It ain't good enough to try and not succeed

Pump’s words in regards to his offer - of which the Viking could only think that she meant his offer in regards to becoming her second in command - caused his brows to rise in a ‘is that right’ sort of fashion but he was silent, though his own curiosity burned beneath the icy depths of his eyes. What had brought about this sudden change? Up until that very moment in time he had been confident that she would just keep pushing against him with the same amount of force and momentum that he, admittedly, pushed her with. For a brief moment Ragnar considered the possibility that she knew about him attempting to gather followers with the intention of making a new pack in Ravensblood Forest but quickly dispelled that. The only ones who knew of it thus far were Thistle, Nerian, and Dagrún. All three of which were tightly bound to the Viking: one of ownership, one of blood (and lived in an entirely different pack to begin with), and the other by love. Not a single one of them were so grasping (except for maybe Dagrún, he was suspicious of) would stab him in the back. He had a feeling that the moments to come would be defining for the both of them, whether she accepted or told him she chose someone else instead.

The listing of his assets made him a nice little resume only to be darkened by her following words of him and being dishonest. As far as Ragnar was concerned he hadn’t, actually lied to her. Simply, he had chosen not to tell her because it seemed irrelevant at the time and easy to ride on the fact that Crete - who had obviously been sexually mature himself - had taken and given Thistle his seed before Ragnar had. Even the most clever sometimes got caught. However, now, now was a different story. Pump had asked and while Ragnar deviated on if the children in Thistle’s womb were Crete’s or his own (though Crete’s biologically) it wasn’t as if they would ever really, truly know. He had to tell her, of course. Ragnar did not make a habit out of lying, stretching the truth: sometimes, but never an outright lie. “It is true that I had Thistle during her heat season before our mateship,” Ragnar admitted to her, openly for he was not ashamed of it. “but it was not I that took her maidenhead. It was her lover from the Plateau that had her first. It is possible that I may be the biological father, yes, but also extremely likely that I am not.” If Ragnar cared to look at it more closely he would realize that the children were indeed Crete’s that Thistle had conceived the first night she had ever allowed a man to touch her.

But Ragnar didn’t want to look that closely, contended with his own convictions, even if they were wrong.