Kattegat, 781 AD
The longhouse smelled of sweat and crushed herbs scattered across the floor.
Rain hit the thatched roof hard, filling the room with constant noise and the wind pushed through gaps in the walls, making the flames in the hearth flicker and casting shadows on the faces of the women around Lagertha.
Lagertha lay on worn furs breathing hard with her body curling up with each contraction. Her blonde hair, usually tied back neatly, stuck to her face in wet strands and she gripped the furs so hard her knuckles were white.
Everyone knew her as a fierce warrior, but tonight her strength showed itself differently - it's raw and honest.
Frida, the oldest woman helping, knelt beside her with steady hands, pressing a wet cloth to Lagertha's forehead.
Astrid, much younger and noticeably nervous, stood at the foot of the bed holding clean cloths and a bowl of hot water.
Sigrid sat near the hearth praying quietly, her fingers were moving over wooden beads.
"Keep breathing, Lagertha," Frida said calmly. "You're almost there."
Lagertha looked at Frida, her eyes were sharp with pain but still showing her fighting spirit. "I'm breathing," she said hoarsely. She took a deep breath, then let it out shakily. "Gods, it feels like he's fighting to get out."
Frida almost smiled. "He's stubborn, then. Just like you."
Astrid looked up while gripping the cloths tighter. "Should it take this long?" she asked softly trying to hide her worry.
Frida kept her eyes on Lagertha. "Every birth is different. This one's just taking his time, that's all."
Sigrid stopped praying for a moment. She opened her eyes and looked steadily at Astrid. "Freyja is watching. She'll help him come when he's ready." She sounded confident, but her fingers kept working the beads showing she was concerned too.
Lagertha groaned, throwing her head back as another contraction hit. "Freyja better hurry then," she said through clenched teeth, then she grabbed Frida's wrist suddenly. "Tell me it's almost over."
Frida met her gaze honestly. "It is, you're strong enough for this. Just one more push, maybe two."
Lagertha nodded with her jaw tight, and pushed hard through the pain. Her cry was loud and real, showing all her effort and tiredness.
Astrid jumped slightly but stayed where she was, her hands shaking as she passed a fresh cloth to Frida.
In the outer room, past the heavy wool curtain dividing the longhouse, Ragnar walked back and forth with his boots scuffing the dirt floor. His hands opened and closed at his sides like he wanted to fight something.
The firelight showed the worry lines on his face, they were deeper tonight than usual.
Rollo leaned against a wooden post, he was standing still and watching his brother.
"You're wearing down the floor," Rollo said quietly with his voice nearly drowned out by the rain.
Ragnar stopped and turned to him. "You try standing here listening to that." He pointed toward the curtain as another muffled cry from Lagertha reached them.
Rollo's mouth quirked up slightly. "She's tougher than both of us. You know that."
Ragnar's shoulders dropped for a moment. "I know." He ran a hand through his hair, which was still wet from checking on the storm outside earlier. "But I should be in there, not out here feeling useless."
"It's their job," Rollo said, nodding toward the curtain. "You'd just be in the way, and Frida would just throw you out herself."
Ragnar laughed shortly. "She would." He looked at the curtain again and speaking more quietly. "I just... I need to know they're both okay."
Rollo stepped closer. "They will be. Lagertha never loses a fight, and that child has her blood." He paused, his voice softening. "You're going to be a father, Ragnar. Think about that."
Ragnar looked at him, there was something open and honest in his eyes; pride and fear, and feelings he couldn't put into words. "I'm trying," he said quietly.
Inside, the tension in the room peaked as Lagertha's cries grew sharper, and Frida's voice rose, still steady but urgent. "Now, Lagertha. Push with everything you have."
Lagertha's face tightened with effort and her breath was hissing between clenched teeth. She gripped Frida's wrist hard enough to leave marks, her whole body was shaking as she used every bit of strength for one final push.
Her scream filled the longhouse, it was part pain, part victory, and then there was silence.
A heartbeat later, a thin, high-pitched cry broke through.
Frida sat back, holding a small moving bundle in her hands. "A boy," she said with relief clear in her voice. Then she cleaned him quickly with a cloth and wrapped him in soft wool.
Astrid let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "He's... he's perfect," she said, her voice shaking with amazement.
Sigrid smiled and her hands were finally still. "Freyja heard us."
Lagertha fell back against the furs breathing hard, her eyes were half-closed with exhaustion. "Give him to me," she said with a voice rough but demanding.
Frida placed the baby in her arms while fixing the cloth to keep him warm.
Lagertha looked down while catching her breath as she studied his tiny face; he was red and wrinkled, but alive.
Her fingers touched his cheek while trembling slightly. "You sure took your time," she whispered with a faint smile.
The curtain opened, and Ragnar came in, his eyes immediately finding Lagertha and the child. He crossed the room quickly and dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering uncertainly. "Lagertha," he said thickly. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, too tired to speak much, but her eyes held his steadily. She shifted the baby so he could see. "Your son."
Ragnar leaned closer, his breath catching as he saw the small, fragile life in her arms. "He's... strong," he said quietly. His hand reached out, touching the baby's tiny fist, and for a moment he looked younger and more open, like a weight had lifted from him.
Rollo stayed by the curtain watching them. "He's got your nose, Ragnar," he said lightly, though his eyes were soft. "Poor kid."
Lagertha laughed weakly but genuinely. "Better than yours, Rollo."
Rollo grinned, coming closer to look at the baby. "He's already got a strong grip. Look at that."
Frida stood up and wiped her hands on her skirt. "He'll need to feed soon," she said practically but kindly. "Rest for now. I'll check on you both at dawn."
Astrid gathered the used cloths and moved slowly like she didn't want to interrupt the moment. "I'll clean up," she said quietly. "You just... be with him."
Sigrid stood, putting the charm in her pocket. "I'll make an offering outside. The storm's calming down, that's a good sign." She paused and looked at Lagertha. "You did well."
Lagertha nodded, her eyes still on the baby. "Thank you. All of you."
The women left quietly, their footsteps fading as the longhouse grew quieter.
Ragnar sat back, his hand resting on Lagertha's arm. "What should we call him?" he asked quietly, almost reverently.
Lagertha thought for a moment while her fingers were touching the baby's cheek. "Bjorn," she said finally. "Bjorn Ragnarsson."
Ragnar nodded, trying out the name. "Bjorn. It fits him."
Rollo went to the hearth and added a log to the fire and the flames grew brighter, warming the room. "I'll get some mead," he said, looking at Ragnar. "You're paying."
Ragnar snorted. "You'll drink everything I have."
"For a night like this?" Rollo said, heading for the door. "It's worth it."
Lagertha shifted, wincing as she adjusted the baby against her chest. "Bring me some too," she called after him. "I've earned it."
Rollo's laugh echoed as he went outside, and the sound was fading into the quieting rain.
Ragnar pulled a stool closer, sitting where he could watch Lagertha and the baby.
The fire crackled, it was the only sound for a while as they settled into the moment.
"He's really here," Ragnar said, almost to himself. "Our son."
Lagertha met his eyes, her smile tired but fierce. "He's ours. And he's going to be trouble growing up."
Ragnar chuckled softly. "That's good. Keeps things interesting."
The baby moved, making a small fussy sound.
Lagertha rocked him gently, the movement coming naturally despite her exhaustion.
Ragnar leaned closer, his hand covering hers and for that moment nothing else mattered.
The storm, the village, the future; none of it existed.
There was only the three of them, connected by something new and fragile that would change everything to come.