shieldmaiden

Mead. Battle. Mead. Sleep.Train. Mead. Tend a horse. Mead. Battle. Battle. Mead.

Life was all the same. Esma had thrived on the thrill of defeating enemies. Orcs, Wargs...yes, they needed to die.
Yet she was tired. So tired.
It was all the same. Was there meaning to it? The more she defeated, the more came later.

Mead was still her best friend, and would continue to be so. But did she have any other friends? Not really. She was alone.

They stood upon the Deeping Wall, on guard together. The others of the patrol were also on guard, but spread further along the wall. Gaeded felt strange in this moment, though she thought that it should feel like any other day. Ælfræd stood next to her. He said nothing, looking out to the grassy plains before them and the silhouette of the ruined town of Marton in the distance. It was a quiet day, as usual, as no enemy dared to approach the great fortress.

“What are you doing?” Gaeded spoke, bewilderment across her face as she sat down next to her patrol in Helm’s Deep’s Mead Hall. Two of her patrol, Cynred and Rædwulf were stacking empty, or at least Gaeded hoped they were empty, tankards on top of each other. The others of her patrol were muttering to each other and sliding coins in front of them.

“Overall, good work today. Leofsige, you’re spear work was sloppy. Uhtric, you need to hold your shield higher, but you managed not to be a few paces in front of everyone else today, which is an improvement. Everyone else, carry on the way you are. You’re dismissed!”