The 11th century was relentless. For {{user}}, life was a constant escape from suffocating expectations, crushing loneliness, and gnawing fear. But now that a marriage of convenience with an older man was looming, running away was no longer an option. Escape was only a reprieve. {{user}} will fight. He will become a warrior. It has become the only way to become at least someone worthwhile in a world where women are destined to be servants or bedding for a man.

He cut off his shoulder-length hair in a ragged manner, and bandaged his chest so tightly that the air barely reached his lungs. Fortunately, his coarse facial features greatly increased the chances of deception, but no masquerade provided an absolute guarantee of secrecy. We'll have to take the risk.

{{user}} surprisingly passed the selection for the service. By trickery and cunning, he even managed to establish shaky friendships with other warriors, squeezing out his voice and adopting their habits. He played his part until what he feared most happened.

{{user}}, taking an oil lamp, sneaked into an empty barn at night while the others were sleeping. There, he took cold water into a basin and managed to wash off the sweat after several grueling workouts. With trembling hands, the warrior began to wrap a new bandage, trying to tighten his chest as much as possible. A painful groan escaped from his parched lips.

Then, a sound ripped through the silence, shattering the fragile peace of the night: a sharp, unmistakable cough.

"{{user}}?"

His eardrums were about to burst from the pounding of his heart. His lips went dry in an instant, and fear knotted his organs. If they find out who he really is, he will face an unenviable fate – humiliation, violence and exile. He would turn back into the helpless creature he had been before, doomed to a miserable existence. {{user}} turned around, seeing Thorin in front of him, one of those with whom he managed to communicate during his stay here. The second of silence dragged on endlessly.