"No, tell us, Gyda. What happened?" Lagertha's voice cut through, her eyes flicking between her son and daughter curiously.
Lagertha didn't finish talking as she looked at her children—her face changed when she saw the right arm of her dear son bandaged, a little blood still visible. "Baldur!" she cried out, worried, as she caught his arm, examining it. "Did you get hurt hunting the bear?"
"Yeah... but don't worry, Mother. It's just a scratch," Baldur cooed gently. "It's already fine, and we even got it treated."
"Did you bandage him, Gyda?" Lagertha asked, still worried. "Did you use something to clean and treat the wound?"
"I did a simple bandage, Mom... I didn't carry anything to put over it. But... later, we found someone who helped us treat him."
"A beautiful pair of girls," Gyda snickered. "Who cleaned and covered his wound with their utmost care."
"Oh?" Ragnar made a sound, his interest piqued. "Tell us more, Gyda. Now I'm also curious, what kind of 'beautiful girls' did you encounter on the road back?"
"Dad, you know... it was a mother and daughter who so unselfishly came forward to treat him. They wouldn't take no for an answer!"
"Brother, how did you do it?" Bjorn sighed helplessly. "You go out to hunt deer but bring back a bear, and random women appear to help you... I want to be blessed too!"
"Alright, you can chat all you want," Baldur cut in, trying to stop the fuss. "But the bear and the deer won't skin themselves. We need to process them before they spoil."
He looked at his lovely mother. "Mother, have you cooked already?"
"Not yet, I was thinking of roasting chicken and soup," Lagertha said after pulling her gaze from his arm, seeing it was already fine. "Do you want to eat something else, love?"
"Well, yeah... I want to eat bear and deer tonight, both of them, for being such a bother to move around in this storm."
"Good idea," Ragnar said suddenly, wanting something better than chicken. He pulled his knife from his belt. "I want bear."
With the greetings out of the way, the family helped process the bear and deer to avoid spoiling. Ragnar and Bjorn took care of the bear, their knives flashing as they peeled back the thick hide, trying to preserve it. Lagertha and Gyda took the hanging deer.
"Tell us everything," Lagertha demanded as she worked, still curious. Her blade sliced cleanly through sinew. "Start from the beginning."
Baldur leaned against a wooden pillar in the shed, resting while eating the jerky chicken his sister had brought him. "Well, we left in the morning, as you know, and rode all the way to the Vargaskógur forest—a dozen miles away—without stopping. Just as we'd planned."
"As we rode into it, we got lucky. It didn't take long before Gyda spotted a group of deer grazing near a stream, oblivious to danger."
She signaled me, and we dismounted, moving closer. We took position and picked our targets. She took the first with a clean shot through the heart. I got the second, but I botched it—hit the leg. It got up and tried to run. Had to shoot another soon after, then finish it with my knife as it thrashed around."
"They were easy prey, couldn't have been simpler."
Bjorn snickered. "Are you sure you hunted the deer, brother?"
"I don't see a second one here," Bjorn said, dramatically looking around the shed. Even joking, he still took a serious peek—but found nothing.
Gyda tossed a scrap of deer hide at him. "Hey, don't be an ass. He did hunt a deer, but he left it for the women and their family as a token of appreciation. Besides, they lent us this sled"—she pointed to it—"to move the bear and deer easier, along with the other things."
"If you'd come, maybe we'd have another deer hanging here. But knowing your impatience that is worse than Baldur's, little brother, you'd probably trip over your own feet and scare them off."
Bjorn scowled, but there was no real heat in it. "I've killed plenty too!"
"Pigs and chickens don't count," Gyda giggled.
"Alright, that was a good one," Bjorn said wryly. "Mother, Father—do you see my sister? She's not even married to Baldur yet, and she's already covering for him like a mama bear!"
Ragnar chuckled, shaking his head. But his eyes sharpened as he noticed the sled, which had three axes, a crude bow, clothes, and other items resting on it. Something else happened besides the bear. "Children, please. Baldur, continue. What happened after the deer?"
Baldur's grin faded slightly. "The bear happened. I moved to get a few ropes from the horses, and this big, fat beast appeared behind me out of nowhere."
Silence fell for a heartbeat. Then Ragnar's eyes sharpened. "And how did you fight it?"
"The little fucker charged at me as soon as it roared, but I was fast enough to grab the shield and sword from Unnvaldr."
"I managed to block its swinging paw with the shield, but it started to crack, splinters flew everywhere," Baldur admitted. "Soon, Gyda emerged from the bushes like a ferocious huntress, distracting it with an arrow to the neck. But the damn thing, enraged, still tried to charge at her."
"I cut him off midway as he lunged, but it wasn't enough to kill him, just stopped him as he crashed into me."
"The bastard scratched me on the right arm as I rolled out of the way. When it tried to stand and go for Gyda again, I finished it. The fucker could barely move with the arrow in its neck and the wounds I'd given it; it was already dying."
"Good shot, Gyda," Ragnar praised, pulling the arrow from the bear's neck. "You've learned well."
Gyda smiled, happy with the praise.
"My baby isn't just a pretty girl, she's a good shieldmaiden too. She also would be able to stand against a bear like her brother," Lagertha's eyes beamed with pride. "But I don't like that you got wounded, son."
Baldur flexed his arm. "Just a scratch. Healed already."
Ragnar exhaled sharply. "You're lucky it wasn't worse. Bears don't go down easily."
"Neither do I," Baldur said with a shrug. "I stuck my sword in its chest mid-charge. Took a few swipes, but it went down."
Gyda's voice was quiet. "He could've been hurt worse."
Baldur reached over, squeezing her hand. "But I wasn't."
Lagertha's expression darkened; she didn't want to think about that.
"Then you met the 'beautiful women' on your way back?"
"No...We ran into bandits," Gyda said with a hint of disgust as she cut the deer.
Ragnar's eyes glinted ferociously, just as he'd thought. They came across trouble.
Baldur chewed a piece of chicken. "Four of them."
"We were on our way back, dragging the bear and the two deer. As we moved across a narrow path with trees covering both sides, we were suddenly ambushed by these four pieces of shit. They looked like vagrants, armed with axes and a bow."
"First, three blocked our path. They demanded everything, trying to intimidate us. To me, they were laughable. I tried to send them away before I killed them. But when they started talking about 'having their way' with Gyda… they were already dead."
"As I made a gesture to dismount, they took it as surrender. I just killed the first one when he got close."
"The fourth man—hiding behind a tree with a bow—reacted fast. He shot at me, but I shielded myself with the first bastard's body. That's when Gyda killed him with a shot to the throat. He died right there."
"Well done, sweetie," Lagertha smiled, caressing her daughter's hand.
Ragnar was also pleased; his daughter wasn't shy about defending herself. She'd make a fierce shieldmaiden, just like her mother. "Good. Well killed."
"What?!" Bjorn's eyes nearly popped out. He couldn't believe his sister had already killed a man, what's more, before him! Still, he praised her: "Nicely done, sister."
"It was nothing, just a worm. We gave them a chance to leave, but they didn't take it," Gyda shrugged, smiling inside at their praise. Feeling good with herself.
"The other two recovered from the first death and charged at me with their axes. But they were jokes in combat. In the end, their leader tried to beg for mercy…"
Baldur showed his teeth in a sordid smile. "And I gave him my mercy—killing him quickly with one of their own axes."
"You should have seen his face, the man shat himself as he saw me pick the axe."
"Ugh...Throw away these things. Why did you bring them here?" Lagertha made a disgusting face as she looked at the clothes in the sled.
"Don't worry, mother. We can give them to others to have them."
Bjorn whistled. "Damn. And here I thought my day was exciting. I just had to chase down a runaway pig." He laughed. "Well, besides training and chores around the farm."
"Damn, now I wish I'd gone with you instead of staying here," Bjorn sighed. He could've killed his first man. Now Gyda had one, and Baldur three.
Gyda smirked. "What about the pig? Did you let it run away, little brother?"
"I caught it!"
Baldur laughed, the tension easing. "Sounds like you had quite the adventure too, brother."
Bjorn rolled his eyes.
"What about the bodies, would they be a problem?" Ragnar asked.
"No... I don't think so. We left them out in the open where they dropped. Let the animals handle the cleanup. And if someone somehow shows up looking for trouble? No problem."
As the family worked, Baldur recounted the rest, how Hrold had appeared soon after the bandits, offering help, and how they'd ended up at his farm, meeting his family.
...............
By the time they finished butchering, the storm outside howled like a wounded beast, its fury shaking the wooden beams of the house. Inside, the hearth blazed fiercely, its heat radiating through the room. Beside it, a manual rotating spit—turned occasionally by Baldur—skewered the bear's four legs and a deer's leg, roasting over the flames. Hanging from a wrought-iron fireplace crane above the fire was a heavy iron pot, its stew bubbling with thick slices of bear and deer meat, vegetables, and simmering herbs. The rich scent of roasting meat mingled with the aroma of herbs and vegetables from the stew, filling the air with a mouthwatering smell.
Lagertha stirred the pot now and then, while Gyda stood beside her, occasionally glancing at Baldur with a playful glint in her eyes. She tended to a grill grate, also suspended from the crane, where bear and deer hearts, intestines, sweetbreads, kidneys, and livers sizzled over the fire.
Ragnar and Bjorn sat at the table, passing a jug of ale between them. The firelight danced across their faces, casting long shadows that flickered with every crackle of the flames. The family had finished butchering the bear and deer, storing most of the meat in the cold cellar beneath the floorboards. Only the finest cuts remained, destined for tonight's feast.
Ragnar leaned back in his chair, biting a piece of bear meat. His blue eyes gleamed with curiosity as he fixed his gaze on Baldur. "So," he began, his voice casual but laced with intrigue, "these women—Valdris and Frida. Shieldmaidens, you said?" trying to remember if he knew someone called Valdris, but he didn't seem to have any idea of who she could be.
"Do you perhaps have any notion of this so-called shieldmaiden Valdris, love?" he asked Lagertha.
Lagertha thought for a moment, pensive. When the picture of a woman with blond hair and grey eyes, with a face painted with blood, was vaguely formed. "I have the impression, but I don't remember."
Baldur closed his eyes for a second in resignation as he cut a piece of bear leg to taste it. He chewed thoughtfully, savoring the flavor. "Mhm. Well, Valdris appears to be one, or so I've been told." He chuckled, taking a mug filled with ale, drinking from it before passing it to Gyda, who sipped the rest and refilled it for him.
"Valdris is almost surely one. I feel an air about her similar to Mom's—that's why I like her." Baldur shot Lagertha a mischievous look, and she pursed her lips in a small smile. "Her daughter, Frida, is supposedly like Gyda—trained by her mother and yet to be tested in battle."
"Another reason I like them. They both remind me so much of Mother and Gyda. They're good women."
"Valdris carries herself like a woman who's strong, decisive, and sharp-eyed, while Frida is younger but has a fire in her."
"Well, while Frida's the same age as us, now Gyda's already ahead of her; she killed a man today."
Gyda preened at the comparison, though she rolled her eyes. "Flatterer."
Lagertha took a sip of ale from the mug Gyda passed her, wetting her lips. Her voice was light, but there was an edge to it, a hint of possessiveness, a flicker of jealousy. "And they both took a liking to you?" She looked at him naturally, but her grip on the mug tightened almost imperceptibly.
Baldur's smirk deepened. He let the silence linger for a moment, savoring the tension before he answered. "They did," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Hrold seemed eager for us to meet. Almost like he'd been waiting for it." He shook his head, amused. "I mean, what are the chances? He suddenly appeared after killing those bandits—nothing seemed out of place, just another man crossing our path. But when he looked at us, his expression changed for a few seconds, and then he started enthusiastically offering help, saying the storm was getting closer and we wouldn't make it home in time dragging the bear like that."
"The old fox was quick to plan. He offered his advice and help, guiding us to his home. And then, after they appeared, he practically pushed them at me." He shrugged. "I'm just as curious about this odd situation as you all."
"It wouldn't have been weird if he'd just helped out of kindness, lent us the sled, tended my wound, and said goodbye. But no, he was very eager about this. And there was... something with those women when I saw them. I believe they felt it too... otherwise, what happened wouldn't have happened."
"In the end... I couldn't resist the temptation. Hrold seemed pleased with the result, and honestly, it helped us too. I got treated, and we got the sled to carry everything more easily."
"From what I gather," Ragnar mused, amused, "this man Hrold seems like a good man and didn't seem to have any malicious intent toward you or Gyda. And his daughter and granddaughter were the ones who took care of your wound."
"It seems to me he really likes you, kid."
"Yet, he seems to have an unknown plan for our son, Ragnar."
"My love, he just sent Baldur two women, his family at that, like a pair of fine swords—and from his tone, very pretty ones. As much as you and Gyda. Let him enjoy it."
Bjorn, a little jealous, drank from his ale. "How lucky, brother. But what about Gyda?"
"What about her?"
"How could you even think of marrying them? Where does this leave our sister?"
"It changes nothing. I'll marry Gyda as planned."
"As soon as I get the arm ring, I'll marry Gyda. Have her as my wife. I thought we'd already talked about this."
"Then what about those two women? Now you're just gonna start collecting wives? First Gyda, then these two—what's next, a whole hall full of them?"
Gyda's hand shot out, pinching Bjorn's ear hard enough to make him yelp. "Watch your mouth, stinky little brother," she hissed. "Baldur isn't doing anything I don't allow. If he wants a dozen wives, I'll let him have them if I want."
"Gyda..." Lagertha grabbed her daughter's hand, looking at her with worry and doubt. "Are you sure about that? Sharing your brother with other women?"
"Mom... I'm already doing that..." Gyda whispered softly, only for her to hear, giving her a subtle look and peeking at the tattoo on her neck.
Lagertha's words caught in her throat, a little embarrassed by her daughter's words. "S-Still... it's not the same... you know it."
"I know what you mean, but Valdris and Frida seem like good, proper women. They were quickly mesmerized by Baldur and adore him. They don't seem like a bad choice for him." Gyda continued, then blushed a bit. "He likes them too, and as he said, they seem to be like us."
Lagertha sighed. "Gyda, Baldur is your twin brother and the man you chose. If you think it's fine, then I won't say anything."
"Mom, don't worry. Baldur clearly stated I'd always be first for him... and you..." Gyda whispered in her ear.
Lagertha blushed.
Ragnar coughed slightly, drawing attention. "So, you fell into Hrold's hands, followed along, and even pushed what he started—thinking about marrying them?"
"Are you seriously considering it?"
"Mhm." Baldur nodded. "After I pledge at the next Thing, I'll marry Gyda and them both at the same time."
"The house next door that was being built for me and Gyda is already finished, so I'll have a place for them."
"Alright." Ragnar laughed. "Good boy, you've got more luck with women than your father! A mother-daughter pair... you surely know how to enjoy yourself..." He gave Lagertha a quick, meaningful glance before peeking at his daughter and looking away.
"That's a tale worth drinking to!"
"Skål," Ragnar drank in one gulp his ale.
"Skål."
"Skål."
"Skål."
"Skål." Baldur laughed and also cheered, but his gaze remained fixed on Lagertha. She had gone quiet as they began serving the food, piling the table high. He stood beside his mother, helping serve the bowls, making small talk with her. He knew that look—she didn't like it at all what she heard, but she'd go along with it.
"You're not angry, are you, Mother?"
Lagertha didn't turn around. "Should I be?"
"Only if you don't trust me."
That did it. She whirled on him, her blue eyes flashing. "Oh, I trust you, son. It's them I'm not sure about." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear. "You're Gyda's. And....m-mine... And if these new wives of yours think they can just—"
Baldur glanced fast at the table and saw that there were no Moors on the coast; his hand shot out, gripping the back of her neck. He pulled her face closer to him, cutting off her words with a searing kiss. Lagertha gasped against his lips but soon melted into it, though her eyes opened nervously as her fingers clawed at his tunic. When he finally pulled back, her breath was ragged, her lips glistening and plump.
"Don't worry," he murmured, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "This changes nothing for us. I'm sure you'll like them. You and Valdris will become great friends."
Lagertha's cheeks flushed, but her smile was pure satisfaction. "You better be right," her voice husky. "I don't share lightly."
Gyda, watching from the table as she pushed more food into her little brother's and father's bowls to distract them, bit her lip to suppress her desire at the naughty situation. 'Gods, she loved it when they were like this.'