Idun didn't catch the smirky smile. She was looking elsewhere. She was pointedly looking elsewhere a lot, actually. It would have been very funny, honestly, if she'd had the sense to realize how silly she was acting. But Idun wasn't looking over her actions very closely, and that was for the best. She often kicked herself after Bragi left, for silly things she'd done or said in thinly veiled attempts to interrupt his love story, but mulling it all over would happen later. Much later.
She glanced down at him as his face fell. On the one hand, Idun hated even the slightest hint that he was crestfallen. On the other hand, if he took her terrible advice to heart, wasn't that a good thing? He was clearly making a terrible mistake with this Jondi goddess. If she helped bring an end to it, wasn't she just being a good friend? Wasn't she almost doing him a favor? Yes, yes she w-- Idun's eyes widened. Actually sounded dangerous. Her gaze remained focused on Bragi.
Idun reasoned that it was a bit like dropping a tiny little snowball off the top of a mountain, only to have it build and build as it tumbled down, growing into a weapon of ridiculous destruction by the time it crashed at the bottom. Telling Bragi to give a crumby, unfinished mess of a letter, only to have him come to the conclusion that the roughest form of a rough draft was an unpracticed speech, heartfelt and unpolished but beautiful in its raw sincerity. As Idun scoped out the destruction, she realized that it was a wonderful sight. That snowball of an idea had carved out a path straight through her, and she had to take a steadying breath to remind herself that this passionate speech wasn't meant for her. It had nothing to do with her. "Oh. You'd be lost," she said. Then she laughed to cover up a wince. "And your relationship would be in pieces."
Idun sighed at the mention of her name again. Did he have to mention her by name? Did he have to talk about her like that, like the world froze when their eyes met? It was terrible. It was nauseating! It made Idun's heart ache in a way she'd never believed was possible. And that didn't even make sense, because Bragi was her dear sweet friend, nothing more. What did it matter if he talked about his goddess like his life began and ended with her? Why did it matter if she was impressively obstinate when she wanted to be? Idun hated every detail he shared about her, and if he looked close enough, Bragi would see that translated into sadness in her eyes.
Luckily, Idun was too high in a tree for him to look closely.
"If you want," she said. Idun told herself to lean back, but as he began reading, she only pressed a bit further against the ropes. His voice was like honey running over gravel, and it washed over her with an easy fluidity that made her shiver. She refused to acknowledge the name, but everything else was uttered in a way that left her hanging onto each and every word. She didn't know why Bragi had to apologize, but if this was what it sounded like when he asked for forgiveness, he really needed to anger her more often. Well...not her. Not Idun. His goddess. Jondi. Idun suddenly felt very flustered.
"It's..." Idun swallowed thickly. Her plan to offer bad advice faltered when all she could think about was how truly heartfelt and sweet and charming Bragi was, even when he was so in the wrong he needed to put his apologies to paper. She ended up sighing. "It's a little sappy. But only a little. And a little sap can be very...moving," she eventually said. Idun couldn't fault him for a letter like that. It was too touching. It was too perfect.
Almost as though her mind was replaying what he'd said to distract her from his perfect letter, Idun realized he'd mentioned something about a possible net owner. Her eyes widened and she paled visibly. Given how pale she was to begin with, that was saying something. "...wait, what? What about a frost giant?"