The first day that the remaining Ostrega children had been with the Alpha pair as their new wards, it had been Charon that had thrown the most tantrums, even trying to escape a few times. The young Ostrega child had wailed like a banshee giving neither Ragnar or Thistle who had taken shifts watching their newest wards so that one of them could attend to their leadership duties while the other played babysitter to their foster children, having Mercury and Gunnar take shifts with them as well, one boy patrolling the borders or hunting while the other aided in trying to keep the clearly upset children calm. It wasn't very effective but it was all that Ragnar knew to do for them, assuming that they had to tantrum themselves out. Presumably, Charon eventually did tantrum himself out and slept through the night. Ragnar couldn't say the same, and was groggy when he did finally awaken, giving a soft order to Mercury to bring the children something to play with. Ragnar no longer had the bones he had worried in for his Gods, each having been placed on the appropriate alters deep in the heart of the forest that dominated most of the Bay, but Ragnar had kept the antlers of some of the deer that they had taken down and hoped that Mercury would know where to find them.

Assuming that the other Ostrega children: Liyani and Levi were still asleep Ragnar turned his eyes of carribean blue eyes to the uniquely marked child: Charon, whom had seemed to shrink in on himself. Ragnar understood a simple truth: he could not replace the absence of Verrine, no more than Thistle could replace the absence of Julooke — no more than either of them wanted to replace them. They weren't their true parents but they were their foster parents and as far as Ragnar could see the best chance the small children had at surviving this harsh winter to come. The scarred Scandinavian stared at the only woken child, feeling piteous but knowing that he couldn't sympathize with him. He'd never lost his parents, at least not while he was much too young to understand; but Ragnar did understand the pain of loss, despite that he'd been an adult when Bjorn had brutally ended Eitri's life for the crown of Odinn's Cove. “Charon,” Ragnar called to the small child, trying the boy's name out on his lilting, heavy accent. It didn't sound quite right but it was recognizable as his name, nevertheless. As always, Ragnar was afraid to move near them, terrified that he might accidentally crush one of them, but the den was chilly and he put off more than enough body heat for all four of them. “Come closer. It is warmer here by me.” Ragnar spoke softly to the child, his voice naturally quiet, his tone taking on the soft cooing and comforting voice that he'd adopted with his own children when they were as small as him.

It was doubtful that Charon understood what he was saying, and even if he did that he would listen but Ragnar was going to try to get Charon to open up to him, regardless.

Ragnar hadn't meant to scared the young Ostrega child, and his ears cupped forth to catch the sound of the boy mumbling his own name in a mimicry. “Yes, Charon,” Ragnar offered the child a soft smile. “Very good.” Ragnar praised him. He did not get overly excited about the fact that Charon could mimic words if only because Ragnar didn't wish to awaken any of the other sleeping bodies in the den. He stretched as much as the confinement of the den would allow him too, his back paw making contact with Mercury's nose. The ebony cloaked teen let out a soft sneeze and curled into a tight ball, tucking his nose under a too large paw causing Ragnar to laugh softly, before the Viking's attention went back to Charon, fixing the small child in his stare of carribean ice. Ragnar shifted, pressing his back against the wall that Nerian had once occupied, feeling the harsh resistance of rock and cold earth against his spine as he studied Charon giving a soft snort when Charon responded with an apathetic “no”.

“No” seemed to be the first word that most young children spoke, likely because it was a pretty easy word to mimic. Given this, Ragnar took the liberty of assuming that Charon, perhaps, did not truly grasp the gravity of the word he'd just thrown out to the sleepy silence of the den. The Jarl hardly took it personal. Neither would he have, even if Charon did understand the heavy ramifications of the word “no”. He and his siblings had been through a grave ordeal and now found themselves in the company and care of, otherwise, strangers. The Ostrega children were also children of the Bay and though they did not understand it yet, the wolves of the Bay were their family also. Charon, Liyani, and Levi were not his children but Ragnar would not treat them any different then he had Mercury, Gunnar and Gyda. Blood didn't matter, and the Ostrega children were young enough to need Thistle and him. “No?” Ragnar asked the boy softly, the word rumbling softly in the deep confines of the scarred Scandinavian's chest before he fell silent, waiting for the boy's own reaction.

Ragnar did not have the joy within him to give Charon the praise that the scarred Scandinavian knew the boy deserved, and equally assumed that Charon was looking for. It wasn't fair, Ragnar understood. It wasn't fair to Charon for Ragnar to not lavish him in giddy praise for being able to repeat his own name, no matter what Ragnar's reasoning was. Odinn alone knew the pain of losing not just one dear friend, but two. Thistle and him had found Julooke's body and though Ragnar had not been able to find Verrine's the only evidence remained left little to the Viking's imagination, and the worst, with little other choice, was assumed. Charon, Levi, and Liyani were wards of the Lodbrok family, adopted in the wake of them becoming orphans. Their situation was so very different than his own children, born of another man's seed. Ragnar had sought to replace Crete, and it had been a selfish desire but obtainable because Crete had vanished off the face of the earth before Thistle had even known she was pregnant. This time, Ragnar did not seek to replace Verrine as their father. Certainly, he would become a father figure but he would not see Verrine or Julooke out of their hearts or minds. He would tell them what he knew of their parents, making sure that the Ostrega couple that created the small children whom now shared the Jarl's den with them lived on in their children. It was the very least Ragnar felt that he could do for them.

Charon seemed to shy away from Ragnar's stare and the Scandinavian took in a deep, slightly labored breath with the emotion that threatened to over take him. The burn of tears were there, hot and unbidden in his eyes. It felt too familiar to having lost Pump because, essentially, it was not that different. Again, he lost dear friends, and again he took up the mantle of responsibility left in the wake of their departure from this world into the world of the Gods. Charon was too young to understand his loss, as was his siblings but someday soon they would know. Wondering if he was scaring the young boy, Ragnar looked away, the handsome half of his face, smooth and unscarred facing Charon. After a few moments, Ragnar placed his head upon his front paws, closing just his left eye, unable to help but think that this was how Odinn saw things. Through one eye. But Yggdrasil gave him infinite knowledge and with the aid of Huginn and Munnin the All-father, in actuality, saw everything.

When Charon broke the silence, Ragnar did not lift his head, instead he readjusted his position, tilting his head slightly so he could better look at the boy, without, hopfully, making him too uncomfortable. “Yes, Charon,” Ragnar praised, though, in reality, it wasn't an answer to Ragnar's question. Not that Ragnar had really expected much of an answer. “You do not have to fear me. I will not hurt you.” Charon had been apart of the Bay's family before he'd been born and in this, he was apart of Ragnar's family. Though, perhaps that wasn't overtly assuring given Ragnar won against his elder brother in a death match, the point of the fact was: Charon was safe even if it took Ragnar's last breath of life to ensure it.

Ragnar smiled softly down at the uniquely colored Ostrega child when the boy gave a few, small wags of his tail at the Northman's praise. Ragnar's once speculation of being around small children makes future newborns/infants in comparison much easier to handle was seemingly proven correct. Despite the fact that the three Ostrega children were still quite small, and delicate, he no longer harbored the fear that he would break them if he touched them. Of course, being a father to such young children beforehand had certainly helped, and providing that Stavanger Bay was in a good position when Thistle went into her next heat cycle, the technical third litter would likely be the easiest yet. It was true that Charon and his siblings did not belong to the Loðbrók pair but that had never stopped Ragnar from fathering before. He had managed to convince Týrr that he a blood son despite that before that Ragnar had never told a bigger lie. The amazon boy had been nearly full grown when Ragnar, Floki, and Dagrún had captured him; though of course the amnesia had helped the trio immensely when it came to spinning their cunning tale of lies.

Ragnar was pulled from his thoughts when Charon hesitantly asked for Julooke. The Viking's cold eyes softened measurably and for a moment he had the strongest urge to look away from the small child, though he resisted. Despite how hard and bad everything seemed to him now, Ragnar remembered that this was not the worse that he had ever faced. In turn, it was the scarred Scandinavian's turn to hesitate. He was not sure if Charon yet grasped the concepts of life and death, or even if he would understand Ragnar when the Viking spoke to him. “Óðinn , gefa mér styrk.” Ragnar murmured to the Allfather, knowing that somehow, the King of his Gods would hear; would know. “Your,” Ragnar paused for a moment briefly forgetting the common tongue word for mother despite that Charon had more or less just spoke a variation of it. “mother and father are gone, Charon. Gone to a place where they cannot be brought back from.” The Viking wasn't sure if Charon even understood, and as much as Ragnar wished to protect Charon and his siblings he could not, nor would he, lie to them.

Ragnar caught the curious tilt of the young child's head when he spoke a soft and murmured prayer to the All-Father in his native tongue, though he offered Charon no translation. Not because he did not think that Charon would understand the concept of prayers but because it had been meant to be private. Without Gunnar and Thistle present he was able to speak in Norse to himself without the fear of any others knowing what he said. It wasn't as if the words had been bad either, simply that sometimes what he spoke to Odinn was meant to be private. Just between the All-Father and Ragnar. “It was a prayer, Charon,” Despite that Charon did not, technically, ask. Now more than ever Ragnar needed to know that Odinn was with him, that the God's favor had not dissolved so quickly. Ragnar was no stranger to his Gods and understood that their attention, infinite as it was, tended to be extremely fickle.

“Yes, Charon. Gone,” Ragnar confirmed to the young boy, his voice holding volume barely more than a whisper. It wasn't an easy thing to have to say aloud to Charon, even if the Ostrega child did not fully understand the ramifications of “gone forever”. Being the bearer of bad news was a hefty burden that Ragnar had to shoulder, and it never got any easier, no matter how many times he had done it. Though, admittedly, this was the first time he'd ever had to break such horrible and life altering news to young children. Ragnar's gaze softened when the child asked him why, simple, yes, but also extremely complicated. Ragnar knew only know to explain it in his own way of thinking, how his culture had always explained it to him. “Because, Charon, it was Fate.” Ragnar believed that their lives were ruled by Fate, determined by the Norns long before their births.

Ragnar watched as Charon's shoulders rose and fell with the heavy sigh that the young child let out. It was not an easy thing to hear, and not for the first time Ragnar wished that he had the power of Odinn, that he could make it all go away for him and his siblings. But the Northman wasn't the All-Father, and only could do so much to make it was easy as he could. Charon and his siblings, Ragnar suspected, were too young to know death and he did not know how to explain it so that the boy would understand that his parents weren't coming back. That they couldn't. The boy and his siblings were too young to have to bear such a horrible burden, to know that their parents had been cruelly ripped from them at such a young and tender age. Ragnar felt responsible for it, that if he wouldn't have left to try to find the heathen that attacked Julooke and nearly killed her the first time then perhaps it wouldn't have happened. That maybe Julooke and Verrine would still be here, with their children. Where they should have been; but life rarely worked how it was supposed to go. Having nothing further to say to Charon, the Viking watched as his foster son stood, drew closer, staying back by Ragnar's hind leg before he curled up with a 'night', and promptly seemed to fall asleep. “góða nótt.” Ragnar murmured to the child, turning his attention towards the mouth of the den, letting his attention drift off with his thoughts.