Title: those who were faithful, and those who betrayed them, those who did nothing, and those who defied

Fandom: Avengers movieverse/The Magnificent Seven (TV)/Sherlock Holmes (RDJ)/Sherlock (BBC)/NCIS/Inception/White Collar/James Bond movies/various mythologies

Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Olga Levertoff

Warnings: possible confusing use of parenting titles; mentions of Odin's A+ parenting and grandparenting; BS magical explanations

Pairings: mentioned Angrboða/Loki

Wordcount: 3750

Point of view: third

Note: I wanted to write more in this 'verse, and I've been listening to this CD a lot. *shrugs*

Prompt: "Abraham's Daughter" from The Hunger Games soundtrack


All his life, Jörmungandr has been a brother. A son, too, of course, but mostly a brother. He would slither after Brother while Fenrir toddled around on unsteady legs, and he would curl around Sister while Hel cried for attention, waving her little fists, unable to control her withered legs.

Mummy would always stay at Fenrir's side as he explored, and Mummy always scooped Hel up and comforted her, and Mummy always told Jörmungandr what a good boy he was, what a good brother - guarding your brother's back, Mummy said, and protecting your sister; remember, my little serpent, my son – they are your family, they are yours to keep safe, to defend.

Mother laughed. Who would dare attack us? she asked, but Mummy didn't answer.

Mummy didn't answer and soon Jörmungandr's family was gone.

.

He woke floating in deep, cold water, and could not feel his family, any of them. Always, the connection had been between him and his siblings and his parents - anywhere they went, he could feel them, a beacon brightly burning. All the beacons were gone. His soul was as cold as the water around him, and he tumbled down into an abyss seeking them, searching for anything at all –

He heard Mother say, in her pragmatic, no-nonsense tone, Little serpent, you can do nothing from the water.

Slowly, he climbed out of the chasm, back into his body. He was tired and knew it must be the water, his magick fighting to keep him warm. Mummy and Mother had just begun explaining magick, the kind of their family versus the magic the aesir and vanir used. We are magick, Mummy had told Jörmungandr and his siblings. Most others you'll meet will use magic, the way we use forks to eat. For them, it is a tool, nothing more. For us, little loves, magick is what we are.

For Jörmungandr, for Fenrir and Hel - magick swam in their blood, from their bones to their souls. Surely, if Jörmungandr left the cold water, the water that drained his magick with his warmth, he could find his family. So he swam for the shore and the moment he slithered into the shallows, he felt -

hard hands biting magic, monster monster, Ragnarök

He was back in the water, even further out, where it was as cold as Niflheimr. Almost, Jörmungandr despaired .

He recognized those hard hands, that biting magic. The man who attacked while Jörmungandr and his siblings played, who vanished Mother, who grabbed Jörmungandr from Mummy's desperate grasp, who ignored Fenrir's tiny growls and loud whimpers, the way Hel screamed as she, too, was torn away from Mummy.

"Father!" Mummy had shouted, "Father, please!"

The Enemy had a name, and Jörmungandr's burgeoning despair was replaced by an all-engulfing rage so powerful it warmed him. He swam once more toward the shallows, planning what must be done. First, clearly The Enemy watched him - unless there were merely tracking spells on a serpent the size of a dining table. So, then, an experiment: Mummy and Mother had just begun teaching Jörmungandr to change his shape. He focused on one of the waddling creatures that lived in their pond, that Mummy had told him he could not yet hunt (that he couldn't catch yet, anyway, because they flew away the moment they sensed him), and when he flapped-waddled his way onto the shore, there were no hard hands, no biting magic.

So, The Enemy itself didn't watch him; a tracking spell had been attached to his true-shape. And wherever his family was, them, too. Which made things more difficult, but surely not impossible.

Jörmungandr taught himself to fly and sought out a place to rest, to plan. There was much to do.

.

Jörmungandr spent a year as the pampered housecat of a noble's family on Vanaheimr, into whose ocean he had been thrown. While there, he learned all about the royals of Asgardr: Odin All-Father, Frigga All-Mother, Thor Thunderer, and Loki Liesmith. Loki, everyone said, hadn't been himself lately. He pined for wherever he'd been, and no one was clear why he had left, if he missed it so much. Clearly, it must be some sort of trick. He was a liar, after all, the most talented liar of the realms.

And his monstrous children... oh, yes, the gossips iloved/i them. Since no one knew for sure what had happened, everyone assumed they'd been destroyed, as was only right for they were monsters, by the All-Father's might.

After he heard that, he hid in the garden, under a thistle bush. Jarð, little vanr girl whose cat he was, tried to find him for days before giving up.

No matter how he felt, though, he could not be distracted from his purpose: he needed knowledge, first and foremost. He could do nothing if he knew nothing. And so he crawled out of the garden and into Jarð's lap, and he allowed himself to be coddled, and he listened to everything.

During the day, he attended lessons with Jarð, carried about like a toy. At night, he practiced shifting and learned the limits of his magick. He stayed away from serpents, to be safe, but everything else he mastered. The vanrwolf was his favorite, in remembrance of his brother.

When he left the noble's family and Jarð behind, Jörmungandr traveled across Vanaheimr because he still needed knowledge of culture and classes. Instead of being a housecat or a vanrwolf, he became a fire-falcon, Vanaheimr's most beloved bird. While not everyone liked cats and most would try destroying a large predator like a vanrwolf, no one would do anything to a fire-falcon because they were the emblem of the royalty, and sacred to all the gods.

Jörmungandr flew above the towns, nested on roofs, visited temples. He watched the sages and mages, and he learned much of magic. He spent days in vanr-shape, asking questions of the historians, librarians, and sages. As Jorgur, a young vanr youth of little distinction save great wealth, he apprenticed to a minor mage for a year and a month, and hid the fact that he outstripped his teacher in the first week. Dagr never asked much about Jorgur's family, spending most of his time in his drink. His truly great accomplishment was his light spell, which Jörmungandr did not actually need – but Dagr also had one of the most well-renowned libraries on Vanaheimr, the sole reason Jörmungandr had sought him out. Jörmungandr took his lessons in magic and applied them to his magick, and he continued to learn.

While with Dagr, towards the end of his time on Vanaheimr, more rumors of the younger son of Odin cycled through. The Liesmith, Jörmungandr heard, was the greatest mage of all – or would be, once he reached magical maturity, which was still centuries away. Though Jörmungandr longed to ask, to learn everything he could of Mummy, he didn't. He could not risk it. Not until he was ready, until he found his siblings, until he found Mother. Mummy was trapped and Jörmungandr would need to be unbeatable to free him. But Jörmungandr was not even 20 yet. He should still be crawling after his brother, letting his parents take care of everything, not learning to survive on the scraps people tossed out, or the poorly-cooked meals he prepared as the pupil, or what he stole while the vanir thought him their sacred bird.

Not that often, but sometimes, he longed to take his true-shape and curl into the smallest ball possible and cry for his parents, for his mummy, to come save him.

But they could not. They would have by now, if they could.

No. No one would be saving him. He must save them. And so he would.

He was Jörmungandr, middle magechild and younger son of Loki and Angrboða, brother of Fenrir and Hel, and already he knew the vanir as though had always been one of them. The rest of the realms would be just as easy.

So he steeled his spine, decided he would take nothing with him from Vanaheimr, and went to Múspellsheimr, where he did it all again.

.

Múspellsheimr became Svartálfaheimr became Jötunheimr became Midgardr. He spent but a single year on Asgardr, and never once even felt a slight spark that meant Mummy, though he knew the Liesmith was on-world. The Enemy's magick was great, and so Jörmungandr's magick must become greater still.

But. It had been over a century since he woke in the water, and he was losing his conviction. He hadn't found a single hint of any of his siblings, for all the things he'd learned, all the ways he'd grown.

And then he left Asgardr for Niflheimr and tasted her scent on the icy wind - Hel.

.

Niflheimr, as everyone knew, was a barren wasteland of ice. Few things lived there; it was a world of the dead, where the souls were sent for judgment. Those worthy continued on to Valhalla or Fólkvangr; those unworthy stayed in the ice forever after.

An unpleasant legend, Jörmungandr thought, and certainly not one he believed until he saw the palace.

.

Jörmungandr wandered through the continuous blizzard as a vanrwolf. He ate whatever he found, and used up much of his magical reserve for warmth and sustenance. He had no idea how long he'd been on Niflheimr, following Hel's scent, when the ice behemoth found him.

Once Jörmungandr realized the creature wasn't about to consume him, he allowed it to pick him up. It hurried through the blizzard, cradling him like his parents once had, and he nuzzled into its chest, searching for warmth.

Had Jörmungandr been more conscious, he would've stared at the palace in awe, in shock; but he was barely aware and merely glanced at it before sagging into the behemoth's grip and falling into sleep he could ill afford.

When he woke, he was warm. When he woke, he sensed his sister in the very walls around him and turned to stare at the woman gazing at him from across the room. She was both pale and dark, both alive and not, and just as beautiful as the infant Jörmungandr had once curled around.

Sister, he said, still shaped as a wolf.

Brother, she replied.

.

Hel remembered even less of their home and family than Jörmungandr did, but they both could perfectly recall The Enemy and the slimy feel of his magic.

Hel thought her name was Hela, as the ice behemoths named her. She was the beloved daughter of their dying queen, and she would ascend to the throne when the queen finally passed on – to the Dark Winter, Hel called it. And she named Jörmungandr an Us instead of a NotUs, to keep him safe in the eternal blizzard. They spent years in each other's minds, sharing everything they knew, everything they wanted.

Hel would have an army of unsurpassed mages, and Jörmungandr knowledge of every realm, an intricate web that spanned them all, and their plans didn't seem so out of reach in her company.

Find our family, the soon-to-be Queen of the Dead ordered him, when Jörmungandr left in the shape of an ice behemoth.

iGoodbye, sister, he said. Until we meet again.

iflheimr wasn't cold at all in the shape he wore, and he continued on to Ālfheimr.

.

In his first year on Ālfheimr, Jörmungandr once again became an apprentice, this time to a sorceress called Skulla. On the very air, he could scent a familiar magick – but Skulla gave him little time to pursue his own interests, intent on teaching him ancient magicks.

"My time runs short, child," she told him, "and so the care that should be taken shall be forfeit. Learn well, Hjúki, if you wish your plans to bear fruit."

If she knew the truth of his life, he never discovered it. She died four years and four months after he met her, and the last of her magicks burnt her body to ashes.

But he had learned much from her. He held that close as comfort when Skulla's children turned him out in the streets as they claimed all that had been hers.

As he melted into the night, he caught the scent again; this time, there was nothing to keep him from following it.

.

In the form of a fire-falcon, Jörmungandr soared over Ālfheimr's snow-capped mountains. There were hundreds of caves and he could not tell from which the scent came. Landing outside the first, he became a vanrwolf and began an in-depth search.

When he found the correct cave, he almost walked head-first into a nasty protection spell; he paused mid-step and stared in disbelief because –

Brother! he howled, throwing his head back. He howled in joy until his throat began to hurt, and he knew he could do nothing else that day, exhausted by weeks of investigation; so Jörmungandr threw himself onto the cold rock of the cave floor, rested his head on his paws, and slept.

In the morning, he began systematically attacking each part of the spell.

.

For the first few years, Jörmungandr's determination never wavered. He had found his brother; he would free his brother; together, he and his siblings would locate and rescue their parents; together, he, his siblings, and their parents would topple The Enemy into a chasm of ice and blood. Each goal was simple. Each goal was feasible.

But the magicks on the cave were intricate and stronger than anything Jörmungandr had ever before seen. He didn't have the skill to break them.

Mayhap his sister did. So Jörmungandr took to the air again; he needed to rest, somewhere away from the cave that ate at his magick, before attempting to walk between the realms.

In his guise as Hjúki, Skulla's apprentice, Jörmungandr rented a room at a small inn deep in the heart of Erna's Valley. Skulla's daughter, the proprietress, didn't even recognize him as the boy she'd thrown out into the cold. It mattered little to Jörmungandr; he only recognized her because her magic was similar to her mother's, though far less in potency and power.

Jörmungandr ate the hearty breakfast that came with the room, then crawled into the bed, and didn't leave for three days.

.

He woke to a gentle hand caressing his brow, to a soft voice barely singing a lullaby he'd long forgotten, and magick surrounding him that he knew better than his own name.

Mother, he said in his first voice, his true voice, though he did not let Hjúki's form slip.

My little serpent, Mother said. "Oh, my dear, how you've grown."

He could not bear to see her tears fall, so he sat up and gathered her into his arms, and the morning passed in tears and a conversation no one else could hear.

.

"I found my sister," Jörmungandr told his mother over another of the inn's hearty meals. "She is well, and soon to be queen of Niflehimr."

"And your brother?" Mother asked, her fingers digging into the wooden table.

Jörmungandr's own hands clenched, one almost destroying the fork he held. He swiftly regained control and reached out to place a hand on Mother's. "I have found his prison," Jörmungandr said. "But I have been unable to break into it. I thought to return to Sister and see if her magicks are great enough."

Mother took a deep, even breath; her magick nearly formed a whirlwind inside the building, but Jörmungandr gripped her hand and she breathed out, dispelling the magick before anyone else even noticed.

"Take me there," Mother said.

.

Raw strength was not enough, Mother agreed, studying the spells that kept Fenrir locked away. It would take patience and time.

"I have been in this realm since that monster banished me," Mother hissed, pacing across the mountaintop. "I knew one of my children was here, but I could never find the path that led-" She cut herself off to scream, long and loud, blood-curdling. The whirlwind returned, with hail the size of Jörmungandr's vanr-shaped fists, and this time, Jörmungandr did not try to comfort or calm her.

"I searched for you," Mother finally said, turning to face Jörmungandr. "I searched for you, and for your sister, and for your brother. I never searched for my husband because I knew I would never find him, and besides that, I always knew where he was." She inhaled deeply, held the breath, let it out. "I searched for any hint of the magick that is in us, in my children, and I never found it."

She threw her head back to scream again; it echoed through the mountains and the whirlwind changed to a thunderstorm, one that would drown part of Alfheimr if it left the mountains. Jörmungandr did not try to tame it.

"I could not find any of you," Mother said; they both pretended the moisture on her face came from the storm raging around them. "And so, my dear, I turned to vengeance."

While Jörmungandr searched, while Fenrir languished in a cave, while Hel learned to be a queen – their mother, Angrboða, became the most hated mage and feared assassin in nine realms.

"I seek out those with grudges against aesir, in particular," Mother said, and Jörmungandr smiled.

.

As the storm began to slow, Jörmungandr and Mother returned to Erna's Valley. They ate once more at the inn while the villagers peered out of their houses, praying to their gods in thanks for the mercy shown them. They shared the room, Jörmungandr taking his vanrwolf shape and curling up in Mother's lap. She sang him to sleep; whether she slept or not that night, he never knew. But in the morning, they left Erna's Valley and traveled swiftly to Niflehimr.

.

An ice behemoth met them when they stepped onto the snowy plain. It didn't speak, instead gesturing for them to follow and turning to trudge away. Jörmungandr shifted into his behemoth shape but Mother simply shook her head and put a warming bubble around herself.

Hel met them at the door and hugged Jörmungandr before just pausing to stare at Mother.

Mother said, "You should both be children still." Her voice shook, with regret and rage. "You shouldn't be –" She turned her face away, bringing a hand up to wipe her eyes. "He'll pay for it," she murmured. "He'll pay for everything he's done, everything we're not and never had because of him."

"Mother," Hel said softly, stepping over to her and raising her head. Mother was taller than Hel, so she had only to tilt her head to stare down at her. "Mother, please, tell me how long it's been since That Day."

Nodding, with a sad little twist of her lips, Mother said, "One hundred and fifty-three years, ten months, three weeks, and five days." Her smile grew darker and she added, "I've killed an aesir for every single year we've been apart."

Hel glanced at Jörmungandr. "But, then," she said, "how – "

"Were we still at home," Mother said, "you two and your brother would still be young, so very young. Barely into adolescence, in fact." She laughed, a little brokenly, a little bitter. "Because we would have taken care of you. But our kind, we can grow as quickly as we need to." She sighed. "But we shouldn't need to. And all of us, your mummy and I and all three of you – we have all grown far too quickly, I fear." She reached out to touch Hel's shoulder, met Jörmungandr's gaze. "Forgive me for not protecting you."

Hel lunged forward, throwing her arms around Mother, and so did Jörmungandr, shedding his ice behemoth skin for Hjúki's.

"I forgave you long ago," Hel said into Mother's chest, and Jörmungandr whispered, "As did I," into Mother's hair.

.

Hel examined the spells around Fenrir's prison, well-shielded in case The Enemy's Watcher and Listener focused on them. Mother had told them The Enemy's Watchers were Huginn and Heimdallr, and the Listener was Muninn, and she'd even stolen a handful of feathers from Huginn to craft a spell that blocked The Enemy's gaze.

Never speak any of their names aloud, Mother said. Or ours. That will surely catch their attention, and I'm not sure any of us yet have the strength to block a concerted attempt.

Hel nodded; she and Jörmungandr had agreed to that during Jörmungandr's first visit.

All together, Hel said, reaching out to trace the air, lighting up the runes, I think we could shatter the protections and set him free. But The Enemy would definitely know.

A single drop of water rolled along the lines. But slow, steady work will see him free with nobody the wiser.

Mother turned to Jörmungandr. If I vanish, it will be noticed. I've been in outskirts of The Enemy's attention since he took you all from us.

Hel said, I, too, will be missed. She looked at the cave. I want to smash my way in and free him – I want to wrap my hands around The Enemy's neck and squeeze - I want - She took a deep breath.

Return to your lives, Jörmungandr said. I will remain and visit Fenrir every day until he is free.

Mother reached out to touch his shoulder. When you're close, find me. We'll make plans then.

Hel hugged him again and he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Let me know, too, brother, she said. I'll keep Us watching for you.

And with that, both Mother and Hel were gone, leaving Jörmungandr alone on the mountain.

Alone, but for the brother still trapped in The Enemy's net.

Slow and steady, he thought, like the trickle of a creek that eventually forms a chasm so deep it touches the heart of the realm.

The patience of the ocean. Well, that was something Jörmungandr had in abundance. So he placed a single fingertip on the edge of the first layer and got to work.

.

For fifty years, Jörmungandr spent half of every day wriggling his way through the most intricate spell in nine realms.

A few times, he did nearly give up. Once, he almost despaired.

But he persevered, nonetheless, and he and Mother spoke of a dozen plans, and he knew what to do on the brightest day of Ālfheimr's year, when the spell at last collapsed.

Jörmungandr sighed in relief, sinking to his knees for a moment's rest. Then he stood, pulled on his most-recent alfar-shape, and stepped into the cave.