Caught up as Ragnar had been in the proposal (despite that nothing about it was concrete on either side) that Peregrine had offered him, Ragnar had nearly forgotten about the trouble he had expected to be in when Thistle would realize he was back in Stavanger Bay. He hadn't been overly concerned about his injuries, if because he believed so feverishly in the promise Odinn had made to him years ago, and there was no reason not to believe that the All-Father wouldn't deliver upon it. They struck deals often, the God and the Jarl. They were of the same vein, and if Eitri was to be believed, descendants even. Thistle had responded to Ragnar's summons in an extremely timely manner, but she had murder written in her eyes. Ragnar resisted the urge to let out a hefty sigh, knowing that he deserved the fire she spit at him now, listening but also ...not. It wasn't as if this was anything new, and in some manner, he had excepted trouble; then again he felt like he was always in trouble with his wife these days. “It was easy wife,” Ragnar responded coyly, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. “I got up and decided to investigate some of the new packs that have risen around us,” Granted, there were at least a few that he had missed, though he would make his way around to them, eventually. After he had a response for Peregrine. He would prioritize Redhawk Caldera above them because in hindsight, he had no reason not too. Peregrine was a good man, and one that Ragnar would be honored to call friend, despite that Ragnar could not say the same for his brother, Crete.
“No one ran away in fear. If anything, wife, Peregrine was impressed,” He did not want to fight about his decisions. He was a grown man and capable of making his own choices, and accordingly, dealing with the consequences. “I have quite a good bit of information,” He told her arrogantly, letting out a soft snort. “And if it did strike fear into their hearts. Good. I am a man to be feared. It is better that it is learned sooner as opposed to later,” He had always said that, since they had first met, as she would likely recall. Ragnar had never pretended to be some magnificent creature, because he wasn't. He was what he was at his core, what was in his life blood. He was a Viking. Ruthless. Savage. Cruel. He did not hide it from anyone. His subordinates knew what he was when they sought a home within his ranks, she had known what he was long before she had agreed to be his wife. When it came to what he was, he did not deceive. “You worry too much,” The Scandinavian purled in a soft murmur into her ear. “Do you wish to hear what I have to tell you? Or are you still reprimanding me, hm?” Ragnar inquired, allowing her to make the choice.
