---

---

backdated to be a few days - at most a week - post tyr and sindri's disappearances

He'd thought by giving her a longer leash, she'd learn on her own how far it was wise to wander.

He'd thought that by standing by Tyr's side, resolute in the face of all their losses, they might be able to weather the storm and emerge on the other side, their shattered forms still standing.

He'd been glad, initially, that it seemed Tyr had gone with or gone after Sindri. The girl had been told very clearly to take an escort with her if adventuring was what she wanted, and she'd sworn not to be gone longer than a night. But many nights had passed, and neither their leader nor Cupid's daughter returned to the isle. Spring was creeping out of its slumber even here; fragile flowers blooms dotted Cupid's fur alongside the usual adornment of dove feathers. The snow gradually gave way to fresh shoots of grass, and the caches had become stocked with tender fawns and stolen bird eggs instead of the half-frozen stringy meat of the things that had almost, but not quite, survived the harsh northern weather.

It was a new beginning, the earth flourishing once more, and Cupid wanted nothing more than to bask in it. But instead, he was left alone on an island. Surrounded on all sides by the sea that had spat him out and stolen so many from him, surrounding still by young and worried souls he was responsible for guiding along a proper path.

Proper was the only thing holding him back, because the wrathful parts of the godling had flowered alongside the crocus and daffodil. The god of desire wanted to set himself and the warrior-trained youths of the pack on the warpath - enter the mainland and raze it until the gods and fate and the Gaia herself had no choice but to gently set his daughter and his friend back within his grasp. He'd never felt so much like a son of Ares, stalking through the fields of the lower isle with a foul mood hanging heavy over his raised hackles and flattened ears. There were a handful of other adults amongst the pack, and he told himself firmly that allowing them to determine their panic levels over the disappearances was wise. Cupid couldn't trust himself. He couldn't allow himself to trust his intuition, for his intuition was nothing but the color red - a father's protectiveness, a friend's devotion; he had always been a god in love with humanity and his mortality, he was realizing, had made that tendency to devote himself to bonds just as much as he wanted their devotion in turn twice as severe.

He could only wait.

The half-sister, he couldn't have cared less about. Or, that's what Sverke told himself, anyway.

But his father being gone for so long...It had put him on edge. He was pretty sure he was going to wear a moat into the sand surrounding the island with how often he found himself patrolling, his mind wandering while his paws drummed the earth as steady as his heartbeat. It soothed him now the same as it did when he'd been younger.

He feared he knew why, now. Bragi's words haunted him. Hati and Skoll.

Monstrous wolf-gods, harbingers of the end of all things; was that what he was? An omen, an advent of destruction? He had been prophesized, but it was not for the destruction of this world. He had to believe he hadn't been brought into being here just to tear it all down. As much as Sverke's blood sang for the fight, his paws itched for the chase; he got to choose, didn't he?

He would never harm his twin. He might bully and banter with his siblings, but he didn't want them to burn amongst the ashen end of all things, either. They were his, his to keep, his to protect, his to love in whatever ways the greedy boy's heart could.

Nothing, not even the twisted strands of fate, could take what was his away.

So, then, where was Tyr?

His footfalls carried him, breezily light despite his heavy thoughts, until Sverke spotted Venusson. Easily recognized, but never yet acknowledged by the Prince.

They appeared to be under the same heavy weight on their shoulders, now. Sverke skimmed his gaze over the spiked fur along the wolf's spine, the flowers tucked into his pastel pelt a contrast, but not a confusing one. After all, Sverke's mother was goddess of life and death, gold and war, fertility and wrath. He understood dichotomies well, although he tried not to think on Freya for too long, these days. It always hurt, no matter how much time had passed since she'd been called, and he'd been left here.

Maybe she'd known the ruin he'd once embodied, a lifetime ago.

Sverke sauntered closer, watching with unveiled curiosity as the blind wolf caught the sound of his pawsteps through the rustling grass, pricking his ears and coming to a halt.

No sign of them, still? He asked, and hated himself for how childish the question sounded. Like he was looking to Cupid for guidance, for, gods forbid, reassurance. It's YOUR daughter he's out there with. He wouldn't be gone if not for her. Sverke thought, venomously, but he held his tongue for the moment. He wasn't sure whether the haggard, flinty look on the man's face was one that was going to prompt the Prince into a fit of vehemence, or if it was a look that told him to be cautious and pay respect where it was due.

---

It was not one of his few remaining children who approached, nor a packmate. Well...Cupid supposed the boy was a packmate.

But he was always much more than that, wasn't he? Since before his birth, this one had been yoked to his goddess-mother's gilded and blood-soaked path to victory. The memory of what this still-young boy had done to Cupid's own son had only soured worse since Trygve had been lost to them. The idea that one of Trygve's brothers had attacked his son during the fleeting, minute season that boy got to live, was a wound that never healed deep within Cupid's soul. But he'd been trying, despite their tendency to avoid one another, to see the son of Tyr he hoped was within the foul whelp.

Besides the somewhat-fading scent of his father on his pelt, Cupid could see nothing of the Tyr he knew in the child, still.

He halted, sat down in the flower-freckled field, and pricked his ears when Sverke spoke to indicate his interest. Holding a grudge against a pup no more than a year old didn't sit right with Cupid, but he struggled all the same. Right now, in his current mood, he wasn't sure he had much patience left for himself - let alone the Prince.

I wouldn't be the first one to spot them if they were back, He snarked, lightly, not quite sure if it was genuinely meant as a joke or if he was just trying to cover for a snide remark.

Cupid took a breath.

What if Tyr was dead, his mind supplied, and who was going to care for the orphans left behind? Who would guide these precocious, fierce warriors-to-be away from the rage that was sure to try to claim their souls and minds?

Cupid sent up a small prayer for strength, for gentleness, to the goddesses he followed. They will return to us when they can, may the gods speed their passage. He finally offered, vying for some semblance of reassuring without giving the boy too much false hope. We should...

He wanted to swim off this island, turn every rock and leaf over until he found his daughter.

Stay focused, on hunting and patrolling, in the meantime. How has your training been progressing?

Ha. Ha. This guy had jokes.

Sverke scowled at Cupid, although a moment later he realized the man couldn't see the boy's petulant pouting in the face of Cupid's efforts to be unflappable. He responded by huffing out an exasperated sigh. They will return to us...may the gods speed their passage. Cupid offered.

That didn't satisfy the Prince, whose frown deepened. The diplomat only went on to ask how his training was going and trying to tell Sverke what he should be doing instead of walking until he was too exhausted to feel fearful over his father's fate.

We should be looking for them. He snapped in reply. We sent out a search party when your boy died.

The thing was, Sverke knew the point he'd brought up was cruel. He didn't hesitate to strike, though. He was good at sniffing out a creature's weak points, and his predator's instincts always whispered to him to go for the throat when he was vying for power.

---

We should be looking for them, And Cupid didn't disagree. He parted his jaws to say as much, but Sverke continued.

Cupid's jaws snapped shut, and he viciously wished it had been around the impudent, cruel Prince's ear instead of the cool spring air for a fleeting second. Guilt followed that impulse, but it was drowned out by the pulse rushing in his ears, the righteous anger that had swelled to a crescendo hardly contained within Cupid's frail mortal form.

How dare Sverke invoke Trygve's memory like that? How could he even stomach mentioning the boy's death so casually to the father who'd lost him, mere months ago?

It seemed like a lifetime. He remembered it like yesterday. Sverke had stepped not on a weak spot, but a still open and oozing wound within the dove-god, and Cupid surprised even himself when a stunned, silent second passed without him lunging forward, then another.

We don't have the numbers to support that right now. Cupid wrinkled his muzzle, unable to hold back the evidence of his derision. Are you going to take it upon yourself to find them? He sniped, intending that to be the challenge that would put an firm end to this conversation.

"And why wouldn't he?"

The voice is high, tinny, arrogant, even. Astrid strides forward, her head high, her eyes darting towards Sverke. They've had their differences. She doesn't forgive him for bringing up Trygve. But he's right. They can't just sit here.

"Daddy, we can't just sit here. And we're almost grown." She's seven months. Hardly an adult, but old enough to hunt. They'd been allowed on a few thus far. "Asgeir, Sverke, and I could easily find them, I'm sure."

⊰ Skill Point ― n/a ⊱

Lilja often fretted when Tyr was away. Why? She could not place it. Perhaps because they did not have many men on the isle, but that was such a backwards way of thinking that she scolded herself the minute the thought presented itself in her mind. Instead, she made herself busy and collected a chunk of meat for those in need.

Cupid, being the one in need.

The father couldn't seem to catch a break, and Lilja so wanted to beckon him for a spa day in the hot springs. Just to take a breather, a moment of respite from the chaos that always seemed to burn around them. Lilja couldn't imagine how they felt with Tyr gone chasing after one of the troublemakers of the island.

What Lilja didn't expect was the children who remained to confront the grieving father. In fact, it made the woman halt and drop the piece of meat that had been tightly held in her jaws as they fell agape.

What do you both think you're doing right now? Are you trying to give us a heart attack? she said with a tremble of shrillness to her voice. Lilja was flabbergasted. Of course, she had to remember they were children, but the lack of brain power coming from the pair's combined brain cell left her holding onto a very fine thread.

As effortless as a breeze, Astrid was suddenly there. Another of the children who so obviously shared Sverke's blood; she piped up with all the arrogance Sverke usually claimed for himself, and she sided with him.

As if he needed help. As if he needed her help. Sverke shifted his attention to Astrid, narrowing cold amber and ice at her with a sneer beginning to scrawl across his features. All she'd truly done by arriving was give him better ammunition. You can't come, you'd only get yourself killed. All your family's good for is disappearing. Sverke snarled. His tail curled over his haunches, before Lilja's snowy white frame materialized and her delicate voice rang through the air, bell-like and tolling with alarm.

Shame washed over Sverke. He'd always been a momma's boy, but Lilja had been one of his caretakers ever since he could remember.

I... He floundered for a moment, searching for a way to explain. What had he been doing, anyway? Besides, of course, lashing out in the hopes of distracting himself from wondering if his father was dead.

What if they need help, Lilja? As and me, we'd be fine out there.

---

He didn't think this conversation could have gone worse.

It got worse.

Astrid arrived in her usual form: bossy and self-assured of her own prowess. Cupid had no idea what he'd done to successfully encourage her to wield her own confidence like the weapon it was, although he very much suspected it was nothing he'd done and something she had miraculously claimed for herself. Right now, that particular quirk was causing Cupid to surely grow a few grey hairs the next time his coat blew out. He stiffened, not at her voice but the girl's effort to convince him to let her off the island.

Off the island, with no one but the twins to protect her. Cupid felt almost dizzy with terror at the thought, his ears slicking back against his skull. Sverke jumped in with nothing but unfettered cruelty, and Cupid wished almost that he'd tried to bite one of them - it might actually sting less than those words. The man bolted to his paws, sidestepping to physically step between Sverke and Astrid even though the threat from Tyr's son was, so far, not at all physical. Sverke, Cupid snarled, not sure what vitriol was about to escape his jaws. Thank the gods, for they had surely sent the gift that was Lilja. Her composure was far better than his own - Cupid did not want to be the man to lash out against a child, but he was not going to tolerate his daughter being spoken to in such a manner.

His muzzle still wrinkled with a silent snarl, the normally composed man growled under his breath. Absolutely not, Astrid. No one is leaving the island, for any reason. He had, quite frankly, no clue if he had the authority to make such a statement, but he only continued. It is not up for discussion, But he suspected both children before him would still have something more to say on the matter.

At least on Astrid's part, he'd encouraged her strong will - he supposed now he had to reap what he'd sown.

Oh, he wants to play? Astrid's tone turns nasty, her fangs baring, her words turning barbed as the smuggest sneer crosses her face.

"Please, I said you could come to be nice! All you ever do is get Asgeir to do everything for you. You're the useless one. No wonder the Queen left you behind!" But Cupid steps between them, and all the better. She'd kill Sverke-- she doesn't have any doubts of this. She's stronger than the abandoned ones like him.

Lilja scolds her, but it only makes her rear up more. Her temper's high, and Cupid's body keeps her from the worthless worm that she could simply destroy with a wave of her paw. "You don't believe I can do it." She gives Lilja a fiery look, but Cupid's words shut her up. For a moment.

She doesn't look at him. If she does, she'll cry. Instead, her next words are cold as ice, snapped off her lips with each word.

"Fine. I guess we let Sindri die, too, then."

They didn't let her come for Trygve. And now she's being denied her right to help Sindri.

It's not fair.