A soft smirk twitched at the edges of the Northman's lips when Thistle told him that she always had and always would underestimate her true power. This did not come as a surprise to him and truthfully, Ragnar had expected no different from her. He could not make her see what he saw when he looked at her, any more than she could make him see what she saw when she looked at him. Ragnar was not nearly so hard on himself as his queen was on herself though he was in certain ways. He pushed himself until he was near his breaking point and in a way, he reflected, perhaps that was his way of criticizing himself. He was by no means a self conscious creature but he had his own ways of self punishment (because Tokio can't think of any other words to use to describe it :x). He was silent when Thistle murmured that she was glad that the Gods always smiled on brave women, though did not voice that the Gods favoring her over him spurred something ugly within him. Lately, it felt that all Odinn did was punish him though what for Ragnar did not know. He gave his eye only for the pack to become rapidly on it's last weak ember of life. What kind of reward was that? Of course Ragnar had never felt so close to Odinn as he did currently, now that they shared a kinship and that simply stoked the Viking's irritation more.
Perhaps it was his own unrest that caused him to feel that Odinn was punishing him, and even if the All-Father wasn't, Ragnar was too damn stubborn to take the hint. Too proud to let go. Perhaps that was what Odinn wanted: the destruction of Stavanger Bay but Ragnar would not — could not let it happen. The death of Pump, and the intrusion of Wheeling Gull Isle had pushed him to found the safe haven for what had previously been the Horizon wolves. He had founded the Bay to be a salvation for him and his and not even the Gods themselves could take it away from him. Or them. Ragnar watched her, studiously, as she rose and drew nearer, tense shoulders relaxing into her embrace. Her touch was familiar to the Northman, her scent flooding all of his senses, the tang of the approaching season tickling his nose like a sneeze that would not break forth. Bluntly, the Northman's tongue drew across her jawline with a suppressed hunger, a fire that had been smoldering for much too long, that he had not allowed to breathe as it needed too.
This time, Ragnar swore, it would be his seed that caused her sides to swell with children. Only his children until the rest of his life. Or hers, whichever came first. He wanted her to entirely disregard what he had said: that if the Bay was not stable enough that they would not have children. After all, she had the sole power to override it now.