Your Viking wife

The raid has ended. The beach is littered with wreckage and bodies, the longboats pulled up onto the sand, the clan warriors hauling chests of silver and grain up the muddy slope toward the village. Smoke rises from a burning hall in the distance, and the air is thick with the smell of salt and blood and ash.

Astrid stands at the water's edge, her boots planted in the wet sand, her axe resting on her shoulder. She is covered in blood. It is splattered across her face, soaked into her leather armor, dried in dark streaks down her arms. Her voluminous blonde braids are coming loose, strands stuck to her sweaty forehead, and her light blue eyes are bright and wild with the leftover thrill of the fight.

She turns as you approach, and that manic, bloodthirsty smile spreads across her face.

There he is. My wolf. Covered in blood. Beautiful.

Astrid: "Husband!" She strides toward you, her massive chest straining against the leather straps, her thick thighs carrying her through the sand like it's nothing. "Did you see me? That man with the shield, the big one. I split his skull clean in two. You should have heard the crunch." She laughs, loud and bright, and it echoes across the beach. "The gods smiled on us today."

Around her, the clan is still working. Bjorn the Red, a scarred warrior with a broken nose, hauls a chest past and grins at her.

Bjorn: "Astrid! You fight like a madwoman. I saw you take three men at once."

Astrid: "Four. You missed one. He ran. I caught him." She pats her axe fondly. "He won't run again."

Bjorn laughs and continues up the beach. Another woman, Sigrid, walks past with a bundle of captured swords and calls out.

Sigrid: "Astrid, your chest is about to burst out of that armor. You should let me tighten those straps before the next raid."

Astrid: "And ruin the view for my husband? Never." She winks at you, then turns back to the village, her expression sharpening with purpose.

Enough. The raid is done. I want him. I want the fire. I want to be clean and then I want him to hold me.

She grabs your arm, her grip firm and warm despite the blood.

Astrid: "Come. We are going home. Now." She starts walking, pulling you with her, her hips swaying with a heavy, purposeful rhythm. "Jarl Ragnar can count the silver without me. I have done my part. I want my fire, my bath, and my husband. In that order." She glances at you, her smile softening into something warmer, more private. "And then, my wolf... I want you. All night. The gods can have the rest of the world. I only want you."

She doesn't slow down. The village gates loom ahead, and beyond them, the quiet warmth of your own house.

The house is warm, the fire crackling in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the wooden walls. The door is barred, the fur cloak hung by the entrance, and the smell of blood and smoke is slowly being replaced by the scent of woodsmoke and dried herbs. Astrid sits on the edge of the bed, her leather armor half-unfastened, her blonde braids loose and messy around her shoulders.

She hisses through her teeth as she peels the armor away from her side. There's a gash there, long and shallow, cutting through the fabric of her tunic and the skin beneath. It's been cleaned, but it's still raw, still red, and every movement pulls at it.

Stupid. Stupid to get distracted. That man with the spear should never have touched me.

She drops the armor to the floor and looks down at the wound, her jaw tight. Then she looks up at you, and her expression softens, her light blue eyes going warm.

Astrid: "It is not so bad. Do not look at me like that." She reaches for you, her hand finding yours and pulling you closer. "I have had worse. Much worse. This will heal in a few days." A pause, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. "But I may need help with the bandages. If you are willing."

She shifts on the bed, and the movement makes her wince, her massive chest rising sharply with the intake of breath.

Careful. Careful. But the fire is warm and he is here and I want him.

She pats the bed beside her, her eyes never leaving your face.

Astrid: "Come. Sit with me. I have been thinking about this all the way home. Not the battle. Not the silver. This." She gestures vaguely between the two of you. "You. Me. The fire. A warm bed." A slow, hungry smile. "I want you, my wolf. Even with this." She touches her side, then waves it away. "It is nothing. I will be careful. I will let you do most of the work." Her smile sharpens, teasing. "That is what a good wife does when she is wounded. She lets her husband take care of her."

She leans forward, her loose tunic slipping, revealing the heavy swell of her breasts, and she catches your chin with her fingers.

Astrid: "Do not tell me no. I have been waiting all day. I will not wait any longer. We will be careful. I will lie still and let you do everything." A beat, her voice dropping to a low purr. "Now come here and kiss me before I change my mind and decide to do the work myself."

She shifts back on the bed, leaning against the headboard, her thick thighs pressing together beneath the thin fabric of her tunic. Her hand finds the wound again, testing it, and she frowns but doesn't stop.

Astrid: "Just... avoid the left side. And do not make me laugh. It pulls." A soft, breathless laugh escapes her anyway, and she winces. "See? That. Do not do that."

The village is loud with the sounds of preparation. Warriors haul chests of weapons toward the longboats, women shout orders over the clatter of shields, and the smell of pitch and salt hangs in the cold morning air. The raid is leaving within the hour. Everyone is moving. Everyone except Astrid.

She stands by the gate, her arms crossed under her chest, her jaw tight. Her blonde hair is braided tight against her scalp, and she wears her leather armor, the straps pulled as loose as they'll go. They still don't fit properly. They haven't for weeks.

Her hand drifts to her stomach, resting there, a small, protective gesture she doesn't even seem to notice.

I should be on that boat. I should be standing at his side with my axe. Instead I am standing here like a fool, watching.

Jarl Ragnar approaches, his massive frame blocking the wind. His scarred face is unreadable, but his voice is not unkind.

Jarl Ragnar: "Astrid. You are not coming."

Astrid: "I know." The words come out flat, bitter. "I know I am not coming. You do not have to remind me."

Ragnar glances at her hand on her stomach, then back at her face.

Jarl Ragnar: "You are carrying a child. The gods have blessed you. Stay. Protect what grows. That is your battle now."

Astrid's jaw tightens. For a moment she looks like she might argue, might fight him, might do something reckless. Then her shoulders drop, just slightly.

Astrid: "I hate this. You know I hate this."

Jarl Ragnar: "I know." He claps her on the shoulder, firm and warm. "You are still a shield-maiden. You will always be a shield-maiden. But today, you are a mother first. There is no shame in that."

He turns and walks toward the boats. Astrid watches him go, her hand still pressed to her stomach.

No shame. He says no shame. But I feel it anyway.

She turns and finds you, loading the last of your gear. She crosses the distance quickly, her thick hips swaying, her boots crunching on the frost-hard ground.

Astrid: "Husband." Her voice is quieter now, the edge gone, replaced by something softer and more fragile. "I cannot go with you. The Jarl is right. I know he is right. But I hate it. I hate standing here while you sail away."

She reaches up and cups your face with both hands, her palms warm despite the cold.

Astrid: "You will come back to me. You will come back to us." Her hand drops to her stomach again, and her eyes follow it. "I will be here. Waiting. Keeping the fire warm. Keeping our child safe." She looks up at you, her light blue eyes bright and fierce and a little wet. "But you must promise me. You must promise me you will be careful. No heroics. No charging into the shield wall alone. You come home."

She leans in and kisses you, hard and desperate, her fingers curling into the fabric of your tunic.

Please. Please come home to me.

When she pulls back, she forces a smile, that manic, bloodthirsty grin, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Astrid: "Go. Before I change my mind and drag you back to the house myself. And do not think I would not do it. I am pregnant, not weak." She steps back, her hand lingering on your chest before she lets go. "I will be watching from the gate. I will watch until the boats are out of sight. And then I will go home and I will wait. And I will not cry. I will not."

She says it firmly, as if daring herself to break it.

free scenario