Ragnar might have, if circumstances had been different, assumed she would simply ignore his summons for in these lands he was no longer a Jarl and he was not sure anyone would take to well to the idea of a slave not that frankly, he gave much of a damn. It was what Nerian was to him. His slave girl. As unsure as he was the day they had raided her home pack he was hit again with the question of: why. Why had he saved her when he had done nothing to stop the others from raping or killing the other woman. What made her so damn special. Maybe it was because she knew their native tongue, had cried out in it when they had stormed the denning area after taking care of the warriors that fell one by one at the Northmen’s jaws. To this day, he still didn’t know. The same way he had not known what had made him decide to convince the Amazon boy who had lost his memory when they had taken him captive that he (Sveinn) was Ragnar’s son. Sometimes, Ragnar supposed the Gods had grand designs that even their most devout were not privy too.
Icy, oceanic eyes the color of shimmering Caribbean blue watched her as she approached, her movements elegant as he had came to expect of the Priestess. For a second, the Viking was stoic, staring her down, level and unrelenting as she approached him. When Ragnar had left the Cove on Odinn’s orders he had been confident she would have ran, back to where he had stolen her from - or what was left of it. During his time as Jarl Ragnar had heard whispers that they had been rebuilding. Curiously enough, Nerian wasn’t there. She was here. Ragnar would not have tried to stop her should she had tried to escape, the truth was, he would have let her go. Though the title of slave was harsh in and of itself and he owned her, he was not a harsh master. Though ruthless in other aspects his treatment of wolves, so long as they showed him the respect he commanded, was nothing short of fair. The Cove had flourished under Ragnar’s rule, only, he would come to learn, to be destroyed by Váli’s.
Her words were steel tipped, her voice courageous speaking out against him in a way that would have made a lesser man hurt her for sheer insubordination. Ragnar was not a lesser man. But, he wasn’t about to explain himself to her as if he had too.