Chapter Text
Lodr had always known how to wound people. She was well aware what damage a few well-placed words could do, with the right leverage behind them. Ever since she was little, she had wielded her tongue with just as much precision as she shot her arrows. The refined skill of archery had always been one of her passions, as she relished in the satisfaction of hitting the mark, but she had never been much of a warrior. Her education had focused on rethoric and leading qualities rather than brute force.
Then, the Aldmeri Dominion brought war upon the Empire, and all Nord who could bear arms were called to the front lines. Lodr had thought herself capable enough, and she had been full of pride to defend her homeland and the peace and culture of the Empire against the invaders. Wartime could be an opportunity, her parents had assured her, and she knew she had the strategic mind to ascend the ranks.
After all the months that the Imperial army had been holding their ground, the ongoing battles had marred the green hills of Cyrodiil and many of its cities were but burning ruins, yet the tide had now turned with the reinforcements from Skyrim.
There was no easy victory, however. Every bit of land was reclaimed at a great cost, and glorious battle turned out to be massacre. Lodr knew that a soldier’s life mattered little, and that even a hundred were a loss to be expected, but victory tasted not as sweet as she rode over scathed hills littered with torn bodies, burnt and slain, her ears still ringing with the screams of the bleeding and dying.
*
“Ah, another fellow Nord!”, a loud voice cut through the drunken noise at the eve of another victorious battle. They were gaining ground, and some Cyrodillic wine to celebrate the victory did wonders for the morale. Lodr had been nipping at her mug with less enthusiasm than most, as her palate was used to a more refined taste, before she had been interrupted by the bold woman striding towards her.
Lodr raised her eyebrows at this unrefined greeting, yet she got up and politely extended her hand.
“Lodr Scar-Lip, and it is my pleasure.”
The woman’s grip on her arm was strong as she clasped it to greet her.
“Ingrith Fierce-Heart.” She grinned, and her roughly cut face brightened. “Scar-Lip, eh? Thought you looked familiar!”
The name Fierce-Heart was known to Lodr, of course. It was an honoured family with a tradition of sword-smiths and warriors that the Scar-Lips were well-acquainted with.
'Ingrith', however, was less easily placed. But when Lodr studied the smile more closely, something about the brightness of the steely blue eyes did stir her memories. It had to have been many winters ago, yet she vaguely remembered a wild tousle-head of blond hair and a challenging grin, irrevocably tied to memories of playing outside until she had dirt on her dress and bruises on her arms. The Fierce-Hearts must have paid a few courtesy visits back in the day, but Lodr had been so very young and her parents had frequently entertained guests, so her recollection was somewhat hazy.
“Ingrith”, she said, now with recognition in her voice, and she thought of whispered tales in the dark of the attic, fingers sticky with honey. Lodr had always known how to acquire sweets from the kitchen with an impeccable politeness and a smile.
As far as Lodr could tell, Ingrith had changed quite a lot. The rather lanky girl she believed to remember had grown into a tall woman of strong built, her jaw broad and her gaze fierce, and she filled her armour with such naturalness, she might as well have been born with it.
Lodr did accept Ingrith’s invitation to drink with her and her husband, a Redguard warrior of equally impressive statue, and listened to her impressions of their companions and their chances in the war. Yet as it became unmistakably clear that this had been Ingrith’s first day on the battlefield, Lodr could not help but to meet Ingrith’s enthusiasm with a wry smile and a good bit of sceptic realism.
They all started out like this, bright-eyed and hungry for glory. But Lodr had seen many a young, eager warrior die a wretched, unsung death, and she had seen how bright eyes turned dull after their first real taste of battle. It was best to keep a distance and not get attached.
If Ingrith did not believe her now, she would soon enough.