His belly was filled with spirits and his mind was filled with possibility, so the cackle of a laugh that escaped him when the girl asked 'how did you know my mother?' was impossible to prevent. He tamed his laugh down to a chuckle and replied, "Very well," he gave a wink. Oooh, this was going to be a joy to explain to the wife.
"You are Rhiannon...?" Freyr hadn't meant to sound unsure, just... polite. For the moment. "You're my daughter, my heir," one of them. Side eye. "Freyr, of Alfheim," he took her hand, bowed to her more properly than she'd saluted him, then kissed her hand with the least beery part of his mouth-slash-beard. When he rose, he looked at Pétr and his eyes said to scram.
"I will be over there, Rhiannon," the younger man promised, pointing to one of the more empty long tables. He made his way toward Heimdall and sidled up to the seer. "Freyr says he is the Midgardian's father."
"And?"
"Is he?"
"Seems so," answered Heimdall, who was still enjoying the music being played for the lingering revelers. He smirked. "Do you doubt it?" Red hair, he should have known, ran in families. The taller man gestured to the boy's flamy tresses and then shrugged. "His wife was lost to him," Gerðr, common knowledge, "and his highness traveled the realms to drown his sorrows." Simple as that. The rest was up to the reunited family to share or not share with Volstaggson. Curious lad.