18 years later.
Scandinavia, 791 a.d.
The morning sun stretched warmly across the snowy white Oak forest a few kilometers away from Lagertha and Ragnar's and their children's home.
Baldur was riding across the white landscape on a black horse as he ventured into the forest, covered in furs, not feeling the cold at all. He was now eighteen years old, and he would get his arm ring anytime now and pledge with the Earl, just as his father had.
Accompanying him was his twin sister Gyda, riding a strong white mare. She had grown into a beautiful and splendid woman from the little baby sister he remembered—the one who always followed him around, crawling all over the place. Now she was a sexy, blooming woman with a devilish body and a gentle temperament that could shift to fierce at any moment, just like their mother, Lagertha. After all, Mother had raised her to be just like her: a gentle and perfect wife to her partner, loving to her family, yet strong and fierce like a lioness to others. She had trained Gyda to become a shield-maiden at the same time he trained under their father.
By now, after living more than half of his previous life, he already knew where he was... Somehow, he'd been sent into the Vikings TV show—or so he thought... Unless it was the real Ragnar from the tales? But he quickly denied that thought; it had to be the Vikings TV series, and somehow, he'd become the firstborn of Ragnar Lothbrok and Lagertha the shield-maiden. And there was even a weird change: Gyda had been born as his twin sister! This world was so fucking weird. A pity he didn't remember too much about it—hell, he'd even dropped the show after Ragnar's death.
Two years after my birth—and Gyda's—they had Bjorn, our little brother and newest follower.
Growing up in this different era from his previous life, with a whole new understanding of rules, morals, and ethics, he had a fresh perspective and outlook on life. As he adores his twin sister Gyda—who looks like our mother—and given that they were always together, never separating from each other, they share a connection... one that makes them even closer than... simple brothers... the same kind of bond he shares with his mother...
He decided years before to make her his wife. And soon enough, that thought would become a reality.
Yes, my wife. There is no law at this time that prohibits marriage between siblings or parents and children; you could even have as many wives or concubines as one liked, given that you had the necessary resources to support them all. Wives, it was more tricky by the benefits they have and the most problematic if they were to divorce you, concubines not so much. The same was for the number of Thralls, or better known as slaves; you could have as many as you liked.
He planned to have a good life this time. A life of promiscuity. Something that he could have never thought of in the 'modernity' and all his sort of shitty morals and ethics constraints.
I love the Norse Gods and the people following them. I would leave aside my belief in the Lord and instead wage war in Odin's name; I would make sure that the Norse faith doesn't decline in my lifetime. What a beautiful way to live in the world compared to all the restraints of Christianity.
I lived by the Lord's Will and teaching, yet I still haven't gained access to Heaven after death. So now that I'm born Nordic, I plan to live like a Viking and discard any absurd speck of morality and modern shitty thought and aspire for Valhalla in my old age. Yes, old age, because I don't plan to die before having a hundred wives and a thousand concubines like the Chinese emperors.
Baldur could already speak in Old Norse fluently and had already adapted to the life in this era; there was no middle option, you adapted or you became a nuisance. So he embraced what he considered becoming a savage to survive this time, different from the happy life of the future, where people could enjoy the benefits of the rights that were acquired by the suffering of people before them. People thought that they had the right to everything just by being born, and never crossed in their minds the thought that those rights were made possible by people over the numerous centuries of hard work, countless deaths, and wars.
Now, those things don't exist; here, the supreme right is that the biggest fist is the truth. So I made sure that my fist was big and could punch with enough force to kill anybody in front of my path.
Thankfully, he was born blessed. Lagertha and Ragnar were right, as they had told him many times. He really was blessed by the gods.
But he wanted to digress, because he wasn't sure if it was a God or something else that favored him.
In any case, he was blessed by something.
He had a supernatural body; he grew faster, becoming tall and strong like an ox, faster and agile like a cheetah, and savage and untamed like a wolf. He never got sick or weak; he could even regenerate wounds quickly, even if they were deep enough. It just took a few hours to be like new, depending on the damage; it would seal and stop the bleeding, and then start repairing itself.
At 18 years old, he stood at 1.85 meters tall. His body was packed with muscles that held dangerous power—enough to knock out any man down with a single punch—but it was nowhere near as dangerous as his 30 cm horse cock, which had his sister and mother obsessed just looking at it, making them bite their lower lip every time they caught sight of it.
If he were born again in the XXI century, he could make a living as a pornstar.
His sister, like his mother, also got blessed by their bond with him—they seemed to possess the same benefits he currently had, but in a toned-down version, being able to compete with grown men in strength, something that helped them both as shield-maidens. He considered himself like the protagonist of a story, given what happened to him and the not-so-normal life he currently had.
The thing that made him smile was having a rare golden eye; it was so beautiful to look into it that sometimes he felt like Narcissus. His other eye was blue like the sea, and his perfect Nordic look attracted any woman or girl that set his sight upon him. It was a plus, but having a sister and mother who preferred to eat alone between the two of them made it hard to make use of these perks.
Naturally, all these advantages bred nothing but bitter envy and petty resentment from lesser men—men who'd kill to have what they couldn't earn. If they've got a fucking issue with it, they can march their sorry asses straight to the Allfather and voice their grievances there. Spare me the sniveling.
.....
Baldur's golden locks whipped behind him as he clung to the saddle confidently while riding at high speed. His mount, Unnvaldr, a black stallion with the spirit of Sleipnir pulsing through its veins, or so he liked to boast, galloped with untamed joy. The hooves tore into the soft, damp soil, and Baldur, arms spread wide, embraced the world with a reckless grin carved across his face.
"Mín ørlög nálgast," (My destiny draws near.) Baldur shouted to the snowy wind.
Gyda, who rode beside him in her white mare, Hvíta. Also shouted after him. "ok brúðkaup várt líka, bróðir" (and our marriage too, brother)
The breeze roared past their ears, tearing through their hair, stinging their eyes. Baldur laughed into the wild, feeling alive and unrestrained. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning back on the saddle as Unnvaldr carried him through the forest.
Eventually, the forest thickened, and Unnvaldr slowed to a trot. Baldur smiled and tugged the reins, and the stallion obediently snorted and eased to a halt.
"Are you feeling excited, sister?" Baldur asked as he looked at Gyda beside him. "It will not be much longer before we are married."
"Mmh-hm." Gyda nodded shyly as she looked at her twin brother with love and affectionate eyes. "Yes, I have been waiting for this for so long, brother."
"Haha." Baldur laughed happily. "Kicking father ass in combat for your hand wasn't easy, you know, little sister?"
"I felt bad leaving Dad hurt like that before he surrendered."
Gyda rolled her eyes at his words. "Shut up, it was impossible for Daddy to take you in combat."
"I remember even how easily you hurt Uncle Rollo years before, after he tried to harass Mother, he never dared to come back to our house for a visit with you around."
"Mhmph." Baldur snorted a little in disgust. "Who the hell gave him the balls to try that with our mother?"
"He should be thankful I didn't kill him there, after Father and Mother's plea."
Gyda, who was smiling as they talked while looking around, spotted—up ahead, through the canopy—a herd of deer grazing in a golden break of sunlight, delicate and unaware. She made a sound and gave her brother a signal, who spotted them quickly.
Baldur slid from the saddle, his movements silent and fluid. He pulled a bow from the leather sheath at the saddle's side, moving like a ghost—boots silent over the forest ground—and crouched near a fallen log. The scent of damp bark and animal musk filled his nostrils. Gyda appeared beside him, her own bow in hand. They exchanged a glance, a silent signal, as they quickly prepared: picking their targets, tensing the bowstrings with arrows drawn from their quivers, fingers steadying over the fletching. Their breathing slowed.
The group of deer, young and sleek, grazed near a stream, unaware of their predators in their midst. Gyda aimed, her breath steady, her heartbeat calm.
*CRACK.*
The sound of the bowstring echoed through the trees like thunder as the arrow flew. The deer flailed, stumbled, then fell. It tried to stand again but collapsed, thrashing weakly as time passed. A clean shot—the arrow pierced deep through the ribs, likely nicking the heart.
Meanwhile, Baldur, hearing his sister's release of the arrow, followed suit. His own shot struck a second deer in the hind legs, dropping it to the ground in a panicked struggle. It tried to stand and run, but a second arrow finished it, leaving the beast trashing on the ground.
They both stayed still a moment longer, letting their blood settle in their veins. Then Baldur stood, slinging his bow over his back, and stepped forward. "Good shot, Gyda."
"Mh." Gyda smiled, walking beside him with her bow in hand and another arrow nocked—just in case.
Baldur knelt beside the deer his sister shot, unsheathed a dagger from his waist, and slashed the deer in his heart, finishing him. After a moment, the deer ceased moving as his eyes were wide open. He pressed a hand to the deer, feeling the warm body. "What a good shot, the arrow fucked him,"
"Hehe," Gyda smiled as she tilted forward, also observing the deer. Baldur then stood and moved to the one he shot and put him out of his misery.
"Well, it didn't take long before we got lucky hunting two nice deer, and we will enjoy fresh deer meat today. Hopefully Mom, Bjorn, and Dad like it."
"What did you say?"
"For sure! Mom and Dad will be happy, and Bjorn, who surely would be saying he could also have killed a deer, would like it." Gyda was excited about having hunted a deer.
Baldur laughed. "Bjorn's always grumpy, trying to compete with me." He walked beside Gyda, his gaze locked onto her eyes as he leaned in closer.
Gyda's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing as she looked at Baldur's handsome face and piercing eyes. She closed the last sliver of space between them, her fingers curling into his tunic as she pulled him into a hungry kiss. A soft, needy moan escaped her when his lips parted, her tongue slipping past his teeth to claim his mouth. The kiss was deep, wet, and desperate—teeth clashing, breath mingling—before they finally broke apart, Gyda's lips a little swollen and glistening.
"At least our little brother doesn't try to compete with me for your affection," Baldur rumbled, his voice rough and possessive as his thumb traced her lower lip. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have a little brother anymore."
"Don't say that!" Gyda snapped, her fist connecting with his shoulder—hard enough to make him grunt. "Not everyone is like us," she hissed, her fingers digging into his jaw as she yanked his face back to hers. "Bjorn has normal tastes, unlike you." She kissed him again, fiercer this time, her teeth nipping his lip before soothing the sting with her tongue. A whimper vibrated against his mouth as her free hand slid down his chest, possessive and demanding. "And if you ever think about touching our little brother," she growled between kisses, her hand gripping his balls, "I'll break your spear, and Mother would gladly support it."
As they separated, Baldur grunted, rolling his eyes at her. "Don't make threats you'll never carry out, sister. If you damage the goods, how would you enjoy a pleasant life?"
"Just having you beside me is enough to make me happy," Gyda said mischievously.
"I don't believe it. I'd kill myself before living without my cock to fuck you." Baldur harrumphed as he walked away. "Wait while I fetch the ropes." He didn't wait for an answer, quickly moving to Unnvaldr to grab ropes from the leather bag across the horse's flanks.
Baldur leaned forward slightly, brushing a hand through the horse's mane, and smiled, satisfied. "We fetched two good prey so fast, didn't we, boy?"
"You and Hvíta will have to carry them."
Unnvaldr and Hvíta, beside him, whinnied softly—as if in agreement. Baldur smirked as he took a waterskin filled with mead and drank from it.
ROAR!!! Suddenly, a loud, beastly sound echoed from behind Baldur, making his eyes widen. He identified the animal without even turning to look.