if i had a voice i would sing

*Ragnar* · May 07, 2014, 06:34 AM

There is no need to match the length on this, it got away from me, lol.

The fever was gone from Ragnar now, if not at the wiles of his equally as stubborn as him, wife, who had threatened and cajoled him (though mostly threatened if his remembrance of her deadly voice was of any real indication) until he had, finally, consumed the Jopi Weeds (or maybe she had forced it down his throat - his memories of that particular time were admittedly rather blurry). He knew, only, that he was insufferable when it came to illness or injuries because he loathed being fussed over - not to be confused with attention because he decidedly liked his wife’s attentions but he didn’t like her worrying and fussing about him. Ragnar’s thoughts in this manner were rather simply to understand. Their lives were fated. If he was going to die he would, if he wasn’t going to die, he wouldn’t. It was something the Pagan inherently knew and no amount of arguing would ever get the Viking to change his mind on the matter.

Though the presence of Gavriil was not entirely unexpected, for the warden knew that he, too, patrolled the borders just as Pump and Ragnar himself did, still, their patrols did not often cross paths like it was fated they would today. The other man gave a bark of greeting, causing the Viking who had been aware of his presence if only because of his scent being carried upon the wind to turn to face the other man suddenly, watching as he bowed and then trotted up to lick Ragnar under the chin in submission, greeting, and respect. It was those things that Ragnar revealed in. Ragnar bumped his muzzle against Gavriil’s in a return of the greeting and respect, finding that while he might not have initially thought much of the male upon their first meeting that his opinion was open for adapting. As it was, Ragnar was not the kind of man that held grudges, finding them a waste of time -- not that Gavriil had done anything to warrant a grudge, merely his dismissal of anyone else worthy to lead in the Ridge had not set well with the Viking (though if he knew of the conversation between said male and Pump it might have been enough to push Ragnar into taking action - though luckily for everyone he didn’t know if it).

The truth was, respect would never be enough to keep Ragnar from getting what he wanted, not even equality. If Pump were to choose Gavriil over him for the Beta position (which would admittedly piss Ragnar off) he would challenge both of them without any remorse and even if he lost he would not stay in Horizon Ridge. He had already decided that, already decided that if he did not receive the Beta position, and if later he lost to Pump (if he did and challenged her for Alpha) he would gather up Thistle, his children and any that wished to follow him and stake his claim in Ravensblood Forest (because that was where he really wanted to be). Pump had merely been lucky using Thistle and his sons as a deterrent, lucky that her attempts to keep Ragnar at bay were working.

She had to realize that they wouldn’t last forever.

“I am well,” Ragnar responded, soft, heavily accented voice holding a much friendlier tone towards Gavriil than had probably been bestowed upon him during their first meeting. Then again, things had changed since that point in time. Gavriil had rallied for the life of Thistle and Ragnar’s pups and for that Ragnar was eternally grateful, had been one of the things that had nurtured the Viking’s respect for the other man. “I’d like to express my gratitude for speaking up for giving my sons the chance to live during the meeting,” If Pump hadn’t asked their opinions it was likely they would have died at her jaws, or she would have made Thistle take something to abort them (which was not something Ragnar ever wanted to see again in his life). It wasn’t really a ‘thank you’ but it was, admittedly, as close to one as anyone was ever going to get from the Viking who did not, really, ever use manners (likely because he truly didn’t have any). “Are you well, Gavriil?” Ragnar returned the question in kind, the other male’s name coming out not quite right in the Viking’s heavy accent - which was admittedly why Ragnar didn’t like addressing by names.

“Have you spoken to Thistle lately? The babes are almost as big as her.” Ragnar joked, making reference to the fact that Thistle was tiny and that she was heavily and largely pregnant with child. It was amusing in a loving sort of way to Ragnar who was quite taken with his tiny Viking wife. In a way, it elicited a nervousness in him - how rounded she was given her stature - but they would have Frigg and Freyja to help her give birth and he trusted the Goddess’ to not let any harm befall her or their sons during the process. Ragnar shifted his weight and gazed out at the stretch of land behind Gavriil for a few moments before he looked back to his pack mate with a wistful smile though he did not speak any more, for now.