A Warrior's Stance

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.

Spreading News

Following her meeting with Erland and their somewhat uncomfortable exchange, Ingrid's journey through the market returned to a more tranquil pace.

A few minutes of walking had her calm, though with each stride she was reminded of the dampness that remained between her thighs.  She had always hated that the wetness stayed so long after the warmth had faded away, and now she found it a constant reminder of the awful desires that had created it.  She tried to distract her thoughts, focusing on the calm air and the homely scenery.

She saw a friend of her son's, and her mind drifted to her husband and children.

I'm very fortunate to have a loving husband and family she told herself, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction at how well her children had grown into adults.

Her sons had become strong, handsome men, and her daughters were beautiful and courageous women.  All of them had taken after the best of their parents, and she felt enormous pride whenever she thought about them.

As she reached the center of the town, she stopped and took in the atmosphere that had arisen with the growing population and trade of the past ten or fifteen years.  When her children were born, the town had felt so small and calm; nowadays, it had begun to feel like a bustling port, and she could even spot a number of people who she had never met.

When she saw an unfamiliar mother and daughter walking along, she felt a sudden surge of anxiety.

I hope that Sigrid is alright she thought to herself, worrying about what her daughter might be doing at that very moment.  She's so young and naive about the pain that exists in this world.

Ingrid had tried to instill in her children an appreciation of life and all its wonders, but also a sense of the trials and dangers that all people faced; with Sigrid, she felt that she had failed in achieving the latter.  She had existed largely in a world of fantasy, chasing after the dreams that Ingrid had held onto for too long into Sigrid's childhood.  Perhaps if she had told fewer stories of battles, spoils, and glory, then Sigrid wouldn't have become so obsessed with proving herself by those same measures.

Before she could dwell on the thought any longer, she spotted a young couple walking towards her, immediately recognizing her eldest son Bjarn and his wife.

Bjarn's wife was a woman whose beauty was only surpassed by her strength, which was not an opinion that Ingrid had of many women besides herself.  Her son was a powerful and handsome man, and she wasn't surprised that he had managed to earn an equally impressive wife – though she had thought for some time that no such maiden existed in these parts.

Despite the odds, and Bjarn's combative attitude, he had managed to find an excellent wife, which made Ingrid very happy as a mother.  She could almost imagine her grandchildren, who she knew – if Bjarn had half the appetite that his father did at his age – would be along quite soon.

When the two of them approached, she tried to clear her mind of all the negative thoughts which had been floating through it throughout the day and focus on how fortunate she was in her life.  A smile slowly spread across her face, and she saw the approaching youngsters smile in response.

“Mother!” Bjarn called out to her, obviously glad to happen across her in town.

He had built a house on the other side of Osfjoll a few years back, where he lived with his wife and where they planned to raise their children.

“Well met, Son” Ingrid replied as she reached them.  “How goes it?”

Bjarn grinned. 

“It goes well.” he replied.  “We decided to walk the town after some business in the market.  And you?”

“Heading through town to clear my mind, and fetch some supplies for the next few days.”

Bjarn shifted uncomfortably.

“That's good to hear.  Hopefully there's nothing too awful to clear away” he said, chuckling.

“What's bothering you, Bjarn?” she asked him.

The way his eyes flitted between the two women standing by him told her that he didn't want to tell her, and that his wife already knew, so she decided to become more direct.

He opened his mouth to give some excuse, but his mother interrupted him before he could.

“I know you're hiding something” she accused.  “Out with it!”

Her son still stayed silent, but now his wife spoke.

“Just tell her, husband” she demanded.  “You're not the sort of man who can keep a secret from his mother.”

He shot her a bitter glance, but caved in to the pressure from the two women.

“Alright, alright.  I'll tell you – though you might wish that I hadn't once I open my mouth” he grumbled.

“Well?” his mother pushed, impatiently.  “Tell it.”

Everyone could tell that Bjarn wasn't pleased at how easily he had been coerced, but began to speak regardless.

“We were speaking with Erland, and he told us about something...” he preambled.

Ingrid's heart nearly stopped, her mind racing at the possibility of what he had told her family.

“Apparently there are rumours of beasts in the North...” he continued.

Ingrid felt calmed for a moment, but then hesitated on why the news had been so secretive.

“And why did you want to keep that from me?” she prodded, her son still looking uncomfortable.

“Well... there are a group of warriors being sent to investigate the rumours...” he continued, dragging out the ordeal.

“And?” Ingrid repeated, starting to become frustrated.

“We thought you'd be upset if you knew...” he warned.  “They were sent by the Earl personally...  and Sigrid is among them.”

At those last words, Ingrid felt her body become cold and stiff.  Imagining those beasts attacking her daughter, and what they would do to her if she couldn't resist them...

“I have to go home” she said abruptly.

Bjarn wasn't thrilled by the response, though it was by no means the worst that he could have expected. 

“Don't do anything rash.  She's with very respectable warriors, who are sworn to her safety.  You don't have to be concerned for the safety of a capable shieldmaiden like her.”

Ingrid smiled.

“Then you don't worry about me” she shot back.

“You don't have to worry about Sigrid, mother, she'll be fine” Bjarn assured her.

Despite their words, Ingrid was already turning away from them.  “Take care of yourselves” she said, quickly walking away.

“What are you going to do?” Bjarn called to her, demanding an answer.

“Don't worry about me” Ingrid called back to him.

Bjarn began to ask her word that she wouldn't do anything hasty, but before they could hope for another response, she had completely disappeared.

“Do you think that she'll be alright?” Helga said, genuinely concerned.

Bjarn paused for a moment, thinking on it.  “I'm not entirely sure...” he said, pausing.

“She's a strong woman, but I think that I should ask my father to check on her – just in case” he concluded.

The two of them stood there, thinking about Ingrid and all that was happening.

“These recent weeks have been difficult for her” she said with a sigh.  “I hope that she'll be alright when this is all over.”

The Path We Travel

It was becoming a wonderful morning, as Ingrid strolled through the small town that she called her home.

The air still maintained the chill of the winter winds, yet the sun had gained enough strength in the past few days to leave the the skin feeling warm and comfortable.

This far South, the climate of Thule was quite livable most of the time, and this point in spring was Ingrid's favourite time of the year.

She had lived here for decades, even before she had married Thorod and settled down to raise a family, and she had walked the path through town many hundreds of times in that span.

As she passed the familiar houses, she could almost recall the day that she had first come to the market, shortly after she had arrived in Osfjoll.

Ingrid loved the town, and felt connected to all of the people who roamed its sometimes busy streets. Perhaps, in part, she felt so connected to the place because she could remember no others.

She had no memories at all of her of her life before coming to Osfjoll, and her mother had never wanted to discuss it with her. She had asked many times where they had come from, or what had become of her father, but her mother would never say. It had upset her more and more as the years passed. When her mother became very sick and died, she had become bitter, realizing that she would never know where she came from.

In the few years after her mother had passed away, Ingrid had been left feeling very angry and alone, which she had dealt with by leaving this place. While it had been her home for as long as she could remember, those very memories were what brought back the pain of losing her mother again and again. She decided to follow her dreams of traveling the world, and becoming a renowned warrior, and had asked to join the raids – despite the many risks. She ventured off to far-away lands, and fought thousands of other warriors, some of whom nearly ended her life. In honesty, she wondered if her broken heart had wanted an easy end in those days.

Now was different, though.

Despite all that had happened, she loved her mother very much, and had eventually forgiven her. Ingrid often told herself that whatever her mother had experienced before coming to Osfjoll, it must have been very difficult for her to live through Perhaps in some way, she was trying to protect Ingrid from that same pain. Whether isolating her from the past had been the right choice or not, her mother had been a beautiful woman, in both body and spirit, and had inspired Ingrid to become the woman that she respected herself for being.

Ingrid looked around at the happy faces all around her as she entered the market, people smiling to her and greeting her as she passed them by. These days, she found solace in the connection that she had to this place. She knew nearly all of them, by name, by face, and by deed, and knew that they also knew her.

The fishmonger, the hunter, the breadmaker, the butcher... she thought, letting her eyes wander over the people of her town.

When her eyes met those of Erland, the smith, she felt herself swell with heat.

 Even after all these years, seeing him affected her as if they were still the young lovers they had once been. Like her husband, Erland had the strong and full figure of a man who worked metal, which was the type of man who had always been able to affect her body. From his broad shoulders, to his strong arms, to his tied-back river of dark hair, he had been the man of her dreams growing up in the small town.

Even back then, she had felt like this whenever he was around, and had spent years without telling him how she felt about him. As the familiar warmth spread down from her face and through her body, she began to feel shame and arousal. When the sensation reached the crux of her legs, she knew that she should continue on without speaking to him. Since last year, her body had been reacting to him more than ever, and she had almost entirely avoided speaking with him – out of respect for both her husband and their family friend.

Glancing back, however, she saw him waving to her, and knew that she couldn't walk away without at least saying hello.

As Ingrid approached, Erland's smile widened and he called out to her.

"Ingrid, good to see you!" he said with a grin.

"Hello Erland" she said, finally reaching him.

He stepped out from behind a large rack of tools, and came even closer to her.

"Oh, I--" she began as she realized what he was doing, but she was cut off as his large frame encircled her and pressed all around her gently.

She felt her resolve wane for a moment as her pert nipples were gently squeezed between her large breasts and the firm muscle of Erland's chest, but return as her mind drifted to the memories of how the same thing felt when their bodies had been bare.

As their bodies parted and she could see him in full view, she couldn't help but notice the large shape that snaked down the leg of his pants.

"I wanted to ask you something, but I haven't seen you around lately" Erland continued. Ingrid was trying to remain reserved, but didn't want to be rude.

"Yes?" she asked.

 "Well I have to head Northeast on a shipment, and I need someone to come with me. Someone I can trust to help guard my goods, and someone who knows the area" he continued.

Ingrid knew exactly where he was headed, but simply waited for him to say his piece. "

I was hoping that you would come" he finally suggested, smiling.

Ingrid's heart started to beat fast, despite her urging it to stop.

"I couldn't do that, Erland" she said with an air of finality.

Erland looked upset, and immediately raised his hands in protest.

"It would be worth the sacrifice, I promise!" he objected. "You won't need to fight off more than a single wolf – a pack at most" he joked.

 Ingrid laughed, then kicked herself for being so easy to charm.

"I really shouldn't" she said firmly.

 Now Erland's smile broadened again. "I can see the glimmer of adventure in your eye, just where it's always been."

 Ingrid tried not to smile, but Erland could tell that she was doing so.

"I can tell that you want to, even if you swear otherwise" he said assuredly. "I'll bring some of that ale that you liked, and we can catch up like last time."

Now her heart was pounding, surging her blood around her body, as the memories of that night came to the forefront of her mind. She could see the shape in his pants moving at his suggestion, the way it had moved against her thigh.

"I can't" she said, filled with embarrassment at how her body was betraying her. Despite every drop of her spirit knowing it was wrong, she wanted to play with the chance that she might be weak and give in to temptation.

"Consider the thought, at least" Erland appealed to her.

Ingrid paused, knowing that she shouldn't give the thought any room to grow, but wanting it to.

"Alright..." she said, causing Erland to beam at her. "I'll think about it..."

Erland seemed to be finally satisfied with that, and simply thanked her for considering his proposal.

"I swear that if you join me, I'll make this trip just as enjoyable as the last" he promised.

 Ingrid ignored the suggestion, telling him that she needed to head further into town, and he finally let her go without another word. Still, she knew that he would ask her again, and that she would be tempted again.

 Thorod is a good man, and I love him she thought to herself. I couldn't betray him again.

As she walked away, Erland took a few moments to take in the beauty of her form. He could still remember how incredible she looked bare, her body completely exposed to his gaze. The gentle sway of her hips reminded him of how sensually they moved against his, as they laid together. He knew that she wanted to feel that again.

When she finally rounded a corner, he gave a deep sigh. This night, he would once again have only his memories of her.