A/n - English is not my native language, I am Danish, so I apologize for any errors. Also there will be translations for any Icelandic terms spoken. HLunaGinnywas an amazing co-author for this book and I recommend checking out the things she has made.
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Everything started to drift away as your heavy eyes finally closed after a long day of working on the farm your family owned. You were finally able to relax after making dinner with your mother and cleaning up your home a little, before you walked to your small room and laid down for the night, enjoying the silence that filled the room.
A blood curdling scream pierces the silence and makes your head snap up as you frantically look around for some sort of weapon to defend yourself with. Having little to no time to think, you grab a very small dagger your father had gifted you not long ago and then run out of your room.
The sight in front of you makes your blood run cold. Multiple large men walked into your home, the door hanging on the hinges, and made their way to your parents who were slowly backing up.
Your father stood in front of your mother as she whimpered behind him, causing the men to laugh and whisper something to one another.
Instantly, you recognized the language and you ran right in front of your parents and held one hand out in front of you and pressed the one with the dagger behind your back. You sternly looked the men in the eyes and you heard a gasp from your mother as you suddenly spoke up, "Við meinum engan skaða fyrir þig. Vinsamlegast taktu eins og þú vilt og farðu frá fjölskyldu minni." (We mean no harm to you. Please take as you please and leave my family.)
They all stand there slightly dumbfounded at your understanding of their foreign tongue. You catch an odd stare from one of the men, his blonde hair braided down to the middle of his shoulders as he pushes his eyebrows together in confusion.
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"Síðan hvenær gátu kristnir talað heiðna tungu okkar?" He barks out, mocking the name your people constantly call them. You take a step back in fear of the tone of his voice. (Since when could Christians speak our pagan tongue?)
"Ég lærði það af bókum fólks þíns." You argue back, some confidence creeping up your spine. A small smirk makes it onto one of the larger man's face and then they all chuckle. (I learned it from your people's books.)
"Komdu með okkur og við munum yfirgefa fjölskyldu þína." The shorter one from before speaks roughly and you look at him, his eyes burning in pure curiosity. (Come with us and we will leave your family.)
You turn your head to look at your mother and father, who both look more petrified of you then the large northmen standing in front of them.
"I...If I leave with them, they will leave you be." You explain to them and they don't even speak to you as they back up against the wall.
