F E N R I R , M O N S T E R O F T H E V ร N
F E N R I R , M O N S T E R O F T H E V ร N
F E N R I R , M O N S T E R O F T H E V ร N
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ๐๐๐๐๐ฆ Samson Beck ๐๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐ฃ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐ก๐๐ 30 ๐๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ฅ Orderly at St. Fiacreโs Hospice, Volunteer at Critter Cove Animal Shelter & Rescue | ๐ฃ๐๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ก๐๐๐๐ง๐ฌ
๐๐ ๐๐๐ง๐๐ข๐ก๐ฆ Fenrir does not care for the gods, least of all the รsir. In all his interactions with them, they have proven time and time again to be self-serving and duplicitous, concerned only with their own well-being; which is why he has taken care to distance himself from them as much as possible. This, however, has left him somewhat isolated, even from his father and siblings. And while he would never admit it to anyone, there have been times in which he has longed for companionship or something akin. It is not quite ambition, of course, but rather the part of him that yearns to be known and accepted. ๐๐๐๐ฅ๐ฆ Fenrir was born with one, single purpose: to kill Odin and augur the end of the Nine Realms. Heโd always thought the whole thing inevitable โ Jรถrmungandr rising from the sea, the great battle between รsir and jรถtnar, his own death at the hands of Vรญรฐarr โ but no one could have foreseen the creation of the Colossus. Now, Fenrir finds himself adrift, his original purpose rendered obsolete. What spurs him on but the thought of Ragnarรถk? And is it what he truly desires? These are the questions he finds himself asking time and time again; and as the days go by, heโs starting to think that the answer might not be as straightforward as it seems. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx | xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ๐๐๐๐ก๐ง๐๐ง๐ฌ Fenrir ๐๐ข๐ ๐๐๐ก Odinโs Bane, Devourer of the Sun ๐ฃ๐๐ก๐ง๐๐๐ข๐ก Norse |
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๐ ๐ฌ๐ง๐๐ข๐๐ข๐๐ฌ
From birth, Lokiโs children have always been seen as an ill omen, a portent of death and great disaster.
It is prophesied, the รsir would cry, these children will mark the end of the Nine Realms.
And yet, despite their fates being set in stone, the รsir sought to defy it, searching for a way to prevent Ragnarรถk. But they could not simply kill them โโ to spill tainted blood on holy grounds would pollute them for all eternity. So, they had to come up with a different solution, one that would get them out of the way without the need for bloodshed.
In the end, they chose to send each of them away to separate corners of Yggdrasil, the World Tree. Jรถrmungandr was cast into the great sea encircling Midgard, Hel into the dark, frozen depths of Niflheim, while Fenrir remained on Asgard, although the รsir were not content to simply leave him be.
They feared what he could do to them.
Day by day, the รsir watched as Fenrir grew larger and stronger. Worried that he might some day grow beyond their control, they brought him to Amsvartnir, the pitch black lake where the island called Lyngvi resided.
There, they presented him with three fetters. One made of bronze, the second made of iron, and the last made of silk. The รsir suggested to Fenrir that he test his strength by breaking each one. The first fetter โ the one made of bronze โ snapped easily between his jaws. The second fetter, made of iron, shattered with a mighty kick of his feet.
The final fetter, Gleipnir, was soft and silken as a ribbon. The รsir told Fenrir that if he was unable to break such slender bindings, they would know that heโs nothing to fear, and would thus be set free. Unbeknownst to him, however, Gleipnir had been crafted by the dwarves of Svartรกlfaheimr, and was much stronger than the two before it. Nonetheless, Fenrir did not fall for their ruse so easily, and refused to let them put the fetter on him unless one of them put their hand in his mouth as a show of good faith.
None of the รsir moved until Tรฝr stepped forward, placing his hand into Fenrirโs jaws. And so the fetter went on, only this time, it did not break when Fenrir kicked, but dug deeper into his flesh. Again and again, he struggled fruitlessly to break free, and in his efforts, bit off Tรฝrโs hand.
Once the รsir knew that he was fully bound, they fastened the fetter to a large stone slab buried deep in the ground, and drove a sword through his jaws when he tried to bite them in retaliation. The saliva and blood that ran from his mouth formed the river Vรกn, also known as โhopeโ in Old Norse. This was where Fenrir would stay until Ragnarรถk, as is written in prophecy.
๐๐๐ฆ๐ง๐ข๐ฅ๐ฌ
For Fenrir, the creation of the Colossus was something of a double-edged sword. It may have freed him from his bonds, but it also imposed upon him restrictions of a different sort.
Once possessing the form of a great wolf, he awoke to find himself walking on two legs, his lupine visage replaced by one resembling his enemyโs. He loathed seeing the รsir whenever he caught a glimpse of his own reflection, whether it be in the rippling currents of a stream, or behind the eyes of Midgardโs many inhabitants.
For a long time, he strayed as far away from civilization as the Colossus would allow, living in the surrounding wilderness and hunting game for sustenance. Fenrirโs existence was largely solitary, and he cherished this way of life, guarding the bounds of his territory with beastly vigor. Those who ventured too deep into the woods would scurry back home โ bruised, battered and altogether worse for wear โ speaking in hushed whispers about a monster with bloodied hands and teeth.
Those were the lucky ones.
The unlucky ones were never seen again โโ save for the occasional tooth or bone, picked clean of flesh.
But even Fenrir knew that this could not last forever. As the humans grew more ambitious, his hunting grounds began to shrink. A sparse gathering of huts turned into a village, a village into a town, and a town into a city. Slowly but surely, Fenrir found himself drawn back into the comings and goings of the civilized world.
Even then, he tried to distance himself, taking on jobs that others found undesirable or unsavory just so he could enjoy his solitude. In Rome, he took care of animals bred for venatio, state-sponsored battles between man and beast. Then, he was a butcher in Constantinople, quick with a blade and always elbow-deep in blood and viscera. In Victorian London, he was something called a resurrectionist, unearthing graves for freshly-interred dead to sell to medical schools.
Not once in those millennia did Fenrir attempt to seek out his family. Why should he when none of them did anything to help him during his imprisonment on Lyngvi? He still remembers the pain of Gleipnir slicing into him, of the รsir sword piercing his jaw. No matter how long he waited, no one ever came to save him, and so, he promised himself that he would never rely on anyone again.
More recently, Fenrir has found new employment at a Seattle hospice. Itโs menial work, mostly wheeling patients from one room to the other and cleaning up after them. He doesnโt mind, though. It takes up enough of the day that he can head to his volunteer gig at the animal shelter immediately after a shift.
He first caught wind of Critter Cove after a stray followed him home from work. She was a skinny, mangy thing โ a mutt, it seemed like โ her piebald fur matted and falling out in places.
Truth be told, Fenrir didnโt quite know what to make of it. Heโd never considered getting a dog, but when she started pawing at his apartment door, still shivering from the winter chill, he let her in without a second thought.
Like most strays, she was wary of him at first, curling up next to the radiator and snapping her teeth whenever he got too close; but bit by bit, they got used to each other. Fenrir started out by giving her food, then holding out a hand for her to sniff. And when she finally came up to him and let him comb his fingers through her fur, he felt something inside him catch and overflow.
Fenrir decided then to name her Frida, an Old Norse word meaning โpeaceโ.
Still, heโd seen enough strays in the past to know that she needed more than food and a bath. A cursory search online for animal shelters in the area turned up results about a place called Critter Cove Animal Shelter & Rescue, and he took Frida there to be vaccinated and microchipped.
Heโs not quite sure how he ended up a volunteer at Critter Cove after that. Thanks to an influx of abandoned pets over Christmas, the staff there found themselves woefully short-handed, and he mustโve offered to drop by on his days off to help out. The work there was something he enjoyed, however. Unlike gods or humans, animals were simple creatures: they didnโt lie, willfully hurt others or make false promises. Instead, they simply were. To Fenrir, just being near them felt like basking in the sun, like love.
Pure, unadorned and without complication.
He thinks itโs something he could get used to.
