Truthfully, if Fenrir hadn't seen his brother's expression, he would've turned him down immediately—dealing with Hela with life and death was trickier than dealing with their Father on a good day, and that was saying something.
After all, he was the God of Mischief.
However, his brother was unknowingly emoting right now.
Well, not by much; his features were still fairly blank, and his body language displayed no agitation, but the way his brow furrowed slightly and his eyes burned with purpose was enough to tell Fenrir all that he needed to know about how Jörmungandr felt towards the wayward spirit by his side.
Somehow, in some way, that woman was important to him.
Though, Fenrir was able to sympathize with that; the small young woman next to him was someone whom he himself considered to be of great importance, Priestess bond and all. In fact, he greatly disliked how his elder brother was eyeing Aspen at the moment, but he knew it was simply due to his protective instinct towards his little... clan.
Still, he was hesitant to send his brother towards the lions den when Hela was so crafty about deals and exchange. She was a woman who would give those who lived a good yet dishonorable life the... well, better, in Helheim, and would give those who lived the worst and dishonorable the very worst.
She was cruel, shrewd, calculating... but Jörmungandr was... Jörmungandr.
Innocent.
Uninformed.
Ignorant.
So far, his only sin was being born and negligence, but his potential for destruction, as well as his latent power would be alluring to anyone. With someone so easy to manipulate, it would be simple for people of far more secretive and devious natures to get the better of him—and his elder sister was unfortunately one of those people.
However, at the very least she cared for her family; when he'd been born, and wasn't yet deemed a monster, he'd been privy to his brothers fall. Too young to understand the situation, he could only watch as his elder sister protested Jörmungandr's treatment, crying to their wayward and negligent father for help when he offered none.
It was scene he still recalled clearly, the sight of his massive elder brother who had grown on a diet of whales, being controlled and ultimately enchanted by those Aesir and Vanir because of those three woman—the three woman who'd turned to him, and whispered a life of similar imprisonment.
He and Jörmungandr weren't much different.
Both destined for destruction, bridled with a fate they'd never understood, and condemned to an nigh-infinite detainment that only nurtured their hatred of the world, till they loathed it in turn as much as is loathed them.
Perhaps it was the sardonic irony of fate that had lead to self-fulfilling prophecies.
Perhaps if they'd been given a chance, they might've been saved.
But suppositions led to nothing but confinement of self and unprecedented anxiety, and Fenrir was too tired to think of what might've been and what could've been done.
"Alright, I'll find where sister is—but you have to first learn about diplomacy and making a deal. I refuse to send you into Hell without some preparation!"
Jörmungandr titled his head, and curiosity shown in those startling eyes of his.
"...Diplomacy...?"
Fenrir finally laughed at that, a bitter but endeared smile on his face while he patted Aspen's head affectionately.
"You really are such a handful brother..."