Ragnar was a family man, he had always been this way because it had been how his father had been, it was how his culture was. Family was important, just as marriage was. Admittedly, before Thistle Ragnar had kind of disregarded that as he went through wife after dalliance, after wife; but he had been young and eager and rather liked his reputation as a libertine to attempt to break it. He loved his children, would always love them — that was his job as their father — and yet he could not get Floki’s warning out of his head, either: Unfortunately they will be like you, which means they will want to do better than you and you will hate them for it. It wasn’t as if he was a Seer and it didn’t mean there had to be merit to the words. Currently, it wasn’t them overshadowing him that concerned Ragnar. It was their constant need to push the boundaries he had set up for their protection. They did not know that the Gods could take just as easily as they gave and they would take without mercy when their ire had been invoked. He did not think the Gods would listen to ‘they’re just children they don’t understand’ when he was their parent and it was his job to make them understand and teach them.
Ragnar loved his Gods (especially Odinn) and yet he feared them just as much.
Ragnar watched as Thistle drew forth, his whiskers trembling in anticipation in the seconds before her tongue glided against his muzzle, her words making him smirk before he felt her nuzzle against him. The Viking reveled in this touch of his wife, barely even hearing her following words in regards to balanced children.