The day was fair and slowly Týr made his way towards Stavanger Bay with exaggerated slowness hesitating on the precipice of his trepidation. He wanted to see his father again but he was not so ignorant not to realize that he had a family, a new family that did not include him. So long he had strove to prove himself to Ragnar, to be worthy and now when faced with the chance to show his father what and who he was becoming Týr was scared. Scared that Ragnar wouldn't approve, that he wasn't welcome because the Jarl had moved on. It was a silly fear, borne of an insecurity that he had never known until it had been thrown in his face that he wasn't good enough. He tried not to let it get to him but he was only a teenager and he had his moments of doubt. Perhaps it was one of those moments that spurred his current trepidation.

Instead of going all the way to Stavanger Bay he lingered in Gyrfalcon's Keep pausing to take a drink from a fresh rain water puddle he found after he had dined on a plump rabbit he had caught, cleansing his chin and teeth from the pink stain and crimson droplets of warm blood that had lingered on the fine hairs there, salmon pink tongue sliding across charcoal lips as his head rose to allow crystalline blue eyes to study the unexplored landscape. He had passed through the Keep once only to confirm that his father's presence in the Wilds was stronger than it had been, sparked by curiosity as to his intentions. Studiously, the young Rekkr watched, muscles pulling taunt as a fawn, sandy colored wolf came into his line of vision, eyes narrowing to study her from afar, silver kohl lined eyes following her every move, black, leathery nostrils flaring as he scented Ragnar all over her. Others lingered on her coat, as well, but Ragnar's scent was the most familiar to him and Týr was confronted with the consideration that it was his step mother he watched.

On a impulse the teenager let out a chuff to announce his presence to her.

The woman greeted him with a warm hello and, interestingly enough, an apology that caused the young Rekkr's lips to part with curiosity at the expression though from where he was standing she had no need to apologize to him...and nothing to apologize to him for. Even if she hadn't acknowledged his chuff he would not have been offended if only because they were strangers, though he was undeniably glad that she had acknowledged his presence. The Heathen Prince offered her a soft smile in return of her own, noting that she had a pretty smile and cut quite an elegant and regal figure, and then felt weird for thinking that about his maybe step mother. Of course there was always the chance that she wasn't what he suspected but it was clear she meant something to Ragnar because his scent was all over her, easy to distinguish to Týr because it was as familiar as his own scent. “Hello,” Týr returned with a voice that carried his soft accent, not as distinguished as Ragnar's own.

For a short while Týr was content to let the silence fester, taking the time to contemplate the least offensive and intruding way to inquire about her identity and connection to his father. “I am Týr,” He introduced himself leaving off the affectionate nickname that he had felt he had long since grown out of. He might have been a teenager but 'boy' was failing in it's continuation of aptness. “I uh, I don't mean to pry but you're from Stavanger Bay, correct? I ...have family there.” It wasn't the most practiced way and in reality he hadn't asked her anything, and even so there was always the consideration that Ragnar would not have told his newest wife of his existence. It was a painful thought but he was the product of a past life — wives, consorts and family that Ragnar had left behind to understandably fulfill Odinn's commands.

It was not his lovely companion's warm greeting that had sparked his curiosity but rather her apology, and for a brief moment, lips spliced at her soft chuckle to assure her that she had nothing to apologize to him for but in the interest of not offending her let his mouth close with a sharp click of teeth, accepting it as he swallowed his assurance, letting it dissolve from his thoughts. Watching the woman's smile grow when he gave her his given name he felt a small sprint of hope blossom within his chest that Ragnar had not forgotten about him, after all. The son of the deceased wife, the wife he never mentioned ...easily forgettable getting swept up in the horizon of his new wife and his new children, right? But she knew him, by name at least, introducing herself as Thistle Cloud and also as his 'Father's wife'. Týr let out the breath he had been unknowingly holding, feeling a wave of relief surge through and over him as he realized that Ragnar hadn't forgotten about him.

Having his suspicions confirmed he studied Thistle unabashed and freely though his eyes were reserved if to remain gentlemanly in his studies. After all, this was his step mother. For a moment he wasn't sure what to say to her knowing that she was fully aware that he was her step son and wondering if that made her feel bitter towards him. It was awkward, trying to determine where this made them stand with one another. Týr wasn't her son and therefore she had no reason to be kind to him, to want anything to do with him. She could have hated him, everything he was because he was to a past wife of her husband; likewise she wasn't his mother but she was his mother by marriage.

If Týr had any memories of his mother they were long gone though he was fairly sure that Ragnar and Floki had told him she had died giving birth to him (nevermind that his birth mother was very much alive and mourning and searching for him). “So that makes you my step-mother I guess,” Týr finally offered wondering if it was as awkward for her as it was for him; despite that his awkwardness was borne of his own lack of knowledge of them or what kind of step-mother she would be if she was even interested in being his step mother of any semblance. He didn't really need her, he was capable of taking care of himself but he couldn't help but think that it would be nice to have something he had never had before (or at least has no recollection of having): a mother. “You're very pretty,” Týr offered her as a compliment, wondering how long he would have to suffer his own trepidation and according awkwardness. “I've been meaning to visit but I wasn't sure if ...I mean he has you and new children probably and I didn't want to intrude.” Týr spoke, clearing his throat once, taking his crystalline blue eyes off of her to look around their surroundings, wishing he could turn off the feeling that he'd been replaced and that he had no place in Ragnar's new life.

Týr's paws shuffled against the dirt beneath them, scuffing scrapes the exact size of his paw pads, watching the dust billow out and float lazily back to the hard earth from whence it had came, chocolate colored ears cupping forth as she accepted his compliment. Which was awkward because he had been appreciating her as a male appreciated a female only to come to learn that his suspicions were true: she was his step mother. Awkward. In fact it took awkward to a whole new level. The Rekkr glimpsed up at her, peeking at Thistle Cloud through his lashes when she welcomed them into their home whenever he wanted. He offered her a lift of the right corner of his lips into something resembled a half sorrow and half smile twitch. “I think we both know Ragnar would never allow that,” Stavanger Bay might have been ran by his father but since Týr was not actually joining the Bay he did not have the freedom to traipse through their lands just because he was the Jarl's son and though he appreciated what Thistle Cloud was attempting to do he didn't want to trespass on his father's lands just as thoroughly as he knew Ragnar didn't want him doing it.

Týr held statue still as the woman drew nearer to him, the muscles pulled taunt beneath his coat as he felt her muzzle nudge against his shoulder, the warmth and kindness in the simple touch, a soft shiver snaking down his spine as Thistle smoothed her muzzle over his ears accomplished likely only because his head had lowered, exposing the strong curve of his spine as his muzzle neared the earth as he attempted to figure out how he felt about her motherly touches and at the enormity of having a mother and siblings. It was a lot to process at once and it left his head spinning at a dizzying dose of vertigo as if he were standing on a very high precipice looking down into the dark and dizzying drop below him. “I... have never had a mother before,” Týr admitted to her in a soft murmur hoping that she didn't take his reservation as a rejection. “I want to take this slow. It will take some time for me to ...be used to it,” He paused, drawing in a deep breath, hoping he wasn't insulting her with his words. “And to get to know you.” It sort of sounded like they were entering a romantic relationship, which they were not, but he had no other way to communicate that he couldn't just love a stranger as a mother. That wasn't plausible for the young Rekkr and all he could do was hope that she understood.

Her offer to deal with Ragnar for him made him feel like he was hiding behind her though the both of the knew that it wasn't the case. His reluctance wasn't because he in any shape or form feared his father. It was simply because despite Thistle Cloud's reassurances he was not sure he had a place in Ragnar's life still and even if he still did he shouldn't have the ability to just come and go on the Bay's lands just because he was the Jarl's son. “No, no, that's alright. I do not think that I should be treated special just because I am the Jarl's son,” If death was the penalty for trespassing for everyone else then it was the penalty for trespassing if he did it. It was only fair to Týr.

“I do not mean to be crass Thistle Cloud, I know she died giving birth to me. I have no recollection of her and therefore no real connection to her,” Even as the words passed from the chocolate Rekkr's lips they felt wrong. There was a pang in his heart every time he thought or spoke of his mysterious mother that rose like a sudden hurricane over the calm seas. Something that told him that he did have a connection to her and that to replace her was wrong. Thistle Cloud wasn't a replacement, but she was a mother through marriage and more of a mother than he had ever had before. “How did you and my father meet?” Týr inquired, feeling that it was the best place to start. How they met and how they had came to be married since he had been absent for those moments and they were obviously the most important.