Aerylae was sweating profusely underneath her heavy wool skirt and tunic. Two girls chased each other down a crumbling stone street, clad in the customary light shift and leggings the younger children in her village wore. She eyed them jealously. Years before she too had been allowed the same carefree getup.
"You are a young woman now, Aerylae," she muttered in a sing-song voice, mocking her mother. "I won't hear another word. Fire lord knows something must be done to tame you before you reach a marriageable age!"
"I'm not getting married, Ami!" she had explained. "I'm becoming a warrior!"
Her oldest sister, Lyra, had sniffed disdainfully from the corner where she sat mending a pair of breeches. She had walked over and supported their white faced mother to a chair in the small. From behind the cloth barriers that halved the small-one roomed hut, she could hear her other siblings snickering as well.
Aerylae could feel her face grow red. She reached up and tangled a hand in her wild, carroty hair, staring at her mother and sister defiantly.
"And how do you plan to do that?" Lyra sneered. "Battleon's a week's ride, and even if you did manage to get there, what would you do? Nothing," she said, cutting off Aerylae's response. "They would laugh at you, a peasant girl wanting to be a warrior. Accept who you are, Aery." Lyra's face softened as she used the affectionate nickname. She placed a hand on her sister's shoulder. "Accept who you are and forget these silly dreams."
Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and Aerylae turned heel and ran.
Her oldest and favorite sibling, Aldon, found her later sitting in the village horsepen, leaned against a fencepost and feeding handfuls of grass to her favorite horses.
"It's getting dark, Aery," he said cheerfully, placing a hand on the fence and nimbly jumping over it.
Aerylae pushed her face against her knees, hugging them to her chest, willing him to go away. When she finally looked up he was lying on his back next to her, a blade of grass hanging hap-hazardly out of the corner of his mouth. Aldon's green eyes, identical to her own, twinkled at her. She hid her face again.
"Aw, c'mon Aery, it's not that bad."
"Our whole family just publicly mocked my greatest dream. Of course it's not that bad Aldon, what am I thinking?"
"Pa wasn't there," he said, rubbing his chin in mock thought. "And Parin's too young to speak, let alone laugh."
Aerylae snorted, but her lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile.
"There we go," Aldon said, standing up and brushing off his overtunic and breeches. He offered a hand to his little sister, smiling amusedly when she huffily refused the outstretched hand.
"I'm going to find some way," she said quietly, as they walked the worn cobble street that ran the length of the small village.
Although she did not give any indication as to what she was talking about, Aldon knew. He sighed, and stepped in front of his little sister. He placed two large hands on her small shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes, green meeting green.
"I know you are, Aery," he said, smiling. Aerylae's eyes widened in surprise.
"You think I will?" she whispered.
"Yes," he said, smiling. "You're too stubborn not to." They were almost at their home, and he glanced at the leather door flap warily, before muttering "horsepen tomorrow morning" and leading her inside.
Dawn had found her beside the circular wooden enclosure, peering eagerly into the early morning mist. She had been there for only minutes when she heard voices and footsteps moving towards her.
Crouching low beside a fencepost, she removed her root-knife from her belt. The short, blunt knife was poor protection against anyone who wished her harm, but bandits had been known to frequent the woods that surrounded the small village.
"Aery, are you here yet?" she heard a familiar voice call, and shoving the knife back into her belt pouch, ran over to Aldon's waiting arms. Her heavy, new clothing was foreign to her and it made running much harder.
He hugged her tightly, and turned, pulling her with him. There was a small group of boys, eyeing them wearily. She recognized them all as Aldon's friends: Garth, the Baker's son, Telen, the Blacksmith's apprentice, and Rilg, the horseman's son.
"Why is she here?" Rilg asked accusingly. "This is no place for a girl, let alone one who's been skirted already!"
"Let Aldon explain," Garth told Rilg. The look he sent at Aldon was cool.
"She's here because I want to teach her to fight," Aldon said calmly. Telen frowned.
"Aldon, this is madness! She'll run home crying and then we'll all be in such trouble you wouldn't believe!"
Aerylae glared at him. "No I won't!" she said, planting her fists on her hips.
Garth laughed. "Aerylae, you're a plucky girl, but this is men's work."
"She can learn," Aldon replied. "She's stubborner than the mules over younder," he said, gesturing to the horsepen. "You said she's plucky, and strong to boot. If we are in trouble for any of this, I will shoulder the blame."
"As will I," Aerylae said.
Rilg looked unconvinced, but Telen and Garth nodded their heads. "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm," Telen mused.
Aldon spent the rest of the morning carving a short treelimb into a sturdy stick. Garth showed her how to hold it and stand with it properly. After that, she was allowed to practice blocking with Telen.
The sun finally began to rise, and the four young men looked up in alarm.
"By the earth lord!" Aldon swore. "The whole family is awake by now! We've missed morning prayers!" He swung his own fighting stick deftly to his shouler. "Aery, we need to go now."
They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence. Aerylae was sore and she was sure she had more than a few bruises, but she felt deliriously happy.
That had been seven years ago. Aerylae was now seventeen and Aldon was twenty four, a man with a wife, children, and his own trade to worry about. He had long since stopped the stick-fight practices, but Aerylae continued with the boys her own age.
She reached the horsepen. Venturing into the forest and ducking warily behind a tree, she stripped off her heavy skirt and tunic, and pulled on a pair of leggings and a lighter tunic, supplied unknowingly by one of her younger sisters, Nelian. She reappeared again, carrying her fighting stick.
"Aerylae!" she heard Herek call. "Kirth thinks he can beat you this time!"
"He does, does he?"
"I do!" she heard Kirth call.
"I guess I'll have to make him see otherwise," she said, drooping her shoulders and sighing dramatically as she came in view of the boys. "Although it will be so hard, me being a denfenseless girl and all."
Herek snorted and Kirth rolled his eyes. It was common knowledge Aerylae could beat every boy old enough for stick practice with ease.
She took fighting her fighting stance a few handspans away from Kirth. He did the same, dropping his knees low and bending low so his elbows just barely touched the tops of his thighs.
"Ready – GO!" Herek shouted.
Thrust jab. Thrust jab block whirl. Block jab whirl thrust. Aerylae grinned as she prepared to deliver the final blow to knock Kirth off his feet –
"AERYLAE!" She looked up and saw her father striding towards her, looking angrier than he had ever seen him in his life. His face was almost the same color as his faded red hair and beard (although they were streaked with white).
"By the fire lord," she muttered, as he grabbed her elbow and tugged her furiously away from the clearing.
