There was no doubt in Ragnar's mind that when he returned to Stavanger Bay, Thistle would be waiting for it, poised to scream and possibly tear into him. Never mind that his title as worlds worst patient coupled with his inability to sit still for any measure of time was hardly anything new. The Northman couldn't let a missing eye and three little scratches keep him from his duties as Jarl. After all, he wasn't dead yet. It hadn't stopped him when the left half of his face had been mutilated intentionally, and he wasn't about to stop now. He did not sacrifice his eye, did not allow Odinn to take it simply to sit on his ass and do nothing. He had heard whispers of new packs in the Wilds long before his trip to the Spine in an attempt to find Julooke's attacker, but the Spine Queen had confirmed it for him, at least. He was the only Outrider that Stavanger Bay had at the moment and he would sooner that he went to investigate these new packs for himself as opposed to sending a subordinate. It wasn't that he didn't trust them, merely it felt more like it was his duty, in the here and now and lead (and only) Outrider. Besides, Stavanger Bay over the past few days, primarly since the “sacrifice” had begun to feel like a giant cage to Ragnar and if he hadn't gotten out when he did he might have gone insane.

At least he had tried to do as Thistle instructed of him; but the cold hard truth that Ragnar had long ago embraced was that life was not going to put itself on hold just because he was injured.

Steps slowed as the scent of a pack hung heavily in the air, the scents familiar to him but missing the distinct scent that he associated with Blacktail Deer Plateau. Brow furrowed ever so slightly in confusion, though the slight lag in thoughts might have been because of the Berserker mushroom he'd eaten to dull the pain to a manageable ache. He would much rather take a Berserker mushroom than gag down Thistle's poppy seeds, even if his wife wholeheartedly disagreed with his choice. Coming across a familiar shape on the borders as he neared them, Ragnar's steps ceased all together as he studied Peregrine carefully with one eye. It was becoming easier, adapting, but easier because his senses on his left side: touch, hearing seemed to become even more heightened to make up the lack of vision. “Peregrine?” It became abundantly clear that Ragnar had missed much — not that he really made it a habit of sticking his nose into others' business. The woman had been on Ragnar's blind side, but he could smell her and inclined his head to study her next in the sunset, wondering if he'd interrupted something.

The need to get out of Stavanger Bay before it could continue to stifle him, to bind him to the land like a panther locked in it's zoo cage had been greater than his reservations of his wife's temper. Her temper Ragnar could deal with, it was the feeling of having no where to go, of being bed ridden that bothered him the very most; but she should have came to expect this from him. She had healed him before and knew how he felt about bed rest. And, it seemed that a lot of things had changed for Peregrine, though he had not expected to see something that he considered if not a friend then at least a close acquaintance at the borders of one of the new packs that Ragnar had been hearing whispers of.

When Peregrine's question came forth, laced with disbelief and what Ragnar came to assume as potential disgust, the Viking physically moved his head once more so that he had both of them in the view of his right eye. “Is it that bad?” Ragnar teased Peregrine, attempting to make it a humorous situation (but not so much as to enrage Odinn) offering a slight cringing grin. At least Odinn had had the decency to not take the eye out of the unmarred side of his face which might have been measurably worse. “A one eyed raven,” Ragnar spoke simply, not wanting to outright name Odinn, not really sure that Peregrine cared, or would believe, it anyway. It was the truth, without getting into Ragnar's faith aspect of it. “I had heard whispers that there were a couple new packs in the Wilds, but the Spine Queen confirmed it when I paid her a visit and I thought I would fulfill my duties as Outrider and make my rounds.” Ragnar spoke his purpose for being there, leaving out the part that he was an insufferable patient and couldn't sit still for the life of him.

Ragnar let out a soft snort of mild amusement as Peregrine continued to gawk at the gaping hole where his eye had once been. Seeing as how such a wound was nothing new to the Northman, he didn't exactly understand how it made him ballsy, as Peregrine had so lightly put it. Perhaps it was the same thing that allowed the Berserkers and Shield-maidens of his culture to go to battle, fighting like demons, like wolves possessed with no fear of death. It was bred into them, their love of raids and blood, the harshness of their origins. Though the Berserker mushroom did play it's part as well. In battles, and in the circumstance that Ragnar felt pretty good, all things considered. He knew Thistle was disappointed in him that he had turned to them, but in Ragnar's mind they were no different than her poppy seeds, except that, perhaps, the mushrooms provided an extra little kick. “I don't let wounds slow me down,” Even on his death bed Ragnar would likely be doing something. He could not condition himself to lay still. He wasn't the kind of man that “took things easy”. His restless soul (though he still wasn't quite sure what that was) wouldn't allow it.

The Viking offered his ebony companion a cheeky, coy little grin, a characteristic of his,k though his attention focused upon the woman as Peregrine made the introductions, and went to explain the odd relationship that Peregrine and Ragnar shared with one another. Ragnar was past the shock of seeing Peregrine here as opposed to Blacktail Deer Plateau by this point, so it did not come as a surprise when Peregrine admitted that he and his mate ruled at their Redhawk Caldera. The last word was strange, and Ragnar made no attempts to repeat it, fairly certain that his accent would ruin it. Some common tongue words were better left unsaid by the Scandinavian. It was curious, given that Peregrine had led Blacktail Deer Plateau why he would decide to start up a new pack somewhere else. To Ragnar it would be no different than him leaving Stavanger Bay and creating another pack somewhere else, leaving behind the members that depended upon him. Perhaps, though, it was different. After all Stavanger Bay had been built upon Ragnar's faith, and the hard work of his founding members, barely little of whom were alive, and, or resided there anymore. Still, it wasn't Ragnar's business and so he did not inquire.

The news that Junior had returned to the Plateau both soothed the uneasy beast that had taken hold of him when Ragnar had heard that she had joined up with a bunch of elitist women, however, and a soft sigh of relief left his lips. “So she decided that the elitist women club wasn't right for her after all?” Ragnar inquired rhetorically with a softness, “Good. I should go visit her soon,” Ragnar murmured, though this was mostly to himself. He missed her as he missed his own daughter. “My daughter Gyda has gone missing, or perhaps she has ran away with my ex priestess wife, Nerian,” Ragnar truly didn't know. “My son, Mercury has gone after her, but if you could keep eyes or ears open, Thistle and I would greatly appreciate it.” Gyda had always been a quiet, reclusive child and Ragnar feared for his precious Viking Princess more than he cared to admit to anyone except Thistle and the girl in question.

Ragnar watched as Peregrine's subordinate rose, dismissed herself and left. If he were a different kind of man he might have felt guilty about nearly excluding her from his and Peregrine's conversation, but he wasn't a different kind of man. His gaze did not linger upon her disappearing form, instead returning back to Peregrine when the other man let out a dry laugh and responded that Junior wasn't on good terms with him currently. He didn't comment on the fact that Junior would probably be happy to see him, he couldn't say for sure because it had been a while since they had last seen one another, but he would make good on his promise and go visit her. “No, it's recent,” Given, that Peregrine likely wasn't aware of Ragnar's polygamy relationship might have been confusing, the Viking considered. “I had a polygamy relationship for a short while, it was a mistake,” Ragnar said coolly, feeling irritation and betrayal rise like an ugly beast within the confines of his chest. “I am lucky that Thistle loves me still, however.” Because it was just the two of them now, as it would be forever more. He had tried to take more than one wife and it had bit him directly in the ass. “Thank you. We do not know if she would return or seek shelter elsewhere in the Wilds,” Granted, it was a vain hope. Ragnar was fairly sure that he would never see Gyda or Mercury again, and if he didn't then at least it was their choice but he wished they would have stayed. They were his children, no matter what. “Maybe if Thistle and I have children this coming year I can convince them to stay,” Ragnar spoke dryly, with a coy smirk that didn't at all reflect how he felt inside. No matter what was said to him he would always feel that, as a parent, he was somehow at fault for his daughter's disappearance, never mind that he suspected Nerian had ran off with her.

“We are small but the wolves that stand behind me seem to be extremely loyal,” They weren't overflowing with wolves but they were at least swimming as opposed to sinking. To say that Ragnar did not worry about such things would be a lie, and if he were to lose his Bay then he was not sure what he would do but he doubted he would stay in the Wilds. He could not go back to being a subordinate. Not when, in truth, he'd be plotting his take over the entire time, and there was nothing that said starting a pack anew would make it more prosperous than it had been before. Though Ragnar did not linger upon such things, he kept them as considerations for if the worst should come to pass. Peregrine's following words, however, managed to recapture the Viking's attention, surprising the Northman. Accepting a proposal of an alliance between Stavanger Bay and Redhawk Caldera would go against what Ragnar vehemently stood for; and if the Jarl recalled correctly Peregrine had shared in that sentiment himself. There were so many reasons why Ragnar did not believe in them, so many ways that they could go wrong, and Odinn's Cove had done well being solitary. Not concerning themselves with the other packs in the Eldingar Valley, it had worked extremely well because their neighboring packs were subjected to raids, at the mercy of the Berserkers. Yet, Stavanger Bay wasn't Odinn's Cove — Ragnar's effort to re-create his birth pack had failed though this was mostly because it's life blood was too diverse. Ragnar had his traditions but he could not force them upon any of the others that wasn't how conversion worked.

Ragnar understood what it signified, and in turn understood that if he accepted the proposal that he would not only look like a liar, or if not as extreme a man who went back on his word, but that it was also a huge act of faith ...and trust. Even if they never had to call on one another to take up arms to defend their allied pack. The Viking hesitated for a moment, considering things, weighing the pros and cons that he could visibly see, but he, like Peregrine, would need to seek the council of his wife before he proceeded with a solid yes, or no. “I should seek my Queen's opinion before I make a decision on the matter,” Ragnar confided to Peregrine, but Ragnar was heavily considering Peregrine's proposal.

Ragnar shook off Peregrine's apology for his subordinate, having not been offended by the woman's behavior, and feeling that even if he had Peregrine should not have taken the fall for it, though if the situations were reversed Ragnar probably would have shouldered the blame himself, then again he was not often in the habit of apologizing for his subordinates for he barely apologized for himself. “It might give one of the ones aiming for the trade a chance to prove themselves at it,” Ragnar murmured to Peregrine's suggestion that Thistle and him could always send an outrider to relay their decision when they reached one. It was certainly true that they could do that. Or Ragnar could always tell Peregrine himself, considering that he was, currently, the only outrider in the pack. It was nice to know, however, that there was no time limit on Peregrine's offer of an alliance. Even thinking the word felt strange, let alone actually considering it. The Viking was used to being solitary with his pack, if for the main fact that he distrusted upon default, and at any rate, any pack relations that could have been well in Odinn's Cove was vastly ruined by the fact that the Northmen raided their neighbor packs. Granted, Ragnar hadn't raided in...nearly a year now which made him feel, by far and large too “domesticated”. He had raided Wheeling Gull Isle's stores as soon as he found out they were no longer a pack, not that it had rewarded him with much, but no one had actively been living there at the time. Ragnar would be lying if he said he did not miss the thrill of the fight and of claiming the prizes: meat, medicinal, and canine alike.

“It was ...interesting,” And while he had considered that Nerian truly would assist in giving him children, good even. Except that he was fairly certain that for quite some time Thistle had absolutely loathed him. “Thistle was so angry with me, though, despite that she agreed to it,” But that was likely because Ragnar had a way of getting what he wanted and truly did not feel like he needed to seek anyone's permission, the single exception being Odinn's. But Ragnar revered the All-Father, like a surrogate father to replace the hole that Eitri had left in his wake when Bjorn (the original) had killed him. Ragnar let out a soft, thoughtful noise when Peregrine admitted that he'd had a male lover. The idea had never really struck Ragnar as a possibility because as Peregrine said their species wasn't really built for it, but even so Ragnar didn't see an issue with it. As it was the Viking people only judged when a man cheated on his wife, and did not really judged based on one's sexuality. They were surprisingly tolerant despite the fact that they were savage, feral, and that most would easily consider them uncivilized, though that was not the case.

“Are you planning on having more children in the coming months?” Ragnar inquired to be ...personable but also because there was a genuine interest. Ragnar hardly had any “friends” these days, especially with the deaths of Julooke and Verrine, and he was starting to feel the loss greatly.

Ragnar was not overly surprised when Peregrine admitted that he and his wife, Fox, were planning on having children in the upcoming season. Children were a lot of work, but they were worth the tireless nights and long hours. The prospect of having his own children was an exciting one. Not to mention if he and Thistle did have a litter then it meant that Odinn was making good on his promise from many years ago and that Ragnar did not sacrifice so very much for absolutely nothing. Odinn and him had not been on the best, or most agreeable terms as of late, which might have been where the chaos that was recently surrounding the Bay, in Ragnar's mind, had stemmed from. If taking his eye had appeased the All-Father for the rest of Ragnar's life, no matter how long or short it was Fated to be then it was worth the loss, as far as Ragnar was concerned. The Gods were notorious for giving with one hand and taking from the other, though, and though the Northman did his best to hide it, he was still weary. But they were alike now: Odinn and Ragnar. It had been rumored, passed from father to son that his family was descended from the All-Father himself. Whether that was the truth or not Ragnar did not presently know.

“A dozen, hm?” Ragnar murmured thoughtfully, breaking himself out of his thoughts which had wandered only marginally. “That is a lot of children,” Ragnar was not sure that he could ever handle that many children at a time, and of course the Viking caught the humor in it since litters typically did not exceed four. “If the Bay is stable enough to handle more children when the time comes, then yes,” Ragnar hated the words as they spilled forth from his lips, disgusted (because he was selfish sometimes) that he had to sacrifice what he wanted most in the world, if the pack was not. Facing facts right now: he'd say no. He did not think the pack was stable enough, their members too scarce and seemingly, from his stand point not driven. If not for Thistle and himself taking the orphaned Ostrega children in he had little doubt that they would have perished. Maybe not, maybe one of his subordinates would have surprised him, but he did not know, nor care.

“If not, then no,” Not to mention, Ragnar wasn't confident that he should be having more children. After all, only one of his children had remained in the Bay, and only two of Verrine and Julooke's children hadn't been kidnapped or whatever. He was failing miserably at the father thing. “Perhaps I should not, though. I can't even keep the orphaned litter we'd taken it safe. Two has either been kidnapped, killed or ran away of their own free will.” And by the time that Ragnar or Thistle had caught word of it, it'd been too little too late and Ragnar did not have the man power to send out hunting parties for them. “Not to mention my daughter ran away, and Mercury too.” Though Mercury was a little bit of a different case. “Maybe that is the Gods telling me that I should not continue.” Being Jarl, or being a father, the Viking wasn't exactly sure at the moment. Perhaps, it was a sign of both.

Ragnar had always prided himself on being a good leader, though these days he questioned that logic, wondering if his youth and ego had gotten in the way and made him blind to the harsh reality. He had envisioned that he was a fair and dedicated Jarl much like his father before him, but these days he felt more and more like Björn than he had ever felt — even when he had went by his deceased brother's name, masquerading about with it as if it were a bloody crown he could wear. There were many parts of the Viking that yearned to be selfish in the respect of the Bay, to populate it with his own flesh and blood. Odinn had promised him many sons and thus to his knowledge he only had ever produced one living son. Which wasn't overly impressive. And, for the most part, had been an accident. So far, at almost four years of age he was slacking, missed two viable reproduction years. Perhaps that was why he'd been so adamant on the whole Nerian thing (though that came back to bite him in the ass viciously) because with two wives he could make up for the lost years. Or perhaps Ragnar had simply misinterpreted Odinn's message, taking the promise of “many sons” to mean only flesh and blood. But there was Týrr, his captive turned son that hated him but was still family, regardless, and then was Mercury and Gunnar, and though he did not strive to become a father to them he saw them as sons regardless: Charon and Levi. That was a good start to the “many sons” the All-Father had promised him.

Looking at it in that respect, Ragnar felt a little bit callous for being angry with the All-Father.

“I know,” Ragnar responded when Peregrine pointed out that half the offspring didn't usually make it to adulthood. “I know,” The Viking repeated in a softened voice. “But it does not make it easy when they look up to you to protect them and you fail them. With the death of dear friends, Thistle and I have adopted their children, or the three that were left. The girl she...went missing or maybe died. I do not know and the Gods will not tell me. I cannot keep what is left of their family together, and it is harder still to admit to them that I do not have all the answers and that there is nothing that I can do.” He wasn't necessarily looking for advice or anything, merely it was nice to let it off his chest. He had kept it bottled up so tight, not wanting to tell Thistle that Charon, especially, had been angry about Liyani for the fear that it would upset her, until it physically made him sick. Ragnar's problem he suspected, was that he was trying to be the hero when he'd always been destined for the role of anti-hero. He couldn't change his fate. His culture was seen as heathens, vicious, feral. Those weren't wrong; but the Vikings were not entirely heartless. They had families, and loved ones. And not being able to protect his family felt like a failure.

“I am getting better,” Ragnar conceded with a soft chuckle. Peregrine hadn't seen him get irritated at his three Mercury, Gunnar, and Gyda when they were small, unsure as the Jarl had been how to deal with small infants. It was all trial and error — rearing children. He was better prepared when they took in Julooke and Verrine's litter, and they would be even more experienced when Thistle and him had their own.