1 The Mortal God

****WARNING!WARNING!WARNING!WARNING!******

If you have come hoping to immediately read a story about how the MC interacts with modern time Marvel, alongside major characters such as Spider-Man, Captain America and Iron Man, then I would heavily recommend you to look somewhere else.

Don't get me wrong, I'm more than glad that you've decided to give me a chance to entertain you, but it's because of that trust that I feel the obligation to inform you that I plan to have my early chapters dedicated to lingering around the Viking age (793-1066 AD).

If that sounds like a boring story, by all means, go find another story. In any event, I thank you for giving me a chance and hope you find what you are looking for.

For those that stay, you guys are awesome, feel free to ask any questions you might have as the story progresses. And please, bear first with me through some of the most awesome concepts I plant to dwell on in this story.

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On a planet without a name, 3000 years ago…

A young being questioned the reason why he couldn't eat his last apple even though he spent almost every day of his life on the brink of starvation.

His mother answered him that the apple was being left as an offering for the will of the Gods to take care and save them.

On that planet, the youngster kept questioning. If the Gods are paid to provide help for them, why didn't they save his father when he contracted the solar fever? Why is he not allowed to see him now? For that matter, why did he never see any Gods?

His mother told him about the long life his father was granted, and how he was able to see his son grow strong. She told him that he will be able to see his father again, if he has enough faith. She told him to always honor the Gods, so that they will shower him with blessings just as they did to her.

On that same planet, the youngster saw his mother being attacked and killed by sand-tigers. Her last words being: "And may the Gods watch over you, just as they have watched over me."

After an earthquake took the life of his beloved who has devoted a lifetime of obedience to those same Gods. After crying, with tears which dried out long before he could spill them, when he was forced to lie to his last son about the afterlife that awaited him once the solar fever ended his life. And after being stoned and exiled by his own superstitious people when he dared blasphemy against the same Gods he had lost faith upon. The youngster, now grown older, had a new conviction. Gods didn't listen to his prayers and there was no God that cared about his people, nor did the Gods actually watched over anyone.

Because Gods didn't exist… or so he thought.

But in the end, he was wrong. Gods did in fact exist, at least in his universe, that's what he discovered once two deities plunged out of the sky and crash-landed nearby, one dead and another severely wounded.

While his people starved to death, praying for help to mitigate their suffering, these selfish beings had the luxury to fight among themselves, without ever having to answer their prayers.

Shocked after witnessing a weakened gold-armored deity begging for help, his immediate rage resonated with the deceased God's weapon and transformed it into an amorphous mass of living darkness that bonded to his very essence.

And there, in this nameless world, the once youngster slayed his first God, vowing to seek vengeance against all gods for never answering their people's prayers, and set out to kill them all. But it was there, and whatever other place he went, the vengeful being never saw his family again.

His name was GORR, whom centuries after traveling the cosmos on a deicidal crusade would be known as the Butcher of Gods, an entity that humbled many Gods of Fear, War, Chaos, Genocide, Revenge, Plagues, Earthquakes, Blood, Wrath, Jealousy, Death, Degradation, not sparing even the least harmful deity he came across such as Gods of Poetry and Flowers.

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EXCERPT TAKEN THE IMAGINARY AXIS YOUTUBE CHANNEL!

Ragnarok, literally translated as the Doom of the Gods, is a series of future events predicted by ancient Norse writings said to bring about and involve a final battle between Odin's mighty Kingdom and the powers of Hell.

The very principalities that weave our cosmos into shape will take part in an epic clash of chaos that even they cannot survive. All of existence will be torn asunder, death will rise and the universe will be nothing forevermore.

Yeah right…

In case you didn't know, the Asgardians are one of the most powerful races in all nine realms of the cosmos. They and everything in their dimension are stronger and more formidable than what you'll typically find in the conventional universe. And have enchantments that can heal wounds, read minds, manipulate spirits, see through all of time and space, shatter galaxies and of course make hammers that practically nobody can lift.

It's only appropriate that throughout the years they've been worshiped as Gods by species like ours. I mean, when you see an old man in the sky who can bend reality by waving his hand you aren't left with many options.

Odin has a sword that can destroy the universe just by being unsheathed. How much more can the human mind comprehend?

Apparently not enough.

Because while the all-father can effortlessly contain enough mystical fire to devour creation, tear an entire universe out of the space-time continuum and sealed away, fight a dark entity that's casually erasing the cosmos, he's not omnipotent.

There are powers higher than him.

Asgardians make mistakes, they can be hurt, they can die.

And I'm not just talking about their comic book versions either, this has always been the tragedy of the Norse Gods. They might be powerful, but they fear death just like everybody else.

In fact, it's a common theme that Odin is desperate to avoid Ragnarok, whether you're reading Marvel

Comics or poetic edda, that is like at the top of his to-do list. Whatever happens, he just doesn't want to die.

Which is dumb, right? I mean, as far as we know death is inevitable.

Humans have gotten pretty good at either accepting it or not thinking about it, so what kind of comic book adaptation of a pantheon leading God King sits around worrying about the end when he lives in a mystical outer space utopia, exceeds our lifespans by thousands of years and has enough power to tear at the very fabric of the multiverse during battle?

Seriously, check your privilege dude! I know I'm gonna die someday and you won't see me constantly worrying about it.

But Ragnarok is a bit of a bigger problem than Odin's death.

The earliest manuscripts we have discussing the Ragnarok prophesies tell of everything's death. An exact layout for how the final battle of creation will go, complete with world-ending Giants, a serpent that wraps around the earth, a wolf that devours the Sun and a fiery blade that burns everything else to ashes.

It turns out the ancient Norse and Marvel's writing staff both had very similar ideas for what a battle between Gods would do to everything else.

So we should all be trying to stop this, right? I might have been a little harsh on Odin earlier for fearing death, but we aren't without self preservation.

Even as we speak, biologists are studying why we age, focusing on how to make us younger. In a way the plight of the Gods is… completely human.

If we had a way to live forever we would certainly take it, and if we thought the universe was in danger we would do everything in our power to save it. Right?

Well you can, I'm not going to. Because you see that's the thing about Ragnarok. The Gods hype it up like it's some big terrifying event.

Oh No! The universe is in danger!

But it never is. Ragnarok is 100% hype 0% substance. Not what I expect from my epic cosmos defying battles.

It's not even really the doom of the gods, some variations call it the twilight of the Gods.

Ragna (Gods) Rök (Doom of)

Ragna (Gods) Rokkr (Twilight of)

Notice how the spelling looks exactly the same? That's because to the Gods the end of the universe, or Asgard, or whatever interpretation you're reading, is just like your everyday boring day and night cycle. The Sun rises, creation starts. After noon eventually, normal life. Twilight, confusing world ending battle. And at night, everything's dead.

But what happens after enough night time? Oh look! There's the Sun again! Now we can start all over.

That's right, I don't care about whatever adventure Thor and Loki or whoever are going on, because it's already happened a thousand, thousand times.

Literally. I'm not making this up!

You know how we perceive time linearly? Like a sort of stick with one event happening after another, beginning, middle and end. Well the ancient Norse viewed time like a circle, there is no beginning, middle or end.

There is Ragnarok, there is creation, and after the Gods inevitably kill each other they're just born again, humanity rises again, the planets are recreated, stars reignite… What was even the point?!

And just so nobody accuses me of pulling out random history facts to make an irrelevant statement about a comic book character, who's clearly different from his mythological counterparts. This is 100% canon in the Marvel Universe.

That's right! Pick whatever current interpretation that you call Thor, he isn't even close to the first God to use that name. Same thing for every Loki, Odin and pretty much everything you know about the Asgardians is a lie. These guys have died countless deaths and been reborn countless times.

How many times is countless? Who knows? Time is cyclical! But at least 23.

Thor first discovered this horrible truth when consulting the prophetic eye of his father, who revealed to him that by going back far enough in his mind he could tap into the dormant memories of his previous life and the previous Asgard.

Who knows how long he, his family and his friends have been dancing on the cosmic stage. This is one of the major themes of Norse mythology, just as the present cosmos was represented by the Great Tree Iggdrasil, the past was represented by a Great Well, the well of Urd, which the tree grew out of.

The past influences the growth of the present just as the great well influences the growth of the tree. But unlike our currently widespread linear concept of time, the Norse did not continue this picture with the tree somehow influencing some other thing that stood for the future, instead, after the waters of the past flowed through the tree of the present, the tree would eventually produce dew that fell back into the well.

The past shapes the present and the present somehow shapes the past, which shapes the present, which shapes the past and we are stuck in a cycle.

Like Ragnarok.

You can actually still see the influence of this mindset in the English language today. Notice how we have ways of saying actions that occurred in the past, I ran, actions that are occurring presently, I run, but not actions that are occurring in the future, we say I will run.

Which is just a plan to run.

With no actual future, I say who cares about Ragnarok?! It has no consequences! If Thor fails and dies, who cares?! He'll just be reborn and try again later. If Asgard is burnt to ashes, who cares? It'll be back in no time.

How do I know? It's already happened. In fact it's almost enough to make you wonder about Odin's obsession with finally subverting it.

The Asgardian dream is essentially to change the flow of time, to progress. And there are some universes out there in which they succeed. Odin, Thor or somebody finally puts an end into Ragnarok once and for all.

But do we really want that? There is some freedom in the idea that what we do now might affect where we came from, rather than where we're going.

And before you just decide the Norse didn't know what they were talking about, this really isn't something you can disprove. All of our science and math works fine with nonlinear time.

Some of the more complex theories even prefer it.

We know time is relative depending on where you are in the universe, and we account for that in designing things like GPS satellites. Some people have even suggested that time might be an illusion altogether.

The fact that we seem to experience it linearly and think that things will happen later based on what we're doing right now might be completely arbitrary. So the norse proposition that we're all in a cycle is unfalsifiable.

History could have rewritten itself five minutes ago based on something you did just now. And what I really love about this is how Marvel takes that concept and runs with it.

Thor and the Asgardian Gods themselves are at times said to be a product of mankind's myths, as if belief now about what happened long ago can make that past a reality. So I understand the desire to break out of a cycle.

I'm sorry for being rude to Odin earlier, his concerns make sense. Forging your own destiny is a brave thing to strive for.

But forging your own past may be just as exciting.

So I propose we set this cycle out, let Ragnarok happen because time repeating itself isn't that bad as long as your actions are affecting something, and if you're going to be stuck in a story repeating itself over and over and over again, it might as well be a good one.

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500 AD

Home of the Norse Gods

The birth of Thor Odinson marked the beginning of a new chapter for Asgard, one that promised great prosperity with the official union between both the Aesir and Vanir tribes, two major groups who had been brutally clashing for countless eras.

The Aesir fought by the rules of plain combat, with weapons and brute force, while the Vanir used the subtler means of magic. Their war went on, with the Aesir empire being for the most part unstoppable in their conquest, even believing to have exterminated the last of the Dark Elves a millennia ago, and one by one the soon to be Nine Realms were united under Asgard rule, but always falling short of completely submitting the Vanir people.

Sensing how true peace between both factions would never birth from their absolute dominance, meanwhile discovering how uninterested in peace his firstborn actually was, preferring instead to not only keep the senseless violence but to actually enlarge its scale in order to cover the entire cosmo of existence, the Allfather did the unthinkable and banished his empire's strongest asset in the war and struck a deal with the Vanir to rule together through marriage.

However, in the end, not only did the Great War between the Norse Gods cease, but also its history ended up forgotten by the following generations that came after the birth of a God that was half Aesir and half Vanir.

As years turned into decades, Thor's presence in Asgard became a source of inspiration to all subjects of the Allfather and his bride, the Queen of the Valkyries.

His Aesir heritage was proven true once his training with the best Asgardian instructors began to yield results, being always drawn to the training grounds from a young age and watching whenever he could the skilled fighters of Asgard sparrs, always focused on their precise and powerful movements.

His Vanir heritage was proven true once he began sharing his time with the Vanir scholars, discussing the histories of various realms and their inhabitants. Or during his time in the heart of the palace, in a chamber filled with ancient artifacts and relics, studying powerful magic such as the rainbow bridge that connected the realms.

But regardless of all that, it was his interactions with the common folk that truly cemented the peace between the Gods. He walked the streets of Asgard, listening to the concerns of the people, offering his aid whenever possible. His humility and approachability endeared him to the high and lowborn alike, even the mortals from other realms began praising him a worthy God.

Unfortunately, for all the peace that reigned since Odin's executioner was banished, eventually someone would attempt to break free of their rule and revolt. From the realm of cold and darkness, came the Frost Giants, threatening to plunge the mortal world of Midgard into a new ice age, and perhaps hoping that the centuries of peace had weakened Odin's rule.

They were wrong, the Asgardian army, once a force dedicated to smash others into submission, was suddenly acting on behalf of defending the weak from oppression. Driving the Frost Giants back to the heart of their own realm, the cost to both sides was substantial, but in the end their Queen fell, with the source of their power being taken from them.

The morale of the people on Asgard could only be raised further after King Odin and Queen Frigga announced the birth of another one of their children, who they named Loki.

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Myth: "Fantastic story with oral transmission, whose protagonists are Gods, Demigods, Supernatural beings and Heroes that represent symbolically natural phenomena, history facts or aspects of human condition."

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760 AD

Asgard

A wind of change, as the Asgardians described, foretells that something entirely new was happening, announcing a rift in the flow of events that the seers were capable of perceiving, no matter how skilled one was with clairvoyance or how wise one is. Time itself simply denied anything trying to spoil the future.

The wind sneaked between the shutters in the windows of the Asgardian princess' chambers and shook even the raised wards placed on them. It provoked the flames of the outside bonfires as they danced and crackled in response, casting large shadows on the golden walls and the ornate pavement, all of which allowed the lights of the city to flicker on the horizon of the realm.

"And what about this one?" A gentle voice requested in an expecting tone from one of the highest towers of Odin's castle. The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman of regal beauty, wearing white dress woven into gentle folds, her plaited-down hair was a darker tone of red and her eyes were white-and-gold.

The women went by many aliases, such as Goddess of Marriage, Fertility, Prophecy, and Motherhood. She was Frigga, the Vanir Queen of Asgard.

"It's an array rune for protection." Another voice answered after a moment of silence, not willing to admit it actually looked like nothing more than a piece of meaningless scribbles, but the girl had learned better than to voice her thoughts.

The girl's appearance was that of a youngster still in her early teens, with long raven black hair, Snow White skin and dazzling eyes, with a gaze that flitted restlessly, like a fire in a hearth, pushed by the wind, looking for anything it could set ablaze.

Similarly to the Queen before her, the girl also went by many aliases, including Goddess of Mischief and Lies, but the Princess of Asgard much preferred to be called instead as Goddess of Serpents and Stories, or just Loki.

"And why might we need it, my dear? Aren't we durable enough to resist most types of harm?" The Queen apparently caught some uncertainty in the girl's response and decided to pry further.

"We don't. Even the rarest types of unconventional attacks won't do a thing if we are not dumb enough to allow it to hit us" Loki dismissed it as a moot point.

"We must always be prepared, sometimes our body may fail us." Frigga said before turning the pages of the book they were studying, lingering just enough on some of the chapters she felt argued her case..

"Then we just need to make sure it doesn't happen." Stated the princess as a matter-of-factly, almost forgetting her manners before her mother.

But with a seemingly infinite amount of patience, the answer Frigga gave was. "I know you prefer the school of illusions and enchantments. And you have been displaying a good grasp about the basics of the other types of magic, eighty-eight right answers from a hundred questions shows you are improving."

The Princess pretended not to be flushed with pride by her mother's compliments. Sadly, praises from her father were not as easily won.

"But I ask you to take your studies more seriously. I'm glad that your brother is helping you, but I see you facing it more as a chore than as a way to improve yourself, just as Thor does."

"I should have guessed. Took you long enough to mention him, huh? He asked you to tell me that, didn't he?" Loki played nervously with a strand of her hair, her complexion betraying her annoyance.

"He really cares for you." Her mother insisted, gently placing a hand over hers.

"He really annoys me." Loki argued.

"It is a family's place to always care..." Frigga began explaining before being quickly interrupted.

"But he gets on my nerves, I'm still trying to spook him, but the fool never pays attention." Princess Loki finished before her mother. "And don't let me get started by how obsessed he is with Midgard. Can you believe his words about pretending to be a mortal?"

"Don't worry, my dear, your father has assured me he wouldn't teach him such techniques before his first millennium. Besides, if you applied more to your studies you would know how he can notice you effortlessly regardless of how sneaky you are." The Queen pointed out, unable to hide her pride in her firstborn son. "Besides, any ruler must show interest in the lands they intend to one day rule, wouldn't you agree?"

Loki simply shrugged, dismissing Thor's warnings as just another way he found to bother her. "Don't tell me that's his excuse for why he prefers to study and train alone? I'm sure you also test him out to see if he isn't slacking off and falling behind, but do you even know on what level he is?"

As strange as it might sound, Loki finally raised a fair point. No one actually knew how proficient with magic Thor really was, even the Queen wasn't aware how far her son had reached. Not that it was a problem, none questioned his intentions or doubted how responsible he was, Frigga made a point of respecting her children's privacy.

"In any event, be sure that I will surpass him eventually. By then, Thor will be the one left in my shadow." Loki declared, clearly striving to be taken seriously, only to fail miserably to not make her mother view it as a cute outburst from her child. "Even father will have to respect me!"

That made Frigga falter a bit. "He already does, my dear! Our love for you is endless!" The candlelight found the creases about Frigga's eyes as she smiled. "Your father merely wishes to not pressure you with stressful demands. You shouldn't doubt his affection for you even for a second, work hard and be proud of yourself. And be sure that the way the Midgardians view you doesn't define who you really are. Just as your father has proved, there is no future that can't be changed, be it in grand and obvious ways or in small and subtle ones. And… try if you can take it easy on your pranks."

"Heh. Always the wisest, aren't you?" Loki failed to suppress a smile. "But I do see meaning in your words mother. Please, don't give up on me yet."

"Huh? Never!." She declared before giving her a loving embrace. "Once you gain your father's permission, you can follow your brother's example and have your own adventures on Midgard, or any other realm you wish. Show everyone who you really are and earn their praises just like we all do. You know, one day inevitably, you and your brother will succeed us." She walked around the room, stepping on the luxurious elven silk tapestry, showing signs of deep reflection. "One day Thor will need your help."

"Will he now?" Loki pondered over her armchair at that thought. "Hopefully I won't lack the necessary willingness to aid him."

"You will need him as well, my dear." Frigga assured her.

Feeling a weird sensation at the tip of her fingers, Loki held her left hand up in the air, not finding anything out of the ordinary, she quickly replied. "Are you sure? What could I possibly want from 'The Mighty Thor'?"

"It may seem natural for you to see him as your rival, but just because you both are different doesn't mean one is better than the other." The Queen insisted, still not willing to indulge Loki's melodramatic declarations.

Her daughter snorted in response. "Yeah sure, aren't you just saying it because you're our mother?"

"Am I wrong though? Hopefully one day you will understand both things can be right at the same time. And with your quick mind, skills and good heart, what could you possibly be, if not special? You may feel as a stranger among us, Loki. Any child does during that phase of their lives. But always remember: Powerful beings are many, worthy ones are very few."

"No doubt that explains why father's hammer is still collecting dust." The Princess pondered out loud.

Frigga slurped from the cup of tea she brought her daughter before starting her lessons, and nodded. "But being worthy implies having merit or value. Acting honorably or admirably. It stands to reason that one seeking a great weapon won't measure up to the criteria"

"Hero's work indeed." The Asgardian Princess finally conceded, only to not so subtly switch subjects. "Will you let me study alone after I've managed to answer all of your questions correctly?"

"You will get the tranquility you deserve, and a gift as a reward." The Queen smiled with a wink.

"Some things never change." Loki sighed, resting against her seat with closed eyes before being startled.

"Moving on… to divination." The queen slid one of the books from its shelf, stones set into a bluish diagram representing an eye.

"What? I was referring to doing it tomorrow evening. I have to be up with the Sol to feed father's ravens and wolves. And to be honest I was hoping to get some sleep before..."

"I'll let you be when you've passed the test. That was the deal, right?" Frigga chuckled.

"I will regret opening my big mouth, won't I?" Loki pouted.

"Probably!" The Queen licked one finger, ancient paper crackling as she turned the pages. "Now, show me my dear, how many ways can one observe through the flow of time?"

"Okay, okay! You won!" Grunting, the princess decided to get it over with as quick as possible. "Officially there are three ways, they being: Reading the scars of the past, interpreting omens for the future and merely observing the present, in theory everything else is just a mixture of those three. But mother, isn't this more the business of a seer than to someone without the gift?"

Her mother clicked her tongue. "All knowledge is the business of the wise, for only what is known can one day be mastered and controlled. Please, elaborate further about those uncommon ways you mentioned."

"Observe the past through someone's eyes, recognize temporal patterns that keep repeating and read a draft chap..." Loki began listing some topics she felt confident talking about before she was startled for the second time that night.

The door suddenly opened and that same wind of change finally reached the chamber's residents. The candles' flames jumped just as Loki did, lighting in the hundred books and bottles on the shelves. A figure blundered up the steps, allowing the wind to swing the plants rapidly behind him.

It was Odin himself, hair disareyed around his face with heavy breath. He stared at both of them, eyes wide, and opened his mouth but made no sound. One needed no telepathy to see he was weighed down by heavy news, especially after Odin dropped to his knees, hands gripping the tapestry.

"What is it, my love?" Asked Frigga, her throat tight with worry.

The King of Asgard, the All-Father, aided by Frigga and Loki slowly rose to his feet, managing to speak only two, low and raw, words. "He left."

Finally, they all recognized that the harsh gale blowing, meant Thor, or at least his emanation, embarked on a one way trip to Midgard.

Loki knew her brother actually did what everyone considered he had been jesting for almost a Midgardian year now. Her brother had entered the Thorsleep, and transmigrated into Midgard to live as a mortal.

The day after…

A sense of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, as if Asgard itself regained its breath. The skies were still shrouded in ominous clouds, and lightning crackled in the distance. The realm of the Aesir, usually a place of grandeur and splendor, seemed to be recovering from an event of monumental significance.

In the heart of the city, within the hallowed halls of Odin's palace, a deep slumber had befallen the young God of Thunder, Thor. The purpose of this slumber remained a mystery to most, save for a few who had been informed beforehand.

Loki, paced back and forth outside his chamber, her emerald eyes reflecting a mix of concern and curiosity. She kept wondering what her older Brother's secret plan was, all the while a pang of worry that her brother might never wake from this deep sleep.

Frigga, their mother, accompanied Loki inside, their gazes fixed on the ornate doors that shielded her beloved son. She had agreed with her husband, understanding that currently her son was in no immediate danger, instead that slowly but surely his body and essence were growing stronger, but that did little to ease her maternal anxiety that anything might happen to him.

Inside his personal chamber, the young Prince of Asgard lay in a state of suspended animation, his Godly form appearing both serene and majestic. The room was dimly lit, a soft glow emanating from the runic symbols etched into the walls.

"Fear not, mother. If there's any place for him to rest without risks it's definitely here with us." Loki assured, with a sincere light in her eyes.

Frigga replied with a gentle smile before saying. "Of that I'm a firm believer, my dear. What worries me instead is that with how unkind Midgard really is, the Thor that returns to us might not be the same one that left."

"You are right, my queen." Odin suddenly made his presence clear to them, his appearance showed that he hasn't completely recovered from before but still undoubtedly in a better condition, and with his one eye reflecting the weight of his thoughts. "His time on Midgard will certainly change him, shape him in ways we cannot yet fathom."

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Fun Facts: Loki's debut in the Marvel Comics predates that of his brother Thor's first appearance by more than a decade.

There have been several people worthy of wielding Mjolnir. Amongst them are Captain America, Black Widow, Storm and even Loki.

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789 AD

Somewhere in Denmark

MC'S POV

My oldest memory in this life was of me standing in a line with others stolen from their homelands, who mostly lost their families on a raid. Staring down in my body, I confirmed to be going through childhood all over again for the third time.

The ground was frozen beneath our feet and not one of us wearing anything that could stand the cold.

The feet of my new body had almost been bare, wrapped in the thinnest of clothes I presume were spared to me so as not to spoil the merchandise and diminish my market value, but honestly, my second time experiencing life as a mortal wasn't that much reminiscent from what I recall. For starters, despite the awful picture I've just depicted, I just didn't feel the cold to be as insufferable as everyone else kept complaining. Even my captors, covered as they were with thick furs, never stopped cursing the Gods I came to regard as family.

I still remember a time when I felt the cold like everyone else did, but since then my entire view of things drastically changed. I suppose it couldn't be helped, I could pretend all I wanted, but life would never be as harsh as it was to those without an immortal body to come back once everything was over.

Silently praying for this body's previous soul, that was about to die before I took over, to find peace and reunite with any family awaiting him in the afterlife, before accepting the orders the slave master gave me.

Since that day, I always slept in a room filled with other slaves and through particularly colder nights that didn't really bother me all that much, watching the others being miserable while sharing a blanket for warmth.

After standing still alongside the other thralls for several hours while the slave master tried his best to sell them for a good price, repeating that for several days until a buyer arrived or we became too expensive for our master to maintain, I could at the very least find solace in sympathizing the bleak feelings the other slaves had.

Along the way some attempted to flee, only to be caught in the same day, others just couldn't endure that hopeless life and just gave up, one way or another.

Eventually, that day came, none of the slaves understood back then the importance of the woman who came and looked at each one of us, as if she might unearth our worth just by casting her eyes upon our bodies.

She stopped in front of me, not much older than a six years old kid at the time. Sure, I was tall and well built because of the same merging processes that made me resistant to the cold, I just wasn't expecting to hear something like…

"The image of a slave that even a queen would want." The lady before me spoke more to herself with an amused smile. But Eira, her name as I would end up learning, was no Queen. More of a Frue, the wife of a Jarl.

Regardless, the red haired woman tipped my chin up and smiled once again at me.

Choosing not to think about the weird things, all I could come up with was that the lady's cheeks were rosy with life and that her clean white cloak was capped with fur. She clearly proved to be more than a simple free woman back then.

When the Jarl's wife dragged my hand back, pulling open her cloak and saying something, something I knew meant I'd finally completed the first step of my plan. "Come along dear, you've finally found a family to serve."

I was compelled to rush beneath the fabric and Frue Eira paid the slaver a single golden coin with a hole through the middle. Neither me or the man were expecting me to be worth that much. Here I was hoping she was just rich and not one of the worst things to happen to me.

"From now onwards your name will be… Birger." The Lady that bought me told me once we arrived at their family farm.

(Old Norse. Word/name. Birgir. Meaning. "helper", "savior", "protector".)

Try as I wished but I just couldn't remember anything from my new body's life before being a slave. Birger most likely wasn't even the name the parents of this body gave it, just the name the rich lady gave me, amidst many suggestions from her many children.

In the end, I had to pretend to learn their language. Fortunately, I could mend any shirt or armor, gather herbs and forage, and heal many ailments. All thanks to both my previous life experiences being far from ordinary. Surprisingly I had to learn how to cut firewood properly, given I've never had the need to in either cases.

Modesty apart, I was an excellent slave and I knew I was favored by my owners. Even if the rest of the servants couldn't see the difference between me and regular trash. And being favored by the ruling family did not spare me from work, neither in quantity much less difficulty.

Actually, it seems to have somehow backfired and made me have to work even harder, all the way back from those earlier years. By my accounts it was the year 789 AD, and we were all busy working on the feast in honor of Leif Herleifson's last raid (the oldest son of the Jarl) and thus, there was much to be done until then.

I've doubled my weekly quota in a day of stacking some logs into a large basket and found it strange the fact that my closest acquaintance amongst the other slaves, Hakon, wasn't there.

Hakon was a short height man with average build and bushy black hair, said to have been taken while young from a small village in Northern England. The thing I appreciated in him the most was how straightforward he was, and how little he judged me for being close with the family of our master.

His absence made me think it probably was, no doubt, because he always took so long going back and forth with his small bucket to fill the longhouse's washing tub with water.

Standing back and debating with myself the best way to drag the basket full of logs all the way to the male slave cabin, I ended up deciding to just lift the logs and began to walk towards my destination.

Suddenly, I felt a touch on my back and looked over my shoulder. Sighting a thick dressed Kari, the youngest daughter of the Jarl, smiling at me, almost as if she had been waiting for me.

Smiling back in friendliness, I couldn't help but admit what a cute little thing she was. Simply lowering my big basket as if it was filled with feathers, I respectfully waited for her to speak.

Her smile easily won her the favoritism from Hakon and all the other male slaves, but her kindness had won it from me.

"Where are you going, Birger?" She rumpled her pretty brow, trying her best to ignore the cold

"To the male workers' cabin my lady." I patiently replied.

She nodded almost immediately. "Me too, let's go together then."

For all of her outspokenness, Kari was actually bad at remembering many names around her father's farm. I found myself being a special case given how I've grown up alongside her and her siblings. Truth be told, I was almost more like a childhood friend than a servant to them. Not that it matters that much in the end.

"Apologies for my manners, but why would you go there, my lady? Your father certainly would not approve." I told her, immediately noticing her pout at my words.

Kari scoffed and walked past me, leaving only a view of her braided hair down her fur covered back. She was well-liked among the slaves for a variety of reasons, foremost among those was that she was undeniably pretty.

Her eyes were clear and green as the grass fields in the spring, her skin was smooth as befits someone her age, and she had an utterly disarming smile.

Funnily enough, I've always equated her with a home and hearth, always warm to be around and makes you somehow feel secure of yourself. All things I deeply respected. But she was still a young girl and she was also liked because of the way she'd insisted on befriending her family's slaves.

Hakon once said that most girls in Folke town, a settlement near our master lands, just ignored those under their status, whether they excelled or not in anything, but Kari befriended anyone who had just arrived. He also mentioned that it only added to the perception of her as a princess out of the stories, one that might eventually free you from a harsh life and make you a freeman.

I honestly always thought that Kari was praised for simply being a decent person and doubted anyone she acted friendly ever felt looked down upon. From the tales or not, she was still a true princess, still a daughter of the Jarl Herleif, and if she wanted something, Birger had no doubt she was given it.

The girl had never disrespected me and I wasn't completely sure if I was grateful for it or suspicious.

I accompanied Kari until we reached the outside of my cabin and thanked her for the company. Even outside, I could tell that the daughters of Herleif were the topic of discussion in our little hut.

"They will blush and get flustered if they see you helping me." I told her. Kari's lips parted in a sweet smile and the wind tousled her braids. She shivered a little but didn't complain.

"But you never do." She responded and gave me a flower she had been keeping hidden somewhere in her large coat. I wanted to laugh right then and there, but behaved myself accordingly. "And aren't you feeling cold, I know you can tolerate the cold far better than most, but I'm sure you are not immune to getting sick."

I let myself smile over the pile of tunics and pants, knowing it was the worst kind of foolishness but admitted that Kari had always seemed like she might actually be a real friend. She was teasing and helpful, and could make me laugh almost on demand.

"You just do not pay attention when I blush." I teased her back before picking up the flower she gave me. "And don't worry, me and the boys will promptly light up the fire with all of these logs. But thank you for your concern, my lady."

"You are most welcome, Biiirger." She dragged my name in a friendly mockery. She was smiling again, so kind and lovely. I saw her contemplate following me inside and greet all the others, but she turned and quickly left.

As expected from the scraps of conversation I'd overheard outside, Hakon and the others were debating the prettiest of the sisters, a favorite pastime for them whenever they felt confident that they could escape from their daily tasks. Other than fantasizing of raiding and adventuring the sea, which was just crazy in my opinion given how many of them had tragic backstories all due to that same practice.

Ignoring their voices for the moment, I set myself to put the logs close enough to their bonfire after storing my gifted flower where none would bother me about it.

The others immediately began picking the logs up and lighting up the fire. Hakon warmed his cold hands, even going as far as to take his boots to warm his feet as well, immediately sighing in relief his fingers weren't freezing anymore.

"Obviously, it's Kari," Gorm declared, the oldest of the slaves in his late thirties, almost forgetting about the cold. Just serve to prove my point that everyone liked Kari and I suspect most of the slave boys were half in love with her.

"Yes, she is." Sten, the thief turned slave, agreed.

I didn't have the energy to participate in their little game, instead I decided to just lay on my bed crossing my arms behind my head.

"Ulf is lucky!" Hakon decided, rubbing his hands next to the flames. No one disagreed, even knowing that he was as much a slave as they were and was bound to do as he was told.

Ulf was the newest and youngest of the slaves, so it surprised me little that he had caught Lady Eira's eyes to work inside their longhouse. Hakon thought he'd caught the Jarls' daughter's attention as well but no one had confirmed it. He and Stan were particularly jealous of Ulf but I just couldn't care less.

To Eiras's Daughters, he was something novel for the past few months at least. To his credit, Ulf was also a skilled singer, with a crown of light red hair and subtle freckles.

But no matter how he tried to compete with the other slaves in strength, Ulf was much weaker and so he had been chosen to serve in the Earl longhouse immediately, sparing him the rough life that the most old school slaves had been put through.

I just hope the eldest daughter of the Jarl wasn't picking on him too much.

Hearing a sound outside of the cabin, I forced myself to resist a chuckle.

"No, no, it is Freja." Grom said conflicting to his previous statement, immediately moving on from Kari after thinking he couldn't compete with Ulf. The others laughed, already knowing where he was leading. Apparently, Freja had once sung for Grom. He didn't like to let anyone forget it.

"We know what you think about Freja." Hakon teased and Gorm tossed him his hat.

I couldn't resist a smile. Sometimes it's good that these poor people find a way to forget, or at the very least cope, about the harshness of life.

"Yes, will we never hear the end of the tale of Freja the maiden with an angelic voice?" Arne, the only bald amongst us, said, pulling a waterskin and drinking a large gulp.

"It is a good tale." I admitted, pulling my ragged boot and getting ready to repair it. It was the same the Lady herself had gifted me to wear in reward for my excellent work.

I was remembering that soon the feast will occur before the Jarl's sons, Leif and Raul, journey to some far off land at the Mediterranean Sea. Raul had been bragging to me about his first raid only a few days ago, talking about all the things he might see and do, and pointing out that while his older brother had the muscles, he had inherited the brains of the family.

It made me unsure, who was I to suddenly approve of such activity? Believe it or not, but my life right now was considerably less stressful than my first, so it's not like I was the moral authority to say it's no big deal.

Besides, it's not like I never intended to one day accomplish those feats myself, be it in the next life or the other one. Shit, I had plenty of time to waste around anyway.

"Thank you, Birger." Gorm suddenly replied, taking me out of my thoughts. "And what is your opinion?"

"I don't have an opinion." I confessed nonchalantly, putting my repair boots on just to see if I hadn't forgotten anything. Just then I noticed the rest of his attire. With a sigh, I relegated myself to the fact that I would have to work on it before the feast if I want to be at least presentable.

Hearing Hakon's scoff, I looked down from my bed.

"You only say that because in the future, we will be hearing the tale of how you became a freeman and conquered all of England." Hakon said, not really worried about the implied fate of his people.

I found no adequate way to properly express my confusion while the others laughed.

"I highly doubt that. The master will be looking forward to my work on forging him more weapons from the loot of future raids, not worth the freedom of some boy who's served his family his whole life and hadn't been instructed in the ways of war." I quickly dismissed it.

"Don't be bleak, Birger. He favors you." Hakon actually attempted to lift my spirits.

I would rather pretend that Herleif didn't favor me at all. I was living as a slave, no matter how Eira or the girls often treated me like I wasn't one. Indeed, I was strong, skilled and my looks weren't all that bad. But my plan depended on me growing deeper ties in Midgard so I could then progress to its next step, worst case scenario I will have to improvise.

Let me get this straight, I was conscious of the fact that these people were not my friends, not actual friends. Even the boys I shared the hut with, even though they might one day become that doesn't mean they will.

I was closer to Hakon than I was to any non-slave who was not Lady Eira. For the most part the two of us were alike in age. He was agreeable, straightforward and his company all in all was great, if I was to be honest. But I didn't see him as a friend, not yet at least.

When I noticed the way Gorm's expression curled into dreaminess at the thought of freedom, I remembered that contrary to me, they weren't here willingly.

But wanting or not, I was still adamant that I first needed to establish a strong name foundation this early in time.

Eventually I will have to look for Sorcerers, immortal dragons, Infinity Stones and the likes. For now, I was prepared to play my part with the cards that were first dealt to me.

"So, now honestly, you consider Kari to be the prettiest? I believe I saw her talking to you quite frequently." Hakon asked, not worried that he was inadvertently throwing me on the aim of all the other guys.

"No." I quickly admitted. "If I was to be completely honest. I think that would be… Hertha."

Each last one of the others froze, a puzzled expression on their faces.

Hakon hung his arm on my shoulder while laughing. "Surely you must be joking my friend."

"She is scary." Gorm mentioned, his still swollen face confirming his statement.

Clenching my jaw, I pushed Hakon's arm to the side without caring that he almost lost balance.

"Don't be stupid, Gorm." I replied. "You were asking if she was pretty, not if she did not scare you."

"How could you possibly not be afraid of her? She is always challenging anyone for a dual. Or should I say, bashing them." Stan questioned in disbelief.

"It's not her fault if you guys are stupid enough to accept to duel someone stronger than you, especially someone who you aren't meant to hit back regardless." I said before turning my back to pick my hat.

Hertha was mean and callous, it's true, and she always thinks there's an ulterior motive for any kindness shown to her. But I respected her confidence and her sharpness, not to mention the way she took care of her family, especially her youngest brother.

Being the more adventurous of the sisters, she always ended up hurting herself. I'm certainly an authority on that matter, since I have a 'gift' for healing and have been often in her company.

Though she used to act like it was a waste of precious time to be there, Hertha was now frequently asking for my aid, sometimes for ailments I couldn't even see or find. She would never admit it, but I knew she respected me.

I like to think that we are, if nothing else, allies.

Gorm narrowed his brown eyes. "You favor her." His tone was more accusatory than interrogatory.

"That is ridiculous, Gorm. I favor no one." I replied back, getting tired of that discussion.

Keeping my back turned and pretending to straighten up my bed in hope the chatter would die down eventually I decided to finish it anyway. "You wanted my opinion and now you have it."

Hakon, for it could only be Hakon, came and grabbed me by the arm. The short man had a smirk on his face.

"Shall I go find her, Birger? She's just a savage beast. I'm sure she would be happy to be with any man." And there he went and lost a few points with me.

The air became heavy when my serious expression stopped Stan, Arne, Gorm and Hakon's laughter.

"I'm sure you shouldn't be disrespectful towards the Jarl's family." I started before turning my back on them.

After that they all began working quickly and quietly, but I knew it wouldn't be the last I'd hear of it.

Wishing to avoid meaningless discussion, I opted for keeping myself quiet.

Arne, Stan, Hakon and the others that had remained silent up until that point had other chores, so I left to prepare to gather the cattle.

Once I left the cabin, I let out a sigh of tiredness, while still not having forgotten about the little spy just outside their cabin.

"Birger." I turned towards the voice, knowing who it belonged to.

It was Hertha, coming from the strip of land behind their hut cottage, wearing a look that said she'd heard every word he'd spoken in favor of her.

I knew she listened, and that the fact she has a bad habit of creeping around and hearing conversations that she had no right hearing wasn't anything new. People simply did not pay close enough attention.

"My lady." I greeted her the best way I could without annoying her.

It seemed to have worked, she smiled at me anyway. I can still recall back when we were still kids that she once snarled at me because I smiled too little. I remembered it every time I saw her since then.

"I have been looking for you." She suddenly admitted, probably because the silence was growing awkward.

"Does your hand still hurt?" I asked her, only for Hertha to tuck her chin to her chest, that was her way of confirming.

Glancing down and finding the bandaging I've put on her right fist was still in place. But the ointment had probably worn off. "Come with me to your home. I can fix it there."

I once found it remarkable that Hertha was as stubborn as a little kid, especially if you know she was the oldest sister and second born to Jarl Herleif.

Once I pulled open the door to her house, we both entered, and although she didn't say it, I could see she was thankful for escaping the cold outside.

"I can see that you aren't taking it easy on your bruises." I told her, shutting the door behind me.

She slouched against a chair and shrugged with a grin. Hertha had absurdly green eyes and long red hair and a smirk that said she'd taken your worth and found you wanting.

"It is how I train." She responded confidently.

"But if you hurt your wrist more, it may be so damaged that even I can't fix it." I exaggerated a little just to ensure that she would hear my heeds.

Hertha laughed, an unnaturally happy sound. "You can fix anything, just as I can break anything." She suddenly declared with a mocking tone.

The corners of my mouth turned up. "Your mother told us that when we were young."

"Mother gives praise only occasionally and I liked it more each time." She added.

After nodding, I rummaged through my things until I found the ointment and new bandages I was looking for, sitting down on the chair in front of her. She was silent, which I found unusual. It simply confirmed that Hertha had heard every word spoken at our hut.

Slowly unrolling the bandage I placed on her wrist just yesterday, expecting her to jest and grin but instead, she did nothing. She just fumbled with her hair until I finally finished my work.

Though the eldest daughter of the Jarl often pretended to be irritated, like she was now, I always thought she liked to be babied. Tossing the old bandage behind me and taking a skeptical look at her wrist, I noticed she had actually twisted it the wrong way this time and I just hoped she didn't manage to splinter the bone.

Regardless, it still felt strong under my scrutiny, not broken at all. Once I put careful pressure on it and she didn't wince.

"If anything hurts, tell me." I said as if I was a doctor and she gave me a quick nod.

Taking some ointment, I ran it along the length of Hertha's forearm and down to the knuckles of her hand. It made her skin slick and smooth. I did it slowly, so slowly, that I knew it must be driving her mad.

She instinctively sucked in a large breath and I looked up at her, immediately apologizing. "I'm sorry."

Her expression was, oddly enough, wary. I might've even dared to call her nervous.

"No... " She corrected. "You didn't hurt me."

Nodding and grabbing my new bandages. I ended up pressing the end of the cloth down and began to wind the rest tightly down her wrist.

"Where are you from?" Hertha asked me out of the blue, prompting me to pause for a minute. "What were you before my mother bought you?"

"I was an Asgardian Prince." I replied jokingly.

"Really?" She scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

"No." I quickly admitted, before thinking of a half truth. "I don't remember anything before your mother."

"Neither do I." She pointed out, finally discovering her sense of humor, which made me smile.

As things were about to get weird, and an awkward fall upon us once again, we both heard something dropping to the ground before someone quickly spoke up.

"Ap-ap-ologies!" It was Ulf, the new slave that was tasked with working inside the Jarl's longhouse. "I-I was just…"

"You little rascal!" Hertha immediately switched back to her usual rough demeanor and began to berate the poor guy for not doing his work.

Not wanting to witness her spectacle to make others fear her, I decided to speed things up and finished wrapping her wrist.

When it was finally done, Hertha thanked me, actually thanked me, and left. When the door shut behind me, I managed to hear her shouting something and throwing stuff around.

'Women.' I sighed before moving on with my day.

————————————————————————

"There is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his."

Helen Keller.

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HERTHA'S POV

I can still recall one time, one that all of my siblings weren't that much interested in Birger.

Even now, there are instances when I try not to like him. I did not find his stupid, polite smile charming or his bright deep sky blue eyes attractive. I didn't fancy his long golden hair and especially did not tolerate that at the feasts, he'd wear his self-made garb and boots and act perfectly satisfied with himself.

Or when he thinks no one is watching I caught him effortlessly taking an impossibly heavy package and carrying it throughout my father's lands, be it under the cold weather or heavy rain, even if his clothes weren't appropriate for the climate.

Probably the thing I hated the most in him was all the times he declined sparring with me, now I know he is mindful as a slave of his inability to fight back against his masters.

Yes, that must be the definition of what annoys me the most in him.

He was a miserable slave with the power of a conqueror, who made a point of appearing as genuine to everyone around him. What originally came across as the same haughty attitude we got from most of our servants, time has revealed as being merely the boy's reserved temperament.

Back when we were kids, Birger used to never speak unless asked a direct question and where most slaves averted eye contact, he would just obediently keep staring.

No hate, no fear and no envy. Almost as if he genuinely believes we are all equal.

Initially I thought that was just how he coped with hardships of life. But then, there he goes and becomes an excellent hunter and, oh look, my siblings and I were ordered by our parents to ask him to teach us.

It was awful to spend time with someone who thought he was above 'earthly matters'. By now I've figured out without a doubt that he was very strong and wise.

Birger, though reserved, never treated anyone as less or made use of cheap compliments to earn him favors. He wasn't an arrogant boy, nor did he seem particularly angry with anyone or anything. Still, Birger obeyed too often without hesitating and my family quickly grew charmed by almost anything he did.

But after all those years of commendable effort, what did he have to look forward to? He was a slave. He belonged to my family.

Perhaps, if I was being honest, his obedience irritated me because I've learned from my father that with enough strength and courage, any one could be the master of their own fate.

Kari, who I've noticed lately to be approaching him more frequently, always had googly eyes when talking to or about him. Either she had not noticed he was their slave or she simply didn't care that father had already considered other men for us.

It's almost funny, for someone who struck me as intelligent, Kari was definitely being naive.

Now, before the feast in homage to our brother's accomplishments, here I sat on the shore bank in our father's lands while Leif, Raul, and young Sune, my youngest brother, fished.

And of course, Birger joined us, contented himself with cleaning and collecting our catches in a basket.

Sune had managed to fish a big one and Birger seemed to care and politely praised my youngest brother's accomplishment. He laughed when Raul chased Sune with the fish he'd just caught, and when Sune eventually tripped, it was Birger who caught him before he could graze on the rocky sand.

Even from this distance, I noticed how fast and nimble Birger moved despite being barefooted.

After my brother calmed down once again, I watched as Birger dropped his basket on the sand not long after. Glancing at him I could distinguish that look on his face, the expression people sometimes wore when they were enjoying the time.

Was it genuine happiness? I couldn't help but grimace at his foolishness.

"Birger, come here!" I called for him and he promptly obeyed. "Fix my fishing net." I commanded said, so that he'd stop acting as if he was having fun.

Tying the ropes closer made it easier to catch something, and only he knew how to do it properly.

Nodding in acceptance, Birger crouched on his knees in the sand and began working. I watched mesmerized as he slid a line beneath the other and started to knot it tightly. I noticed his fingers and how he was really dexterous for someone so tall and bulky.

"You are not part of our family, aren't you aware?" I finally said what had been bothering me.

Birger politely nodded without stopping his task and said. "Definitely, my lady! Apologies if I overstepped my boundaries."

My hand balled into a fist in the sand at his response.

"One day we might not need you anymore. You will grow old without accomplishing something of valor." I insisted on making him understand things as they were.

I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, it's just that I felt sad about him every time he acted as if it was no big deal the life he had.

"Most likely, my lady!" Birger agreed.

"Don't you hate us for that?" I finally asked what everyone assumed to be an unimportant opinion.

"How could I, I'm eternally grateful for your mother buying me. She gave me… a home." The fool seemed to understand what bothered me the most.

Scoffing once I saw his 'genuine' smile. "Fool, she stole from you your freedom. And you gladly obey her orders."

"Apologies, my lady." He stated. "But you are wrong, I had already lost it when she bought me. The fact that I can share these moments with you all is what keeps me going."

"You will regret thinking like that eventually." I wasn't going to apologize for being harsh with him, even if I appreciated his company or his naive foolishness.

"Apologies, my lady, but does it even matter?" He said looking to the horizon while smiling to himself and my gaze flicked to his side.

"You're always daydreaming." I muttered with a disappointed sigh.

Birger chuckled, picking sand from the ground.

"Why?" I demanded, as if I hadn't just recently heard his answer.

He shook his head and let sand fall from his hand before being immediately arried away by the wind.

As a shadow crept up in the edge of my vision, I managed to move just in time to narrowly miss being hit by Raul's fish.

"Hahaha! Almost got you, sis!" My oaf brother declared while laughing, who was joined by Birger's chuckle before he moved to pick it up so that I didn't have to.

Raul patted Birger on the shoulder before leaving with him and I wondered if everyone was the fool or it was me.

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BIRGER'S POV

Later in the evening, I walked farther into the forest, avoiding roots in the path and carefully carrying the basket with all the fish I've collected, being this far from the farm only to gather a few more much-needed herbs and other plants.

I was planning to avoid running low on important items if I could. But weirdly had a feeling, a strange and fierce feeling, that I'd need to stay alert.

Sure, that was my gut instinct, a simple cast of clairvoyance and my doubts would end. But after all this time, I kind of welcomed whatever challenge it might be.

Crouching down to pluck a few pieces of aloe, I managed to hear the rustle of leaves in the clearing beyond. Prudently hid behind the closest tree, before eventually sighting the shadowy figure of some kind of beast speeding swiftly and unerringly past in the direction of my previous crouching site.

Not the slightest sound came from the beast this time as it had apparently missed its prey, seemingly not finding its target prompted it to once again ran deep into the forest.

A terrible, quivering, frenzied scream tore the woods and shook the old trees after that, and it continued rising and falling, vibrating as if it was trying to locate me.

I could barely make out exactly how far away it was, even with my sharpened hearing aiding me, but I understood that the beast had caught my scent.

That was fast.

Stepping into the middle of the trees, standing right between two sturdy ones, I hid my basket, twitching my shoulders, I unsheathed my hidden dagger, cutting my palm until sufficient blood came out.

Knowing that the beast, although with sharp senses, would not readily rush on him without setting before a proper ambush, I was confident to still have some time until it honed on me.

And so I waited.

By my hearing and sense of smell, there were none of my village or farm inhabitants in the proximity, which made things much easier.

Until I heard it.

It was trudging slowly, which was that expected of a proper stalking beast, shuffling along the ground until I saw it.

Its appearance was hard to put into words. For a lack of better description, I could at least say that it was incredibly beautiful and seductive. But it also had a long tail of a cow and its back was covered in bark. Its eyes shone in the darkness like an animal of the night.

It was a Huldra, I recognized from a book that cataloged magical species from all the 9 realms.

'But why is it acting so aggressive?' I questioned myself. 'I thought Huldras favored a more subtle approach, such as seduction and charm.'

The forest spirit stood motionless, its gaze fixed on the blood I've left marked on a random tree.

Suddenly it opened its jaws, as if proud of its rows of pointed sharp teeth, then snapped them shut with a crack like a chest being closed. The creature then leapt, slashing at the tree with its claws as if it was angry to have been deceived.

I observed from behind another tree, not understanding why the creature was acting so irrationally. But somehow the Huldra changed its path and rushed in my direction.

It shouldn't be able to have located me that easily. Unless…

'It's, somehow, not in control.' I concluded, taking a quick look around the area I was hidden.

The Huldra suddenly invaded my space, rubbing against me before spinning around, and thanks tinny quick reaction it only sliced through the air with its sharp talons.

Not losing my balance and immediately following with an attack, I target her as soon as she ended her spin, punching some of its teeth from its jaw.

The Huldra fell rolling to the ground, but began changing the direction of its trajectory with the momentum and leapt back at me.

As I managed to evade and leap away, I dealt another hard blow to the side of its head before thrusting my dagger on its shoulder.

The Huldra roared painfully, filling the air with a chirping echo, falling prone to the ground while contorting rather painfully, before freezing for a moment until it started to howl hollowly and furiously.

I was beyond confused by that point, my first attempt should have already knocked it out.

The expensive knife I got from the smithing work I did for the Jarl was made of Silver and expect to be deadly painful to the Huldra, as it was for most monsters brought into existence through magic.

So there was a chance that the beast was possibly being possessed, instead of just being confused. And that didn't bode well for me, while I might be able to slay it as a last resort, the mysterious puppet master would still escape to try again, next time with more bystanders to complicate things.

So suffice to say that I was in no hurry with my next attack. I waited until it approached me slowly, baring its fangs in order to somehow intimidate me.

As I backed away and carefully hoped over my trap, feinting to draw its attention in a moment of vulnerability, distracting the Huldra into a space which made it difficult for it to leap.

Once the Huldra walked to where I wanted, I quickly cut a long, thick rope with a rock I managed to tie on its end. The moment the Huldra lost its footing and tripped, the rope whistled through the air and coiled like a snake, twisting itself around the monster's shoulders, neck and head.

The Huldra's desperate dash became a pathetic tumble, and it let out an ear-piercing scream, thrashing around on the ground, howling horribly with fury, or from the burning pain inflicted by the despised metal in my dagger once I pinned one of its limbs to the ground.

Content with the performance of my trap, I knew if I wanted I could easily kill the beast without great difficulty. Puppet or not, unless the master practiced necromancy, my problems would've been dealt right then and there.

But I did not slay it.

Nothing in the Huldra's behavior had given me reason to think it might be an incurable case. Deciding instead to leave it there until it somehow released itself or the possession spell effect wore off. In both cases, I would be far away and the Huldra will return to where it came.

Regardless, its infernal scream reverberated from below until the savage behavior vanished, and the beast finally fell unconscious.

'What a sore loser!' I told myself, thinking about all the possible suspects behind this afront.

Releasing the forest spirit from its restraints and recovering by silver dagger, With dirt beneath my nails from digging my improvised trap, with my hair filled with foliage and grime smeared across my features, I moved on towards the Jarl's farm while still hiding my trail.

Once I was back to the Farm, the only thing keeping me from falling asleep was the identity of the caster behind the possession spell.

'Was it really just a minor charm? No, its control over the Huldra was too precise and overbearing for it being the case.' By the time I managed to clean myself, the moon was already high in the sky. 'I'll leave tomorrow's problems to tomorrow's me.'

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BALDRIC'S POV

792 AD

Folke Town

The marketplace was crowded on this grey morning in spring. Large, armed, bearded men were very much present, trading their goods among themselves. Merchants appeared to have received appealing goods by a ship from the south.

Countless fur-clad, weapon-bearing men in the windy square were trading, celebrating, and drinking enough mead to drown a whale.

My arrival, clearly, couldn't have been at a more appropriate time.

The name is Balderic, well known merchant of Paris, deliberately translated in my brightly coloured silks, which unfortunately were not nearly warm enough in this cutting wind, the glorious kingdom of West Francia.

Staring past the stockade walls and the ditch surrounding the place I found myself in, a quilting of stony farmland could be seen, with livestock grazing, then only forest after that point. Beyond the pine woods, I knew, the sea swept round again. With more farms and fisher-villages there along the coast until only emptiness remained. Mountains and trees for a very long way, to the places where monsters were said to roam freely.

I have written some of these stories down during my last long journey home, and have told them to the Emperor himself during an audience I had with him, presenting my writings along with gifts of fur and amber. I've been given gifts in return: a necklace, an ornamental sword.

It occurred to me that it might be useful to observe and record more customs of these barbarians, if the accursed climate ever improves I might even have some fun, instead of getting tired of shivering to warm myself against the cold blustering wind.

Yeah, yeah, being successful was great and all but the awful weather made me feel as if I was paying for my sins. After all, It was hard for a merchant to live virtuously.

Partners and associates demanded substantial profit, and profit was difficult to come by if one piously ignored the needs and opportunities of the world of the flesh.

The life of a zealot was not for me. At the same time, it would be entirely unfair to suggest that I just lived a life of idleness and comfort.

Just recently I've endured, with such composure as god had granted me, three storms on the very long sea journey north and then east. Afflicted, as always at sea, by a stomach that heaved like the waves, and with the roundship handled precariously by a continuously drunken captain.

Drinking, as it was largely known, was a profanation of the laws of God, of course, but in this matter I was not, lamentably, in a position to take a vigorous moral stand. In any case, my vigor had been quite absent from me on the journey.

I've long ago realized that the world of men could be divided into three groups: Those living, those dead, and those unsure that ventured the sea. I had been awake since before dawn this morning, praying to the saints for me to be numbered once more among those in the blessed first group.

Here in the remote pagan north, at this wind-scoured market of Folk…or…Folke town, I was anxious to begin trading my leather, cloth, spices and bladed weapons for furs, amber, salt and heavy barrels of dried cod, all so I take immediate leave of these barbarian pagans, who stank of fish, beer and bear grease, who apparently had a reputation of killing a man in a bargaining over prices, and who burned their leaders, savages that they were, on ships among their belongings when they died.

Oh, and the slaves. Not much that I could say about that. Disgusting, indeed it was, but for their market to have prospered until now, it begs the question of how many were willing to engage in trade with them.

It certainly didn't appear to be a small business that survived solely amongst themselves.

On a less depressing note, the community appears to be preparing for some sort of feast and celebration. From what I managed to gather with my clients, these barbarians' leader's son had proved himself in battle or something similar.

My associate told me had heard the same from the assembled multitude of warriors and traders. He also told me that to pay homage to their gods of oak and thunder, and to celebrate the youths' great deeds, was of considerable significance.

Good omens of high relevance, were his exact words.

This associate of mine doing the explaining and all the translating, a bald-headed and ridiculously big man named Torsten, we met a couple years ago during one of my early voyages here.

He had been quite useful back then, for a fee of course. The savages were ignorant, sea-worshiping pagans, but they had firm ideas about what their services were worth.

From what I managed to gather, Torsten had spent some years in the west among a group of sailors. He had returned home with a little money, some jeweled rings, two prominent scars besides one on top of his head and an affliction contracted in a brothel.

Quite the captivating tale, I assure you.

In addition, the main reason why we still make business together, he'd mastered sufficient words of my own language to function as an appropriate interpreter for the handful of southern merchants, that were just like me, foolhardy enough to sail along rocky coastlines fighting a lee shore, then keep east into the frigid and choppy waters of these northern seas to trade with the barbarians.

The Norseman were raiders and pirates, ravaging in their long-ships all through these lands and waters, and their attacks were increasingly reaching further down south.

But the Emperor of Frankia waged that even pirates could be seduced by the lure of trade, after all, my merchant associates and I had reaped quite the profit from our voyages. Profit enough to have me back here now for a third time, standing in a knife-like wind on a bitter morning, waiting to get to trade all of my weapons, armours and even some household goods.

All around me, I witnessed several wooden images of their pagan Gods, good quality horses and even a bunch of… good looking slave girls were being traded.

Looking around, I noticed a sweeping gaze from the town square could almost encompass Folke town in its entirety.

The harbor, with a stony beach, sheltered a score of Norseman ships and my own large roundship from the south, the only one of its kind, which I anticipated to have been splendid news during my arrival.

This town, sheltering several hundred souls perhaps, was deemed an important market in the northlands, a fact that brought personal amusement to me, a well traveled merchant from Frankia that has been received into the Emperor's court in Paris.

There were no emperors here, and even the so-called Jarls' power wasn't absolute. From what I've heard, these people's concept of obedience to a ruler was flimsy at best, sovereigns rose to power one day only to fall the next, victim of their own subjects' greed.

But that doesn't surprise me, my people wouldn't be so adamant in labeling them as pagans if their Gods did grant them the right to rule. Besides, that was probably for the best, God be merciful so that we may never have a Viking chief capable of unifying their strength and channel it to spread chaos and destruction on an unimaginable scale.

Indeed, truly a disturbing thought.

What a cruel irony that just then an untidy dump of armored and armed men made their way towards me, tacking across the square as if they were on a ship together.

One man in the crowd stumbled and bumped into one of these men; the leader of the group swore, pushed the commoner back, and put a hand to his weapon in a threatening manner.

A second commoner intervened, only to punch the shoulder of the one threatening his companion. The group leader ignored it like an insect bite, probably because he was another big man. They were all, I thought sorrowfully, big men that were a little too prone to violence.

It came to me, belatedly, that recently was not really a good time to be a stranger in the north, with the current increasing number of raids, misfortune might eventually fall over me.

As the group finally approached me after leaving the two commoners from before knocked out on the ground. Wishing to avoid trouble, I immediately bowed while raising my palms up to my side and had my associate translate my welcoming words.

Someone from the scary group of warriors laughed while the leader stopped directly in front of me, reaching out rudely and fingered the pale yellow silk of my tunics, leaving a smear of grease.

Torstan, my interpreter, said something in their language and the others laughed again.

I was alert now, believing I've detected an easing of tension, having no idea what I'd done wrong.

The considerable profit you could make from trading with barbarians bore a direct relation to the dangers of the journey, and the risks were not only at sea.

I was the youngest partner of my group, investing less than the others, earning my share by being the one who traveled... by allowing thick, rancid-smelling barbarian fingers to tug at my clothing while I smiled and bowed and silently counted the hours and days till my roundship might leave, its hold emptied and refilled.

"They said..." Torsten spoke slowly, in the loud voice one used with the simple-minded. "The Jarl was impressed with your goods. He wants to speak with you."

Torsten's breath, very close to my face, smelled of herring and beer. His tidings, however, were entirely sweet. It meant that me, the stranger from the south, could receive a lot of riches and gain the favor of another ruler.

I had been uncertain about my ability, with two dozen words in my tongue and Torstan's tenuous skills, to make me appear more novel in the eyes of the local ruler.

"Please, inform him that I will present myself as soon as humanly possible given my current work here." I informed politely, signaling for Torsten to do his magic.

"Don't bother with that. He will be here soon." My interpreter informed me without having to consult the men before us.

I couldn't believe my own luck, immediately picturing someone back home who I knew would find this strike of events, a pleasant topic of conversation with a glass of good wine.

Suddenly Torsten pointed out with his finger, into a tent in the middle of the square.

I saw that men were now dismounting horses nearby; they arrived from the open town gate and the plank bridge across the ditch, with others running or walking beside them.

Hearing shouts, I could immediately feel the zest and liveliness of everyone around. All signaling the arrival of the local ruler.

'Jarl... Herleif... was it?' I tried to hear their words.

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BIRGER'S POV

The next day came quickly, after a night of short and troubled sleep, my muscles still ached from my recent stand against the Huldra and the mystery behind its possession cost me a few minutes of my sleep.

I've spent the early morning considering if I should simply cast a divination spell and just end the unnecessary drama. But I wasn't sure how my mortal body would deal with such a drain of energy, so I needed to learn how to channel energy from other planes ASAP.

But aside from the constant pain, which wasn't that unusual in this particular life of mine, I got through my morning work quickly. Hanging many herbs up to dry, crushed a few into tinctures, cut some wood for the longhouse's bonfire and now here I was at the market to buy a few things that Frue Eira wanted before the feast in a few days.

I didn't know exactly why I was the one sent to accomplish such tasks.

Probably because my master, the Jarl Herleif, was coming as well, some type of matter with a relevant foreign merchant if I understood it correctly.

But to be honest, it wasn't the most tedious of days luckily, as I was meant to gather some materials to prepare for the feast and even some good quality gear for combat.

Receiving a hefty sachet of coins and some jewels for paying the goods from Frue Eira, I better understood why it had to be me.

All the way towards Folke town, I got strange stares from the guards of the farm, almost as if they were actually weary that I would attempt to run away. That reminded me of how uncommon my proximity with the Jarl's family was for a slave like me.

Once I arrived at the marketplace, I quickly made my way towards the stalls I was oriented to buy from, but before I could put my coins on the merchant's table, Freja had done it for me.

She tugged on a thin braid in my hair and asked. "Birger, would you be kind enough to help me out with a few things? I know my mother has already asked you plenty, but if you agree I might help you save enough money so you could buy something you need."

"As much as I appreciate the kindness of my lady, I don't really have the need for anything at the moment." I told her while picking up what we got from the previous merchant. "But I will definitely help you carry your burdens."

The middle daughter of the Jarl looked at me confused, but decided against prying further. After that, we walked for a while from shop to shop without speaking much. Which didn't bother me in the slightest, because things were often quiet with Freja anyway.

While Kari was the youngest sister that everyone regarded as the prettiest, who with charming words was capable of making almost any one like her, her oldest sister, Hertha, prided herself of having a tough exterior that intentionally kept others away.

Even when we were young, back when I got to sit with all the sisters together at the Jarl's table, Freja was the one who spoke the least.

A comfortable silence that I wasn't sure I had with anyone else.

Which was fortunate, since I could only busy my mind thinking of the next months, with all my worries about the supernatural creatures and that Midgardians were never as simple as most Asgardians assumed them to be.

Raiding was an important event for Folke villagers, but sometimes it felt unnecessarily long, and I knew that this year it would feel particularly drawn out.

The jarl and his sons had always been around and while the people were genuinely happy for them, their sisters and mother would miss their raiding relatives. Even the young Sune was old enough to miss his family.

While I was contemplating all of that, Freja suddenly spoke about the feast and her brother's anticipation of the sea and how she felt about her father. Clearly those thoughts had been troubling her for quite a while now.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, both Freja and I saw the Jarl.

She had just mentioned how Jarl Herleif wanted to go to the south and had asked Raul to go with him, but Freja didn't like the chance of losing her brother due to him still not being ready.

While Leif, as the oldest amongst her siblings, was more than capable of fighting his way around in a battlefield, Raul was physically smaller and constantly favored the use of his mind over his brawns.

She feared that her father was somewhat so desperate to carve out his name in history that he neglected the risk of going furthest that he had ever been.

Although I heard her worries and tried my best to validate them, I initially thought there must be more to it than that. Yet, here Herleif was, giving away gold and promising glory to get capable men to come with him.

"Is he giving it away…" I trailed off.

"His horde." Freja said in a mocking tone.

From what I could see, Herleif was ragged, older and clearly aching, but the man still bore the charming and enigmatic signs of an inspiring leader. He shouldn't have needed to pay for people to join him, particularly the useless lot that surrounded him at this moment.

Not long after, Leif and Raul approached their father, no doubt to salvage some of his pride.

I offered a hand to take the few things Freja had with her, in case she wanted to join them, but she shook his head.

The sight of the King peddling his horde was enough to turn my stomach. The man was fading into myth and legend, yet he paid for raiders that were worth less than the worn shoes on his feet.

It was sad.

"It really is. Sad and pathetic." Freja's voice told me that I hadn't just thought the words but actually said them.

I bowed respectfully, and when I looked up to her, Freja didn't appear to think I was speaking above my station or out of turn. I knew she wouldn't, hence why I deliberately voiced my thoughts.

"Birger the healer, don't want to be known as a Viking?" She grinned and it managed to stun me a little.

I just shrugged and smiled back. Following her when she began walking again, only to spare the occasional lance towards the Jarl, a man he'd heard about all of his life, who was intelligent and brave and whose ambition never ended.

I somewhat sympathized with the man, in a way. In my first life, I might once have wanted to be like him. A jarl. Who bowed before no King. And who might one day become an Emperor.

But now, I am a god. Kinda.

For now I was known as Birger. The start of my legend. A slave who would earn his own freedom through merit.

It seemed just as unlikely a jump to most people now as it will be to all those from years to come, but if I set them an example this early, it might not be that far-fetched to anyone else. The slave masters might learn to be more lenient if faced with the prospect of having a diamond in the rough on their hands.

Or it might just be my foolishness speaking. Who knows?

Taking all the sacks of gear and some provisions into the carriage that brought me, I heard Freja speaking one more time.

"You're a brave man, Birger." She said, grabbing a basket from the hall for collecting herbs and flowers for her crown.

"What a shame." I replied, binding and securing all the goods we've bought. "I strive so hard not to be."

She laughed and I knew it was the reaction I'd been seeking, especially after I gave her my trademark polite smile.

Her hand slid up my arm only to land on my bare neck, like a snake ready to bite. She felt my warm skin, despite the constant frigid climate, I fortunately emanated a strong aura.

Part of me wanted her to close the distance between us.

It might help end her unease every time we met, and perhaps make her stop teasing Hertha about me. It would prove to her that she could trust in me, a moment of weakness might make me appear less scary.

Oh, I knew she was probably even more weary of me than Hertha was, she merely didn't voice it as loudly.

But when I simply opted to look unfazed, she lowered her hand, leaving the carriage and returning to the market.

It was for the best.

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FREJA'S POV

Once beyond the crowd of people, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

As the daughter of the Jarl, I've often felt like I knew everything there is to know because I had the opportunity to learn everything from my parents.

But I knew that my family's slave, who did his work without questioning, wasn't a simple person.

I wasn't sure if he was a good man without luck, or someone vindictive that would eventually rise against my family.

When I reached my father's tent, a lot of men were in front of its entrance, all whispering to themselves. I immediately felt out of place, a little girl amongst monolithic warriors.

Still, I forced my way inside nonetheless, I wanted to know what was happening, getting worried about my father once I heard a few screams of pain.

"I will ask you one more time." I finally saw my father, as he was amidst a public interrogation. Besides him was a bald man counting some coins and translating the conversation among the parties.

"I've... I have said everything you asked of me, my lord." Were the words translated by a small and well dressed man, with the swollen face of someone who just received a beating.

"Not everything. Tell when your ruler is planning to strike. I know you are very close to him and very well informed. So if you don't mind..." Her father, the Jarl, paused his sentence before nodding to the two brutes holding the foreigner.

A loud scream came from the unfortunate man on the ground.

The bald man translated more rumblings that came from the hurting man. "I told you, he has no such desire. But what you are doing just now... this completely breaks the peace you had with us."

"You see... I'm in a good mood " The Jarl replied, bending down close to his hostage, waiting for his words to be translated. He then took a sharp knife and pointed to the man's right eye.

The man immediately flinched and squirmed at the not so subtle threat.

"Am I to send you in pieces, in hopes to gain a proper answer from him then?" The Jarl's knife punctured on a particularly blemished forehead.

A drop of blood fell from the spot, and tainted the victim's already tarnished mantle.

My father cocked his head upwards to his men and asked. "What do you think?"

He was trying to intimidate the foreigner, I was sure. But in my thoughts. Some variant of telling him that he shouldn't or that 'I didn't want him to…' was storming inside my head.

And I definitely did not want him to keep brutalizing this merchant who willing came to make fair business.

But I also thought about the kind of period we were approaching and about how all the men would see my father if I publicly interrupted him. This was the politics most warriors practiced without noticing.

But after the foreign man simply gaped for words instead of speaking what my father wanted to hear, the Jarl sighed.

He got up and sheathed his blade. "Ok, show is over guys! You two, take him away somewhere else and do the thing!"

What followed was something that spooked me and might even haunt me during my sleep. The foreigner was dragged out of the tent while ranting in his exotic language.

"Almost a waste of time... Freja?" At that, I tensed and wasn't sure if I'd made him angry just by being there watching him. "Have you simply lost your mind, girl?" He approached and placed his hand on my shoulders. "Why would you come here? You know I find it too dangerous for you to stay around when I'm working."

I couldn't help but remain tense, trying my best to come up with a reasonable answer.

"Forget what you saw just now, you shouldn't concern yourself with these matters." He sighed, displaying how tired he was before adding. "I know you are brave and that you admire your older sister. But I want you to heed my words: don't leave the Farm without some of my men guarding you."

"I... I understand, father. I am sorry to have worried you." I lowered her head, holding my hands together.

"Glad you understood. Now please, make sure we have everything you need and return home, I'm done here anyways." Before I had the chance to turn to leave, my father grabbed my shoulder. "And please, if you meet Birger, tell him I want to speak with him."

My step faltered, but she quickly replied. "Yes father."

He leaned toward me and kissed my forehead. The only thing I could remember was about my father pointing a blade at the foreigner's forehead.

Before drawing any more attention, I left the tent. Once I managed to reach Birger, I informed him of my fathers wishes.

He merely nodded and hurried to finish his work so as not to keep my father waiting.

Right there I wanted to take his face in my hands, and tell him that I didn't want him to accept the proposal I feared my father would make him, but I settled for resting my fingers on his chest and stayed silent.

Birger immediately stopped tying some ropes and began paying attention to my weird behavior. He felt my fingers poking him as if to stop his movement.

But I just couldn't go ahead with it, simply shook my head, apologized for pestering him and walked away. He must have been left really confused, but probably assumed I was acting just like my sisters.

The afternoon passed slowly after our visit to the market. My trip back home was calm, but my thoughts were consumed with half of my family embarking on a raid.

They more than likely already knew how to swim.

I'd never seen the open sea though, never been in battle. It worried me to no end, no matter how much they needed to do it.

I thought about my mother, while everyone else would pretend, it was clear that she wasn't in favor of such tradition.

Trying to distract myself by collecting flowers and thistles for my crown.

I still was unsure what my father wanted with Birger. The thought of my gentle friend getting hurt, or worse, getting a taste for hurting others was too much to bear.

Rather than her regular worry for a familiar, my care for the boy that caused my unrest wasn't something I completely understood.

I wondered if that was the entire point coming into the woods. Drawing it out as much as I could, making it take nearly the entire afternoon, and no one ever complained. It was usual behavior for me.

When my basket was overflowing and I finally became exhausted, I sat down in the grass field. Only to hear something, some kind of noise came from the bushes.

But before I got too worried, a little snake slid nearby and vanished back into the woods.

'Just a stupid snake, better return home before something else appears.' I told myself, getting up and making my way towards my family's longhouse.

I knew that Raul didn't want to go, not as eagerly as Leif at least. I could see it all over him, even though Raul never acted affected by it. Perhaps, when you had been training to endure physical harm that long, you become used to certain types of pain.

Sometimes Kari and Hertha would talk about what they thought about her father and brothers raids. While Hertha was the one complaining she wanted to join them, Kari was the one to romanticize their adventure as some test of courage and might.

My sisters usually argued a lot about this matter. I preferred to pretend to be indifferent towards that subject, saving for myself the sorrow of missing my family.

Even though I wanted to ask for them to stay, I never found enough courage to do so. If I did, I feared they would regard me as weak and disrespectful to their traditions. Only our mother got away with being against the traditions.

'I suppose I should go back to singing, it usually helps me calm down.' I pondered, having no idea that I was being watched. 'Perhaps my mother can help me.' That thought made me smile a little. 'Yes, she will understand how I feel.'