A Warrior, Once Again

Ingrid hurriedly looked around her house, trying to remember where she put it.  Not many years ago, it would have been hanging up, proudly, reminding everyone who entered that she was a warrior.

There was a part of her that resented how much her past accomplishments had fallen by the wayside of her busy life as a mother.  She could remember how she had felt, thick clad in metal and leather, wielding her razor-sharp sword in one hand and her broad shield in the other.  Whenever she put it on, she could remember the beautiful and powerful warrior that she was, and the energy of her youth came pouring back into her.  The day before she had packed it away, she had put it on one last time, and had felt the very same as the first time she had gone into battle, ready to defeat the world.

The last time she wore it in battle was many years before that, but she had re-fitted her entire kit after giving birth to each child, upon finding each time that she could no longer put it on.  The last time, the armoursmith had given her a strange look when she told him what the new bust would have to be – but she had insisted that she wanted useable armour, and he had taken her coin.

Now, as she finally unearthed it from the various piles of work-related stock that her husband had stored in their house, she was able to appreciate his expression. 

Ingrid pulled the chainmail shirt into the air and shook loose the dust and debris which had collected on it,  noting its substantial weight.  It had become heavier with each ring added to increase its circumference, which had been quite a few more than she remembered.  The shape was still not enough to allow her chest to swell forth to the degree that it could in her dress, and so it provided a great deal of pressure and upward lift.

Bearing your body to the enemy wasn't quite 'warrior-like' in the strictest sense, but even so, she had found numerous times that men – those from Thule and elsewhere alike – found it quite distracting in combat, which she had always found helpful.  A number of her near-death experiences might not have ended so well, had the men she was fighting been staring at her sword rather than her breasts.

Remembering her haste, she unclasped the brooches on her apron and allowed the straps to fall apart.  They quickly pulled toward the ground and snaked around her shoulders, following the bulk of the apron's fabric as it slid off her body and pooled at her feet.

With that, she reached down and gripped the bottom of her dress, lifting it up and over her head.  When it was off, she was left in nothing more than the underlinens of her bra and panties.

The house had cooled since the morning, and the air felt cool on her exposed skin, so she quickly grabbed her pants and pulled them up her legs, fastening them tightly.  Next, she slipped on her shoes and wove her thick leg-wraps around each ankle.

Slipping her shirt over her head, Ingrid remembered just how little of her chest was covered when she wore her armour, leaving a great deal of skin exposed to the air and the casual glance of strangers.

Oh well she thought to herself, and hoisted her chainmail shirt over her head.

After wrestling herself into it, fastening its straps, and putting on her bracers and belt, she was finally finished – though any romantic notions of her old armour still fitting her perfectly had long been lost.

She reached down and picked up her sword, examining its edge.

I'll have to get that sharpened she noted, staring at the rather dull blade.

Finally ready, Ingrid turned and headed toward the door of her house.

As she moved towards the door, however, it swung open; in the doorway stood the large figure of her husband.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, shocked.  “Are you not working?”

Thorod moved into the house, answering as he closed the door behind him.

“I was.  Our son Bjarn said he spoke with you earlier and was afraid that you might do something dangerous, so he asked me to check on you and see that you're alright” he explained.

As the door shut and he turned to her, he hefted a sarcastic grin.

“But I see he had nothing to worry about” he joked, pointing to his wife in her battle gear.

Ingrid frowned.

“Did he care to mention why I was so concerned?” she asked her husband, who paused.

In truth, he had left as soon as Bjarn had told him that she might be rushing into a dangerous situation, and hadn't actually heard what she was upset about.  Instead, he had hurried off to find her.

“Well...” he said, not thinking fast enough.

Ingrid's frown deepened.

“Perhaps if he had, you would be seeing me off rather than trying to stop me” she said sharply.

While he didn't like to be attacked so outright, she had a very good point.

“Forgive me” he apologized.  “What was it that caused you so much concern?”

Ingrid was still upset, but her husband seemed sincere.

“Bjarn told me of terrible rumours from up North, where Sigrid is headed, of a curse and monstrous beasts” she explained.

Thorod raised an eyebrow.

“But those are just rumours...” he appealed to her, skeptical of such imaginings.

Ingrid shook her head.

“Do you remember quite a time ago, when I ventured North?” she asked.

“I do.”

“On that journey, we encountered dire wolves” she told him. “I was also separated from the others for a time...  whenin I uncovered evidence of a curse – and beasts so powerful that I should not have escaped.”

Thorod was almost at a loss for words, though he managed to maintain his skepticism.

“You did?” he asked her.

She nodded.  “I swear it.”

Thorod stood for a moment, knowing how much a woman like Ingrid valued her spoken oath.  No matter how unbeleivable the tale, he would have to take her at her word.

“And why did you never tell me?” he questioned, already knowing the answer.

“I was sworn to secrecy under oath” she explained.  “It was official business of the Earl, and I would never have spoken a word of it if I had not felt it was necessary.”

Thorod's focus shifted, now confident that what his wife told him was the truth.

“If you are meddling in things which pose such a danger, you cannot go alone” he demanded.

She smiled at him.

“You need not worry.  I'm off to the Earl's keep, to ask for his help” she assured him.

Neither of them believed that the Earl would lend any assitance, and Thorod focused on that truth.  The Earl was a powerful man, and a had done great deeds, but he was not generous.

“And what if he refuses?” he asked pointedly, but his wife had already thought he might ask.

“I have friends who owe me more than a few favours” she provided.  “They'll gladly take the chance to clear their debts.”

Thorod said nothing, simply looking at his wife's firm expression.

“Are you going to make this difficult?” she asked him, careful not to imply that he could actually stop her.

Thorod looked down, upset, then gave her a solemn smile.  No matter how hard he wished there were another way, and that the people he cared for would never be in danger, there was little he could do.

“Look after our daughter” he said to her.  He reached down and gripped her shield, then heaved it into the air, holding it at arm's length between them.

She smiled back at him, and took it, swinging it to her side.

“I will” she promised, though they both knew it wasn't something within her control.

With that, she walked past him and exited the door, not looking back. 

Thorod stood there for a moment, and an awful worry came to his mind, a terrible image flashing before his eyes.  For the first time since they married, she was leaving the safety of Osfjoll without having his seed firmly planted within her.