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The forest was alive with the magic and life of his Gods, it thrummed like a living heart beat beneath the Vikings paws as he walked beside his wife, as if they were chasing the burning horizon alight as the sun rose with fire in brilliant golds, oranges and reds. Each step Ragnar took made him feel alive in ways he had never known, each step bringing with it jolts of electricity filling his stomach with a giddy anxiety at Thistle becoming a proper Viking, witnessed so none could dispute it, by all the Gods.
Here.
Eventually, Ragnar stopped walking, the small clearing writhing with a light fog, the voices of the Gods rising to one tremendous one in his head commanding that this be the place of sacrifice.
Ragnar could see Odinn approach them, no more substance than a wraith, white fur ruffled and riddled with scars, twined with the feathers of ravens, face wise with age and the knowledge he beheld, one eye a writhing liquid gold, while the other was missing, the blackened empty socket writhing with a flame. Ragnar watched, transfixed, momentarily forgetting about Thistle as he watched his God approach him and stand nearly nose to nose with him though Odinn was much larger than Ragnar who was already a bear of a wolf. Let me in. The Allfather commanded in their native tongue before he vanished inside Ragnar. Ragnar’s body felt like lead as Odinn took possession, body briefly convulsing, aware but submissive beneath the Allfather’s control.
She did not speak their tongue.
She listened to him calmly and found she liked these goddesses. Whereas, Odinn filled her with a sense of trepidation the women did not. They seemed to be something she could accept easily and anyone who was a goddess of fertility, childbirth and the like was okay in her book and someone who had a healer as a companion was even better. She was still a little wary of them as she still did not completely understand, but she was trying.
Thistle did notice the clearing and in away it made sense to her. Perhaps this was her husbands gods and soon to be hers she guessed after she did this rite of accepting that the pups were hers and his regardless of how they came to be. She had already begun to sniff out some prey before her husband spoke to her and the voice he used was odd, but she did not think much of it at first. She eventually caught the scent of two squirrels and stalking them (which proved awkward in her current state) she caught them and came loping back into the clearing with them in her jaws.
She laid them down and separated them and looked down trying to think of what to say. Pushing the first one forward she spoke softly Goddess Frigg I ask that you take this offering from me Thistle Cloud Loðbrók in acceptance of my marriage and to help with the ensuing birth of our children. Grasping the other squirrel she also offered it up and spoke again quietly Goddess Freya I ask that you take this offering from me Thistle Cloud Loðbrók both in thanks for blessing me with pups and for your assistance in the impending birth of our pups. Then she looked to her husband to make sure she did it correctly, she hoped so she had done her best and she thought it was pretty good for her first time offering up a sacrifice.
God and Mortal - for the moment co existing within the Viking’s body as a single, cohesive unit - watched her sniff out her prey with eyes that did not blink and did not deviate from the fawn colored shield maiden even as the ravens prickled restlessly upon Ragnar’s shoulders. Her progress was watched, icy oceanic eyes alive with the otherworldly presence of Odinn as Thistle shuffled out of sight after her prey, Huginn taking flight to follow after her so it would be relayed back to Odinn with his return to Asgard. Thistle’s return was known only be the return of Huginn whom beat her into the clear lighting back down upon the shoulder he had briefly abandoned his talons finding their original piercings into Ragnar’s shoulder causing him to wince against the sharp pin pricks of pain. Their weight was barely felt in comparison to the sluggish and lead-like weight of the God that possessed him, partially, allowing Ragnar conscious knowledge and insight as to what was going on. The Allfather’s presence was enlightening heaviness aside, and Ragnar could feel the ghost of his empty eye socket, could feel the eternal flame licking at the blackened flesh that was left there as if it consumed his own eye yet did not burn (because Ragnar’s eye was not really on fire, merely he could feel it).
To Frigg Thistle Cloud spoke first, pushing her sacrifice forth. The Goddess moved with the ethereal elegance of a otherworldly Queen, crossing the distance between them so that both women were standing nearly nose to nose, the only thing between them being the squirrel that Thistle offered her. Freya’s coat was draped the color of warm sand, not all that different from Thistle’s own fair coloration, the Goddess’ dandelion yellow eyes fixed upon Ragnar’s wife. It was in that moment, breath baited with what he was seeing and feeling that Ragnar wished with a desperation that Thistle could see them too - just as he did. That she could experience the grand phenomenon happening around her. Ragnar watched, subdued as the Asgardian queen looked to him - or rather Odinn who lingered within him.
It was her choice, after all. She had not been born into them and therefore it was a choice only she could make for herself.
Thistle looked at Ragnar her eyes a dusky dark blue from the shadows and dipped her head. "Yes I make the choice to embrace my life and future as a viking. She then stood on shaky limbs, unsure why she was shaky just that she merely was. Perhaps she hadn't eaten enough that morning or who really knows.
She blinked again and looked up at Ragnar waiting to see what else he would have to say. She found she felt at peace for having the two goddesses blessing, it was an odd feeling for one who had never embraced a religion or deity before.
Thistle answered the Allfather’s questions as they left Ragnar’s lips, confirming that she wanted to be a Viking from this day forward and the Allfather bowed his head in acceptance of her vows. In reality, it was a simple Rite though this particular one differed greatly from how it was normally done though it had been altered as the circumstances had demanded. Ragnar was not the leader of the Ridge and therefore had no right to pass judgments on anyone, let alone execute if found guilty.
Ragnar drew in a deep breath then, icy Caribbean blue eyes seeking Thistle through the twisting and writhing fog, drawing towards her until his side was pressed, lightly - mindful of her sides swollen with child - against hers.
Her body was still chilly with some otherworldly touch. She was unsure what it was if it was the simple fact that she was in the forest that had an ethereal quality anyway, or maybe she really had met the gods and goddesses. She was unsure, but she did know that she wanted to get her mate home as quickly as possible before he passed out and she had to drag him and she would do it too.
Though Ragnar could not efficiently see Thistle’s face with clarity given the sudden collision of exhaustion and the fog that writhed around them, between them even as they stood side to side, he could hear the worry in her voice. Worry for him. It was as if, when Odinn had released Ragnar from his possession the energy had been entirely sapped from the iced Viking leaving him with the desire to simply slumber. Again, his body felt heavy though this time it was sluggish not because of Odinn’s presence but because he desired sleep.
The graze of Thistle’s tongue against his face was soothing and the Viking hummed with tuneless, half-hearted pleasure at the feel but it was nothing but a weakened echo because that was exactly what Ragnar felt like in that moment: an echo of himself. He took a step forward and then another, not even having to remotely attempt to keep pace with her because her pace seemed to be the only pace he could make his exhausted body move at and even then it was barely. He shivered against her though he was far from cold, wondering if another delirium fever was in his immediate future. Though Thistle was well adept at dealing with his delirium fevers Ragnar wished, with a suddenness that surprised him, for Floki. Floki knew things about their Gods that few others did and maybe the madman would have been able to offer Ragnar insight on what the Allfather’s possession had meant. Was it a blessing …or a curse? The fog made the air feel heavy to Ragnar, making him feel even hotter beneath the platinum silver silk of his fur. If he could have ripped it all out without entirely alarming Thistle he might very well have.
He did not want her to be clued in on how much Odinn’s possession (though he doubted she was even aware he had been possessed by the Allfather) had taken out of him; though there were those that did not believe that would claim he was simply ill - precursor effects of the delirium fever that was just a side effect of the drugged mushrooms. Admittedly, Ragnar had taken to collecting them in a small, private cache away from prying eyes and the knowledge of his wife and though they had not been consumed the spores of the mushroom had gotten into his system from carrying them in his mouth even briefly; but Ragnar didn’t care what any non believer would say because today he saw his Gods, had literally felt Odinn enter, control, and leave his body and there was no amount of the Berserker mushrooms that would have “caused” him to vividly see and feel all of that.
Ragnar was grateful that Thistle was as pregnant as she was, looking forward with more anticipation than he should have been to the breaks she would need to take on their short journey back to Horizon Ridge.
Thistle knew her viking would just brush of her concern but she could not help it. It was the way she was made to worry and heal others. It was just the simple fact of the matter really. She would always put other's before herself, though she would find at the birth of her children they would come first over any and all though that time was not here yet admittedly.
Thistle could feel the heat radiating from underneath her husband's pelt and she bit her lip hard tasting the coppery taste of her own blood. She looked around to see how much further they needed to go. They had a few minutes of a walk ahead of them. She looked him over with practiced eye, she could probably get him to their den, but she was not 100 percent certain and it worried her to no end, stubborn viking he would do this push himself until got sick.
She would have to stop frequently herself for her rounded sides took most of her energy when walking. However, she was unsure if this would help or make it worse for the scarred warrior that she loved.
Ragnar and Thistle’s opinions were arguably different from one another, probably the source of most of their disagreements though this was only to be expected. Their worlds, despite that Thistle was beginning to incorporate herself into his, were starkly different quite literally black and white in comparison to one another. Their tendency to butt heads without any figment of doubt came from the fact that they were as different as the sun and the moon, yet they remained, the Viking could see, complimentary to one another. Where Ragnar was harsh angles, sharp lines, abrasive, assertive, aggressive, ruthless, a figurative demon (depending on who was speaking of him - heathen also worked well) Thistle was soft curves and elegance, docile, diplomatic, caring and compassionate. All of the things that Ragnar was not. In essence she suited her role as his wife perfectly, attempting to counter weigh him. She served to remind him that there was a softer side to life and that, sometimes, this side needed to be appealed too. She was the serenity to his destruction. There was nothing like a woman’s touch and every man needed it, even a proud Viking King. Even Odinn submitted to the wiles of his wife allowing her what no other was ever allowed simply because he loved her. It was only now, accepting and nurturing Ragnar’s love for Thistle that the savage understood Odinn’s devotion to Frigg. They were a weakness, a chink in the armor that could be exploited and used to make a death blow, certainly, but they were also strengths and those far outweighed the small, yet inherent chink.
Ragnar was not unaware that her eye was trained upon him, but he remained unwilling to acknowledge her stare. He could practically feel her gaze, cool against the burning heat of his body (though this was more of a sixth sense than anything he couldn’t actually feel her eyes upon him) assessing him, dissecting him as she, no doubt, tried to figure out what was wrong. Obstinately, he remained tight lipped about the fever that he felt burning in his veins, only making the pull of exhaustion harder to resist (as if it had not been hard enough to begin with). He did not wish to collapse here only because he did not want to worry Thistle any more than she likely already was. He felt safe in the shadowy and obscured copse of woods, personally, knowing that Odinn would not allow harm to come upon him here, but whether he could convince Thistle of that or not, he did not know. The only advantage Ragnar had on his side at the current situation was that his body was used to being pushed to and past it’s limitations. It was a practice Ragnar did often with the single goal of making both body and mind stronger than before, a harsh condition of training despite it’s unorthodoxness.
He would make it to their den but only for her - for would it have been otherwise he might have already succumbed to the exhaustion that begged and pleaded for him like a forbidden but persistant lover.
Thistle knew very well the reverence Ragnar held for the forest in a way she did too. And though in other cases she would have offered to bunk down in the forest, she was loathe to do so right now. One being that she was far too large to sleep in the open if that bear decided to come near them. Two being that regardless to whether or not he was sick he had duties and she did too and they needed taking care of by one or the other if the other was sick. So she kept her mouth quiet for that sake, though she wished that she could offer him the chance to stay there asleep beneath the boughs of the large trees that adorned the forest.
They spoke no words to one another as they moved a sluggish, yet somehow cohesive unit back to Horizon Ridge. There was no reason to fill the void of silence with unnecessary words. Ragnar was not an overly talkative man by nature, and besides, there was nothing more to speak of. He was tired, and burning hot while being measurably cold, and he desired only to be allowed to sleep. Ragnar knew that if the grizzly bear decided to attack them for no apparent reason that he, while his chances would not have been good to begin with, admittedly, would be all but useless in terms of protecting her went. In hindsight he wouldn’t have, likely, even had the energy to put up a fight. Likely, this was the reason she seemed determined, her pretty face set in it, to see them back to the Ridge. For both of their sakes, at this point. It was only when the Ridge came into view that Ragnar found a small wisp of strength to push himself to walk with urgency to their homelands, eager to be allowed to finally collapse to the earth and shadows the birthing den they shared would give him and sleep until his strength was restored and the fever was burned out.