If Bragi had known that Thistle was looking to try to make her day positive he would have avoided the vicinity near the Jarl’s den as if it’s inhabitants had conjured the plague. As it was, he was a bit of a masochist and wanted to study Ragnar’s face if only to torture himself a little bit more with the undeniable physical evidence that was graciously plopped into his life that Ragnar was more than likely his father and the fact that even glimpsing at Ragnar filled Bragi with a strange sense of disorientation and uncomfortable-ness. He was not a fan of having what he believed uprooted and tossed aside and would have much rather clung desperately and childishly to the belief that the God Heimdall had fathered him rather than the scarred and very mortal Ragnar Loðbrók. As it was, he was impervious to Thistle’s inner desires and had made his way towards their den with the intent of catching Ragnar before he went on a patrol though he had no idea what he’d say to him. There was nothing quite like meeting someone who was a legend to your mother only to be smacked in the face with reality when you finally met them.

Every time Bragi was within the same vicinity as Ragnar he was stuck with the same and stupid desire to blurt out the question that had once burned at his mind like a never dying fire until his mother had came up with the tale of Heimdall to finally, shut him up. Are you really my father? And yet, he could not make himself blurt it. Besides that it made him uncomfortable he wasn’t so sure that he really wanted to know. It was the weirdest thing: wanting to know but not wanting to know at the same time. Which left Bragi locked in the stage of trepidation. Some things were better left unsaid and there was no contest that Bragi would much rather believe Heimdall was his father over the Cove’s once …as Thistle had so genteelly put it: man whore.

As he shouldered past the thick trees that guarded the Jarl’s den he broke through them and stopped dead in his tracks his eyes falling upon Thistle, black, leathery nostrils flaring once. He almost turned abruptly around, and had an inkling of a feeling that he would regret that he didn’t sooner or later, but instead looked at her and asked, Do you know where Ragnar is? simply but with an undeniable level of bluntness.

There was a child who had been drawn by Bragi’s appearance in the clearing that, understandably Bragi had not noticed at first mostly because he seemed to blend in with Thistle given that he was more or less her mini-me. Eyes of Caribbean ice surveyed the boy as he spoke to Thistle in Bragi’s native tongue, probably not realizing that Bragi understood it and let out an amused but harsh snort at his words. That was the question everyone had been asking in their heads, wasn’t it? Who is this teen and why in the hell does he look like Ragnar minus the age and scars? It just took the unbridled innocence of a child for the question to break the hesitant barrier that everyone else was, for good reason, afraid to smash. Því það er galdur Heimdallr skip ... Heimdallur er faðir minn Bragi told the boy since it had became apparent that Thistle didn’t intend to answer him. For a child that was supposedly Ragnar’s, Bragi couldn’t help but notice he saw nothing of the Jarl in him. He didn’t comment on this of course, given that it would probably open the door that he was throwing his weight against to keep shut. Do you know who Heimdall is? Bragi asked Tveir then, in accented English, wondering how he could make a tale of out if without telling a lie about the Guardian God.

Bragi’s gaze lifted from her son as Thistle apologized and for a moment he said nothing, composing his expression into a stoic and terse mask as he took in her words. He understood that she hoped he would accept and there was no reason for him not too. He gave her a silent nod but he did not speak mostly because he wasn’t sure how he felt about her yet and though he knew he should apologize too, couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. He was being childish. He saw it and yet he was helpless to stop it, nevertheless. Ok, He responded supposing that he could try the borders and work his way out from there, though if Ragnar was at Wheeling Gull Isle Bragi had no intentions of interrupting what was probably tense negotiations. If such was the case he would wait and probably go out and explore some more and being a masochist some other day. He hesitated then, considering leaving Thistle and her child in peace but he was curious about Ragnar despite himself.

He flashed a thoughtful look at Thistle, wondering if she would tell him if he asked.