Stavanger Bay It's the truth of the game

While Gunnar himself did not mind, that did not mean that that Ragnar didn't mind. It wasn't right to place such heavy burdens at the feet of his young children, but Ragnar didn't have a choice. There wasn't really anyone else that he could say that he trusted like that, except for perhaps Verrine and Julooke but both of them were busy with their own brood and he could not ask such things of two new parents. “I shouldn't have to ask these things of you, you are still just a boy,” And it bothered Ragnar but he was fresh out of options. It wasn't like Thistle or Nerian were trained how to fight or anything, and he wasn't so sure that either of his wives had what it took to kill. Not that he wished to place the heavy burden of that upon his young son as well but they would take it one step at a time, Ragnar supposed; and if anything did happen to him he wanted his sons to have his legacy. It was theirs just as much as it was his own. “Indeed they are,” Ragnar laughed and nudged his young son roughly. “When did you become so wise?” The scarred Scandinavian sighed, wondering if he'd missed more of their lives than he had originally thought he had.