Family

Small, but with huge paws that suggested he would be growing into a wolf of substantial size, the wolf cub snarled at Tyr.

Tyr didn't even bother to draw his sword, catching the pup around the neck when it lunged at him and wrestling it to the ground. It thrashed furiously, twisting around to try to bite him. It was far stronger than it looked; Tŷr was impressed. He expected that was its Jotun blood as he managed to tie its muzzle shut with a scrap of rope. The pup glared at him, working its jaws to try to get around the rope.

"Let him go," came a high, childlike voice, and he turned to see a girl with black skin on one side and pure white skin on the other. She stood in the doorway, a tall boy with black hair standing next to her with one hand on her shoulder.

"That's our brother you're taking away," said the boy, voice even with controlled fury.
Tŷr laughed, scooping the pup up with a hand under its middle. It attempted to bite him, but muzzled as it was, it failed. "Don't be ridiculous. It’s a wolf cub."

"He's a shapeshifter," the little girl said.

From behind them appeared Frey, green cloak wrapped tight about him. "This place is freezing," he said, and then indulged in a few Vanir curse words. Tyr glared at him. "Watch your mouth around the children."

"Why? They're just Jotun brats."

“I have a name,” the boy interjected.

Tŷr nodded. “Do share.”

“Jormungand.” The boy jutted his chin out defiantly.

“Who cares?” Frey snarled. “Let’s just get them out of here and get out of this accursed land.”

Frey wasn't usually this angry, even about Jotnar. But he was when people had wronged him. Tyr noted the very raw circular marking on Frey's arm and grinned. "You bit him, did you?" Good. He deserved it.

The boy gave an almost imperceptible nod, still holding tight to the shoulder of his sister. "What are you here for?"

"We're here for you," Tyr said.

Thor appeared from around the back of the house. “Are you two finished here or still bickering like old women?”

“Where’s Father?” the boy demanded.

“With your mother. Come, we’re taking you to Asgard,” Thor said.

Tŷr noticed the familiar light of magic shining from the boy’s clenched fist. “And what if we don’t want to go?” Jormungand asked.

Thor dropped his hand to his hammer. “Don’t make this difficult.”

Jormungand’s eyes narrowed and his other hand lit up, a small ball of green fire spilling through his fingers. Tŷr dropped the wolf cub in the snow, and closed his fist around his sword. He didn’t expect a fight; likely the sight of the Æsir truly ready to fight the boy would make Jormungand back down.

“You can’t win this fight,” Tŷr warned.

“Then don’t take my family.” Jorgi hurled the rune with as much ferocity as he could muster, which turned out to be quite a lot. Tŷr barely had time to dodge it before Jorgi had summoned another.

His little sister was a Kvasiran too, it appeared, as when Frey tried to grab her from behind and take her hostage, she sent a cerulean rune exploding in his face. With a howl he fell back. Shaking his head in exasperation, Tŷr dodged the next rune Jormungand tossed and closed in. Jorgi had speed on his side, but now, all of his attention taken up by fending off Tŷr, he left himself open for attack from behind.

Thor pinned Jorgi’s arms behind his back, eliciting a shout from the boy. Tŷr tossed Thor the rope and went after the little death Kvasiran still holding Frey at bay.

It was only a matter of minutes before both children were still spitting mad, but safely restrained and unable to cause any more substantial damage to the Æsir. Jorgi actually bared fangs at Tŷr, who laughed and ruffled his hair as he walked past him back to Thor’s goat cart, leaving Frey and Thor to actually take care of the three children.

“Tŷr, let me go,” Loki snarled, yanking on the leather cord binding him to the side of the cart. “You have no right to do this.”

“Be quiet, Loki, or I’ll have to gag you too.” Tŷr coaxed Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr to their feet, back turned to the trickster god. “It was the Allfather’s orders.”

“To come and terrorize an innocent family?”

Tŷr didn’t answer. Thor coming around the corner of the house herding two children ahead of him and holding a wolf cub in his hand spoke for itself.

“Thor! Tell me what’s going on, now.”

Thor stopped and opened his mouth to form words, but Frey interrupted him. “Don’t tell the traitor anything, Thor.”

“I’m a traitor now, am I?” Loki asked acidly.

“No,” Thor said. “It’s not you.”

“It’s three innocent children and their mother.”

Thor closed his eyes and pushed past Loki, taking his position at the head of the cart and tucking Fenris, who was still a very small puppy, into his pocket. Frey dragged Jormungand and the girl into the back, next to Angrboda, who lay unconscious. Thor leaned over to untie his uncle’s hands before he clucked his tongue to Tann and Josty. “Do as you please, Loki.”

Loki glared murder at Thor before hooking a leg over the side of the cart and joining the rest. (Shockingly enough it accommodated all of those passengers without feeling overcrowded.) “I’m coming. If my family’s to have a trial, I’m going to be there.”

Thor sighed, obviously not approving of Loki’s decision. But Loki was already firmly situated and the look on his face told them all there was to be no budging him. “Suit yourself,” Tŷr said, and Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr stamped their feet and took off running.
---------
Father did not have time to see Loki’s family right away, which left Angrboda in the dungeons creating a cold snap when she wasn’t begging to see her children, the wolf on a leash, and the girl and Jormungand in two small cells near the servants’ section of Gladsheim, until such time that the Allfather could see them.
Tŷr felt sorry for Jormungand; the boy had tried so hard and was rewarded with nothing but isolation and captivity. So on the third day of the little family’s stay in Asgard, he made time to go see the boy.

Jormungand sat slumped against the back wall, barely bothering to look up when Tŷr came in. Feeling a wave of sympathy, Tŷr crouched next to him. “Chin up. Where’s the boy who tried to fight off three Æsir singlehandedly and almost won?”

Jorgi turned to look at Tŷr, bright green eyes blazing. Pointedly lifting his chin, he spat venom in Tŷr’s face. Tŷr jerked backwards in a shout, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

Damn. Kid had spirit. Blinking the last of his vision back, Tŷr caught a satisfied smirk on the boy’s face. “Bite the hand that feeds you, eh?” he said, ruefully examining his sizzling sleeve. That venom was going to ruin his favorite tunic. He felt no anger towards the boy; no. Anger was for those cowardly in battle, or those who used underhanded tricks to get what they wanted. One like Jorgi, who had and was still giving his all to the fight, deserved only respect.

Jorgi replied quietly, “You’ve given me nothing.”

The words stung him, oddly enough. Tŷr looked down, letting out a chuckle. “Yeah. I guess I haven’t.”

I felt like writing angst, and I've recently fallen back in love with Jormungand/Jorgi. I used to hate him because he felt too perfect for me. Polite, compassionate, gentlemanly, etc etc etc. Bleh. His only flaw was that he has a subtle flare for vigilantism and a tendency to ignore direct orders when it suits him.

Then writing up a character sheet for his most dedicated fangirl, Ninja, I discovered how to fix him. I intensified his positive ideal (which is Love) with a focus on his family and specifically his little sister, Hela. Now his character arc after being taken by the Aesir traces a path that leads to him eventually becoming obsessed with Thor and his destiny to kill Thor at the end of the Nine Worlds. =3 I like him much better sans sanity. ^^