It was Sunday morn in the village of Knattleikr, the one day of the week when the folks of this humble hamlet permit themselves to take a rare day off from their typical field tilling and herd tending for some much deserved leisure, and an opportunity for the the village's younger men to gather together on the surrounding sward and partake in Snjórland's favourite outdoor pastime: rugby!
It had been raining just the previous night and the ground was not yet wholly dry come the dawn, but a little bit of mud was hardly cause for cancelling the regular game for these lads who spent much of their days working in their fathers' farms or felling timber in the nearby forest year round no matter what the conditions may be, come rain, come wind, come snow or sleet. Matches were typically truncated to about twenty minutes and played with only seven players a side at a time considering the limited space between two vaguely goalpost-shaped, leafless trees the boys had to work with, while the handful who were leftover acted as referees and reserves who were regularly rotated out with each new game that commenced to ensure everybody in attendance had an opportunity to play.
Generally, the games were a casual good time had by all that helped vent the preceding week's frustrations, even if things did get a little overly intense in the moment on occasion. This particular morning's matches however would prove drastically different from the norm thanks to the addition of just a single newcomer to the regular turnout that would provide all the men present with an experience they would not be forgetting anytime soon...and for a certain lucky pair, an experience they would never forget for as long as they lived!
"Hey, hey! Looks like you lot are having a grand old time out here!" A blaring but definitely feminine voice hollered from the direction of the village that could be heard even above the buzz of the game already in midway progress, and so suddenly did it blare that it caused an impromptu timeout in the contest as both the substitutes and current players turned to see who on Midgard made such a powerful projection.
Sauntering towards the sward was (they were fairly certain) a young woman who appeared to be within their own age range, but she was quite unlike any young woman who occupied the village. To begin with, her fiery orange hair was cut very short - even shorter than the hair of about half the men who were present - and instead of a kirtle and shift, she wore a sleeveless vest and a pair of slacks - both khaki in colour - alongside a pair of scuffed brown boots, her choice of clothing leaving all to see her bare arms she flaunted so freely, each possessing a sturdy muscularity which was not gained from simple labour alone.
Most of the boys would be able to identify the approaching redhead as the wandering warrior who had been coming in and out of the village for the past few days apparently dealing with a gang of highwaymen who recently had been operating close to the outer crops, and although her presence in the area had been brief, she had been causing quite a stir with nightly visits at the local pub, and it was widely speculated the only reason she had yet to be barred for brawling was because of the generous amount of business she provided for the landlord in both grub and drink bought.
This was the first time any of them had seen her out of armour and without a weapon, however that did little to make her seem any less physically imposing as they were promptly reminded once she had joined the stand-ins on the sidelines, being a full head higher than even the tallest male present. "You lot won't mind if I could get a go in next, yeah? Been bloody ages since I've last had a decent game of rugger, and I'm worried I've gotten rusty!" She asked the group with a keen smile on her face. Although the young village men had never met a female who shewed an eager interest in the sport, they unanimously shrugged off their mild surprise and had no objections to the stranger joining their games.
The lads were courteous enough to swap in their ginger-haired guest into the starting line-up for the following match, if only to satisfy their curiosity to see how well she was able to compete...and I suppose 'well' would have
technically
been an apt descriptor for the stranger's style of play. By the time the first scrum had happened, it became more-or-less apparent how the rest of that morning's games were going to develop after the redheaded stranger's side very nearly bowled over the opposing team with no small amount of serious vigour she had brought into the amateur match, and her verve would only be further demonstrated as the minutes went by.
The warrior woman wove in and out of the opposition's defence with surprising fleet-footedness for one of her stature, single-handedly scoring several tries in rapid succession, and making almost each subsequent kick of the ball over the goal-tree look easy nine times out of ten. When she was forced to pass the ball back to a teammate, it came flying with a force comparable to a crossbow bolt being launched when just a gentle toss would have done, resulting in mainly fumbles and at one point left Harald the apprentice farrier temporarily winded when it struck him square in the stomach.
The stranger's tackles were the most dreaded of all however, as she relentlessly pursued any opponent who had managed to steal the ball before pouncing upon them like a lion, her burly arms wrapping themselves around their midsection like iron bands threatening to crack their ribs before her weight brought them both crashing down to the claggy earth below. In contrast, anybody who was lucky enough to intercept the mercenary whilst she was the carrier would only succeed in moderately slowing her down, being dragged behind while clinging to her waist as she powered through the added burden, and often it took the assistance of one or two more players to bring the female juggernaut down before she finally conceded the ball.
For better and for worse, the stranger's ruthless mode of participating brought out the competitiveness in all the boys involved for what was supposed to have been a friendly pastime amongst neighbours even if there was nothing at stake besides boasting rights, with a lot more vitriolic swears being exchanged and minor injuries being gained than what was typically the norm for the Knattleikr lads, all of them caked up to at least their knees in dirt with their kits smeared with brown, and many others (the redheaded woman included) had their faces flecked with grime and their forearms coated with muck. From the tall female's overall behaviour displayed, none in the village would have ever been able to guess that she was in actuality Princess Jern, heir apparent to Snjórland's throne who - much to the dissatisfaction of her father - was far more interested in roving the country testing her mettle and sword arm than she was in learning the delicacies of diplomacy and protocol!
After those particular twenty minutes had concluded in a landslide victory for the team Jern had joined,
everybody
