#yeah its not 100% mythologically accurate but thats not the POINT so if anyone says shit. die.

[larry-the-demon]

The first thing I can remember, if I’m being completely honest with myself, is not my father. Not the one that sired me, nor the one who raised me. But I don’t feel like that’s particularly unusual--I simply feel a bit bad about it, that is all. Guilt. A son’s guilt. How often in a century does that come around, and only after everything has gone to shit! But that is how it always is.

No--the first thing I can remember, before it all went to shit, before anything, before everything, is the mud. I remember rolling in it, twisting my spine over and digging my shoulders into it so that I would dissolve into nothing but that holy earth. I would trot home, fur covered in the muck of the woods, and I remember someone shaking their head at me, laughing, telling me I was to grow so big and strong one day! The earth loved me so. The earth loved me, as the earth loved all its children, even my mother, even my fathers. The second thing I remember is when I was given my name.

Fenrir, I remember my father--the sire, that is--calling, Fenrir. Marsh-dweller. Come up out of the muck, would you? One would think you were a frog, not a wolf!

I AM a frog! I would call back. Ribbit! Ribbit! I can’t come out of it, this is my home! This is my name! It is a part of me!

…Well. I’m probably more dramatic reminiscing on it than I was as a small boy, but whatever. It’s true, isn’t it? You can’t deny it. It is a part of me, for better or for worse. And oh, how it often seemed worse, later on. How it seems worse now. But that’s irrelevant at this point, if I’m going to tell this properly, and I feel that you deserve to hear this properly. You, out of anyone. So I must take my time about it.

Anyway. After my first few memories--well, I remember my mother, she would echo my name after blood-father called, and the waters would tremble against my furs, sorrow, sorrow. It was suffocating. I did not want to be near it. My father, then, I’d stay near him--but he was a unit with her, they worked together. She was inescapable, unavoidable. I imagine all mothers are.

She had her moments, though. Sometimes, she would pull me onto her lap and stroke my fur how I liked it, rough so that I could feel it in my bones. It was on my mother’s lap that I learned the news of my sister’s leaving.

My sister--she’s another memory. She was rather melancholy, her hair long and lank, shying away from everything that dared breathe life at her. “Scaredy-cat!” I used to taunt her, nip at her heels, but she would only trudge on, as if she did not understand the most intimate language of siblings. I don’t think she ever once turned around to look at me. The mud terrified her.

I’d only last seen her a few days prior, as I sat there on my mother’s lap, as I felt her knuckles drag over each individual ridge of my vertebrae. It was my father, of course, who brought the news.

“She’s left us!” He cried, a little more distressed than you’d expect from the likes of him. “She’s gone.”

My mother stood suddenly; I dropped off her lap like a stone and rolled under the table. “Who.”

And suddenly, my father was himself again. He laughed, his hand slipped behind his head to scratch at the wild shock of red hair that grew upon it. “...Well,” he said.

“You--you!” My mother spat. “You rotten--you trickster god, you, you! You sold her! You sold her to them!” She shook in her fury, her devastation, and the house trembled, I could hear the water calling, sorrow, sorrow, sorrow!

My father only laughed again, and you could tell a little too quick that it was genuine. “Dear,” he said to her, “They would have killed her otherwise.”

My mother went still at that. “What do you know,” she murmured, low and dangerous, “that I do not?”

And my father was all too happy to oblige. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he told her. “Nothing, really. Just precautions. Listen--they gave her an entire kingdom! She rules in a palace, she has riches beyond what you can imagine!”

“And I bet you can imagine nine times as much,” my mother spat.

Here, I thought she was being unfair. My sister--she would have been killed, and now she had a domain to herself! This put her on par with the gods, I thought.

But I stayed under the table. I did not want to be picked up by my mother again. When she touched me too often, I could feel the sorrow seep out of the water and through my skin, until I drowned in it. I think that’s why my father loved her.

Perhaps it's why my brother always hated her more. Not--not to say I ever hated my mother! It’s just--she got to be a bit much, sometimes. We were not the same sort of people. And my brother--well, he was even less her sort of people, though he’d been birthed by her just the same as my sister and I. He was my father’s son, through and through. Same laugh. Same look in his eye. He would tear down the world one day, I was sure of it. He used to chase me, in the marshlands, slipping through the water as if it were all he’d ever known, the only hint that he was stalking me being the glints of sun on his scales. It was great fun. I would gnaw on his fins in retaliation, and he would thrash, thrash about, until we both lay panting and laughing on the shore, until he would finally clam up and wander off for the day, and then I was left to gallivant in my marshes all alone.

He was born hearing my mother’s sorrow in his scales, he told me once. That’s his first memory--my mother’s wails, echoing cries, he told me they bit into his fins the same way I did. Only they didn’t let go. It must’ve been hard for him, especially one born so fit for the water, to hear her, hear her everywhere he went--I know I wouldn’t be able to stand it. I loved my mother, I loved her, but she was--she was all-encompassing, and young beasts do not take well to being trapped.

Eventually, they came for him, too, you know. My mother was less torn up about that one--after all, they dumped him in the ocean, and she could hear him, she could see him, she could call to him. She still didn’t like that he had to leave, though. Shockingly, that was the first time I ever saw my father get hit on the face. These days, I wish I’d seen it more often. He fucking deserved it.

It was on this night that I crept up to him, as the world lay dark and still, and asked why my siblings had been forced to go.

“They chose to,” he told me, then. “It was their will. And someday, it will be yours as well! That’s how these things go, little Fenrir.”

I took that explanation without much complaint, despite knowing that my sister could have been killed. My father wouldn’t lie to me. And so I moved on happily with my life for the next few months, sitting nose-deep in marsh water, burying myself in marsh grass, snapping up every marsh bug my young jaws could find. Fenrir! My father called, sometimes. Fenrir, Marsh-Dweller! Come out of your mud. And always, always, I would run to him, body soaked, chest heaving.

“Fenrir!” He exclaimed once, after I’d raced my way to him. “Child, come with me! We’re going exploring!”

Well--I’d sure as shit never gone properly exploring before, certainly not with my father, of course I was going to go! And so I trotted alongside him happily, stopping here and there to explore this new territory.

“Fenrir!” My father called after me, “Come here!”

And so I bounded to him, great leaps, tongue lolling, only to stop short at his side. “Father,” I asked him, “Who are these?”

“These,” my father told me, “Are the Aesir.”

“Ah,” I said. I did not know what the hell an Aesir was. “I see.”

The group of people stared back at me as I stared at them, a strange curiosity building between us. Once--only once--had a deer not run away at first catching my scent. This encounter reminded me of that.

“Rather big, isn’t he,” someone said, and my father laughed and laughed. By this time, I was as tall as his waist at the shoulder, and still hadn’t grown into my oversized paws. I turned my head away, feeling they were mocking my glaringly obvious lack of maturity. If only they fucking had been, really.

But no--whoever had spoken was dead serious. “Look at the thing’s claws,” he spat, from the back of the group. “You oughta just kill it, Loki. You know damn well how we feel about you and your family.”

My father became a little more serious, though he never stopped laughing, laughing, laughing. “We had a deal, Frey,” he said, “Me and the Aesir. Get your Vanir ass out of our business.”

Well, Frey didn’t take that all too kindly, and he lunged, but someone caught him, pulled him back. Frey thrashed and thrashed, but he couldn't really get anywhere. My father was bent at the waist, he was laughing so hard. I decided I didn’t really get this adult humour.

When the man who had caught Frey finally calmed him, he stepped out of the pack, stood right in front of my father. It was not an intimidation tactic. I was fascinated.

“I only ask that you and your lover stay out of trouble, now,” he said. “I will take care of the rest.”

And my father, he just laughed, and laughed and laughed.

That was the first time I’d ever met Tyr.

The first thing I could say about him with confidence was that he was alright. That day, my father traded me to the Aesir for a little bit of luck, and a little bit of time, all of which he kept to himself. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why they wanted me. They all despised me. I’d say ‘at first,’ but really, that never changed. The Aesir are simply like that. Very immovable, no matter what the stories you hear may be. Set in their ways.

So, I was taken to Asgard. I know, I know, how exciting, the promised land, the holy house of the gods, et cetera, et cetera. Honestly? I never thought it was worth shit. Couldn't find a marsh to save your life. I was stuck with the sun. At the very least, I couldn't hear my mother’s incessant worry. It’s an everyday thought for me, wondering if it’s driven my brother to madness yet. If it hasn’t by now, he’s got the strongest will in all the world.

Anyway. Asgard. They dumped me in a corral, of all places, like I was some sort of livestock--which, really, to them, I probably was--and then they left.

And that was that.

Later on, I learned it’d been someone’s duty to take care of me, but that whoever the fuck had pulled the short stick had simply been too scared, too much of a coward to follow through, and then allegedly they circled through the rest of the gods, who were all--you guessed it--fucking pussies. Anyway. Somehow, some way, I was stuck in that pen for I daresay a week before someone dropped by, and by then, I was starving, pathetic, and miserable, which, in a young wolf, is an understandable thing to be afraid of, but whose fault was that!? But the man who dropped by, he took one look at my pen and said, he said to me, “I’m letting you out.”

When I tell you I would’ve killed my entire birth family and laid their heads at his feet for him just saying that one sentence--well, to be fair, it’s not like I have much remaining care for them, so I suppose that’s not much of a stretch--but he opened the gate. And he beckoned me out. I could barely believe this as it was happening, as I trotted out to stand beside him, my tail pumping faster than it had in years. When he ruffled the hair at the crown of my head, his touch did not shout sorrow! at me, it spoke to me of the joy of a well-won victory.

“What is your name, child,” he asked, and he grinned down at me. Father, I thought, the only person I’d ever seen grin before, but he did not laugh, and besides, his hair wasn’t very red. I cocked my head.

“You held the Vanir Frey back when he would kill my father,” I said.

Here, he did laugh, but it was not the hoarse cackle that my father bellowed, it lacked the depravity, that wicked sparkle he would get whenever my mother’s sorrow leaked a little too harsh into the world.

“So I did,” he said.

“Why.” I asked.

Here, he turned away from me, began to walk. When I did not follow, he glanced back at me. Squinted.

“Well, come along now,” he said, simple as all that, and I crow-hopped after him out of excitement. “What is your name, child,” he asked of me again, and this time I could not resist the desire to tell him.

“I am Fenrir,” I answered, “Marsh-Dweller!”

He hummed, and looked down at me out of the corner of his eye. “I am Tyr,” he told me.

He was like this for most things, in the years I truly knew him--strong, simple statements of fact that drove home rather than dance around the point. A man of action rather than word, but then again, this could be said about many of the Aesir, yes? Tyr turned to me, back then, after revealing to me his name-- "I held Frey back,” he said, and here he paused. I saw his eyes drift from one direction slowly to the other, not afraid, not wary, but simply taking in all that was. Existing.

“I held Frey back because Loki’s death would have been over small insult.” he said. “And if Frey had challenged him with a duel, he surely would have used trickery to slide out of it. Honorless,” he said simply, “honorless death, honorless battle. What law is there if not the law of the sword, Fenrir?” He posed the question to me seriously, as if I had not known only the mud and marshes all my life. I watched him, hypnotized. You cannot understand if you have not met him--it is as with all natural-born leaders. There is simply a draw, a magnetic pull, something within that calls to you; something within you that knows: the desperation will be quelled, with this. He was a man who, in his mere existence, seemed to promise and exude the sort of sanctuary I had craved; here the influence of my heritage seemed to fall silent.

Finally, I answered: “I know no law.”

It was not a proud statement.

Tyr only smiled down at me, his not-Loki smile. “Well,” he said, “Would you like to learn, then?”

And of course my answer was yes; how could I ever turn him down? He walked, and I walked at his shoulder, and he told me all he knew of the battlefield. These were things that Loki had not bothered to tell me, for all I owned were fangs--and yet, Tyr did not seem to care.

“At the very least,” he told me, when I asked him why he spoke to me, “Know the opposition. Simply because the paw cannot hold the sword, the axe, does not mean that you will not cross it, you see?”

“...I see,” I claimed. He nodded. He knew I did not.

“Well,” he said, “then you see that if I didn’t know how the fang bit, I would not know to muzzle it before it did? So you must know to disable the hand before it strikes you down.”

Now, that made marginally more sense to me; it seemed logical.

Well--whatever impression I had made upon Tyr in that moment, in that afternoon, it seemed to have worked in some way or another, and he gathered me out of my solitude in the next afternoon; in this way he would teach me for the majority of my younger years. As time passed--and as I am sure I have told you before--it was Tyr that replaced Loki as the father of my mind, and of my heart. We took our meals together, trained together, he spent the better part of his days with me, back then. It was he who led me out of Loki’s accursed tricks, it was he who taught me the meaning of honour, of the law of this land--it was he who showed me how to skillfully cross my fangs against his sword.

It was this, in the end, I believe, that became the first catalyst, that became what destroyed the life we had built together, as father and son. You see--if your leader is fighting, even if it may simply be for sport, would it not be a spectacle? And so the Aesir preferred to watch as I pitted myself against him, again and again.

My father--Tyr, that is, not--not Loki--encouraged this, he believed it would make his fellow gods a bit less… afraid of me. That’s another thing, though--I understand, I understand being afraid of Loki’s son, but my father, my father was Tyr, I would swear by it! My father was Tyr. I meant them no harm, truly.

I suppose, however, that no harm is not what they saw. For though, in the beginning, Tyr beat me back again and again and again--so much so that I still have the scars across my body--eventually, inevitably, I began to win our little duels, and eventually, inevitably, the gods--well, the gods noticed. The gods noticed even moreso what they had seen all along, that is to say, I no longer only came up to their hips, but my shoulders matched heights with theirs. And unlike most canines, my paws had not been grown into, but rather grew with my body. And the implication here, you understand, was only that I’d grow taller. Stronger.

Pair that with my fangs, that had not chipped under Tyr’s sword, and my claws, which had not dulled across Tyr’s shield, and the Aesir had what they decided was a right proper issue on their hands.

But I wasn’t to know that until a fair bit later.

Well--it’d been quite a while after we’d started this sparring habit, and only a little since I’d started winning, when the gods--other than my heart and mind’s father, that is--decided to visit me--a little home visit, as I was in my pen. Now, this was an unprecedented event, this had never happened before, these gods taking an interest in my existence! And so I trotted right up to the gate, tail loosely wagging, and I asked them, I said, I said-- "You have never visited here before, Aesir, why must it only be my victory over Tyr that brings you? Have you not seen this wolf be lonely?”

Now, I thought I was mighty funny, back in the day. But nary a god laughed, the sick bastards. However, one did step forward; I recognized him as--well, he was very distinctive, wasn’t he, and Loki had spoken of him in passing, sometimes. His blood-brother, Odin. He only had one eye.

Nonetheless, he was still a very perceptive god. At the very least, he understood my greeting to be in jest. However, he still did not laugh, and for that I shan’t forgive him.

“Fenrir,” he said to me, “I propose… A challenge. A game, of sorts.”

“Ah,” I said.

“Do you accept this challenge?” Odin asked of me. And--

“Well,” I said, “I don’t see why not.”

I was rather cocky, back in the day. You know how being young is. Keeps you on top of the world, it does.

“Perfect,” Odin said to me, and beckoned behind him; one of them had been carrying a massive, heavy chain with them. It was now passed forward, and given to Odin, who presented it to me with a rather smug look on his face. “Test of strength. Break the chain you will be bound by.”

It was at this moment that Tyr decided to make his daily visit; he took one look at the congregation and frowned. “Why?” Tyr asked.

“Why not?” Odin asked of him. Tyr had no real response. “And besides, he has already agreed.”

And here, Odin had Tyr trapped--for me to not follow my word, to forfeit the challenge, was to destroy my name, my honour. Tyr frowned in my direction.

“I shall not resign,” I told him, for I should not. Odin hummed.

“Tyr,” he called, “Why not chain the beast? He is yours, after all.”

“Why not indeed,” Tyr muttered then, and took the chains out of Odin’s hands. Back then, I was still small enough for him to reach over my neck without me bending down, easily looping the chain and tethering it.

“Break it,” Odin challenged me. I rolled my shoulders, shifting the material, trying to assess its weakness--but the chain clattered to the ground in some cacophonous declaration of my glory. I frowned down at it.

“Ah,” I said. “I don’t suppose you have a better one? That one didn’t do much of anything, not--not really…”

Tyr looked down at the broken chain, and he looked over at the gathering of the Aesir standing witness. It took a long time for him to look back at me.

“No,” he said. “We don’t. That was our strongest.”

A lot of hushed muttering came after that, for what reason, I can’t say. Surely they’d already known that. Tyr, when he did look at me, would not look me in the eye. He kept giving these quick, furtive glances back to the gods, to his people.

“Tyr,” I said, but he did not respond. He walked over to the crowd of Aesir, he began talking to them, amongst them. Reassurances, I was convinced. Of my strength, of my honour. They did not have to fear me.

And yet they did fear me! And fear me so potently--in the next few days, all I could feel in the air was hostility, thick and heavy as humidity. No one bothered to watch the sparring matches between me and Tyr--which, to be honest, didn’t upset me in the slightest--and in the back of my mind there echoed a solid Clang! Clang! Clang! That while it seemed only a figment of my imagination, also seemed sure to drive me to the brink of insanity in its constant presence.

It felt as if, almost, the sorrow of my mother had come back to nip at my heels again. “Do you hear that?” I’d ask of Tyr, and he’d shake his head, confused, watching me cock my head, straining in vain to figure out what the problem was.

And this lasted for nine days and nine nights. However, on the tenth morning, the world rang silent, and somehow that bit more harshly at my ears than it had any right to.

Tyr came to me early, that day. “I’ve got something for you,” he told me, and I wagged my tail at him; he scritched behind my ears.

“Well, what is it, then?” I asked him.

“Come along,” he said, and as always, I went along; where he took me was closest to the centre of Asgard that I’d ever been. Here, one could touch parts of Yggdrasil, and here, the gods stood gathered once again. Some flinched, as Tyr led me into their midst, some stood still; all looked at me as if they wished he would turn on me, skin me alive as I followed him. But still, they parted for their leader.

In the centre of the gods, where Yggdrasil could be touched, a heavy chain lay tethered to its branch. I understood at once what the infernal noise I’d heard was.

“Ah,” I asked Tyr, “You have built me a better one?”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Twice as thick. Twice as heavy.”

I nodded, dipped my head so he may easily throw it over my neck. And this, this motion was the second catalyst to create destruction between my true father and myself. Indeed, I saw Odin frown at me from the corner of my eye, but then Tyr secured the chain and stepped back. I shook myself, as if to shed water, but the chain stayed secure around my throat. So I began to pull.

Though the chains creaked and groaned, they held fast, the shoulders of the Aesir surrounding me relaxing in a soft, universal motion. My claws dug deep into the soft earth, and though I could feel them wanting to tear out at the roots, still I pulled myself forward, in a sorry attempt at leveraging my own weight against that of the World Tree. The chain dug into my throat, choking and collaring me with a weight that I had never felt before, not even when my mother’s sorrow ate into the very marrow of my bones; this, I imagine still, is what my brother Jormungandr feels, every time he rolls in the waves. I worry for him.

And so I pitted myself against the chain for an hour or two, and the gods eventually became bored, and dispersed, one by one. Odin was the second-last to depart; just before he left I saw him whisper to my father. “He had to lower his head,” he said to Tyr, “He had to lower his head for you to place the chain. That was not the case nine days ago.”

“Young boys grow fast,” was Tyr’s response, “Young wolves, faster. This is not news.”

“Perhaps,” Odin replied, and left.

Tyr stayed, for a while longer. He said nothing more, simply allowed the silence to run rampant. When night fell, that was when he took his leave.

Despite being so close to the centre, where the gods had tethered me remained quiet throughout the day, the only sound being the wheezing of my breath tearing through my throat as I allowed the chain to choke me in my attempt to break free. For nine days I went on like this, paws desperately shoving back against the loose earth, and for nine nights, the chain dug through the thick layers of fur on my neck, the biting cold of its metal harsh against my skin. It was all right in the end, though. Not too bad. Eventually, on this ninth night, the weld of the chain finally tore itself apart with a shrieking groan, the sound echoing around Asgard until the gods came rushing from wherever they’d been before. I gingerly laid down, after that, tail heavily thumping against the ground; before me stood Odin with his hands on his hips.

“Well done, then,” he told me, and I took it at face value.

Well, then, Tyr came to collect me, and I followed him back to my corral. He was quiet on the way back, quiet in a way I’d never seen him before. And he, unlike Odin, did not congratulate me.

“...Did I not do well?” I asked of him. “Did I not bring honour to your name, as the one who raised me?”

“...You did,” he said, “You did.”

And he smiled at me, the same way he had on that first day he had taken me out of my pen years upon years ago. And the day after, when he made his daily visit of my small romping grounds, he did not take me out to play at battle.

Instead, he coaxed my jaw up to stitch back together the pieces of flesh the chain had torn apart, and told me to be careful of my claws.

“Why?” I bade him tell me; he did not answer. Shook his head.

“Have I taught you too well?” He asked me in turn, “or have I taught you nothing? Fenrir,” he said to me, “Fenrir. Careful of your fangs. Your claws.”

Well, then, I assured him I very well would be, what else could I do? But either way, it still took time for me to cajole him back into turning his sword on me. You know how it is.

Anyway. It was only a few days after I’d convinced him to spar again, if I remember correct, that Frey ran near into one of our matches to tell my father that he’d completed his task; it was only a few days after that incident--mostly terrifying for Frey, I assure you, for yet again I had grown; my shoulder now stood taller than Tyr’s head. But no matter--anyhow, only a few days after that, my father led me out of my pen yet again, hardly an extraordinary occurrence, but he led me out, and he told me, “We are going outside of Asgard, now.”

Well, I thought that was mighty fine, no complaints here, and so we travelled on over to--well, to be honest, I’m not rightly sure where, but it was marshland.

Marshland! I had not seen it for years upon years upon years, I had near forgotten its glory! I nearly ran away from him for good, before I remembered myself and came gallivanting back--Tyr was not one for unnecessary things. He had come here with purpose, had he not? And so I asked him.

“Yes,” he said simply, “Yes. We have.”

So I followed him along for a bit longer, until we came upon the rest of the Aesir, gathered in a herd. Now, by this time, I daresay it was a sight I was quite used to. I looked over at Tyr inquisitively.

“One last test,” he told me. “And if you manage to break free here, as well, then on that day you will be accepted into Asgard.”

“Ah!” I said. “This is a good thing! This is a good thing, yes?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes. It is. It is a good thing.”

And--well, though I did not want to admit it to myself, it looked as though he was attempting to convince himself of the fact. But I suppose that now that is irrelevant.

Either way--for the third time, I was stood before all the gods of Asgard, but though I searched the crowd, I could see no one holding the chain--but before I could ask, Tyr called for me to look down.

So I did. Frey passed forward--well, I could not rightfully tell what it was, at first, it lay so delicate in his palm. Tyr picked it up, at one end, letting it uncoil. It looked almost as if it were one continuous line of spider-silk, to me.

“This,” Tyr told me, “Is your last chain.”

“...Ah,” I said. “But I daresay it’s nary a chain at all.”

And here, Odin stepped forth, as Odin was wont to do. “Perhaps,” he said. “Still--it is your challenge. Are you one to step down from it?”

“Well--no,” I said, “Not if this is a challenge of honour,” I said, “But I must say, you present this to me in much the way Loki presented me to you,” I said, “With no warning and no understanding.”

“What is there to understand,” Odin asked of me, “Other than you are to be bound, and then to try and break free?”

“Well,” I said, “You told me to be bound by chain, yes? I see no chain here. I will not turn from being bound--but I will not let you win by dishonour; would this--well, would this not bring shame upon all of Asgard, as well, to win by the ways of Loki, rather than the ways of your leader, Tyr?”

“What do you propose, then.” Odin barked, short and curt.

Here, I paused. Honour, honour, honour, that which I had been raised with, that which I had been born without. What did I propose? What could I, that the gods would not deem unspeakable?

“...An oath-hand.” I told him. “I want an Aesir’s oath-hand, place it in my mouth so I may bite it off when you turn on me. I want the Aesir’s honour. Give it to me.”

So Odin turned to his fellow gods, though with wolf’s ears, one can hear clearly anything, so I do not know why he bothered to try to hide his words. Perhaps it was simply the clear disassociation--the exclusion. But that is no true matter to pause over. “Tyr.” he told them, hushed, “Did he not raise the beast? Did he not teach it our ways? Should he not take the downfall for his own foul creation? And besides--is he not Honour? Is he not what the Wolf demanded?”

“Aye,” the gods spoke in unison. “Let it be Tyr.”

Well, Tyr had not fallen back to speak amongst the rest of them, but still he agreed when they told him of their choice. Was he not their leader? Was he not the upholder of their honour? Their law? What other choice did a man such as he have?

But it is no matter, now.

And so, he beckoned me down to kneel before him, so that I may be bound, and he gave the thread to Odin. He placed his hand, he placed his right hand in my mouth, and it tasted like the pommel of his sword, and it was riddled with scars, with callouses. Who knows how many I’d given him myself.

The thread-chain, which I was told later they named Gleipnir--OPEN--Odin wound around my throat, around my chest, around my legs, before he passed it off to Thor, so that he may cast it deep into the mud upon which we stood.

So Thor tethered the chain. I worry for my brother--have I told you? You have told me he and Thor are destined adversaries. I worry for my brother, I do--and Thor stepped back, and Odin stepped back. Of course, when I shuddered my body, there was no shrieking of metal, no groaning of a weld about to crack under pressure. You know this--when you taught me, when I learned of Gleipnir’s name, much later, so too you told me of its contents; this chain had been built by the dwarves. Built by the dwarves, and of all that is un-encounterable in the world! I ask you, I ask you, who could break the un-encounterable?! Even then, I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind.

Tyr’s wrist snapped between my teeth like a little carrot, and his blood, it tasted like the rich copper of any a mortal man, and this, I believe, was the last catalyst--ignore the fact I’d already been bound, it is irrelevant. I lunged for him, beyond him, really, to where the Asgardians milled about, watching as I writhed in the dirt. Here is where I nearly bit Odin, as well, and here is where Odin then took Tyr’s sword from its scabbard and shoved it into my muzzle, into the dampness of the earth, so I would bite no more.

Here, I watched Odin herd the Aesir out of my sight, here I saw Tyr follow, here I saw Tyr follow, for the first time, did I see how he followed. I’d ask you, is that the role of a leader? Perhaps. But see Odin. Odin does not know how to follow. Odin, with all his knowledge, simply does not understand how to. Is that it, then--knowing when to follow, and when to walk ahead? I don’t know.

But the important thing is not that Tyr followed, not really. It is that--well, it is that Tyr left, you see, he left me, and he did not look back, not even as the blood from his ruined arm flowed into the very mud on which I now lay, not even as I called for him. To be fair--back then, I did not know how to speak around the sword, as I do so now--but still, even still--!

There are many things I do not know the answer to, you know, oh how you know; why did they chain me here? Why did they leave me? We both know, we knew always, I would not be let into Asgard. That is not where I am meant to be. So why leave me, other than fear, fear, fear of what, of my fangs? Fear of a crime I have not committed, even now? Please, I ask you--you have told me so many things, have you not. You have told me of Gleipnir’s creation, you have told me of how Tyr sent the Vanir Frey out to find these un-encounterable things, you told me of how Frey begged the dwarves for salvation, salvation from what? What have I done.

You have told me, you have told me of Odin’s rule, you have told me of my father’s fall, you have told me of how he is nothing but Law and Honor, now, nothing of what he was when I first knew him. He cannot--oh, he cannot even wield a sword, now, but whose fault is that? Is this why? For my taking of his being? Of his identity? But if so, why--why bind in the first place. What is the purpose--and if the purpose is fear, I ask, where is the honour. Tyr, Tyr, have I taken even this from you? Has this upholding of law against me taken that which you could not bear to live without? Why would he allow this, why would he allow this of me? I am no creature to carry a god’s oath. Why, why would he bind me?

And I know--you know--the only reason could be the oath of any leader--to protect his people, that which I am not one of.

But in the end, that is all irrelevant. Still, I am bound.

And yet--and yet, I tell you, as you have told me many things, I tell you, someday this world will end, and I will be allowed out of these binding threads. And then, when that time comes, I will take back all that which was taken from me, I will--I’ll start with my marshes.

I will, I will, I must, I must take back these marshes, I will swallow them whole if I have to. I will swallow all the blood in this water, in the mud, I will swallow whatever is leftover of my mother’s sorrow, and then I shall track that trail to the seas, and I will swallow them too, and maybe then my brother will run beside me in peace. I will swallow the trenches he must live in, and the Midgard that scorns his existence, I will swallow whatever kingdom my sister resides in, I will swallow the mountains the accursed Loki was born in, I will swallow the house I grew up in, I will swallow the forest I was traded in, I will swallow the splinters of the first shackles to bind me, and I will swallow the weight of the second. I will swallow the god’s realm, I will swallow Asgard, I will swallow those eternal and compliant gods, I will swallow Odin. I will swallow Yggdrasil, and everything that it holds within its branches. I will swallow the moon, the earth, the sun--!

And then, then I will eat the rest of Tyr, I will crunch his body between my molars, and I will return with him to the marshes, the marshes that bore me, and I will roll my shoulders in the mud again. I stand so tall that even my fang dwarfs him, now, do you see? I--

…But it is only a dream. A perhaps. I won’t break free of here, you and I both know. Even if my claw is long as Thor is tall, this thread still wraps around my neck, this sword still grinds my maw to the ground. I won’t break free again. I--I can’t.

#pov i uhh i have thoughts abt fenrir lol #YEAH IK TECHNICALLY SKOLL & HATI SWALLOW THE SUN & MOON #but thats irrelevant rn. so There #based off the myths i was told as a kid. & the myths i read now. & some other stuff #yeah its not 100% mythologically accurate but thats not the POINT so if anyone says shit. die. #um #norse #norse mythology #norse folklore #fenrir #tyr #jormungandr #loki #odin #original writing #writing tag #larrythedemonswriting #uh. anyway. slay #might post this to ao3 later but if i do. im not linking it