Ragnar wasted no time falling back into his daily routines, continuing them as if he had not been away from the Bay for two weeks. Though Ragnar himself felt no different, Stavanger Bay, however was. Julooke was gone, as was Nerian and Gyda. Though Ragnar had been decided on that he intended to end their mateship — after all it seemed she had no desire to give him what he wanted from her, and her seclusion from him gave the scarred Scandinavian the distinct feeling that she wanted nothing to do with him period. He had loved her but she was not his true love and so, like the others, his interest in her had waned until he was left facing what was left. The end. The conclusion. The options that he was willing to give and from there she could choose. Except, Nerian had taken herself out of the equation before he could even approach her about it. Ragnar wasn't sure when she had left, but garnered that it was something shortly after he had, though she had not sought him out. Nor had she spoken of it to him when he had bid her goodbye before embarking upon his Outrider mission.

The Bay was falling apart, the absence of his daughter, and the mother of four newborns hitting him like a lightning strike against his skin where it lingered shocking him at every turn, but on the same hand it was also working to mend itself. Wolves were approaching their borders seeking homes. In the early wake of destruction the ashes were rebuilding what had been stolen away.

Ragnar did not consider his Outrider mission anymore, had ceased all plans since it was moot for the moment. Why seek vengeance when the one he desired to protect was no longer around? Thus, the Viking disregarded the information and focused on what, to him, was priority. He had much to discuss with Thistle but first he needed to sort out the rubble of his crumbling love life, and prayed to the All Father that he hadn't disgusted Thistle enough to consider leaving him too, though if she did leave him, like Nerian, she would not be welcomed back. He had no mercy, and no second chances for wolves that betrayed him. What was done, was done and there was no fixing it. Ragnar didn't fancy grudges but he couldn't let himself be walked over like a posh rug, either. He wasn't a posh rug. He was a hot blooded creature that would rather maim and kill then be stepped all over. It was with determination that he sought Thistle out and when he found her he let out a low chuff to announce his presence to her.

“We have much to discuss, you and I,” The stoic Jarl greeted her, knowing that a lot of their conversation would be between an Alpha pair but also a husband and wife.

Ragnar watched as Thistle smiled at him but the betrayed Viking — a startling trend though, ironically, this was the first time he'd been betrayed by a wife — was in no mood to return it. He did not feel mirth. He did not feel joy. Instead, he felt only icy anger, and the cruel thought that he should have never taken Nerian as a wife and instead kept her where he knew now that she belonged: as a slave. She could be someone else's slave though because she was no longer welcomed at Stavanger Bay, no longer apart of his family. She could go back to her precious Priestesses that he had stolen her from because he didn't want her anymore. While Ragnar's greeting could have been more tactful he had assumed (apparently wrongly so) that there would be time for expressing little love nothings later, providing either of them were still in the mood after this grim discussion they needed to have. He wasn't, currently, in the mood to jest or whisper love nothings. Though duty did not always come before love, much had happened in his absence and it was that, that he desired to speak of first and foremost.

“You're right, you're right,” Ragnar spoke coyly, a soft hiss of ice in his voice. “The important things that happened in my two week absence can wait,” The Viking conceded softly, sure that it would evoke Thistle's wrath upon his head. Two weeks felt like a life time to Ragnar, and while he had missed her, very much so, he was a Jarl and the fact that two wolves had just upped and disappeared, both of whom had great responsibilities to the Bay was unsettling to Ragnar. Likely, he would apologize to her later after they had their sure to come screaming match at one another because these days that was what Thistle and him did best: scream at one another. “I shouldn't have left,” Mostly because Julooke's unexplained leaving from the Bay made all of his efforts to find the man responsible for nearly taking her life were now futile. Of course, tracking him down might save future females from that kind of thing, his desire to continue the hunt was gone, siphoned from him like the breath of life. Ragnar didn't blame Thistle for it — it wasn't her fault. It was the fault of the wolves responsible. “I do not blame you,” The Viking said in a truly soft voice, figuring that he might as well address the largest elephant in the room first. “You shouldn't blame yourself either, if you are. Nerian is a woman grown and capable of making her own decisions. She wasn't honest with me,” After all he wasn't entirely incompetent — despite what other wolves might have thought. Just because he was quiet didn't mean he was slow. “And for the past two months she has kept herself away from me, barely talking to me. My interest in her had been waning for some time, I expect I'm lucky that she made the ultimate decision for me,” Despite that, either way, he had intended to end it with her, simply, her disappearance from the Bay eliminated the any breaking of the news he might have had to do.

Ragnar looked away from her, towards the canopy of the ancient woodland that stretched around them. “Taking her as a wife was a mistake and I am sorry for the pain that the mistake has cost you,” The phrase Be careful what you wish for came to the forefront of the scarred Jarl's mind then, and he let out a soft, cruel snort. “She has betrayed us, leaving without so much as a word and she will pay the ultimate price for it. If she ever comes back she is not welcome here, do you understand? She is not welcome in this Bay, nor in this family. Chase her away. Or I will kill her.” Ragnar very rarely shared his emotions, and though Thistle was the true holder of his heart, his true love, it would be a lie to say that Nerian hadn't held a small piece of it, and that her betrayal didn't hurt him in a small way; and that in the conclusion of it he was absolutely merciless. He'd been stabbed in the back too many times for him to care anymore.

“Since Julooke, too, has left without a word, I am not sure that I will accept her back, either. I don't think, even if she returns, that she has any right to her children. A real mother doesn't abandon them and anyone that does should have no rights to having them back.” Verrine would probably disagree with Ragnar's decision, and perhaps it would cost the Jarl the loyalty of the Ostrega male but there were clear and concise consequences for abandoning the Bay. Ragnar would truly show them what it meant to piss off a Viking, what merciless truly looked like. He'd been betrayed one too many times by those he was close too, whom he considered friends. Whom, in some way or another he loved.

Winter was coming for Stavanger Bay.

Ragnar shot her a long, sharp sidelong glance at her cruel jab at him, about having a piece of his heart broken. In reality, he felt only betrayal more so than a broken heart. He was not in the mood to be petty with her. They had bigger concerns than their crumbling love life. “I feel only the stab of betrayal. I trusted her and she took that trust and destroyed it,” Ragnar fixed his Queen Wife in a piercing stare. “Don't you feel lucky, shield maiden? Do you not cherish that at the end of the day it was her and not you? That out of all of my wives you are the only one that has lasted so long.” Of course Ragnar understood what it meant. That Thistle, despite their frequent arguments and disagreements with one another, that she was his true love. “I don't care what her problem was. She did not want the same thing as me and she should have been honest with me from the start but she wasn't and she has done what she has done and she will deal with the consequences of her actions.” Ragnar spoke coolly, dismissively. He did not want to speak of Nerian, not ever again, the same way he did not speak of his past wives unless he absolutely needed too. They were in his past for a reason. He was quiet when Thistle spoke to him, thinking that if Nerian did return she would not call for him out of fear for him, as to which her fear would not be wrongly placed.

“If Julooke comes back at all I will deal with it when the time comes,” He would at least hear her out because that was his job as Jarl. Not to continue riding his assumptions, but to take what he knew and apply it to the given reasoning and make the best decision he could with what he had to work with. “I am not an unfair Jarl but I cannot coddle and brush things under the rug just because of friendship. That is not how this works and I will not show favoritism. My subordinates are all equal to one another in my eyes and I will not treat one better than any other.” Truthfully, his people didn't coddle. They were a harsh culture with harsh practices and harsh beliefs. Ragnar had not changed, would never change because he was who he was: a Viking, and if they couldn't handle how he dealt with things, the traditional way for him then perhaps they needed to find a posh pack to join in the stead of the Bay.

“Verrine is gone, too. His trail ends at the sea. There is no body and no other evidence that he has walked elsewhere. We have no choice but to assume the worst. The Ostrega children should be moved promptly to our den,” Without parents they were vulnerable and Ragnar would not see them die under his case as their Jarl. “With Nerian and Gyda gone there is ample room even with Mercury and Gunnar.” He wasn't asking permission, he was telling her what they were going to do. They were the only two in the past experianced enough to take in the young orphaned children, as far as Ragnar was concerned.

Thistle's gasp let Ragnar know effectively enough that she didn't like what had came out of his mouth, but by this point in their relationship with one another it came as no real surprise to the harsh Viking. Did she ever like what he had to say? Had she ever? They were so vastly different that it was surprising that they even bothered to keep their relationship going; but Ragnar didn't want to let Thistle go, because despite how it seemed he really did love her. If he didn't he would have ended it long ago. She was the Frigga to his Odinn, and there was no disputing that. “Did I take it out on you? All I said was that you're lucky. The only wife that I've kept. That I want to keep. Nerian deserves every thing to come. I was wrong to take a second wife. Is that what you want to hear me say? But if you think that threatening me will do you any good you're wrong. You can leave me, but do you really think I would let you go so easily? Do you think I wouldn't kill for you?” Because he would. He would follow and he would kill any male whom she dared to take as a lover, if she left him. He would never leave her alone because he was cruel like that and Thistle was his love, his Queen. He had no morals and a tiny sliver of a heart. His religion and culture did not condemn him for ending lives but, depending on the circumstances, rewarded him for it. He'd been trying to tell everyone all along: there was no halo, he was no Saint; and Thistle was right. He was cruel, but then again he'd never tried to pretend otherwise.

Ragnar didn't want to have this age old fight with her today. He was in no mood. If she wished to leave him then when he was already down was probably the best time. He did not know if he had the energy to bother to do anything about it, currently. His journey had been long. He was blood sick and weary. And they had more pressing things than Nerian. Nerian wasn't precious to him. She was a succubus who had lied to him, and he would kill her if she came back. “Next year I do not think I am giving anyone permission to breed,” In fact, he was sort of regretting the decision currently. “If you are still interested when that time comes about,” Because he didn't pretend to know her thoughts or feelings regarding to him. “We will be the only ones to breed.” Now there were three mouths to feed who were, at the moment as far as Ragnar could see, orphaned, and there was no one more equipped or prepared to take care of small children then Thistle and himself. “I will help you. That way we should be able to move the remaining children all at once. I am not sure what happened to Kevlyn but he is missing too.” Right now the Bay was a giant clusterfuck and Ragnar as the Jarl needed to make the hard decisions to try to get it back on track.

“I am used to tossing aside what I no longer want,” He'd done it three time previous to Nerian. Ragnar understood, from Thistle's perspective, how harsh his words sounded but it was the truth. He'd had many wives before he took Thistle as his wife, and before he'd taken Nerian as one too. He was not unaccustomed to this whole ordeal, though, admittedly, it was the first time that one of them left him before he could tell them he was no longer interested. Thistle knew what he was when she agreed to be his wife, knew that he was cruel and cold. He was a product of his harsh culture and he had warned her to never expect him to change because he wouldn't. He wouldn't change for anyone. Except, perhaps Odinn but that was a vastly different spectrum as far as Ragnar was concerned because Odinn controlled whether he went to Valhalla or not when he died and Ragnar did not work so hard and put so much faith into the All-Father to screw it all up.

“I will see what kind of shape the Bay is in when it comes close to your next heat season,” Ragnar spoke softly. In truth, he did not want to have to sacrifice his chance as his own flesh and blood litter when obviously no one else had sacrificed anything for them. Now they had one missing child, one AWOL and one presumably dead parent, and three infant foster children to take care of now. Ragnar wasn't that noble, and angry that the Seer had told him he would have many sons only to know that of his own flesh and blood he'd had one. He hated the idea of being the bigger man if it meant giving up something that he really wanted but he was the Jarl and as the Jarl he had no choice. “If it is bad then we will not have children.” It killed him to say that but the Bay was always his priority — just as the lives of those who were his subordinates were presently more important that the hypothetical lives of children yet to be born.

“Exactly what I said. His trail vanishes into the sea.” But as far as placing the blame went Ragnar didn't place it upon himself or Thistle. Had it happened after the fact of their parents departure that would have been a different tale entirely.

Ragnar didn't want to speak of Nerian anymore; frankly, would be quite content with never speaking of his once slave ever again. She was apart of his past now, and what was done was done and there was nothing that either of them could do about it. No longer did he want to continue to linger in that pool of distrust and anger. It was their future, twined so intimately with the future of Stavanger Bay that needed and deserved his attention — not the past or what futures there could have been. Ragnar had learned long ago that there was no point on lingering on what could have been when it would realistically never be. He wasn't a dreamer like that. He was a realist. “Stop it. Do not beat yourself up over it, Thistle,” Ragnar told her sharply, a bit more sharp than he'd meant too. Even so, he did not wish to see her take the blame for something that wasn't her fault. “We are the Jarl and Queen. We are not babysitters and both Verrine and Julooke are full grown adults able of making their own decisions,” He drew in a breath and looked sharply out into the distance. “And are fully capable of being held accountable for their own actions.” If Verrine really had killed himself, then Ragnar felt no sympathy, regardless of how he had thought the Ostrega to be his friend. Thistle and him could have helped; but instead their three remaining children were not left as orphans that Ragnar and Thistle needed to take care of. There was no other choice — no one else suited to the job.

Ragnar held still as Thistle slid closer, nipping at his left, unscarred shoulder, the feather light brush of her tail against his flank briefly distracting him from the gravity and weight of their new responsibilities. When she admitted that she had missed him, Ragnar was silent for a short while, unsure if he wanted to allow her to distract him in a way he desperately needed wanted, or if he wanted to try to steer their conversation back to the important matters they weren't exactly done discussing yet. After the contemplative silence which stretched for a heartbeat or two, Ragnar's lips parted and the Viking spoke, “I have missed your body and smell.” Which was, more or less, his way of admitting that he missed everything about her without getting mushy and uncharacteristically romantic about it.

Ragnar wasn't so sure that Thistle was going to take him at his word, to stop unnecessarily beating herself up for something that she had no control over. At the end of the day, Ragnar knew Thistle too well, to know that while she might not continue to do so verbally, didn't mean she would cease doing it all together. He'd been with her for roughly seven months now, and had probably at the most known her for eight or nine. Their mate-ship had been quick, but not rushed to the Viking, if only because it had not been, initially founded upon the basis of love. It had been more of a mate-ship of convenience and protection. Thistle was pregnant with illicit children and if he would not have stepped up to claim them as his own (which at the time as far as he'd known he might've been the true father of them) Pump might have killed them. The world had been uncertain then, as it still remained, but at least this time there would be no question of who sired Thistle's next litter, and Ragnar would not need to seek permission from anyone. The circumstances, providing that Stavanger Bay was stable enough to provide for more newborns, were quite different than he had been before. “Ég veit að það er” Ragnar murmured in his native tongue. For too long had he gone without speaking it, almost as if, for the past couple of months, forgetting where it was he'd came from. That wasn't true, of course, but there had been more pressing matters than appeasing the Gods, something that he would have to rectify rather soon, else he might bring their wrath upon the Bay.

If he hadn't already.

“Do you think that this is Odinn's punishment? For me slacking on the sacrifices and prayers lately?” Ragnar couldn't help but ask his Queen Wife in a hushed voice. It was the only option that made the most sense to the devout man. Ragnar still loved Odinn, still worshiped him eagerly, blindly, but the consideration that the Allfather felt slighted would not cease it's nagging within the darkest confines of Ragnar's mind. What kind of sacrifice would Odinn ask of him, as compensation? Ragnar would give much for the Allfather, and anything to glean the knowledge that Yggdrasil had given Odinn. Knowledge was power, after all. It was only when Thistle sat down beside him, the fur of her tail, leaving a feather light trail of shivers against his toes as it brushed against his paws momentarily as she swept it to curl around her own. “No,” Ragnar realized that his words would likely come off as callous and cold, but in the moment he had to think of Stavanger Bay as a whole as opposed to thinking only of three wolves, two missing, the other one assumed to be deceased. “We must focus on preparing our caches and selves for the winter to come,” Ragnar drew, knowing that likely he held the highly unpopular opinion on the matter. “It is nearly upon us and we are not ready.” It was the harsh truth. “We cannot sacrifice the mass for three wolves.” It wasn't that Ragnar didn't care — because Verrine and Julooke were just as much his friends as they'd been Thistle's — it was simply that Ragnar needed to make the hard decision of deciding what was priority and what wasn't.

Perhaps the relationship of the Viking and his converted Queen had not been perfect, certainly not smooth and without it's flaws but Thistle knew the heathen that she was marrying, just as he knew the spirit of fire that burned brighter than any sun within her. If there was a god that Thistle had ever resembled to him it was Frigga, Odinn's own wife. Queen of the Valkyries and Shieldmaidens. The whole mistake with Nerian had tested the very seams of their relationship but still their love for one another saw them through it. He had been mistaken with the Priestess, lured by the decadent temptation of her body and Christian ways, playing with Ragnar's natural curiosity only to run with her tail tucked at the real thought of children, never mind the fact that she had practically thrown herself at him during her first real heat season. It did not matter now. Nerian did no matter to him any longer, though Ragnar wondered if she had stolen Gyda away with her. Filled the young and secluded girl's mind with lies about the Norse culture. Others feared what they didn't understand, and while the Northmen were harsh and unforgiving, they were still capable of love, and sorrow, still bled like every one else, and they were still canines.

“He has tested me enough, all my life I have proven myself to him. That I am worthy of him and of Valhalla,” But of course it was never that easy with the Gods. “I think I need to make them alone.” This was between Odinn and Ragnar, and he really didn't wish to drag Thistle into it when he didn't need too. “The Gods smile on brave women, my mother used to tell me, so you do not have to worry about their favor.” Ragnar assured her. Ragnar stared grimly at the stretch of the ancient forest before him, understanding that his unwillingness to search for bodies further than his initial search might lose him favor. But he needed to worry about the living, not the dead. “The living concern me much more than the deceased.” He could not afford to waste the time and energy it would take to have a hunting party for either bodies or, if they were extremely lucky, to find them alive.