Not every northwoman runs into battle.
Some are not given the choice.
*******
As Merys' father handed her the last dripping plate, a sudden scream outside startled them both. The dish held between them crashed to the floor. Leaving it in pieces, they hurried out the door.
In the street stood one of the woodsmen of the village, bent over panting desperately for breath. "Easterlings!" he yelled. A crowd began to gather from nearby homes. "Up the hill! An army! Saw them in the forest!" He cried out with the every ounce of breath. "Easterlings are coming!"
Merys looked up at her father, whose arm had curled tightly around her. His eyes were searching the hill above the village, like prey searching for a hawk in the sky. At the moment, there were no hawks to find on the hill. Just a collection of dry, gnarled trees set against the gray winter sky. He quickly turned Merys to face him and bowed to lock eyes with hers. "Go to Fridda Jornsdottir's. Find your mother."
Merys curled her hands around her father's arms. "I want to stay with you…" she protested, but he shook his head sharply.
"No. I have to go find the men," he said, just as an elder of the village approached their door.
"They're not here, Heldrun," the elder said with an emptied expression.
Merys' father shot a scowl at him. He released his grip on Merys' arm and towered over the old man. "What do you mean they're not here? Where are they?"
"In Esgaroth," he answered. "It took most every man we had to bring our goods to market. They'll be there til tomorrow at least."
"How many do we still have?"
"Eight. Maybe ten at the most. Counting the two of us." Against the ground, the elder tapped the spear in his hand. He had to lean back briefly to do so, having used it to stay upright.
Heldrun bowed his head with a sigh, then turned his watching gaze back up at the hill. He remained silent, jaw setting hard. Then he looked back to the elder. "Gather whoever you can. Men, women, young, old, anyone who can hold a weapon. Tell them to arm themselves and form facing the hill."
Merys hurried back inside, finding a second sword hanging from a peg by the door. It was a simple design in common metals, but the hilt was shining and long enough to fill four hands as small as hers. Merys took hold of it and its sudden weight nearly fell from her hands, thudding the end into the floor. Heldrun appeared in the doorway and blinked a moment before taking up the sword with its belted sheath and buckling it easily around him.
"I will go find my staff," Merys mumbled, pointing deeper into the house and turning to go. Her father's answer halted her.
"No. You will not. You will go to Jornsdottir's house, you will tell the women there what I have told Elder Garm, and then you will help gather the children into the Hall."
Merys shook her head, eyes darting after her father while he hurried through the room, finding bits of his armor that had laid unregarded for years. "But I should help you fight. With the men gone…"
Heldrun sharply turned a glare at her daughter that sent a chill through. She recoiled her arms and bowed her head in silence. Seeing this, Heldrun bowed his own head and let out a long sigh. He approached her and lifted her chin to look up at him. What Merys saw was her father looking more aged, more pained, and more commanding than she had ever seen in her life.
"Merys," he said in a low, even tone. "I need you alive." He waved a hand to calm her expected protest. "No, no, I do not mean that you are weak. You have a strong heart that could outlast the sun. But I… I cannot fight if you die. I will lose my own heart if I see you fall out there. Knowing you are safe will keep me fighting. Please. For your father. Go and see to the children."
Merys' heart sank, staring up at him. She felt as if he was about to be swept away on a current, to a place she could not go. Still, she managed a nod and he released her, striding across the room to pull his helmet from the mantle. He donned it and, for a moment, Merys let herself admire her father, gripping the hilt of his sword, gaze sharp and helmet gleaming in the uneven light from the open door. Then she turned and fled the house, running down the dirt road through town.
Word of the Easterlings was already flowing through every house and shop Merys passed. She saw old men parting from feeble wives, mothers rushing out with spear in hand alongside their young sons in ill-fitting armor. And up ahead, she saw her mother, Leifka, slowly marching up the road with her sword already drawn. The six women gathered behind her were also armed, muscles tightening, eyes all fixed on the hill beyond. When they all halted as one, Merys stopped in her tracks.
A sound like torrential rain formed in the distance behind her. She turned to look up at a hill alive with soldiers, their spears and swords jutting into the light, their battle roars beginning to echo down off the village walls.
Leifka stepped forward and grabbed her daughter so hard by the arm, Merys let out a cry. "In the Hall!" she shouted. "Get in the Hall now!" Releasing her, Leifka turned back to the other women, gave them a firm nod, then led them in a furious charge up the road. Merys staggered aside, watching her mother's brown braids flying behind her, before turning and mounting the stairs into the Hall.
The building was hardly worthy of the name. Just a long, tall room with a few scattered shields on the walls, some tables and stools and a fire pit at one end. Some daylight peered through cracks in the old board walls, a draft rustling the furs wrapped around children huddled throughout. Only a few old women remained with them, trying to calm their terrified cries. One little girl would not stop wailing for her mother, filling the hall with her pleas. Merys slowly trudged to a corner and sunk down til her arms rested around her knees. There she lay her forehead and closed her eyes, listening to the oncoming storm.
