Out of everything Thistle had to say to him, the majority of which going in one ear and gleefully out the other as he let them roll off his shoulders because he was tired of having an immature argument with a woman who was twice his age, it had been her she is only a name to me that had struck a dangerous chord within the young rekkr. He was not unaware that it was a fair return of his own words and though the boy had spoken them dismissively and with the intent of getting under her skin he had not, exactly, meant them disrespectfully. He had only dismissively been stating a simple fact. Ragnar was only a name, only a story; even so Bragi had still felt respect for him even though they had never met. By the time Sveið and had decided that Bragi was old enough to be moved from their temporary home in Freya’s Moors to Odinn’s Cove Ragnar had already gone. Perhaps it was just Bragi’s automatic instincts to protect his mother and defend her honor that had caused him to think that this woman’s words were cruel. Perhaps Thistle had not meant them as such but it was how, nevertheless, Bragi chose to receive them.
And you are only another notch in Ragnar’s belt. Soon, you, too, will only be a name to him. He wouldn’t have said them, not because he cared but because he was not so out of control of his anger, even if Ragnar hadn’t chosen that moment to intervene. Bragi took some satisfaction in knowing that if he would have spoken those words that it likely would have pissed her off; as far as the boy was concerned she would have deserved it and given Ragnar’s liberal tendencies with his women as everyone in Odinn’s Cove knew well, it would not have been the least bit surprising to Bragi. When the scarred Jarl fixed Bragi in his gaze, too similar to Bragi’s own, the boy’s brow furrowed for a few moments as he stared unabashedly at Ragnar. It was like looking in a mirror that showed him what he would look like when he was older, except for the outrageous amount of scars the older male bore. Of course, Bragi recognized the random scars that to him, made up the markings of Odinn but couldn’t help wonder why Ragnar had chosen his face as the placement. “I am skilled at traveling and I have a talent for saga telling.” Bragi responded dutifully, hesitating for a second after Ragnar had asked for his name by calling him ‘son of Sveið’. “Bragi.” He offered before he fell into a natural silent, shooting a glare at Thistle before his eyes rested back upon Ragnar who stood only a little taller than him, though the man was obviously more defined in all the ways that Bragi was still soft with boyhood.
If that was what he had to look forward to looking like, minus the facial and head scarring, then it could have been worse.