall. Darkness lit by aurora fell over the sea.
Icebergs went like moving mountains; from them welled frost. Strange beings prowled half-seen around the strakes. Again and again must Mananaan strain to the utmost his powers over wind and wave.
Yet even on the hardest passage, times will come when seamen find naught to do but sit and spin yarns. It staves off the loneliness.
Thus Mananaan, at ease on a bench, regarded Skafloc, who held the rudder. Tall was Mananaan and fair to see, with clear features, greenish-gold locks, and eyes that held the changeable hues of ocean. His
