“I don’t know,” Ragnar responded truthfully at Thistle’s next question regarding his brother’s leading skills. “Vàli is good at following orders he is given, I do not know how he fares on his own making all the decisions,” Ragnar liked to believe that he had set a good enough example for his brother than he would not turn into a second Björn but given how easily Vàli followed Ragnar’s lead without question made a small part of the Viking wonder if his brother would not crush under the weight of responsibility and allow the power to go to his head as Björn had. “I had originally offered the Second in Command position to Floki who told me he was too busy stitching me up to accept it.” A smile, borne of Ragnar’s fondness for his ‘madman’ friend crept across the scarred savage’s lips. “It takes a noble man to turn down such a position regardless of his reasoning.” It had, if it were at all possible, simply made Ragnar respect Floki even more, and though the position had been eventually given to his brother it was always reserved for Floki should the Healer had ever wanted it.

“Perhaps the Fates will be kinder still to the both of us and he will find his way here so that he might be on my other side once more and that you may meet him.” Indeed, Floki’s opinion of Thistle would be an interesting one to hear, Ragnar had very little doubt. Ragnar agreed with her as she chuffed at him about being tiny but mighty. She was mighty. Mighty enough to bear his children, his culture, his personality, his love. Indeed, she had already been questioned about her choice in men because Ragnar was a savage, feral and she …Thistle was the picture of elegance and finesse. They were polar opposites, two beings that should have been drawn together and yet they were and they matched in the most unlikely, beautiful way going back to the belief of some that they were made for one another despite that they came from two different worlds. “Then show me,” The Viking challenged in another purl grinning quite literally like a Machiavellian villain.

Ragnar’s smirk deepened as Thistle laughed out loud at Ragnar’s confession as to what Floki gave as his reason, confirming that she could attest to Floki’s reasons. “I don’t like being fussed over,” Though he liked Thistle’s attention, had liked it even before he had developed affections for her, he did not like her constant fussing despite that it was her job - just as it had been Floki’s; though Floki hadn’t fussed quite as much as Thistle had. “I’m not a very good patient.” For many reasons, most of which finding root in his general dislike of being ‘bed ridden’. He hated not being able to do anything. “I think I did warn you,” Ragnar spoke up as an after thought, remembering saying something similar to her if not full out warning her that he was a horrible patient as she had learned rather abruptly at the infection and resulting delirious fever he had gotten as a result.

A playful growl had resounded - impressively - from somewhere within his wife’s delicate and pregnant body causing Ragnar to glimpse down at her right before she rose upon her hind legs, the feeling of her paws wrapping around his neck accompanied by the feeling of her nip at the scruff of fur along his neck. Her movements were sluggish by the extra weight she was carrying around but that did not stop Ragnar from enjoying Thistle’s rough play. “Are we switching positions in our love making?” He asked her in a teasing purr, oddly finding that he wouldn’t have minded. Because their autonomy wasn’t similar to humans there would be no actual love making if she was on top but she could mount him and mimic his actions if she wanted too. He had heard of females doing it though none of his previous wives had been daring enough to attempt to mount him be it in a display of sexual prowess or dominance. It was an interesting question that left Ragnar expecting an interesting answer from Thistle.

Ragnar was reminded, once more of how contrasting they were to one another, that she was fire - warmth and he was ice - winter and blood borne. “I will try to be better next time,” For there was little doubt there would be a next time when he would be in need of her to heal him; it had came to be an expectation for Floki as it would likely become an expectation for her, too. Though, Thistle had Ragnar’s self made position of Pump’s lap dog working to her greater advantage. He had not been on a raid since shortly before leaving the Cove - which tended to be where most of his injuries came from unless someone was trying to kill him, but seeing as how he had neither here (that he knew of, anyway) he wasn’t put in much danger. “I don’t make a habit out of stretching the truth, my tiny viking,” Ragnar nearly purred to her, mimicking the sound that was commonly associated with a cat.

Her nips continued until he spoke; Ragnar could almost feel her body freeze at his words and spared a glimpse over his shoulder at her. “Not the actual intimacy of it but you can mount and you can move your hips,” Which would have all been all that was necessary of replicating it. Probably, it might have been a funny sight if he wasn’t so serious about it, smirking to himself and her at the thought. In a way that was almost too polite for the Viking, his wife declined his offer. A soft snort escaped the savage’s black, leathery nostrils a soft tell tale of his amusement. “I am fine with it,” Of course he was fine with what was a natural position for their species, still it was an interesting idea in case she ever changed her mind though he was fairly sure that she wouldn’t. Ragnar leaned into her love bite, the feel of her tongue smoothing over the fur that covered the area she had bitten eliciting a soft noise from the Viking before he murmured her name, “Thistle.”

Of course he wanted her, he wanted to ravage her, to stake his claim upon her until nothing remained of Crete’s feeble and fading claim upon his wife. But Ragnar doubted, given the progression of her pregnancy that Thistle would let him until well after the babes were born and not so reliant upon her milk. He would wait for her because Odinn desired the continuation of their union and marriage, and because Ragnar wanted to wait for her.

Likely, his wife’s words administered to him with her muzzle close to the fur damp with the heat of her breath where she had most recently left a love bite upon his scruff, Thistle was correct. His words had been meant only to placate. He had never been good at staying still, never took being den ridden with much regality (even in his childhood he had been the first to boldly brave the light, the world outside their birthing den) and that trait would last until the day he drew his dying breath. It seemed the purr he made (of the wolfish equivalent of it, anyhow) had some kind of affect upon his fawn colored shield maiden for her pupils had blown wide within their pools of azure, innocent and wanton all in one confusingly neat little package. Curiosity caused the Viking’s head to lower as Ragnar struggled against the feral urge to grasp her scruff betwixt his teeth and pull her roughly against her in an intimate embrace.

“I should go,” Ragnar spoke with great reluctance, voice gentle as always but sultry and husky at the feel of her nuzzling the thick fur at his neck. He should go before he lost all semblance of his self control because in that moment there was a prominent ache for her in his loins, rushing through his veins like his blood was on fire, awakening what feral and libertine instincts had thusly lain dormant since their night of heated passion in Ravensblood Forest. They were slowly coming alive - like a dimming light bulb growing brighter and brighter with each passing second. If he did not, he would have her right here and now, and there was little doubt in the Viking’s mind that she would let him because she wanted him. He could see it behind the innocence of her eyes, he could practically sense it. But it was dangerous because he had no idea if he could potentially hurt their children or not and Ragnar was not so certain he could live through another burial of his children without slaughtering someone. No, he would not run with that risk.

“I will come by later to check on you,” He promised, knowing that he didn’t dare return until his wanting had long passed. “Take care today.” He reached out to press his muzzle against her cheek, teeth razing through the plush and silky fur there reminiscent of the first time he had ever made a pass at her high of his delirious fever. With great effort he backed away from her then waiting to see if she had anything further to say to him before he with a forlorn look in her direction turned and forced himself to see to the borders.