It did not occur to the Viking how his blunt and brutish words might hurt his Tiny Viking for the simple fact that he had not intended them to do such. “She will survive,” Ragnar spoke in a clipped hush. “Seeing as how she is not birthing them I don’t think she will know the devastation of a mother.” Ragnar brushed off the topic of Pump and her feelings with ruthless abandon. He respected Pump, and his reactions and personal feelings did not and could not touch that. Even if they were to be nemesis’ he would still know and acknowledge his respect for her. Ragnar was not known for being sentimental, or compassionate. In the lieu of his love for her, it occurred to him, fleetingly, that perhaps his wife had begun to paint him as something he was not given his position as her lover and protector. Or maybe, she believed he had something tangibly what others would consider “good” within him but he did not. If he had been a compassionate being he would not have slain his brother not for the helm of the Cove but for the passion of a woman that had faded as quickly and suddenly as it had came to Ragnar. Initially, the Viking had not even wanted to be Jarl; yet his culture demanded that he be so. You keep what you kill. It was feral and simplistic. “She will move on without us, and if she doesn’t then she was fated to fall anyway.” Fate. Everything was fated, and this was something Ragnar believed as fiercely as his father had before him. Ragnar did not respond to the fact that she was nervous, instead feeling that if she wished for him to assure her in some manner that she would elaborate upon it.
Thistle’s growl at him was not unwarranted, but his curiosity had demanded he ask it even though it clearly hadn’t set well with his golden wife. A low hiss rushed from betwixt his teeth and lips in retaliation at her inhumane warning of displeasure, Ragnar’s ears, scarred and unscarred slicking back to his skull. “Don’t growl at me wife,” He rumbled in displeasure even as his teeth raked through the fur of her scruff - not in anger but in a carnal sort of touch. “It is not common. Only for me and those unwed.” Ragnar corrected her because she had the wrong idea about a culture that took marriage very seriously. Ragnar had went from wife, to wife, to wife (to the occasional dalliance in between) because he was carefree enough to dance with the devil; because he knew he was in Odinn’s favor as he had been for quite some time. “I have been told,” He responded coyly with a wolvish grin to match at her statement regarding his smile.
“Good.” Was all the Viking had to say on the question of her loyalty and he reached out to draw his tongue across her nose, nuzzling himself closer to her as he gently laid his head against her shoulder blades. “Now hush, shield maiden and let me sleep.” Nevermind that he had been the one to wake her, but he felt calmed now, having assured himself that it had only been a dream.
