Ragnar eyed her with the frustration latent of two people that no matter how hard they tried seemed to fail at understanding one another. “That is stupid,” He muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes at her ‘temple’. He could not make him understand why they had one specific place to worship, and why those who were most devout to their “God” had so many rules, so many harsh punishments. To Ragnar, Nerian’s deity did not seem like one to worship with reverence but to spite and to hate. No matter what Nerian tried to say to him he would never understand her God, and never understand why she loved her God so. Especially how he rewarded her, and abolished her for whatever exactly her sins were - of which Ragnar still held no clarity. Ragnar was surprised but hid it well when Nerian’s eyes jumped to his at his simple truth, but it was less of the courage it took to meet his eyes that surprised him as it was what he saw there in the briefest of moments. Suddenly the Viking began to make sense of things. He understood.
If things had not happened how they had, if he had never have left the Cove he might have pursued her as a potential wife. She was not of his people, or his culture, but that had never stopped any of his kinsmen before. She was pretty, delicate and yet she had a resilience about her that he found admirable. But things had happened they way they had, and Ragnar’s heart belonged to Thistle. Nerian was given his affection because she was a good slave, a good “Christian” (not that he really understood what it meant to be one). And just like that she broke their brief eye contact but it had been enough for Ragnar to see.
“Do you not want the things normal women want, Priestess? Do you not want to be loved by a man, a husband? Do you not want children?” Ragnar could not give her any of those things, but there were other men that could. Dagrun would probably take her, or the other men in the Ridge. “Why marry yourself to a being that has many wives and doesn’t love a single one?” It made no sense to him. It never would, and likely, they could argue with each other about it until they were both blue in the face and it probably would have not made any sort of difference. He listened as she spoke about Váli and Ragnar wondered what kind of stranger had stolen his brother’s body. The Váli she described was not the one that he knew, but he trusted her words if only because they matched up with the words Dagrun had told to Thistle.
Her body was cowering away from him, as if he were the one that might hurt her, but stubbornly the Viking drew nearer to her, and reached down to comfort her. “I will protect you, Priestess.” He vowed to soothe her and because if Váli came within ten feet of him Ragnar would kill him, for ruining the Cove, for chasing out family.
