Firestone Hot Springs was as far as Ragnar dared to go, not wanting to get too much further south than was absolutely necessary knowing that Thistle was a week or two away from giving birth to their sons and that it was not a monumental moment that the Viking intended to miss. If he missed it on @Dagrun’s behalf he would likely gut his half brother because though Ragnar remained apprehensive despite Freyja and Frigg’s promise to aid and watch over Thistle and the children during the birthing he could not, despite how hard he tried, get the image of Dagmar laying weeping in a pile of her own blood, and the sacks their children, still and delicate in death laying lifeless at her teats no matter how forcibly she licked at their cold and stiff bodies. It was a horrifying image if only because he had dreamed that Thistle had been in Dagmar’s position. Ragnar had not loved Dagmar, not even remotely - she was a pretty little prize that had conceived for him upon their first coupling and he was left with the obligation of taking her as his third wife (though apparently as it would come to be in the Teekon Wilds not his last) - originally she had just been a dalliance, a plaything, something to satisfy his carnal needs while he had to abstain from Sif (though according to Thistle who had heard from Dagrún; Váli had taken advantage of Ragnar’s willingness to refrain from having Sif many times over behind the Loðbrók’s back).

In truth, while that knowledge had inspired rage and jealousy and possession within Ragnar, they had dulled and vanished altogether, until he felt nothing but the bitter sting of his younger brother’s betrayal and peace in the assumed knowledge that Váli and Sif were happy together. It was a sincere sentiment: Ragnar was happy and accepting of them and their small and new family. Ragnar was not known for holding grudges - they took too much energy and were, essentially pointless.

Ragnar believed Thistle’s words and believed that she had truly spoken to his half brother, but still, the Viking yearned to see Dagrún for himself, to speak with him. There was much they needed to discuss, and something important Ragnar needed to ask of his dearest brother. It was with this in mind, the platinum silver fur of his nape curling in the humidity and heavy in warm dampness air making his breathing slightly more harsher that icy oceanic eyes sought the sable and silver peppered Viking. “It had been a long time, little brother,” Ragnar greeted Dagrún with a wolfish smirk, coy and well practiced tugging at the corner of the light colored male’s lips.

Dagrún did not waste time pulling Ragnar into a brotherly embrace, which the bastard of Eitri did by grasping Ragnar’s scruff and causing their chests to collide in what might have been considered a bear hug if bears could hug at all, that is. “And you, Dagrún,” Ragnar paused then a compliment on the tip of his tongue only to bite it back at the last moment and finish in a cheeky tone instead, “Well I always was the better looking one.” Arrogant teasing aside Ragnar let his eyes skim over his half brother ascertaining that he was healthy and strong. Exactly as Ragnar remembered him to be. It had come to seem to Ragnar, rather abruptly, that Dagrún, despite being only a half brother through their father was more reliable than his two, full blood brothers. Or, at the very least, Dagrún had yet to stab Ragnar in the back. There was always a slight suspicion, had always been a small sliver of a thing, that maybe Dagrún would. His half brother’s mother had been a slave and not just any slave but one from the Amazon women pack to the west of them, fierce and wild, stolen on a raid that had left their young and new queen backpedaling (ironically it would come to pass that Ragnar stole said queen’s son and through the circumstance of memory loss on the boy’s part would claim the boy as his own flesh and blood). Naturally, the animosity that came from the exotic slave might have been passed to Dagrún, though it was surprising that the Amazon woman had allowed Eitri to touch her at all and doubted she would have fought him to her death if she had not consented to that union. Ragnar had never asked because he couldn’t stand to think that Eitri had forced himself and his seed upon a woman who was not willing to have him.

As it was Ragnar had always suspected that while loyal Dagrún always strove, much like Ragnar, for more than he had. That kind of ambition, as Ragnar knew first hand, was dangerous and led a man to do things he would not normally do. Naturally, Ragnar was apprehensive of it only because he understood it.

“That is because she is pregnant, Dagrún,” Ragnar snapped half heartedly in a condescending tone at his youngest brother, rolling his icy oceanic eyes. “My wife is close to giving birth, you’re lucky I came at all,” Ragnar spoke to his brother in a quiet tone, chastising as if Dagrún were a small puppy that needed it. “She assures me they won’t come for at least a week yet, and I do have things I would like to talk to you about.” Things that Ragnar did not want to wait upon. He was not an impatient beast, but there were somethings that he desired, as anyone else, in the here and now. That was not always possibly, of course. In this case, it wasn’t possible. “I know you are here to ask me back to the Cove, but I cannot go. My family is here and Odin wants me to be, “ Ragnar told him sternly, grimly. Váli was the Cove’s problem now and either they would usurp him or they would fall. “but I have something that I want to ask you, brother.”

“We did,” Ragnar spoke curtly on the topic of Dagrún’s assumption that Thistle and him had yet to pay homage to Freyja and Frigg. What did the halfblood take him for? “I know the rituals,” Ragnar smirked to his brother, but it was tight, not forced but filled with the beginnings of tension. “It is taking time to convert her. It is slow, brother. She does not know our ways, but she is learning.” A knowledgeable Shield Maiden would have made those sacrifices long ago and Ragnar would have made them sooner but it was more effect if the woman in question made them. Ragnar could only pull so much weight with Frigg and Freyja considering he wasn’t a woman, and wasn’t pregnant. “She is tiny, yes, but as she keeps reminding me she is strong,” Indeed, Thistle made that small fact hard to forget. “Stronger than she looks.” Spoken in his wife’s defense. As it stood now, despite their similarities, they were two different men. They liked different things in their women. Ragnar relaxed upon his haunches as he studied his half brother through leveled eyes. “She is different, Dagrún,” Ragnar spoke quietly, picking up on what his brother was saying without the darker man having to actually come out and say it. Of course, Dagrún was privy to Ragnar’s likes and dislikes in a woman, knowing how he flitted from them as if they were simply put on the earth to entertain him, or sate his carnal desires.

“As I said, I will not return to the Cove but I seek to reform it, here, in these Wilds. I want you to join me, brother. To help me sow the seeds of our traditions, our Gods and our culture here, to help enforce it. This is what Odinn has asked of me, but I cannot do it alone. I need new recruits, those eager to learn, of course, but I need wolves I trust, too, at my back. I need you,” Ragnar paused, salmon pink tongue flicking out to draw across his nose. “The hybrid Alpha of the Ridge will not be happy with me, there is a chance I might have to temporarily leave behind my wife and children,” The thought savagely tore at Ragnar’s heart. “This is for them just as much as it is for me. For all of us. Will you join me brother?” Nothing of this was certain, of course, there were too many unknowns that lingered and even if it never came to fruition it would ease Ragnar’s mind to know that he had his half brother’s support, no matter what came to be.