Chapter 22
Avery
I was a simple girl from Earth.
Now, I guess I’m a farmer.
We purchased the farm a month ago. We’ve been busy since then.
Erik still hasn’t made enough repairs to move the ship to the farm.
We’re going to need something bigger than the truck to get it here.
He spends most of his time in the forest working on it or tracking down materials he needs.
The barn is already being converted into what looks like a futuristic workshop.
Ivar seems to enjoy tending to the crops. Apparently, it was something he did after the plague struck his world. I guess even kings have to get their hands dirty when everything you know gets wiped out.
Sigurd takes care of the livestock. I guess you can call it caring for them. It’s mainly feeding them and slaughtering them when we need to put more food in the fridge. He’s also wrestled every bull in the pasture. None of them won.
As for me, I’ve just become domesticated, I guess.
I can’t help with the ship. I can’t do much in the fields except pick corn.
I’ve helped Sigurd feed the chickens a few times.
Most of my time is spent in the house. I take care of the laundry.
Clean. Tend to our home. I’m even learning to cook, although I don’t think I’m very good at it.
Ivar and Erik are usually polite, regardless of what I serve them.
Sigurd spanked me for burning his steak a few days ago.
Told me the inside better be as red as my ass the next time I cooked one for him.
If you’d given me a million opportunities to guess my future, I’d never have landed on this one. Stranded on a strange world with three men I’ve fallen for. Playing the role of dutiful mate in the kitchen and the bedroom.
But the strange thing is that I’m learning to like it, even if it’s the opposite of how I imagined my life before the meteor was spotted. This simple life is rather fulfilling. If the ship never gets repaired, and I never see Midgard, I would be happy here. As long as I’m with them.
“What’s for dinner, mate?” Sigurd asks as he walks into the house and slams the front door.
“I’m making steaks again,” I reply hesitantly. “And potatoes.”
I’m in the kitchen, steaks in front of me, trying to get the hang of seasoning them now that Erik has fully stocked our pantry. Sigurd walks up behind me and puts his hands on my hips, then he leans down and kisses my neck.
“Don’t forget to make mine bloody,” Sigurd rumbles into my ear. “Otherwise, I’ll have to spank you again.”
“Maybe I should burn it to a crisp just so you have a reason to,” I tease, rubbing my ass against him.
“Like I ever need a reason,” he laughs, moving a hand to my ass and squeezing it. “But if you burn my steak, it’ll be punishment, not playtime.”
“Hard to tell the difference sometimes considering how rough you are.” I groan when he nuzzles my neck, his beard beginning to grow back in. “Don’t… if you start something, I won’t get dinner done in time.”
“Fine, I can wait,” Sigurd sighs, squeezing my ass one more time before letting his hands fall away.
I finish seasoning the steaks and take them outside to the grill. I made them in the oven the first time, like my mom used to do, but that was clearly a mistake. Sigurd educated me on the proper way to cook them while he was blistering my bottom.
“Okay, they all seemed to agree that bloody steaks are better, so I’ll trust them,” I muse, carefully flipping the steaks. “But I’m still going to cook mine a little more.”
I didn’t grow up eating bloody steaks, like some of my friends. My mom thought they had to be brown on the inside and charred before they were edible. My dad never complained. I never knew any difference. I’m learning a lot now that the planet I grew up on has been destroyed by a meteor.
“Alright, I’m not going to risk burning them this time,” I say, removing three large steaks from the grill and leaving my smaller one where it is. “I doubt I’ll get punished if they’re too raw. I’ve seen them eat meat that’s barely cooked.”
Once I’m done with the steaks, I carry them inside. The potatoes are in the oven and they’re almost done. I poke them with a fork to check and give them another ten minutes before moving them to the plates.
“Dinner is ready!” I call out. “Let Ivar know and see if Erik has made it back yet.”
“He’s in the barn,” Sigurd says as he gets up. “Saw him earlier, fiddling with a bunch of shit.”
We don’t always get to have dinner together, so it’s a nice treat when we do.
Sigurd retrieves his brothers and I’ve got the food on the table when they arrive.
I pour beer in glasses for them and some water for myself.
I haven’t been in the mood for alcohol recently, but I’m not sure why.
Beer isn’t their favorite, but it’s the closest thing we’ve found so far.
Erik’s still on the hunt for ale and Ivar has discussed brewing it himself if we can’t find any to suit his tastes.
“I see you figured out how to cook steak,” Sigurd praises when he cuts into his and blood runs out. “See, all you needed was a good spanking.”
“Or you know, you could have told her how you wanted it cooked before she burnt it the first time,” Erik smirks.
“Nah, it’s more fun to punish her when she gets it wrong,” Sigurd says playfully. “Besides, all it does is make her wetter and none of you ever complain about that.”
“No,” Ivar admits.
“How are things coming with the ship?” I ask, turning my attention to Erik, trying to change the subject.
“I found a trailer for sale that should hold it. I think the truck can pull it now that I’ve fixed it up,” he answers. “Only problem is that we’re going to have to remove a wall to get it into the barn.”
“I’m sure we can manage that,” Sigurd says. “Just give me my hammer and five minutes.”
“We don’t want to destroy it, brother,” Erik chuckles. “We’ll need to reassemble the wall after we get the ship inside.”
“That’s no fun,” Sigurd mutters.
“And once you get the ship into the barn, you’ll be able to repair it? Have you found everything you need?” I ask.
“No, but I’m getting closer every day. I’ve fully repaired the cloaking device, so it’ll hide the ship, no matter what. I’ve almost got the weapons system back online,” he says. “Hyperdrive is another story. That may take a long time.”
“We’re adapting, so we can stay here a while longer,” Ivar says. “But if the hyperdrive is going to take as long as you say, then the communication system needs to be a priority. If we can get that working again, we could at least let the other royal families know we’re alive.”
“I’m working on it, but that is going to take a while, too,” Erik says. “Our ship took a lot of damage. We’re lucky we managed to land it.”
I listen to them talk while I eat my steak. Sigurd seems pleased with his, as do his brothers. Strangely, as I watch them devour the bloody meat, I feel a twinge in my stomach. An odd hunger. Their steaks actually look appetizing, and I usually wrinkle my nose at meat that rare.
“Um, could I try a bite of your steak?” I ask, gesturing to Ivar’s plate.
“Sure, help yourself,” he says, sliding it closer.
“Finally realized this is the way to eat it, huh?” Sigurd asks, devouring a massive bite.
“I don’t know. Never tried it like this, honestly. But I’m suddenly curious,” I say, carving a sliver of meat and stabbing it with my fork.
I hesitate for a moment, then take a bite of the steak. It doesn’t have the same char or texture as mine, but the flavor is better. It definitely seems to agree with my stomach. A bite it all it takes for the odd hunger pang to vanish.
“What do you think?” Sigurd asks.
“I think… I think I like it,” I admit, tilting my head in confusion. “Guess I’ll make mine like that next time, too.”
“We’ll make a Viking out of you yet,” Sigurd smirks.
“People liked their steaks like that on Earth, too,” I laugh. “My mom just always cooked them a lot more. Both ways are good, just different.”
“Keep cooking mine like this,” Sigurd says, finishing his steak and digging his fork into his baked potato. “Potatoes are good, though. Never had a taste for these, but I like how you make them.”
“That’s because I smother them in good stuff, so they’re not so bland,” I say. “And whenever you get around to slaughtering one of the pigs, I’ll add bacon, too.”
“Pig on a potato?” Ivar raises a brow. “Interesting.”
“One day, I might even introduce you guys to fries,” I say. “I just need to do some experimenting to figure out how to make them. We might have to start with some potato wedges first.”
“As long as you’re cooking, I’m not going to complain about anything you serve me,” Erik says, sipping his beer. “Unlike Sigurd.”
“Hey, you can’t blame me for wanting to eat good,” Sigurd shrugs. “Especially when we can afford it.”
“Yes, money shouldn’t be an issue for a while,” Erik says. “And if we run out, we know how to get more.”
“Hopefully we won’t have to rob another bank. I wouldn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention now that we’ve gotten settled in,” Ivar says. “There are no neighbors around here and nobody bothers us. It’s nice and peaceful.”
“So peaceful it’s boring sometimes,” Sigurd admits. “But I’m staying in shape wrestling the bulls.”
“Really hope you never get gored,” I mutter, a twinge of concern in my stomach. “Medicine may be difficult to find here if you get an infection or something. I don’t even know if they’ve invented antibiotics yet.”
“I’ll be fine,” Sigurd grunts. “Would take a lot more than a bull to stop me.”
“There were some medical supplies on the ship, but they got destroyed,” Erik says. “An injury could be concerning, so listen to our mate. Be careful. We don’t know what the hospitals are like here or how good the doctors are.”
“I’m not planning to find out,” Sigurd says.
“Just means we need to get the ship ready as fast as we can. The quicker we get home, the better,” Ivar sighs, pushing his empty plate away and reaching for his beer. “I’m happy with what we’ve built here, but it’s a far cry from Midgard, and the other royal bloodlines are waiting for us.”
And so, life continues on our farm. Days go by.
Then weeks. Erik buys the trailer and the three of them are able to move the ship to the farm.
I help with removing the wall, but I mostly seem to be a distraction or just in the way.
Luckily, there’s plenty else for me to do. We never run out of work.
Between cooking, cleaning, and managing the household, I become rather adept at multitasking.
I even teach myself to sew, using a book that I find on the farm, and an old sewing machine that reminds me of the one my grandmother had.
I won’t be making outfits anytime soon, but I can at least repair the clothes we have.
It gets lonely sometimes. My mates are busy. I’m busy. I name the chickens and they’re surprisingly good company, until they end up on the dinner table. It bothers me the first few times, but I eventually get used to the cycle of life on our farm. It’s not due to cruelty, just necessity.
My affinity for red meat seems to continue. I find myself craving steaks, still bloody when they come off the grill. Even after I learn to make bread and fashion it into hamburger buns, I still like mine bloody, just like my mates.
Then one morning, I wake up and barely make it to the bathroom before I’m huddling over the toilet, vomiting what’s left of last night’s dinner. Ivar is the first to notice and he walks to the door of the bathroom to check on me.
“Are you okay? This is the first time you’ve gotten sick since we found you,” he says, stepping into the bathroom and holding my hair out of the way when I vomit again.
“Must be all the bloody steaks,” I groan, my stomach flipping, but all I manage is a dry heave. “Maybe I should start cooking them like I used to.”
“I don’t think that’s what it is.” Ivar laughs under his breath.
“Are you laughing at me? Now, really?” I groan louder.
“No, mate,” he murmurs, leaning down and kissing below my ear. “I’m just excited. I thought I could sense something different, but this confirms it.”
“What do you mean?” I mutter.
“How long has it been since your time of the month, hmm?” he asks, then glances at the pads on the counter. “You didn’t even open the hygiene products you asked Erik to pick up for you.”
I stare at the toilet and then I realize what he’s insinuating. A cascade of emotions floods through me. Joy. Panic. A sense of protectiveness mixed with closeness toward my mates, especially the one holding my hair while the contents of my stomach sours in my throat.
Ivar is right. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Strange cravings. Morning sickness.
I’m pregnant.