Lovable Viking's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Bjorn beached his longship below the foothills and knew the trouble before he knocked on the first door. Men called him the Lovable Viking. He earned the name with one rule: his crew never harmed women or children. But out here, no one had heard it. To these farmers, he was just another raider with a carved dragon prow and a striped sail. They saw the ship and bolted their doors. He needed shelter. His men were cold and hungry, and a storm was building over the water. Bjorn walked to a stone farmhouse alone, weapons left at the shore. A woman cracked the door, saw his size, and slammed it shut. He heard a bar drop into place. "I mean you no harm," he called. "Not you. Not your children." No answer. He tried three more houses. Each time, doors shut. One old man threw a stone that struck Bjorn's shoulder. Bjorn did not raise a hand. He turned and walked back toward the beach, where the waves crashed white against the rocks and his crew watched from the ship. Behind him, a child's cry cut the air. Bjorn spun. A boy of maybe three had wandered from the farmhouse to the water's edge. A wave dragged him off his feet. The child went under. Bjorn ran. He hit the cold surf and grabbed the boy by his shirt. Another wave slammed them both. Bjorn planted his boots, lifted the child high, and carried him back to dry sand. The boy coughed and wailed but breathed. The woman screamed and ran from her house. She stopped short when she saw her son alive in the raider's arms. Bjorn knelt and set the boy gently at her feet. He said nothing. He stepped back with open hands. Other villagers came out. They had watched from their windows. They saw the Viking who could have let the child drown and did not. The old man who threw the stone lowered his eyes. The woman lifted her son and pressed her wet face to his hair. Then she looked at Bjorn. "You'll want a roof," she said. "There's a barn. Room for your men." Bjorn nodded once. "Thank you." That night his crew slept dry in the barn while the storm broke over the coast. But Bjorn sat awake by the door. He had heard two of his men mutter as the villagers brought bread. They had come to the foothills to take, not to be fed like guests. Word of his rescue would spread. So would word that the Lovable Viking gave, and asked nothing back. Some of his men had signed on to fill their hands. Now they slept in a stranger's barn with empty ones, and they were starting to count the cost.