Stavanger Bay All this time

<style type="text/css">table.ragnar {background: #ffffff url("http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v190/theder/ragnardertable_zpsefab268a.png") no-repeat top center;}</style>

The sun was setting and Ragnar, ignorant to the altercation that had passed between his slave and his wife remained focused on things similar and as equally as important. The mysterious appearance of whom he assumed to be his blood son by Sveið: Bragi. The math didn't lie and while it could have been argued that Bragi could have very well been by Váli's seed it was unlikely given how much it was Ragnar he resembled instead. As it stood, there was very little of the famous shield maiden in his build or coloration. Instead of donning her fur of cream he had inherited Ragnar's icy platinum silver, and even his eyes too. The only thing he found utterly fortunate in the boy's arrival was that his mother had seemingly dropped him off with no intentions of staying. At least, that was what Ragnar was able to gather from the boy's reluctant words of it. He was troubled and the repeated images of the All-Father dreams haunted him. Something was coming for him: a change. Whether it was good or bad Ragnar could not currently tell and that was what bothered him the most. Grim images did not always equal something bad; at least not in his culture. Thinking of the mother of his only blood child got only served to remind him of the chance he had had and spurned with Nerian. The undeniable affection he felt for his slave and the perfect solution for wanting both women. For loving all three of them. Thistle, Nerian, and Sveið. Ragnar had not forgotten what Thistle had made him vow, and yet Ragnar could not see where he was wrong in wanting to love them both: Thistle and Nerian, of wanting and begetting sons upon them both. Ragnar knew the core reason as to why he could not release Nerian from her slavery, had known it all along only to deny it in the face of himself and Thistle because he had made a promise to the fawn colored woman he called his wife. Ragnar had long since known that he was selfish. He wanted both women...so why couldn't he have both? There was plenty of space in their current den for Nerian to move in as well, and more than enough of Ragnar to go around, if his past ways were of any indication. There was a noise, a scream having once been pent up and allowed to escape the vocal chords it had once belonged too. Ragnar had scented Nerian and had began to subconsciously follow the trail that led to her, though he deluded himself into thinking it was because he was going to finally give her, her freedom. He had shrugged through branches and bramble in time to hear her scream 'I hate you' though if it was meant but not meant for him, or at the bay he couldn't be sure. He only knew when she dove into the water and did not surface that he dove in after her, grasping her scruff and intending to yank her head above the surface and her body to the shore intending on using more force if she fought him.