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“In their huge bedroom that night, Tyr said to Thor, "I hope you know what you are doing."

"Of course I do," said Thor. But he didn't. He was just doing whatever he felt like doing. That was what Thor did best.”
― Neil Gaiman, Norse Mythology

“They all laughed, except Tyr; he lost his hand.”
― Snorri Sturluson, The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology

“Rite To Tyr:

Hail to the One-Handed God!
Hail to Him whose name is Honor
And whose Word is iron,
Who alone never shirks the thankless task
Whose reason is Lawful Necessity.
Hail to the Lord of Swords,
Who gave a weapon-bearing hand
To see that what must be done was done in truth.
Hail God of the sunset, last single ray of light,
Lord of loyal morality, whose name none takes in vain.
Now must I face loss to do what is right,
O Lord Tyr, and I do not ask for your aid
To take away that loss, that I might hope for ease of action.
As you stood forth knowing you must lose to win,
So I ask only that you keep my back straight,
My arm strong, my hand from trembling,
My voice from faltering, my words from vanishing,
My head up, and my resolve unyielding
As I reach into the challenging maw of my own future.”
― Galina Krasskova, Northern Tradition for the Solitary Practitioner: A Book of Prayer, Devotional Practice, and the Nine Worlds of Spirit

“Thor looked out on the two great rolling rivers of cloud. It was a bad way for one to go, cold and suffocating. Yet if he went that way he could keep on his shoulder the hammer which he would not leave in another's charge. He stept out into the Cloud River that flowed by the Rainbow Bridge, and with his hammer upon his shoulder he went struggling on to the other river.
Odin, Tyr, and Baldur were beside Urda's Well when Thor came struggling out of the Cloud River, wet and choking, but with his hammer still upon his shoulder. There stood Tyr, upright and handsome, leaning on his sword that was inscribed all over with magic runes; there stood Baldur, smiling, with his head bent as he listened to the murmur of the two fair swans; and there stood Odin All-Father, clad in his blue cloak fringed with golden stars, without the eagle-helmet upon his head, and with no spear in his hands.”
― Padriac Colum, THE CHILDREN OF ODIN: The Book of Northern Myths

“You are aware that my hellhound, Garm, will devour your father, Tyr, when Ragnarok is unleashed?��
I nodded.
“As Tyr’s spawn, you have his blood in your veins.��
I nodded again, wondering where this was going.
“Well. Garm has run off,�� she told me. “You, son of Tyr, are the only one who can find him. Or rather”—she treated me to a ghastly smile—“he will find you.��
“I don’t follow.��
“Why, it’s very simple. My hellhound will smell the blood of Tyr and come running.��
I clutched my rifle more tightly. “So basically, you’re using me as bait.��
“More like a moving target,�� Hel amended.
“Why me?�� I dared to ask. “Why not just, I don’t know, poof Garm back to his cave yourself? Or send your demons to retrieve him?��
“Garm can be . . . elusive,�� she said evasively. “He’s run off before, and past attempts to bring him home with magic and demons have failed.��
I was going to suggest she use a hellhound whistle, but I thought better of it. “If you don’t mind my asking, why not just let him stay lost?��
Hel’s expression darkened. “And risk word getting out that my dog is beyond my control? No. There is only one solution. You must lure him back to his cave.��
I scowled. “Let me guess. If I refuse, you torture my mother. If I tell anyone Garm didn’t come when you called, you torture my mother.��
“Oh yes. And Thomas . . . T.J. . . . if you think killing Garm will stop the hound from killing your father, think again. You cannot stop destiny. Now, away you go!”
― Rick Riordan, 9 From the Nine Worlds