Redtail Rise tell me that i'm still breathing

It did not come as any sort of true surprise that Arion had came across Vikings upon his travels. They were an adventurous people, bold and brazen. Their attachment to their original pack could not and would not keep them from branching out on a raid and taking over other packs, or founding their own branch off — such as Ragnar had done with Stavanger Bay. They were a culture of conquerors and if they wanted something Mercury pitied the wolf ignorant enough to stand in their way. The Greeks, Spartans more specifically, were of a similar vein and even the Romans shared in this conquering gene (since the Roman empire was one of the largest). Perhaps the blood of the Spartans and Romans ran hot in his veins, which would explain his desire to prove his superiority, to capitalize upon his physical prowess as sylphlike as it was, but he had a scholar's mind always seeking diplomatic resolution to physical conflict; and by association he was enough of a “Viking” no matter how the idea made him cringe to be welcomed among their people, speaking old Norse as fluently as he spoke the common tongue. For the first six months of his life Mercury had refused to speak anything else, lest it was absolutely necessary. But once upon a time he had wanted nothing more to be the favorite of Ragnar Lodbrok, to impress his adoptive father, seeking nothing more than approval, as any boy would strive to do.

“Freyja, Queen of Valkyries, and Frigga, as well, my mother's favorites,” There were more, of course, many more. While the idea of Gods and Goddesses — of any deity, really — was off putting to the logical mind of the dark skylark he enjoyed collecting the stories, nevertheless. “He worshiped Odin,” Mercury spoke in past tense, subtly communicating that his adoptive father was no longer around to worship anyone, or anything. Under normal circumstances, Mercury might have attempted to pawn these questions off to Gunnar, would have suggested that should Arion be curious about Ragnar it was the Thistle lookalike he wanted to ask, since Mercury had emancipated himself from Ragnar on bad terms with the Viking, but given how sensitive Gunnar obviously was to the subject he took the burden of sating Arion's curiosity by himself, to spare Gunnar the pain; to protect his brother, as was his job as the older brother. Mercury mourned the man but he could not claim that he felt pain. Mercury couldn't. He couldn't take back what had transpired between them, the heated words on both sides, he could never apologize. He could never make amends (and wasn't so sure yet that he would have willing to even if he could). Discord had been left between them, disconnecting them. 

Mercury couldn't make himself feel torn up about it, and it made him sick, made him feel like a monster (though in truth it made him more like Ragnar than he'd likely ever be willing to realize). “I take it you have traveled a good deal, then?” It was a natural assumption to make, and Mercury took the liberty of asking the question while he had the opportunity.