Soria Moria Castle

Long ago, in a small cottage at the edge of a deep, dark forest, lived a poor cottar and his three sons. The youngest was called Halvor. He was kind and strong, but he often sat staring into the distance, dreaming. One clear morning, when the sun shone bright on the snow and ice, Halvor saw something far away that flashed like fire on a mountaintop. “What is that glittering yonder?” he asked.

“People call it Soria Moria Castle,” said his father. “But no one from here has ever found the way.”

“Then I will try,” said Halvor. “I must see Soria Moria with my own eyes.” He took a bundle of food, said goodbye, and set off down the road.

Halvor walked and walked, over hills and through pine forests, until his shoes were thin and the wind bit his cheeks. At last he met an old man with a long beard and a walking staff.

“Where are you going, lad?” asked the old man.

“To find Soria Moria Castle,” said Halvor.

“That is a brave wish,” the old man said, smiling. “Follow this path until you come to a great castle. Inside is a princess, but a troll with three heads lives there. If you drink from the troll’s horn, you will grow strong enough to swing his sword. Be quick, and do not be afraid.”

Halvor thanked him and went on. Before long he saw a great castle. Inside, a lovely princess met him and put a finger to her lips.

“Hush! Hide under the bed. A three-headed troll lives here,” she whispered. “When he comes home, he will sniff and roar. When he drinks from his horn, take it and drink three gulps yourself. Then seize his sword and strike off his heads, but be sure to take all three, or they will grow again.”

Soon the troll thundered in. “Fee, fi! I smell the blood of a Christian man!” he roared.

“Do you?” said the princess lightly. “It’s only the smell of the last one you ate.” She set the horn before him. The troll took a long swallow. Halvor darted out, snatched the horn, and drank three great gulps. Strength rushed into his arms like a river. He grabbed the troll’s sword. The troll rushed at him, but Halvor swung once, twice, thrice—down tumbled one head, then another, then the last. The troll fell with a crash that shook the floor.

“You have saved me,” said the princess, and tears of joy shone in her eyes. “If you go on, there is a second castle where my sister is held by a troll with six heads. Take this cloth. When you are hungry, shake it, and it will give you food.”

Halvor rested a little, ate from the magic cloth, and hurried on. At the second castle, the second princess told him the same warning. When the six-headed troll burst in, Halvor drank from the horn, felt strength pour through him, and fought from morning until the candles burned low. He struck off all six heads at last, and the princess was free.

“My youngest sister is kept in a third castle,” she said. “Her home is Soria Moria Castle, and she is the fairest of us all. The troll there has nine heads. Take this flask of water. If you grow weak, sip it, and your strength will return.”

Halvor went on again, his heart steady. At the third castle he met the youngest princess. Her hair shone like gold in the firelight, and her eyes were as blue as the fjord.

“You must be brave,” she whispered. “The nine-headed troll is fiercer than the others.”

The ground trembled as the troll came. He sniffed and roared and swung his iron club. Halvor drank from the horn, then fought with all his might. But nine heads bit and snapped, and his arms grew heavy. He took a sip from the flask, and strength rose in him like summer sun. He struck and struck—one head fell, then two, then three. Still the troll fought. Halvor sipped again, lifted the sword, and with a mighty cry he cut off the last of the nine heads. The troll crashed to the floor, and the castle grew quiet.

“Now I am free,” said the youngest princess. “Come with me to Soria Moria Castle, where my father is king.” She gave Halvor a ring. “This ring is our troth. Keep it close.”

They set out together. The two older princesses went to their own homes, while Halvor and the youngest sailed by ship and walked by road until golden spires rose before them in the evening light. Soria Moria Castle shone so brightly that it seemed woven of sunbeams.

The king welcomed Halvor with warmth and wonder. He listened to all that had happened and said, “You have done deeds worth singing of. You shall have my daughter for your bride.” There was feasting and joy, and Halvor and the princess were betrothed.

After some days, Halvor said, “May I go home and tell my parents where I am? I will return before long.”

The princess took his hands. “You may go, but beware. Do not sit down to rest with strangers on the way, and do not let anyone lay a hand on your head. There is witchcraft in the world, and it steals memories.”

“I will remember,” Halvor promised, and he set off with a glad heart.

He walked and walked until he grew tired and sat upon a stone at a crossroads. Along came an old crone with a crooked back and a comb in her hand.

“You are weary, lad,” she said sweetly. “Let me smooth your hair; it will ease your head.”

Halvor remembered the princess’s warning, but he was so tired, and the crone seemed so gentle. She touched his head with the comb—and at once a fog fell over his thoughts. He forgot the castle, the king, the princess, the ring—everything. He found his way home, but to him it was as if he had never left. In time, he was promised to a farmer’s daughter, and the wedding day was set.

At Soria Moria Castle, the princess looked at her ring and knew the truth: Halvor had fallen under a spell. “I must find him,” she said. She ordered a ship and sailed until she reached the land where Halvor lived. She dressed in a plain cloak and hired a room at the best house in the town, then sent word that a grand feast would be held and all were welcome.

Everyone came, Halvor among them. The princess stood up before the guests and said, “I will tell a tale. Listen, and say if you know it.” Then she told, from beginning to end, how a brave lad had freed three princesses, slain trolls with three, six, and nine heads, and come at last to Soria Moria Castle.

As she spoke, Halvor’s heart began to pound. The fog lifted. When she told how the princess had given the lad a ring, Halvor snatched at his own hand—and there was the ring, glinting as if it had never left. In that moment his memory rushed back like a river breaking its dam.

He leaped to his feet. “My princess!” he cried. “Now I remember. Forgive me! It was witchcraft that stole my wits.”

The princess smiled and held out her hands. “I knew you would come back to yourself.”

The farmer’s daughter saw what had happened and understood it was no use to stand in the way of such a bond. So Halvor and the princess returned to Soria Moria Castle together. Their wedding lasted many days, with music and dancing under halls of gold, and the stories of Halvor’s brave deeds were told for years and years after.

And as for the old crone and her comb, no one saw her again. But folk say that if you ever see Soria Moria shining on a far hill, set your feet steadily on the road and keep your promise, and you will come safe to your heart’s desire.