Vikings Bjorn

Chapter 1

(Hertha POV) My mother tells me every night about my father. Even if I've heard all of it before. Before my father was killed, he told my mother more of his people will come to this land. That northerners will come. It's been 10 years, I'm still a child to many. But I had to grow up fast, with constant torment from my neighbors. They find me a stranger, a outsider. I have dirty blonde hair, blue eyes that my mother say are brighter than my father's.  My father was a man from north, a viking. One of few who came on a voyage, to Wessex. My parents met, my father protecting my mother from other vikings. Falling in love with my mother, my father stayed with her, learning about Wessex ways. But then kings men came, killing all the vikings they could find.  My father fought for his people, for his place with my mother. But all vikings died in battle against soliders. The king himself is said to sent all the vikings bodies and belongings to sea. Only thing my mother could hide was a stone my father carved. Tone is in norse, my mother says it reads, Always together, never alone. I was a bump on my mothers stomach when my father died. Never saw or heard his voice. I blame the king and his soliders. My father wanted to live with my mother and me, and they slaughtered him. Mother and father had this dream of both of society's having peace, being nice to each other.  I find it hard to believe if Wessex people would bully me as they do. Today I stay inside, as I do most days. I hear the busy people outside. Holding my father's stone, in my hands, angertries to break out. My mother walks over to me, putting her hand on my shoulder "You hold that stone any tighter it could break." Other jokes. "I loosen my grip on the stone, smirking. My mother sits next to me, "I should just take a boat and sail to Viking land." I tell. "How would you know where your going?" My mother asks. "Instinict." I answer. "Protect me and your brother. Be patient" My mother tells. My mother remarried to some one that could accept her past relationship and me. My little brother is around 6 years old. "I've been patient." I groan. "You've done good so far. Be here with us, be alive, hide when needed. But you live." Mother tells. I lean my head on my mothers shoulder, her wrapping her arms around me. "Have I told you th story of how your father and I named you?" My mother questions, "A few times." I chuckle. "When your bump was forming on my stomach, your father wanted to get names ready. Boy was Oak like the tree, strong, and a girl Hertha, from his country. 'Powerful name' your father said. You have been powerful through patient and kindness. Just keep your strength and love." mother tells.