VII – Boksör
Spring, 1509


After Ymir turned sixteen in February, the springtime became the occasion in which Krista noticed the changes in her. It had nothing to do with puberty, and everything to do with:

The rumour of a suitor,
A fist-fight,
And a good talk with Father.


Her Jaw


It was the first change which Krista noticed.

It seemed to have lengthened a little bit, literally by a few millimeters. It was the most bizarre observance which she ever had. No one would simply see such things. She rubbed her eyes and told herself she was imagining it, but it was really there and it was visible to no one but her. It was jagged, like the curve of a mountain. Under the springtime sun, Ymir's skin took on a shade of vivacious marmalade, defining the bones alongside her jowls.

On a Friday in late-April, it clenched and unclenched viciously after receiving unpleasant news.

"Ymir?"

"What!?"

"Don't be angry."

Ymir sighed. "How can you expect me not to be angry?"

On the front steps of Krista's house they sat, their shoulders pushing together against the cramped space. Ymir's legs were struggling for room, protruding awkwardly from beneath her.

"Üzgünüm," Krista said.

"It's not your fault."

Krista knew how difficult it was for the taller girl to make use of the tight area, but she was unmovable from her spot when Ymir found her crying furiously on the porch. The taller girl did not ask for them to sit somewhere else, to talk somewhere else, and Krista was gratified that she didn't. She was already feeling nauseous, and felt that if she did so much as stand up, she would throw up and faint.

"Can we still be friends?"

"What kind of a question is that!?" Ymir snapped. "You're not going to be able to see me anymore. He is going to keep you for himself. Why would he let you visit your filth of a friend!?"

Krista's sobs grew harsher. "I do not want to marry him, Ymir. I do not even know his name."

Ymir rubbed circles in Krista's back. Her voice grew soft. "I didn't mean to get angry at you."

"I know." Krista rested her head upon Ymir's shoulder and wept into her.

###

{The proposal, a few hours earlier}

The man was a keg, his chest a barrel
Full of money and social standing
His clothes of the richest materials
His knuckles decorated with gold
His eyes hard and unkind

And when Father presented her to him,
He nodded, said "Evet. Yes,
She will do."

The men shook hands and
It was clear to Krista that
She was a deal, not a daughter
A product, not a person
A woman, not a human.

###

Her future was a message in a bottle that had been shoved down her throat, but as they sat on the front porch, the world refused to end. Ymir had been quietly holding Krista for some time. She would not say it, but Krista knew Ymir's legs were going numb, her feet growing pins and needles for the sake of keeping her close. As the sun commenced its decline and the light failed to reach their faces, Krista let her hand drift upwards.

Her fingers lightly touched Ymir's jaw, tracing the way it began from the lobe of her ear down to her chin. The skin was rough, like she expected, but more juvenile than she thought.

"Krista?" Ymir asked, but she did not swat the hand away.

"I am too young, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Why must it be like this?"

"It won't."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

"With all of your heart?"

"With all of me, my ҫiҫek." Ymir placed her hand over Krista's, and together they ran the length of her jaw.

###

The promise was forgotten by Krista, for she did not want to hope.
The promise was remembered by Ymir, for she had a plan of her own.


Her Arms


Tonight they danced underneath the moonlight, undulating and surging.

Whenever Krista took a break from working at the bookstore, she would visit Ymir at the docks and watch her do hard labour. Her arms were slender, but not so thin that they were wiry. They were loaded with jarring muscles which sprung out like hills upon her body. Steered by the stars overhead, Krista could see that they were slick with sweat. They glistened carnally, growing rigid at blocks and expanding far at punches. Her entari lay crumpled and abandoned beside Krista. The only items upon her person were frayed trousers and a sleeveless cotton shirt.

In the ruins of the Hippodrome of Constantinople, they fought. The ruins exhaled past glory, its corroding bleachers bearing the ghosts of a hundred thousand spectators. They cheered and begged for blood, the deteriorating walls of limestone and concrete shuddering at the thought of a clash. In the ancient days of Byzantium, it had been used for chariot races, but today, it was the ring for two boxers.

Ymir's opponent was a stalwart man with hair the colour of daffodils. He had stripped down to his trousers, leaving his thickset and hairy chest exposed. His abdomen was made of stone, his enormous arms like thick logs that had been whittled down to become clubs.

No one could question Ymir's strength.

Whispers made by rival fishermen labeled her as the 'Küpește' – the Bulwark. She was more than capable of lifting several heavy boxes and nets by herself. Her endurance and her agility as a swimmer earned her respect throughout the businesses of fishing and sailing.

Krista feared these achievements were not enough.
The man was at least six feet. He was a tower.

The man swung a fist at Ymir, who dodged it immediately. She kneed him in the crotch. Buckling over, he quickly regained his composure. Caught off-guard, he threw her an uppercut. In seconds, she hit the ground on her back.

"Ymir!" Krista howled. She thrashed and kicked, desperately trying to get out of her restraints. Her arms were held behind her, her body pulled back from the scene.

"Krista, stop!" Sasha tightened her hold on the blonde.

"Let me go! She needs my help!"

Mikasa extended her arm across Krista's chest. "She is doing this for you. Let her."

###

{The invitation, a few hours earlier}

Ymir bribed the neighborhood men
To tell her who the bastard was
They pocketed the coin and said,
"They call him the Ox of Constantinople
His family is wealthy, he lives
Nearby Topkapı, with two of his wives."

A name?
No, Ymir bey, we do not know his name.
Can you relay a message?
Yes, Ymir bey. What would it be?

Tell him to meet me at midnight,
In the old Hippodrome.
Anything else?
Yes, tell him that he will not
Marry the girl.

###

The Ox took Ymir by her neck. "Who are you, to challenge me? Who are you, to fight?"

Ymir clawed at his fists.

"Know your place, kadın."

"I do."

Ymir spat in his face. His hands dropped from her neck as he stumbled back, wiping the saliva off. It had been mixed with blood. Taking advantage of the situation, she lunged towards him and grabbed him by his waist. The Ox tripped – as they say, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Blood seeped from his forehead, and though he tried to get back up, she would not let him.

They were a mess of limbs and sweat, a rabble where one fought for the right to take a girl's virginity, and the other fought for the right to give a girl her freedom.

A grisly scene described:

The Bulwark catapulted a dozen punches to the Ox's face
He whimpered and begged for mercy, but
She would not stop until
He bled from his lips, and his nose,
And his eyes.

In shock, Krista watched as the beast of a man blacked out, his body unmoving and almost cold. It was not the night wind which made her quake, no – it was Ymir, who wiped the blood from her face and made her way back to Krista. The lightning in her eyes sparked frissons and fire inside the girl, awakening her carnal relief and her sadistic joy. When they saw that she was no longer resisting, Mikasa and Sasha removed her from their clutches.

There was something ferociously appealing about the crackling bone in Ymir's arms, the way they had dispatched of the Ox so easily in the end. Krista ran towards Ymir to close their distance, and once they were a few centimetres apart, she scrambled at her shirt. The tears which were frozen upon her cheeks seconds ago had thawed and were now soaking into the salty skin of Ymir's arms.

"He is not dead," Ymir mumbled, her lips atop Krista's head. "But he will not try to marry you again."

"Why would you risk your life like that?" Krista cried. "You could have died."

"What good is my life if you are going to leave it?"

###

Krista would not let go of Ymir, not for a good twenty minutes. She loved the strength which streamed out of the girl's biceps when she squeezed her firmly. These arms were home, where she belonged.


Her Voice


Irrefutably, it was deep.

Its wavelengths were husky and masculine, and sometimes it reminded Krista of a pipe of smoke or a bonfire. It was intimidating to the naked eye, but its base was composed of fortification and security. As she thought about it, she reminisced about the time she first met Ymir. On the surface was a mysterious and almost charming girl who was trouble from the first time she said 'hello'. Yet, as Krista watched her from the corner of her eye, she could not help but think about how many layers there were to her voice.

They were all sitting in the living room of Krista's house. Her father was on his armchair, his fingers creating a tedious rhythm upon the edge of the varnished wood. Krista was standing behind him, as per his command, whilst Ymir was as far away as she could be from the two of them. From the moment she had stepped in, her father initiated his best scowl, and not for a single second did it drop.

"Selamun aleyküm," he said. "Do you know why I have called you to my home, Ymir bey?"

"Nay, beyefendi." Ymir's hands were behind her back as she stood up straight.

"So, you do have manners. I wonder – where did my daughter pick you up? In the landfills?"

"Baba-" Krista interjected.

A fist rose from the armchair. "Benim misafirler önünde beni utandırma, velet."

"I am her friend," Ymir answered.

"Tell me – what is your business parading around like a man? Are you sinful?"

"Olabilir."

Her father scoffed. "It does not matter. Your kind are all the same to me."

"As you say."

"As you say?" He leaned forward and laughed. "The tongue on this one!"

"Stop," Krista said. "She hasn't done anything wrong."

"Really? Come here."

Krista and Ymir's eyes met. They poured themselves into a pot of worry and concern. The brunette's mouth was half-open, her eyes lidded and fierce as she carefully inspected every move that her father was taking towards Krista. The blonde evaded him as best as she could, doing nothing to pay attention towards him. His right hand, all bone and sticks, darted from its spot on the chair and grappled her cheeks, his yellow fingernails hooked onto her skin.

"You look at me when I talk to you." He twisted her head around. "Understand?"

Father had a short, round head with ugly creases on his forehead. Knobby eyes which looked nothing like Krista's. Bristly, callous hairs on his upper lip that seemed like they were only glued on. Krista used to wonder how his whiskers would feel on her cheek if he kissed her goodnight. They were thoughts that leaked a long time ago, and they were not present anymore. For that, she was grateful. He did not deserve to kiss her. She would not have thought so a year prior, but meeting Ymir changed that.

Krista nodded, undeterred. Having Ymir in the same room made her feel like she had power, like she had a choice for once.

"Iyi." He pushed her away. "And don't talk out of turn ever again."

Krista massaged her lower cheeks as she turned to Ymir. The freckled girl's eyes were set alight with anger. Her hands were by her sides now, fastening and unfastening impatiently.

"Respectfully, beyefendi," said Ymir through gritted teeth, "I must ask you not to do that to her again."

Don't, mouthed Krista.

"Beni affet." Father clicked his tongue. "I know it is not right to strike my daughter in front of anyone else. I shall only do it when you are not around, Ymir bey."

He was mocking her now. Krista could hear it from the way he addressed her. If it bothered Ymir, however, she did not show it. When Ymir looked to Krista for her permission to speak freely, the blonde shook her head.

Resigned, Ymir sighed. "What is my purpose here?"

"My daughter's engagement was severed a few days ago."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Do not play games with me. I have a few eyes and ears wthin the city."

Ymir hesitated.

"You see, I cannot stop you from doing what you want. You can keep your stupid notions to yourself, but I will not have my daughter involved."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Her voice excavated itself. It grew deeper.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" Krista's father threw his fist against the chair. "If it happens a second time, you will never be able to see her again."

"If it happens a second time, I will protect her." Ymir was not a youth anymore. She was not the self-serving adolescent that Krista knew her to be.

"She is not yours to protect."

"And she is not yours to own!"

"I'm warning you, you fucking bok parçası." His voice was demanding and belligerent but to Krista, it was weak. "There are worse fates than death."

Krista could see the sweat on Ymir's temples. Her neck bobbed as she swallowed silently. "I am always willing to take that risk, beyefendi."

Father turned away and placed his thumb and his forefinger on the bridge of his nose. "Get out. Bring my daughter with you. You better hope that we will never have to talk again."

###

{A conversation on the outside}

Ymir, how did you do that?
Do what?
Your voice.
My voice?
It reminded me of the old stories of conquest,
Like when Sultan Mehmet II overpowered the
Byzantines and captured Constantinople
.

Ymir laughed, is that a good thing?
I love it.
You love it?
Evet.
You are one of a kind, Krista.
So are you.

###

A happy ending:

The Ox of Constantinople will come back when Krista is at the age of nineteen, and Ymir is far away in eastern Anataolia, fighting for the glory of the Empire.


NOTE: Title chapter means: "Fighter" (other translations include: boxer, pugilist)

A/N: I created a fanmix to go along with this fic. Go on my profile to get the link!


GLOSSARY

Üzgünüm - I'm sorry

Evet - yes

entari - loose coat

Küpește - bulwark

kadın - woman

beyefendi - used title for a man whose name that you do not know; sir,

Baba - father, can be used to address an older wise person

Benim misafirler önünde beni utandırma, velet - rough trans: "Do not embarrass me in front of my guest, brat."

Olabilir - maybe, perhaps

Iyi - good

Beni affet - forgive me

bok parçası - piece of shit