Prologue

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A settlement in England.

That is what the great Ragnar Lothbrok had wished for. A settlement so that his people may farm on the fertile English land.

Lagertha had been the one to stay, to make sure that the settlement prospered in its early days. And Asta's parents had remained by her side. They had fought with the mighty shieldmaiden for many years, from her being a young woman. They lived beside Ragnar and Lagertha when they were still simple farmers, and watched them rise to heights of fame that none of them could've possibly imagined in their youth.

To begin with, it was dream. The harvest prospered, the crops beautiful. And the young couple were glad that they had brought their young daughter along with them.

The little blonde girl still toddled around the settlement, giggling brightly as she made her way past the other farmers. She was their light, a shining beacon of happiness.

But happiness never lasts. And Asta was no different.

She was little more than five winters old when the Saxons attacked. Everyone was killed. Her mother, her father, those that she'd grown up with and loved. She'd seen it, the carnage, from a distance.

The only thing that had spared the little girl was her being away. She'd had a fever and one of the Saxon healers had agreed to look after her. They all watched in horror as the settlement was ransacked, destroyed, and Asta had never been the same since.

That day, the light within her had died. And now, all that remained was darkness. She swore that she would have her revenge; on every Saxon. She would not rest until she had avenged her family.

Nevertheless, the family that had first taken her in, had kept her safe for many years. They had looked after her, loved her, and tried to convert her to their faith so that they might save her soul. But Asta was like her mother, stubborn to the bone. And she could never be a Christian, nor a good Saxon woman.

She was a Viking.

Through and through.

To Be Viking - Ivar The BonelessWhere stories live. Discover now