The Art of Training
Aífe could feel the irritation grow as Roland blocked her thrust again with an ease that let a cocky smile slip onto his lips, tipping the corners of his mouth upwards despite his struggles to fend it off. Her blade screeched over his shield and she moved with it, flanking him. With a single step he had his shield between them again and locked eyes with her. She could see in his eyes that he knew he would win and that irked her to an extend she could hardly fathom. Lunging forward she swung the sword in her right hand at him, but instead of using his shield this time he parried it with his own, stopping her movement effectively and effortlessly. At the same time he closed the gap between them, hammering his shield against her. She staggered back and noticed that he gave her time to regain her balance before he advanced again and she all but snarled at the realization. He was going easy on her. He was going easy on her and she let him.
Waiting until he thrust his sword out, she swirled around her own axis, slashing out with dagger and longsword in a concentrated fury – she laced each single move with a dip upwards, forcing him to meet her blades with a downward thrust. He did not back away, but kept his stance firmly, raising his shield to meet her blows, diverting them with a move of his shoulder to the side. She disengaged and moved around him, making him follow her as she circled him. Sweat trickled down her back and she welcomed the cool breeze that cooled her neck. The young warrior stood there in front of her and seemed so controlled and relaxed that she wanted to drop her weapons and just strangle him – only his flaming red hair was a bit tousled and the shine of sweat on his brow betrayed his calm demeanor.
She lunged forward, feinting a blow with her sword, making him raise his shield high to block it, but instead she kicked out with her foot and put as much force behind it as she could allow herself, connecting with his shin just below the knee and effectively kicking the leg out from under him. Not wanting to injure his joint too much, she had aimed lower than she normally would, so she needed to add to the attack to make it count. While he reeled back, his eyes opened wide in surprise, she threw herself forward, all but smashing herself against him shoulder first. As she hit him hard, she felt the pain shoot through her arm and bit her teeth together, letting her sword drop when it started to slip from her hand. They went down in a tangle of legs and arms and his shield clattered loudly to the ground beside them as he discarded it to be able to maneuver in these close quarters. His arms came up and as his elbow connected with her jaw in the chaos, she saw stars for a moment. She was still able to end her movement, swinging one leg over his body to straddle him and hold him down with her weight and at the same time grasping the hilt of her dagger with both hands, lowering it quickly to his throat until he could feel the cold metal on his skin. He stopped to move then and his green eyes were still widened, the grin gone from his lips.
She blinked away the dizziness and felt the pain spread in her jaw, just as something dripped down her mouth. As she licked her lips she felt the tear in the lower one and winced at the sharp jolt of hurt. She tasted blood and was breathing heavily, her grey eyes locked with his as she stared down on him.
"I swear to the Maker himself", she bit out and leaned forward, "if you keep fighting me like this, I will kick your sorry ass to the next Age." Aífe was aware that this had not been the smartest move and on top of that one that she would never repeat when on the battlefield, because it left her so open to attack that it was painful. She had also used a kind of language that was normally banned from her repertoire – but this felt good. He had worn that cocky smile much too often in these last weeks and despite the blood slowly dripping down her mouth, landing on his armor, and even despite the fact that she had acted like a little child throwing a tantrum, she had him pinned down for the very first time and he would never again be able to flash this sodden, rotten, maker-forbidden grin at her.
Realization dawned upon him, she could see it clearly in his features, and he suddenly flushed, his face changing from pale to red in a few seconds. At first she thought it was anger, but instead he almost panicked, trying to get out from under her.
"Maker's breath, I am sorry, Aífe! I did not mean to hit you! Are you alright? You are bleeding! I am so sorry, Aífe! I really am!", he spluttered and moved a hand hesitantly to try and wipe away some of the blood to assess the damage he had done. The dagger in her hands he ignored completely and she had to move it out of the way so he did not hurt himself halfway on it, even if it was just a blunt training weapon. With a frustrated groan she leaned back, out of his reach and glared at him. She turned her head demonstratively and spit out some blood – and did a very poor job of it, as she had to admit, not even being able to spit it further than maybe one or two feet. How did Fergus make it look so easy? He could spit like an old sailor! How difficult could it be, seriously?
"That is not the point!", she growled and punched Roland's shoulder. He looked positively puzzled and she let her dagger drop to the ground beside them. "Ugh! You oaf!", she snapped and leaned forward again, so she could whisper the next words with as much fury as she felt. "I am very, very serious, Roland. Either you train with me like with anybody else or I will kick your ass again and again and again and we will end up like this and I will have you on the ground beneath me and I will tell everybody. So I will meet you in the courtyard tomorrow morning and you better leave your rotten, cocky grin in the barracks, because it is not invited to join us!" With that she pushed herself off his chest, collected dagger and sword and was ready to stomp off, only to come face to face with a very amused looking Fergus. Well, face to chest, if one wanted to be literal. She narrowed her eyes at him and forwent him in a wide bow, not willing to ruin her exit – she could feel Roland's eyes on her back all too well and she would be damned if her brother made her pause even for a second.
When she was halfway up to the bedchambers, Fergus had caught up, mirth evident in his eyes as he fell into step with her. "You do realize that he could have thrown you off anytime, had he just realized that you weigh less than a wet kitten and stopped fussing over you?", he asked in a conversational tone and she threw him a glare. "Shut up", she simply said. "You do also realize that your jaw will hurt tomorrow and it will probably turn remarkable shades of blue and violet and your newest suitor will tell you how well it matches your lovely eyes, which are blue like the sky and deep like the ocean?", he mocked her, repeating the lines that she had had to endure only hours ago. "Shut up!", she repeated, growling. "My eyes are not even blue!", she added then, grumpy as can be. "It should also be mentioned that poor Ser Gilmore will probably castigate himself for hitting you hard enough to split your lip and make you bleed all over him, you agree, don't you?", her brother inquired, looking at his nails in nonchalant fashion, the grin on his lips growing even wider. "But then again, maybe he will forget all about that incident because he is still thinking about how you promised to have him under you again?", he added after a short pause, making his sister stop in her tracks. "Shut up! I did not even mean it like that! Ugh! Only you would think that!", she defended herself, reaching for her room's door. "Oh, but the growing blush on his face told another story", Fergus countered, shrugging his shoulders. Aífe opened the door and stepped into her room, throwing her older sibling an unblinking stare that said everything.
"And also: You spit like a girl", Fergus said then and chuckled with glee as he recalled the scene. The door banged shut in his face with the faint echo of a hissed "Shut up!".