make a citizen out of you

Her aggression, her need to lash out, it doesn't hurt. It can't hurt him, not here. The viking king remained relaxed, rocking the child gently, letting her express all the frustration and hurt and pain. Another screech there, the curl of her paws there, it's okay. Víðarr knows that for as long as he can hold her, he will make sure the child is okay. He wouldn't be able to do it forever (such is the way of raising someone, he supposed), it's important that he does it now.

Ah, yes, they would pray together. The viking king steps from bed, then lifts Delphi gently, setting her on her feet. He moves to rummage through a chest beside the bed. Two small bottles of honey and dandelion mead, and a long strand of raw wool. It was the last of the stash Víðarr had started the summer with, and looking at it now brought a little smile to his face. So much had changed from then to now. His heart was warm in his chest.

"Come." Víðarr's tone was even, and wouldn't be argued with. Not that he suspected Delphi would have much to argue about, as he led the way towards the altars. They weren't far, though the walk got a bit steep toward the end. The viking king carried the wrapped parcel up the final large step before turning with an offer to lift his granddaughter if necessary. Before them, Freyja's altar spread.

With deft movements, Víðarr lit the candles. He uncorked the jars of mead, placing one upon the altar. The second, he held for a moment with closed eyes before taking a sip. He passes the jar to Delphi, taking a seat. It's weak enough, he doesn't question it. As the viking king settles, he removes the bit of wool from the makeshift bundle as well, beginning to fidget with it. Weaving together, section over section, the same way his scorned elder sister had shown him. "I know you are angry. Tell me specifically-- what are you angry about?" Víðarr needs to channel that anger. He needs to find the source of it, and direct it. They would both need the help of the gods for that one.

"Víðarr"