Ragnar held obediently still for his Queen Wife when she nuzzled the fur of his unscarred shoulder, smirking beneath her tongue as it drew against his muzzle. It was no secret that Ragnar enjoyed the attentions of his wives and he gave Thistle a satisfied and contented rumble of a noise. It was a barbaric, neanderthal sort of noise, incoherent and wordless but it's meaning needed no translation. Odinn knows I am trying, The Jarl murmured before he peppered a trail of kisses on her muzzle, down her jaw, to her neck where he slyly nibbled, his tail wagging behind him for a few moments before he drew back. We have something we need to discuss, as Jarl and Earl of this pack, In a split second, the deviance of his playfulness melted away and in it's place he became serious, his focus shifting to his duty as (one of) the leader(s) of Stavanger Bay. It was important and he was determined not to let his Queen Wife's beauty (or body) distract him — though she was temptation incarnate, as she had always been for him.
A few days I was called to Gyrfalcon Keep by a stranger who called himself Adair, he smelled of the same pack as the male that attacked Julooke. It was not him, he did not have white eyes and our meeting did not...go over well. He was an old fool and spat words at me about how I have no honor, and that I do not deserve wolves to follow me all because he was insulted that I refused the gifts of meat that he had apparently prepared for us and that I acted like an infant, and that I should learn humility and courage and maturity. A snort of amusement left the Viking's nostrils. Yes, he had remembered the words the old man had said to him but not for the reasons that Adair had wanted him too, surely. He remembered them to mock, only. If those words were true, then surely his rule would not have been accepted in the wake of Pump's death. If those words were true, Majesty's wolves wouldn't have flocked to him as they had. That wasn't to say that Ragnar thought he was perfect because he wasn't. He was selfish, a Heathen, barbaric, even. Harsh and unforgiving. His ambition was dangerous in that it knew no boundaries. He desired to keep Odinn's favor and to reach Valhalla when Odinn came to claim his life. He put his faith blindly in Odinn and his Pagan religion despite that he accepted that there were other Gods out there for other wolves, and there were no limitations on what he would do to ensure that Valhalla was where he ended up.
But he wasn't as heartless as he came off, not nearly so. He was still canine, he still loved and felt pain, anger, sorrow. He loved his wives, his children and his pack unconditionally, and there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for them — which had been his one redeeming quality his whole life. He wasn't helpful, he is a traitor to the Spine pack but I wish to make a trip there, to speak with their leaders...to see if I can find the male responsible for nearly killing Julooke. Julooke, who was just as much apart of his family (Verrine and their soon to be children as well) as much as his own sister and children and wives were. He had promised Julooke he would kill who was responsible for it and he intended to keep his promise. He would bring her the man's bloody pelt as proof, if she desired.