Princess Jern's Post-Rugby Dip

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 was either vying to join said team or beg the redhead to switch sides, and seeing how every match thereafter would be won by the princess' squad no matter how earnest the competition retaliated - although never was it quite as overwhelming a loss as that first round - such endeavours were not without fair reason. With how engrossing the following games had become for both those taking part or merely observing, noon crept up on the players quicker than anybody realised and the games had to be called to a curt close as other commitments of the day took precedence for the majority of the young village men.

Almost as soon as the games were over, the Knattleikr lads realised their boorish conduct and returned to their regular amicability. Hearty laughs were shared all round, not the least of which belonged to Jern who gave many firm, encouraging pats on the back to any and all who were within arm's reach, thanking them for such a rollicking diversion after spending the last several days on such a gruelling job. The gathered group made their farewells before parting their separate ways back to the village proper, all except for two particular sons of swineherds who knew their mothers would not hesitate to give them each a hiding if they dared return home in such a sullied state at their age.

The young men in question were named Frode and Gunnar, a pair of next-door friends who had known one another as far back as either could recollect. The two walked in the bearing opposite from where their acquaintances were heading, towards a gentle river that lazily ran just a short walk away from where they had been playing, directly midway between the village on one side and a thicket that lay on the other. The two males were well out of eyeshot from their home upon reaching the waterway's bank and proceeded to strip themselves of their soiled clothing. Unbothered by one another's complete nudity (like I stated, they had known each other virtually all their lives), they then climbed down into the river and waded their way close to the centre where it was deepest - the water coming up to about their waist - before making a start on scrubbing themselves clean of the dirt encrusted on their persons by hand.

The two chums conversed whilst they washed, at first recapitulating mundanities and sharing anecdotes of the last few days before the topic quickly shifted towards the most noteworthy thing to befall their sleepy community in recent months:

"So what'd you make of that ginger lass showing up out the blue, eh? Made us all look like a load of stiff-kneed grandads on the pitch, she did." Fair-haired Frode asked while bringing up some water to wipe away a patch of grime on his underarm, having no idea how it reached there. "Bloody hell...didn't even know girls could be so rough. Well, apart from my old lady, I guess." He chuckled.

"No fooling! Gods, I'm gonna be sore all over tomorrow, I can tell..." Dark-haired Gunnar replied with a downcast sigh. "Mind you, it's a bit refreshing to see though, ain't it? A woman showing an interest in the sport, I mean. I'm telling you, if the girls were a bit more like that around here, I might have an easier time finding myself a wife!"

"Maybe you should just propose to the redhead while she's still hanging around then. Might very well be the first and last chance you'll ever get!" Frode suggested, half-jokingly. "Gotta admit, her face did look pretty cute despite everything else."

"I don't know if I'd be able to keep up with someone like that even if she said yes!" Gunnar simply laughed the remark off. "That being said, I definitely wouldn't object if she could introduce me to a friend as pretty as her with similar hobbies, just a more on the delicate side."

Just then, a third voice interjected into their gossip from an individual whose approach had gone unnoticed by either of the males while they were engrossed in their own chat.

"Alright, lads, how's the water?" It said, startling both boys with its abruptness, volume and familiarity. Following a mutual flinch each male made in reaction, they turned their heads towards the village-side bank where they heard themselves being hailed; slowly, as if delaying finding out who they already knew they would see. As sure as they had surmised, standing tall by the river's edge and looking down at their naked selves with smiling lips was none other than the very subject of their dialogue: Jern!

"Er...j-just fine..." Frode stammered out the first response that came to mind after overcoming his second of shock, flustered right alongside Gunnar to say the least now that they suddenly found themselves in the presence of a member of the opposite sex with absolutely nothing between their own modesty and her perspective save for a semi-placid surface of clear water! The males were certain the tall woman had gone straight back to the village after the games had wrapped up, and were unsure why she would go out of her way to backtrack all the way to the river.

"Ah, good to hear." Jern replied in turn, apparently indifferent to intruding on the boys' bathtime. "Would you believe the innkeeper straight up refused to let me in the building in case I tracked a bit of muck on his floor? And after all that work I put in handling those outlaws and my own plentiful patronage too! Psh! Some gratitude, eh? Well, I really need to get all my stuff from my room, so I got pointed in the direction of this stream to scrub down my fatigues. Thought I'd take a quick soak too while I'm down here. Sweated up a storm with all that running about earlier, so I'm probably stinking something fierce on top of that!" She added with a slight snicker at her own expense, answering Frode and Gunnar's puzzlement like she read their minds.

"Oh, I see..." Gunnar nodded, for some reason feeling a lot more at ease after hearing this innocent explanation. From a second glance now that she brought the fact up, he and Frode now noticed how the athletic female was far and away the absolute filthiest amongst those who partook in the earlier matches, which really did not come as much of a surprise considering her wild method of participation that seemed to have her diving onto and sliding around the wet turf just as much as being on her feet! "We won't keep you waiting long in that case. We'll just finish up here and be on our way."

"Oh, no, you're fine, lads! I don't mean to rush you! I know I'm a bit on the big side, but I think there's enough room in the river to fit all three of us, right?" Jern chuckled quietly at her own joke, as she was already kicking her boots off her feet whilst nonchalantly unbuttoning the front of her trousers. "Besides, I'm in a bit of a hurry at the mo'. You won't mind if I just go ahead and invite myself in, aye?"

"Ah! Th-that's not what I-" Gunnar started to speak up again to clarify that was not his concern, he and his lighter-haired friend startled by the misunderstanding, but the men were immediately dumbfounded into silence once the princess dropped her bottoms - alongside the briefs she was wearing underneath - down to her ankles in a single motion after loosening them from her hips before their very eyes! After removing her socks while she was bent over, Jern then likewise wasted no time taking off her top, tossing it towards a nearby shrub after lifting it up, over and off her head, leaving the warrior woman as utterly bare as the boys, seeing as she believed a brassiere to be an unnecessary garment for one of her build.

Frode and Gunnar were graced with the princess' body au naturel without even being the slightest bit aware of her royal heritage at the time, though that did not make them any the less goggle-eyed as they took in that brief moment when the redhead had nothing to hide. Was it because her shape was a prime example of the conventional feminine form? Not quite. In fact, her figure may have better suited a depiction of Thor rather than the likes of Freyja, and although they could have probably prior surmised how Jern may have looked clothless from her general mien, it was another thing entirely to witness such a handsome sight with their own visions.

Naturally, Frode and Gunnar's attention was first drawn to the redhead's lower half when she dropped her trousers and saw that her long legs were just as equally developed as the strong arms they were at the mercy of just a short while ago (and considering how quickly they were able to carry the rest of her substantial frame, they had to be!), although they were noticeably coarse with stubble as though there was an attempt to shave them at least a few days ago, albeit perhaps with a dagger rather than a razor that left the skin not quite so smooth compared to how the ladies in Knattleiker kept groomed. For the princess' pubis on the other hand, it was more obvious absolute zero attempt had been made recently (or perhaps ever) at pruning considering the tousled tawny jungle that completely concealed her womanhood!

The princess' orange pubic bush tapered towards the top into a thin trail that the boys could see terminated around her navel when she had taken off her vest, which naturally next brought their notice to her sculpted stomach, or more specifically to the six well-defined abdominals which comprised it, subtly glistening in the sunlight from a sheen of worked-up sweat that made them appear all the more salient. Driven by their hormones, the young men unconsciously lifted their gaze to behold her bosom though may have been left somewhat let down to see her bust was not as prodigious as the rest of her proportions, and would have been near-flat on her thorax if it were not for her pectorals being as developed as they were to slightly elevate her mild lady mounds.

In spite of the lengthy description just related however, the men had but a fleeting moment to take in the entirety of Jern's statuesque stature before she declared "gangway!" as she made an impressive standing leap from the water's edge directly towards where Frode and Gunnar were standing! The astonished Knattleikr lads had just barely enough time to hastily dodge out the way of the tall girl's trajectory to evade being stomped overhead before she landed squarely in the space between them at the centre of the river, causing a terrific splash upon impact that swashed over the swineherds.

"Fine?! It's fucking freezing!" Was the first thing Jern exclaimed at the very top of her lungs upon hitting the water (Frode and Gunnar having forgotten they had simply gotten used its temperature in the time prior to the redhead's appearance), choler clear in her grimacing face as she hugged herself around her own shivering torso and started rubbing her palms against her upper arms in an effort to generate some heat. Meanwhile, Frode and Gunnar were left uncomfortably speechless as the princess' nipples stiffening in reaction to the cool water did not fail to gain their attention.

Jern seemed to grow accustomed to the water quick enough however, shaking off the cold with a shudder as she began to wash herself proper - splashing her fetching face, laving her extensive arms and scrubbing the chafed angles around her crotch - and soon struck up conversation with the two men as casually as if she had been a boy herself. As mixed bathing was not commonly practised in Snjórland, it was a surreal situation for the males to say the least as they had difficulty concentrating on what the redhead was saying while also making the occasional awkward acknowledgement. Truth be told, Frode and Gunnar remembered very little of what the princess was chattering about after the fact (something to do with constantly being on the move they could dimly recall) as both were still in awe over her strapping physique.

It was not so much attraction the males felt towards the female as it was admiration, and even a little envy. Frode and Gunnar were far from unfit thanks to their daily toils and weekly rugby exhibitions, though never could they imagine achieving such peak constitutions unless they were willing to put in some serious dedication with the already scant free time they had available. Even though this stranger was only about the same age as the village lads were, she possessed the build of a veteran warrior, and on top of her being of the so-called fairer sex, the fact struck a significant blow to their masculine prides. Jern, for the moment, did not seem all too bothered by the males' examination made on her anatomy, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that she had simply yet to realise their scrutinising. At least, that was the case until there was an involuntary, near-simultaneous stirring in Frode and Gunnar's loins happening just below the river's surface. Attraction for the Amazonian beauty was not altogether absent after all...