Ragnar had left the den he shared with his wives and children early, as he did every morning, kissing both Thistle and Nerian on their brow before he exited the Jarl's den, heading towards the borders to walk his patrols. With Julooke due to give birth any day now, and Surra's disappearance, he had redoubled his efforts on Verrine's half so that the father-to-be did not have to stray too far from his very pregnant wives' side. It made Ragnar wonder if someone would be willing to belay the courtesy to him when Nerian became pregnant, or even, if Ragnar would let them. He was the Jarl, after all. It was his duty and though fatherhood should have always came before duty there were cases in which it was not possible. He spent all the time he could with his wives, individually, and with the children. He even carved out time for lessons with them each day. He was not a perfect man, certainly not a perfect husband, and he was the farthest thing from a perfect father. He could only hope that his children did not resent him for the choices he'd made, with Nerian. Ragnar knew Thistle better than to take her words as truth — ironically he supposed she was getting him back: lies for lies. As it stood, he had never expected to feel as he did about his once slave nor about Thistle. It was an accepted practice in Odinn's Cove and Ragnar wanted the children to know that in their culture it wasn't a bad thing; that the Vikings were actually pretty tolerable creatures when it came to love. He just hoped that Thistle's hatred of their arrangement and her moods didn't effect them into thinking that it was not acceptable; in the children's culture: it was.

Ragnar had just managed to push those thoughts away when he caught a glimpse of Tveir up ahead. Instinctively, Ragnar's pace slowed; eyes of caribbean ice focused solely upon his youngest son. His children were nearing their full grown height — growing up too fast as Ragnar had known they would do. Soon they would have the freedom to choose whether they wished to stay in Stavanger Bay or go their own way. Ragnar had always thought that Eirikr would break off as soon as he could, he suspected hoped that Gyda would stick around so he could be a meddlesome father and chase off any boys but Tveir...Ragnar had no predictions for what Tveir would do. Tveir was the closest to Thistle and it was Tveir that Ragnar knew he'd have to convince that having two wives didn't mean he loved one less, nor that it was a bad thing. There was a part of Ragnar that was frustrated at Thistle for that, for allowing herself to turn her own children against their culture. She had known the stakes when she had accepted Ragnar as their adopted father and Ragnar was watching it all crumble to pieces. These days, he had half of a mind to assure the three of them that he wasn't their real father just in case they ever got to the point where they absolutely turned against him; and if they thought their biological father would be better they were more than welcome to go look for him.

Tveir, Ragnar greeted the boy simply, his thoughts in a darkening place.

The Second born's ears looked like radars upon his head, too big as they were, and Ragnar fought the urge to internally cringe at the consideration that he had once looked as awkward as Tveir did now. Ragnar was not so nearly pompous as Vali had been in terms of physical appearance but even so. He was long since past the awkward stage his children were entering and for that he was inherently glad it was only suffered at one point in life instead of at multiple stages. Your ears are too big, Tveir, Ragnar teased his son, giving the boy a smile to implicate that he was purely jesting (despite that it was the truth). Heaven forbid the boy be as pretentious as Vali was and take offense to it and tattle to Thistle and get Ragnar in even more trouble with his Queen Wife. Ragnar suspected, despite what Thistle said, that she was lying to him and he was trying to not get further into trouble with her.

Ragnar knew that Tveir had long since chosen his name, Gunnar but for some reason Ragnar had a hard time addressing him as such. It was Pump's fault, making him use numbers for his children instead of actual names and Ragnar had done it though he'd been against it from the start because the numbers had stuck &mdahs; exactly as he feared they would have. When he looked at his second-born son he didn't see Gunnar, he saw Tveir because it was what Ragnar had called him. Old habits died hard. Why are you on the borders? It was a casual question, but seeing Tveir on the borders rose suspicion within Ragnar. Especially since his children seemed to be kicking around the bush when it came to apprenticeships which would only spare them for so long. Eventually, he expected them to earn at least one and if they didn't? Well, they knew the rules of the pack and Ragnar didn't think it very fair that he expect it from everyone except his children.

Hearing Tveir giggle at his teasing released some of the tension that had been pulling tightly within the contours of the Vikings' chest. It did not completely release the worry that gnawed at Ragnar like a festering and infected wound, but it allowed him, for the moment, to set those aside in favor of enjoying the alone time with his son. He loved his children, he truly did, but he was still learning — just like them. He was learning how to communicate that love, but it was no easy feat for the harbinger of death. He did not know how to display emotions like those, had always been bad at it. Even with Tyrr. Tveir's tail wagged and his whole butt joined in the motion, causing a soft chuckle to rumble from Ragnar's lips. It's ok, Tveir. Ein and Gyda's ears are too big for them, too, Despite that he had only been teasing Ragnar felt the need to assure the boy that he was not the only one suffering the awkward stages of puberty. Do not be sorry, Tveir, I was merely asking, Ragnar attempted to reassure his son. They were three months old, going on four except when Ragnar looked at them he still saw the helpless little newborns, fur wet with the secretions from the sacks they'd been born in and with the saliva of Thistle as she had bathed them, cleaning them of blood and willing them to draw their first breath.

Perhaps Ragnar would always see that when he looked at them. They were his babies. Always would be and he did not want to admit that someday they would grow up and would no longer need him to protect them. It was the cycle of life, of course. It had happened to Eitri when Ragnar had grown old enough.

A soft, sorrowful sigh left the Viking's lips as he thought of his father, in Valhalla, and the wish that he had Eitri here, for advice; because Ragnar could have used his father's wisdom on many things.

Focus on one at a time, Tveir, Ragnar advised his second born. Even earning one apprenticeship will help out the pack immensely. We do not have any warriors ...but I was once a great Berserker and if you would let me I will teach you all I know. Ragnar offered to his son, convincing himself that if Tveir did not accept that it probably wasn't a bad thing. The Berserker mushrooms were not something that children should be consuming, and though the Jarl did not realize it truly did not have nasty side effects. He did not understand that his visions of Odinn were only illusions that his mind, messed with the years of consuming the drug that he relied upon in battle, that the deranged fevers, too, were repercussions from the consumption of it.

Tveir giggled once more as their conversation about his funny ears kept going, though the second born was quick to interject that Gyda's ears weren't that bad and that Ragnar wasn't supposed to say anything because it might make her sad. Ragnar let out a soft, amused snort, but shook his head. He had no intention of picking on Gyda for having funny ears, as well. Ragnar knew enough of women to know that saying something about their appearance, even in jest, was likely to get him bitten. Women age more elegantly then we men do, They were awkward, yes, but it wasn't quite the same. Don't worry, Gyda is my baby girl, you know. I would never intentionally upset her even with my jests. He reached up to ruff his young son's fur with his paw. They say a man must love his sons more but his daughters can always be the light of his life... Floki's words came back to haunt the man and he turned his eyes to look at the sky for a few moments, looking down only when Tveir addressed him once more; surprise dominated Ragnar's expression when the boy tucked himself under his chin.

Vantar eigin föður mínum , er allt, Ragnar admitted in a genteel murmur, accented voice thick with the emotion he was fighting to understand. Never before had he desired Eitri's wisdom with a ferocity that could not be quelled. Björn had put Eitri's life to an end ...too soon and by the time Ragnar had been found and informed on what was going on Eitri had already passed onto Valhalla. It was rare that Ragnar felt that he needed partenal guidance, had felt betrayed by Eitri for so long because he was the middle son and was always passed in favor of Bjorn and Vali. Even so, he did not like to hold grudges and had eventually forgiven Eitri for it.

Your little half siblings are going to need you and your siblings help. I know that you are apprehensive and they will need my attention the most for a while. They will be helpless and without us will not survive. You, too, were once helpless infants. Only time would tell how the children reacted to the ones to come, on both sides from Thistle and Nerian. As I said focus on your primary trade, and once you have earned the apprenticeship in that then you can work on the others. Ragnar instructed Tveir, not wanting the boy to get too in and over his head right out of the starting gate.

Ragnar was not an affectionate being so when he was showed affection he did not always know how to react. In this case the scarred Scandinavian's surprise was born because he was suspicious and had himself convinced that Thistle had her children convinced that he was some kind of monster because he wanted to take care of Nerian, too. She was not a Viking and did not understand their ways ...and she was doing a poor job convincing him that she was okay with it. He knew better, but he did not believe it was right to drag the children into the battle between them. She knew that he intended to share in his culture with the children and she could have told him 'no' when he had asked her to be his mate. It wasn't as if they had loved one another first. That had came after. It wasn't that Ragnar didn't love Thistle. He understood that he had hurt her even though she had known full well what she was getting herself into with him — but she was making him feel like a monster because he was what he was. A heathen. The anti-hero. It had been so much easier, Ragnar considered, when he'd had no emotional attachment to his wives because then he didn't care.

Eitri. Ragnar spoke his father's name simply to his youngest son, staring unseeingly into the distance. Of course Eitri was true to his heathen roots too — after all he had knocked up a slave and fathered Dagrun while he was still alive and Kenna hadn't, as far as Ragnar knew, paid much attention to it. You can call them whatever you are comfortable with, Ragnar would not presume to tell his children what they should call their ...siblings (even Ragnar wasn't sure what they would realistically be considered aside from step because they're not half). Tveir asked him for confirmation that he would make a good warrior and for a moment Ragnar was silent, contemplative.

He had seen Tveir play with Ein and Gyda but that was a wholly different thing from being a true warrior. Without seeing how Tveir took to the training and how he applied it to real life situation Ragnar had no real answer for him. He did not know if Tveir could actually kill his opponent or not. He was almost too much like Thistle, as far as Ragnar could currently see — but you ended your enemy, either out of respect for them to put them out of their suffering, or because if you didn't they would spring a surprise attack on you. I think that you will be good at anything you want to be, as long as you are willing to put in the hard work. It wouldn't be easy because life wasn't easy and Ragnar wouldn't hold anything back. He wanted his sons to survive in the world outside of the Bay and they would have to give back everything that was thrown their way and then some. He spoke only to encourage his young son, yet at the same time did not want to fill his head with false illusions. Ragnar was not a huge fan of lying through he had done it before.

Hearing his small son say his father's name made a ghost of a smile tug at the edges of the scarred Scandinavian's lips. He would have loved you and your siblings, As much as Ragnar missed Eitri, he was also happy for him, as well. His death had came too soon and at the hands of Ragnar's power hungry older brother but going to Valhalla. It was what they all worked for. They all strove for the day they would be reunited in the Hall of Valhalla, training with Odinn and the Valkyries. Fighting and dying each day in preparation for Ragnarök only to feast and drink all night. It was where Eitri deserved to be but that did not mean that Ragnar did not miss him at times. As a young boy it had been annoying to be told how much he looked like Eitri and now, as an adult it was a high compliment. He could clearly see his father in the build of his face, his eyes but Ragnar was himself, too. Odinn had became Ragnar's father figure with the passing of Eitri not knowing who else to turn too. The shrill cry of a raven had Ragnar lifting his head skyward, eyes of caribbean ice watching the shadows' flight path before it disappeared into the canopy of the ancient treeline.

He would convene with Odinn, going to the God that he revered the very most for the advice he was looking for. Likely, it would leave a delusional fevered Ragnar to be taken care of by one of his wives but the advice that he knew the All-Father would give him was worth it. It wasn't as if every wolf got the chance or had the ability to speak to their God such as Ragnar ...even if it took a few Berserker mushrooms to make it happen. It was worth it.

Come find me when you are ready to begin your lessons and we will work to get you the apprenticeship, Ragnar told his son, giving the boy a fatherly nudge. Odinn is calling me and I must go to him. Ragnar hated to cut his time short with Tveir but he would see his son later and it wasn't as if he could just ignore a God.