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| Ragnar kept at the borders, pausing ever few feet or so to lift his leg and expel a small bit of urine, having learned his lesson of using a lot to mark one spot. The upkeep and continued strengthening of the borders was remotely easier than it had been actually creating them and with the other wolves adding their scents to it daily as he did was definitely a massive help and urine saver. He paused at a particular urine scent, letting out a low gruff noise in his throat recognizing it was Bragi’s. The boy had ambition that much was clear, and though this was merely one of the several things that made the Jarl weary of the young Rekkr’s presence given that his fight with Thistle had been how she thought ambition was a good thing in their boys and how Ragnar had basically had a panic attack knowing that his own ambition had no bounds. It had caused him to kill Björn for his wife, that it made him willing to give much more than his eye to acquire the knowledge that Odinn possessed. Ragnar had known his answer to Thistle’s questions: there was no line, nothing that he wouldn’t sacrifice. Whatever Yggdrasil desired as payment Ragnar would give.
Just when Ragnar had thought that maybe Thistle and him were working on forgiving one another, for admittedly, this had been their biggest fight yet and while Ragnar had not been all that worried about it — love triumphs after all and just because he’d been angry with her didn’t mean he loved her any less — along came Bragi and Thistle’s assertion that the boy had came from Ragnar’s own loins. Admittedly, the boy looked like a spitting image of him when he had been that age, unscarred and unbridled handsomeness. Granted, it was an unfair assumption given that Ragnar was a spitting image of Eitri, and Váli, also looked like their father though his coloration was more of Kenna’s supple cream and golden eyes than anything else, and even Dagrun could have sired him. He was bigger than Ragnar yet, and though he had taken after his Amazon mother in coloration he carried enough of Eitri’s genetics to be able to spawn a child that looked like Eitri and essentially: Ragnar. As far as Ragnar was aware he had never taken Sveið though that thought didn’t exactly bring him much comfort given something could have happened under the influence of the mushrooms that he might not have been able to remember, high on their effects and drunk off of the blood of battle. He didn’t say that to Thistle, though, and did not pry information from the boy who seemed to be uncomfortable having wolves tell him that the story of Heimdall siring him was wrong. Not that Ragnar would ever tell him that because to Ragnar, also, it was possible.
In truth, Ragnar didn’t see the big deal even if Bragi ended up being his son. It wasn’t like he had known Thistle back then and in a sense it would have made them even: an eye for an eye. As their children grew it was harder to convince himself that they were born from him because it was obvious they were not. Scarred ear flicked towards Thistle as he continued walking, lifted his leg up and marked another section of the borders, catching her endearment. He took the use of it as a good sign but he did not allow his hopes to rise from the embers just yet. "Hello," Ragnar responded after a moment of silence pausing in his patrol, broad shoulders stiffening as he turned to face her. His heart let out a painful pang at the distance and coolness between them, glad he had not allowed hope to rise. Things still felt too formal. He supposed he had pulled rank on her during the fight, and while generally he did see them as equals she was not his alpha female, yet, and until that time she was still a subordinate. Free women had always been seen as equals in his culture but rank could not be disregarded just because of mate-ship, not in every situation to Ragnar, at least. |