At Ragnar and Lagertha's Home
Lagertha hurriedly gathered the laundry from the clothesline, her breath visible in the biting cold. There was a storm brewing on the horizon, and the snowfall was growing heavier with each passing moment.
Meanwhile, nearby Ragnar swung his axe with steady rhythm, splitting logs to pile up for the wood storage and to fuel the hearth in the house that was used both for warmth and for cooking.
"Ragnar!" Lagertha called, pausing with an armful of damp clothes. "The snowstorm is closing in, and it's getting worse by the second."
"I see it, my love," Ragnar replied, exhaling sharply as he split another log. "I already sent Bjorn to bring the animals into the pens."
"And Gyda and Baldur?" Lagertha asked, her voice tight with worry.
"What about them?" Ragnar grunted, swinging the axe again.
"I'm worried!" she pressed.
"They left this morning. Do you think they'll make it back in time?"
"They'll be fine," Ragnar said, his tone reassuring. "The boy will look after his sister."
"And even if we wanted to send someone after them, where would they look? That forest is vast and too far."
"I know… I just…" Lagertha sighed, plucking another garment from the line. "I can't shake the fear that something might happen to them."
Ragnar set down his axe and moved to stand beside her, his voice reassuring. "Don't fret, wife. They'll return safely."
Just then, Bjorn appeared in the distance, struggling to herd a chaotic mix of pigs and goats toward the pens. Ragnar and Lagertha exchanged amused glances at their youngest son's determined efforts.
"I'd better go help him before he loses them all," Ragnar chuckled.
"Go on," Lagertha urged, gently patting his arm. "Don't let him wear himself out."
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Elsewhere, Near Home
Baldur and Gyda rode hard through the deepening snow, the storm now fully upon them. Night fell fast, the last sliver of sunlight vanishing behind the horizon. Home was close, if they could only outpace the worsening weather. Their saddle seats were tied with a strong rope to keep the horses close, ensuring neither strayed from the other.
"Wait, Gyda!" Baldur shouted over the howling wind.
Gyda, barely able to see through the swirling snow, turned toward his voice. "What?!" she yelled back.
"Let's make a torch, there's almost no light left. We're riding blind!" Baldur stopped his horse, and Gyda followed, dismounting beside him. She moved closer as he rummaged through the leather bag strapped to his horse's flank.
"Maybe, we should've stayed at Hrold's," Gyda muttered, her breath fogging in the cold. "This was a bad idea."
"Don't worry, we'll make it," Baldur reassured her, squeezing her left hand and pulling her against his body.
"Ah~~—!" Gyda gasped in surprise, but warmth spread through her as Baldur kissed her lips. "Hmn...uuhn~~… brother~…"
"We will make it," he said firmly, meeting her gaze. Then he turned to a nearby tree, cutting two sturdy branches—perfect for improvised torches. He walked to the sled and unsheathed his seax, slicing strips of fabric from the bandits' clothes.
He tied the fabric to the branches, forming thick bundles to soak in bear fat. Finishing the two torches, he handed them to Gyda. "Hold these."
She took them without question, watching as he repositioned the bear's carcass. Drawing his knife, he sliced into its belly just above the hindquarters, where the hide was softest. Blood spilled onto the snow, but he ignored it, digging past slick organs until he found the omentum—a thick, greasy sheet of fat. With a brutal tug, he tore it free.
Gyda wordlessly passed him a torch. Baldur stuffed the cloth into the bear's open belly, pressing it against the fat. The fabric darkened as blood and grease soaked in.
"Fuck, this looked simpler in my head," he muttered. "Too much blood. The torch'll sputter like a drunk's fire."
"Here." Gyda handed him birch bark from her pouch.
Baldur nodded, unwrapping the sodden cloth and layering the bark against the fat-soaked fabric. "Clever girl," he praised. She smirked.
With his knife, he scraped fat from the bear's flank, twisting it around the torch's base to bind everything. The grease oozed between his fingers. He could feel Gyda's eyes on him, but his focus never wavered; it had to burn.
"Alright, let's see if this works." He struck flint with his seax—once, twice—before a spark caught. The bark crackled first, then the fat hissed as it melted. The flame flickered weakly, orange and uncertain. Baldur blew gently, coaxing it. Smoke curled into his face, bitter and thick with the scent of animal fat.
Then—whoomph—the torch roared to life, casting jagged shadows across Gyda's smiling face.
"Dad'll laugh when he hears we lit our way home with a bear's guts," she said cheerfully, nudging his arm.
Baldur chuckled, wiping his hands on his thighs before repeating the process with the second torch. Then they mounted up again.
..............
-Later-
"Luckily, we made these torches, I can barely see a damn thing," Baldur shouted over the wind. "But we're here! Those lights in the distance are homesteads' hearths in our land."
"It also helped to warm us a little bit, thank Odin, I'm freezing my ass off, brother," Gyda yelled back, her teeth chattering.
"Wait—we're almost there." Baldur pointed ahead. A dozen dim lights glowed in the distance—homes of the families who worked their land. Farther off, near the mountain, clustered buildings marked his compound; there was the workshop, his work in the last few years, where he was trying to produce things to make money from trade and bartering. The place also had a few crude buildings that housed the workers' families and a few men he recruited to protect the land and as a workhand.
He considered detouring to leave the bear with Jokul —a berserker he had as a subordinate that he came across by luck— and the other hands—they'd be bored enough, training all day and watching over the place—but dismissed the thought. He wanted to boast of his kill to his father and Bjorn. Besides, Gyda had grown restless in the last hours. Better to go straight home.
..............
As they stopped before the house, Baldur told Gyda, "Go knock. Make noise—let them know it's us."
"I'll take the horses to the stable and drag the bear and deer to the skinning shed," he added. "I'm starving for their meat after hauling these bastards all this way."
"Fine! I'll tell Mom and Dad we're back!" Gyda dismounted, torch in hand, and hurried toward the house.
Baldur led the horses into the stable, giving them food and water before leaving. "Stay warm, you two. Don't cause trouble tonight." Then he dragged the sled toward the skinning shed.
The shed was bloody cold and dark, so the first thing Baldur did was grab two logs from a nearby wood pile storage, chop them, and fuel the brazier inside the shed to light up the inside and warm it. "Now it's bloody better," Baldur muttered, rubbing his cold hands by the fire.
After warming up, he lit the torches on the walls for more light. Once he could see clearly, he hoisted the deer upside down from the ceiling rafters before turning to the bear. With a grunt, he heaved it onto the central worktable, ready for butchering. The beast's massive body looked like a sleeping bear, if not for its tongue lolling comically from its mouth and its bulging eyes.
He walked to a wooden bucket where cold water sat, a thin layer of ice cracked under his knife as he cleaned his hands. Sighing in relief, he barely had time to catch his breath before the door burst open.
"Baldur!" Lagertha's voice cut through the quiet, sharp with relief. She rushed in first, her fur-lined cloak dusted with snowflakes, her blue eyes bright with worry—then overwhelming joy. Without hesitation, she crashed into him, arms wrapping around his broad frame as she pressed her face against his chest. "You fool," she murmured, voice muffled against his leather armor. "Riding out in this storm, what if something had happened to you and your sister? You should've taken shelter somewhere instead of coming in the dark."
Baldur chuckled, looking down at his mother's petite, plump body pressed against him as she gazed up into his eyes. He returned the embrace just as fiercely, his hands slipping under her fur cloak to grab her curvy, soft ass over her dress.
"Ah!~~...son!!" Lagertha exclaimed with a yelp at his usual way of greeting.
Baldur didn't give her time to continue with her next words as he pulled her into a wet, tongue-filled kiss. His tongue quickly moved past her teeth as he playfully searched her over and over as he teased her. "Delicious..."
"UUHN...!" Saliva dripped between their chins as their kiss got more and more wet. "MN~!..Ah~...." Lagertha moaned into the kiss as Baldur enjoyed the feel of her plump buttocks in his strong hands.
When they finally separated, a fine thread of saliva between them, he continued, "We didn't think this storm would hit so suddenly. It caught us off guard; it seems Loki was up to mischief today."
"Luckily, the gods were on our side, and we made it back." He kept one hand on her nice ass, enjoying the feeling of it as he gestured to the deer and bear with the other, smirking. "And look what we brought."
Lagertha, though, enjoyed his touch as her body was trembling with warmth and happiness from it, pulled back just enough to slap his arm—hard. "Don't joke. You and your sister had us worried sick." But then her gaze flicked to the massive bear, and her scowl melted into astonishment. "…You killed this?"
"With my own hands," Baldur boasted, though his grin faltered slightly at the memory of the bear's claws raking his arm. The wound had scabbed over, but Gyda's panicked face still lingered in his mind.
Before Lagertha could scold him further, Ragnar and Bjorn barreled in, their leather boots kicking up straw. Baldur subtly pinched his mother's smooth ass one last time, making her moan softly against him before pulling his hand away from her ass to her hips, just in time for it to look like a mother-son embrace.
"Brother!" Bjorn's voice was a mix of awe and worry. "Gyda said you both came back!" Bjorn crushed Baldur in a bear hug, welcoming him home as Lagertha stepped away, her flushed face and somewhat weak legs unnoticed by the others. As the guys greeted each other, she leaned to grasp the table where the bear was for stability, calming her raging fire down there.
"Yeah, just a moment ago, brother," Baldur smiled, returning the greeting. "Look what Gyda and I hunted today. You stayed back to train and spar with Jokul and the others instead of coming with us."
Bjorn's eyes widened at the bear on the table. "You actually hunted a bear?"
Ragnar clapped Baldur on the back, pride evident. "A bear, eh? Not bad, son. I knew you'd slay one someday. Though I still hold the record for the biggest kill in this family." He winked mischievously, but his eyes gleamed with genuine admiration.
Baldur rolled his eyes. "Oh? And what was that, Father? A particularly stubborn goat?"
Ragnar barked a laugh. "Damn, boy. You know what bear I mean. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't be here."
Lagertha scoffed, though her lips twitched. "The bear I and your brother Rollo helped you kill?"
"Details," Ragnar waved off, cheeks reddening slightly.
Gyda slipped in last, bringing chicken jerky and mead for Baldur after warming herself by the fire for a bit. She set them down before wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek against his back. "Mom, Dad—you'd never guess everything that happened today," she said in a high-pitched, mischievous tone, teasing her brother.
Baldur turned and kissed her lips in front of the family, trying to silence her. "Don't make trouble, little sister."
Gyda, with a blush, pinched his side. "Fool~." She snickered.
"No, tell us, Gyda. What happened?" Lagertha's voice cut through, eyes flicking between her son and daughter curiously.