Ragnar was failing, and he did not know what to do about it. Facing the realization that he did not have all the answers, that he could not manage to protect even Verrine and Julooke's children, let alone his own, two of whom had left as well, was destroying him. First Kevlyn had gone missing, though that was putting Ragnar's suspicions in an optimistic light, and now the girl, Liyani had either left or had been kidnapped. After realizing it, the Viking had became violently sick upheaving all of his supper until nothing was left but a sore and empty stomach that he did not bother re-filling, wondering how much stress and worry he could shoulder before it killed him; but Ragnar had hid it, secluding himself off from Gunnar, Thistle, Charon and Levi so that they might not know. Thistle would likely try to tell him that it had to do with his eye, but Ragnar knew that his missing eye had nothing to do with it. It was the worry for the children, children that he was supposed to care for, and so far he was doing a wonderful job at it. One was presumed dead and now one was missing. Of course, his failure as a foster father shouldn't have came to any sort of surprise since he was a massive failure as a father period. Gyda was gone and neither he, nor Thistle had any clue where. Again and again the Gods tested Ragnar's ability to overcome, but Ragnar was only mortal, and couldn't help but wonder, selfishly, why nothing could be easy. Just once. Ragnar had went out personally in search of the girl but had been unable to find her, and unable (and unwilling) to leave his pack for a long period of time he had returned empty handed, knowing that worse than anything he would have to face Charon and Levi's disappointment. “Freya og Frigg horfa yfir Liyani, þar sem alltaf hún kann að vera . Halda henni örugg og blessaður.” Ragnar murmured the prayer to the Goddesses hoping that they would hear and acknowledge his plea. At this point, turning to his Gods was all that Ragnar felt that he could do. The rest would be up to faith, and though it had been tested again and again his faith was still unbending.

The Scandinavian had been dutifully patrolling his borders when he came across the still fresh scent of Charon, heading out into the world beyond the Bay's borders. Horror and fear nearly froze the Northman in his tracks before, without a second thought Ragnar launched himself forward, luckily, finding the uniquely marked boy not to far from the borders, though this was likely only because the Ostrega boy seemed to have paused. Or rather froze. “Charon,” Ragnar called to his young ward, feeling like his heart was breaking for the child. It was not hard to piece together the puzzle. It was extremely likely that the boy had decided to try to find his missing sister, and probably parents though his parents were beyond the realm of living. Ragnar wasn't mad, more so he was relieved that he had found Charon before the boy had gotten too far. He would not lose one more child. He loved them as his own children, he realized, suddenly and sorrowfully. “I am sorry.” The Viking apologized to the young boy, his ears flattening against his skull as the wave of shame and failure surged through him once more.

Charon turned around at the sound of Ragnar's voice, the Viking saw, the child's startled expression turning to one of recognition quickly. Ragnar's remaining eye of Caribbean blue studiously watched the boy's posture when he apologized — something very rare in and of itself — noting the difference when Charon's posture straightened. The words that tumbled, accusingly to the Viking, forth from the boy's lips were surprising if only because Ragnar had not expected the child to turn on him like such. Yet, they were also not surprising because they mirrored Ragnar's own internal anger towards himself. For slipping. For being the worst foster parent, though the sad part was that Thistle and him had been their best chance at life after Julooke and Verrine. The Jarl took the child's anger, though. “I know,” The Viking replied solemnly. For a long moment Ragnar was silent, trying to decide if he was angry or just weary. Or both. He did not know how to fix Charon's crumbling family any more than he knew how to fix his own. Although, his family had been falling apart a long, long time ago and it had been vain, the Viking saw now, to think that a fresh start could automatically fix it. “What do you suppose I do, hm?” The Jarl asked the child rougher than he had meant too, less of a question and more of a demand.

In a way, Ragnar was attempting to use something similar to reverse psychology upon Charon by giving him the opportunity to tell Ragnar what, if Charon were in Ragnar's situation, what the boy would do. By giving Charon the freedom to state what he thought Ragnar was doing wrong, Ragnar hoped would show the boy that Ragnar's paws were utterly and entirely bound. Ragnar was only a mortal, he did not harbor the power of the Gods, or even the Seer. This, combined with the fact that Ragnar could not simply shun the entirety of Stavanger Bay for a single wolf, no matter how sick it made him knowing that she was gone and that he had, ultimately, failed only served to make Ragnar's choice limited. No matter how much the Northman wished it otherwise. The Ostrega boy did not immediately respond, and the corners of the Viking's lips twitched ever so slightly, though no smirk nor mirthless smile formed. It was easy to be mad at another when you did not truly realize the circumstance that they were put in. “Would have me forsake the Bay, turn my back upon it in search of your sister? Would you have the Bay fall into ruin? Would you have Levi, Thistle, Gunnar and all the others starve while I abandon them to find your sister? This pack will not last long without me, Charon.” Not that Ragnar was trying to be particularly arrogant about his importance to Stavanger Bay — as it was for all he knew the pack might prosper more if he was out of the picture. Whether that was true or not did not matter. Ragnar was attempting to make a point to the child.

A grim expression stole across the scarred Scandinavian's face then, as he settled a single Caribbean blue eye upon Charon, though the Viking moved to stand face to face with the child. “If I thought that it would help, if Odinn promised me that it would help, I would give it,” Ragnar's words held no chicanery. He was not simply speaking it to tell the child what, perhaps, he wanted to hear. If Odinn declared that taking Ragnar's remaining eye would make any sort of difference then Ragnar would have gladly given it. However, the All-Father was sated, and the sacrifice, Ragnar believed, would work it's worth ...eventually.

Why do the Gods give with one hand, yet take with the other? This Ragnar had always wondered, but knew he would never receive the answer too.

“No child, you keep your eyes,” Ragnar spoke softly. “The Gods would not take from a child.” Make no mistake they would take children — for a split second Dagmar's still born litter flashed through the Jarl's mind, the first but as it would seem not the last that Ragnar had ever gotten angry with Odinn. “I know you are angry with me, Charon, and it is okay to be angry with me, but can I ask something of you? Do not be angry with Thistle. It will break her heart.” Not that Thistle was nearly as delicate as she had seemed to be to him when he had first met her. Though the shield-maiden with fire in her heart did not see it herself, Ragnar did not fail to see the difference: she had changed, and likely at Ragnar's influence. Still, he knew it would upset her if Charon and Levi blamed her for what, in truth, neither adult could control. Ragnar would take all of their blame and hatred because he could handle it.

Why? Like most children that seemed to be the most popular word in Charon's vocabulary. Of course it meant that Charon was curious, and willing to learn, but even so it, as it did with every parent sometimes, was beginning to become a word that Ragnar was not overly fond of. Asking Ragnar why the Gods did anything all apart of his want to understand, but it was also asking Ragnar to define something that he, himself, did not know. Ragnar did not pretend to know why the Gods said what they did, or why they wanted what they desired. He did not know their motivation, anymore than anyone else did. He suspected that if he were a God that it was something he would be able to answer for Charon, but Ragnar wasn't a God and therefore had no true answer for the boy. “The Gods are mysterious, Charon. I do not know why they want or do not want things.” And, typically, Ragnar did not question it, because questioning the Gods wasn't something that Ragnar did. “Only they will ever know the answer to that.”

The child admitted that he was not angry, though moments before Ragnar would have disagreed. “You were, before. Angry I mean. At me,” Ragnar knew he deserved it though. He was not being a very good guardian, father or Jarl. It was moments like this: face to face with the roaring, ugly truth, that Ragnar had his moments of doubts about himself. They were rare, and usually, fleeting, but there was always the consideration that he could, should he ever want too, return to the Cove. Abandon everything. It would be easy, even. Claim to go on an Outrider mission and ...never return. He was a Viking. He would adapt. Except, Ragnar was too invested in the Bay, too in love with his wife, and too proud to allow himself to become a coward like that. It would be easy, but Ragnar enjoyed the thrill of the challenge, even if sometimes it felt like too much of a burden to bear.

“I don't know,” It wasn't like Ragnar knew what happened to Kevlyn or Liyani, and he could not form assumptions about either of them. He did not wish to fill Charon's head with lies, and so settled for the harsh reality of truth: that he did not know.

When Charon insisted that he hadn't been angry with Ragnar, the Viking, in the interest of not arguing with a child, let it go with a shrug of his broad, scarred shoulders. Ragnar had not mistaken the child's brief anger, he believed, but let it go because it was not a fight worth having, and besides, he did not wish to make Charon become more distant from him then Ragnar already thought the child to be. “Alright Charon,” Ragnar conceded to pacify the young Ostrega boy. Charon seemed determined to keep up the questions, though, for he asked next why his mother and father had other names, why their names were not just as the child put it 'ma' and 'da'. “Everyone has a given name child,” Ragnar responded, fixing the him in his single eye. “Just as your name is Charon, their names were Verrine and Julooke,” Ragnar missed them, having both been core parts of the Bay. None of it's founding members remained besides Gunnar, Thistle and himself of course. They had helped him build it and left it all the same, for whatever reason. That was the way of a pack life, however, they came and went. “They are Ma and Da,” The words felt strange as they left Ragnar's lips, having always called his parents by the Norse variations of 'mother' and 'father', and for a small moment the Viking's face displayed his confusion at the common tongue words before it disappeared. “To you because it is rude to call your parents by their given names.”

Speaking with Charon, as Ragnar was, had effectively taken his own mind off of the fact that they were outside the territory because the child had been trying to sneak out of the Bay in search for Liyani, as well. Or perhaps he hadn't snuck at all. Ragnar could not give them his full, undivided attention at any capacity, having so much on his plate as it was, but he tried, at the very at least to spend time with them, to teach them the things that Verrine would have, would the male have still been alive. Perhaps taking time to speak to Charon, like this, even if the boy was still too young to understand, or even if it was about meaningless nothings would help ease the child's suffering. Or, perhaps it wouldn't. Ragnar didn't know, and did not know how to make things better for the child. He was no God and could not perform the impossible. Scarred and blinded half of his face rose tilted skyward as the Viking cocked his head at Charon's next question, one that Ragnar himself had, had numerous times. In Ragnar's own culture there wasn't such a thing as a “last name”. In all technicality, his sons were 'Ragnarsson' and his daughter was 'Ragnardaughter”. Loðbrök was nothing more than a nickname that he had earned as he'd worked his way up the rankings of the Berserkers. It was only when he came to the Teekon Wilds did he “use” it in the place of a last name.

“I, also, would like to know that myself,” Ragnar responded. “Loðbrök isn't my last name. It is only a nickname that I have given to my wife and children,” Still, he did not see the purpose of it beyond speculation. “I suppose it is to further identify but that is only my guess. What do you think that wolves have last names for?” Ragnar inquired, truly interested in what Charon had to speculate on the matter.