If there was but one thing that had pleased him thus far that Týrr could say about rejoining the Glacier was that he had managed to earn his long sought after Chronicler trade fairly quickly, as to which he could accredit to no one but himself so in the long run it truly had nothing to do with anyone else, aside from those that had helped him to achieve it by listening to the short story that he had to tell. He might be missing some parts of the Glacier's history — only the pieces that he was not there for — but he had been there at the grand beginning of it all. Though some might see his loyalty as questionable, he knew where his true loyalties lie. Of course the Glacier was his home, of that there was no dispute. He would not call anywhere else home, he wouldn't dare. It was where he belonged — whomever he was. This cross between Tezcacoatl and Týrr; this mixture of Amazon and Viking. Two cultures that were probably never met to mix cohabited him and worked together ...rather peacefully. The result? He did not know yet. He only knew that he was not the same teenager he'd been months ago. He was different, felt different. A man made anew. His identity crises was less of a crises now and more of an annoyance for it remained a struggle especially as he discovered himself. Who he was. The man he was rapidly becoming. Whatever remained of the prim and proper Prince cringed at the adaptation of feralness he'd taken to, exotic and savage, but his mind would not be swayed. It was Tuwawi's rule he would follow, or no one's. The Glacier belonged to her — to the Sveijarns. Not Malachi — though admittedly the other male's joy at seeing him had been enough to derail Týrr for a short number of days. He had not expected that sort of welcome and having been taken off his guard it had, admittedly, taken some time for him to shake it off and find his resolve once more.

During this time Týrr, despite his previous intentions, secluded himself, patching up his bachelor den, contemplating all that Malachi and Manauia had told him, replaying their conversations and taking what he deemed as important from them; focusing upon hunting for the pack, using the days wiled away tracking to refocus. He had meant to seek out Tuwawi as soon as possible, but for aforementioned reasons resigned from seeking out the pack's true monarch. Even so, he had not intended to seek her out this day, but he had caught her scent as he was out and about collecting trinkets — bones and furs, namely — for his den and had subconsciously altered his course so that he was quickly closing the distance between her and he. Crystalline gaze caught her, her fire kissed form like a brilliant and breathtaking comet among the landscape around them — a fortress of barrenness, the stark of winter blanketed with snow; the Rekkr's breath caught for a sheer moment before he chased the childish tendencies of a boyhood crush away. He was no longer a boy and Tuwawi, well, she was a Queen. Besides, as far as he was aware she still considered Njal her mate despite that the man had left and, as far as Týrr was aware: no longer around.

He was not yet so ruthless as to point such a potentially painful thing out, so instead for the moment he yearned for nothing more than to be her faithful. A faithful subordinate, because that was what he was. Tuwawi, The Rekkr breathed, breaking the silence. He did not fail to notice the strange thing around her neck, but his gaze did not linger there. It was certainly odd but it did not frighten him and he would not allow it to cloud his judgment of her. Simply: he did not care. His steps had ceased the moment he'd laid eyes upon her, and still he stood, assuming that it would be for the best.

Týrr did not try to hide his small, perhaps even bemused, smile to accompany the soft 'churr' of a laugh he gave when Tuwawi looked to him with her jaws slightly agap in what he imagined to be surprise. He took this as a good sign, for she did not give off anything he could see in body language aside from astonishment. It made him a little sad to come to the realization that given her astonishment she did not think he would return to her or the Glacier but nevertheless, he was simply pleased that she was not angry with him. The important thing was that for better or for worse, he was back and he had no intentions of departing the Glacier again. It was where he belonged. He stood still and contented himself with watching her as she approached him, closing the distance between them without hesitation, through slightly lowered eyes. She might not have held it against him, but that did not cease the small swell of guilt that he had left in the first place — twice. The first time, though, it had been in search of Njal and her missing children, determined to bring them back to her; but he had came up empty pawed, having not been able to put down any of the wretched creatures responsible for the gaping hole in her family; and when Týrr had returned Tuwawi herself had been gone. Driven by the realization that he did not know who he was, nor who he was supposed to be as the truth warred with the falsities he had been fed by the Vikings of Odinn's Cove and the overwhelming crush as the memories tried to break free of the amnesiac acid that had stricken them from him with near entirety.

Things were not perfect. He remembered some names and faint echoes, weak cries and nothing more. Nothing solid and nothing that felt real despite that Týrr knew that they were. He still felt broken but time had begun to mend him, and given plenty of it, it would heal fully in time, of this he was certain.

Searching for what I had lost, True enough for both absences despite that it was a horrendously vague response. For a moment, he dithered on whether he wished to divulge with her, even in a small measure, on whether his past was important. He might never remember anything more than the ghostly echoes, and he had accepted that the only path was forward. I came to learn that I suffered a severe injury probably about a year or so ago now, and that it caused me to forget ...everything. The wolves I had loved before, where I had truly came from, my mother, Týrr had decided to share, not because he thought she might care, but simply because he wanted her to know that he trusted her. He trusted Tuwawi without any trepidation and he would always have her back even if there would never be anything more between them than this ...this royal/subject relationship. His loyalty was not something that could be swayed or bought, which was likely the bane of Manauia's existence, causing a small smirk to play but never materialize at the edges of his lips as the thought occurred to him. I don't remember much and while everything has changed I came back because the Glacier is where I belong. It is my home. And it was where, more than anything in the world, he wanted to be.

Týrr held still while she sniffed at him, reaching out to offer her a nudge, gentle as it was laced with a slight hesitation, trepidation at how the gesture would be received, if it would be unwelcome or welcomed, whilst also wanting to express his joy at seeing her again without using words because Týrr wasn't a poet and didn't want to risk saying the wrong thing or messing up anything; and perhaps to prove to himself that she was not an illusion, that she was physically there; though if she was a figment of his imagination she would not have been wearing the strange item around her neck that she wore now. Nevertheless he spoke, It is good to see you as well, my dróttning,. At one time Tuwawi had not thought of herself as a Queen, but he would always see her as such, even if she no longer held the official title. He would always knowledge her as such because the Glacier was rightfully her kingdom and may the odds be in the favor of anyone who dared to tell him differently. How are you? Týrr asked her softly, allowing her to open up to him if she wished to, or to dismiss it all together. Enamored by her as he was, he would not be insulted if she chose the latter of the two. Still, he was always willing to listen.

Týrr offered Tuwawi a small smile that held a grim set to the corners of his lips when she expressed the incredibility of it, because he agreed with her. It was happening to him and he could barely believe it himself. Some days proved to be more confusing than others as what he knew and the echoes of memories merged into a jumbled, incoherent mess within his mind confusing his memories forgotten and recent though those that were forgotten were never clear and never much. Small wisps, echoes, nothing more than a tease; and then there were days worse than others in which his head felt like it might split open as he attempted to force himself to remember. Having learned his lesson he tried not too, but sometimes his subconscious would pry for him to sate the never satisfied fire of curiosity and the desire to know everything there was about who he had been, to remember Tezcacoatl. When he thought of his past self like that it reminded him of having split personalities and for the moment that was certainly what it felt like even as the two: amazon and viking worked to merge into one superior being within him. I feel guilty for it, I must have loved her greatly, But Ragnar had stolen that from him too: his love for his own mother, because he could not feel that love now when he did not remember much of anything. But I don't remember. He didn't remember if she was alive, or why he had left home in the first place. Manauia had never told him and he had never asked for some harbored fear of learning the truth. Perhaps he had been exiled, or worse yet maybe his mother, Quetzalcoatl was dead and that was why he had fled his birth pack in the first place. The possibilities, he realized, were endless and trying to remember even now, even abstractly had caused a dull ache to pound at the back of his head so he quickly refocused his attention back to Tuwawi.

As I have missed Duskfire, And he had, but he had to be sure he wouldn't entirely go insane as he struggled to remember. ...Of course he wasn't sure it wouldn't happen anyway, or that he would ever remember fully but staying away from his home was no longer an option for him. Týrr was dutifully silent as Tuwawi spoke that things have been unwell, though he had expected as much. She, too, had been faced with hardships though she did not have the luxury of forgetting as he had and the Rekkr could not imagine the pain she must have been feeling daily. It was a morbid relief not being able to remember for while he felt guilt he did not feel pain. Týrr knew that the two boys and the eldest girl had went missing, but he had expected Njal to return to Tuwawi because the ember was worthy of returning too, though he knew that the other Northerner was gone hearing Tuwawi say it made it seem more true. He has left you or just the Glacier? Týrr inquired softly, unsure if Njal's leaving for her meant he was simply gone from the Glacier but that she still considered him her mate, or if it meant that his departure had severed that, too. It was for partially selfish reasons that he asked, though even with the new feral behaviors that had taken him, Týrr wasn't that insensitive.

The Rekkr was silent when Tuwawi expressed that the Glacier was weak but that she loved it, and for a moment cast his gaze downwards, studying her fiery coat as the wind played with the tendrils of her fur as he contemplated. We could make it strong again, Tuwawi, Týrr spoke to her, his gaze rising to rest lightly upon her face, though his gaze was sparked with the knowledge that they would raise it back to it's glory. You can make it strong again. All she had to do was to claim what was rightfully hers and he would help her even it meant nothing more than supporting her, if he could inspire her to take her rightful title of Queen once more that was.