Sorry, but I'm nowhere near done upping the level of angst in this. I mean, so far it's been pretty tame.
Especially compared to what's coming.
The dreams seemed to be a recurring theme.
Fenris was glad when Helena woke him up, the freezing-cold touch on his knee making him shoot into a sitting position. Helena darted to the other side of the bed, having already found out what happened when she woke Fenris up in the middle of a bad dream.
"Sorry," Fenris said sheepishly, feeling his magic retreat, coiling back inside him. This kind of thing had gotten worse at Hogwarts - probably because he was trying to force it through his wand all the time.
"You should really work on controlling that," Helena suggested.
"I can't help it," Fenris protested - quietly, though, since everyone else in the dorm was probably still asleep. "My magic is different than yours."
"Even so," Helena said, slightly primly - she was from the tenth century, after all. "Mother wants to speak with you, by the way. I think it's about Hymirsson."
It took Fenris a moment to realize Helena meant Tyr. He couldn't really say he was surprised. "Now?"
"It's Friday," Helena pointed out, "and no one will notice that you're spending more time than usual with a teacher."
Fenris scrubbed a hand over his face, sliding off the bed and trying to remember where he'd put his robe. "I guess." He nearly tripped over the robe - it must have fallen out of his trunk.
"Students are so careless now," Helena said disapprovingly. "You know, in the thirteenth century-"
"I wasn't any neater then," Fenris griped, pulling his robe on. "And leaving on the floor was an accident."
"If you say so."
Muriel was in her office, and the fire burning in the fireplace helped chase away some of the lingering shadows in Fenris's mind.
"I would say good night, but that feels more like a farewell," Muriel said. "Did Helena wake you up?"
"I didn't mind," Fenris said.
Muriel gave him a searching look. "Bad dreams?"
"Not exactly." Muriel's chairs were so squishy that the seat sank a little under Fenris's weight. "Helena said you wanted to talk about Tyr."
"Is that his first name?" Muriel set her cup to the side. She seemed to be drinking tea every time Fenris saw her outside of classes. "You do know him, then."
"A little bit," Fenris said. "I've only met him once before. Why doesn't he like you?"
"Oh," Muriel said, and it sounded like a sigh. "Old arguments. Not that I've ever personally met a god before, besides your father. I assume Tyr normally lives in Asgard?"
Fenris nodded, but he didn't miss the fact that Muriel hadn't really answered. "I've only been there once," he said. "We didn't live there. Dad just visited, sometimes. I think he went there to see his brother and left when they got into arguments."
"His brother?" Muriel looked almost startled.
"Oðinn," Fenris said. "You didn't know that?"
"No." Muriel looked throughtful. "I suppose I'll have to brush up on my mythology."
"Maybe avoid the stories about us," Fenris said.
"I'll keep that in mind," Muriel said. "What exactly is Tyr the god of?"
Fenris made a face. "That isn't how it works," he said. "We're not like the Greeks. One person doesn't just do one thing. But Oðinn put him in charge of justice and stuff. And he was a warrior, but everyone in Asgard is. Except dad. Sort of."
"Dispensing justice, you mean?" Probably seeing the confusion on Fenris's face, Muriel added, "punishing people so Oðinn didn't have to worry about it."
"Yeah." Fenris played with the buttons on his robes, his eyes drifting away from Muriel until he realized it probably looked like he was staring at the table. He took one of the cookies Muriel had a little tin of, as an excuse for drifting away from the conversation. "I don't know why he would be here," he said, then took a bite to avoid saying anything else. It was chocolate. That was lucky. He was sure there were some in the tin that were the weird, chewy kind.
"Your dreams," Muriel began carefully. "Did Tyr showing up make them worse?"
"...No," Fenris lied. They had been pretty bad to begin with, so it was true that there wasn't much of a difference. "Tonight wasn't that bad."
"Compared to what?" Muriel nudged her cup to the side, as if to clear the table between the two of them. "You know you can talk about it, if it will help. Maybe to figure out if these are just dreams, or...something else."
Fenris knew that Muriel knew about him, and the gap in his memories. His dad had probably told her. He wasn't bothered by it - he liked Muriel. But he could hear what she wasn't saying; she was worried. Probably because she knew this had been going on for well over a decade.
"Wolves," he said eventually, looking down at the table again. "I...they fade, once I wake up. But there were wolves."
"More than one?"
Fenris nodded. "Not a lot. But...plural."
"And then?"
Unconsciously, Fenris rubbed his arm. Muriel's eyes caught the movement, eyebrows drawing down in a furrow of concern.
"It's not - I'm not hurt," Fenris said quickly. "It happens sometimes, after dreams."
"So the wolves didn't attack you?"
"...It wasn't really attacking, they - it wasn't."
"Fenris," Muriel said softly, "if things that happen to you in your dreams are carrying over into real life-"
"They're not," Fenris said. "This is from before. I think."
Muriel closed her eyes briefly. "From before," she said quietly. "You don't remember how you were hurt."
"No," Fenris said, even though it wasn't a question.
Muriel stood up, and for a moment Fenris thought she might be angry, but all she did was move around the table and crouch next to his chair, holding out her hands. "May I see?"
Fenris hesitated, but only for a little. Loki trusted Muriel, and Fenris knew her.
It wasn't like she was really learning anything new.
Muriel still sucked in a breath when Fenris pulled his sleeves up, the loose fabric of the robe slipping down a little as soon as he let go. The firelight didn't make it look any worse than usual, but Fenris knew it wasn't a pleasant sight.
His hands looked small, compared to Muriel's. They were much darker, too, but less so in the places where pale scars wrapped around his wrists and where his palms lightened naturally.
Fenris looked at anything but Muriel as she ran light fingers over one of the raised scars, crisscrossed over the ones on his wrist.
"Does your dad know about this?" She asked softly.
"Of course he does," Fenris said, somewhat bemused. Why wouldn't Loki know about his scars?
Muriel sighed, standing and turning away. "Gabriel, you..." She didn't finish the sentence. "He's never offered to talk this over with you?"
Fenris pulled his sleeves down again. "Dad doesn't like talking about it."
"His discomfort shouldn't..." Muriel made a frustrated noise, and the fire rose slightly in the grate. "Your dream was a memory, wasn't it?"
"...I don't know." He had talked about this, before, with Jormungand and Slepnir. They'd all known that it was a possibility that their nightmares were when they remembered things, but without their dad confirming it..."I think so," he admitted, one hand rubbing over where he could feel the raised scars. He knew there were more, around his ankles, and one just below his knee. "I always thought...in the dream, it seemed like they were trying to get it off."
"Get 'it' off?" Muriel turned around. "Get what off?"
Fenris opened his mouth and then closed it, frowning at the rug on the floor. "I..." What had he meant by that? He'd just been thinking out loud.
Muriel seemed to realize that he had no idea what the answer was. "I think that's enough for tonight," she said. "Maybe you should try-"
"I'd rather stay up," Fenris interrupted, knowing what she was going to suggest. "Um. Please."
"Alright." Muriel sat back down. "Though I warn you I don't have much to do in here."
"That's alright." He didn't need to be entertained. He just didn't want to go back to sleep tonight.
I really need to go to sleep but I also had to finish this chapter.
Review, my dudes.
