Ragnar could feel the weight of his wife's stare bearing into him, piercing into his soul. He did not believe in such things though it was Nerian's speak of them that had sparked the Northman's curiosity in the idea. If he had one, and if Thistle could currently see into it as it felt like she could then Ragnar could only wonder what it was she found there. Was it a ravaged thing, frightening and ugly in it's design or was it purer than he had once considered in the rare times that he thought of such a thing. There was a part of Ragnar that understood that he was being largely unfair to her, thrusting all the power and all the responsibility upon her dainty shoulders yet, he also knew that could handle it. His faith in that was strong, perhaps incorrigible, but unbending. Ragnar would never have given or trusted her with something that he was not entirely sure that she could handle. “You underestimate your power and your strength, my love,” Ragnar purled to his queen in a low voice, knowing even that if she could never see it: he did. Thistle had changed much since she had agreed to be his wife almost a year ago. She had become stronger and every bit the Shield-Maiden Ragnar had seen the potential in her for. “The Gods will always smile upon brave women,” Ragnar assured her. Ragnar looked away from her then, focusing his single eye upon the shadowed ash trees behind her as she spoke that she would not let the Bay sink, that it meant too much to both them and their children. Out of the original wolves that had helped them found it, they and their children were the only ones left.
Some had died, and the others had came and left. It was the cycle of life but it was not a cycle of life that Ragnar was willing to accept for the Bay. Packs founded and disbanded every day but he would hang onto the Bay until his body drew it's last breath. Odinn had promised him a long life and Ragnar was only just hitting his prime and did not expect to die any time soon.
“I do not know,” Ragnar admitted. So carefully and painfully had the Northman put thought into what he could do to help his dying pack, and when he'd came to this conclusion he had grasped onto it not daring to look further in case his trepidation on the matter grew too great and he did not go through with it. He had worked too hard to go back to being a subordinate, his ambition for power far, far too great (likely for Ragnar's own good) but something had to be done and Ragnar was sure that this was what needed to happen. “We will know when the time is right for me to resume my place as Jarl.” The Gods, he knew, would tell them.
