Fenris - WIP
Mar. 20th, 2008 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
actionreactionFenris had smelled a lot of things over the years, while being chained up by the Aesir. He had to learn by smell, because there certainly wasn’t anyone around who would teach him. He never held anything against his father – The gods had separated all of Loki’s kids. Fenris was left chained, Jörmungandr thrown into the sea, and Hel… Hel was in the Underworld now, and that’s all Fen knew about that. Whether she was alive or dead, he had no idea.
He knew his youngest brothers, the twins, were dead. Killed if not directly by Odin, then by his ministrations. Fenris’s eyes never left the Father-god when he was near, unblinking, unwavering, a curl of his lip announcing the low growl that was one steady sound of hatred pouring out anytime he drew near. If he got close enough, he’d snap out at him. The first time Fenris broke free of his chains, Odin managed to get away before the massive wolf could get close enough. It took six strong warrior gods, led by Thor himself, to recapture the wolf.
The second time Fenris escaped, Odin was wise enough to have been nowhere near him from the start. The gods all knew about Ragnarök. They all knew what would happened, who would fight whom, who would kill whom. Odin knew one day the great Fenrisúlfr would swallow him whole. True, Odin would be avenged, but he’d still be dead.
Fenris didn’t know. He couldn’t read, he knew nothing of prophecies, and hell, he could barely speak. He merely knew he hated his captives, and would stop at nothing to slaughter them all.
There were days when he wasn’t violent. Those times he’d curl around himself, trying to fit his massive bulk into a corner, tail wrapping round his body. He’d remain that way, and wonder about his siblings, his parents… especially his father. He picked up on enough of the gods’ conversations to hear things. It’s how he knew anything about any of his family to begin with. It’s how he learned his father had been imprisoned himself.
He knew his youngest brothers, the twins, were dead. Killed if not directly by Odin, then by his ministrations. Fenris’s eyes never left the Father-god when he was near, unblinking, unwavering, a curl of his lip announcing the low growl that was one steady sound of hatred pouring out anytime he drew near. If he got close enough, he’d snap out at him. The first time Fenris broke free of his chains, Odin managed to get away before the massive wolf could get close enough. It took six strong warrior gods, led by Thor himself, to recapture the wolf.
The second time Fenris escaped, Odin was wise enough to have been nowhere near him from the start. The gods all knew about Ragnarök. They all knew what would happened, who would fight whom, who would kill whom. Odin knew one day the great Fenrisúlfr would swallow him whole. True, Odin would be avenged, but he’d still be dead.
Fenris didn’t know. He couldn’t read, he knew nothing of prophecies, and hell, he could barely speak. He merely knew he hated his captives, and would stop at nothing to slaughter them all.
There were days when he wasn’t violent. Those times he’d curl around himself, trying to fit his massive bulk into a corner, tail wrapping round his body. He’d remain that way, and wonder about his siblings, his parents… especially his father. He picked up on enough of the gods’ conversations to hear things. It’s how he knew anything about any of his family to begin with. It’s how he learned his father had been imprisoned himself.