Held captive

Foreign feet on these shores

Time was of the essence as Dylan rode his horse to his more northern shores. He had heard of invaders from his brothers, but until now, had not had to look one of these attackers in the eyes. He stopped his horse on the sandy beach, taking in the salty scent of the Irish sea, and squinting to get a better view into the mist. The calm was broken by a fleet of half a dozen longships, each with their elaborate frontal designs, purely for intimidation. He had not come alone either, but had told his fellow tribe members to hold back, in case this was some kind of trade or peaceful offer. 

He noticed one with a cold face and emotionless eyes, seeming to be leading this expedition, as he was the one barking out orders to men far larger than himself. The ships came to a stop not far from the shore, and the men, complete with swords and shields, came charging out in unison to face their lonely opponent. 

"Pam ydych chi yma?" The Welshman questioned his invaders, hand on his belt, ready to draw his sword, should he need it. Lukas narrowed his eyes at the foreign tongue spoken to him, mumbling a spell to help them understand each other. "Speak again." The Norwegian ordered, in a dull voice, though never losing eye contact with the one he intended to conquer. 

"Why are you here?" Dylan asked again, his tone more impatient than it had been the first time. The Viking had already formulated his answer to such a question. With all these weapons around him, he would have thought that it was obvious, but clearly it was best to ask, just to make sure. "I am here to make you mine." A smirk graced Lukas' face as he gave the order for his men to charge their foe and take him down by force, he had neither the time nor the energy to spend days negotiating, the invasion had to be swift and effective. 

Dylan called for his back up, relieved at his cry for help having been heard, as his most trusted warriors rushed to his side. He led them on horse, but from here on out, it was every man for himself. That was how he, and indeed all of them, had been brought up as the proper way to fight - a battle was a battle, there was no need to busy oneself with having eyes on those on your side, and acting out carefully devised plans, when you could be busy killing things and taking severed heads back to boast about your strength. 

The Norwegians swiftly organised themselves, having practised and gained experience through years of pillaging and conquering alongside the same men they had been with at the beginning. They wasted no time in forming a wall of shields facing the oncoming attack, which, to those foreign to it, was both confusing and effective. The Welsh nation, along with his fellow warriors, came to a stop at seeing the wall of shields in front of them, knowing that there was no point in attacking it with their swords. "Cowards! Reveal yourselves and fight properly!" He yelled, getting cries of agreement among his ranks. After receiving no reply,he moved closer, then crying out in surprise at the wall suddenly dismantling, and a barrage of swords and axes overpowered them with ease. As some of the Vikings slightly less skilled with fighting worked to restrain Dylan, the others made sure to not spare a single enemy, they had only come here for one man, after all. 

The Welshman cried out in heartbreak and fury at seeing those who he had watched grow up, and battled with their whole lives all be eradicated in a mere ten minutes, it was a difficult sight to say the least. Despite attempts to free himself from the arms of the stronger Vikings, there was no denying that he had been captured. He did not cease his protests as he was dragged away from the land he had always called home, beginning to fill with an uneasy feeling about his future, if he even had one. He almost snarled as his fellow nation followed him on board the main longship, using his sleeve to dry the blood from his axe.