He had only looked past him, to see his father’s slumped form, and the blood that trickled from Odin’s weapon unto the earth as it bloomed nothing but grief of what once was.

Far too young was he placed under Odin’s wing. Not as a son. As a brother. To learn and gain flight like the great ravens of The All-Father, for Jötun to see change and growth within their own.

It was only ever pity that drove the king.

He howled with nothing short of pain as the snake’s venom, like that of his own, bled beneath his lashes and pierced to his iris.

His children bound him. What once was of them. So vividly did he recall their screams of fright. And your own gaze, how it held everything yet nothing beneath ice.

He looked over to where you sat, bowl raised high where poison dripped. Dripped. And dripped. His skin burned, bone to sizzle as he could only lay upon jagged rock. Bound until eternity became nothing.

“You’re a fool.”