He looked forward to Nerian's second heat season with great anticipation, hoping to have winter children, as Odinn had told him he would. Ragnar's trust and reverence for the All-Father was a force to be reckoned with, and he believed that the image of tiny versions of himself and his Priestess Wife playing in the snow alongside his older, adopted children would prove to be true. Odinn had not steered him wrong thus far; and come summer Thistle, too, would bear him children. The amount of space between each litter was planned out in Ragnar's mind though if mother nature decided to indulge him was a different matter entirely. Large paws carried him to the shore line, platinum fur illuminated in the moonlight, allowing the tide to crash against the sands of the beach and splash up against his long legs, spiking the shortened fur the waves found there. He had never feared the sea, instead drew great comfort from it. It reminded him of Odinn's Cove, and filled him with an ache of nostalgia that he was not sufficiently able to quench.

He had not noticed his Priestess Wife at first, surprisingly, his attention too focused on the moonlight shimmering upon the ever moving waves out in the distance of the sea, as far as Ragnar could see. Ragnar had heard the sound of approaching footfalls, heavy as they shifted and disturbed the sand under foot, and turned his eyes towards her, catching the barely sound of his name leaving her lips on a breath. Her rush to greet him was a bit of a surprise to the Viking, who greeted her with a smile, and a soft Hello beautiful, as she drew nearer to him, the touch of her nose against his neck electrifying the nerve endings that were located there. Ragnar drew in a soft, ragged breath as she settled beside him, her body pressed against his. It wasn't as if it was the first time he'd ever felt a woman's body, nor even the first time he had felt hers but still there was a novelty to it, a newness to allowing himself to be this close to Nerian always, and a newness to her allowance of it. He would spend many lifetimes making it up to Thistle for allowing him to have both of them, for once breaking his validation that the Gods gave with one hand and took with the other. I am damp my love, Ragnar spoke to her with a soft chuckle though he made no effort to move away from her.

He wished to look at her but their position did not allow him that leisure and so he inclined his muzzle as best he could to lick her ear, and nip gently at the tip of her ear before smoothing his tongue over the velveteen fur of it once more before he bent down and peppered kisses along her jaw and lips, letting out a soft whine of delight.

The space was not long lived as she drew closer and he felt the warmth of her tongue glide barely against the fur at the base of his scarred ear, a thrill of adrenaline and desire surging through him. It was a tease of a touch and it drove the Scandinavian mad. A low growl of desire rumbled in the strong column of Ragnar's throat as he moved closer to her, until they were chest to chest, a slight hitch in his breath. He desired her whether she was in heat or not but he was impatient for her second cycle to hit, wanting her with a desperation that partially terrified him to allow him to plant his seed. She had spoken of hiding from him and he knew that if she did he would hunt her down. He wanted to see her beautiful body round with his children; his children and no one else's. He wanted the satisfaction of knowing with no doubt that the children belonged to him. Odinn had promised it to him and Ragnar knew the All-Father to be a deity of his word. He had yet to lie so far.

When they parted, her grey eyes holding his gaze of Caribbean Ice, the Viking's pupils dilated with his desire for her. Nerian, The Viking purled to his Priestess wife softly, the sound meant for her ears only. I hope that one day our Gods can become friends, He whispered into her ear, tail brushing against his haunches as he lowered his muzzle a slight bit to run his tongue over her ear. I want to name our youngest son Athelstan in honor of your God and religion. He had no particular reason why aside from that Tokio wanted it to happen merely that he knew that it was going to happen.

How easily he was able to understand the prayer, meaning him, their sons and Odinn though the part of a world without end did not make sense to him if only because he anticipated the end of the world. It's name in which he shared: Ragnarök. He understood it but in a way that made sense to him, that tied it into his Paganism effortlessly. Ragnar wasn't ignorant and knew that it meant something much more and different to her than it did to him. He was a curious man and could not help but ask her, What does that prayer mean to you?. Ragnar did not understand the odd way in which she prayed, but he was willing to try to understand, as he had always been. It was a novelty to him, and he yearned to make sense of it, but he wanted to understand so that he could understand her more than anything.

He afforded her so much attention that he had nearly forgotten where they were, had nearly forgotten the repetitive splash of the waves that crashed around their bodies, spraying their dampened fur with sticky salt water. He pressed his lips against the junction between her shoulder blades when she drew nearer so that they were shoulder to shoulder, a small gasp breaching his lips when he felt her lips graze his scarred ear. The pain receptors were damaged in it each sensation, pain or pleasure, coming across as sickly sweet. Even so, Ragnar did not mind. I thought that you might, my love, He had wanted to let Nerian know that he was willing to share with her God, just as her and Thistle were willing to share him with one another. You are so beautiful, The Viking murmured into her fur, nipping at the junction of her shoulders, smoothing his tongue over the area that he had nibbled at. The best part that she was his, finally. Not as his slave but as a free woman, as his second wife. Odinn had planned this from the day Ragnar had stolen her from her home, he could see it now. It had been Fate just as his love with Thistle had been Fate.

The Norns knew and who was he to challenge the Norns, what Odinn wanted.

It did not take long for Ragnar to follow, having forgotten that he had came to the sea for some peace in the chaotic spinning of his world. He thought that he understood what she was asking him for, that he understood what the wanton tease of her tail beneath his chin was implying. He could have been mistaken, of course, but he knew women enough, he thought, to be able to tell — then again Nerian wasn't yet used to asking for what she wanted of him as a woman. Or perhaps, the Viking considered, she was embarrassed. Shy. If you do not know how to tell me with your body you can tell me what you want with your words, you know, Ragnar murmured to her sincerely hesitating by her flank, wanting to move the last few inches so that he was in the primal spot for taking her. He was not sure that he had read her body language correctly, however, and so did not take the steps to insinuate it.

He leaned in to plant a nip at her hip teasingly, before he drew back gauging her reaction. To see if she would accept him or reject him.

Her plea was nearly Ragnar's undoing, but as far as he was concerned he hadn't been given the adequate permission that he sought and so therefore he could do nothing further to alleviate the building tension between them. The fire pooling in his stomach, spreading with an aching slowness towards his loins did not hinder Ragnar's patience. He had enough experience with the fairer sex to know that waiting was well worth it, in the end. As he waited for her to move, he felt a slight shiver of the ocean breeze as it moved through his damp fur, a cool kiss against the heat of his skin beneath, having nearly forgotten everything else. In that moment nothing mattered but Nerian, not that they were both still damp from standing in the salt water, not that the night was cool. It was as if the world had melted away and all that remained was the two of them. Her tail moved for him and she back up so that her hips were nearly flush against his chest. Ragnar's black, leathery nostrils flared, drinking in her scent. Her body was pure from the scent of heat but it did not lessen the platinum and scarred Northerner's desire for her any. Nerian inclined her neck, the feel of her tongue sliding across his muzzle was momentarily distracting to the Jarl; for a stretch of moments Ragnar stood there, unmoving, relishing in the feel of her kisses. Unintentionally building the tension before he moved his head towards her spine, not in rejection of her ministrations but to rake his teeth through the coarse fur along the curve of her spine once in both a warning to alert her to what he was about to do, and as a small measure of preperation.

In a swift, singular movement the Jarl pushed himself onto his hind legs and drew his Priestess Wife nearer, forelegs hugging her abdomen gently but with enough pressure to keep him stable, as the curve of her spine moved against his underside. The majority of his weight shifted quickly to his hind legs, and for a moment he fought to find a comfortable balance against her body much smaller than his, hind paws burrowing into the sand beneath them. He let out a soft breath, fanning against the fur at the nape of her neck as his hips moved towards hers and their bodies joined.