Ingrid's sword hit Farkas' shield with an ear-piercing clang, but the force still was barely enough to even move him. Despite all her training with him, she was still an archer and had been since she was old enough to hunt. Still, she knew Farkas was right whenever he told her it was better to be proficient in more than one weapon. She never knew when she'd run out of arrows, or when a bow string would snap, and she could only shout so many times before she ran out of breath.

"So, are you going to?" He asked from behind his shield. Today's sparring may or may not have partially been therapeutic for her, an outlet for the feelings she didn't quite know how to process. It often was between her and Farkas these days.

"Marry him?" She gave a grunt and repositioned herself, readying for another swing with the greatsword. "I haven't decided yet."

Swinging the sword up, she charged at his shield once again, trying to put as much force behind it as she could. Nothing but noise. Farkas barely blinked at the impact. "Surely you have an idea," he said.

She rolled her neck, wiping a little bit of sweat from her brow. "To be honest with you, I'm leaning a little towards saying no."

"Really?" he asked.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow, surprised by this. "What? Do you think I should?" She smirked. "I didn't take you for such a romantic, Farkas."

He shrugged. "Just thought you might take the opportunity. Being High Queen of Skyrim would help you gain support fighting those dragons." Ingrid pursed her lips at this. She was due for another trip to High Hrothgar soon, something she'd put off for the war on their doorstep. She wouldn't have gotten anywhere with Skyrim divided like it was. "Besides," he lowered the shield, gesturing to the tables, where Tilma was setting out a lunch for them, "if you're not going to marry, you may as well."

"What makes you think I won't marry?" She asked, trying to mask her insult at this. "Are you implying something?:"

"Not implying anything. Just thought you weren't one for it, being the Dragonborn and all." The two head towards the tables, Ingrid's stomach murmuring at the sight of the fish that was laid out on the table for them to share. It wasn't much, but they tended to have larger dinners. "Figured that was why you turned down Vilkas."

She cringed as they sat. Vilkas had proposed to her in Ysgramor's tomb, not long after she'd cured him of the beast blood. Either he'd been very good at hiding his feelings or, more likely, Ingrid had just been oblivious to the whole thing, because it had totally blindsided her and his romantic gesture turned painfully awkward very quickly. Farkas was right to think that was why she had turned his brother down - after all, it was the reason she gave him. Roughly. In a roundabout way. With lots of stuttering on her part. She hardly knew Vilkas and there he had been, declaring that he'd be by her side until the Divines took them. "That would be part of the reason," she conceded, speaking very carefully and knowing that Farkas could let this slip to his brother by accident.

Farkas gave a nod. "If it's political, I doubt that Stormcloak would expect you to stay indoors and make a home for him. You're the Dragonborn, after all. Can't tie you down."

"Ulfric wouldn't expect much of me domestically, no, as long as I provide him with…" she paused, hating what she was about to say, "...an heir to the throne, which I can't imagine would be too hard." Ingrid shook her head, taking a knife to the fish, slicing portions off for herself and her shield-brother. "That's only part of the problem, though. I always thought that, if I ever married, it would be someone I loved. Not, you know, political." She sighed and passed a now-filled plate to Farkas. "Probably one of the few silver linings to peasant life - you can marry who you like."

"I guess it is," he agreed as he took the plate from her. "But there's no one you have in mind?" He asked.

Ingrid shrugged, popping some of the fish in her mouth as she thought. Ralof would probably marry her if she asked him, and he wouldn't make the worst husband, but he'd probably want her to settle down and become a real wife. He was traditional in those respects. She'd had a very short tryst with Brynjolf once, during her days in the thieve's guild, but it was exactly that: a very short tryst. Brynjolf liked her physically, of course, but he wouldn't let her lock him down in a marriage unless there was something in it for him. There'd be no love there, anyway. Expecting him to commit would be like expecting her to start wearing dresses.

"Not that I can think of," she finally replied once she'd finished her mouthful. Gods she was glad they had Tilma to cook for them. Ingrid cooked merely to sustain herself, she couldn't make something as pleasurable to eat as Tilda's cooking if her life depended on it. Another reason it would never work with Ralof. "I suppose it wouldn't be so bad. I'd have all of Skyrim to take on Alduin with."

"And Stormcloak wouldn't treat you like a delicate little doll, considering you won a war for him." He smiled as he said this - it was his way of a compliment. "Don't tell my brother I said this, but I'm glad you didn't marry him." He took Ingrid's raised brow as a cue to explain. "I know my brother and I've seen how he looks at you when you come back to us wounded. He would have tried to wrap you in tundra cotton after a while. Especially if you ever gave him children."

Ingrid nodded in agreement. "I didn't win the war for him, though," he corrected. "I just helped. A lot." She was silent for a short time, pushing her food around on her plate, mulling thoughts over in her head. "Come with me to High Hrothgar," she spoke suddenly, catching his gaze with hers. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning. It's about a day and a half's journey each way, and it's cold and miserable and even my legs feel flimsy as straw after the 7,000 steps…" she trailed off, not sure if he was buying the idea or not. "...Although, I suppose it is dangerous, and it's full of wolves and ice trolls and all kinds of horrible thing that want to kill you."

At this, he smirked, finishing chewing before giving her a full grin. "Sounds like my kind of adventure. ...I thought this was something the Greybeards made you do alone, though. Are you allowed to brings guests?"

"If the Greybeards want me to get to the bottom of this dragon business, they'll let me bring you with me or I'll just go home." She stopped to laugh. "And have you seen me try to set up a tent? I actually need you to come with me or I'll end up freezing to death."

"You never did quite wrap your head around setting up camp," he conceded teasingly. "Sure. I've always wondered what's up there."

Ingrid glanced to the view they had of the mountain. "I won't spoil the surprise for you, then."

"What was that about?" Ingrid called, having followed him from the hall and into his quarters, pushing his door back open even after he tried to close it on her. His little outburst upstairs had gotten under her skin, and the beast blood coursing through her veins wasn't helping her temper.

"You took the blood," Farkas replied, voice low. "After everything I told you, you still took the blood."

Ingrid crossed her arms, kicking his door shut with the heel of her foot. Even with tensions this high, she knew this wasn't for public ears. "All that you told me was it was something for members of the circle. I'm part of the circle now, so I took the blood."

His jaw visibly tensed and it was as though she could hear his blood pulse through his veins. She wondered if this was part of the gift. "Is that what you got out of it?" He asked her. "My complaints about sleepless nights and the hunger and the fight to control it, and that was what you heard? I may not be as smart as most people, but even I know a warning when I hear it."

"And what was I meant to do?" She growled, stepping towards him, her pulse ringing in her ears. She shouldn't have been this angry, but she was furious with him, and she was struggling to control herself. "Walk away? Turn down the circle? What would you have done, hmm?"

"I would have listened to my superiors and heeded their advice," he replied, his voice taking a growl of his own, stepping towards her in turn.

"Superior?" She repeated, her voice simmering with rage now. It was all she could do to not grit her teeth. "What's that supposed to mean?"

By now they were chest to chest, faces so close they were almost touching. It was a fight for dominance to see who would turn away first, who would retreat. But neither backed down, and both could hear eachother's hearts beating. "Watch it," he warned her. "You may be Dragonborn, but you're still a whelp."

"If you want a fight, I'll give you one," she hissed every muscle in her body tensing. "I'll show you who's the whelp."

Without warning, he reached down and gripped the wrist of her shooting arm, pushing her by the opposite shoulder with his free hand until her back was against the wall. As soon as she made impact against it, he took her other wrist, pinning both above her head. "Get off me!" She barked, struggling as best she could, rage over taking her until she was kicking and writhing to the best of her ability to escape - but it was of little use. He'd pinned her arms too high for her to really get any traction or balance, each flail pulling on her shoulder joints and causing her enough pain to realise what he'd done. No matter how hard she tried, Ingrid couldn't deny that for all her skills and prowess, she was far outmatched by him when it came to physical strength.

"This?" He began, pushing more force against her wrists until she was almost sure they'd break beneath his hands. "This is what the blood does. This is how you'll feel now for the rest of your life." He waited for her to slow down and stop struggling before he spoke again. "You'd better get used to it, because if you lose control even for a second, it'll be my responsibility to stop you. And there's only one way to stop someone when they go feral."

Her face softened as the weight of this sunk in, and he eventually let her arms free. "I'm sorry," she exhaled, her voice shaking. He felt for her, of course. He could remember what it was like when he first took the blood, the first few moons, how emotionally charged they were. But he couldn't show her that, not after asserting his dominance. If she was going to be part of the pack, he had to make sure she knew her place within it.

But had never been very good at that. "Did I hurt you?" He asked, taking her wrist again and inspecting the redness that had blossomed over her pale skin. Vilkas had always chided him for that, for being too soft in pack matters. But he couldn't help it.

"It's fine," she pulled her wrist from him, sliding out from between him and the wall.

A voice caused her to jump, the door creaking open with hesitation. "Everything okay in there?" Aela. Of course. "I could smell something." The door opened fully, and the expression on Aela said enough - she'd expected to see blood, at the very least. "Any trouble?" She asked, glancing between the two.

"No," Ingrid shook her head and brushed past Aela in the doorway, making her exit. "Everything's fine. Excuse me."

"What have you done?" She heard Aela ask Farkas in a hushed whisper as she walked away.

"What have I done?" His voice replied, not holding back, taking a less reserved tone with her. "What have you done? I pledged her, why wasn't I told?"

The last thing Ingrid heard of the conversation was Aela giving a laugh and saying "because you would have refused." She opened the doors to the hall and heard no more. She wasn't sure she wanted to, anyway.