Thistle explained that she hadn't mean offense by her words and the scarred Scandinavian shook his head in a 'no' fashion simply. He hadn't taken offense to them. Her choice of words had made it sound like she only would uphold the traditions she liked and spurn the ones she did not agree with which she couldn't do if she truly wanted to rule beside him. To truly be his equal. “Your words were misleading, my love,” Ragnar assured her with a soft nip against the corner of her mouth. “It sounded not like you still needed to learn but rather that you would not uphold the ones you did not agree with. You are a Scandinavian now by marriage, and in the eyes of the Gods. You have to be ok with their will.” Or they would punish her and their punishment wasn't easy, either. Ragnar had long ago accepted that the Gods gave with one hand and took with the other and if she wasn't careful they would take away everything she held dear and would feel no remorse for it.
“I never said you have to do the killing. I will do it,” Because he was a heathen and he would do what everyone else was afraid to do. He would kill with no guilt or remorse because it was what he'd been born to do. Pointless deaths would never get him into Valhalla but killing a trespasser wasn't pointless — it was protecting what he loved; something that Ragnar knew Odinn understood.
