Reborn into the Vikings series

CHAPTER 3

'Oh god, how I've missed ice cream.'

I shove another spoonful into my mouth, the chocolate chips melting on my tongue, and groan like a dying man. This—this right here? This is self-care.

The ice cream is slightly melted, but I don't care. I've already broken my own rule. No summoning modern food. No indulging in comforts that I don't need. But past-me can fuck off because I'm knee-deep in regret and one bottle of Stella Rosa deep into self-destruction. (Don't worry, I made them look rustic so no one freaks out over futuristic glass bottles. I'm responsible like that.)

~

You might think that, given the sheer absurdity of my situation—being transported into a historical setting with the power to summon nearly anything—I would have immediately called forth every possible advantage to improve my life and those around me.

But no.

The moment I realized this wasn't some elaborate dream, that I was truly in the Vikings Show—a world of power, war, and fragile alliances—I made a vow. I would not summon anything too outlandish, nothing that would make me stand out more than I already did. No futuristic weapons, no impossible materials, nothing that blatantly defied the time period. However, I allowed myself to summon items that existed in this world, even if not in the same region.

The only exception? A medical kit.

Because if I was going to survive here, I needed to keep my morals intact. And letting people die from wounds or infections? That wasn't something I could live with.

~

I take another swig straight from the bottle, my fingers sticky from chocolate. My head feels light, thoughts all floaty and weird.

Yeah, this is fine.

I sink deeper into my chair, legs sprawled, ice cream bowl balanced on my stomach. I let out a long sigh, staring up at the wooden ceiling of my tiny, secret cabin—my hideout, my sanctuary.

I built this place with my own bare hands—cut the wood, shaped the beams, thatched the damn roof. It's small but sturdy, tucked just outside of town, hidden enough that no one stumbles across it. Just a bed, a table, and two chairs.

That's all I needed. A place to breathe. A place to be alone.

Except it's not a secret anymore.

Lagertha knows about it now.

I snort, shaking my head. Yeah, because I was stupid enough to bring her here one night. We talked for hours. About her childhood, about mine. I told her fairytales from my time—modified, of course.

It was wonderful.

And now? Now she's in my head, and I hate it.

I groan and run a hand through my hair before grabbing a Hershey bar—yes, a Hershey fucking bar—and stuffing it into my mouth like the pathetic disaster I am. "Gods, I'm just a—mmphf—a fucking mess," I mumble through a mouthful of chocolate, barely remembering to swallow before I take another swig of wine.

The bottle wobbles dangerously in my grip, but I catch it. Ha. Still got it.

I stare at the fire in the hearth, my mind spinning with painful thoughts. I didn't want to think about Ragnar and Lagertha. Didn't want to think about how Ragnar looks at her—like she's his everything.

How have I come to such a condition? I've known her for barely a few months and now I'm drowning in my own feelings.

I shove another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, drowning out the thoughts.

I glare at the Hershey bar in my hand. "You. You get me," I say to it, waving it slightly. "You're... reliable. You don't make me feel... things. You just... exist. No drama. No complications."

———

~Four hours later~

The room spun slightly as I leaned back, my head tilting toward the ceiling.

"Then one night as I closed my eyes, I saw a shadow flying high..."

I was singing to the song 'Lost Boy' under my breath, my fingers drumming lazily against the half-empty bottle of wine in my hand.

The snacks I had summoned earlier were long gone, unsummoned or devoured—I couldn't remember which. Everything blurred together in a lazy haze, warmth spreading through my body as the alcohol dulled the thoughts I didn't want to deal with.

Then came the knock.

I frowned, tilting my head toward the door. Had I imagined it?

Another knock—sharper this time.

Shit.

I sat up, trying to shake off the haze, testing my balance as I stood. Good. No stumbling. That meant I wasn't too drunk. Probably.

I took another sip from the bottle, holding it loosely as I walked toward the door, only to slam my thigh against the edge of the table.

"Fuck me."

It didn't even hurt, not really. But it was an insult to injury, the cherry on top of an already exhausting day. Scowling, I yanked the door open, wine bottle still in hand.

"Lagertha?"

I blinked surprised—but mostly confused.

Lagertha stood there, arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes sweeping over me. Her gaze flickered to the bottle, then back to my face.

"Hildr... are you drunk?"

"Me?" I scoffed, holding up my bottle as if that somehow proved something. "No way! I'm just... y'know, havin' a cup of... um..." I squinted, trying to remember the word. "What d'you guys call it again? Oh yeah—mead!"

Lagertha exhaled sharply, unimpressed. Then, without another word, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside.

"Hey—!" I protested, but she was stronger than I was in my current state. She dragged me toward the bed and pushed me down onto the blankets—not hard, but firm enough that I plopped down without resistance.

Then she snatched the bottle out of my hand.

"Hey—!" I tried reaching for it, but she pulled it out of my grasp effortlessly.

"You have had enough," she scolded.

I opened my mouth to argue, but then I saw her gaze drop.

Lagertha's brows furrowed, her eyes fixing on the floor. Two empty bottles sat discarded near the table, their contents long gone.

Her expression darkened. She turned back to me, holding up the bottle in her hand. "Did you drink all of this yourself?"

I hesitated. "Uh... me? Noo... mmmaybe."

Lagertha inhaled sharply, then—to my surprise—sat down beside me.

She didn't speak for a moment. Instead, she reached forward and wrapped her arms around me.

The hug caught me off guard.

I froze.

Her warmth pressed against me, her grip strong, reassuring.

Her voice, when it came, was softer than I'd ever heard it. "Hildr... are you well?"

I swallowed. My throat felt tight.

For a moment, I considered lying. Laughing it off. That's what I always did, right? Deflect, deflect, deflect.

Instead, I slowly raised a hand—and slapped my own face.

Lagertha pulled back, startled. "Hildr—!"

"Needed to—" I blinked, testing my focus. "—see if I can get back to normal."

It kind of worked. My head was still buzzing, but I could feel my senses returning, sharpening.

Lagertha studied me for a long moment, her eyes filled with concern.

Then, carefully, she reached out and took my hand in hers. Her grip was firm, but gentle.

"You are not alone," she murmured. "Whatever weighs on you... you do not have to carry it alone."

All I could do was stare at our joined hands, my heart pounding louder than the crackling fire.

'How could I not fall for her? She embodies everything I've ever desired. No one in my past life ever left such a lasting mark on me.'

Before I could stop myself—before I could even think—I reached out and caressed her cheek.

Lagertha's breath hitched, her eyes widened just slightly, her lips parting as if to speak—but no words came.

Instead, she leaned into my palm, her eyes slowly closing, her warm skin pressing against my calloused fingers.

A lazy, almost disbelieving smile curved my lips. My thumb traced the curve of her jaw, and I tilted her face up, wanting—needing—to see her fully in the firelight.

'God, she is so beautiful.'

The flickering embers from the hearth bathed her in gold, making her look almost ethereal, like something out of a dream I'd once had but never dared to believe could be real.

I stared at her lips, wondering—just for a split second—how they would feel against mine.

Then, without thinking, I lean in—just a fraction—so close I can feel her breath against my lips.

To my surprise, she didn't move.

Her hands rested lightly against my arms, her fingers tense but unmoving, like she was waiting—waiting for me to either pull away or to close the distance.

'What are you doing? Letting alcohol control you?' The thought struck like a punch to the gut. 'I'm probably making her uncomfortable."

Guilt surged through me. I started to pull back, ready to apologize for my foolishness.

But then—I felt her fingers tighten around my arm.

A sharp inhale. A tilt of her head. And suddenly, her lips are against mine.

The kiss is hesitant at first—soft, as if neither of us can't quite believe it's happening. Her hands slide up, threading into my hair, and I feel her hesitation, her restraint.

My hands find her waist, gripping tighter than I intended, desperate to memorize every inch of her. With a gentle push, I guide her backward onto the bed.

She let out a small gasp as she fell beneath me, her breath warm against my lips. My hands wandered over her body—over the curve of her throat, down to her collarbone, tracing along her waist—greedy, desperate, worshiping.

Then—she pulled away.

I open my eyes, searching her face. There's no fear in her expression—no regret—only uncertainty.

She rests her forehead against mine, her breath ragged, her fingers tightening against my shoulders.

Her lips were swollen, parted, but her eyes...

Her eyes searched mine, filled with desire that made my stomach twist in anticipation.

She lifted a hand, her fingertips brushing over my lips, as if memorizing the shape of them.

Then, she exhaled softly.

"You are drunk, Hildr," she whispered. "You are not thinking clearly."

I barely registered the words—not when she was this close, not when I could feel the heat radiating from her body, not when the taste of her lips still lingered on mine.

Her breath hitched when I reached for her again, my fingers tracing the curve of her jaw, my thumb brushing against her bottom lip.

"I won't regret this," I murmured, my voice hoarse, raw, certain.

For a moment, she didn't move.

Then, as if something inside her finally came to realization, her lips crashed against mine.

Her hands slid down back to my arms, across my shoulders, over my back, nails scraping gently along my skin.

I groaned softly as she pressed closer, her body molding against mine, until there was no space left between us.

Her breath was warm against my lips as she pulled away just enough to whisper—"Lay back."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I instinctively leaned back onto my elbows, my breathing uneven as she moved over me.

Then—slowly, deliberately—Lagertha reached for the hem of her tunic, her piercing gaze never leaving mine.

I could not look away.

The firelight cast golden hues over her strong frame as she lifted the fabric over her head and let it drop to the floor.

My eyes took in every detail—her curves, her toned stomach, her eyes.

I had seen her fight a hundred times, seen her wield a blade as fiercely as any man, but this—this—was different.

She was softer here, yet just as powerful.

"You are breathtaking," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, though my body was still sluggish.

Lagertha chuckled softly, a wicked glint in her blue eyes. "Am I the only one getting naked, then?"

"Oh—uh, right."

I muttered, my fingers fumbling with my tunic, the lingering effects of wine dulling my coordination. A nervous heat crept up my neck as I struggled with the fabric, each movement slower and more unsteady than I would have liked.

I barely managed to strip down, leaving me in nothing but my breast wrap and pants.

Lagertha's gaze roamed, her eyes starting at my face before drifting lower, lingering on the toned muscles of my stomach.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "So the rumors are true," she mused.

I blinked, still half-drunk and wholly captivated. "Rumors?"

She lifted a single finger, dragging it down my stomach—slow and deliberate.

My entire body shivered.

"That you are carved by the gods themselves," she said, her voice laced with teasing satisfaction, watching my reaction with a maddening amount of amusement.

I swallowed hard, my mind blanking entirely.

Lagertha laughed, then pushed me back onto the bed.

I barely had time to process before she was above me, pressing me down with the weight of her body, her skin warm against mine.

Her lips ghosted along my throat, her hands sliding over my sides—teasing, kissing, exploring.

She helped me out of the last of my clothes—slow, careful, savoring every moment, as though she had dreamed of this just as much as I had.

I let my hands wander.

When I reached her hips, I let my thumbs skim over the hollows of her waist, feeling her shudder beneath my touch. My fingers drifted lower, over her thighs, reveling in the way she tensed, the way her breathing hitched, as though she was trying to hold on to some semblance of control.

Then, in a single, fluid motion, I flipped us over.

Lagertha let out a breathless laugh, her hair spilling around her shoulders as she landed beneath me.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, her grip strong, her body fitting against mine as though this was where she was always meant to be.

My lips found the column of her throat, tracing a path of kisses, licks, and slow, deliberate bites, leaving behind marks that would fade but never from my memory.

Her breath caught—then she moaned.

That sound.

I needed more of it.

I let my lips trail lower, savoring the way her muscles tensed beneath my touch, the way she exhaled in shaky, uneven breaths, as though every moment, every second, was unraveling something deep inside her.

And when I finally reached my destination, I gave her a single, slow lick.

Lagertha's thighs snapped shut around me, her entire body arching, a sharp gasp breaking past her lips.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tightening—pulling, guiding, urging.

I grinned against her skin, taking in the way she shuddered beneath me, the way she tried—and failed—to hold back her sounds.

My hands tightened around her thighs, keeping her exactly where I wanted her. She trembled, gasping my name, her voice hoarse, desperate, wanting.

Her moans became louder, sharper, her nails dragging down my back, her body twisting, clenching, desperate for more.

Then—her entire frame shook.

Her fingers gripped my shoulders, her body arching off the bed, her legs tightening around me as she reached the peak of her pleasure.

For a moment, she was weightless—floating, lost in the overwhelming bliss that rippled through her in waves.

Her breath came in shaky, ragged gasps, her fingers still tangled in my hair, her body quivering beneath me.

And even then, I didn't stop.

I kissed my way back up her body, up her stomach, up her chest, savoring every shiver, every twitch, every aftershock that ran through her like a storm that had not yet passed.

By the time I reached her neck, she was still trembling.

This site was the most photogenic and most memorable moment in my entire life.

Lagertha's fingers traced along my back, shaky but certain, as she finally caught her breath.

Her legs loosened around my waist, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she let her hands wander, mapping the planes of my body, memorizing the way my muscles twitched beneath her touch.

My hands continued to roam—down her spine—feeling every inch of her as if trying to burn this into my memory forever.

I had never wanted anything more than I wanted this—than I wanted her.

But even as I thought it, a small, nagging voice whispered at the back of my mind—low, insidious, almost drowned by the heady rush of desire.

This isn't how it was supposed to happen.

The thought was fleeting, barely more than a ghost of doubt, but it was there—curling its way into my gut, wrapping itself around the warmth of Lagertha's touch like a slow-growing vine.

I ignored it.

I buried it.

I pulled Lagertha closer, pressed my lips to her skin, and let myself drown in the moment—pretending, if only for tonight, that I wasn't about to wake up to a reality I could never take back.

//////

~Next day~

I woke up to the dull ache of numbness in my right arm. At first, I ignored it, shifting slightly to shake off the prickling pain, but then I felt it—warm breath against my skin, slow and steady.

My eyes snapped open.

Lagertha.

She was wrapped around me, her arm draped across my stomach, fingers curled lightly against my ribs like she had fallen asleep tracing me. Our legs were tangled together beneath the blanket, her golden braid sprawled across my chest, a stark contrast against my skin.

For a moment, I just... laid there.

My fingers trailed down the soft hollow of her throat. Her skin was warm, her pulse steady beneath my fingertips. She stirred slightly, exhaling a deep sigh before settling back into sleep.

And I let myself believe—just for a second—that this was real. That this was mine.

No past life. No knowledge of what was to come.

Just this. Just her.

Then, like a slap to the face, Ragnar's voice echoed through my mind.

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

The words hit like a war drum, pounding in my skull, relentless. My photographic memory was a bitch sometimes. I could see him so clearly—his damn blue eyes, filled with certainty. With trust.

Trust I had just shattered.

My stomach twisted. The weight of what I had done pressed down on me like a blade against my throat. I had betrayed him. Not just a friend. Not just the Ragnar.

A brother.

My hand jerked away from Lagertha's face like it had burned me.

I clenched my fist, nails digging into my palm. I had no right to be here. No right to be touching her, holding her, wanting her.

With a sharp breath, I forced myself to move—carefully, painfully slow—peeling myself away from her without waking her. She shifted, her brow furrowing in sleep, but she didn't stir.

I dressed with trembling hands, my movements stiff. My tunic felt heavier than usual, my belt unsteady around my waist. I shouldn't have done this. I should have fought harder, resisted longer.

But I had been weak.

Selfish.

I exhaled shakily, forcing down the nausea curling in my stomach. My hands curled into fists, nails biting deep into my skin as I tried to steady myself.

Then, I hesitated.

Something inside me refused to leave her like this.

So, I summoned a wooden plate, materializing a simple meal—fresh bread, smoked fish, and a small portion of berries.

A feeble offering. A coward's attempt at atonement.

I set the plate on the small wooden table, my fingers tightening around its edges. My jaw clenched as I stared at it, as if this pathetic gesture could somehow make up for what I had done.

Then I knelt beside her, just for a second.

Just long enough to remember.

Her face, bathed in the dim morning light, her expression peaceful. The way she breathed so steadily, unaware that when she next saw me, she would look at me with nothing but hatred.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

My voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

Then I stood.

And I left.

———

The village was still half-asleep, the dawn casting a cold, pale light over the docks. Only a few fishermen stirred, their voices low as they prepared their boats, the scent of salt and damp wood thick in the air.

It was early. Maybe six in the morning. Most people wouldn't be up for another hour at least, which suited me just fine.

The fewer eyes on me, the better.

I kept my pace steady, head down, trying to lose myself in the rhythmic crunch of my boots against the dirt path. But I was too distracted, too deep in my own head to see Rollo until I slammed right into him.

"Shit—"

I barely managed to catch him before he stumbled back, grabbing his arm to steady him.

Rollo's sharp blue eyes locked onto me, immediately narrowing. "You didn't come home last night." His voice was rough with sleep, his broad frame still loose with fatigue, but his gaze was sharp.

Then his lips curled, his expression shifting from suspicion to amusement as his gaze swept over my disheveled hair and the wrinkles in my tunic.

"Looks like you didn't spend the night sleeping, did you?" He smirked, his voice lilting with amusement.

I didn't answer.

His smirk widened as realization dawned on him. "Well, well. Never thought I'd see the day you finally let someone warm your furs." He let out a chuckle. "You always avoided the topic of women and sex. Thought maybe you planned to marry your axe instead."

I exhaled sharply. "Not now, Rollo."

"Why not?" He shrugged. "We should be celebrating. After all these years of you acting like a damn priest, you finally learned to have some fun—"

I grabbed his shoulder, hard. The grin vanished from his face.

"I need to talk to you."

His eyes darkened at my tone, the air between us shifted.

After a long moment, he nodded.

"Not here."

~

As we walked, my mind wouldn't shut the fuck up.

I was shocked I hadn't lost my sanity yet, considering the horrors I had witnessed.

I had seen men slaughter without hesitation,

without thought—cutting down children, women, entire families as if they were nothing more than livestock. I had seen the dead-eyed stares of the enslaved, their freedom and dignity stolen, their bodies reduced to mere property.

I had seen them brutalized in ways that twisted my stomach.

And I had done little to stop it.

And I knew deep down, I was no better than them.

~

We found a secluded spot near the outskirts of the village, where the trees stretched high.

Rollo sat on a fallen log, arms resting on his knees, waiting. Watching.

I sat across from him and met his gaze.

"Before I say anything, you have to promise me something," I said, my voice firm. "You will tell no one of what we speak. Not Ragnar. Not anyone."

Rollo frowned. "Why?"

"Just promise me."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine."

I inhaled deeply, steadying myself before speaking the words I had never said aloud.

"I have made a terrible mistake, Rollo." I

clenched my fists, feeling my nails bite into my palms. "I have fallen in love.

Rollo blinked, caught off guard. "That is what troubles you?" He scoffed. "Hildr, love is not a crime—"

"It is when it's Lagertha."

Silence.

The amusement drained from his face, replaced by shock.

"That is... problematic."

"I know," I whispered. My fingers found a twig, absently peeling it apart.

Rollo let out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face. "So what? You speak to Ragnar. You tell him. You sort it out—"

"I slept with her last night."

His head snapped toward me so fast I thought he'd break his own damn neck.

"Gods, woman." He let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You have certainly put yourself in an impossible position, haven't you?"

I sighed, throwing the twig aside and rubbing my temples. "You think I don't know that?"

Rollo studied me for a long moment. "And what now? Are you going to fight Ragnar for her?"

"No."

"Why not?" He threw up his hands. "She was in your bed, not his."

"Because Lagertha belongs with Ragnar."

He barked out a short, incredulous laugh. "I don't get it." His voice dripped with mockery. "Did she not participate willingly? Did you force her?"

My head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Of course not." My hands lifted instinctively, palms open, as if warding off the accusation.

"Then why are you acting like you've lost?" He gestured to me, exasperated. "You won, Hildr. Ragnar lost."

'This was no victory.'

"I have betrayed him," I said, my voice quiet but heavy. "After he confessed his feelings for Lagertha, I encouraged him to pursue her."

Rollo went silent, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"You don't understand."

"Then help me understand."

I hesitated. "I had a dream, Rollo. A vision."

His brow arched. "Since when do you believe in such things?"

"Since it has unfolded right before my eyes." I swallowed. "I dreamt of Lagertha coming into our lives days before. I saw her with Ragnar, their children—a boy and a girl. Their victories. I saw her standing beside him as his dream became reality."

'Of course, I was bullshitting. But what choice did I have?'

Rollo's expression darkened. "You think this was meant to be?"

"I don't think—I know." I clenched my jaw. "And now I have ruined it."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "From what I have come to understand. Ragnar loves her, you also love her, but she chose you. And because of some dream, you are going to let him take her without a fight?"

I nodded.

Rollo scoffed, rubbing his face. "You are a fool, Hildr."

I exhaled, jaw tightening. "That is the truth." I stood, looking down at him. "Even though you and Ragnar are not my blood, you are my brothers, are you not?"

Rollo snorted, standing with me. "You've been with us since we were in our mother's womb."

"Then what kind of older sister would I be if I sabotaged my little brother's future?" I gripped his shoulder. "Have you forgotten our oaths?"

Rollo looked down. "No. I haven't."

———

Third pov

~Eight Years Ago~

A moon casted a pale glow over the hidden clearing deep within the Kattegat forests, where three young figures stood before a flat stone, its surface freshly carved with runes. The distant howl of wolves is the only witness to their pact.

Hildr, just sixteen, towered over the younger brothers, strands of her dark hair falling loose from her braid. Her sharp sea-green eyes burned with conviction as she unsheathed her seax, the blade gleaming under the moonlight.

Rollo, barely thirteen, stood beside her, his broad shoulders already showing the promise of the warrior he would become. His long brown hair was unkempt, his youthful face still soft with traces of childhood, but his grip on his dagger was steady. He watched Hildr closely, trusting her as he always had.

Ragnar, only twelve, was the smallest of the three, but his piercing blue eyes held the fire of a dreamer. His golden hair, messy from their trek. Yet, even as the youngest, he stood tall, proud, unafraid.

Hildr sliced her palm first, the pain sharp but insignificant. She clenched her fist, letting her blood drip onto the stone before passing the blade to Rollo. He did the same, a hiss escaping through his teeth, but his gaze was resolute. Finally, Ragnar took the blade, his grip determined, and let his blood join theirs.

Their hands clasped together, palms slick with the mingling crimson.

And together they spoke the words.

"By the gods who watch, by the steel we wield, by the blood we spill—"

Their voices, young yet unwavering, carried through the night.

"We three are bound beyond time, beyond death, beyond fate itself."

Ragnar's grip tightened around theirs, his boyish face set with an expression far too solemn for his age.

"No blade shall sever, no treachery shall shatter, no king shall command us apart."

Rollo swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his youthful eyes flickering between Hildr and Ragnar.

"Should one fall, the others will avenge; should one stray, the others will guide."

Hildr's voice was steady, firm.

"Let our bond be as iron, our trust as the sea, our legacy as eternal as the stars."

The wind stirred the leaves around them, as if the gods themselves were listening.

"We are brothers and sister in blood, in battle, in destiny—"

They stood as one, their shadows merging beneath the moonlight.

"Until the end of all things."

As the last words faded, Hildr released their hands, her eyes locking onto theirs.

"This is our vow. No matter what comes, no matter who stands against us—we stand together."

Rollo gave a sharp nod, wiping his bloodied palm against his tunic. "Always."

———

Rollo looked at me, his blue eyes searching mine. Then he sighed.

"Then what are you going to do?"

I forced my voice steady. "To make sure I don't disturb this more than I have, I'll be leaving today."

Rollo stiffened, his expression darkening. "What?"

"Earl Haraldson asked me to help a woman struggling through childbirth. She is the wife of someone important. I was meant to leave in a few weeks, but I will leave today." I met his gaze. "Before I ruin Ragnar's future further."

Rollo's nostrils flared. "You are running."

"No. I am doing what must be done."

A long silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I hesitated, forcing myself to continue.

"I need a favor."

His hands clenched into fists, but after a long pause, he sighed. "And what would you have me do?"

I hesitated. "Deliver a message to Lagertha."

His brows furrowed, unease flickering in his eyes. "What message?"

I didn't answer.

Because just thinking about it was enough to break me.

******

/ Author/

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