"You cow," Gwaine grumbled as he stepped out into the courtyard twenty minutes later, fully clothed again in another chainmail shirt and carrying four short swords under one arm (each in a leather sheath to protect him from any accidental cuts).
"You're late," she retorted with a grin - a grin which quickly vanished when her hair got caught in the links of the chainmail. "How the hell do you move in this stuff?"
"I never said you had to wear it," he grinned, watching her struggle to free the offending locks of hair. "Perhaps you'd like ME to help YOU take it off, this time?"
"And give you the pleasure of seeing me in my undergarments? I don't think so."
"You saw me in mine!"
"And it was nothing spectacular, I can assure you."
"Then why are you blushing?"
"I'm not blushing!" She retorted, much too quickly.
"Yes you are. Your cheeks are bright red!"
"No! I'm just hot!"
"I know you are."
"Pack it in, Gwaine! That's not what I meant!"
"Then what did you mean?"
"I mean, I'm wearing five layers of clothing here! I'm boiling!"
"Five layers?" he asked, disbelieving as he finally hopped over the low stone wall to join her.
"The chainmail was too big," she grumbled, barely audible and clearly very embarrassed. "So I had to pad it out a bit with a few of the shirts I found at the bottom of Morgana's trunk."
Gwaine smirked, even though he found it incredibly cute all the same. "Well why not just wear Morgana's armour instead of mine?"
"Morgana has armour?" Dante exclaimed. "Oh for the love of -"
"You didn't know?" he grinned.
"Would I have stolen your chainmail if I had?"
"Well, I just thought you were being friendly," he replied, eyebrows rising suggestively again.
Dante tried to think of a witty comeback, but was currently at a loss for words. So she settled for taking one of the short swords that Gwaine was currently holding and attempting to hit him with it (even though it was still in its leather sheath)
Gwaine dropped the other swords in surprise and quickly brought his arms up in front of his face, in a defensive pose as he tried to block each blow, even as she forced him back several steps, before finally she relented.
"Very good," he nodded approvingly. "You're good at getting enough momentum and power behind each strike, but you've got no control, what-so-ever."
"No control? I'll give you no control!" She snapped, attempting to hit him again. Again, he was forced to block each blow with his arms, glad that he'd thought to bring the leather sheaths along and not just the swords.
"No control," he repeated when he was finally able to wrestle the sword from her. "And until you learn some, those swords are not seeing the light of day!" He glanced up at the star-filled sky. "Night! Not seeing the light of...I mean dark of...oh, you know what I mean! No sharp objects until you've learnt to control your temper!"
She growled something incoherent, but ultimately decided that she'd never learn anything if she was continually at odds with her teacher, so for the time being, she would become a good little student and do as he said.
Gwaine noticed this change immediately as he looped a toe under one of the swords on the floor and flicked it in her direction. She caught it, just, and when he'd thrown the second one to her as well, she stood awkwardly holding both weapons, waiting expectantly.
"That's better. Now, lesson one," he said, picking up the last two swords. "You can fight with one sword easily enough, but using two together is a whole other matter. You have to be constantly aware, not only about what your opponent is doing, but what you are also doing with both weapons. Whilst one goes one way..." he swung slowly for her head, making his move perfectly obvious to her and giving her time to react. Instinctively, she raised one sword to meet his attack with a parry. Gwaine smiled a wry smile - clearly he knew something she didn't.
"...the other can come from a whole other angle to catch your opponent by surprise," he finished, making a point of looking down.
Dante glanced down as well, seeing his second sword pressed lightly into her side. Her other hand hadn't even moved - not registering the movement as she'd been so focussed on the blade coming for her head.
Gwaine gave her an 'I told you so' look, and she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Alright, mind my surroundings. Got it."
She stepped back to put a bit of distance between them.
"Now, I'll come at you slowly with different attacks. Show me what you'd do in each instance."
She shrugged. That didn't sound so hard.
...
Fifteen minutes later, she was about ready to give in. No matter what she'd done each time, Gwaine had still managed to sneak in an attack that she'd never seen coming. And this was only slow motion fighting!
"I give up!" She snapped, throwing down both swords and turning to storm away. Gwaine sighed, then ran after her, catching up after only a few strides and grabbing her wrist.
"Wait," he said, spinning her round to face him. "You're not a quitter Dante. Don't give up now."
"But I can't do it!" She complained.
"Yes you can."
"I ca-" All further protests were cut off as he placed a finger to her lips.
"Yes you can," he repeated softly. "Just try again, and remember. Mind your surroundings."
"I've got a million things to think about at once! It's impossible!"
"Then don't think," he told her. "There's too much going on up here." He tapped the side of her head gently. "You're over-thinking everything. Just let it all out. Clear your mind."
"Clear my mind?"
"Don't think about anything."
"But if I'm not thinking about anything, then clearly I'm thinking about not thinking, which means I AM thinking!"
He blinked.
There was a long pause.
And then he grinned. "Just, don't think, alright. Let your arms move on their own. Let your instincts guide you."
Sliding the leather sheaths off each of the swords, he motioned to the shining blades that had just been revealed, now glinting in the moonlight.
"They're blunt, but they can still hurt. Now remember, don't think, alright?"
Clearly not convinced, she did as he told her anyway, and moved back a few steps, adjusting the grip on both swords.
Alright, she told herself. Don't think. Think about nothing at all. Not thinking about anything...I'm not thinking about anything...my mind is as empty as...well, it's not empty because I'm thinking about not thinking and - SWORD!
She ducked, surprised by Gwaine's sudden attack, then started to look for his next move. But he was moving so fast now that she didn't even have time to think about each attack. She found that her arms knew where to go, as did her feet, and she smiled ever so slightly. It seemed that Gwaine DID know what he was talking about, after all.
So she did what he'd told her to do. She let go, and let her instincts guide her.
...
An hour later, just ten minutes to midnight, to be exact, Gwaine called an end to their training session.
Dante had found the heavy chainmail too cumbersome and restrictive to move in, and had shed it some time ago. Then the thick padded shirt had joined it, followed by two of the three undershirts. Then the final undershirt had been gathered up at the bottom, twisted up and tucked back down inside the hem of the neck, holding it out of the way and revealing a fair amount of flesh at the same time.
This had not been Dante's intention at first, but seeing how much it distracted Gwaine, she'd used it to her advantage, whenever possible, from then onwards. Now, Gwaine could see just how athletic she actually was.
This was no Lady who sat inside all day, sewing and writing in her journal (or doing whatever else it was that Ladies were supposed to do). It was clear that Dante had already known hard work, in her young life. Whether it be slavery, indentured servitude, or just voluntary work, she'd definitely done her fair share of it.
Sweat soaked her shirt and ran in streaks down her arms, soaking into the bandages over her knuckles. It gave her pale skin a glossy sheen, outlining her every curve. Her lean muscles rippled and shivered with every movement.
But the poor girl was exhausted by now. Once she'd found her rhythm, Gwaine had pushed and pushed her to her limits, and then beyond...pushing past her pain threshold and forcing her to keep going when her mind was screaming at her to stop. She'd never once complained, however, and had trusted him when he'd told her that she COULD do it, and it was all purely psychological.
Now she could barely stand, her legs turning to jelly as her bandaged hands trembled, unable to hold a sword any longer. She still hadn't caught her breath yet and they'd stopped sparring a good ten minutes earlier.
Mind you, Gwaine wasn't much better, (not that he'd ever let her see this, however). But in pushing her, he'd also been pushing himself further than he'd ever dared to go before.
"I...I hope Arthur's...impressed..." she gasped, bending double in a futile attempt to regain her breath once more.
Gwaine glanced up to see the King standing alone in one of the windows, then nodded as he lent back against the wall behind him, brushing a strand of sweaty hair from his eyes.
"I'm sure...he is..." He panted, closing his eyes.
There was a soft thud beside him, and opening his eyes again, he glanced across to see that Dante's knees had finally given way, and she'd collapsed into an awkward sitting position on the cold floor, her legs half way underneath her, but not completely. It looked incredibly uncomfortable - half way between kneeling and sitting with her legs curled to one side. But she didn't seem to care.
"You did well," he commended, finally gathering enough strength to pull himself up away from the wall once more. Then he extended a hand to her.
She groaned loudly in protest at having to stand back up, but still took the proffered hand anyway, allowing him to pull her back to her feet. Her legs threatened to buckle again, but he threw one of her arms over his shoulder to support her weight, then started to lead her back to her room. She was limping heavily, favouring her right leg, and he realised that she'd probably pulled a muscle during one particularly spectacular lunge she'd inadvertently made.
He'd gone for a headshot, and whilst she'd brought both swords up to block the attack, she hadn't noticed his other sword sweeping for her legs until the last possible moment. Throwing her left leg in the air, she'd been meaning to let his blade travel under her foot so that she could bring it back down and kick the blade from his hand. That had been her intention.
In reality, she'd unbalanced herself by lifting said foot and as his blade had swept beneath her heel, she'd thrown her leg out behind her to try and regain some sort of balance. Virtually doing the splits as she'd finally pushed the other blade away with all the strength she had left in her arms, she'd tried to drag her leg back underneath her, but it hadn't co-operated, and she'd been forced to swipe at his stomach to get him to back off, just so that she could grab a handful of material from her trouser leg, and literally pull her leg back towards her instead.
She hadn't complained about any pain at the time, but then adrenaline must have kept her going. Now, however, was a different matter, and she let out a gasp, each time her wounded leg touched the floor.
As he helped her to limp back inside the castle, he glanced back to see the chainmail and swords lying exactly where they'd dropped them. He'd send a servant to go and collect them after he'd delivered Dante safely back to her chambers, he decided. All that mattered at the moment was getting her back to her room.
When confronted with the first flight of stairs, however, she groaned loudly again, and he sighed, bending down to place one arm under her legs. Lifting her into his arms, he adjusted her weight until she was in a more comfortable position, then continued on, up the next few flights of stairs. For a while she chattered about the various tips and techniques that he'd given her, but soon she'd fallen oddly quiet.
It wasn't until he reached her quarters, however, that he realised why. He'd been so focussed on placing one foot in front of the other and not dropping her that he hadn't actually paid any attention to HER. Only now, as he stood outside her chambers, did he realise that she'd actually slipped into a peaceful sleep, cradled safely in his arms, her head tucked into the gap beneath his neck, and one hand lightly gripping the collar of his shirt.
He smiled at how peaceful she now looked, then frowned. Both his hands were full, keeping a safe hold on her. So how was he supposed to open the door?
"Huh...didn't exactly think that one through," he muttered to her sleeping form, even though he knew that she wouldn't answer. He very carefully shifted and tried balancing on one leg as he raised his foot, trying to operate the handle with the toe of his boot. But this only resulted in him wobbling and almost dropping Dante.
She stirred in his arms, and he tried to make shushing noises to send her back off, but she glanced up at him sleepily, eyes half closed.
"What's wrong?" she murmured.
"Can't get the door open," he told her sheepishly.
"Oh."
Letting go of his collar, she reached down and after fumbling about for a moment, managed to open the door for him, before nestling back into his embrace again.
He slipped inside the room carefully, took her into her bedchambers (thankfully THAT door had been left open) then laid her on the bed. She curled up and snuggled down into the warm fluffy pillows as he gently eased off each boot, tossing them into the corner. Then he pulled the covers out from under her and draped them back over the top.
"Night," he whispered, kissing her forehead. Then he blew out the candle by her bedside and left her to her dreams.