Fearless (A Mulan Retelling)

Chapter Nine

Even though Derith and Derrian had been nothing but nice to her, Iris still felt awfully uncomfortable acting the role of Ingred. She'd been lucky --after their initial conversation, there was nothing left to be said. She'd told them that she'd needed to visit the armory, of course, and asked them where she might find a measuring string... but that was all she could think of to even bring up. They'd been so kind to leave her with theirs for the time being and let her do whatever she'd need done.

Not wasting any time, Iris went to the washroom and began taking her measurements with the borrowed measuring string. She took the numbers quickly and concisely, clucking her tongue at her findings. How disgraceful it was to be this small of a man. Inwardly, she hoped that her armor would be done by nightfall... but yet already knew that that was only a dream. She'd have to sleep in her father's chainmail tonight. Gods, she'd be uncomfortable.

Despite the size of her body, she truly couldn't wait to have lighter armor. What she wore now was old and less than picturesque, especially with the dented in kneecap.

She put her writing charcoal down, now looking back over the numbers with another shake of her head. "Oh well," she muttered and began for the door.

Upon stepping outside, Iris noticed that most men here seemed to have already really settled in. Groups sat around warm campfires, making meals for themselves and rubbing their hands together for warmth. Iris almost wished she could be sitting close to the embers, as she certainly felt the wind's cool fingers caressing her from underneath her father's armor. She made no move to join in, though. The warmth wasn't worth another conversation.

It took her a while to reach the armory... much longer than she'd wanted it to. She'd misread the map the first time around, and when she'd read it right, it had led her to a longer line than she was comfortable with. Still, she took her place, entertaining herself by quietly studying the men around her. Each one, she tried to place their combat style by looking at them.

The first man she'd picked out was medium height and broad all around. His muscles were quite large -bigger than any she'd ever seen or wished to see for that matter. She imagined he was a warrior -a specialist in two weapon fighting. As far as his weapon went, though, she had not a clue. He wasn't carrying one. In fact, Iris looked around to find that hardly anyone had theirs with them.

She wondered if they would strike her as odd by bringing hers. Gods, she hoped not.

The second man she looked at was taller than the big-muscled man, though he seemed far less threatening in stature. He was toned in musculature, sure, but it was lankier than the former soldier's. This man had shoulder length black hair, much like hers, and dark skin. And then she caught his eyes. They almost startled her. They were sharp and intelligent like a hawk's, zipping in every direction -observing. And they were golden. They weren't the common dark brown that was prominent in Eldia.

For a moment, Iris swore he caught her staring. She turned her eyes immediately, her mind whirling in thought. He had to be a bowman... an archer.

Iris found someone else... and then someone else. And so it went until it was her turn to turn in her measurements. She handed them in quickly to the armorer, who glanced at them quickly before he began writing something down. If he judged the numbers at all, he didn't show it. He didn't laugh or raise his brows. Nothing. Just his job.

"What is your name, sir?" he asked, not even looking up at her,

"Ingred Gwenneth," she told him. The armorer wrote that down as well.