A/N: A special treat for the 50th chapter, something you guys have been asking for...


Leola, gripping the wooden sword, neared Isleald nervously. She had held real swords before – the Ebony Blade, Mephala's shadowy sword that had spoken to her, came to mind – and this one was much lighter, but she didn't mind. She appreciated learning at least a little with a sword, as it would probably wind up being useful later on.

As she looked at the wooden sword, a slight pang of sadness came to her. The best person to ask for instruction in the use of a sword would have been Sond – Bottar used a mace, Erith used her magic, and Aventus had a preference for close combat with daggers and knives, though she was pretty sure he also knew how to use a sword. But for Sond, his sword had been his preferred weapon – a sword that had been long-since buried alongside her deceased friend.

"When I swing, you counter," said Isleald when she reached him. He also held a wooden sword, and there was a gentle smile on his lips.

"They'll clunk, but real swords would clang," said Francois with a cheeky grin from where he stood alongside Leola's friends, all of whom were eager to watch Leola's first lesson in swordfighting.

Isleald lifted his sword, swinging it towards Leola. She, in turn, lifted her own sword and let it hit his. Her sword deflected the strike from his, and he nodded.

"Very good," he said. "Now from the other side."

Isleald swung his sword from the other direction, and Leola felt much more comfortable blocking it like this – it came at her right side, where her dominant hand was, so she didn't have to cross her own body with the sword.

He moved forward and she took a step back, countering a few more strikes from the Redguard's sword as they moved. A smile crept across Isleald's lips and he gave her an approving nod.

"Well done," he said. "Usually if you fight with a sword, you will be using both hands – either you use a greatsword that needs both hands, you wield a sword in each hand, or you carry a shield in your free hand. It's up to you, but I'd recommend training in all three so you can figure out on your own which method is best for you."

Leola nodded as she listened. "Alright," she said softly. "I think that can be arranged."

"I'm sure it can be," Isleald agreed. "You're small, so I don't think that a greatsword would be the best option for you – a shield might be wise, as you, Princess, are someone who will probably need their defense more than their offense."

"I understand," Leola said softly, nodding again.

"For now, though, I will teach you what I can without a shield," he said. "You can use your shield to deflect strikes just as you have been using your sword – you can also use your own body."

Leola raised an eyebrow slightly at his words. "If I use my body to block a strike won't I get…you know…stabbed?" she asked softly, confused as to how she would use her body against a sword without injuring herself.

Isleald let out a deep, rumbling laugh, the most genuine she'd heard from him this entire trip. "No, no," he said, shaking his head and chuckling again. "Like this – when I thrust the sword at you, just move to the side so that it does not make contact with you."

Isleald readied himself with his sword again and Leola did the same. Sure enough, he lunged towards her with the wooden sword. She gave a slight bounce accompanied by the rocking of her hips to one side, and was able to dodge the strike. A grin came to her face and she nodded.

"That was easy," she said. Isleald smiled.

"It is," he said. "Given who your parents are, I believe that this art shall come naturally to you. All it takes is practice – train when you can, and I am sure that you shall become a ferocious warrior, one whose name will be feared by all."

Leola felt a warmth spreading across her cheeks and she glanced away for a moment. Her blue eyes caught Erith's loving brown ones and the pair exchanged an affectionate gaze and a smile before Leola turned back to Isleald.

"Now, let's see if you can block and counter – it's most easily done with a shield, but parrying to one side and returning the attack with your sword should be easy enough. I'll swing at you like I was before, and I want you to duck to the side and then hit me."

"Sounds easy enough," said Leola.

"That's the spirit," Isleald replied. He readied himself, stepping into a fighting stance with his sword drawn, and Leola copied it back to him. She waited patiently until he came forward, swinging the sword down towards her. She hesitated for a moment, unsure what direction she should duck to. As she went to move right, the wooden sword briefly made contact with her upper left arm and her eyes widened.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

"Don't stop," Isleald said. "Just because you're hit doesn't mean you're done fighting – you have to make sure they don't have the chance to hit you again. Let's try it once more."

Leola nodded, and the pair returned to their ready stances. He came at her again, and this time, without hesitation, she dodged to the right. Instead of swinging her sword as he had, she thrust it towards his side, making gentle contact with his ribs. He stepped back and so did she, pleased to see that there was a wide smile on his lips.

"Excellent," he said. "Depending on your opponent's armour, that could be a killing blow."

From where the rest of the group sat, there came applause. Bottar cheered. Francois had disappeared to take control of the ship again, and so had not seen her successful counterstrike, but Leola suspected that he would have cheered too.

"Good job, Leola!" Bottar called over, a wide grin on his lips.

"These motions must become muscle memory in you, Princess," said Isleald. "Whenever you are engaged in a fight, it is a series of motions that you must know by heart. You must anticipate your enemy's every move and be ready to respond appropriately."

"I understand," Leola said softly. Though she understood that many were trained from a young age to predict such movements and to counter properly, she didn't have that luxury. Instead, she would have to train herself – and perhaps have her father help – and become a great warrior.

"Ready up," he said, stepping one foot back and brandishing her sword. Leola did the same – she could tell right away that he intended to surprise her. The first few times he had told her ahead of time what he was going to do and how she was to respond, but now, he said nothing.

Leola waited, watching him, anticipating some kind of movement. He was patient, clearly waiting for her to let her guard down, but she would do no such thing. Finally, he moved. It was a lunge towards her, his sword aiming for her abdomen. She dodged to the left this time, but before she could attack him in retaliation, he swung his outstretched arm so that his sword moved towards her head. Her blue eyes widened and, instinctively, she ducked. She could hear the wooden sword whipping through the air as it swung above her head before she popped back up and moved forward, thrusting her own sword at Isleald again. A grin came to her lips as she made contact, though her sword hit a little harder than she had intended and he stumbled back slightly.

"Beautiful," he said, smiling as he stood up straight again. "Do you see what I mean? I didn't even tell you what to do, yet you knew – it's instinct, inherited straight from your two parents."

"Did you know my mother, Isleald?" Leola asked suddenly, glancing briefly towards her group of friends.

"Sadly, I did not," Isleald replied, shaking his head. "I was still in Hammerfell when she was doing her thing here, and a child at that – older than you, but younger than the others here. I have heard the stories, though, and I am sure that she was a formidable opponent. I should very much have liked to spar with her – once we have you trained up, though, I am sure that a match against you would be quite similar."

Leola smiled at hearing his words. For once, someone who hadn't known her mother – and, as if that wasn't enough, someone who thought she had the potential to be a warrior. Everyone else treated her as if she was dainty and delicate – someone to be protected at all costs, but not at the cost of taking away the qualities that needed to be protected. But she would show all her friends that she could be dainty and sweet as well as tough and skilled.

"Shall we continue?" Isleald asked, and Leola gave him a firm nod.

"We shall," she said, stepping back and readying herself.