Ragnar had left the den he shared with his wives and children early, as he did every morning, kissing both Thistle and Nerian on their brow before he exited the Jarl's den, heading towards the borders to walk his patrols. With Julooke due to give birth any day now, and Surra's disappearance, he had redoubled his efforts on Verrine's half so that the father-to-be did not have to stray too far from his very pregnant wives' side. It made Ragnar wonder if someone would be willing to belay the courtesy to him when Nerian became pregnant, or even, if Ragnar would let them. He was the Jarl, after all. It was his duty and though fatherhood should have always came before duty there were cases in which it was not possible. He spent all the time he could with his wives, individually, and with the children. He even carved out time for lessons with them each day. He was not a perfect man, certainly not a perfect husband, and he was the farthest thing from a perfect father. He could only hope that his children did not resent him for the choices he'd made, with Nerian. Ragnar knew Thistle better than to take her words as truth — ironically he supposed she was getting him back: lies for lies. As it stood, he had never expected to feel as he did about his once slave nor about Thistle. It was an accepted practice in Odinn's Cove and Ragnar wanted the children to know that in their culture it wasn't a
bad thing; that the Vikings were actually pretty tolerable creatures when it came to love. He just hoped that Thistle's hatred of their arrangement and her moods didn't effect them into thinking that it was not acceptable; in the children's culture: it was.
Ragnar had just managed to push those thoughts away when he caught a glimpse of Tveir up ahead. Instinctively, Ragnar's pace slowed; eyes of caribbean ice focused solely upon his youngest son. His children were nearing their full grown height — growing up too fast as Ragnar had known they would do. Soon they would have the freedom to choose whether they wished to stay in Stavanger Bay or go their own way. Ragnar had always thought that Eirikr would break off as soon as he could, he suspected hoped that Gyda would stick around so he could be a meddlesome father and chase off any boys but Tveir...Ragnar had no predictions for what Tveir would do. Tveir was the closest to Thistle and it was Tveir that Ragnar knew he'd have to convince that having two wives didn't mean he loved one less, nor that it was a bad thing. There was a part of Ragnar that was frustrated at Thistle for that, for allowing herself to turn her own children against their culture. She had known the stakes when she had accepted Ragnar as their adopted father and Ragnar was watching it all crumble to pieces. These days, he had half of a mind to assure the three of them that he wasn't their real father just in case they ever got to the point where they absolutely turned against him; and if they thought their biological father would be better they were more than welcome to go look for him.
Tveir, Ragnar greeted the boy simply, his thoughts in a darkening place.
