|Abel Parrish + Fenrir (devourer) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-02-09 09:53:00
|Entry tags:||fenrir, loki|
come see me drown
Who: Abel [Fenrir] & Nishka [Loki].
What: Two Norse deities, one free and one bound, converse in a black hole.
When: Ye olden times.
Where: Here and nowhere.
He shifted, again trying to find a comfortable position. His bindings gave him no leverage, no inch of free reign in which to find even the smallest hint of relief. Working his massive jaws, the wolf adjusted his massive form within the cave. He could not see his paws, his legs, or even his snout before him, and would not have even known he existed were it not for the sensation of the cold stone against his fur. There was nothing else except the unending smell of stone, a dripping sound somewhere in the distance that drove him mad, and his own thoughts. He closed his eyes and sighed, allowing his mind to unspool and think again of rending the flesh of those who had done this to him. It was the only thing that offered him respite, and when he was so cruelly interrupted by the sound of footfall, of gravel shrieking against the stone floor, he carried himself to his feet in a swift motion.
Fenrir snapped out, his jaws still bound by the red thread that was Gleipnir, but he had enough room to ask a simple question when his fangs could not do their work. "Who is there? Who dares to disturb me?"
Loki strode from the darkness, his arms crossed in front of him, the lines of his body exuding confidence and power, but his face showed something else. Maybe it was pity, or maybe it was anger. Even he couldn’t decide what he felt as he looked on the bound wolf in front of him. Behind him, unseen in the shadows, trembling against the rock wall of the cave, was another figure, watching the scene with a mixture of horror and fascination, bruised and scraped hands covering a face framed with long, limp hair.
Loki approached the bound wolf as close as he would dare, close enough that he could reach out to touch his snout if he chose, but far enough away that the bonds would hold him back. “Hello, son,” he said.
A growl dribbled from Fenrir's mouth, a sound more akin to nails on rock than something an animal should have been able to make.
"Father," he returned, the word low and angry and unlaced with anything resembling even a trace of paternal love. His voice disappeared into the darkness almost as soon as it emerged, consumed. "Come to gloat over what Grandfather has wrought? Or merely to lay eyes on what you did nothing to prevent?"
Loki looked at him with an expression that was nothing but sympathy. “I did all I could, Fenrir,” he said, “I fought for your freedom.” There was an undertone to his words, one of barely disguised accusation, even through the honeyed words. “The gods have done this to you.” Everything in his expression, his stance, his features, spoke of his blamelessness in this. What, it said, could he have possibly done against the might of the gods? Against prophecies and fate? If anyone was to blame, it was them.
"And what, exactly, did you do, dearest father?" The gigantic wolf stretched against his bonds, aware of the strange sight he must have looked, to be bound by a mere crimson thread. It was in this instance he was glad for the darkness that enshrouded him. "I do not recall pleas for your son, arguments that I might not do what is claimed, that prophecies are little more than gossip old wives tell over their fires to amuse themselves. You, with the silver tongue, barely lifted a finger to protect your own flesh and blood!"
At this, Loki lifted a finger. He picked up a rock at his feet, crushing it to dust with all the effort of crumpling a piece of paper. “What would you have had me do?” he asked, his voice calm, rational. “Destroy the nine worlds for you? Kill all of the gods and their whelps too? There are rules, my son, even for us. Things must proceed as they must.” Loki’s very being defied adhering to rules, and the idea of prophecies grated on him, but no matter how many times he attempted to defy them, they happened in the end the way the Norns predicted.
"Then I cannot help the anger I feel," he replied, bitterness bleeding through every syllable. His voice took on a tone of desperation, nearly pleading like a child is wont to do with a parent. His massive neck stretched, but the string held tight. "Is there at least a time, a distance measurable for how long I should be bound like this? Is there no middle ground that could be argued for?" Do you not care, he could have voiced, but the sentiment was there, dangling on the edge of a precipice that threatened to swallow it whole.
Loki’s eyes seemed to soften, and to anyone watching it would appear to be sincere emotion. Caring for his bound son. “The Norns have spoken, and I cannot change destiny,” he said. “The day you are freed is the beginning of Ragnarok, and your bonds will be cut by the sword of Frey.” The likelihood of that seemed astronomical at the moment, but Loki has learned not to doubt the words spoken by the ancient ones. “Nothing can change fate once it is set.”
Though he knew the answer, rage welled from his core all the same. Fenrir struggled against his bonds, claws raking at the ground, jaws attempting to snap in a futile effort to reach his father. As much as his future had been seemingly prophesied by others, his bonds were as equally unrelenting. Moments stretched into minutes as he found renewed vigor to test Gleipnir, at times stretching the thread a mere inch, but in the end he slowed, stopped, found himself panting with effort.
"Why do you come, then," he finally asked, each word labored and spaced with the air that his lungs drew in with a burning endeavor.
Loki’s face hardened slightly, the finger of one hand stroking his chin as of attempting to dislodge a speck of dirt. “Does a father need a reason to visit his son?” he asked, his tone implying offence at the idea that Fenrir didn’t trust his motives. The truth was, he’d heard some information that he was keeping to himself for now. Whispers that the time of Ragnarok would be farther away than any of them imagined. He did not think what he felt for his son could be called ‘love’, but he had come from him, and he did have an investment in what happened to him. He had come to see him, to be sure that he was well.
And to make sure Gleipnir held true.
The son of Loki did not trust his father's words, nor his intentions. Yellowed eyes narrowed, even in the darkness that could not discern the outline of his parent's shape.
"This one does," he replied, shifting in the darkness, his massive form scraping against the rock walls of his cage. "Tell me; why is my prison so small, and my siblings something more? Jorgamundr has the whole of the sea at his beck and call, while my sister Hel resides over the entirety of the underworld. Surely I could at least have been granted more space."
Loki paused to consider this, and then crossed his arms. “Because neither of your other siblings are fated to bring about the final battle if they were to get free of their...homes,” he finished diplomatically. Hel had her own realm, and Jorgamundr had the sea, true, but at the moment neither of them were in danger of homicidal rampages. “The gods...well, they don’t trust you not to try and kill them again.”
"I took but one hand, and only in response for their attempts to restrain me!" Fenrir roared, his voice filling the cave with hot breath and anger. He calmed, slightly, enough to bring his volume to something less than ear splitting.
"Did no one think they were encouraging the fulfillment of the prophecy by enacting a punishment before the crime?"
Loki looked on him with what might have been pity, if it had come from a mortal. “The prophecy will happen no matter what we do, my son,” he said, “but the gods have decreed your incarceration to delay the inevitable for as long as possible.” And it gave him time to plan his own games with the gods, and to prepare for his role in Ragnarok. “You must be patient, your time will come.”
Fenrir shifted; were he shackled by true chains, the sound would have reverberated throughout the cavern. Instead, fur on fur made his incarceration sound far softer than it should have.
"Leave me, then." He settled back against the wall, focusing on the dripping sound that seemed so far away. Where did the water come from, and where did it go? That Loki had appeared at all said this cavern had an entrance and an exit. He would find it, and use it, one day. "If you've come to offer me nothing, then leave with the same." Loki narrowed his eyes at the wolf.
“Such ungratefulness from a child,” he said with disdain, “It certainly does not encourage future visits.” He turned away, walking a few paces towards the exit, and then stopped. “It may be some time before we see each other again,” he said over his shoulder. “Enjoy your solitude.” And with that, he walked away, ignoring the sounds of his son struggling to free himself behind him.