I barely remember the day the Vikings came to my homeland. I had to be about four years old I remember playing on the beach and the smell of the ocean which is all too familiar now. I was digging in the sand when my mother next to me cried out in fear. Looking up I faintly saw ships sailing towards the shore. 'oh visitors ' I thought as my mother pulled me up by my arm and she started running towards the village with me in tow. "Vikings! Vikings!" she yelled in our lilting language as the men sprung up and began to herd the women and children into one of the huts as the men prepared for battle getting their sword and shields as well as their leather armor. That was the last I saw of my father as the door to the hut closed and I was thrust into darkness and my mother's arms. The next thing I remember is the sound of a war horn and yelling as the other children and myself cried in fear.
My mother who watched through a crack in the door would suddenly turn and pick me up as she ran to the back of the hut. "Crawl out the back and run to the woods I and your father will come and get you." She told me before pushing me towards the back of the hut. Crawling out from the bottom I would run as fast as I could toward the woods turning my head to look once at my village . The sight I saw I will never forget , the roofs of three of the huts were on fire and almost all of our men had been slain or surrendered. I could not see my father and hoped he survived as I disappeared into the woods. I would eventually find myself at the tiny hut me and my friend built for our war games. Crawling into the small little hut I would curl up as I shivered from the cold and ate some of the leftover dried meat my friend and I had left here. I stayed In the shack waiting for my mother and father for at least two days. Finally on the third I crept back into the village, what I saw was that the Vikings as my mother called them were still here. The village was already looted and most of the food stores were gone, I could only infer that they were leaving soon. Sneaking into the building my mother and the rest had been in I saw slaughtered corpses. Most of the women it seemed had decided to fight using eating utensils or the knives we used to prepare food. The children were pale and had their throats slit. Later I would learn that the mother's killed their children to protect them from a life of slavery and then stood up against the Norsemen to die instead of be one of their whores.
I finally saw my mother hunched over a table her wrists slit with my father right beside her his sword embedded in the floor. He had died trying to protect her and my mother realizing she would not get to me killed herself. Anger coursed through my body though now when I recall the memory I just feel emptiness. I remember trying to pick up my father's sword though it was too heavy for me and I had to drag it on the ground. In a act of rage I would walk out looking at the Vikings who were celebrating my villages murder. A murderous yell would escape my mouth "ahhhhhhh!" As I clumsily swung the heavy sword at a Viking though he easily stepped to the side and kicked me down. They laughed and said something in their language which at that time I did not understand but now I know them to have said " Seems like there was one left, he has spunk this little one. ". I kept trying to hit them for about thirty minutes in which at that time they just had their fun pushing me around. I was a child too weak to do anything and they knew I posed no threat. Soon the man I was trying to kill got bored of me and hit my face causing me to fall on my butt.
"Son I know you do not understand me but are you ready to kill a man?" He said in their language. Confusion must have shone on my face in that moment as he just laughed. " I will take this young wolf in and raise him as my own. " he announced to the other vikings. I just sat there unsure of what he had said when suddenly he turned to me and said something. I remember the only word I caught was the name Gyearm which was his name. This Viking then picked me up as the rest packed for the long voyage at sea. The man who would become my new father carried me on his soldier as I kicked out my legs and arms screaming as they took me from my old home and put me on the boat which would bring me to my new.
For the first few days of our voyage at sea I was unruly biting my captors hands when they tried to give me food and water. I even jumped overboard a couple times though I was saved as at that time I did not know how to swim. Eventually I would settle down after a week into the journey , the man who had taken me had long brown hair done in braids before being pulled back into a ponytail like fashion. His beard was close shaven and his face worn and scarred. He was a bear of a man and had a large shield on his back and a sword on his left side. I remember over the boat voyage my new father would begin to teach me their culture starting with the language and their gods. I think those were my first memories in which I began to see the man who had captured me as a father the salty spray of the ocean as he taught me who I would become today.
By the time we got to Norway where my new father lived I had started to like the feel of the ship and the company of the vikings. After disembarking I would be picked up and sat on a horse as Gyearm as behind me and directed the horse. After a few hours of riding we arrived at Gyearms home, a longhouse with stables on the right for horses and stables on the left for sheep. While Gyearm had made a decent amount of money from raiding he wasn't as wealthy as a Jarl though I would find out he held weight in their court. Soon I would meet my new mother who had blonde hair and a kind beautiful face her name was Arna and she introduced me to my new "sister" known as Astrid who had brown hair like her father though natural highlights ran through them. I remember becoming shy at Astrids presence and muttered a broken hello in their language.
Soon I began my new life with them and went from a Celt to a honorary Norseman. I now cannot't describe to you how my real mother or fathers face looked only that they were kind to me while they were alive. My name is Orin Gyearmson a name given to me by my father Gyearm and my mother Arna, I can no longer tell you my old name or the name of my village. I can just tell you my homeland's name is Ireland though I do not consider myself one of them anymore. I am a Norseman and Viking of Norway and this is my story.