Reborn into the Vikings series

CHAPTER 2

The smoky scent of roasted meat and the sound of lively conversation filled the air as the village gathered in the hall for the evening feast. Every corner was alive with the energy of victory. Warriors boasted loudly of their triumphs against the Latvians, their tales growing increasingly absurd with every retelling.

"I tore the man's ear from his head with my teeth!" one particularly loud Viking roared, slamming his horn of mead on the table for emphasis. His teeth were crooked and stained, his face covered in scars. Looking at him, I wouldn't be surprised if that one was actually true.

The laughter and cheers that followed echoed off the wooden beams, and despite my best efforts, a smirk tugged at my lips. I might not always understand these people, but I had to admit—they sure knew how to throw a party.

But my mind wasn't on the feast. It was still circling back to what happened earlier—the figure on the battlefield. Odin. Or at least, I thought it was Odin.

That little detail gnawed at me. Why the fuck could I see him? Wasn't Ragnar supposed to be the chosen one here? And then there was the bigger question: did he have something to do with my reincarnation? Or was he just as oblivious as I was? The idea that the All-Father might not even know about me somehow made the whole situation both funnier and scarier.

The questions were endless, and none of them came with answers.

Although I was raised with Norse beliefs, I never fully embraced them—especially since, in my previous life, I was a Christian. I wasn't the most devout, but my faith had been sincere and unwavering. This whole ordeal, however, had me questioning whether it was possible to believe in two religions at once.

I leaned back, defeated, against the sturdy wooden post behind me, its rough texture pressing into my shoulders. The sleeveless cotton tunic I wore was a welcome change, soft and blissfully comfortable after a long day. (Cotton was a rarity in this part of the world, but one of the few luxuries my summoning ability could provide me.) It was definitely better than the itchy wool most of the villagers endured. If I didn't have to suffer, then I wouldn't.

Ragnar and Rollo sat beside me at our small table, which we had entirely to ourselves. Not because of respect or prestige, mind you. Nope. Nobody wanted to sit with us—or, more specifically, with me.

All because of one stupid incident. Okay, maybe it was kind of my fault. But that guy shouldn't have been such a foul-mouthed asshole who ate like a pig. Did I break a couple of ribs? Yes. Maybe an arm or two? Possibly. Did he deserve it? Absolutely.

Still, I wasn't complaining. The brothers were decent company. Ragnar didn't eat like an animal, and Rollo at least had the decency to keep his mouth shut while chewing. Plus, it spared me from the unbearable small talk of the other villagers. Win-win.

I took a cautious sip from my horn of mead. The warm, bitter liquid hit my tongue, and I grimaced. 'I really need to figure out how to brew my own alcohol.'

I glanced at Ragnar, who was already halfway through his fifth cup, drinking like it was water.

"Enjoying the spoils of victory, are you?" My tone carried just enough bite to make him grin.

Ragnar smirked, tilting his head as he surveyed the room. "Why not? A man should feast after the fight. Isn't that what it's for?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn't stop the small smile tugging at my lips. "Sure, until you're puking your guts out."

Rollo snorted, leaning in with a wicked grin. "Better to drink and purge than to sit there, sipping like a timid sparrow. Your horn is barely touched, Hildr."

"Because it tastes like horse piss," I retorted, shoving my cup toward him. "Be my guest if you like it so much."

Rollo laughed, the sound booming as he reached for my horn, but before he could get his hands on it, the heavy doors of the hall swung open.

The laughter and chatter faded as a gust of cold air swept through, drawing every gaze to the figure stepping into the hall.

A tall woman clad in chainmail and leather strode in, a shield resting on her back and a short sword at her hip. Her braided blonde hair framed a striking, sharp-boned face, and her piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd with calm indifference. 

My heart stopped. I didn't need an introduction. 

It was Lagertha.

The future wife of Ragnar. The mother of Bjorn Ironside. Memories of the Vikings show rushed through my mind like a flood.

She looked taller than I remembered from the series—practically six feet now.

"Who's that?" Ragnar murmured, leaning closer to me. His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the interest in it.

"Lagertha," I managed, keeping my voice even despite the whirlwind of emotions raging inside me. 

"She's beautiful," Ragnar said, his gaze fixed on her.

Rollo leaned back while intensely staring at the shield maiden, his grin widening. "Ah, we've heard of her—Lagertha the shieldmaiden. They say she fights like a Valkyrie in battle."

Ragnar nodded, his gaze lingering on her. "I remember hearing of her."

As Lagertha strode through the crowd, the noise softened, conversations fading in her presence. I tried to ignore the odd feeling that settled deep in my chest. 

Has my admiration for her always been so intense? The Lagertha I knew from the show had been extraordinary, but the woman standing before me felt… larger than life. More real. More intimidating. 

When her piercing blue eyes found mine, I quickly dropped my eyes to my mead, suddenly finding the cup very fascinating. 

Yet the pull was undeniable. Against my better judgment, I risked another glance, my eyes drawn to her beauty as if by some unseen force. This time, our eyes met and held. For some unknown reason the shield maiden's eyes lingered, searching my face with an intensity that sent a jolt straight through my core.

I turned away sharply, raising my horn and drinking deeply. 

—

The gathering dragged on, and by some cruel twist of fate, I found myself seated directly across from Lagertha. Thanks to Ragnar and his bold introductions, she had been drawn into our small circle, and now here she was—Lagertha, the shieldmaiden of legend, sitting at our table as though she wasn't the most captivating woman in the world.

I tried to focus on anything other than the way her presence made my skin prickle with awareness, but it was impossible. 

"So, Hildr," Lagertha began, her voice smooth and captivating, carrying that charm that could make anyone weak in the knees. "Ragnar tells me you are not only skilled with a blade but also with healing. Is this true?"

The sudden attention made me choke on the dry, unseasoned meat. I covered my mouth with my fist, coughing awkwardly as I tried to recover. I glared at Ragnar, who smirked with all the self-satisfaction of someone who knew they'd successfully thrown me into the spotlight.

Clearing my throat hurriedly, I fumbled for words. "I… I have some experience," I managed, my voice coming out more cautious than I'd intended. "I always try to do my best."

Ragnar, of course, couldn't leave it at that. Wrapping his arm around my shoulders like an annoying younger brother, he grinned. "Too humble, as always," he said, turning to Lagertha as though I wasn't even there. "I've seen her do things that would make even the gods stop and take notice. There was a man whose finger was torn clean off in battle—Hildr reattached it, and the man still uses it as if it were never gone."

Lagertha's piercing blue eyes widened in what looked like genuine admiration. "Is that so?" she asked, her attention locking onto me like a hawk eyeing prey. "I have never heard of such a skill."

I shoved Ragnar's arm off my shoulders, glaring at him before waving the compliment away as casually as I could manage, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. "It's nothing," I said, forcing a practiced smile. "Just a bit of stitching and care. Nothing the gods couldn't do better."

But Lagertha wasn't gonna let me off that easily. 

Thankfully—or maybe not—Rollo decided to butt in.

"You should join us for tomorrow's evening meal," he suggested, his usual flirtatious grin plastered across his face. "Hildr can cook like no other. The gods themselves would envy her table."

Ragnar nodded eagerly, grinning like a fool. "A feast worthy of Valhalla, I swear it. What do you say, Lagertha?"

Lagertha chuckled softly, glancing at me with a sly smile that made my stomach do something weird. "I accept," she said, her tone light but playful. "I am intrigued by the three of you." Her gaze lingered on me for just a moment.

Is she interested in being my friend? The thought lingered awkwardly in my head as I stuffed a piece of bread in my mouth to distract myself.

—

Later, Ragnar excused himself so he could relieve himself, while Rollo left to refill his cup, which had been emptied for the seventh time that night. And just like that, I was alone. With Lagertha.

She smirked at me, leaning back slightly in her chair, her blue eyes glittering with curiosity. "So," she began, her voice smooth as silk. "You fight, you heal, and now I hear you can cook better than any man or woman. Tell me, Shieldbreaker—what can you not do?"

My heart skipped, and for a moment, I felt completely vulnerable under her gaze. Despite my best efforts to stay calm, my eyes flicked to her lips—just for a split second—before I quickly looked away, pretending to adjust my tunic.

"I just have a habit of picking up things I find interesting," I replied, my voice as steady as I could make it.

Lagertha leaned closer, her tone playful but her gaze steady. "Oh? And do you find me interesting?"

And that's when my brain short-circuited. My mouth opened, then closed, and for a moment, I was sure I looked like a fish out of water. "I… uh…" I stammered, my mind scrambling for something—anything—to say that wouldn't make me look like a complete idiot. "I find… the tales of your battles fascinating. So, yes. Yes, I do."

'Nice save, you fucking moron,' I thought bitterly, cursing myself even as the words left my mouth.

To my utter surprise—and mortification—Lagertha laughed. The sound was warm and rich, like honey dripping from a comb, and it sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. "Good to know," she said, her smile lingering as she leaned back, her gaze still fixed on me.

—

I stepped out of the hall, the brisk night air hitting my face like a slap of reality. It was exactly what I needed. I exhaled sharply, watching my breath cloud in the moonlight as I tried to steady my racing thoughts. Lagertha's laugh still rang in my ears, and those sharp blue eyes… god, they were burned into my mind.

"Was she flirting with me?" I muttered under my breath, pacing a few steps before stopping to lean against the wooden frame of the hall. The thought was absurd—impossible, even. "Get a grip, Hildr." I shook my head firmly, trying to banish the idea. 

Ragnar and Lagertha. The legendary couple. True soulmates, I reminded myself, as if saying it enough times would carve it into my skull. Their love was strong enough to endure divorce, betrayal, and years of separation. Even when they were apart, Lagertha had never truly loved anyone else. The series made that pretty damn clear.

But none of that helped me now. Her sudden appearance had clearly messed with my head. 

I groaned, running my fingers through my hair. "Damn series," I muttered bitterly. Why couldn't they just include a flashback or anything of when Lagertha and Ragnar met? That would've been helpful! Maybe then I wouldn't be caught off guard like an idiot. Instead, I was left fumbling in the dark, unsure when their story was supposed to start or if I was accidentally screwing it up.

When I'd excused myself earlier, claiming exhaustion from the battle, Ragnar and Rollo had exchanged those looks. You know, those looks. The ones that screamed bullshit. They knew me too well. I didn't get tired—not physically, at least. 

But tonight wasn't about physical strain. No, tonight my mind and heart were the problem. So, yeah, I bailed. Call it cowardice, call it whatever you want—I had to get the hell out of there.

The streets of the village were silent now, except for the distant howl of a wolf. I made my way to our home, a modest Viking house lent to us by a friend who was in the trading business. It was simple, as all Viking homes were: a single room with a central hearth, wooden beds stuffed with straw and covered in animal skins, and a persistent draft that slipped through the cracks.

I stepped inside, the familiar smell of smoke and wood instantly wrapping around me. Letting the door close behind me, I sighed and dropped onto the bed closest to the hearth. I stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, willing my thoughts to settle.

"What's happening to me?" I muttered aloud.

I groaned again, rubbing my temples like I could physically push the thoughts of Lagertha out of my head. 

—

~Next Day~

By dawn, I was outside, shaking off the remnants of restless dreams and my usual spiral of overthinking with my morning workout routine. The crisp morning air bit at my skin, but I welcomed the chill—it kept me sharp. The movements were second nature to me now: push-ups in the dirt, pull-ups on the beams of the house, and squats with a heavy log balanced across my shoulders.

The villagers, as usual, gave me wary glances as they passed. I could practically hear their thoughts: What madness is she up to now? Let them think what they wanted. My daily routines kept me sane—or at least as sane as someone can be when they've crash-landed in a violent past they shouldn't exist in.

Once I'd finished my morning exercises, I reached for my brand-new toothbrush, summoned a few days ago to replace my worn-out one. It was simple but effective, a handmade-looking brush with sturdy boar bristles that got the job done. The Vikings, I'd learned, relied on toothpicks and herbal rinses for their dental hygiene—better than nothing, but nowhere near enough for me. Call me dramatic, but there was no way I was living my life without basic dental hygiene.

Ragnar and Rollo had been my first "victims" in what I liked to call my crusade for dental hygiene. It had taken weeks of relentless nagging, demonstrations, and, at one point, a rather grotesque explanation involving tooth infections and death. Now, every morning like clockwork, both brothers begrudgingly scrubbed their teeth, muttering curses and complaints under their breath. Of course, I knew they secretly appreciated their healthier smiles—they just wouldn't admit it.

"Don't forget the back teeth!" I called out as Rollo stumbled out of the house, yawning so wide I could practically see his tonsils. His toothbrush dangled from his hand, the bristles already bent from his habit of chewing on it when bored.

"Why do you care so much about our teeth?" he grunted, his voice rough from sleep as he jabbed the brush into his mouth with exaggerated effort.

"Because," I replied, rinsing my own mouth with water and spitting it into the dirt, "if I didn't, you two would have no teeth left by the time you're thirty. And then where would you be, hmm? 

Rollo paused mid-scrub, leveling me with a flat look. "You're a strange woman, Hildr."

"And you're a stubborn ass, Rollo," I shot back with a smirk. "Now scrub properly. If I catch you half-assing it again, you'll be eating gruel for a week."

Rollo grumbled something unintelligible, likely a string of curses, but he continued brushing. Watching him and Ragnar adopt this small piece of modern hygiene almost made me laugh.

—

As I finished my morning routine, a man approached me. His stride was firm, though his freshly bandaged arm was still in a sling. I recognized him immediately as one of the warriors I had dragged, quite literally, back from the edge of death.

"Hildr," he said, dipping his head respectfully, his voice rough but carrying the unmistakable intensity of gratitude. "You've the hands of the gods themselves. Without you, I'd have lost more than my arm—aye, my life would've been forfeit."

I waved him off with a small, sincere smile. "It was nothing," I said casually, though my tone softened as I added, "Keep the wound clean, and don't let it fester. Infection can kill you faster than any blade on the battlefield."

He blinked at me, clearly unfamiliar with the concept, though he nodded solemnly as if committing my words to memory. "Aye, I'll remember your words, though they're strange to me. You saved my life. It's a debt I'll carry to the grave."

"Don't be dramatic," I replied lightly, though I felt a flicker of warmth at his sincerity. "Just don't go ripping those stitches open because you want to swing an axe too soon, and we'll call it even."

His lips twitched into a rare smile, but his expression turned serious as he reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder.

"Still, I cannot leave such a debt unpaid," he said. From the bag, he pulled a small wooden carving, its intricate details forming the unmistakable face of Odin. The craftsmanship was remarkable—the beard carved with delicate precision, the single eye sharp and piercing.

"Take this," he said, his voice softer now, reverent. "A gift, carved with my own hands. May it bring you wisdom and strength, as you've given me."

I hesitated for a moment, then reached out to accept the carving. Turning it over in my hands, I admired the fine detail. The texture of the wood was smooth against my fingers, and I could feel the faint grooves where the carver's blade had etched each line.

"Thank you," I said quietly, slipping it into the small pouch tied to my belt. For a moment, I let myself linger in the sincerity of the gesture, but before I could say more, the man gave a final nod and strode off, his steps confident despite the bandages I had warned him to be careful with.

I stood there for a moment, the faint warmth of pride swelling in my chest. It reminded me of who I used to be—Alex, the surgeon who spent hours hunched over an operating table.

The carving wasn't just a token of gratitude; it was a reminder of the rare, fleeting sense of fulfillment that came from knowing you'd made a difference.

I missed that feeling. I missed it more than I cared to admit.

—

By the time the sun stood high in the sky, the three of us were crammed into a makeshift kitchen. It wasn't much—just a fireplace with two iron rods holding a cauldron, surrounded by roughly hewn shelves that groaned under the weight of clay pots and wooden bowls. But it would have to do.

The smell of roasting meat, made with excellent quality spices and herbs, filled the small space. It was not at all like the overly salted preserved meat these Vikings lived on—or worse, the kind so bland it made you question why you were eating in the first place.

"Cut the onions smaller," I said, throwing a sharp glance at Rollo's chopping technique—or lack of effort. The man could split a skull in two, but in a kitchen? He was like a toddler wielding a knife.

Rollo held up a jagged chunk of onion, his lips curling in irritation. "They're onions, Hildr. What does it matter how small they are? They'll end up in my belly all the same."

I swatted his hand away, barely stopping myself from groaning out loud. "It matters, Rollo, because the difference is whether the food you're stuffing into your face tastes like a meal or dog shit. Chop them smaller or step aside and let me do it myself."

Rollo raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin turning mischievous. "Fine, Shieldbreaker, I'll do it your way. But don't think I haven't noticed the tyrant in you, Hildr."

"Better a tyrant than a fool," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I turned back to the pot. At least Ragnar wasn't—

"Ragnar!" I snapped, spinning around to catch him in the act. There he was, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, the guilty look on his face almost comical.

"Do you have no shame?" I scolded, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Stop eating the food!"

Ragnar gave me those wide, innocent eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. "I'm testing it," he said, voice light and carefree as he casually popped the rest of the bread into his mouth.

"It's bread, Ragnar," I said dryly, narrowing my eyes at him. "It doesn't need testing, you imbecile."

Ragnar shrugged, utterly unbothered, while Rollo snickered behind him. 

—

When the table was finally set, I took a step back to admire my handiwork. Each place had a spoon and cloth napkin, and I'd even gone so far as to add a centerpiece of wildflowers I'd picked earlier.

Then it hit me.

'Why am I acting like this?'

Heat crept up my neck as I snatched the flowers off the table and shoved them under the bed, muttering curses at myself. As I straightened up, there was a knock at the door. My heart leapt in a way it definitely shouldn't have.

I opened the door, and there she was. 

She didn't need fine clothes or jewelry to stand out. Dressed simply in a plain tunic with her golden hair braided tightly back.

"Good evening," she greeted, her voice steady yet warm as she inclined her head to me and the brothers, who were already crowding behind me.

My heart thudded, but I forced myself to nod casually. "Lagertha," I said, gesturing toward the table. "Please, sit."

—

The meal was nothing short of a triumph, if I allowed myself a moment of pride. I'd used wild game, root vegetables, and foraged herbs, along with my secret garlic and pepper seasoning. To these Vikings, used to bland or overly salty fare, it must have tasted like something from Valhalla.

Lagertha took her first bite, and her blue eyes widened. She chewed slowly, savoring the flavors, before glancing at me. "This… this is unlike anything I've ever eaten," she said, her voice tinged with genuine surprise. "What did you do to it?"

I shrugged, keeping my tone light even though her praise made my chest tighten. "Nothing much," I said, hiding my smirk. "Just a few touches I've picked up over the years."

"Years?" Rollo barked, laughing as he tore into a piece of meat. "You've always been a mystery, Hildr. It's as if you were born knowing things the rest of us can't even imagine."

I forced a laugh. 

'He's not wrong,' I thought, but all I said was, "If I knew everything, do you think I'd still be here cooking for you two?"

Ragnar grinned, leaning back in his chair. "You'd probably be ruling over us instead."

Rollo laughed harder, slapping the table. "Gods help us if that day comes. Hildr's bad enough in the kitchen ."

Lagertha, who had been quietly observing, chuckled softly. 

As the conversation turned to lighter topics, I stole a glance at Lagertha, only to find her watching me. She smiled, her lips curling into something almost playful.

'God and Gods, please help me'

For all my knowledge of the future, nothing had prepared me for her.

//////

Over the next few weeks, I had grown used to having Lagertha around—well, mostly because when she showed up, I'd say hi and then immediately bounce.

I wanted the original story to continue as it was supposed to, so I had this great idea: spend more time outdoors, away from the village, and avoid Lagertha altogether. That way, I wouldn't accidentally fuck up the timeline. Seemed like a solid plan.

It worked, for the most part. I still saw Lagertha when she was with Ragnar, and I was genuinely happy for him. But there was always this small, annoying tinge of pain in my chest whenever I did.

Which made no sense.

Even in my past life, I was never the dating type—or any type, really. Relationships weren't something I ever sought out. So what the hell changed?

Meanwhile, Ragnar had completely fallen for Lagertha, and honestly, it was kind of adorable. You could tell just by looking at him, but what confirmed it was when he confided in me about his feelings. In that moment, I knew I was doing the right thing—staying out of it, keeping my distance, making sure things played out as they should.

What really surprised me, though, was Rollo. The man backed off the moment he realized Ragnar was actually serious about her. I had to wonder—did I have something to do with that? It wasn't impossible. After all, I was three years older than Rollo and, for better or worse, had always been a bit of an influence on him.

To distract myself, I either went fishing (usually while singing some old country music) or practiced archery, humming Imagine Dragons like I wasn't living in 9th-century Scandinavia. If the villagers thought I was crazy, well, they weren't wrong.

I had also been experimenting more with my summoning abilities. So far, the most complex thing I'd managed to summon, apart from a medical kit, was a screwdriver.

Which, you know, was absolutely useless.

So, yeah. I decided to take a break from that.

~

"Okay, you got this," I muttered to myself, pulling back the bowstring. My eyes locked onto a white mark I had carved into a tree nearly half a football field away. My stance was steady, my breath controlled.

Then—

"So this is where you've been hiding."

The voice came out of nowhere, startling me so much that my arrow veered off course, missing the target entirely.

I turned sharply, my heart still racing, and came face to face with Lagertha.

"Lagertha," I exhaled, lowering my bow. "What are you doing here?"

She stepped closer, the confidence in her walk making me aware of how little space was left between us. Her piercing blue eyes studied me with something between curiosity and amusement.

"I wished to see where you spend so many hours," she said, tilting her head slightly. "I am under the impression that you have been avoiding me."

Shit.

I didn't know where I found the courage to hold her gaze, but I did. Up close, her eyes were even bluer than I remembered.

Before I could respond, she suddenly reached out and snatched my bow from my hands.

"What—?"

Lagertha laughed, stepping back as she grabbed an arrow from my quiver and nocking it with practiced ease. She lifted the bow, took aim at my original target, and—

Thwack.

Dead center.

I blinked. "Wow."

She turned to me, chuckling at my expression as she handed my bow back.

"So, are you not going to answer me?"

I took a moment to collect myself, then gave her a half-smile. "Well… uhm—I just sometimes like being alone."

I picked up another arrow, taking my stance as I aimed at the same mark she had just hit.

Lagertha hummed, watching me closely.

"Does that mean I am disturbing you? Would you rather I leave?"

Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an underlying curiosity in it.

I released the arrow.

It struck directly through Lagertha's.

I turned to her with a raised eyebrow, and she let out a soft laugh.

Still smirking, I handed her the bow. "Of course not," I said simply. "Stay as long as you want."

\\\\\\

~Two weeks Later~

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the rolling fields beyond Kattegat. The scent of earth and salt clung to the cool breeze, a reminder of the sea. Birds flitted overhead, their calls sharp against the tranquil afternoon.

Lagertha and I lay side by side on a grassy hill. Our arms and legs were coated in dirt, sweat glistening on our skin from hours of intense sword practice. I had long since abandoned my outer tunic, leaving me in a simple sleeveless top that clung to my frame. Lagertha sat beside me, her blonde braid falling over her shoulder, loose strands framing her face as she wiped a bead of sweat from her brow.

"Not bad, Shieldbreaker," she mused. "I almost had you today."

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. "Almost, but not quite," I teased, wiping dirt from my cheek with the back of my hand. "You're getting faster, though. I actually had to put effort into dodging."

She smirked. "You only dodged because you knew if my blade met your ribs, you would be nursing a wound right now."

I chuckled, tipping my head to the side to let the wind cool my flushed skin. "Sure, let's go with that."

I turned to her, watching as she stretched her arms back, tilting her head slightly to ease the tension in her neck. I couldn't look away. Should've. But there was something captivating about the way the setting sun caught the golden strands of her hair, the way her sharp blue eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

"You fight well," I admitted, my voice softer now. "Few warriors can match my skill, yet you not only rival me—you fight with a purpose far greater than my own."

Lagertha glanced at me, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "And what do you fight for, Hildr?"

The question caught me off guard, but before I could answer, she suddenly reached out and wiped away a smudge of dirt from my jaw. 

My body immediately froze.

~ 

These past few weeks have been… easy. Training with Lagertha had become part of my routine, and despite my best efforts to keep my distance, I found myself looking forward to these moments. The tension I had felt when she first arrived had softened into something comfortable—familiar.

Of course, there were still moments—fleeting glances, a brush of hands—that made my heart flutter. But I ignored them.

I had to.

Because no matter how much I enjoyed her company, I knew how this story was supposed to go. 

And I refused to be the one to change it. 

~

The warmth of her fingers barely lingered, but it was enough. The warmth of her touch sent a strange jolt down my spine, but I forced myself to keep still.

I should move. I should say something, joke it off—

I exhaled slowly, I sat up while rubbing the back of my neck before shooting her a smirk. "Are you thirsty?"

She nodded, a small smirk on her lips. "Aye. Training has left my throat drier than the bones of the fallen."

I snorted at the dramatics and gave her my waterskin. She took a long drink before handing it back, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment.

That's when I heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

I turned my head and found Ragnar making his way toward us, his usual easy smirk in place. His damp blonde hair clung to his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes gleaming.

Lagertha noticed him too, slightly shifting as he approached. "Ragnar," she greeted. "Come to join us?"

Ragnar chuckled, shaking his head. "Another time, perhaps. I have already tested my strength today and found it sufficient." His gaze flickered to me, something shifting behind his eyes. "Hildr, might I borrow you for a moment?"

I frowned slightly, exchanging a glance with Lagertha, who simply raised a brow but said nothing.

"Sure," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "What's on your mind?"

Ragnar gestured for me to follow him a few paces away, far enough that Lagertha wouldn't overhear. He turned to face me fully, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by something more… serious.

I folded my arms. "Alright, you're acting weird. What's going on?"

Ragnar exhaled slowly, rubbing his jaw as if debating his words. Then, he met my gaze.

"I am going to ask Lagertha to marry me."

I blinked.

The words hit harder than I expected, knocking the breath from my lungs. My chest tightened.

I forced my expression to remain neutral, nodding once. "That's… great," I said. "She's an incredible woman."

The words felt like gravel in my throat. My fingers curled into fists at my sides before I forced them to relax.

Ragnar smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something unsettling, like he was waiting for a reaction. "Aye, she is. And I believe she is meant to stand beside me."

I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat, shoving my hands into the pockets of my belt. "So why tell me?"

Ragnar tilted his head slightly, studying me and watching my every movement.

"Because you are my sister, and because you have come to know her well." His gaze sharpened. "And because you have never lied to me, Hildr. Tell me—do you think she will say yes?"

I hesitated.

Not because I doubted that Lagertha loved Ragnar. I knew she did—or would, soon enough.

But because, for the first time, I had wanted to be selfish.

What would happen if I told him no? If I told him to wait?

I had wanted—

I shut the thought down before it could fully form.

This was it.

The beginning of their story.

And the end of whatever delusion had been growing in my head.

I took a steady breath, forcing my lips into a smirk. "Of course she'll say yes. Who wouldn't want to marry the great Ragnar Lothbrok?" I teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

Ragnar chuckled, but his eyes never left mine.

I held his gaze, unflinching.

Finally, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good," he said, exhaling. "I will speak with her soon."

I nodded. "Let me know how it goes."

Ragnar clapped my shoulder before turning, heading back toward the village, confidence in his walk.

I remained standing there, staring after him. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, but it did nothing to soothe the warmth burning in my chest.

I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply.

This is how it's supposed to be, I reminded myself. This is the story I know. So why did it feel like I had just lost a part of me?

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair.

"Fuck, I need a drink."