– CHAPTER 4 –
Friends
Neatly coiled on the counter at the kitchen, Jormungand watched as his mother cut the meat for their dinner, humming a cheery tune under her breath. He loved watching her work, especially when she cooked. He already knew every recipe she had used. He didn't do much to help, partly because he feared that he might end up doing just the opposite and partly because there really was very little he could realistically do to help. Mostly, he fetched her ingredients and utensils and kept her company, for which Angrboda was thankful. Of all her three children, she felt Jormungand was the one she was closest to, despite his reserved nature. He wasn't interested in playing outside like Fenrir or reading books like Hel. She suspected Jormungand actually preferred his mother's company to his father's or his siblings'.
Only a few years had passed and yet Jormungand was already longer than Angrboda was tall and almost as thick around as her leg. It was as though he grew a little every day, unlike Hel, who hadn't changed much at all. Even Fenrir wasn't growing that fast. Soon Jormungand wouldn't be able to sit on the counter any more.
Jormungand himself could feel he was growing at an alarming rate. It was very irritating, actually, because growing fast also meant that he had to shed his skin more often, and shedding was a terribly uncomfortable thing. Even now, he was already showing signs that he would be shedding again very soon. His mother, knowing how poorly he felt at these times, suggested that he go sleep it off, but he insisted he was fine. In truth, he didn't want to leave his mother alone.
It wasn't just that he enjoyed watching her cook. He also wanted to make sure she wouldn't hurt herself in the process. She was a great cook, but she tended to get dangerously clumsy when she was preoccupied, nervous, or angry. This time she was neither angry nor particularly nervous, but he could tell her head was in the clouds. The fact that she was humming was a hint that she probably wasn't as focused on her work as she should have been, which put Jormungand on edge. He kept his eyes on the very sharp knife that Angrboda was using to cut the meat into pieces while his mind was occasionally assaulted by images of that same knife cutting her finger off or flying across the kitchen...
Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened and soon Angrboda set the knife down, though she did knock over a couple of pots when doing so. She gasped and bent down to look at the mess on the floor. Jormungand noticed the knife was looming with its sharp end just above her head, so he inconspicuously moved it away with his tail.
"Can I help, Mother?" he offered.
"Oh, no, I'm fine, dear, thank you," she replied distractedly as she cleaned the floor.
Jormungand sighed in disappointment. He was tired of just watching his mother do all the work. His siblings never helped at all, even though they could. His poor overworked mother... He hadn't given it much thought when he'd been younger, but as time passed, he grew increasingly aware of the troubles his mother had to go through for the sake of her children's comfort. Besides, he hated it when things were dirty or messy. It wasn't just aesthetically unpleasant, but he often also had to crawl over it, which he found simply repulsive. Not to mention all that dust he had to breathe...
He spied a white cloth on the other side of the counter, which was also messy from part of the contents of the pots Angrboda had knocked over. Jormungand wasn't sure he could make his way to the cloth without knocking something over himself, and besides, his mother had already refused his help, so he tried to ignore the mess on the counter. It was useless, though; his gaze kept being drawn to it against his will. He was itching to clean.
Maybe if he were really careful...
Slowly, he uncoiled himself and began to slither over to the white cloth. He moved with the utmost care not to knock over any of the several pots, jars, cups, flasks, and bowls on the counter. He also did everything in his power not to crawl over the spilled mess (some kind of gravy and spice, by the smell of it), but it was an impossible task. He flinched when he felt his midsection touch it and sighed in exasperation. Oh, well, he would take care of that later.
He took the cloth in his jaws and paused for a moment. It would be awkward to work like this. He'd probably be better off holding the cloth with his tail – which was still on his initial spot on the other side of the counter. He really had become very long, he reflected with some annoyance. He began to bring his tail closer...
Having just finished cleaning the floor, Angrboda stood up with a tired sigh, just in time to see her youngest son's tail knocking over a third of the ingredients all over the counter and the floor. She winced at the sound of breaking china and looked down in dismay.
"I just finished cleaning it!" she wailed.
"I-I'm so sorry, Mother!" exclaimed a mortified Jormungand, his voice trembling. "I – I just wanted to help!"
His mother was much too nice to snap at him or make a sarcastic comment like Fenrir would have done. She didn't even look angry at all, only stared at the floor with a drained, dejected expression, which was even worse. Jormungand's stomach twisted with guilt.
"I'll clean it up myself!" he said in earnest, but his mother shook her head.
"No, no, it's fine. I can take care of it." Somehow, she managed to smile. A sincere smile, too, though not as bright as usual. She took the white cloth and wiped the gravy off his scales. "This is nothing; I'm used to it. I do this kind of thing all the time, after all."
"I'm so stupid," he muttered, deeply ashamed.
"No, you're not," she said, her voice gentle but firm. She looked at him in the eyes and frowned, leaning closer to inspect him. "You're half-blind," she stated.
Jormungand stared at her in surprise. It was true, he couldn't see very well. Even as he regarded his mother now, she looked a little blurry and off-colour. One of the joys of skin-shedding. He hadn't thought it was noticeable to anyone but himself, though.
"It's no excuse," he hissed, still angry at himself.
"Why don't you go to the lake, dear? The water should make you feel better. And then you could sleep it off," she suggested again.
"Yes, Mother," he acquiesced, although he had no intention of going to the lake or sleeping. He wasn't in the mood to swim – not like it would bring much relief, anyway – and he was feeling too uncomfortable to be able to sleep. Right now, he only wanted to crawl under a rock and die there.
He meekly slithered off the counter and out of the kitchen. He wasn't going back there any time soon.
Fenrir was right, he thought bitterly. He was so useless! No wonder his father didn't like him.
He found Hel in the sitting room, her knees drawn up and her nose buried in a book. She really hadn't changed much in the last few years. She was still a shy, petite little girl. She looked so cute when she read; she always did it with such deep concentration and seriousness. Nowadays, all she did was read. They didn't have many books, so she would reread the same ones over and over, as if trying to memorise them or find a new small detail that she had missed the previous times.
After the incident with the giantess Herkja, Angrboda had started to teach her children all she knew about magic. Their mother was an accomplished witch, after all, probably the most powerful being in all of Ironwood, even though she practically lived in isolation and sometimes seemed to be afraid of her own shadow. Naturally, she wanted to make sure that her children would inherit all her knowledge and be able to defend themselves.
Unfortunately, her two sons weren't very good at it. Jormungand could manage, with some effort, but Fenrir either didn't have the gift or just wasn't interested at all – or maybe both. Hel, on the other hand, turned out to be a real prodigy. She was a fast learner and could cast almost any spell right in the first try. Considering her lineage on both sides, it wasn't surprising. The troll-women from Angrboda's clan all had a natural gift for magic.
Jormungand coiled up before his sister and watched her for a moment. Either she was ignoring him, or she was completely oblivious to his presence. Probably the latter, since she was very absorbed in her reading.
"What are you reading, Sister?" he asked her, feeling curious.
She didn't jump in surprise, but lowered her book slowly and raised her head ever so slightly in order to meet his gaze with an unblinking, blank stare.
"Magic," she whispered simply and went back to reading.
He wasn't surprised that she was reading about magic. He knew she loved reading stories – as well as just about anything in written form, really – but more often than not she would be reading about magic. To study, she had once said. To learn.
"You shouldn't read in the dark," he told her gently. He might be half-blind, but he could tell that it was quite dark, since the sun was setting. He didn't think reading in such dim light was healthy. Whenever Hel did that, she would end up bleary-eyed, blink and rub at her eyes a lot, and complain that things looked sort of blurry. Much more of that and she would probably become blinder than him.
Hel ignored him.
Jormungand stared up at her forlornly.
She continued to ignore him.
He shifted on the floor, feeling lonely despite not being alone, on top of feeling sore, itchy, and a little sick.
"Can you read to me?" he asked, aware that he probably sounded pathetic. Good thing Fenrir wasn't around to mock him.
"Read to yourself," she said.
"I can't. I can't see very well," he whispered.
Hel looked up from her book and regarded him for while. Then, her expression softened and she closed the book, smiling.
"I see," she said, leaning close and reaching out. He winced and hissed when she touched his scales.
"Please, don't touch me," he beseeched. "It'll only feel worse..." There was also another reason why he didn't want to be touched, but he spoke the truth; his skin felt painfully stretched and unpleasant to himself. It was bad enough that he had to touch the ground...
Hel nodded in understanding, her smile unwavering. She had forgotten how uncomfortable he should be. Setting her book aside, she got up and went over to the small, low shelf where they kept the story books. Standing on her toes, Hel let her fingers hover over the books, trying to decide which one she should read. At last, she selected one of the oldest ones volumes.
"Thank you, Sister," he said, delighted. "Though... I still don't think you should be reading in the dark."
Hel sent him a glare as she settled back down on the couch. "Do you want me to read to you or not?"
"I do, Sister, I do! But maybe you should light a candle or something..."
"Nonsense, I can read just fine like this."
She had barely finished the first sentence of the book when Fenrir came in and watched his two siblings for a moment.
"You two are so pathetic," he scoffed.
Both Hel and Jormungand turned to look at him in surprise. Their older brother, who was now nearly the size of an ordinary adult wolf, though, being a giant, he was still a child, was regarding the both of them with some annoyance.
"And depressing," he added. "It's a beautiful night outside. How can you stand to stay here, cooped up like caged animals, reading in the dark, when you could be out there enjoying yourselves?"
"We are not allowed outside at night, Brother. You know that," said Hel. "And there's nothing wrong with reading a good book. It can take us beyond even Ironwood without us having to leave the house, and it can be more exciting than anything in the wood without actually endangering us."
"I think I'd rather live a mildly dull, but real, life than live in a world of dreams," muttered Fenrir. "Mum is busy at the kitchen. She wouldn't even know you even left if you come back in a couple of hours. I promise I won't tell her."
"No, thank you," said Hel, determined.
"Suit yourself," Fenrir shrugged. Not even bothering to wait for Jormungand's reply, he left.
While Hel started reading the book again, Jormungand watched his brother – or rather, looked in his general direction – with curiosity and just a little suspicion.
Fenrir had recently developed the habit of going out every night only to return just before dawn. When asked about what he had been doing, he would vaguely answer that he had been exploring the wood or hanging out with friends. That was truthful enough, since he came back smelling of other wolves and sometimes meat and blood. Angrboda realised this, but did nothing to stop him, nor did she ever press him for details. Wolves were social creatures, and she understood that Fenrir needed to be around his kind at least once in a while.
However, for the past month or so, those smells had been waning and being replaced with a new, powerful smell that Jormungand couldn't quite identify – all that he knew was that it was probably of a giantess. When he had tried bringing it up to Fenrir, his elder brother had feigned total ignorance, snapped that it was none of his business anyway, and quickly changed the subject.
Jormungand would very much like to know who exactly this mysterious giantess was. He could only hope, though, that she didn't mean any harm...
oOo
Fenrir sauntered into the territory of the most ancient and prestigious clan in Ironwood as if he owned the place, barely paying any attention to the other wolves and giantesses he met on the way. The older wolves greeted him, while some the younger ones gave him dark looks that he ignored.
Not long ago, Fenrir and those young wolves had all been playmates.
Herkja and her clan had been very accepting of him, despite their brief quarrel a few years ago. They had all treated him like one of their own, with no exceptions. The older members had taken him on hunting parties and the children had played with him and looked at him with admiring eyes.
That had been before Hrygda.
Hrygda, Herkja's daughter, had also been one of the little wolves' playmate, though none of them had paid her much attention back then. She had always been a wild, tough child, even for a giantess, but fairly unremarkable in appearance and wit. As she grew older, she began to distance herself from the younger wolves and spend more time with the other giantesses, especially those who were of high hierarchy in the clan.
Almost instinctively, the wolves had started to seek her out – Fenrir included. For some reason they couldn't quite understand, they were attracted to Hrygda and yearned for her attention. The elders of the clan were quite amused by this.
And, much to the young ones' dismay, Fenrir seemed to have become Hrygda's favourite. Thus, the admiration they felt for him had gradually turned into resentment. But none of that mattered to Fenrir; as long as he could continue to be friends with Hrygda, he didn't really care what the others thought of him.
Fenrir found her outside, sitting on a large flat rock at a clearing and surrounded by playful puppies and young wolves. Fenrir paused to watch her for a moment. Her long, dark hair was a wild mess, her clothes a little battered, but considerably cleaner than usual, her face, arms, and hands covered in thin scars – which was only to be expected in this clan. Hrygda wasn't very pretty or graceful or even exceptionally clever, but there was something about her, a certain spark, that made her fascinating to all the young wolves.
Maybe it was her laughter; she had a contagious kind of laugh that seemed to fill everyone around her with joy – Fenrir felt stupid just thinking about something so sappy, but it was true – and Hrygda laughed a lot... Maybe that was what made her different from all the other females Fenrir knew. She was happy, and very vocal about it, but not annoyingly so. She wasn't like Hel or Angrboda, who were so sad and quiet, or that blonde cat-woman in Asgard, who had been so angry and nervous.
Wagging his tail, Fenrir approached the group. The puppies and the giantess greeted him warmly. The others fell silent and backed away. They seemed... wary of him? Fenrir threw them a confused look, but didn't wonder about it for long and soon focused his attention on Hrygda.
She clasped her hands and grinned at the wolves.
"Guys, I feel like going for a stroll! Who wants to come with me?"
There was a chorus of, "I do! I do!"
"No, no, you can't," she told the puppies. "You're too young to go too far. You'd better go back to the clan, or Mother will get mad at you again."
They whined in disappointment, but obliged. After making sure that none of the little ones would linger nearby and try to follow the older ones, Hrygda led the small group out into the wood.
The moon hadn't come out yet, and it was unlikely it would. It was getting dark quickly, and soon Fenrir was barely able to see any of his companions. Of course, he could still smell and hear them perfectly, so there was no risk of getting lost from them. They were in a relatively deserted, peaceful area of the wood and were quite confident that nothing there could or would harm them. And yet, as they went farther and farther from the rest of the clan, they began to feel uneasy. None of them made any comment about it, but they could sense the growing dread in each other.
Fenrir felt it, too. He wanted to speak up and suggest that they go back, but he didn't want the others to think he was cowardly. Only little puppies could afford to make such a suggestion, and while he was the youngest of this party, he felt he was old enough to know better. They would go back only when the leader, Hrygda, decided to go back.
"Someone's here," said Hrygda, and though she spoke quietly, her voice sounded so loud and ominous in the eerie silence of the wood that it startled the wolves, who had already been on edge.
"Someone? A intruder?" whispered one of them.
"Don't you feel it?" she asked them. "It's a very powerful presence... I can tell it's trying to conceal itself, but it's so powerful that it can't – not completely, at least."
"A presence..."
Intrigued, the wolves began to sniff the air, hoping to catch the intruder's scent.
"Is it evil?" asked another wolf.
"I'm not sure... Yes, I think so. Or maybe not... I mean –" After a long pause, she said, "Slightly evil, at least. I can't be too sure. But it also feels... a little scared."
"Maybe it's a troll that got hurt," said one of the wolves.
"Trolls aren't usually this powerful," Hrygda pointed out.
"A witch, then?" suggested Fenrir. "Maybe it's her first time here." After all, even powerful magic-users were afraid of venturing into Ironwood on a moonless night. Its inhabitants were very wary, if not downright hostile, towards outlanders.
"Let's find out!" whispered Hrygda.
Despite her companions' alarmed protests, she went on ahead. Reluctantly, the other wolves followed her, without making a noise. Then, all of a sudden, they heard rather than saw the young giantess leap forwards with a shrill, roaring war cry (she always did say that subtlety was for the weak). Her cry was followed by a startled yelp, a thud, and a gasp.
Just when the wolves were catching up, the wood lit up on flames and the wolves were rendered blind for a moment. Fenrir was so shocked that the familiar scent he picked up barely registered until his sight came back and he saw Hrygda struggling on the ground with...
"Dad?!" yelped Fenrir in disbelief. His blinked his eyes, making sure he wasn't seeing things as a side effect from the blinding flames that still burnt brightly around them.
The brawling couple froze and looked up at him. Fenrir had no more doubt about who Hrygda's adversary was. Ignoring the stares he was getting, Fenrir hurried up to them.
"Stop, Hrygda! That's my dad!" he shouted.
Hrygda and Loki looked at Fenrir, then at each other, and the next moment they were standing up and keeping well away from each other. Loki quickly regained his composure and smoothed out his slightly rumpled clothes and hair, so that one couldn't even tell that he had been rolling on the ground in an undignified struggle just seconds before. Hrygda, for her part, just gave him and Fenrir confused looks and stepped away.
"What are you saying, Fenrir? He's your father?"
"Yep!" answered Fenrir, although he looked a little uncertainly at his father's frowning face.
Loki met his gaze and smiled. Encouraged, Fenrir leapt on him to give his father a proper greeting, licking his face and wagging his tail.
"Dad, I missed you so much!"
"I missed you, too, Fenrir. I'm sorry I couldn't visit any sooner."
"Wait a moment!" exclaimed a disturbed Hrygda, pointing at Loki. "I know you! You're the evil god Loki!"
Loki shoot her a sharp look, all the warmth in his eyes gone.
"You didn't know?" said Fenrir, surprised. "I thought I'd told you that Loki was my dad!"
"Yes, well, how could you expect us to believe that?" she retorted, flustered. "I mean, I knew you were Lady Angrboda's son, but that you're also the god Loki's son, that was a bit too much..."
"Fenrir, who are they?" asked Loki, and the hostility in his voice took Fenrir aback.
"They're my friends, Dad," he answered, frowning in confusion. He felt as though he was missing something important here, but had no idea what. "From Lady Herkja's clan, the oldest clan in Ironwood."
"Ah. Your mother's clan," whispered Loki, nodding in understanding.
"I'm very sorry for attacking you, Lord Loki," said Hrygda. She looked like she was going to bow to him, but Fenrir knew she was too proud to bow to anyone other than her elders in the clan. She began to back away, signalling at the other wolves to do the same. "Won't happen again," she added for good measure. Then, with an unladylike squeak, she turned tail and fled along with the others.
Fenrir stared after them, nonplussed. He had always thought that if his friends ever had the chance to meet his father, they would be really excited about it. Instead, they seemed to be terrified of him. Fenrir couldn't imagine why. It wasn't as though his father would hurt them without a good reason, and Hrygda had apologised for attacking him...
Just in case, the little wolf turned to look at his father. But no, Loki was as bewildered as him.
"Well, that was unexpected. Why did they run away?" he wondered.
"I don't know, Dad. I think they were scared of you."
"Scared of me?" Loki was flabbergasted for a moment. Then, he sighed and patted Fenrir's head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare your friends. On the contrary, I really wanted to meet them properly – especially your girlfriend."
"Girlfriend?" Fenrir blinked twice and burst into laughter. "She's not my girlfriend, Dad!"
"Oh?" Loki arched a dubious eyebrow.
"'Course not! She's only a friend!"
Up went that eyebrow. Fenrir twitched.
"Really!" he insisted. Honestly, how could his father think that he and Hrygda could be anything other than friends? His father got some really weird ideas into his head sometimes...
"All right, Fenrir," Loki chuckled, petting him again. "If you say so. In any case, I'm on my way to see your mother and siblings. Will you come with me, or would you rather go after your girlf― sorry, your wolf friends?"
"I'm coming with you, of course!" replied Fenrir enthusiastically and without hesitation. If he were honest with himself, he was a little disappointed that Hrygda had run off and he wouldn't see her any more tonight. Then again, he could always see her again any time he wanted, whereas his father's visits were few and far between, therefore much more important. "Mum will be so happy to see you! She's been really sad lately... I think she misses you a lot."
"Hmm..." Loki snapped his fingers and the flames disappeared into thin air, leaving no smell or trace that anything had burnt at all. "We better hurry up, then."
oOo
This time, Loki wasn't so nervous about going to see his giant family. It hadn't been that long since he'd last visited, and he was absolutely certain that no one had followed him from Asgard. Admittedly, it had been a nasty surprise when that pack of wolves had caught him, but no harm done there. They were Fenrir's friends and from Angrboda's old clan, so Loki knew he could trust them to keep his secret, even if worst came to worst.
Fenrir had grown quite a bit, though he was still a child by giant standards – which would explain why he wasn't gloating about having got a lovely mate. Loki was glad; that meant he really hadn't been away for so long that he would have missed out on practically all of his children's childhood. Loki didn't care much for children, but he had to admit – if only to himself – that he was really fond of Fenrir.
"So, your mother has been sad?" he asked his son in an undertone as they neared their hut. "Not angry at all?"
"No, not Mum. She's never angry," replied Fenrir.
"What about your sister? And your brother?"
"I think Hel's been too busy with other things to get angry. She's a lot calmer these days. I guess she just needed a hobby, after all. As for Jormungand... Who ever knows what he's thinking? He mostly keeps Mum company. He hasn't changed at all."
Loki nodded, coming to a halt before the wooden door. Confident that he wouldn't have to dodge any sharp or heavy objects thrown his way by enraged relatives, he opened the door slowly. It was pitch dark, but he could hear a series of small thuds from the kitchen and a girlish voice narrating a story from another room.
Fenrir rushed in the direction of the latter.
"Guys, guys! Guess who's here!" he yapped in excitement.
Loki paused at the doorway to the sitting room to watch Fenrir's siblings. He could see Hel in the light of a candle, a book in her hands. Just looking at her, he couldn't have told that it had been years since his last visit; she hadn't changed at all. This time, her bright green eyes shone not with resentment or sorrow, but only sheer amazement.
However, Loki was the most surprised of all, when he detected some movement in the shadows near Hel and saw that there was a huge snake coiled not far from his feet. Loki lost his composure for a moment and couldn't help but gawk at his youngest son. By Yggdrasil, he had grown so much! The last time Loki had seen him, Jormungand had been no longer than his arm – now he must be longer than Loki was tall. After seeing Fenrir and Hel, who hadn't changed that much, this was certainly a great shock...
"Father!" exclaimed a flustered Hel as she leapt to her feet, dropping the book she had been reading. She dithered, wringing her hands, her gaze lowering timidly. "Welcome home, Father," she said quietly. Jormungand soon echoed her words, rearing up so as to bow to him.
Well, well, Loki thought in satisfaction. It wasn't the warmest welcome he had ever received, but it was a vast improvement from the last time. At least no one was glaring at him, and they actually spoke to him with no trace of anger in their voices.
Before Loki could reply to their greeting, Angrboda showed up at the other door, which led to the kitchen. She had smudges of flour on her face and stains of sauce on her clothes, as well as a deep red stain on her right sleeve.
"Angrboda, you're bleeding!" he said in alarm.
"Mother, are you all right?" asked Jormungand, quickly slithering over to her.
"I'm – I'm fine," she said faintly.
Loki also approached her, careful not to step on his youngest son. He gently took Angrboda's right arm in his hand and asked Hel to bring the candle closer so he could take a better look at the wound. He was relieved to see that it had only been a small cut.
"We should clean that up," he told her.
Angrboda looked up at him with shimmering eyes, as though she were about to burst into tears. Loki knew quite well it had nothing to do with the pain of her wound.
"I know I had to leave... earlier than I'd planned last time, but..." he began, leading her to the couch. He felt a tug on his trouser leg and turned to look at his two youngest children, who had brought some bandages. He thanked them and began to clean Angrboda's would and wrap the bandages around it. He wasn't making a very good job at it, despite his sincere efforts, but he could tell that she appreciated it.
"I arranged things so that I could stay here for at least a month or two," he continued. "That is, unless you don't want me to –" he broke off when Angrboda's hands touched the sides of his head and his cheeks. She didn't say anything, just stared at him for a moment, her eyes feverish. Loki stared back, drinking in the sight of her. She looked quite adorable with those smudges of flour all over her hair and face and the slight, pink flush on her cheeks. Before he had another thought, Angrboda pulled him closer and kissed him.
Definitely a much warmer welcome.
"I missed you..." she whispered when they broke off momentarily minutes later to catch their breath. Her arms snaked around his torso and embraced him tightly. She looked at him with half-lidded eyes, tears at last spilling over.
They barely noticed when the children made themselves scarce, disgusted at the kiss yet heartened at their parents' reunion.
