Gavriil’s congratulating howl had not gone unnoticed by the Viking, nor any of the others that had rose into the air, neither was it all that surprising considering how Gavriil had expressed excitement in the knowledge of their coming. Ragnar was being as stubborn about not letting anyone see them until they were a month old when he performed the ritual that would introduce them to the pack, the Gods and ensure that they could not be killed without due punishment as he was in everything. As it stood, any of the Ridge wolves could go storming into the couples’ den and slaughter all three of the tiny, vulnerable children and there wasn’t anything the silver Viking could do about it. It was that thought alone that caused Ragnar to spend the nights pressed against the mouth, enduring the weather of the night so that if anyone even considered such a thing they would have to go through him. Just because it was an option and he would be powerless to stop it from happening did not mean he wasn’t going to protect them with his life.

As it was, the Beta sought after Gavriil, having heard nothing about how his meeting with Pump went. It wasn’t his business, not really, and there were some things that Ragnar would rather not be involved in — romantic relationships were one of those things. It was curiosity that drove the silver Viking on his search for the Delta — not because he truly cared either way; though that wasn’t particularly the truth. It had crossed his mind that if Pump had accepted Gavriil’s offer of ‘courtship’ that Ragnar would have competition in the Delta. Not romantic competition but rank competition with the consideration that Pump might see to it to make Gavriil the alpha male if they had became mates. In a way his concern and the potential threat of his rank being in jeopardy was encouragement enough. He had worked hard to earn his place as Pump’s Second In Command and though if he was replaced he could easily take his leave and start a new pack elsewhere having a nice small little gathering of wolves that would follow him. The main reason he hadn’t done it yet was his children. He was not so ambitious as to stupid endanger their lives.

Ragnar found Gavriil, predictably reclining on his rock and the Beta chuffed to alert the other man to his presence.

Ragnar watched as the cinnamon kissed male rose quickly at the sound of his chuff and leapt down approaching to submit. Ragnar accepted the male’s respective and submissive lick under his chin with a stoic expression common to the Viking man, but he was pleased by the proper respect being shown, nevertheless. The lines of their hierarchy were very strict and clear and Ragnar did not tolerate blurring of it even though Thistle and himself did it often. He did not expect her submission unless they were in the public eye; though Ragnar classified that a bit differently. She was his wife after all and in privacy they were lovers, partners, parents. “Not a new father,” Ragnar corrected Gavriil with a slight twitch of his lips. He did not speak about Týr often and granted the young boy had not been a newborn, but Ragnar knew something of what to expect from his children when they grew to be Sveinn’s age when they had captured the Amazon boy.

“I have an older son, by adoption but he is still my son,” Adoption, blood, it did not matter. There was no real difference when it came to loving and teaching them. It was the same kind of love, either way. “They keep me worried,” Ragnar responded because there wasn’t much he could do with or for them at the moment. They were blind and deaf and all they really did was eat, sleep, and relieve themselves. “I suspect they will keep me busy soon enough.” Just as Gavriil was eager to keep the conversation off of himself, so, too was Ragnar; but he humored the Delta for a few more moments when he spoke, “There are two boys and one girl.” In case the other man had been wondering the genders of the children, not that, currently, it meant much of anything. They did not have names, instead Ragnar had given them numbers — except for Gyda whom he had named secretly but that was between Thistle, Gyda, and him for the moment.

“I have not heard about your talk with Pump about earning her hand,” ‘Courting’ as a word sounded strange coming from Ragnar’s lips and so he tried not to speak it unless he had too. “You did speak with her, right?” Ragnar inquired, considering, for a brief moment, that it might have been possible that Gavriil had backed out last second. He didn’t know and thus was left only to draw potential conclusions.

As it was Gavriil was the first wolf Ragnar had told the genders to; not that it was any sort of secret, really, but it was just that Ragnar was a private being and his clamor for privacy tended to make him come off as rude most times. Now if Thistle had spoken of their genders to anyone who had stopped by to offer their congratulations (hopefully not stepping inside the den) Ragnar couldn’t say. In the time they had stolen for themselves the previous night they hadn’t spoken much of the children, and as it was they hadn’t spoken about much, period. A few things here and there but Ragnar had other intentions on his mind and perfectly lucid he had not been about to let Thistle trick him out of it again. As it turned out, his wife was more crafty than the Viking had initially given her credit for. As it was she had seemed very innocent and trusting, naive and sentimental, compassionate at first to him, and in ways she still was but she had also changed since agreeing to becoming his wife, though if there were hidden personality traits or his influence Ragnar couldn’t be sure.

Gavriil’s words were, more or less, what Ragnar had suspected and for a moment the Viking simply stared at the Delta, stoicly. He doubted there was anything he could say that would relieve the other man’s heartbreak — not that Ragnar was the type of man you went too for that, considering he could not say he was experienced in the matters of heartbreak. He had broken several hearts in his lifetime but his had always been safely closed away, and until Thistle, untouchable. While Ragnar had not wanted to see Gavriil get his heart stepped on he had been a pessimest and could not claim that he had not seen it coming. As Ragnar had warned Gavriil that day, he did not see Pump as the wife and mother type. Ragnar let out a chuckle when Gavriil said that Pump wanted someone like Ragnar as a husband. His laughter wasn’t meant to rub salt in the Delta’s wounds — merely it was because the idea of Pump and him was bizarre and entirely unlikely to Ragnar (even though the Viking understood that wasn’t what Gavriil had meant). “I don’t think so,” He shook his head. “We are too similar, and butt heads constantly. Any other man like me would be the same.” Maybe not, Ragnar truthfully couldn’t say; merely he was drawing from his own experiences with Pump. They got along well enough to co-lead, and she seemed to respect him as much as Ragnar respected her but they didn’t always agree and both appeared to be stubborn to boot.

“Men like me aren’t romantic, we don’t feel sentiment or compassion. We are not the things out of stories….well the fairy stories anyway,” He struggled for the word ‘fairy-tale’ before he gave up on it and had to hope that Gavriil understood what he was struggling to get at: Ragnar and men like Ragnar were no woman’s ideal man, they were not capable of ever being ‘Prince Charming’ …but Gavril was. He had the desired traits of a man with compassion and gentleness, while all Ragnar had was ruthlessness and a penchant for death. “We are not tortured souls that need saving. We cannot be saved and made into the hero.” Ragnar didn’t want to be a hero. He was fine being the scary heathen that stole and captured and raided; that was his life, it was who he was and he was happy with it. “I warned you that I did not think Pump was wife or mother material,” Ragnar reminded Gavriil, gently. “You didn’t mention mateship right away did you?” Ragnar could see how that might have been an overload or how it might have even seemed pushy. Just because bluntly asking Thistle to be his wife without even the slightest idea of courting her had (by some small miracle) worked for Ragnar did not mean it was meant to work for anyone else. Mostly, it had been a possessiveness and jealousy that had spurred Ragnar into making such a quick leap of faith. Love had only came recently into their relationship.

Ragnar understood that Thistle and him were a rare and odd case, certainly they were an odd and rare couple; it only made sense the unorthodox would work for them. "Why? What is wrong with you?" Ragnar was curious as to why the Delta was beating himself down.

Gavriil’s tone was defensive when he mentioned that he may have mentioned mateship and then followed it up with that he was nervous. Ragnar let out a groan and shook his head at Gavriil and leveled a stare at the other male that was a strange mix of pity and bemusement. Ragnar muttered to himself in ancient Norse about what he was going to do with Gavriil — who obviously needed more experience with women — under his breath. He inhaled deeply and let it out on a short, brutish breath. “I told you not to mention mateship,” Slipped from betwixt Ragnar’s lips if only because he wanted to take the chance of saying ‘I Told You So’; but of course from a man to man perspective he did feel pity and it was odd because it wasn’t something Ragnar was akin to feeling and for a moment he was relatively sure that he hated the feeling because it meant that he was fond of the other male in a strictly platonic way. It wasn’t entirely unexpected seeing as Ragnar spent most of his time surrounded by the women of the pack and Kennedy was more or less a hermit to the Viking so Gavriil was the only man that Ragnar had to accompany him until the recent arrivals. Sometimes it was nice just to have a man to man conversation.

It was painfully clear to the silver Viking that his subordinate, no, his friend, had a lot to learn about the fairer sex. In a way, it was kind of a strange thing for Ragnar who had assumed that Gavriil would have women swooning over him like flies because their ideal man for women seemed to be opposite of one another’s ideas. Ragnar was confident women wanted a man like Gavriil who knew how to be sensitive and romantic and spouted poetic things and whispered loving nothings in ears — in hindsight the direct opposite of Ragnar himself; while it seemed that Gavriil was confident women wanted men like Ragnar. Harsh, ruthless, the kind of man that a rock was more romantic then (which was more or less true in Ragnar’s case); the heathen of the North. “Every woman is different Gavriil and it is trial and error. I knew Pump would be difficult but you don’t have to give up on her. If you really love her and really want her then wait her out. Get her to open up to you more. Be her friend and subordinate. Make her see that she was wrong and that you are worth her attentions.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” Ragnar contradicted more sharply than he had intended and in a rare bought of guilt (gasp!) he bumped his nose against his subordinate’s cheek in a manner that was similar to an encouraging slap on the back. “Some women like that! There is no shame in being good with children,” As it was Ragnar loved children. Did that mean he was good with them? Hell no, but he liked them all the same. “It doesn’t seem like Pump and you are compatible yet but things change. You just have to be patient, Gavriil. It is hard and long sometimes, yes, but it will pay off. It is like a raid. It is always better to wait until you can catch them off guard, or wait to see what they will do. You do not go charging in risking the lives of all your men recklessly. Stupidly.” Women were like a battle, from Ragnar’s experience. “She will open up to you, eventually.” On that Ragnar was confident. After all if any creature was able to be open (at least Ragnar assumed Pump was open to him) to Ragnar they should have no problem opening up to Gavriil.

“You know I always thought you and Thistle would get together,” It was a rare admittance, a peek into the Viking’s mind as bizarre as it sounded coming from his lips. However, Ragnar kind of ruined the mood when he shot the other man a look of ‘Don’t Get Any Ideas’. “Not anymore; but it had made me jealous at first thinking about it.” Ragnar had fancied Thistle as a potential wife from the time he had woken up in his first delirium fever after the landslide and had more or less tried to get her to be intimate with him, back when he was posing at his brother and had nearly blown his cover. To Ragnar, Thistle and Gavriil seemed well matched. “I do not know what she sees in me,” The Viking laughed and then shrugged. “Like I said take it slow, be her friend and see if she begins to come around.” Which is what Gavriil should have done in the first place but it was a mistake to live and learn from. “Pump isn’t going anywhere and she isn’t taking a husband any time soon so just …don’t rush.” Admittedly, Pump, out of all the females Gavriil could have picked was probably the most difficult which made the Viking feel for him.

To consider that Ragnar and Gavriil had formed some sort of platonic relationship — in much simpler terms a friendship — was a strange thing for the silver Viking to consider because he did not trust wolves enough to make friends; or on the other side of that wolves didn’t like him and wanted to give him as wide a berth as they could. Perfect. For a moment Ragnar mulled over the word, strange sounding even though he understood well enough what it meant and in which way Gavriil was using it for. Ragnar was perfect for Thistle and vice versa had been what Gavriil had said and the Viking moved on to marvel the word perfect of that context. were they perfect for one another? It was true that Ragnar was certain that Odinn had fated their union but did that make it the equivalent of perfect? “I would kill you,” Ragnar agreed on the matter of if Gavriil had ever tried to court Thistle, tone serious for a moment before he smiled to ease the small moment. “But she is not the woman of your eye so no one has to worry.”

As Ragnar’s icy eyes moved from Gavriil, allowing him to daydream once more — for it had been hinted at and Ragnar suspected that the Delta’s wandering thoughts were on the lady who occupied them the most he glimpsed around them on the shore, feeling the warm sand squish between his toes, letting the gentle lull of the calm sea soothe him for a few moments before his attention could stray too far; it snapped back to Gavriil. “Good,” The Viking said gruffly before he hesitated for a moment. “Just try not to let your nerves get the better of you.” Was the best, now, that Ragnar felt that he could do and just hoped that maybe in the near, or distant future things would work out for Gavriil.

Their conversation drifted to the children and Ragnar’s lips pursed tersely for a few moments before he decided to let Gavriil finish. Once he was sure the other male was finished speaking — apparently a lot of the Ridge’s wolves were eager to see the children — Ragnar’s lips parted to speak. “When they are a month old I will perform the ritual and then anyone can come see them who wishes too.” At that point they would be safe, protected by the Gods and by Ragnar’s culture.

Regardless what any of the other wolves of the Ridge thought about Ragnar’s conditions Ragnar wasn’t budging on the traditions of the Cove. It was inherently apart of his culture and to break it would surely bring some kind of ill fate down upon the children. As the father, Ragnar wasn’t willing to risk his childrens’ lives just because those of the Ridge were impatient. They could be allowed to know them in time. Besides, they were only infants; their life revolved around eating, sleeping and pooping. They had yet to distinguish themselves, had yet to become a true fascination to anyone besides the parents (or so Ragnar thought, anyway). The fact of it was …they were kind of boring at first. Beautiful and precious and vulnerable but boring. Ragnar was a superstitious man and his children were not yet safe from any who would mean them ill harm. As in, they held no rights and he could not do anything if they were killed. He could try to prevent it but if he caught it when it was too late he had to simply let it go. It was the way of his people and was (despite what his fatherly instincts told him) acceptable. “Soon.” The Viking agreed as Gavriil approached to lick his muzzle and then press his nose into Ragnar’s chest. There was a brief moment where Ragnar considered teasing Gavriil about the affection the other man willingly showed the Viking but decided it probably wasn’t the right moment for such vulgar things (even if they would purely be meant in jest) and so watched Gavriil depart.