Sveið had only accompanied Bragi so far to the Teekon Wilds and when they reached the lands he saw as unexplored, she parted from him claiming that Váli would be furious if she did not return. Bragi had watched his mother part with him with sorrow filled eyes but a brave expression upon his face. They were warriors, he and her. Whether they saw each other once more in this life or not they would, he had no doubt, see each other again in Valhalla. The Viking child was old enough to understand what ramifications of ‘furious’ Sveið spoke of having seen Váli’s ferocious and cruel treatment of his current wife Sif plenty of times. Sveið wasn’t Sif, she was not a princess she was a shield maiden famous to boot and idly as he had watched his mother’s silhouette fade into the distance if she had intended to challenge the current Jarl of Odinn’s Cove in single combat. Regardless, she had brought him here to seek the safety of Váli’s brother, following in the footsteps of several of previous Cove members.
The truth was Sveið hadn’t given him a reason and Bragi had not been selfish enough to ask even though it had burned with the heat of a dying son on his tongue numerous times. He respected her wish to not tell him and he trusted that she knew what she was doing.
The young Berserker-in-training had made his way from there, using the skills that Floki had taught him for identifying edible berries and poisonous ones, pausing to clumsily catch a rabbit. Bragi had taken his time eating it, Caribbean blue eyes scouring the unknown lands around him. They were foreign and yet similar if only because of his association to the North. Odinn would guide him. Any time the nagging of fear or doubt threatened to paralyze him he would remember those words and added silently in his mind now with a solidification that made him certain, As will Heimdall,. His journey had been long and Bragi glimpsed at the golden and dusk colored sky, one eye closed, the other squinting against the sun he knew he had spent the entire day traveling. He knew if he did not find Ragnar soon he would have to dig a little den or find an abandoned fox hole to spend the night in. The thought of sleeping alone in a den was a unwelcome one so he threw himself into his task with determined and unconquerable vigor.
It was with a hopefulness that he happened to draw nearer to borders though knowing next to nothing of these lands or the wolf he was searching for in question aside from what he looked like from his mother and Floki Bragi just had to take a chance and bite the bullet.
She stomped across the borders intent to leave the bay when she thought she saw Ragnar in the distance and she snarled to herself. She stalked closer intent upon giving him some words that he could take up his ass, she froze when she got closer and realized that this was not Ragnar it was a male much younger and she growled out in Norse. "Maðurinn minn raunverulega þörf til að læra að halda henni við sjálfan sig" She stepped closer holding herself stiff and a bit higher than she needed to, but she found this just added to her irritation, even though clearly this boy was in her husband's past, but not that long ago obviously, she shook her head. There was no denying who this child's father was he bore her husband's silver coat, which would not have been to odd, until you looked into those Caribbean blue eyes then she knew. She really wanted to rip her husband apart, but she instead decided she would just add to her already irritation, because the poor boy was here all alone, and she was a mother first.
She looked at him and spoke first in English and then Norse, unsure what the poor boy knew and didn't know. Hello I'm Thistle Cloud. How can I help you? Though I am pretty sure I know exactly why you are here. "Halló ég er Thistle Cloud. Hvernig get ég hjálpað þér? Þó er ég nokkuð viss um að ég veit nákvæmlega af hverju þú ert hér"
Ears flickered forth when a woman came stalking up to him, her irritation a palpable thing writhing off of each tendril of her fur like one of medusa’s snakes (wrong mythology, I know) causing Bragi to lower himself in abstract confusion checking around him to make certain that he hadn’t crossed into borders though he knew he hadn’t. She growled in old Norse, a language he knew better even than the common tongue though he was equally fluent in both, something about her husband keeping ‘it’ to himself that obviously had something to do with him but wasn’t exactly able to piece together the implied meaning of her words. Not knowing her husband it only severed to make little to no sense to Bragi. “Uh,” The youth made a noise in his throat, brow furrowing in his confusion, hesitating to ghost a step back assuming that she was unstable emotionally.
As she spoke to him, introducing herself and then proceeded to say she was pretty certain why he was there…which was particular to Bragi because he wasn’t even sure why he was really there at least on the level she implied. His mother had not stated why he couldn’t stay at Odinn’s Cove but only that Váli had some sort of altercation with him despite that he was just a child still. His nose twitched as a sweet scent rose from her fur — what he would come to learn as heat — though it clung not to her specifically but to another female she had been near. “I can speak the common tongue,” He responded in a voice that was as accented as any wolfs’ that came from the Cove, his tones still boyish but soft even still.
Unable to help himself the boy issued this Thistle Cloud a small coy little smirk that tugged effortlessly at the edges of his lips. “Why am I here?” He inquired interested in hearing her theory.
Thistle smiled and spoke Thank goodness, my Norse isn't the best and I may have wanted to tell you something benign and ended up calling you a snake or something. She gave him another smile then and then tilted her head to study him.
A small sigh came out of her maw, when he smirked, reaffirming that simple fact that he was probably RAgnar's, a smirk being his trademark look, especially when he was talking to her. Well correct me if I am wrong, but I am assuming that you are from Odinn's cove, and since you are a dead wringer for my husband. I am also assuming that A. you are his son, because he was a man whore most definitely though he isn't now or B. you are somehow related to him. She somehow couldn't find it in her heart to regret calling her husband such a name, because frankly to her that is what he had been. She was glad he wasn't anymore, but still he had been.
The woman apologized to him, and though he did think she was a tiny bit crazy he accepted it with a quiet and gracious nod of his head. After all, it was apparent that her grievances did not lie with him — couldn’t possibly lie with him because he had done nothing wrong as far as he could tell. He was near their borders but near was a very abstract term given that he had left more than adequate space between their borders and his body — and considering he knew nothing of her home life who was he to hold a grudge? Bragi eased out of his submissive pose figuring she was not going to attack him anytime soon though he was acceptably cautious nevertheless. Her attempts at humor were met with a pensive stare from Bragi, despite her smiles shot to him he still felt a knot of tension in his stomach that did not seem willing to ease.
She had guessed right on the Odinn’s Cove part but Bragi’s brow furrowed deeper when she spoke about her unknown to him husband and something about a dead wringer. He didn’t want to admit to her that he had no idea what a ‘dead wringer’ was so he shifted his weight feeling the knot of discomfort clench tighter when she prattled about him being this unknown husband’s child — which was severely crossing his ‘things we don’t talk about’ line — or being related to him. Which was impossible because his mother had not had any siblings and considering Bragi knew nothing about his father (for all he knew his father really was the god Heimdall, given the stories) and it irritated him that this woman was presuming to tell him who his father was when she didn’t know him and she didn’t know his mother. “I doubt it considering I have no idea who your husband is,” Though he was highly irritated he hid it well behind a well practiced calmness and coyness, his natural defense to keep himself in check and keep his guard fortified. “You’re not my mother,” Bragi felt like he was being inherently redundant by pointing out what was plainly evident. “and since she claims my father is the God Heimdall I believe you are wrong.” And that was it. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It wasn’t this woman’s place to presume to know anything about him, or his enigmatic father and he didn’t like her shooting her mouth off like she knew anything about who he and his mother were.
“That has nothing to do why I’m here,” He told her briskly dropping the subject with the same suddenness one might drop a hot potato. He was done discussing it with her and done listening to her theories, despite that he realized he had opened himself up for that one even if it made no sense to him. “I’m not sure why but my mother decided that Odinn’s Cove was no longer safe for me and sent me here. So here I am.” And no matter what her or anyone else tried to tell him it was as simple as that.
She smirked then having learned a trick or two from her husband and said quietly My husband why he is Ragnar Loðbrók former Jarl of Odinn’s Cove and now the Jarl of Stavanger Bay. The very borders that you are lurking near. She raised an eyebrow then and spoke quietly but with ice edging her words, I never said I was, thank you very much. She had her ire back up, granted she knew he was not his mother and she had not meant anything by it. and frankly young man if you didn’t want me to give you my theories, and if you recall I did say that I could be wrong now didn’t I. Anyway, if you had not wanted them you should not have asked. She lowered her brows annoyance evident in her face.
that’s because apparently your Jarl Vali is being rather a bad Jarl. But then again I am not from your home so how presumptuous of me to assume something based on what someone else has said, I believe it was Dagrun actually that told me that. She didn’t know if he knew the male and she really didn’t care if he did or not, she was simply stating what he had told her. now since you’re here for an entirely different reason, how about I call @Ragnar and he can help you decide why you are here and maybe he knows your mother. She tilted her small muzzle to the sky and howled out a small note to her husband to come to the borders though she was irritated it was his job to meet and greet and accept all those that came to the borders.
She would regret how she spoke soon enough, but right now due to the fact that she was already irritated and a little put off she just sat down and waited for her husband he could deal with the boy how he saw fit really she was done with the whole thing for the moment. She would apologize later.
Thistle returned his smirk, causing his eyes to narrow slightly, barely resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the words that followed her mimicry of his demeanor. In truth, Ragnar’s name did not mean much to Bragi, other than he supposedly used to run Odinn’s Cove and that his mother respected him greatly, had fought beside him and trained with him growing up. It wasn’t like he shared that reverence despite what small bit of admiration the stories might have created in Bragi and he had no intentions of worshipping the man’s paws. “He is just a name to me,” Bragi responded in equal coyness, his accented voice cool for some reason almost hoping that it his dismissive response had gotten under her skin in the same way Thistle’s assumptions had gotten under his. “Exactly,” But Bragi considered the possibility that she had missed his point and added, “Who are you to say who my father is?” Why did she keep pushing when it obviously made him uncomfortable? The boy had once been curious about his enigmatic father but had since settled with what he had been told: that he was the product of some lust filled tryst between a God and a mortal woman (even though the idea sounds ridiculous to Tokio she has to remind herself that he can think it all he wants because to him it is real, lol).
Bragi said nothing because in all fairness he had asked. Merely, he had not realized how big of a bite he had taken nor that he could handle it until he had began chewing. Since Bragi could not attest for Váli’s leadership skills because he had nothing else to compare him too not remembering the leaders of Freya’s Moors during his first three months of life which had been spent there but he did say, “Váli is a bad man,”; and though he knew well who Dagrun was: a great warrior and mentor to Bragi he did not inform her of this. Many times Bragi had seen Sif’s injuries and bruises that showed under patches of cream fur missing from her dainty body, and Sif had been Váli’s wife. Bragi’s mother had been something called a ‘consort’ for Váli though not that Bragi understood what that had meant or, even if he had, why the famous shield maiden had demeaned herself to that (Tokio suspects it was to protect Sif). “He does,” Bragi answered when Thistle spoke about calling Ragnar in question and that he might know Bragi’s mother. Everyone in the Cove knew his mother. “My mother is the famous shield-maiden Sveið. Shield Maidens raid, train and fight alongside the Berserkers.” Bragi clarified for her just in case she didn't know because it was obvious she had some knowledge but he didn't know how far it extended.
Thistle stared at him and let out a frustrated sigh, You are a stone head, you have cotton weeds in your ears. I said he could be I did not say he was, and you asked me why I thought I knew you were here. I am sorry that you look so much like my husband, that I actually thought you were him until I get closer, that is no fault of mine. And if you don’t want to talk as you obviously don’t or you wouldn’t get so defensive, why do you keep telling me about saying something about it, when you could be quiet.
Thistle gave him a wry smile when he spoke of his mother as if she should know her. She is only a name to me. She realized she was being quite rude and she would have to change that some other time, if he would let her, but right now she found she just could care less, though probably in about 5 minutes she would care.
| Any hope Ragnar had harbored that Thistle was calling him to put their fight in the past where it belonged to fully lay it rest had been quickly diminished the second he had gotten within hearing range of the words being exchanged between Thistle, who sounded irritated and a strange male voice. From voice alone the male sounded like he was in the tantamount of his puberty but the words the two were exchanging were anything but polite. A low growl rumbled in Ragnar’s chest as he shrugged through the bramble that caught at the loose tendrils of his fur and pushed through the tree line, eyes of Caribbean ice observing the two of them from afar for a moment. His eyes found Thistle easily enough though his gaze moved from her to the stranger at the borders recoiling back for a moment in shock. The boy looked like Eitri but that was impossible because Ragnar’s father was dead. Odinn had taken his soul to Valhalla as his body had bled out staining Björn’s pallid coat of snow white. It occurred to Ragnar, then, that the boy looked startlingly like himself at that age before the scars that marred the left side of his face and head, even with the eyes to match.
Ragnar heard the boy mention Sveið, that the Shield Maiden was his mother and flinched when he heard ‘She is only a name to me’ spill almost cruelly from Thistle’s lips. Granted, the boy had spoken that Ragnar was only a name to him but he had not inflicted it cruelly, or at least Ragnar had not taken any sort of offense to it given he didn’t know the boy. "Enough!" Ragnar snarled quietly as he closed the distance, moving from his observing sport knowing that it was better he intervene before the two of them went to blows with one another. "Do not take your anger at me out on him, wife," Ragnar warned Thistle, feeling almost disappointed in her. This was not the Thistle he knew. If he needed too, he’d pull rank over her again even though he knew she didn’t like it and he would keep doing it so long as he felt that it was necessary. He didn’t know what happened to his wife but he wanted her back. This cruel and vicious siren was not Thistle.
Ragnar turned his attention on the boy, resisting the urge to recoil once more by the déjà vu like feeling that he was starting at a younger version of himself and his own father. It was proving to be a little …disorienting. Ragnar had heard enough of their conversation to glean why the child was here so he didn’t ask the question he already knew the answer too, instead settling for, "What apprenticeships can you offer the Bay besides your Berserker training?". He didn’t have to hear Bragi say it to know, it was evident in the muscles that were hardening faster than the softness of childhood was slipping from him, and he knew that the Shield Maiden would have taught her son. "What is your name son of Sveið?" |
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.
And yes she knew her husband was just a name to the boy, just as his mother was just a name to her, but he shouldn’t have said it. It wasn’t polite, granted she had been anything but polite too. She shook her head and kept walking ignoring the fact that they both were there lost in her own thoughts as she was. She had briefly wondered if he would call her back, but frankly didn’t care, she would apologize to them both later, right now she just wanted to find a quiet place and maybe sleep or maybe cry a little. She hated conflict always had, and now she had had two actually large fights in as many days and her heart hurt.
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| Thistle’s reaction was accepting if as coolly as he expected it to be and he let her go with a glance in her direction waiting before she was out of sight before he turned his attention back to Bragi, catching the glare the boy shot in his wife’s direction. For a moment Ragnar contemplated saying something in regards to it but stayed quiet on the matter if only because their animosity between one another was something they needed to work out. His intervention would only prove to get him even further to the top of his wife’s black book (which was not a place he wanted to be). Either they would work it out and come to at least some sort of civil mutual agreement or they would kill each other. It was the way of his people and though, technically, it was his job to handle civil disputes he would only step in as the last resort. His ears twitched when Bragi gave his name and listed off his apprenticeships and not exactly in that precise order. Nevertheless, he sounded like he would be a good addition to Stavanger Bay, slight feeling of obligation to Bragi’s mother aside. "Welcome to Stavanger Bay," Ragnar said before he gestured inland with his muzzle. "Come, I will give you a tour." And the Viking took off into the forest listening for Bragi’s accompanying footfalls. |