Asta is a Viking raised by Saxons. When she discovers a way home to her people, she first finds her way to the family of Ragnar Lothbrok. At first, she expects to find only revenge. Little does she know, that it is love she will find instead.
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The day began like most others in this dull land. The cloudy grey skies beckoned Asta from her bed, wind rustling her bright blond locks as she made her way outside. As per everyday, duty called. And though she dreamt of new lands, of sailing the rolling ocean and fighting great battles, all that she could do for now was farm.
There was much to be done as harvest approached and Asta always found her body sore and aching after a long day's work. Her muscles cried for patience, for her to cease her activities, but she never could.
Nevertheless, Asta found time to sneak away from her activities; usually with Edmund. He was only two summers older than the Viking, and his parents had been the ones to take her in when no one else would. When they were little, he always took her places with him. He taught her their language, and continued the training that her parents had once given her. Now, she was an even greater warrior than even him. And Edmund could not help but feel love for the girl. But not sisterly love, as he knew he should have for a girl that he'd grown up with. Edmund wished to marry her.
Asta, of course, never felt the same. He was attractive, there was no doubt, and she cared for him deeply, but Asta had never been one to fall in love. She wanted adventure, battle, excitement; not to be a married woman tied to a man and his lands. That sounded utterly dreadful.
By now, it had been ten summers since the attack on the settlement. Asta had reached her fifteenth winter that year and she knew that she was ready to move on from this tedious place. She had hidden money, weapons, and planned her escape. And, though the prospect of leaving Edmund and his half sister Eadith was rather upsetting, Asta had no choice.
She was not made to be some Christian farmer. She was no Saxon. In her heart, she was a Viking. She would always be a Viking. And her heathen heart could never remain in this place for long. So, she knew that she must leave. The question was simply when.
"Asta!" Cenwulf's voice made her jolt, looking towards the man who had raised her. She could see the similarities between him and his son, and knew that before his grey hair and wrinkles, Cenwulf was also an attractive man. But he was not young anymore, and if her people ever came ashore here again, Asta knew that he could not defend his home. He was too old. "Get inside, now!"
His voice was urgent, and that only made a mischievous smirk dance across her features as she wondered what he was so afraid of. As she followed him inside, the young girl contemplated the possibilities. Either it was Ecbert's men again, or it was Northmen. And if it was the latter, she knew that Cenwulf's biggest fear was her leaving with them and returning to a life of piracy and immorality.
When she entered the homestead, Eadith couldn't help but roll her eyes and smile. Her mother, Mildred, sighed and threw an apron at the young Viking.
"You look like a Heathen, Asta." She chided, maneuvering the blonde into the kitchen. "If men enter and think you a heathen-" She paused, regaining herself.
