Horizon Ridge I can be you're saving grace if you'll let me

More than likely, yes. xD He'll probably try to teach them how to be Vikings, not even gonna lie, which might be where Romy will get his heathen like behavior from...*coughs* lol ;p Also, idek what happened, this is a weird post. xD

Björn - no Ragnar - for all his faults could not hold grudges and though he had been inherently mad at Dagmar for losing their sons in a sweep of blood and tiny corpses he had not thought, even once, to kill her. He hadn’t loved her - in fact it was speculated that he couldn’t love at all - and he had not felt grief for her pain, nor had he felt pity for her. He had mourned the dead bodies of his would be sons as he had buried them listening to her tell him that Odinn had taken them to Valhalla where they would grow big and strong in his hall. It had been the only time that Ragnar had ever truly been angry with his God, turning upon her instead (for she was within mistakable distance of him) and snarling that “they should have grown big and strong here, with us”. The third, the smallest though he had realized as he placed it’s delicate unmoving body in the grave beside the other two had not been a son at all but in fact a daughter. Even covered in blood it had been easy to tell that she would have been beautiful, bearing the platinum silver of his own coat. Though Dagmar had attempted to convince him that they could have more sons he had wanted none of it, and had traded her away when her health had recovered without so much as a backwards glance. It had been his ugliest moment, worse somehow, than even killing his own brother for a woman that he had lost interest in within the following months, even worse than taking said brother’s name as a moniker. “It does not matter,” The Viking said with cold indifference, a fierce scowl making even the handsome half of his face appear demonic.

“She failed me and she paid the price for it.” It had occurred to him that maybe he might have tried for more sons with her if he had not buried a beautiful daughter among them - that for some reason within that ritual had been extremely crucial. The lack of love towards her despite her devotion to him had allowed him to pawn her off as if she were nothing more than a slave girl. Which, she had more or less became when she had lost their children. A storm had began brewing in the icy depths of his irises which bore into her, mapping the delicate curves of her face as if he were contemplating if she could bear him strong sons. It was a useless contemplation she had made it quite clear several times that she rejected him but he was a man and those were his thoughts, nevertheless. She looked away from him then, murmuring about her belief that he could be very dangerous but he spoke nothing, feeling that there was nothing to say.

There was a moment, rare, unbidden that left the Viking unsure of where the building urge came from that encouraged him to speak it but he spoke with the familiar soft spoken self, “My name is Ragnar - not Björn. Björn was my older brother.” Maybe because he no longer wanted to be associated with the moniker anymore, because it made him feel like he had adopted his deceased brother’s skin. Björn had been weak but Ragnar was not.