Author's notes: A bit late for Mother's Day here in the US, but I hope it's enjoyed anyway. This fic was inspired by someone over on Tv Tropes saying they didn't like Lizzie because of her lack of depth, so I decided to write a fic that gave her a bit more, since Lizzie is my forever girl, and Francis is awesome, too. Thanks to the lovely candybottle on LJ for beta-ing.
Prise de fer
Elizabeth did not like her fencing clothes. They were a plain, ordinary white, but not the graceful and elegant white of wedding dresses. Oh, no, these clothes were boring, with no decoration save for the ugly, stiff lines that marked her body in rectangular pieces.
The trousers pinched at her thighs and stretched too tightly over her body in ways her gowns and skirts most certainly did not. It was a wonder she wasn't bright red with the shame of wearing trousers, of all things, and such tight ones at that! The only thing that had kept Lizzie from running to her room in tears the first time she wore them was the promise her mother made to only make Lizzie wear them when they were alone at their lessons. At the very least, she could be sure no men ever saw her like this.
The flat, black shoes she wore gave her no support, either, and she was left constantly feeling like someone had taken rocks from a river to her feet. They had the added disadvantage of making her feel shorter than usual, as well.
And that helmet, how she hated it! It matted her hair down, flattening her curls and making them even heavier as they soaked up the sweat she worked up while wearing it.
Really, the only redeeming feature of the clothes was the fact that she could take them off as soon as she returned to her rooms.
'Parry, parry, thrust-. Oh, my footwork was all wrong there,' Lizzie thought, slipping along the floor and barely keeping up with Francis. As she tried her level best to keep her balance in those dreadful shoes and her legs itching like-, well, like something described with no words a lady should ever say, her mother scored yet another point on her shoulder. She cried out, startled and a bit stung by the blow. After hours of this, she'd gained many new bruises. She was glad to know her normal clothes would hide them, but still, they hurt. She would be sore from the exercise later, too.
"Keep your guard up, Elizabeth! No girl marrying into the Phantomhive family can be anything less than a skilled swordsman, at the very least. Do you understand?"
Lizzie scowled underneath her mask, imagining her mother's stern look. Tired as she was, the blond girl knew that no one dared go against Lady Francis Middleford, especially if one lived in her house. She nodded once, fiercely, and took the opportunity to launch a surprise thrust aimed at Francis' abdomen.
Distracted, Francis almost let her daughter gain the point- but she did not defeat the most decorated knight in her Majesty's employ by letting a girl not yet of the age where she could even properly attend the Season's balls as a lady get the best of her. She parried, the two foils making a light clang as the met.
The Marchioness pulled her helmet over her head, somehow appearing even more beautiful and strong than usual. She looked as though she could take down another bear just then, this time without the aid of a hunting rifle. Only someone like her could look like she was made to wear such ugly clothes.
"Not bad," the older woman grinned, pushing her practice weapon forward and forcing Lizzie back. Pride gleamed in her eyes, partially hidden behind bangs that had fallen forward in her exertion. Breathing heavily, the pair settled back into position, preparing for a match that would only get more intense from here.
"Let's try it again."