The Warrior

-- The following is a reimagination of one of my earliest stories. It's been almost entirely rewritten with the aim of fleshing out the world and characters more, so there is a lot of build up before we get to the erotic stuff. I think this makes the payoff better in the end, though. If you like how it's turned out, please remember to vote! Thanks for reading. --

The Warrior

FemdomFanboy85

It would be of no use denying that it was courting danger to try and follow her. My father and mother - Allmaker rest their souls - had pushed me for years to settle down with a woman, with a good wife that could tend to the home and care for children. But I am, if nothing else, an unwary man. A curious, restless, unwary man who stumbles more often than he walks.

Perhaps that was what drew my attention to her in the first place. The men in the town were anything but kind to her when she would stop in. The ones that didn't mock and insult her were surely boasting in the crudest attempts to bed her. The women seemed to regard her as equal parts harlot and mannish brute. Yet there was an unmistakable manner of grace and confidence with which she carried herself.

Of course, it wasn't the grace or confidence taught to our women at temple. It was something more primal, more ancient even. It was more akin to the wild beauty of a flame dancing in the wind. An image complemented well by the color of her own unkempt hair.

To be truthful, the first time I set eyes on her, I dismissed her as a savage beast. Her people of the steppes have the reputation for being such, and to look on her does nothing to deter these impressions. The strips of leather and chainmail that typically adorn her are better called rags than clothing, and the body they barely conceal is muscular and regularly coated with dirt and sweat. She is more than a little ill-tempered and ill-mannered as well, even when she strolls into town to rely on the goodwill of people she might be trading with.

Behind all the whispers and rumors, though, was fear. None would say so except privately, with the most discerning company, but this mysterious warrior woman was not the sort of woman you wanted to be on the wrong side of. She could be tolerant enough of the gawkers, the silent judges of character, and even the boorish men. However, I quickly learned as soon as I followed after her that this tolerance is more a testament to her character than any sign of weakness.

Shortly after she left our town, she set out for a small village about a day's journey east. I did my best to remain out of sight, including bedding down for the night in the woods many dozens of paces apart from where she camped. Later when the moon was high, I nearly gave away my position as I noticed a band of three armed men approaching with the obvious intent to rob or otherwise cause her harm. As I started to move closer and contemplated what to do, I was astonished to see my worries had been quite unfounded.

The "bed" she had made for herself out of straw, leaves, bushes, her boots, and other materials was nothing but a ruse. Once the assailants came upon the scene, they were too late to pick up on the deception. Just as they were too late to react when she leapt down from her hiding spot in the trees above.

One of the men fell instantly. The second crossed swords with her a few times before he lost his grip and was finished. The last man, who was clearly the best fighter of the three, stood his ground for a while, taunting and striking at the woman. Right as he kicked her to the ground and it appeared she would not recover, she rolled to the side as he came near, kicked at his feet with all her might, and drove her sword into his neck as he landed beside her.

Next, I watched her casually wipe herself off, loot the bodies before tossing them somewhere into the surrounding forest, restore her "bed" to its former state, and then climb back into the trees. Needless to say, this disturbed any notions I might have had about making myself known to her, especially in the dark of night. It suddenly seemed to me that she might be even more vicious than the whispers and rumors let on.

The very next day, though, I was once again surprised at what I would witness. For when she arrived at the village she'd been traveling to, I half expected she would raze it to the ground. Instead, after some moments passed, I caught sight of her with a destitute family that embraced and honored her for reasons I could not fully understand. I suspect it may well have had to do with a sack the woman handed to them, but whether it contained food, money, or some items of more sentimental value, I cannot say.

This was also the first time I learned the woman's name: Aloisa.

Being the nephew of an innkeeper, you often heard some of the wildest gossip that the town had to offer before anyone else. While most of it was certainly hogwash, it could still fill a young impressionable man with a sense of imagination, and it all sounded better to me than taking over for father and becoming a carpenter. Many an argument we had over my love for bugging the men in the town with questions about far away lands, or asking the scribes for whatever fantastical manuscripts they were willing to lend out to an eager mind that would never return them. My parents did seem grateful I had received some form of education from habits such as these, but I believe my father disliked the dissatisfaction it instilled in me for carpentry.

For a few years I had seen Aloisa come and go from our town, and although I was not such a young man anymore when I finally decided to follow her, it was the same youthful curiosity and passion for adventure that inspired me to do so. After spending three nights on her trail, though, I was increasingly aware of both the risk I was taking and the fact that I had prepared poorly for the task. I naively believed I could find a caravan and make my way back home if I needed to, but I was no longer sure if I wanted as much. The option this left me with was not encouraging, to be frank. I would either have to tell her or chance being discovered.

On the fourth night, however, something happened. I had run out of what little food I packed some hours before. Watching her hunt, kill, and skin a boar before roasting its meat on the fire filled me with hunger again. I almost convinced myself I should rush out there, fall on my face, and beg for any scraps. But then a calm and firm voice broke the quiet of the night.

"Come out, boy," she said.

I froze in my place, terrified that I'd been caught. After a moment, she spoke up again.

"I know you're there. I know you've been following me the last four nights. You've been doing it so poorly anyone would know."

I could see her continue to sit before the fire, her back facing me, not moving a muscle. If she had known I was here all this time, why had she waited until now? Had she given some thought to killing me like those other men? Suddenly I could hear her sigh in frustration.

"I'm not going to tell you again," she warned. "You can come out now or you can starve. I don't really care which one you pick, but hurry up with it already, will you?"

Before I realized it, my feet were stumbling out of the woods and toward the fire. I thought about how easy it would be for her to grab her blade, turn right around, and pierce me as I'm diving to the food at her side. Soon that thought turned into wonder at why she didn't so much as flinch as I came up behind her and crawled over to sit several feet away.

Looking me over for a minute, she tore off a piece of meat and threw it unsympathetically into the dirt in front of me. I could not help but feel ashamed at what I'd been reduced to, but hunger brings even the proudest of us down low. I picked up the meat and bit into it without even bothering to brush the dirt off. At this, a strange smile appeared on her face.

"What's your name, boy?" she asked me emotionlessly.

I silently kept chewing and eating, as if acknowledging the beast would make it real. It did not take long to figure out that not acknowledging her would potentially be far more dangerous.

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid, boy. I'm not the one who rushed out here with barely anything packed to follow some stranger to the middle of nowhere. You start answering me or you'll really see what I'm like when I'm angry."

"Andrew," I nearly interrupted her.

"Well, Andrew," she said with a slight pause, "what in the Allmother's name are you doing out here following me?"

My chewing slowed and my eyes drifted over her gradually, circling around the sword lying mere inches from where she sat. As if reading my thoughts, she took the sword and sheath in her hand, considered it carefully, and then looked back at me as she tossed it just a little outside her arm's length. I can only imagine what a child I must have seemed then, as I stopped chewing with mouth open. At least this was fairly good sign I was not about to die that very instant.

"I... I don't know," I admitted to her, the words trickling out uncomfortably.

"No one leaves their home in pursuit of a strange woman for no reason, boy."

That she was right about. Even so, I struggled with what to say, although her manner of speaking to me felt oddly inviting in a way that reminded me why I was there. My pride wanted to object every time she called me "boy," but I must have truly been several years younger, and I was not about to argue semantics with a sword-wielding warrior woman. I had not come here to argue, anyway. It felt like I had come to learn.

"I saw you in Greywall," I finally mustered the courage to confess.

"Yes, I know," she responded passively. "You must think I'm far less observant than I am. Though I don't know how you still believe that after you watched those men die by my hand."

I had stopped eating and glanced nervously at her before averting my gaze again. She let out an amused little sound and smirked. Inside, I found myself pondering if it was worse thinking how she had killed people, or if it just might be worse to leave her believing that you think ill of her. After all, those men had clearly meant her harm.

"I meant no offense," I said at last. "I just... I don't know. Greywall is where I've lived my entire life, but I feel it's no home. Not for me. When I've... seen you in town... it's made me think what else is out there."

"You're just a boy. What do you know? Be grateful what you have. Go out looking for adventure and other nonsense when you're older."

"I'm not a boy," I snapped. She raised her head and met my eyes with an intense look. "I mean... I'm not a child. I'm twenty years of age. Other men my age have left home. They've made lives for themselves. They've gone to war."

"Boy," she began, taking care to make sure her choice of words was heard clearly, "I've known many who fight wars and are not men. I've known boys... and girls... who left homes, not by choice, and lived to regret it. Where I come from, you wouldn't be considered a man. But where you come from, I am not considered a woman. It's not wrong to be who you are. It's not wrong to embrace what they try to shame you with, either."

Her eyes stared off distantly into the fire, the flames flickering and sparkling in the reflection. Boy or not, I could tell there was a story behind her reaction. I could also tell it was not a story she was ready to share. I picked up the meat again and continued eating.

"My parents are gone," I slipped in after a minute. "My uncle wants me to help him run the inn. The rest of the town would like to see me follow in my father's footsteps. There are even some families that hope I will marry their daughter some day when I've taken up a respectable trade. But I want none of it. Greywall has nothing left for me."

For a moment, she sat there in silence, watching me intently as I fidgeted and rubbed my leg. Part of me felt she was thinking over whether or not anyone would come looking for me. Another part sensed that perhaps she recognized something familiar in what I'd said. By the time she spoke up, her response was just a simple one.

"I'm Aloisa," she said.

"P-pleased to meet you," I stuttered.

"Andrew," she went on after another pause, "go home. You can sleep here tonight. I won't hurt you as long as you keep your hands to yourself. But tomorrow you need to be gone. I don't want to see you following me anymore."

Afterwards, I finished my food and found a nice spot on the ground to call my bed. I fell asleep asking myself if she was lonely, wondering what it would feel like to be in her bed, and thinking what trouble I could be in if I were to disregard what I'd been told to do.

-

Frightening as my first encounter with her had been, it seemed to have the opposite effect from what she intended. I realized she was likely to be far less forgiving the second time around, but I felt even more strongly now that I could not bring myself to return to Greywall. To do so would be to admit defeat and accept a life of misery. She may well have been right - what did I know at my age? If I knew nothing else, I knew that I had to get away.

My plan had been to stay a little further back from here on, hoping she would not notice me if I kept at a greater distance. When she would stop off in nearby towns and villages, I would exert the best efforts to remain unseen, while buying what food I could afford and sleeping in stables or other places I would not be noticed. The more remote our journey became, I was forced to rely on fruits and nuts gathered from the surrounding woods. It was rough at times, but I was surprised to find that I was able to travel with her for several days without being caught.

I told myself I was still following her because I wanted to see her homeland. Exchanging words even briefly with her had filled my mind with all sorts of ideas about what her people must be like, what her culture must be like. Certainly, this was some part of it, and I wanted to know if there might be a place in the world for me after all. In honesty, though, this was not the full truth. I was following her because she fascinated me.

It never dawned on me that she might not be going home, nor had it occurred to me that there was a reason she was not traveling on horse or using the main roads. It was too late to wonder at why she had sent me away and what that might imply. The reason didn't matter much to me compared to my own fancies. Like I said, I am an unwary man. An unwary man who perhaps still is a boy in many ways.

Late one night, I awoke to the sound of men and horses. Carefully crawling through the brush to see where they were going, I was startled to witness them approaching Aloisa's camp. She was already alert by the time they arrived, and yet her behavior did not show fear or aggression. Curious, I snuck closer and closer to where they were, aiming to overhear what they were meeting about.

The men were very clearly mercenaries, judging from the way they dressed and spoke. From what I could make out, they had come seeking a bounty, presumably for Aloisa's return, alive or dead. It appeared they were trying to persuade her to come with them without any violence. Of course, with three men in the riding party, taking a woman captive with them, one need not guess what Aloisa probably understood this offer to mean.

When she politely declined with a gesture of her arm, the men predictably became violent. One attempted to chase her down on horseback, only to discover she had come prepared with a bow that was stashed just out of sight. With a quick draw and a dive behind the trunk of a tree, she hit the mercenary square in his chest, sending him toppling over the side of his horse.

The other two men circled around the camp, looking for cover as she sent another arrow spiraling past them. I continued creeping closer to the area, beginning to think if I could be bold enough to use the dagger I had in my boot and assist her. The chaos went on before me, as one man's horse was struck, forcing him to dismount. The other rider attempted to get closer, but also had to dismount to follow Aloisa into the woods.

I am ashamed to tell what happened next. In my youthful curiosity, I had not thought to stay aware of my own surroundings. I had not expected there might be more than the three mercenaries that had confronted her, either. But there were, and I was taken hostage by two who had stayed behind on the outskirts of the area, anticipating that Aloisa might try to flee. I was grabbed, bound, and carried to the edge of the woods.

One of the men took me and threw me onto the dirt, holding a sword to my neck. He called for the red-haired woman, threatening to end my life if she didn't emerge from the trees. A few tense moments later, she came out with an angry look on her face. Only one of the two men that had followed her into the woods was at her back now.

"I should let them kill you where you lie," she growled at me.

"I'm sorry," was all I could weakly mumble.

Slowly, led by the man behind her, she approached us. For a minute, the men quarreled over what to do with us. They debated if it was worth keeping me alive. One of them had the idea to strip the "savage woman" and make her worth their trouble. Another said to kill her too and ease their troubles. The third reminded them the bounty was higher if she were to be captured alive. While they argued on, Aloisa glanced down at me and her eyes drifted to my right foot. The dagger.

I carefully moved my hand lower until it touched the top of my boot. I heard a grunt of frustration and looked up to see the man behind Aloisa now tearing at her top. Her eyes rolled.

"Men," she grumbled. "You have all the power and money in the world and you can't even get a bra off without pawing at it like an animal."

The man behind me laughed and mocked his friend. I slid my fingers down the top of my boot and found the dagger. I hesitated, knowing I'd need a distraction. Aloisa's eyes met mine. Something reminded me that either way, I was likely to die. If I got caught, I would die. If I waited too long, they would finish with Aloisa and kill me. Or kill both of us.

"Do you need some help?" she asked the man behind her.

Violently, he shoved her head forward, took his sword and cut the straps on the back of her top. It fell with a soft thud. Seeing it there in the dirt, I pulled out the dagger and concealed it between my hands.

"Took you long enough," Aloisa remarked.

"You in a hurry?" the man at her back spoke. "I like that."

She pursed her lips and sighed. Another swift cut with his sword and the bottom of her outfit came off. Now standing there in nothing but her boots, she gave me a firm look.

"You certainly seem to be," she responded. "Who doesn't like a man that finishes fast?"

I could feel the heat of her anger directed at me as she spoke, but the two men behind me just laughed again. They teased their friend and kept their eyes fixed on Aloisa. I began cutting frantically at the ropes around my wrists, as quickly as I could without making a sound that might alert anyone.

The man behind Aloisa hit her a little harder on the back of the head, then forced his dirty hands around her. She became noisy and jerked away. He pulled her back and put his hands on her again. Once the ropes were cut, I looked up at her. For a second, I felt I could tell exactly what was on her mind.

Fight, boy, she seemed to say. This will get ugly.

It had been a grave mistake to leave Aloisa's leather boots on, but in all their hurry and excitement, the men had overlooked that rather important issue. When she bent forward, drew her right leg up, and thrust her foot back into the man's crotch with all her strength, the mistake was quickly realized by all, myself included. The rapist that had been clawing at her sunk to the ground in howls of pain.