Sea Lion Shores The First Step

Ragnar had no way of knowing what sort of intentions that Majesty held, simply he knew that his enemy had shown up calling for any of his pack after, Ragnar assumed, running with his tail tucked between his legs after he doomed not only his pack but his mate to hell; hell, Ragnar had found out, had arrived on the Isle's doorstep in the form of Jinx, the leader of Silvertip Mountain that he wanted to meet — not realizing that such a meeting would never take place. Regardless, Ragnar could not break his first impression of Majesty, nor could he forget what his members, the deflects of the Isle, had told him, nor Majesty's own actions. He might not have realized it but he had created Ragnar's loathing towards him by placing his pack literally on Horizon Ridge's doorstep and then not even coming to greet him when Ragnar had made to approach him on it and give his grim warning. Not that Ragnar was perfect because he wasn't. He made his own mistakes, but his mistakes didn't endanger the entirety of his pack, nor put all the lives that inhabited it into danger. He only hurt himself and if Thistle and Nerian were asked, his wives. Yet, taking Nerian as his second wife was a mistake but it also wasn't. He didn't regret it and he wouldn't apologize for it. He had both of the women he wanted, both of the women that he loved and that loved him and though Thistle was still, probably, angry at him she was beginning to come around and Ragnar had the confidence that in a few months time it would be fine. A good thing, even. If something were to ever happen to him they would have their children, his children and each other and the pack. Not that he intended for anything to happen to him. He had a long life to live yet.

Ragnar lent Majesty his ear when his nemesis began to speak, starting off with words of respect. Ragnar was weary of it, unsure if it was truthful or if Majesty was trying to mock him. His doubt was stemmed deeply, in his ignorant belief that Majesty couldn't have respect for him because he hadn't even respected his own pack, nor any of the other's if claiming the Isle without even speaking to Pump or him first was of any indication. Coy and cutting smirk tugged at the corners of Ragnar's lips as the male continued to spoke, though the scarred Scandinavian remained silent. I only wanted you to leave us alone. I wanted you to abandon the Isle which you should have never claimed in the first place, Ragnar spoke, canting his head to the side in a bird like manner, eyes of caribbean ice cold and cruel, true to his heathen nature even if he hid his barbarism behind coy smirks and clever, falsely ignorant words, or silence. Why did you claim that Isle? Why did you think that Silvertip, or the Plateau, or us of the Ridge would be okay with that? Ragnar had always wanted to know. Majesty had boxed himself in and encroached on the hunting grounds of two of the oldest packs in the entirety of the Wilds. It was in the past and his pack, as Ragnar had perdicted, had fallen and destroyed itself, but still, Ragnar was a very curious man.

Head canted towards his Queen Wife as Thistle spoke softly in his ear, her lovely voice low so that only he would hear what it was she was saying. For a heartbeat Ragnar was silent, wishing she wouldn't leave him alone with Majesty. Ragnar did not trust himself to be a good man because he wasn't. In the eyes of his wives, children and subordinates for some reason he was but he knew the truth of the black heart that beat in his chest. He was a heathen, a demon. He was cruel and merciless. He was barbaric because it was the way of his culture. They were a harsh and ruthless people, and the truth was, Ragnar hadn't changed just as much as he knew that he would never change no matter how posh and tame these lands were. Ef þú vilt, ástin mín. He spoke lowly to her in his native tongue.

TABLE CODE BY JOHN