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As a pup, Fenrir wanted to disappear. Tyr saw it in the way Fenrir tucked himself into the darkness of the cave he newly called home. The first few times Tyr brought food for the injured wolf, the boy god was careful not to step past the cave’s mouth. It was not fear of the wolf that held Tyr back from breaching the darkness; rather, it was Tyr’s awareness that this darkness was Fenrir’s own and should be allowed its sanctity after the gods’ destruction of his other home.
Fenrir’s food was left untouched those first few days. No forest animals scavenged the food, smart enough to avoid the den of a scorned immortal beast, young as it may be. Tyr did not plan to do anything in response at first. He only continued leaving food every day, satisfied with the fact that he tried. However, one day, in a rush to return to the pantheon after hearing an unexpected call from Frigg, the Earth Mother, Tyr rushed his delivery and pushed the plate of food further into the cave than usual without much thought.
That evening, Tyr came back to a plate licked clean.
Since then, Tyr played a game of distance with Fenrir. The plate must go far enough into the shadows but not close enough to elicit the beginnings of what sounded like Fenrir’s growl, a diluted rumble, sputtered and broken, a little wrong and nowhere near right. Tyr soon learned how to discern Fenrir’s shadow from the darkness of the cave. Fenrir was slight for an immortal wolf of his age but was still much bigger than an equivalent pup in the human realm.
Some gods of the pantheon warned Tyr away from Fenrir when they heard news of the Tyr’s trips to the wolf’s mountain.
“We chased him away for a reason.”
“He is no mortal pup, young Tyr.”
“He won’t stay that size forever.”
“You two cannot be friends. It is better to find another.”
Tyr paid their words no mind. He knew that this development, by no means, spelled acceptance from the young wolf. Though Fenrir ate what Tyr brought, he did not deem it necessary to interact with Tyr. Still, Tyr began lingering at the cave’s mouth instead of immediately leaving after a delivery as he did before.
Tyr had no hope that anything more would come from these short hours in a day. Tyr only knew he felt less alone standing by that cave, tapping his toes, and waiting for a sign that he — no matter how briefly — could share a bit of Fenrir’s space and time.
+
Around summertime in the mortal realm, figs became a part of Fenrir’s meals. Mothers and aunts would shower Tyr with figs during his visits to the mortal villages, knowing that the sweet fruit was the boy god’s favorite. Every year, Tyr brought back to the pantheon more than enough for one god, let alone one boy god, to eat. However, many of the gods looked down on this abundant fruit from the human realm and never touched them in the bowls that Tyr often left in various dining places.
Eventually, unwilling to let the fruits go to waste, Tyr started including a handful on the plates of Fenrir’s dinner. Tyr knew not if the wolf would appreciate such an addition to his diet, so Tyr was surprised when the first dinner plate with figs came out of Fenrir’s cave empty. Tyr then began to add one to two figs to Fenrir’s breakfast plates as well, happy to see those gone from the finished plates, too.
Around the near end of summer in the human realm, the baskets of fruits that the humans gifted Tyr became smaller and smaller. Eventually, Tyr decided that he would need to ration the fruits if both he and Fenrir were to have enough to last the rest of the humid season.
Thus for the first time in weeks, Tyr brought a plate without figs to Fenrir’s cave for dinner, making sure that the slab of veal was larger than other days’ to make up for the missing fruit. A small part of Tyr called himself silly for thinking the wolf might miss something so trivial in his meals. There would be other fruits in other seasons, and Tyr would make sure to include them in the future if Fenrir would like.
After placing the plate of food into the cave, Tyr lingered as was his habit then, but could not stay for more than a few minutes since he recently began running errands for the goddess Njorun on top of his responsibilities to Frigg. Njorun, the goddess of dreams, was then slowly gaining favor in the pantheon under Frigg’s guidance, which made Tyr subject to her whims as well. However, Njorun often chose to ignore Tyr whenever possible, which was much better than some elder gods’ treatment of him, so Tyr could not find it in himself to complain about the additional work.
In the midst of his musings as he walked away from the cave, Tyr felt a sharp tug on the long ribbon he used to keep his hair out of his face. Careful not to put further strain on his ribbon, Tyr turned and was surprised to be face to face with Fenrir.
Fenrir was much larger than Tyr imagined. On his four legs, Fenrir was a little under eye level with Tyr, despite his young age. Slightly intimidated by the wolf’s size, Tyr stood still. His eyes lingered on the ribbon still in Fenrir’s mouth. As if sensing Tyr’s uncertainty, the wolf let the ribbon go and dropped something else he had held in his mouth.
A fig.
“But I did not bring one to you today,” Tyr said, more to himself than to Fenrir. Fenrir huffed, but it sounded almost like a scoff to Tyr. As if the wolf was saying, Yes, I know .
“Did you save this from earlier then?” Tyr asked. “I did not know you liked them this much.”
As if to prove Tyr wrong, Fenrir bent down and softly returned the fig to his mouth. He did not eat it though, seemingly adamant on saving this one at least.
“Do not worry. There’s still more in the pantheon,” Tyr explained. “The season for figs is almost over in the human realm. I really love them and thought you seemed to like them as well, so I was just rationing the remainder.”
Fenrir suddenly pushed his snout towards Tyr, and Tyr stepped back in surprise. Somehow, the wolf appeared miffed.
Tyr burst out laughing.
“All right, all right,” Tyr assured. “I’ll bring you the rest of your share of figs tomorrow. It was my wrong for keeping them from you. You seem to be doing a fine job rationing them out on your own.”
Seemingly pleased with Tyr’s response, Fenrir turned and made his way back to his cave. Still humored by the wolf’s actions, Tyr straightened out his ribbon behind him and decided to head home as well.
The next morning, when Tyr made his way towards Fenrir’s cave with a pouch of figs, as promised, Tyr was surprised to see Fenrir sitting at the crossroads that led to the cave instead of waiting inside the cave as usual. Sitting, the wolf certainly seemed less intimidating, but Fenrir’s nod towards the pouch of figs seemed to imply that there may have been consequences if Tyr had not fulfilled his promise.
Tyr could only laugh a little under his breath before following Fenrir, who was already turning back towards his cave, stopping only once to make sure Tyr was still behind him with the pouch of figs safe and secure in his hands.
+
Tyr learned to call his relationship with Fenrir a friendship within three years. After Fenrir first came out of the cave to wait for Tyr at the crossroads, Tyr began spending more time with the wolf. The first year, Tyr did not convince the wolf to become friends with him, though it was not for the lack of trying. When Tyr realized that Fenrir did not find Tyr’s presence unpleasant, Tyr immediately started asking Fenrir to join him on different adventures outside of the cave. For the first year, Fenrir did not budge but seemed willing to at least hear the ideas Tyr proposed.
The only idea Fenrir agreed to that year was Tyr’s suggestion to start going on hunts for meals. Tyr assured Fenrir that he was not getting tired of bringing food to Fenrir; rather, Tyr only thought that perhaps fresh meat would be better for the growing wolf. At that time, Fenrir grew at least a few inches every week. As a boy god who was only ever allowed to go on pantheon hunts once every decade, Tyr also thought hunting would be a fun thing to do with Fenrir in these mountain forests, where there were no limits on how much they could hunt, how far they could go, and how long they could run into the distance before they must return home.
Expectedly, Fenrir’s instincts honed themselves rather quickly when given the opportunity to hunt so freely. By the end of that first year, Tyr did not have to do anything on the hunts, and Fenrir also began going on hunts alone. Fenrir had now grown to the point where he could hunt and feed himself. Yet, Fenrir never deterred Tyr whenever he joined him on any hunts, even when they both knew Tyr was only there to keep the wolf company.
Watching Fenrir hunt was captivating. He should not have been able to move as silently as he did, given his size. Yet, his paws seemed light as air and his pounces made no noise among the bramble in the forests. The only noise Tyr could ever hear to affirm Fenrir’s kill was the snap of his jaw against the occasional deer. A noise so short but sharp and loud, that it alone seemed enough to swallow Tyr whole, no matter how far away the wolf was.
At that point, Tyr began to think that perhaps Fenrir no longer needed Tyr to come by the cave anymore. Since Fenrir was able to feed himself, the only function of Tyr’s journeys down to Fenrir’s mountain was now gone. However, before Tyr could bring himself to approach this subject with Fenrir, the end of their second year together slipped between the two quietly, and Fenrir approached Tyr instead.
At that time, Fenrir decided to ask Tyr to teach him how to speak. Tyr knew that many immortal beasts could speak but often chose not to, seeing no need for such a mortal function. Tyr thought Fenrir was among such immortal beasts. However, one winter afternoon, as Tyr met Fenrir at the crossroads and started to greet him, Fenrir interrupted him by yipping at Tyr. Tyr tried to ask Fenrir what was wrong, but Fenrir continued yipping at him, obviously annoyed, but Tyr could not tell if it was towards Tyr or himself.
“Are you trying to speak?” Tyr eventually asked. The wolf’s silence seemed his answer.
Tyr had never taught any one how to speak before, let alone a wolf. However, with the help of some borrowed scrolls from the pantheon library and his own instincts, Tyr somehow began teaching Fenrir how to speak. Fenrir was, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. He learned how to speak in short phrases within weeks. He was able to speak in full conversations within two months. Yet, though Tyr equipped Fenrir with many words and all that he himself knew, Fenrir decided to stay quiet most of the time. By the end of the second year, Fenrir’s favorite and most said word was only one, and it was Tyr’s name.
Back in the pantheon, some gods began to notice a few of the borrowed scrolls and quickly deduced that Tyr was the culprit. In their eyes, much of Tyr’s antics, rumored and witnessed in the pantheon, was only proof of his naivety and young age compared to the elder gods in the pantheon. Those who cared enough already spoke their piece, and the many others just deemed the silliness to be unworthy of their time and attention. Still, their whispers of pointlessness and foolishness echoed down the long halls of the pantheon, and Tyr knew of the things they said.
Even if he could choose to ignore this typical treatment, Tyr could not ignore Frigg, who seemed to think his dealings with Fenrir was now a whim gone too far into folly.
“You consider yourselves friends?” Frigg asked one day as Tyr prepared her resting lounge for her.
“I do,” Tyr replied.
“This has gone too far,” Frigg admonished. “Odin banished him for a reason. We ran him out of his home for a reason.”
“One that you, the All-Father, and all the other elder gods are unwilling to inform me of,” Tyr reminded.
“It was the will and is the concern of the elder gods only,” Frigg said, a comfortable repetition. “All you need to know is that he is dangerous.”
“Not to me.” Tyr’s voice may have been stronger if there had not been a sliver of uncertainty. The sound of a snapping jaw in dense forests echoed somewhere behind him in his mind.
“You may be a fool, but you are not blind, Tyr,” Frigg replied lowly. “You’ve seen him triple in size in the past few years. He can hurt you. He will.”
“Is it not enough that he chooses not to?” Tyr asked.
That evening, Tyr went to the crossroads and did not immediately follow Fenrir when he turned to his cave.
“Tyr, what is it?” Fenrir asked.
“I would like to go to the meadow tonight,” Tyr replied. “Would you like to join me?”
Fenrir walked up to Tyr and stopped beside him. Lead the way , he seemed to say.
So Tyr did.
In the meadow, Fenrir allowed Tyr to huddle closer to borrow warmth from his fur as they two lay in the open grass and looked at the stars in the vast sky. They spent a few hours like this every once in a while, during warmer evenings and nights. At first, Tyr used this opportunity to tell Fenrir stories of the constellations as a way to teach him new words.
Heroes. Bravery. Rewards.
By then, Tyr was only retelling stories that Fenrir must’ve known by heart. Still, Fenrir never stopped Tyr and listened as attentively as the first time he heard Tyr tell them.
This is how their third year together came to an end.
Though the prayers of gods go unanswered, the next morning, Tyr sent a prayer to somewhere unknown when he walked back to the pantheon from the meadow.
Let our next year be as peaceful as this night.
Please. Let us be.
+
Tyr did not dream. It was one of the few benefits of being a god. But during one night after the world welcomed in a new year, Tyr dreamed for the first time. Though it was his first, Tyr somehow felt that dreams were not supposed to be quite like this one.
It started with some screams within darkness. Tyr knew his eyes were open, but he could not see anything. He knew he was in the pantheon. The way the unrestrained shouts and rushed orders echoed around the space told him so. Increasingly anxious, Tyr rubbed at his eyes in a last effort to regain his sight. Slowly, the world came to him, though still blurred around the edges. Tyr looked down at his now wet hands.
His own blood. He hadn’t been able to see because it had dripped down to cover his vision. Tyr was about to bring his hand to whatever injury may have been on his head before the sound of crushed wall and stone to his right shook him.
Suddenly, losing control of his body, Tyr found himself standing steadily and walking towards the pantheon’s main hall, Valhalla. There was no hesitation in his steps. In this limbo between sleep and waking, Tyr could almost let himself slip back into darkness through the rhythm of his own movement.
However, when he arrived at Valhalla’s main doors – now piled in rubble and dust, Tyr’s attention focused so sharply, he felt no difference between being in a dream and being awake.
At the foot of the All-Father’s throne hunched the snarled body of Fenrir, heaving enough to tell Tyr that he was not dead, still alive. The blood pooling in the hall could’ve convinced Tyr otherwise.
Fenrir! Tyr’s tongue was a slab of stone weighing heavy in his mouth.
Yet, the wolf, much larger than Tyr knew him to be, turned around. An arm hung from between his jaws. Tyr could not name the body — bodies? — hidden behind Fenrir’s haunches. The arm fell from Fenrir’s mouth with a thud, and Fenrir focused his attention on Tyr.
This is a dream. Tyr thought. I have to wake up.
As Fenrir slowly approached Tyr’s frozen body, Fenrir’s tail swished as it did whenever Tyr went to the cave to see him. Whenever Tyr brought the season’s figs. Whenever Tyr said his name.
If this was a dream, then it was cruel in its mimicry of reality.
Wake up. Wake up. This is just a dream.
“This is no dream,” Fenrir said. “Gods don’t dream in dreams.”
Fenrir pressed his snout covered in blood against Tyr’s right shoulder. Fenrir’s eyes were closed. Perhaps there were wonders even dreams could not replicate.
“Gods dream in prophecies,” Fenrir said. “This is who I am.”
*
The world suddenly turned white, and Tyr found himself lying down on the marble ground of Valhalla. Still, he could not move.
He will die. He will die.
“Be quiet,” Tyr pleaded, his head throbbing.
You can save him.
“Who are you?”
You can save him.
“How?”
He wouldn’t destroy you.
“I do not under–”
He wouldn’t destroy you.
“Please explain.“
If you destroy you, he won’t have to.
“…”
You, as One, can save us all.
*
When Tyr’s eyes opened to the softer darkness of his room in the pantheon, Tyr found himself still momentarily frozen. His left hand shot up to reach for his right shoulder.
Wet.
Blood?
His next heartbeat rattled his chest.
He moved his hands and found that the rest of his night shirt was slightly damp. It was his own sweat. Stiltedly, Tyr slipped from his bed and reached for his wash basin. It was hours before dawn, but Tyr could not stay here. Not when the air of night horrors hung so unabashedly above the head of his bed. Regular water would not be able to clear the air. Tyr would need to go by the flower fields for some water from a healing well.
You can save him.
The soft padding of Tyr’s footsteps echoed through the still-empty halls of the pantheon. Tyr refused to look at Valhalla’s main doors as they came into view.
This is who I am.
Tyr resolutely walked past it, grip tight on his wash basin.
+
Doors down the hall, Njorun thrashed away from the dream basin before her. Tyr’s silhouette settled in the ripples of the water in the basin and disappeared. Njorun pressed her hands over her burning eyes. Her sight was surely gone. Though Njorun held domain over all dreams, there was always a price to pay when one tampers with the mind of a god, even if the god were as young as Tyr.
Tyr’s mind proved unexpectedly resilient when Njorun first tried to gain control of the prophecy that night. She found his weakness near the end of the vision. Tyr’s mind latched onto the initial after-dream, the last slip of hope that made up a prophecy’s fabric, often the part of prophecies where gods can turn to for answers. In this untouched after-dream, Njorun saw a sunny meadow and a newly mortal Tyr slumbering beside a watchful Fenrir, alive and well. The gods were nowhere to be seen. The world seemed at peace.
This would not do. Njorun snatched the fabric of the after-dream and tore it at the seams.
The pain began at the back of her eyes, but she knew this was a fair price to pay for Odin’s favor. By the time all she saw was darkness, she knew the All-Father would want to hear the results.
Into Tyr’s mind, Njorun slipped her own weaving of an after-dream. Njorun grimaced at the eagerness of Tyr’s senses, the way it seemed to caress any hope that could come from such a vision.
No matter , she reminded herself. The dream was planted, and doubts were beginning to take root. Odin would want to know.
+
In the following months, Tyr found himself spending more time in Frigg’s company, as Frigg demanded Tyr to focus on his studies and less on time spent with Fenrir.
“You’ve been shirking your duties,” she commented during one session, as Tyr put away the tomes and ink in the pantheon library.
“Yes, and my godly duties have kept me from my other duties long enough. The duties of a friend,” Tyr replied. Once he deemed the room clean enough, he bowed towards Frigg, who wore a disapproving frown but did not stop him from leaving.
It was late afternoon by the time his daily duties were done and Tyr knew that Fenrir would no longer be at the crossroads waiting for him. Fenrir was patient, but only to a certain extent. He’s certainly back in his cave by now , thought Tyr as he made his way to Fenrir’s mountain.
“Fenrir,” Tyr called out when he was within hearing distance of the cave’s entrance. “I’m sorry for being so late today. Frigg caught me before I could make a quick escape this –“
The sound of choking interrupted Tyr. After a moment of hesitation, Tyr ran into the cave.
“Fenrir!” Tyr’s eyes adjusted rather quickly in the darkness, and Tyr was able to track the increasingly painful sounds to the back of the cave, where Fenrir used to tuck himself when he was the size of a pup.
“What’s wrong?” Tyr asked, reaching out softly to let Fenrir know that he was here. Fenrir twisted away and snapped at Tyr. Tyr barely retracted his hand in time.
“Fenrir. It’s me,” Tyr said, trying to stay calm as thoughts ran too quickly through his mind. Tyr tried to reach for Fenrir again to diagnose the situation, but this time Fenrir growled on top of twisting away. Then, Tyr smelled it.
Monkshood.
Tyr looked around and spotted a plate about a few feet away from where Fenrir lay. A plate that looked exactly like the plates that Tyr used to bring before Fenrir started hunting for himself. A plate that Tyr had stopped bringing long ago.
The prophecy. Tyr thought. The gods already know. They’re trying to stop it. They did this.
If it was a pantheon god, they must’ve fed Fenrir a Monkshood Stone. Nothing purely herbal could ever work on a wolf like Fenrir. Only something from the medical halls of Valhalla could do any harm.
Without hesitation, Tyr latched onto Fenrir’s body and put his hands on Fenrir’s muzzle. Fenrir thrashed around, much more agitated than before. At his size then, he could’ve thrown Tyr off of him if Tyr had not reacted quickly enough. With deft fingers, Tyr pried at Fenrir’s teeth and fangs, painstakingly pulling his mouth open.
Eventually, Tyr was able to open Fenrir’s mouth wide enough with his left hand and elbow between teeth. Tyr used his right arm to reach into Fenrir’s mouth. He tried not to think as he searched for the Monkshood Stone. Fenrir’s thrashing helped Tyr stay focused on the situation, but Fenrir was slowly losing his own energy.
Suddenly, Tyr felt something sharp against his fingers. He grabbed it and dragged it out. It is only half a stone. Tyr quickly tossed that half of the Monkshood Stone aside and reached into Fenrir’s mouth again.
However, before Tyr could reach further into Fenrir’s mouth, Fenrir thrashed with an unexpected burst of energy and shoved Tyr off of himself. Tyr’s left arm slipped from Fenrir’s mouth and Fenrir’s teeth snapped down on Tyr’s right wrist.
Tyr saw white. He knew he screamed but he could not hear himself above the pain. Instinctively, Tyr twisted away from Fenrir’s body and clutched his right wrist tightly to stop the blood.
Fenrir had bitten off his right hand.
He did not mean to , was Tyr’s first thought. The tears started dripping down his face. The pain in his right arm, searing.
For a second, Tyr could only watch as Fenrir returned his gaze with wild, cloudy eyes. Both of their breathing was ragged but for different reasons. Tyr could suddenly smell the metal of his own blood. He had to go back to the pantheon before he lost too much of it.
Tyr scrambled up and began to run towards the cave’s entrance. He could not see where he was going, but he trusted his own body. He ran on adrenaline alone.
Before he could make it out of the cave, Tyr looked back at Fenrir one last time. With the tears in Tyr’s eyes, Fenrir’s body was only a blur.
He did not mean to. Tyr repeated. He began muttering it out loud. “He did not mean to. He did not mean to.”
This is who I am.
Tyr painfully shut his eye against another pulse of pain up his right arm.
You, as One, can save him .
+
“You’ve come,” the All-Father greeted as Tyr entered the main hall. “We’ve been waiting.” Around Odin sat all his siblings and children. Gathered without notice, but they all seemed to know.
“To be quite honest,” Odin continued, “We expected you sooner. It has been weeks. Your injury must’ve kept you.”
Odin’s gaze on Tyr’s right forearm stung with a sharpness unlike any other.
“Then I assume I do not have to say anything about my dream,” Tyr replied.
“Tyr,” Odin addressed, “you are almost young no more. Boy god as you may be, you know that what you saw was not a mere dream. It was a prophecy. And a prophecy that threatens us all.”
“Then why let me keep him,” Tyr asked, “for so long.”
“It is quite rude to question a gift, young Tyr,” Odin responded. “Frigg, he’s your attendant, isn’t he? Why, I thought he’d know better. You teach him, after all.” Beside him, the goddess remained silent, but her eyes were a lit flame. She would not meet Tyr’s eyes. Tyr inexplicably felt he was wrong for doing this, but it could not win over how it felt like he would be wronged instead if he did not. Tyr can only hope that Frigg’s silence was the smallest sign of a blessing the goddess can give.
“We’ve let you keep him for this long,” Odin continued in his wife’s silence. “You two have always been at the brink.” The message was clear to Tyr. The pantheon is allowed to take away what it gave away. His time allowed with Fenrir had always been a gift. Tyr simply had no idea from whence the gift came and that the giver would be so keen on repayment.
“So Fenrir is the end of you all,” Tyr said. Gasps shot out of different voices in the hall, some quieter exclamations of outrage came from farther in the back.
“Careful with your words, young Tyr,” Odin bit out.
“Why?” Tyr asked. Odin’s lips pressed together tightly. “Is it because a god’s word can be as good as truth? You’ve been quick to remind me that I am only a young god amongst you all. Surely, it does nothing for me to reaffirm that Fenrir will destroy you all.” Another collective hiss from behind.
“Enough,” Odin shouted. Tyr nearly took a step back at the sound. “Fine. We’ll talk in circles no longer. You’ve come today to ask for the truth. I am more than willing to tell it. The war you witnessed in your mind is not one Fenrir will survive.”
“I know this,” Tyr said. But I did not want to , he wanted to confess. “And I will do something about it. There’s a reason this prophecy came to me. It also came with a solution.”
Further back in the pantheon, Njorun felt her hands twitch. Tyr, facing Odin, did not see it. But Odin, slight as Njorun’s reaction might have been, did. Njorun held back a shout at the pain that a sudden steel pressure crushed against her throat. The message was clear; there was no place for guilt in the work of the pantheon.
“You have our attention, Tyr. What could you possibly do to protect us all?” Odin asked.
You, as One, can save us all , the prophecy had told Tyr.
“The Rule of One,” Tyr echoed and replied.
At Tyr’s words, Frigg’s eyes locked with Tyr’s for the first time since he walked into Valhalla. Foolish. Tyr could hear her words as clear as day. Some part of himself knew this, but the same words from the prophecy had not stopped echoing in his ears since that one night.
If you destroy you, he won’t have to.
“I will sacrifice myself in hellfire. I will pack all of my belongings. You need only to throw them in after me. This,” Tyr said as he reached behind him to undo the long, red ribbon that held his hair together, “will be the final one belonging attached to me on heaven and Earth. It will be the last thing anyone could use in a ritual to bring a god back. Use this to bind Fenrir. If he believes in the Rule of One, he will not destroy it.”
Tyr expected the silence from the pantheon. He just could not tell if it was that of disbelief or ridicule.
“Genius,” Odin whispered. The beginnings of a grin hung from the corner of his mouth. “Young Tyr, despite your age, you have truly proven yourself as intelligent and responsible. Now, this plan of yours, there truly would be no going back. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes,” Tyr whispered. He made this decision long ago.
“You’ll do this, Tyr?” Frigg spoke now. Odin looked up sharply at his wife but said nothing. It is the right of the Earth Mother to speak, just as much as the All-Father, in such matters. Are you certain? She seemed to ask. The words were not meant to doubt but to scold. Foolish . It would be the closest thing to care Tyr would ever hear from the pantheon.
“I cannot guarantee that Fenrir won’t break through it,” Tyr murmured, “and start the war anyway.” To the other gods in the pantheon, the doubt in Tyr’s eyes did not lend him innocence but painted him with ignorance. The boy truly did not know the wolf’s heart for him. They wanted to sneer, but the image of Tyr kneeling before the All-Father with the ribbon in his still hands made them also want to look away. Creating Tyr’s replacement would take eons, that much they could admit. In their silence, they let Odin answer.
“If you believe in the plan, then we’ll try it. I, for one, believe it will work,” Odin replied. Certainty. Assurance. A god who had already counted his win. He had no qualms about showing his pleasure. “After all, the strongest chains,” Odin grinned, “are the ones you choose.”
+
Back at the mountain, though a thin layer of snow settled on Fenrir’s fur, Fenrir did not move from the crossroads that led to his cave. Tyr had not come to the cave once for the past three weeks since the incident. As Fenrir contemplated the healing time of such a wound ( clean cut, sharp, the smell of blood ), Fenrir wondered at the quiet. Had the forest ever been this still before?
Blood. Blood. Blood.
Fenrir never thought much about memory, especially how rooted the memories of wolves could be – scent memories, the strongest of all.
Tyr’s blood.
After Fenrir gained consciousness in the cave the evening after the incident, recognizing the smell of metal and the taste in his own mouth, he dry heaved for a full hour. He choked out a half of a small stone that joined what seemed to be its other half on the floor of the cave. He then slept for days afterwards under no choice of his own. The poison had almost taken him. His body demanded recovery.
When he woke, he woke with dreaded certainty. With no way into the pantheon, he would never be able to go to Tyr. Fenrir had to wait as he always had. At the crossroads before his cave, where Tyr met Fenrir never quite on schedule. Sometimes early, waiting for the tell-tale sound of soft paws in forest dirt. Sometimes so late that Fenrir would huff back towards his cave before Tyr would arrive some time later with stories of what kept him.
Now, Fenrir would wait as long as it took in this spot. In his wait, the snow would keep him company. Before spring, Tyr would come. His wound should be well by then. ( Blood. Blood. ) And Fenrir would be here, so Tyr wouldn’t have to wait.
+
Fenrir’s surprise and anticipation quickly soured into annoyance and wariness when he realized the sounds of footsteps nearing his cave were too many and too loud to be that of Tyr’s. He had waited for months. He expected Tyr to come by then and would have continued to wait, but the cold outside was too much, even for a coat as thick as his own. Fenrir took to waiting in his cave instead, but Tyr still did not come.
The scents were the next wave announcing the unwelcome group’s arrival. Fenrir flinched at the pungent assault on his heightened senses, invasive near this place he’s long learned to call home. Fenrir considered if he could hold his breath long enough to get the answers about Tyr that he desired from the gods before running them out of what was rightfully his land now.
The elder gods stopped at the mouth of the cave and waited for the wolf to come out to greet them. A few of the newer gods lingered further behind, having seen the prophecy that Njorun recreated in Valhalla after Tyr left on the day of his final proposal. They had not the eons of confidence needed to stare their prophesied deaths in the eye. But in front of them all stood Odin, with eons of confidence and assurance to give. To Fenrir’s complete displeasure, Odin greeted him with a smile.
“Why are you here?” Somehow, the way Fenrir addressed them all made a few of the younger gods feel dirty. Njorun felt the hair on her neck rise.
“We’ve come with a long-deserved truce,” Odin said.
“Do not waste your breath,” Fenrir snapped. “Where is Tyr?”
“This is actually young Tyr’s idea,” Odin replied. “He sent us here.”
“For what? Why could he not come himself?” Fenrir asked.
“We’ve come with a challenge,” the All-Father said, ignoring Fenrir’s questions. “If you succeed, we’ll give you whatever you want. Be it revenge for what we did to you before. Be it a new mountain home. Be it –“
“I want you pantheon gods to leave me alone for as long as I live,” Fenrir cut in.
“I assume Tyr is excluded from that list,” Odin said. Fenrir’s responding glare almost drew a laugh out of Odin. “Understood. I will give you the challenge’s details. Break through three sets of different chains, and you succeed. Do you think you can do it?”
Fenrir watched Odin and the gods behind him warily.
“I am no fool,” Fenrir replied. “It cannot be this simple.”
“Need I remind you that this was Tyr’s idea?” Odin responded. “Perhaps he wants this for you as much as you do. He sacrificed much to bring us here with this deal today. Would you squander his work?”
“You’ve yet to tell me why Tyr isn’t here himself,” Fenrir said.
“I’ll add that to the deal as well. If you break through the three sets of chains, the pantheon, save Tyr, will leave you alone for as long as you live, and I will tell you of Tyr’s whereabouts.”
The silence in the cave lingered for long. A few gods shifted impatiently as the wolf stared back. They could not read his eyes.
“Fine, I accept,” Fenrir growled after long. “Bind me with the first chains.”
At his words, Odin pulled out a small set of chains from his sleeves and handed it to a nearby attendant god. Two more attendants stepped up beside him and held onto the chains. In their hands, the chains grew. The three attendants hesitated as they looked at the large wolf.
“Go on now,” Odin sneered under his breath. The attendants approached and Fenrir growled at them, even when he did not put up any resistance. Soon enough, the chain was secured.
“You may now try to break–“ Before Odin could finish, the chains broke, and Fenrir easily shook them off.
“Show me the next set,” Fenrir said, impatient. Odin frowned at the request, but pulled out the next set of chains from his sleeves. Again, the same attendants retrieved the chains, approached Fenrir, and locked him.
This time, Odin did not give him the signal and only watched as Fenrir struggled a bit longer than before with these chains. Fenrir let out a few long growls when the tight chains bit into more sensitive muscles and pressed against some less flexible bones. After a few minutes, a loud snap of a broken chain rang through the cave and echoed amongst the heavier breaths coming from the wolf.
“Impressive,” Odin commented. “We’ve come to the last set of chains.” Odin reached into his sleeves again and pulled it out.
Fenrir recognized the scent and color of the ribbon immediately.
“If this is a joke, I kindly advise you all to get out of my cave,” Fenrir growled, hackles raised. “While you still can.” A few gods shifted cautiously behind Odin.
“It is no joke,” Odin assured the wolf, unmoved by Fenrir’s increasing aggression. “This is your last chain. If you can break it, you will never see any of us from the pantheon again. Save Tyr, of course.”
Fenrir did not respond. Only the sound of his ragged breathing echoed in the cave.
“Tyr wants this,” Odin added after a moment. “How else do you think we got this ribbon from him? Tyr wants you to do this.”
“And I’ll never see another one of you ever again?” Fenrir asked after a long moment, more subdued but still alert.
“I swear on Earth and Valhalla,” Odin said, right hand raised, “that you will never see a god you don’t want to see ever again. If you break through this ribbon.”
Many of the other gods’ eyes were averted at this point. The pantheon had no place for guilt or hesitation, but there was a place for shame. There was a reason Frigg decided not to come along to Fenrir’s cave that day. There were always sights too unholy to see, actions too disgusting to stomach, and oaths too deceitful to witness.
“Then bind me,” Fenrir said at last. Odin smiled and handed the red ribbon to the same three attendants. In their hands, the ribbon grew longer. The attendants approached Fenrir tentatively, but the wolf was the least hostile he had been since the gods first arrived. Carefully but deftly, the attendants wrapped the ribbon tightly around the wolf and tied it off in a secure knot before stepping away.
“Perfect,” Odin murmured.
Deeming it enough, Fenrir almost started to move before the All-Father interrupted him.
“If I were you,” Odin said, “I would take care with the ribbon.” Something in Odin’s voice made Fenrir slow his movements, his muscles still prepared for an easy release. Fenrir felt a growl stir in his own chest. He knew the sound of impatient victory.
“Why?”
“That ribbon is Tyr’s only remaining belonging in the living world,” Odin said. “I don’t doubt you know the Rule of One. Tyr is not an exception to it.”
“What did you do to him?” Fenrir demanded, teeth bared and heart drumming a stuttering beat.
“We did nothing,” Odin answered. “He chose to pass on, allowed us to burn every thing of his in hellfire, save one. The ribbon that binds you now. Think you can still break it?”
Fenrir never understood true contempt until that moment. If he were to break from the ribbon, Tyr’s last belonging in the physical world would be destroyed, taking any chance of reviving Tyr with it. Fenrir could not – would not – be the one to condemn the boy god. Fenrir growled enough to shake mountains. A solid rumble that would echo for long.
“You tricked me,” Fenrir hissed. There was an inexplicable tightening in his own throat.
“No,” Odin replied. “Tyr did this to you.”
“Don’t say his name,” Fenrir ordered, attempting to lash out one more time. Yet, he could not move without care. The caress of the ribbon worked against his fur.
“Tyr did this to you,” Odin repeated. “Remember it well, especially when this cave closes on you and the mountain swallows you whole.” With one last look, Odin turned and the rest of the gods followed suit. The affair would end in silence as evening slipped into night, and Fenrir sat still in his cave. He did not thrash as they expected. He did not roar. He did not threaten.
They did not hear him grieve.
The ribbon held him close.