“Tveir,” Ragnar corrected her with a soft chuckle, shifting his weight slightly, ears slicking back to stand at half mast atop his skull. “Don’t over pronounce the ‘v’. Let it roll off your tongue slowly like the r. Tveir,” He repeated the word for two again, pronouncing it slower, enunciating it in the hopes of helping her to correctly pronounce it. Ragnar was adept at teaching his native tongue, had, with the help of Floki, taught Sveinn shortly after the boy had regained conciousness and they had realized his memory had been wiped clean. “Not necessarily,” Ragnar corrected her softly, thinking about the times he had punished Sveinn, sending him out into the ice and harsh wilderness to push him and punish him, or until he could perform what Ragnar expected of him. “Sveinn would not in any shape or form call me a pile of goo,” He spoke her words teasingly, though the undercurrent of his tone was quiet and serious. That punishment worked for Sveinn who was capable of hunting for himself, and keeping himself alive. It would not transition over well to babes - that would not be able to keep themselves alive.
Though Ragnar called himself Sveinn’s father, he had not raised the teenager from a newborn and therefore had little to no idea how to handle a newborn. He glimpsed down then, away from Thistle. “I do not know how to handle newborns or infants even.” He only knew from when he buried Dagmar’s aborted litter that they were extremely delicate and probably as helpless alive as they looked deceased. Even if Ragnar knew of the faith his wife had in him, he would not have shared in it with her. “Women are beautiful treasures that will keep them happy and bear them many strong sons,” The Viking nearly purred to her, skimming his teeth and tongue along her jaw. Despite Ragnar’s libertine past and the potential contradiction of that statement the simple fact was he was thinking of the here and now. Thistle was a beautiful treasure that would bear him many strong sons - his and his alone. He knew her, the way she was a spitfire under the docile, warm and innocent outside; knew the feel of her body beneath his and against his, knew that she seemed to favor his shoulder the mark with love bites. All of it little things that made her his. "Then I will teach them to be famous Shield Maidens," Though even Shield Maidens were wives and mothers first.
Ragnar closed his eyes against the feel of her trailing love bites up his shoulder to where she stopped with her muzzle buried in the fur of his neck. Her touches were a lovely thing for the Viking.
