A moment ticked by. Then another. For Idun, those moments were completely silent. There was no chatter. No buzz, no banging, no stomping, no chaotic chords crashing together to make up a melody of life. Idun held her breath and waited beneath the choking cloud of quiet, because she'd said so much and if this didn't work, what else did she have to offer him? If this didn't work, Idun really would have to leave. At least if he listened and he smirked but still asked her to go, at least then Idun would know she'd kept her promise to the mortal Bragi. But if this Bragi, her Bragi, remained broken anyway, the tragedy of it all would shatter her all over again. Idun didn't want to be shattered. She wanted him happy. She wanted the glow of bursting brilliance to brighten his eyes again, and she wanted him to write another hundred love letters to Jondi simply because he finally had the words again. Idun didn't need to hear any of them, not if he wanted her to walk away for good, but at least Jondi would hear them. That would be more than enough. If Bragi was happy again, at least Idun wouldn't shatter.
And then he took a breath and the gorgeous, gorgeous blue of his eyes was suddenly overwhelming her. There was a very high possibility that she gasped, but the world was still silent until he laughed. Then the world finally had sound. He laughed and it warmed her to her core, a soothing wash that was as comfortable and familiar as a favorite blanket, yet warmer than even the thickest quilt. His laughter was music, and Idun had always known this but it was different now. She wasn't stubbornly oblivious to it anymore. She was being honest now, both to him and to herself. The only sound that mattered was his laughter, even after it ended and the tavern came alive with its own messy chorus again. Bragi stopped laughing and he pulled her into his arms, and that was music as well. That was more than just music. Idun realized he'd grabbed her hand only after he had let it go, but this was so much better. This song was going to play in her heart for a very long time.
Her arms wrapped around him like they were made to embrace Bragi and Bragi alone. With his head on her shoulder, Idun didn't hesitate to brush her fingers through his hair, playing lazily with the curls that likely had more songs and stories trapped in them than some of the skalds in this tavern had in the entirety of their minds. It was meant as a gesture of comfort. His body shook. Idun could feel it. She knew he was crying. But Bragi had been broken so long, Idun didn't doubt he needed this, so she just offered comfort. She wanted to hold him closer but didn't dare. He had someone. Idun was being as respectful of that relationship as a woman could be just after declaring hopeless, endless love.
Bragi took another breath. Idun let one out. Her exhale sounded a great deal like breathy laughter. It couldn't be helped. When he didn't force her away or disappear, Idun was filled with a giddy sense of excitement. She hadn't expected him to stay. She had set the bar of expectations very low, and she still hadn't expected that. Bragi was exceeding the hidden top bar of expectations set by longing and hope. She couldn't stop herself from smiling.
"Don't blame the messenger. I got the message the very next day. It's your fault, really," Idun explained. She was grinning now. It made explanations very difficult but stopping was impossible. "There are a lot more taverns in Midgard than there are orchards in Asgard, Bragi. In case you were curious. You're a difficult god to find."