The Trickster: Ragnarok

by: Shadow Chaser

Disclaimer:

I do not own any characters from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. All characters belong to Marvel Entertainment, Marvel Comics, and Disney. I am not writing this story for profit, only for my own (twisted) amusement. I will try to return the characters unharmed, but some they might have a few scuff marks.

Story:

Chapter 15

Jormungandr stared at the pile of healing stones he had yet to finish converting as requested by his master- no...requested by Loki. Loki was not his master, not yet, if he kept his hopes up. He absently rubbed his chest, feeling the long ache of the tattered remnants of his core. He would readily admit only to himself that he was a little frightened and frustrated that Loki had not broached the subject of taking him as a familiar. It wasn't so much as not broached, but rather danced around or outright ignored. It was improper of him to put forth the request, after all, he owed Loki his life and limb, and also he knew that Loki had deigned to somewhat defy Odin's orders and let him roam in his human form when not in his snake form.

The punishment that had been handed down had been pretty explicit and Jormungandr knew from long experience with the Court that if it had been anyone else, they would have been placed in the cells long ago. But Loki was the only one who could flagrantly defy Odin's orders and get away with it. He was in no position to ask his Prince for favors, and common etiquette, especially in regards to becoming a familiar, was even more taboo than anything else. It was asked as a sign of trust, as sign of faith, a binding agreement that literally bound master and familiar together. It was also rarely offered to anyone, and reserved as the highest honor of any branch of magick.

He knew why the ravens Huugin and Muunin stared at him with distaste, with their sharp gazes and knowing looks. He knew why Slepinir taunted him so. He knew why Eir had asked him the same question over and over again each time he was in the Healing Halls. He knew why Heimdall had never asked the question, but also had stared at him from time to time. He knew why the Allfather readily ignored him each time he was nearby, whether by Loki's command or by his form. He knew and while it would have driven others to madness and frustration, Jormungandr resolutely held himself against such base instincts. He would not lose control like his brothers had and give himself to the madness he feared.

He had long grew up with the shadowed stories of what the sons of Thanos were, how each succumbed to madness in the end, how each had devoted so much of themselves to a cause, to a person, to something that it drove them completely insane. Jormungandr resolutely held himself in check after everything that had happened. He had not believed the stories told to him by his mother while he had grown up in her coils; had not believed it when he was released to the universe to find his own way, had not believed it after meeting Fenrir by happenstance. He had not believed after the coterie, after his imprisonment, nor after his freedom by Hel's hand. But he had started to believe when Fenrir went off the planned path, his eyes bright with a feverish desire for revenge, for Loki to suffer, for the love that hurt so much to stop. He continued to believe after Loki had skewered his brother, killed him and sent him to Helheim. And now, he truly believed after his questioning of Sleipnir.

And Jormungandr was afraid.

Not for himself, but for Loki. Because even if he professed his undying loyalty to him, even if he was punished for it, he understood the reason why. He understood why he did it, why must he do it, and why in his heart he would never not do it. Because his words were true when he told Sleipnir and that was what he was afraid of – the truth of his words would become poison. Sleipnir had struck a deep barb in him when he said that his avoidance of the matter would only serve to prove his point in the end. But Jormungandr refused to believe it – could not, would not believe it. Because it would hurt and it was something that he did not want to prove true – that as one of Thanos' sons, he devotion and loyalty to Loki would end up betraying him in the long run. Not to Thanos – he certainly held no allegiance or drop of loyalty to the alien that fathered him – but he would betray Loki like Fenrir had. Like Sleipnir had in the long run, after claiming not to have betrayed the Crown Prince.

He knew that if he was bound as a familiar, it would ease some of his worries, his fate tied directly to that of his master. The loyalty would never be questioned because the binding process worked with similar threads of magick that was akin to a geas.

He could see now that Sleipnir's will had been utterly and completely broken by first the geas contract Baldr must have extracted from him before binding him to him as a familiar. Any previous loyalty to the Crown Prince must have been slowly eroded or shattered over the many millenia they had been alive. And it had driven someone like Sleipnir, a son of Thanos, completely mad. Because Sleipnir was correct in one thing. All sons of Thanos had one special skill, one special quality that made them very dangerous – they were absolutely loyal. Once loyalty was gained, there was no way to lose it – fanatical, devoted, even obsessed and in love, they were what Thanos could never have; what he had to extract from his 'daughters' in the very sense by replacing them with cybernetics and pain. Gamora and Nebula were the best examples Jormungandr knew of – assassins that Thanos had taken in as his daughters after slaughtering their families and people. What he tried to command from those who followed him, but always got dissatisfied in the long run and eventually rebelled against them.

The irony that Thanos' true-born sons would never show him the same devoted loyalty that was in their natures was no lost on Jormungandr. In fact, it only served to kindle the long fermenting hatred he had for Thanos for even being related to him by blood. He had no doubts Sleipnir and Fenrir, along with other sons he did not know about out amongst the cosmos, felt the same, but each had been broken because of that special skill, that special talent for being absolutely loyal. Fenrir was now dead by Loki's hand, Sleipnir had broken under Baldr's. And he...Jormungandr-

"Stark has an actual snake in this bottle of-" a rather over-exaggerated sniffing sound echoed loudly in the silent common area broke Jormungandr out of his thoughts.

He turned to see Hel's light pink curls bounce against the reflective moonlight that was streaming into the room as she stood up, clutching the neck of a bottle that indeed had a dead serpent inside it. Its mouth was open in defiance and glistening fangs protruded from the fermenting body.

"It smells quite lovely," Hel set the bottle down on the granite counter top with a quiet thunk and put two glasses down next to it.

"Then it smells of decay and rotten flesh," Jormungandr blinked once and watched as Hel poured a single finger worth in each of the glass. He watched as the dead snake slid a bit towards the neck, getting stuck with the rest of its sinewy body clogging up the alcohol before it was righted once more and it unceremoniously splashed and settled at the bottom of the bottle again. He knew that Hel had deliberately did it to unsettle him.

"I am not that," he arched an eyebrow at her as she looked at him with her usual neutral look. He thought he caught the faint smile on the corners of her lips, but it was gone before he could make anything of it. He was never good at reading Hel. Loki was much better at it, but then again, Loki was the only one except for Sigyn to keep up a stream of conversation that no one else could make sense of. Jormungandr had thought the three of them touched in the head, but Fenrir had defended Loki and said he was not touched in the head and Jormungandr had believed him.

She swept both glasses up with her dainty, almost spindly, skeletal fingers and walked over to him. Each movement of her dress sent faint howls of the damned across the room, and Jormungandr watched the almost frightened mirages of ghosts scatter and coast away with each 'howl.' He wondered why Hel was here, serving him a drink no less, and what was doing defying Odin's mandate and punishment. He knew that it was because of his parentage that he was able to see certain elements of magick that no other could see, but he could clearly see her form shadowed by a spell. When she had been present at the sentencing two years previous, there were barely any threads of spellwork around her. The air of death radiated around her during that time, and it had chilled him to the bone to be so near her. It was a very discomforting experience to say the least.

"The Prince revoked Odin's command," Hel said in a very chirpy voice that was unlike the many times he had seen her in front of others.

But then again, this was the Hel that Jormungandr knew – playful, always teasing him, but always so kind to him too. It was a different kindness than Loki's, but it seemingly filled a void that Jormungandr had never known in the creature that birthed him. He also knew that she never showed this side to anyone else, not even to Loki as far as he knew. He also had never asked why, just treasured her thoughtfulness and friendship as much as possible. It was why he had reluctantly agreed to Fenrir's plan, because Hel had freed him from his initial imprisonment, had restored his ability to shift in and out of his serpentine form. Because she had done all of that without even asking for anything in return that he had followed her plan to the letter and incorporated Fenrir's into it during their initial scheme two years previous.

"You mean, the King," he corrected her as she set the glass down next to his pile of healing stones and flounced down on a couch near him. The dress burst out with the howls of the damned so loud that Jormungandr winced a little at the noise. Surely it would have alerted the ravens, and even Loki to Hel's presence. Maybe even the man of iron for all of his magick-tech at his disposal.

"The Prince," Hel continued stubbornly and he shrugged. He would leave her be to whatever she wished to call someone. "Odin Allfather is still alive."

"Though deprived of Gungnir," he added and the corner of her lips twitched up in a knowing smile.

"Deprived of Gungnir," she agreed with a sharp smile that he could not determine was either kind or unkind, "deprived of his dearly beloved, deprived of his sons, deprived of everything he held dear and soon to be deprived of his conquest."

"Frigga need not have died-"

"That is something she should have considered when Sleipnir betrayed her," the sharp smile seemed more permanently fixed on her face and Jormungandr only gave her an arched look before glancing down at the pile of healing stones in front of him. "I disliked her. Freya should have been Queen."

"That is very childish of you," he glanced back up at her and saw her take a small sip of the drink she had poured. He knew back from the days of the coterie, Hel needed no form of nourishment, but had mimicked the others as to not draw attention to herself. Then again, Hel was unpredictable in respects that there were times she drew attention for her own reasons and times when she pretended she was much like them.

She only shrugged, but gave no further explanation as she swirled the drink in the bottom of the glass, "Your cousin tastes like ash."

"Everything tastes like ash to you," he countered, "and how do you know what ash tastes like? Ash could taste like the sweetest nectar ever or the bitterest poison of death."

Her sharp smile softened a little as she nodded approvingly at him before it became sharp once more. "You would know poisons."

"I would, but this is not," he gestured down to the pile of healing stones and rubbed his chest absently again. "This is Loki's wish."

"And your wish?"

He glanced up to see her sharp smile directed at him and thought he caught the touch of something unkind in them. "Is of no consequence-"

"As the mortals are wont to say, 'bullshit'," she cut him off, "you will die, Jormungandr."

He closed his eyes against her harsh words and rubbed his chest again, "I will go mad, I will die."

"You say the words, but you truly have not accepted it as Fenrir had in his last moments," Hel absently dipped a finger into the glass and rubbed it around the rim, "it was...glorious...so...intoxicating and delicious... I see why mother adores it so and why she had chosen him."

"But not you?" he sensed that there was something false within that statement.

"Perhaps not," she agreed with the slight tilt of her head as she smoothed out an absent wrinkle in her dress, "but tis why we both sought him out, did we not?"

"We have the same goals?"

"We did when the coterie was formed," she looked at him, her eyes unblinking behind her glasses. A small faint pink ringlet fell across her face at her head's movement, but she did nothing to brush it away.

"Your first one or second?" he asked. He had been surprised, like Loki, to find out that Hel was part of Odin Allfather's coterie, that she had been involved in the events regarding Sleipnir, Crown Prince Loki, and Baldr.

"Both," her sharp smile returned at his words, "but I found nothing there. Nothing of interest. 'Twas a fool's errand..."

"All the more foolish for the fool or the one who has been fooled," he echoed a statement she had said long before and saw her sharp smile flash into a kind one.

"Then the fool who has pined away for want and received nothing?" she asked and he looked away from her, absently twinning almost invisible threads of a spell in his fingers.

Loki had only given him just enough for the task, and he knew he should not waste the gift that sat almost unnatural within him, but he could not help but fall back into old habits. The threads of the gift that had been bestowed seemingly were patched into him, but he could still feel the tattered remains of his core. It had been brutally ripped out by Eir after Loki had used it against him in one of Fenrir's classic arsenal of assassin skills. The spellwork given to him for this task was seemingly shoved into the gaping hole in him and left there like a lump of coal. If he had been a familiar, it would have threaded and healed – almost like a regeneration of sorts.

"It is improper of me to ask," he said, giving her a flat look, "and I have already received enough of the ravens' looks to know that-"

"You should leave and have already overstayed your welcome?" Hel finished, the kindness disappearing in an instant from her expression, "you know it as well as I do. We unnatural creatures overstay our welcome very shortly when we do not conform as those expect us to-"

"I will never leave Loki's side," Jormungandr replied, "I love him too much to abandon him like so many others have."

Hel's smile was definitely now unkind, "Poor, poor Jormungandr. Perhaps it is you who have been abandoned, not him. After all, he has his beloved brother, Thor-"

"And it is why I am helping him get him back by doing everything he asks of me-" he did not like the look on her face and pressed his lips together, "Hel-"

"Peace, little one, peace," she held up a hand as her face softened a little, "I mean not to rile you up with my words. But this is what is whispered by the dead who have recently come. It is what Fenrir fears as he serves in my Court."

"F-Fenrir? Y-You've talked to him...you let him serve you?"

"He and I have an agreement," Hel tilted her head and Jormungandr immediately understood that she would not elaborate. Whatever agreement his dead brother had made with the Queen of Helheim was theirs and theirs alone. But he was glad that Fenrir had found something in the afterlife instead of the broken hatred he had for Loki when he was alive. "Though I do wonder what may become of you yet, Jormungandr," she mused almost wistfully, though he figured it was definitely not wistful. The Queen of the Dead did not do wistful. "Would he ever let you know the reason why? Or would you find out in such terrible fashion..."

"I fear the taste of my cousin's ash has made you even more addled-brain," he raised an eyebrow at her murmurs.

"Why do you not make the gift given into poison? It is within your reasoning to do so and I am sure the Prince would not care for one whit," she suddenly asked and he blinked, the threads he had been twining in his fingers falling away. How did she know? It was true that Loki had set down the bag of healing stones in front of him and gave him a modular containing the right amount of spellwork he needed, but there had literally been no other instructions.

He had presumed based on Loki's willingness to work with Coulson that these stones were to be used to help shield the Avengers or give them a more potent healing factor whenever they used it in battle against Baldr, but Hel was correct. He could just as easily put the same amount, but added a complexity in the weave of spellwork that rendered the healing stones as poisonous as his own venom in gaseous form like he had two years ago. It certainly had killed a lot of hapless mortals, even incapacitated Captain America and Black Widow.

He could easily do it and he knew Loki would not even bat an eye. He would attributed to the fight with Baldr, to poison and kill the Avengers because they were – in Loki's words – idiots. That he could easily give Loki Midgard by depriving the realm of its defenders the Avengers. It would be the start of regaining the realms under Loki Allfather's rule...

He had done it to others – done it to lesser species when he was with Fenrir and learning his tradecraft.

The easily naïve answer that 'killing is wrong' flitted across his mind, but that was a very Thor response and Jormungandr had no inclination of mimicking Loki's oafish brother. In fact, he readily detested Thor. He was an idiot who tried too hard to please those who adored him, tried too hard to be friends without understanding the person – had made fun of Loki, had bullied him, had pushed him around so much when they were younger that Jormungandr would readily kill him if he had been given the chance. In fact, he had almost done so when Fenrir had spoke of the plan of regicide. His only regret was that he had underestimated the initial poison delivered to Thor's system to incapacitate him and instead, it had left him in the Healing Hall. He supposed that the consolation was the follow up plan for them to search for the 'cure' to the poison and thereby drew away the Warriors Three and Lady Sif.

So then why was he hesitating? These Avengers were certainly Thor's friends and comrades, and pretty much had the same mindset as the Asgardian himself as well as those of the Warriors Three and Lady Sif. Even though two of them held the comforting buzz of magick that was from the monster that bore him, it still did nothing for his contempt about them. He could see why Loki was intrigued, but not fond – Loki was never fond of anyone, even of Fenrir and Sigyn, though Thor came close, he supposed – by the ones called Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanova, and maybe Captain America, but it was only fleeting as the lives of mortals were. The others he knew Loki would rather throw into a wall and leave behind in the dust if he could.

And so he tolerated them, even answered their questions, because if Loki decided he would work with them to find Baldr – and in turn find Thor, he would help him in his goal, no matter the cost. He was... Jormungandr blinked as he realized something... Of all of the times he had interacted with Loki, during the days of the coterie, and even now...he realized that never once had Loki asked anything of him. Had not ordered or requested something of him... He had certainly taken without permission, ripping the deep magick within him to heal himself of the poison that Fenrir had bitten into his flesh two years ago. But he had never asked. But even then, that was technically not taken by Loki. That was his own poisonous magick negating the magick he had within himself, akin to one's own body healing a self-made wound.

Fenrir had always asked...even Hel had asked...but Loki...

And Loki would never ask him to be his familiar.

"He allows me to be myself without asking for anything in return," Jormungandr said softly as he realized the real reason why he had professed his absolute loyalty to Loki. He already was devoted to him, but this was the first time he had truly understood why. Loki was allowing him to see who he truly was, who Jormungandr was, without the questions, without people asking him to do things, without anything in return. And it frightened him. Because he knew that he could easily turn the bag of healing stones he had yet to finish in front of him into poison, and Loki would not do anything.

He could easily have left the Court of Asgard as soon as the restrictions had been lifted on him from Loki. He could have easily left and while Odin might have hunted him down, Jormungandr had years of experience tending to the shadows, skills he had learned from Fenrir. He could have easily left any time he wanted to, but had stayed. All because not only for his love for the Prince, but because like he had told Sleipnir, it was unconditional. It was absolute and loyal. Sure, Loki ordered him around while they were in the remnants of the HYDRA Base, but he had not asked him, had allowed himself to do whatever he wanted, fight however he wanted. And Jormungandr had fallen back into old habits during his coterie days, knowing how Loki fought and had supplemented the defensive and offensive aspects he knew the Prince was lacking in.

Another thought occurred to him, "What was Sleipnir's to the Crown Prince?"

"You do not want to know of Fenrir's?" Hel asked and Jormungandr shook his head, his drink long forgotten as she downed the rest of hers.

"My brother loved him as a lover or husband loves their other half of a whole," he replied, "it is a different love than I have. Similar in some respects, but different I would think."

"Perceptive," Hel replied before folding her spindly hands in front of her, flicking what looked like a mote off of her formless dress. It screamed as it dissipated into the air. "You know of Sleipnir's parentage?"

"His sire, yes, his dame, no," Jormungandr blinked once at Hel, "there are very few who have the distinctive markings that make us Thanos' sons."

"Such pretty eyes," she cooed in a false tone and he ignored her as he rolled his eyes, "icy blue, when wanton lust could not be satisfied by my mother's love..."

"Your mother does not love," Jormungandr had only met Mistress Death twice and one of the times was in the very early formation of the coterie.

"And so like the Prince too," she smirked at him, "he said that you know."

"Sleipnir," he stated. He wondered if she was having a conversation with him that he was not even aware of, much like the gibberish she, Loki, and Sigyn would have that no one in their coterie could understand.

"And you wish to know if this 'absolute loyalty' you claim to share the traits of with your half brothers, was also what drove Sleipnir to madness?" she asked and he nodded.

"It seemed logical," he shrugged.

"Yes," she stated in a simple tone, before falling silent.

"That and Ragnarok, as he claimed," he had seen the vision the ravens had put forth to the rest of the Avengers. While the Avengers had seemed overwhelmed with dread in the end of it, Jormungandr had a different feeling – he despaired.

"Ragnarok is the catalyst," Hel replied cryptically, "but to answer your question, Sleipnir's was to yours."

Jormungandr fell silent as he puzzled out what she had said before he pursed his lips together, that same despair he had in him after seeing the vision from the ravens filling him. Was it all for naught then? Had Sleipnir seen so easily through him to claim what he had claimed when he had questioned him? Was he that transparent? Logic demanded that he should leave then. Do what the ravens had overtly tried to hint at, the others more subtle about it. Leave it all behind and never appear in front of Loki's presence again. Leave Asgard, disappear forever. Use the skills he had acquired from his brother's teachings and from the contracts he had carried out to settle somewhere – maybe Vanaheim, and disappear. That he would forever not be a disruption at Odin's Court because that was what everyone saw him as.

Because if he stayed, Sleipnir's words implied that he too, would eventually betray Loki, would do the same and fall into the same madness that had consumed his eldest brother. And judging how Loki would never ask him to be his familiar, would never ask anything of him and allow him to be who he wanted to be...the real question became: who was Jormungandr without anyone asking him to do things for them? Traitor? Betrayer? Devoted servant? Adored adopted-son from the figment of his imagination? Poisoner? Assassin? Thanos' son?

"Logic demands I should leave," he whispered quietly, curling in on himself as he stared at the barely-filled glass of whatever was in Stark's cabinets.

"You will not," Hel's reply was surprisingly gentle and he looked at her sideways. She was absently fingering the threads of her dress, eliciting a moan of pain from the souls of the damned trapped in it that seemingly disappeared as she stopped her movements.

"I cannot," he agreed quietly, folding his fingers together and resting it on his forehead. "I will not..." He breathed out quietly, "Hel...am I doomed?"

"We all are," she said, her voice a monotone, but he caught the current of a tremor in her voice, "we can never escape our fates, no matter how much we wish it to be."

"Is this a reprieve?" he asked, feeling a little more than helpless.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," she replied, her words cryptic as ever.

"I will die..." he echoed, "I will go mad and I will die."

Silence answered him and Jormungandr dared not peek out from under his hands to see if Hel left or not. It would be like her to leave him after this, but he did not remember her ever leaving him in such despair. She was kind to him, treated him differently, and he got to see a side of her that he knew she never showed it to anyone else. In a way, she was like his older sister, or perhaps even a mother of sorts, to him as Fenrir's brother. She never took care of him, but she treated him differently.

"I offer an exchange," she suddenly said and he peeked out from under his hands to see her staring at him with a serious expression on her face.

"What is your price?" he gave her a tired smile. He knew, like the others, that anything she offered always had a price. Loki certainly paid one when it had been reported that Hel had escaped the dungeons after she had been sentenced to stay there for a certain amount of days. All of Hel's prices were never discussed, nor inquired about – it was an agreement much like Hel had with Fenrir. Asking after one's agreement was just plain rude and got you withering looks from the parties involved.

"Hear the exchange first, Jormungandr," she chided, "there will a chance for you to prove opposite of Sleipnir's intentions. Should you choose to sacrifice that which the Prince holds so dear, he will be free of his geas, but you will not receive what you hold dear to your heart. However, should you choose otherwise, the path will be filled with unimaginable pain for both you and the Prince. That alternate path, however, will provide you with with the opportunity for what you hold so dear to your heart."

"And Loki's geas?" he asked and saw the corner of her lips flit up in a quick smile at his perceptiveness.

"It remains to be seen. It has been surprisingly clouded to me," she replied and Jormungandr blinked, surprised at her confession. She normally never told anyone what she could or could not see with her unique magick. "I do give warning though, my mother's hand reaches out in both paths. Whom she plucks for hers I do not know..."

"The choice is not so simple is it?" his first instinct was to say that he would choose the sacrifice of whatever Loki held dear over his own desires. But as he mulled over her words, he realized that if he did that...it would more than likely irrevocably turn Loki against him. And in a way, fulfill Sleipnir's words – he would end up like Sleipnir, betray the Prince. But if he did not sacrifice whatever Loki held dear to his heart, then there was no guarantee that the geas would be lifted on his Prince. And Jormungandr knew that geas would be causing problems soon if Thanos was freed from the Tesseract on Asgard.

She only made a humming sound that could have sounded like a deathly choir of sorts.

"What is your price for this warning?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

She only gestured wordlessly to the still-filled glass he had not touched since she had set it down next to the pile of healing stones. He gave her a long look before turning to the glass and then back to her before picking it up gingerly.

"I will regret this, won't I?" he asked. If this was the price, then there was more than likely a magick spell of sorts running through it. Hel's prices were never this simple and since she had said it tasted like ash, he supposed that the spell would activate once he swallowed the drink. He had a feeling that it would not kill him, but it would certainly do something that his body would react to. She only watched him with a measured gaze before he took a deep breath and released it slowly before downing the drink in one gulp.

It burned.

It burned like the fires of Muspelheim and Jormungandr nearly choked at the sensation that crawled through him. He instinctively reacted, pulling at the magick Loki had given him to fight off the poisonous taste of ash, soot, and starfire that had been in the drink. He drew upon the years of experience he had and weaved spell after spell to purge it from him as he fought off the effects. He could feel the spikes of pain rushing through him, threatening to liquify his insides as he squirmed and fought against it. He could feel the healing spells within him stave it off and pushed more towards it as the agony started to build. He would not scream, he would never scream, because it was cowardice and he should know better. Because he would conquer it and burn it from him, because he would burn hotter than what was coursing through him- Jormungandr seized the last remnants of what had been given to him and pushed at it weakly, his body, his mind, his spellwork exhausted to the brink-

And did not see Hel stand up as his eyelids fluttered close, successfully purging the poison that had been fed to him and he collapsed boneless onto the couch.

Hel stood up from the couch she had sat on, absently smoothing a wrinkle in her dress that sent a wave of demonic souls from it. Most called it the howl of the damned, but they were her...pets would be stretching it...but pets was an apt word in this case. She watched as Jormungandr fell unconscious, having successfully proven his spellwork was as excellent as it was the day he had been ripped of his core. It also proved something she had been wondering about for a long time – if an atypical mage was able to retain the spellwork he or she had before their cores had been taken. Most mages in that state had reverted to being familiars or went completely mad from the lack of cores and thus she could not prove her own thoughts.

"It would have been better if you had killed him," the familiar soft caw of Muunin made her look up at where a cleverly hidden alcove was in the common area of this part of the Avengers Tower. It was the same area to whom she had talked to Loki just a few hours ago before he had wandered off to who knew where, except the balcony was devoid of anyone now.

"For you, or for him?" she asked as the raven flew down and transformed into his human form. "And, your companion may wish to come down too," she called up and a few seconds later, the dark form of the mortal codenamed Hawkeye landed in front of her.

Huugin was silently perched on his shoulder and did not deign to turn into his human form nor cackle and caw like the universe was a cosmic joke, as he was wont to do. Hel was a little saddened, because she liked Huugin better than his brother Muunin. Muunin was crass, obstinate, and did not understand her like Huugin did. But then again, Huugin was not the one at the doors to her realm before both were snatched up by Odin with the promise to make them his familiars.

"Agent Barton," she greeted the mortal who was staring at her with an intense look, "you were always good at spotting what should not be there, like myself."

"Call it practice," the agent replied tightly.

"Or perhaps the Prince's mind has stifled yours-"

"Keep talking lady about that and I will shoot you with an arrow even if you're some crazy lady who deals in death," he threatened and she only gave him the barest hint of a smile.

"I merely meant to imply that perhaps so much time around the Gems has made you unusually perceptive," she said and saw his eyes narrow in anger. She sighed inwardly. How did the true-born son of Odin find these mortals interesting was beyond her. Her Prince was right, these mortals were easily riled, manipulated, and used with puppet strings. It was laughable.

"So, you killing him, lady?" he asked in a rude tone, "cause if you did, you've got my vote. The bastard deserves it for what he did to Nat and Cap."

"I merely cleansed him for what he has already chosen, even if he does not know it yet," she replied and saw him frown. She knew he had heard a majority of their conversation, but did not really care for the trivialities of it. It would eventually trickle down to the others of his kind, and that was generally what she wanted. How it would be interpreted would be up to them, but there was some amusement in seeing them dance like the puppets they were.

"He should leave," Muunin stated, "it is unbecoming-"

"Odin, you worry too much," she glanced at the raven who did not seem shock that she was directly addressing his master beyond him, "your grief has turned to the ashes of Jotunheim and now as you sit prisoner, you lash out at everything."

"He is correct," Muunin reiterated stubbornly, echoing Odin's words, and Hel shook her head a little bit, her ringlets flicking into her face.

"It is to be seen," she said before looking at the mortal named Clint Barton, "Jormungandr will survive."

"Too fucking bad," Barton growled out, "don't think I'll do him any favors, lady."

"You will if you wish to find Thor," she countered and saw him narrow his gaze again. But instead of anger, there was a calculating shrewdness behind it. She liked it; it reminded her greatly of some of the more interesting mortals she had come across in her years of ruling her realm. Such cleverness was rarely shown by Barton, but when it did, he had the potential to be quite formidable. It was a pity that he was so humble about it and usually let his partner Natasha Romanova, Stark, or even Phil Coulson who had been literally snapped from the steps of her realm, overshadow him.

"The Captain's shield nestled under him should help," she suggested and saw him stare at her.

"You got a price, as the kid said," Barton was not fooled and she gave him the same sharp smile she had given to Jormungandr. It was full of teeth and she saw him recoil a little, Huugin flapping his wings to stay on his shoulder at the sudden movement.

"Your price has already been paid, Agent Barton," she said before she tapped her own head, "paid twice over by the Prince's actions and by Baldr's." Before he or the ravens could say anything else, she gently folded the shadows of Yggdrasil with her fingers and walked through it.

Author's Notes:

For those wondering, Hel is being Hel – which means, being completely and utterly unpredictable. She could have a fairly normal conversation with one person (Jormungandr) and have a completely cryptic one filled with undertones the next (Loki). It's a part of her character in the story, that she is occasionally tactile and likes to push people's metaphoric buttons, or just test them because she can. She's also very flighty and fickle if you can't quite tell yet and as far as I know, I've written her very differently than her comics counterpart or anime counterpart. I love writing her...also writing Jormungandr because they are two characters who have history together and separately that is unlike the Avengers and even Loki's own POV.

Also, is it cannibalism for Jormungandr to drink something a snake was fermenting in?