"Well," he rumbles, his voice strained, "I suppose we should prepare for the meeting with Eamonn."

I nod, pushing myself up from the chair. "Right. Wouldn't want to keep our illustrious lord waiting. Got to go hear how he plans to send children off to die for king and country."

Erik's emerald eyes narrow at my bitter tone. "Mind your tongue, little one. These are dangerous times, and loose words can lead to loose heads."

I can't help but roll my eyes at that. "Please. As if Eamonn would dare touch a hair on your precious child bride's head. I'm practically a holy relic at this point."

Erik's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Be that as it may, we must tread carefully. The world is changing, and we must change with it if we hope to survive."

I can't help but roll my eyes at Erik's dramatic statement. "Speaking of survival, I can't wait to see how my family reacts to this announcement. I bet Oisin will be thrilled to have an excuse to drink even more."

Erik's emerald eyes narrow, his expression hardening. "This is no jesting matter, child. Men who've never so much as held a spear or sword will die. Grown men, mind you. And the boys? They'll likely be used to create a distribution network for food and equipment. 'Tis no laughing matter."

I wave my hand dismissively, feeling a familiar surge of bitter indifference. "Honestly, Erik, I don't really give a rat's ass about this place. There's nothing left for me to do in Ireland that's within my control. We've got Elizabeth Bathory and her puppet king leading an entire country into war, and let's not forget the delightful tidbit Dumitra shared about the vampire folklore. Apparently, it's all thanks to Bathory tossing her failed experiments our way - mindless beasts without conscience. Charming, isn't it?"

Erik's brow furrows, a look of genuine surprise crossing his rugged features. "I wasn't aware of that. It does sound... more interesting. But you're right, Ireland has outgrown my needs as well. I found what I needed to find, and we should leave as soon as possible. Well, at least a month after you get pregnant, as planned."

The mere thought of pregnancy in this body sends a shudder through me. "Christ, the idea of getting knocked up in this flesh prison is fucking horrifying. But I suppose I just have to stop thinking of my body as anything other than an object to use for my own ends. Maybe later, when I have time to breathe - if that ever happens - I'll take a moment to get used to it. You know, have a proper existential crisis and all that jazz."

Erik shifts uncomfortably, his massive frame seeming to shrink slightly. "You shouldn't think of your own body that way. Though perhaps I'm not the best judge, having never met a man trapped in a woman's body before."

I can't help but snort at that. "No shit. I'd be surprised if you had."

Erik clears his throat, clearly eager to change the subject. "There's no point in us attending the meeting since I've already been updated by that soldier. However, there's still a question I have for Eamonn."

My curiosity piqued, I raise an eyebrow. "Oh? What burning query could you possibly have for our esteemed lord?"

"I need to know if the witch hunters guarding Baile Rois will also be drafted into the war," Erik explains, his tone grave. "If they are, then I'll have to become a 'stand-in' witch hunter with my axe as the only weapon and minimal support from the church. It's... rather annoying, to say the least."

A wicked grin spreads across my face. "What, Dumitra and her daughters won't help? And let's not forget, you've got me now - your very own pint-sized powerhouse. I'm quite intrigued about what manner of beasties might show up."

Erik sighs, running a hand through his golden mane. "Dumitra and her daughters are... well, they're lazy. They don't typically do that sort of work unless absolutely necessary."

Lazy? That's rich coming from a guy who spends half his time brewing potions and the other half flexing his muscles. I bet those vampire vixens could run circles around him if they wanted to. But hey, who am I to judge? I'm just the reincarnated scientist trapped in a child bride's body. Totally normal stuff.

Erik strides towards the door, his movements betraying a hint of weariness. He pulls it open, the hinges creaking in protest. "Let's go," he says, his voice a low rumble.

As we step out of the cottage and begin our trek towards the village, I decide it's high time to address a particularly grating issue. I clear my throat, adopting my most authoritative tone - which, admittedly, sounds rather comical coming from this pint-sized body.

"Erik," I begin, my voice dripping with exasperation, "we need to have a little chat about your choice of... endearments."

He glances down at me, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Oh? And what might that be, lit-"

I cut him off with a sharp wave of my hand. "That. Right there. The 'little one' business. It's got to stop."

Erik's brow furrows in confusion. "But 'tis what you are, is it not?"

I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't fall out of my head. "In case you've forgotten, oh wise and venerable Erik, I'm not actually a child. This," I gesture at my diminutive form, "is just a rather inconvenient meat puppet I'm forced to inhabit."

Erik's lips twitch, clearly fighting back a smile. "Aye, I've not forgotten. But 'tis a habit, you see."

"Well, break it," I snap. "At least when it's just the two of us. The only ones I'd even remotely tolerate calling me 'child' are Dumitra, Ioana, and Virginia. And that's only because Dumitra's old enough to be my great-great-great-grandmother, and the twins have her memories."

Erik's eyebrows shoot up at that. "You'd prefer the bloodsuckers' terms of endearment over mine? I'm wounded, truly."

I snort, shaking my head. "Don't be dramatic. It's not about preference. It's about accuracy. In case you've forgotten, I'm technically old enough to be your father."

Erik's booming laughter echoes through the trees, startling a flock of birds into flight. "My father? By Odin's beard, that's a terrifying thought. Though I suppose it explains your penchant for lecturing."

I feel my cheeks heat up, a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. "Oh, stuff it, you overgrown Viking. Just call me Lile, or Lily if you must. No more 'child' or 'little one' or any other infantilizing nonsense."

Erik's grin widens, a mischievous glint in his eye. "As you wish... old man."

I groan, realizing I've walked right into that one. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Oh? But you said you were old enough to be my father. Surely that makes you an old man, does it not?" Erik's voice is dripping with mock innocence.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Keep it up, and I'll show you just how 'old' I can be," I growl, though there's no real heat behind it. "I may be stuck in this body, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Erik chuckles, shaking his head. "Aye, like attempting to seduce me at every turn? Or perhaps you mean your newfound talent for redecorating my mead kegs with the contents of your stomach?"

I feel my face flame even hotter at the reminder of my drunken escapade. "Low blow, Erik. Low blow. At least I didn't have a complete mental breakdown at the mere suggestion of jerking off into a mug."

Erik's step falters for a moment, and I can't help but smirk at his discomfort. "That... that was different," he sputters. "You caught me off guard with your... unconventional solution."

"Unconventional?" I scoff. "Please. It's perfectly logical. Besides, it's not like I suggested anything truly outrageous. Though now that I think about it, maybe we should consider some alternatives. How do you feel about turkey basters?"

Erik's face contorts into an expression of utter bewilderment. "Turkey... what?"

I wave my hand dismissively. "Never mind. Future invention. The point is, your reaction was priceless. I thought your eyes were going to pop right out of your skull."

"Well, forgive me for being somewhat taken aback by the idea of... of..." Erik trails off, clearly uncomfortable with even saying the words.

"Of what?" I press, unable to resist needling him further. "Spanking the monkey? Choking the chicken? Polishing the sword?"

Erik's face turns an interesting shade of puce. "Must you be so crude?"

I grin wickedly. "Oh, I'm just getting started. Would you prefer more poetic terms? Perhaps 'communing with the one-eyed god' or 'shaking hands with the unemployed'?"

Erik groans, running a hand down his face. "By all the gods, you're awful. How did I end up married to such a foul-mouthed little demon?"

"Just lucky, I guess," I quip. "Besides, you're one to talk. I've seen the way you preen in front of that polished shield of yours. 'Oh, look at me, I'm Erik the mighty Viking. Behold my rippling muscles and manly beard!'"

Erik's eyes narrow, though I can see the amusement dancing in their depths. "I do not preen."

"Oh please," I scoff. "You spend more time admiring your reflection than Narcissus himself. It's a wonder you haven't turned into a flower yet."

"And you're any better?" Erik retorts. "I've seen you primping in front of that little mirror I gave you. For someone who claims to be above such vanities, you certainly spend a lot of time fussing with your hair."

I feel my cheeks heat up again. Damn this body and its involuntary reactions. "That's... that's different. I'm just trying to maintain some semblance of hygiene in this godforsaken era. Besides, it's not like I have much else to work with in this form."

Erik's laugh is rich and deep. "Ah, so you admit to your own vanity then?"

I stick my tongue out at him, a childish gesture that feels oddly satisfying. "At least I don't flex my muscles at every opportunity. I swear, you find any excuse to show off those arms of yours."

"They are rather impressive, are they not?" Erik grins, actually pausing to roll up his sleeve and flex his bicep.

Ugh, this macho fuck. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're worse than a peacock in mating season."

"And you're as prickly as a hedgehog," Erik retorts. "Though I suppose that's to be expected from someone who's lived multiple lifetimes."

I open my mouth to fire back another retort, but I'm cut short as we reach the edge of the village. The sounds of daily life - chickens clucking, children playing, women gossiping - fill the air, a stark reminder of the world we're about to re-enter.

Erik's expression sobers, the playful banter of moments ago fading into something more serious. "Remember," he says quietly, "we must be cautious. Eamonn might not be in a good mood."

I nod, feeling the weight of our situation settle back onto my shoulders. "Right," I mutter, straightening my spine and schooling my features into the innocent expression of a child. "Time to face the music."

I glance at Erik, his massive frame tense with unspoken thoughts. The weight of our earlier conversation hangs between us like a heavy fog. Might as well clear the air a bit more before we dive into whatever clusterfuck Eamonn's cooked up for us.

"You know," I begin, keeping my voice low, "we've got more in common than you might think."

Erik's emerald eyes flick towards me, a mixture of curiosity and wariness in their depths. "Like what?" he asks, his tone guarded.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. "Well, for starters... did you love her? Brigitte, I mean."

His brow furrows, and for a moment, I think he might not answer. Then, with a heavy sigh, he says, "I liked her well enough. She was a good woman, strong. But love? Nay, 'twas more... companionship, I suppose."

I nod, understanding all too well. "I get it. In my past life, I lost my two wives and children, just like you lost Brigitte in childbirth. It's... it's not something you ever really get over, is it?"

Erik's head snaps towards me, his eyes widening. "Two wives?" he asks.

"Yeah," I reply, a bitter smile twisting my lips. "Elena and Sofia. And two sons - Mircea and Victor. All gone now, thanks to the alien invasion that ended my world."

Erik's silent for a long moment, processing this information. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, "How... how does one bear such loss?"

Christ, we're really diving into the deep end here, aren't we? I run a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words. "Honestly? You don't. Not really. You just... keep going. Because what else can you do?"

Erik nods slowly, his gaze distant. "Aye, that I understand. When Brigitte died, I thought... I thought the world had ended. But then the sun rose, and life went on, whether I willed it or not."

"Exactly," I say, feeling a strange kinship with this hulking Viking. "It's like... you're carrying this weight, this hole inside you. And some days, it's all you can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other."

"But you had two wives," Erik muses, his tone thoughtful. "Was that... common in your time?"

I can't help but snort at that. "Not exactly. It's... complicated. In my world, things were different. Relationships, marriage - it wasn't all about producing heirs or forging alliances. People married for love, for companionship. And sometimes, that meant loving more than one person."

Erik's brow furrows, clearly struggling with the concept. "But how... how does one divide their heart so?"

"It's not about division," I explain, feeling like I'm giving a TED talk on polyamory to a medieval warrior. "It's about expansion. The heart isn't a finite resource, Erik. Love isn't a pie where more for one person means less for another. It's... it's more like a fire. The more you feed it, the brighter it burns."

Erik's silent for a long moment, his emerald eyes fixed on the horizon. Then, with a wry smile, he says, "You speak with the wisdom of one who has lived many lives. Though I confess, such ideas are... foreign to me."

I shrug, feeling the weight of my years - both in this life and the last - settling on my shoulders. "Yeah, well, that's the thing about wisdom. It doesn't always make life easier. Sometimes it just makes the pain sharper, you know?"

Erik nods, his expression softening. "Aye, that I do understand. The weight of knowledge can be a heavy burden indeed."

We stand there in silence for a moment, two souls out of time, united by loss and the strange twists of fate that have brought us together. Then, because apparently I can't resist pushing buttons, I ask, "So, about that mug of viking vigor..."

Erik's face flushes crimson, and he sputters, "By Odin's beard! Must you bring that up now?"

I can't help but grin, feeling a bit of my old self surfacing. "Hey, just trying to lighten the mood. Besides, it's not every day a girl gets to discuss the finer points of artificial insemination with her hulking Norse husband."

Erik groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You truly are a terror, you know that? I sometimes wonder if Gullveig herself sent you to test my patience."

"Oh please," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "If Gullveig had any sense, she'd have sent someone with a bit more... physical maturity. I mean, come on, Erik. You can't tell me you're not at least a little relieved that you don't have to actually deflower a child bride."

Erik's expression darkens, a storm brewing in his emerald eyes. "That's not... I would never... By the gods, woman, do you have any idea how difficult this is for me?"

I soften a bit at that, realizing I might have pushed too far. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. It's just... this whole situation is so fucked up, you know? Sometimes I don't know whether to laugh or scream."

Erik sighs, his massive shoulders slumping. "Aye, I understand. 'Tis a strange fate that has brought us together. But perhaps... perhaps there is purpose in it."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Purpose? What, you think the gods or the universe or whatever cosmic fuckery is behind all this actually has a plan?"

Erik shrugs, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Who can say? But I've learned in my years that sometimes, the strangest paths lead to the most important destinations."

I can't help but laugh at that. "Well, aren't you just a font of Viking wisdom? Next thing I know, you'll be telling me that the secret to happiness is a good axe and a barrel of mead."

Erik's laugh booms out, startling a few nearby birds into flight. "Well, 'tis not a bad start, I'll grant you that."

As our laughter fades, I find myself studying Erik's face. There's a depth to him that I hadn't noticed before, a complexity that goes beyond the simple stereotype of the brutish Viking warrior. Maybe, just maybe, we can make this weird arrangement work after all.

"Come on," I say, gesturing towards the village center. "Let's go see what the villagers are cooking up."[...]