Fenrir's Binding: The Queen And The Barbarian

By evolution-500

Genres: Romance/Angst

Feedback: Always welcome

WARNING: This story contains violence, coarse language and mature themes. Reader discretion is advised.

Disclaimer: Killer Instinct" is a property belonging to Rareware and Microsoft while "The Boys" is a property by Garth Ennis and Dynamite Comics. I do not own these characters.

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Chapter Two: Encounters

"There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth."

- Friedrich Nietzsche

Maeve groaned as she shifted in her sleep.

Fluttering her eyes open, she slowly sat herself up and massaged her head, then looked around at her surroundings.

From what Maeve could see, she was alone in what appeared to be a longhouse that was twenty-two meters long and five meters wide, with an odd, boat-like frame.

Lit entirely by some well-placed candles on some built-in shelves, she saw a door at the end along with a recently extinguished central hearth, while lining the walls and floors were various fur pelts.

'Where am I?' she wondered.

Looking down to her own person, Maeve found herself lying on a large, comfortable bed, her form covered by a very long and thick fur-covered blanket.

Lifting up the covers, she found herself completely nude. Raising up her eyes, Maeve scanned the room for her outfit, then stopped at the sight of them neatly folded on a shelf, her boots placed at the foot of the bed.

Grabbing the fur blanket, she wrapped herself up, making sure her body was covered as she made her way over to the shelf, picking up her clothes.

Placing on her silver head piece, Maeve had just finished getting dressed when she heard the door open nearby, causing her to frown.

"Has anyone ever told you," she turned to face the person as she adjusted her shoulder piece, intent on giving them a piece of her mind, "to...knock...?"

Maeve froze at the sight that greeted her.

Stepping through and ducking underneath the doorway was a hulking giant of a man, his head nearly scraping the ceiling.

He was enormously tall - a towering and impressive Germanic/Nordic specimen of six-eleven that looked to be over three hundred and eighty pounds of pure muscle, with huge, broad shoulders and a powerfully built frame that was rippling with strength, looking as if he were cut entirely from diamond.

Bare-chested, the only articles of clothing he wore were a pair of black gloves that covered his large hands, a furry loin cloth and a black belt around the waist that had what looked to be a simian skull for a buckle, while his feet were clad in a pair of thick, fur-lined leather boots.

His legs, however, which were as thick as tree trunks and packed with muscle, were bare, left exposed to the cold air.

In one hand, he held a massive great sword that rested on his shoulders, a giant slab of metal that must have been about six or seven feet long and two or three feet thick. Marked with all sorts of intricate inlaid runes, swirling Celtic lines and engravings, Maeve saw a wolf's head carving peering out from the grip, just between the cross-guard.

For the first time in her life, Maggie felt her legs become jello beneath her, her heart racing, pounding so hard and fast in her chest that she felt like she was going to explode. She felt like a giddy infatuated teenager all over again, which surprised her; the last time she ever recalled acting in this manner was when she had first met Homelander, her heart powerfully racing with want and desire.

'Oh baby, where have you been all my life?!' she lustily thought, eying him as if he were a piece of meat, the woman unconsciously smiling in spite of herself.

As Maggie amorously eyed the man before her, sizing him up, she raised her gaze back up to his impressively ripped chest, smiling and nodding to herself in approval, biting her lower lip as she absentmindedly curled her finger around in her hair. Trailing from the left shoulder, all the way from the back, across both pectorals and just resting ever so slightly over his toned stomach, was a large, greenish gold though faded ornate tattoo that represented a very large snake or dragon. The tattoo itself was ornately designed, the snake's form made up of long, interweaving Celtic knots that looped and coiled in dizzyingly infinitesimal spirals.

Every time the man breathed, the more the tattoo shifted and moved as if it were alive.

Maeve stared admiringly at the snake for a long time, mesmerized by both the detailing and musculature on this mysterious figure.

Lifting her eyes, Maggie saw a bone necklace with a large tusk draped around his neck, the tooth just resting between his clavicles and gloriously-shaped pecs, then stopped at the sight of his face, her breath hitched in her chest.

The man was positively gorgeous, a woman's dream come true! A face that in itself would have made even Homelander jealous, if such a thing were possible! A handsome face with raised, sculpted cheekbones, a long and strong-looking nose, and a chiseled lantern jaw with a firm though grim mouth, his long locks of golden hair drawn tightly against the back of his head and cinched closely together in a ponytail.

But it was the man's deep-set eyes that had immediately drawn her attention - they were by far the the bluest eyes that she had ever seen.

There was a dark, cold, and smoldering intensity about them that made her heart beat in excitement. They were not cruel like Homelander's, but... there was a certain...lethality and readiness in his stare. Like the eyes of a wild animal ready to fight at a moment's notice, or perhaps, more appropriately, the most violent of winter storms ready to be unleashed, with all the fury that they possessed should he be provoked into action.

There was also something else too, that Maeve couldn't help sensing, just from looking into his eyes; even though the man himself appeared to be no more than thirty, thirty-one if she were to guess, his eyes were so...old. She couldn't help sensing something sad in his stare.

Closing the door behind him, the man looked quietly down at her.

"...I see that you are up and well," he spoke finally, his voice a powerfully rich and deep though grave baritone with a hint of an accent that made her shiver with excitement. "Good. Can you understand me?"

Maeve nodded quietly.

"Oh good. Welcome to my home," the man said pleasantly. "I apologize for the roughness of my speech, but...it has been some years since I last spoke in English. It is not my first language, so you will have to pardon my crude tongue if I find myself slipping back into other languages, or if I make errors when I talk."

She smiled. "Hey, it's no trouble at all! If it means anything, your English is quite good. I wouldn't have known or noticed if you hadn't brought that up. It sounds very natural."

He gave a polite bow of his head. "You have my thanks, skrýtinn."

Maeve scrunched up her brow. "'Skreetin'?" she phonetically repeated in confusion.

"It's, uh...what's the word in...ah! 'Stranger'."

"Ah!" Maeve nodded in understanding.

"Again, you will have to forgive me for when I slip back to other languages. It is rare for me to receive visitors, especially around these parts. Would you like something to eat?"

At the mention of food, Maeve suddenly realized that she was absolutely starving, so much so that her stomach, much to her embarrassment, started to gurgle in response, causing a blush to form.

Raising a brow at her, she saw a smile from from a corner of the man's mouth as he gave a low chuckle, once again causing her heart to flutter and butterflies in her stomach.

"I'll take that as a sign that you are hungry," he said amusedly. "I'll try to make you a suitable meal."

Lifting his other hand, Maeve suddenly realized that the man had been dragging along an unusually large fish with him as he placed it onto a nearby table.

As the man started to skin it, Maeve suddenly found her voice. "What-what happened?" She asked.

"You were found in the ocean. You were quite fortunate, skrýtinn - if it hadn't been for Lord Nodens, you would have drowned."

Maeve furrowed her brow. "'Lord Nodens'?"

"Dah. Nodens, the god of the sea, hunting, healing, and the underworld."

Maeve stared perplexedly at the muscled back of the man as he cut into the fish and stripped it of its bones.

Was this guy for real? God of the sea, hunting and the underworld?

It was then that Maeve suddenly recalled that nightmare, vividly recalling that...hideous creature that snatched her out from the water, along with that terrifying old man with the spear. As the image of them lingered in her mind, she shuddered.

As if sensing something was wrong, the man paused in his work and glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Are you alright, skrýtinn?" he asked concernedly.

Closing her eyes, Maeve swallowed as she forced the images back.

"It's-It's nothing," she waved assuredly. "I-I had a bad dream last night. I think the crash gave me nightmares."

The man stared at her silently, giving her an almost knowing look. Before she had a chance to question him, he turned back to the table and resumed cutting into the fish, plucking out bones with his rough hands.

Maeve licked her lips. "Listen, um...where-where are we? Who-"

She paused, then closed her eyes, scoffing.

Of course. He must be another supe. Her plane must have crashed down on some secret filming location that Vought had been using, although it's strange that she hadn't heard about it.

Maeve knit her brows together, thinking back to the past meetings that she and the other members of The Seven had.

Had she missed one of the company memos or something?

Surely she would have remembered something like this.

It would explain the man's state of dress, or rather, lack thereof.

Maeve studied the man, eying every strand of muscle on his person, his clothing. In a way, he kind of reminded her of Vikor. A decent fuck, but not the greatest, unfortunately. She hoped this one would be better.

"I didn't realize that Mr. Edgar had another filming division all the way out here in Europe," Maeve commented lightly.

"Hm?" The man grunted without looking up from his work as he skinned the fish.

"This is a nice place," Maeve nodded. "Is this one of Vought's sets?"

Lifting up his head, the man quirked a brow at her in confusion.

"'Sets'?" he repeated, as if unsure of either what she meant or the word itself.

"Ah, you must be new," Maeve nodded. That explained it. "Who are you with? The Sons of Stormfront? You look like you're part of that group."

The man frowned. "I know not what it is you are referring to, skrýtinn."

Maeve rolled her eyes, unconsciously brushing back a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. Christ, he even sounded like Vikor when he's in character.

She glanced around the room. "You wouldn't happen to have any martinis by any chance, do you?"

He stared blankly at her.

"Martinis?" she repeated. "Booze? Wine? Any alcohol whatsoever?"

His frown returned as he shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid there hasn't been any wine nor mead around here for ages, unfortunately."

Now it was Maeve's turn to frown. "Well, fuck."

This was getting better and better.

Sighing, she glanced around the room. "Do you have a phone that I can use?"

His brow wrinkled again in confusion. "Huh?"

Looking back at him, Maeve's mouth turned into a harsh line.

Alright, she understood guys like him were under contractual obligation to remain in character, but quite frankly, she was starting to lose patience with him and his acting dumb.

Brushing a bang off her shoulder, she exhaled in frustration. "You know what, fuck this." Sighing she turned to the door. "I'll go see if I can find someone that is actually useful around here since you're of no help whatsoever." Pausing in her step, she glanced over her shoulder. "Say, I didn't get your name, by the way." 

As the man opened his mouth to speak, she waved him off dismissively. "You know what, I don't care," Maeve said impatiently as she headed for the door. "Doesn't matter. You had your chance, but you fucked it up, blondie. Congratulations."

"Why you impudent little-"

Maeve ignored the man as she pushed through the door, closing it behind her before he had a chance to say anything else. As she stepped outside, Maeve felt a cold breeze brush up against her, causing her to shiver as she rubbed her hands together. Breathing onto her hands, she looked up, then froze, taking in her surroundings.

Greeting her was a desolate, frozen, snow-covered wasteland, the landscape lined with wrecked ships and various ruined vehicles, a graveyard filled with the old and the modern. All around were bodies of countless people lying in different positions along with scattered body parts, many of them in horribly pristine condition, each of them dressed differently from one another, some dressed in what looked like much, much older styles. She saw men dressed in old Viking attire. Men dressed in Roman armor. Greek hoplite. Some of the bodies were dressed in US military uniforms, while Maeve recognized the distinctive and hateful symbol associated with the Nazis on some of the more gruesomely ravaged bodies.

She saw crashed planes of all shapes and sizes, including what looked like a couple of destroyed B-17s.

One of the most prominent ships that stood out to her, however, was what looked unmistakably like a massive, stranded Viking longship, the sides lined with oars and a number of Nordic shields, its crew sprawled out and looking freshly preserved, some of them even looking as if they were asleep and could wake up at any moment.

Looking around, Maeve scanned along the horizon, studying everything around her.

She saw a thick, dense forest to the west of her position with dead-looking tree branches, while to the east she saw large, sharp jutting mountains.

Turning back to the building that she was in, Maeve found herself staring at a large, boat-shaped mound with a single wooden door, which opened to reveal its owner as he irately stepped outside.

Maeve scoffed. "I gotta say, I'm impressed! I mean wow! Look at all this! Look at the amount of effort the production crew put into all this! This looks absolutely incredible!" She smiled, gesturing to everything around them as she let out a laugh. The man angrily approached. "I mean, wow! WOW! This is a HUGE step up from the last set I've been on! The last time I've seen a set this elaborate must have been on 'Homelander and the Curse of Egypt', just because-"

She was cut off as the man suddenly grabbed her by the throat and lifted her off the ground, his eyes cold and fierce.

"You ungrateful wench!" He snarled with clenched teeth, tightening his hand on the handle of his sword. "You dare to insult me in my house, meyla?!"

Maeve winced as she struggled to wrench herself free of the vice-like grip on her throat.

"Get...OFF me!" Slamming her foot straight into his groin, she kicked as hard as she could, the man grunting as he loosened his hold, causing him to drop her.

Coughing, Maeve massaged her sore neck. "What the fuck is your problem, asshole?!"

"My problem," he growled at her as he looked painfully up at her as he held his groin, "is your arrogance, cur! If it wasn't for my goodwill along with that of Lord Nodens, you would be food for the sharks, you miserable sow! I took you into my home, and this is how you display your gratitude for my hospitality?! If it wasn't for the fact that you are a woman, I would have challenged you to Holmgang and killed you on the spot."

"Yeah, well, fuck you, the horse you rode in on, and this "Nodens" guy too."

As she uttered those words, Maeve felt the air become still as the man suddenly froze, the wind balefully groaning like an animal.

"...What did you say?" He spoke in a restrained low voice that broke through the howling wind, full of fury.

Maeve huffed. "You heard me."

Lifting himself up with a grunt, the man stood tall as the wind picked up, his eyes narrowed with a dark and cold intensity that matched the arctic weather.

"...You've just forfeited your life, fool," he snarled, his voice possessing a sharp, icy edge. Clenching the handle of his weapon, he rolled his shoulder, his aura of menace growing. "It wasn't enough that you violated the sacred house/guest code of risna, but you dare to blaspheme against the god Nodens, to whom I have declared fealty?!"

He shook his head slowly. "Nay, that will not stand. Warg-Gram shall feast on your flesh and spill your blood across the snow for this outrage."

Maeve rolled her eyes. "Blah blah, tell it to someone who cares."

The man stood still, offering her a harsh, cold glare. "...Do you require a weapon?"

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Do. You. Require. A. Weapon?" He said in a slow and patronizing tone, speaking to her as if she were an idiot or child, something that made Maeve shift her jaw.

She thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm more than capable of handling myself without one."

He gave an amused smirk, followed by a dismissive snort. "Oh, you think so?"

Maeve met his smirk with one of her own. "Oh, I know so."

The man barked out a rumbling laugh.

"Ha! Such confidence. For someone whose corpse is going to line the snow with the other imbeciles that dared challenge me in the past, you are either very brave, or very, very stupid, girl," he said with an amused glint in his eyes. Lowering the smile, he looked seriously at her. "Last chance. Do you wish to have a weapon provided to you for this duel?"

Maeve offered a smug smile. "Awfully considerate of you."

"'Better to die with honor than to live with shame,'" The man said with conviction, causing her to drop the smile in surprise.

https://youtu.be/92TCWyxCRhU

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Despite how heavy it seemed, her opponent effortlessly lifted his massive weapon up with ease in both hands as he pointed it at her in an ox guard stance.

"Eons have tempered my blade..."

With that, he swung the blade forward, shifting to a long-point guard, then spun the massive weapon in two swirling fluid arcs that produced a metallic ringing noise. Cutting audibly through the air, he got into a side stance, his sword drawn up close to his chest and raised up to the air.

Maeve felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach as she stared into his hardened eyes.

Shit, he really was serious. This psycho was actually going to kill her!

For a moment, Maggie felt afraid.

This was insane! How did she get into this mess?!

Closing her eyes, she mentally pushed Maggie the scared little girl to the back of her mind, strengthening her resolve.

What was she worried about?

She was Queen Maeve, the second strongest supe in the world - battling psychos was just another day in the office.

Flicking her hair back over her shoulder with a dismissive scoff, she rolled her shoulders back with a groan, her tendons, muscles and bones snapping and popping.

Cracking her knuckles with a satisfying crunch, she reopened her eyes as Maeve the Warrior and stood tall and proud with arms akimbo, staring fearlessly and defiantly at the man's giant form.

"Alright," she said as she got into a stance of her own, raising up her fists as she mentally braced herself for battle. "You're on."

He studied her, tilting his head slowly to the side as he took in her posture, then gave an approving nod.

"Good form," he commented. "You know how to stand like a fighter, I will give you that. The question is, can you fight like one?"

A smirk formed on part of Maeve's face.

"Only one way to find out," she shrugged.

The two stared each other down as cold gusts of wind blew, causing snow to scatter in all directions in thick cloud hazes, reducing the level of visibility of their surroundings, their clothes and hair fluttering and ruffling in the breeze.

Shivering, Maeve eyed the man before her, puzzled by his lack of reaction to the extreme cold.

Nearby, the Viking longship rocked back and forth like a giant cradle, the sounds of creaking wood mixing with the howling wind.

As Maeve waited with bated breath for her opponent's first move, the man spoke.

"Have you a name?" he called.

Maeve wrinkled her brows in confusion, taken aback. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

Was this guy for real?

She smirked. "You know who I am."

He gave her a bemused look, then shook his head. "Nay, I've never met you in my life."

If he was pretending to not know who she was, then he was a good actor. "Surely you know who I am! Everyone's heard of The Seven."

She waited for a flash of recognition, only to find his features staring blankly at her.

"The Seven? Homelander? Starlight? Black Noir? A-Train? Translucent? The Deep? Come on, everybody's heard of us!"

Still nothing.

"You've seriously never heard of The Seven?" Maeve said incredulously. "The most famous and powerful superhero team in the world?"

The man shrugged silently.

"How about Queen Maeve, Empress of the Netherworld? Does that ring any bells?"

Upon hearing that name, the man lifted his chin, his eyes flashing in recognition.

"Maeve," he repeated.

"Ah! So you do know of me," Maeve smiled in satisfaction, trying to ignore the cold.

"Dah, I know of Maeve," he replied slowly. "That is a name I know very well. Queen of Connacht and daughter of the High King Eochaid Feidlech. A strong and brave warrior with a robust sexual appetite in life, until she was felled by a piece of cheese thrown by a sling." He narrowed his eyes, his expression darkening, his speech becoming harsher, angrier. "Whoever you are, you are not Maeve! You are nothing but a pretender! I doubt you are even of the same caliber as her."

Maeve felt her face becoming warm at the insult, her jaw clenched as she tightened her fists.

"Bring it on."

With that last utterance, the two sprang into action, charging forward toward one another. Maeve dodged and weaved from side to side as the mighty sword sliced horizontally and vertically, narrowly missing her as she countered with a slew of quick punches to his muscled torso, causing him to stumble slightly with a grunt. As she prepared to follow it up with an uppercut, the man delivered a vicious and powerful jumping spinning hook kick, his boot slamming squarely into Maeve's mid-section, driving the air out of her as she was propelled backward across the snow and ice.

Rolling along the ground, Maeve shivered as she pushed herself up, huffing on her cold hands as she massaged them, looking up at her opponent.

"Not bad," the man commented, "but not good either."

Maeve barked back a laugh. "Please. Like you're one to talk. My dead grandmother can beat the shit out of you with both arms tied behind her back. This is nothing."

"Ha!" The man sneered back at her. "Given how you fight, I might as well be fighting her! At least she would offer me more of a challenge, little girl."

Maeve felt her brow twitch.

"...Come at me, butt-fucker."

The man flew through the air with another jumping spinning hook kick, barely giving Maeve any time to react as she attempted to block. As the blow struck her arms at her midsection, she felt herself propelled backwards, her feet dragging across the snow, forming deep grooves within as she struggled to maintain her balance.

Okay, she had fought her fair share of opponents throughout the years, some of them no joke, but holy hell this guy was strong! The guy hit like a truck.

Looking up, she saw the man charge toward her with sword in hand. Charging toward him, Maeve let out a challenging yell as she ran to meet his attack with hers. As the two of them clashed, the impact of the blow created a shockwave that propelled them both backwards, causing snow to scatter in all directions and the longship to rock on its side, the wood splintering as it split in half and crashed.

Feeling the ground tremble from the impact, both Maeve and the man turned their eyes over in its direction, the latter giving a sad look at the ship as it came apart before them.

"Nay..." He said simply in distress.

Looking back to each other, Maeve felt the man's gaze harden as she gave a sheepish smile.

"Um...oops?"

Tightening his mouth, the man took a threatening step forward when Maeve raised up her hands.

"Stop." The man paused, eying her suspiciously. Maeve sighed. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry about the damage made to the set along with what I said, alright?"

The man stared at her for a long time, saying nothing. Finally, his form untensed, his sword lowered.

"So, we're good?"

He nodded. "Dah."

'Dah?' she repeated mentally. Was that even Swedish? Hell, was that even a real word?

She made a mental note of asking either Ashley or Mr. Edgar the next time she got in contact with them.

Brushing her hair back over her shoulder, Maeve gestured to the broken ship.

"Listen, um...let me help fix this thing before the film crew arrive. The last thing I need is to get you in trouble with the producers." She offered a knowing smile. "Trust me, I've dealt with them in the past, and believe me they...are...scary..."

Her smile faltered as she trailed off, her eyes widening in shock as it wandered into view from the east behind the man, its massive bulk causing trees to bend and groan, its feet producing soft booms with every step.

Turning around to see what caught Maeve's attention, the two of them silently watched as it drew closer into view.

The creature was gigantic, at least nineteen or twenty feet tall and about forty feet long and mostly grey. Standing on a pair of powerfully built digitigrade legs, its body was parallel to the ground on which it stood, with a very long and thick tail and a pair of laughably small three-fingered forelimbs on its barrel-like torso. From its scaled mouth, Maeve could make out a slew of exposed razor-sharp teeth about the size of steak knives that dripped with saliva.

By all accounts, the creature looked like some kind of...dinosaur, like a theropod such as an Allosaurus or something along those lines...only...it wasn't.

For one, the creature had eight featureless glowing red eyes on its head, but the most unusual feature about it was its hide; rather than covered in scales, as she would have expected - or even feathers - from head to tail, the thing was entirely covered in a thick shaggy fur coat, reminding her of a giant English Sheepdog.

The fur, if that was what it was, was a stark white, draping down in thick matted locks down the entire portion of its body from head to tail, the tips of its hair a dirty brown.

"What-What is that?" Maeve said to the man beside her, not taking her eyes off from the creature as it ate from the pile of corpses.

"An Ormr," Tusk frowned. "There used to be more of them, but the Cataclysm wiped the lot out from the face of the Earth. Only this one remains, an immortal being like myself. I know him very well."

"'Him'?" Maeve questioned.

"Dah. Gamla gráa tönnin. 'Old Grey Tooth.' It's an eater of the dead mostly, but I wouldn't recommend getting too close. We've fought each other plenty of times throughout the years, but generally speaking we get on- what are you doing?!"

He was cut off as Maeve headed toward the creature, the woman pulling her mouth into a full smile as she drew closer.

"Man, this is absolutely incredible!" She marveled.

"What are you, mad?! Get away from it!"

Maeve ignored him as she drew closer to the creature. Reaching out, she laughingly touched its soft fur, sniffing the musky smell of its enormous body. She couldn't help being reminded of a dog kennel, although with a hint of carrion.

Lifting up its head from its gruesome meal, the beast glanced at her from the corners of its multiple insect-like eyes, offering a sharp hiss like an alligator or goose in warning.

Looking over to the man's direction, she smiled broadly. "Seriously, who are the guys that made this thing, because they did such an amazing job-"

The creature turned its head to face her, drawing her attention back to it as it opened its bloodstained jaws at her. Maeve heard nothing at first as the creature stretched its scaly mouth all the way. It was only a few moments later that she heard - and felt - the roar as it rumbled through her body, its hot, loathsome breath steaming up the air and causing her to recoil in disgust, her hair fluttering wildly.

It wasn't loud in the way a lot of dinosaur roars were presented in the movies and cartoons; the sound was surprisingly low, akin to a cello playing on a very low note. And yet, despite the low note, she felt the sound vibrate through her entire frame, felt it vibrate through her ears. Recoiling, Maeve instinctively covered them as she winced at the low yet terrible roar, the sound causing her arm hairs to stand up on end.

"Ýmirs frosteistna, run, you stupid woman! RUN!"

No sooner had the man uttered those words when the creature suddenly lunged at her. Grabbing it by the mouth as it attempted to bite off her head, Maeve shrieked at the massive gnashing teeth that attempted to chomp down on her. Pools of spittle and foamy substances oozed out and flew through the air as the beast ravenously pushed her back through the snow, shaking its head from side to side as it attempted to dislodge her from its mouth.

Maeve grit her teeth as she struggled against the animal, bracing herself as she started to push back. Rearing back her arm, she struck the animal's face with everything she had, watching it stumble backward in surprise. Shaking its head with a horse-like snort, the creature lunged toward her again, forcing Maeve to to grasp onto its snapping jaws once more.

"GET OFF ME!" She screamed. "GET THE FUCK OFF ME!"

Lifting up its head, Maeve felt herself dragged up into the air as it tossed back its head before she clasped onto the beard on its chin, swinging wildly around as its tiny forelimbs attempted reaching for her, its clawed hands raking at her leather outfit. Maeve cried out as as she felt the claws painfully scraped into her sides, drawing blood.

Hearing an feral cry to the side, Maeve turned her head to see the man as he lunged toward the beast with sword in hand and leapt up into the air, slashing the creature's side. Letting out an enraged howl of pain, the creature lost balance and fell, collapsing onto its side while Maeve dropped down with a thud, the air knocked out of her lungs as she lay bleeding in the snow. Not wasting time, the man repeatedly slashed and stabbed at it, striking at the downed beast before the creature struck back with a tail whip, eliciting a loud grunt, knocking him to his knee.

Shivering, Maeve watched as man and creature got back onto their feet, the two opponents eyeing each other, circling one another. Rolling one shoulder back, the man effortlessly swung the massive sword like a windmill as he slashed at the beast's furry hide, the creature hissing as it backed away. Leaping forward, it attempted to bite down onto his head, only for the man to block the attack with his blade, the weapon caught in the creature's mouth.

Shifting his weapon around the creature's jaw, the man shoved the creature back, making it stumble slightly as he shouted something in another language, pointing back to the mountains from whence the creature came.

The beast lunged forward again, only to be backhanded hard by his empty hand, making it stagger, the man angrily repeating what he had said before, gripping tightly on the handle of his weapon.

Regaining its balance, the two stared each other down in a tense showdown of wills, the man's eyes ablaze with a dark and cold fury that made him look as inhuman as his opponent. Maeve had been certain that the creature would have continued.

To her shock, the creature lowered its head in deference, then turned away and left, going back to the mountains.

The man kept watching until it disappeared from view. He waited several moments, then lowered his sword, his form untensing as he looked over in her direction and approached Maeve, kneeling down beside her.

"Are you alright, skrýtinn?" he asked with concern in his voice.

Maeve swallowed, wincing. "Y-Yeah," she said slowly. "It hurts like hell, though."

"I can't say I'm surprised." He placed a hand on his wounds, eliciting a sharp cry from her. "You've been injured badly. Come. Let's get you inside where it's warm. The longer we stay out here, the more likely we'll draw attention from more dangerous company."

Maeve gave a slight yelp as he scooped her up from off the ground, placing her arm over his broad shoulders as he helped carried her back to his house.