The wind howled a mournful dirge around the small longhouse, rattling the reindeer hides that served as a flimsy defense against the North Sea's icy breath. Inside, three young Vikings huddled around a sputtering fire. There was Astrid, the eldest, barely ten summers old, with braids as thick as rope and a gaze that could melt iron. Next was Finn, eight, nimble and quick, his eyes always darting around, searching for adventure. And last, but certainly not least, was little Bjorn, only five, more interested in gnawing on a smoked fish than anything else.
Their parents, brave warriors both, were away raiding. Astrid was in charge, a responsibility she took seriously, even if her charges were more interested in mischief than responsibility.
"Astrid," Finn whined, kicking at a stray wooden toy boat, "I'm bored. Tell a story!"
Astrid sighed. "Fine. But then you both need to help me mend the fishing nets. Once, there were three..."
Suddenly, Bjorn pointed a greasy finger towards the narrow window slit. "Ship!" he squealed, his mouth full of fish.
Astrid's eyes widened. She scrambled to the window. Squinting against the driving rain, she saw it – a longship, smaller than theirs, but undeniably a longship, approaching the narrow inlet that sheltered their village. And it was flying a flag she did not recognize, a white dragon on a field of green.
"Saxons," she breathed, the word laced with fear. Everyone knew of the Saxons, fierce raiders from the south who plundered coastal villages with ruthless efficiency.
"Saxons!" Finn echoed, excitement flickering in his eyes, quickly replaced by a grim expression mirroring Astrid's.
"Bjorn, hide!" Astrid commanded, shoving the little boy behind a stack of firewood. "Finn, get the axe! It's too big for you, but hold it ready. I'll grab the spears."
The Saxon ship landed with a grating crash on the shingle. A group of burly men, clad in leather and wielding iron axes, leaped onto the beach. They were led by a hulking figure with a braided beard the color of sunset and eyes as cold as the sea.
The Saxons advanced towards the longhouse, their faces grim. Astrid stood in the doorway, her small frame blocking their path. She gripped a spear in each hand, her knuckles white with tension.
"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice surprisingly steady.
The Saxon leader laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "We want what all Vikings have – gold, slaves, and glory! Move aside, little girl, and no one gets hurt."
Astrid didn't flinch. "My father is a warrior. He will return and kill you all!"
The Saxon leader merely chuckled again. He raised his axe. "We'll be long gone before then."
That was Astrid's cue. She hurled one of the spears with surprising force. It whistled past the Saxon leader's ear and embedded itself in the sand behind him. He stumbled back in surprise.
"Now, Finn!" she yelled.
Finn, who had been hiding behind her, rushed forward, holding the axe high above his head. He was far too small to wield it properly, but the sheer unexpectedness of his attack caught the Saxons off guard. He swung with all his might, the blunt edge colliding with the shin of a Saxon warrior who howled in pain and dropped his weapon.
Chaos erupted. Astrid used the distraction to grab another spear and lunge forward, stabbing at the Saxon who Finn had injured. Meanwhile, the Saxon leader recovered and advanced on Astrid, his axe raised.
Just when it seemed that all was lost, Bjorn emerged from behind the firewood, his face smeared with smoked fish. He toddled towards the Saxon leader, holding aloft his half-eaten fish, and began to wail at the top of his lungs.
The Saxon leader paused, utterly bewildered. This was not the behavior he expected from a Viking village facing imminent defeat. He stared at the crying child, his axe hanging uselessly in the air.
Astrid seized her chance. She kicked at the Saxon leader's legs, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, and Astrid tackled him to the ground, wrestling him for his axe.
The commotion had drawn the attention of the other Saxons. They hesitated, unsure of what to do. Seeing their leader struggling with a child, they momentarily lost their nerve.
Astrid, with a grunt of effort, managed to wrestle the axe from the Saxon leader's grasp. She raised it high above her head, her face flushed with exertion and triumph.
"Go!" she roared, her voice echoing across the beach. "Leave our village! Go back to your own lands! We are Vikings, and we will not be defeated!"
The Saxons, demoralized and surprised by the ferocity of the three Viking children, conferred amongst themselves. Finally, the wounded Saxon helped their leader up, and they retreated back to their ship.
Astrid, Finn, and Bjorn stood on the beach, watching as the Saxon longship sailed away. They were bruised, battered, and covered in dirt and fish slime, but they were also victorious.
"We did it!" Finn shouted, jumping up and down.
Astrid, still clutching the Saxon axe, let out a shaky breath. "We did," she agreed, a proud smile spreading across her face. She looked down at Bjorn, who was happily chewing on his fish again. "Even you, little brother."
They knew their parents would be proud. They had defended their home, not with brute strength or seasoned weaponry, but with courage, cunning, and a whole lot of smoked fish. And that, they realized, was the Viking way. Though small, they had proven that spirit and determination could overcome even the fiercest foe. The legend of the three little Vikings who saved their village from the Saxons would be told around the fire for generations to come.