The sun will always rise

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Ragnar contemplated Thistle’s words, turning them over in his mind considering that if and when he bestowed the Priestess her freedom that she would not go back. It had brought to his mind her insistence that he not call her ‘Priestess’ anymore. Yet, that was what Nerian was to him. A Priestess — a woman of God (rather her God) as greedy as Ragnar thought he was still not sure that she didn’t really believe in Loki because when compared he couldn’t find any difference other than her God was nameless and had no face. He didn’t understand it, would probably never understand it but he let her believe whatever she wanted just as he did any of his other subordinates because who was he to tell them that they were wrong? "Even if you keep watch Odinn will know," Ragnar reminded her with a soft chuckle. "Yggdrasil gives him immense power not the throne itself. Still, I want to know, even for a few seconds, what it feels like to obtain that much knowledge." It had, in reality, nothing to do with the throne itself. He did not even fancy the idea of being a King of Gods, he only wanted to hear what Odinn heard, know what he did, see with his own two eyes what Odinn saw. She chided him for his fantasy involving them sneaking in to Odinn and Frigg’s private chambers to sate carnal desires and let out a deep laugh. "Does it still embarrass you? Speaking about Intimacy?" He inquired unable to hide his curiosity on the subject. She hadn’t been embarrassed when she had been in heat and didn’t seem to be so when they practiced for her next heat cycle but perhaps him speaking so bluntly about the act did still bring a creep of heat to his young wife’s cheeks.