Disclaimer: No.
A/N: Another chapter! Yay! Cool fighting scene ahead! Yay for fighting scenes!
Secondary A/N: Draco Malfoy's hot! Yay for Draco Malfoy! ^_^
Chapter 5 - Last Lesson with Mithros
Devon walked back up to her room after her riding lesson, her legs feeling a tad weighted from being wrapped around her stallion's barrel for a length of time. She peeled off her clothes and found her practice gear ready and laid out on her bed, the breeches mended, the pads all in order and their straps new. She smiled as she thought of her faithful maid, Celeste, always on top of her wherever she went to make an impression, always the half step ahead to make everything ready.
Her practice armor was stout leather lined with a thin sheet of metal, moveable, yet effective against blows, and light. The shoulder guards arched over her squared, slightly broad shoulders as she pulled them over her head, secured to her shoulders by a leather strap that threaded through two slits in her chest armor in front and back. She snapped a belt around her waist that was broad and heavy for holding her sword elegantly off to her side and within a hand's easy reach, and for carrying several other things that may be of use, such as daggers, arrows, poison, smoking substances for concealing your position long enough for escape, and the like. The thought reminded Devon, and she put a vial of the substance on her belt. Inside the back of her quilted leather vest she put a tightly coiled rope with a grappling hook attached, and she slid her heels into a pair of revolving spurs with sharp edges. As in any other fighting lesson against a god, she knew she had to have every advantage.
With her spurs jingling as she walked down the hall, she tied her long hair into a leather strap so it wouldn't hinder her vision. As she walked down the halls looking every inch the poor wench going to her death, she spotted Quinn off to the side mopping the wood floors. He looked up and smiled at her, bowing deeply and sweeping off his fine crushed velvet hat that was adorned with black and red feathers. His simple gray clothing was made of the finest cloth linen the Black God could find. Devon smiled. Even servants in her father's house were treated as they were worth their weight in priceless gems and gold.
"Good evening Quinn." Devon smiled warmly to her friend, "Why mop the floors on such a beautiful night? They are sparkling clean as it is and I can see my reflection in them. Go walk in the gardens or ride that pretty palfrey you have, don't waste precious nights like these mopping." She said earnestly. Quinn smiled and leaned on the oak handle of his mop.
"Aye milady, the floors are clean already, and they show your reflection, but an imperfect one. Can't have people who love to gaze at floors thinking you are imperfect when they see your face reflected in it, do we?" He teased affectionately. Devon almost blushed under his compliment.
"Well then, go about your business, but do it tomorrow. That's an order, milord!" She said imposingly as she saw him take up his mop again. He laughed.
"No work's going to get done with ye down here, softy!" He said seriously. "And Master Mithros is waiting on ye. Besides, someone's going to need to mop you off the floor after he's done with ye. It's your final lesson and I think he'll treat it as such."
"I love how everyone seems to have ultimate, unconditional faith in me." Devon scoffed as she rolled her eyes. "Mop me off the floor indeed." She added as if in mock disgust. She looked up at Quinn, who had one of his hands resting on her shoulders. He was smiling.
"Go on now lassie, no use wasting a perfectly good lesson. And you can't do it tomorrow." Devon smiled and walked down the halls after throwing a mock salute to Quinn's grinning figure.
She opened the door to the practice arena and grinned.
Unlike a usual practice arena, this one was made to be like real environments. Oh sure, they'd started on flat grounds and nice, soft sand and good footing, but what was the chance you'd fight a war in an arena? After her twelfth birthday, her father had brought in rocks, created a stream, sectioned off a part for a jungle area, made blasting light and hot sand for deserts, and moving wood platforms for ships. Every place someone could fight, he'd made a place for. There was even a bedroom replica. Devon had asked why she was going to fight in someone's bedroom, and her father had grinned and said cheekily,
"Because some men are rougher than others."
Devon had gaped at his juvenile answer, and that had been the beginning of the longest, most serious play fight of all history. There was still a dent in the wall where they'd thrown stuff at each other, and the aforementioned fighting environment was still a subject of much disturbing humor.
In the corner, getting his armor put on by a realm squire was Mithros, the god of war and justice.
Even sitting in a chair he was huge. He was solid, thick, with a body of solid muscle and able to wield unforgiving strikes. His golden hair was tied into a loose horsetail, and his bright blue eyes watched as Devon began to stretch a few feet away. Being a god, he was devastatingly handsome, as the Goddess was breathtakingly beautiful. This had come up in one of Devon and the Black God's endearing father-daughter chats. It had been the start of the second longest, most serious play fights in history.
"No stretching today, Devon." Mithros said in his deep, commanding voice that rang like a bell, reverberating around the room. "Warriors don't have time to stretch before battle." He stood then, and she did as well, eying his armor for any part that was unprotected. Then she mentally slapped herself, he was all muscle, and he didn't have any venerable spots.
He took his solid gold sword from the squire who handed it to him gracefully, his head bent in respect. Mithros took it and did a few practice swings before pointing the tip at Devon's partially exposed neck.
"En garde." He said easily, as if it were as common a saying as 'hello' or 'ouch'. Devon took out her sword and crossed its tip with his, eyes on his face. Every trained warrior could tell someone's moves from their opponent's eyes. They flitted in every direction, betraying each and every of their thoughts about strategies. He smirked, a dangerous smirk she'd seen many times before her trainings, when she had gotten to be a real threat.
"Good." He said in mild praise, and with a shriek of his sword, he drew back and lunged at her.
She jumped back, dodging and swiping her sword across his, eliciting another shriek from the metal on metal contact, throwing his sword away from her body to bide herself more time. He was prepared for her move and pushed back, nearly popping her off her feet with the force of his blow.
"Come on Devon, concentrate!" he snapped. She responded with a lunge, but a quick, light one so when he forcefully blocked she wasn't taken off her feet. Clangs, screams, and dull, metallic thuds echoed through the room as the metals hit, the gold making a sweet noise and the iron sounding like a banshee beside it. Devon shoved Mithros away with all her strength and then turned and ran, jumping nimbly onto the fake mountains and rock faces her father had designed. Her trainer was right after her, hot on her heels. She heard a whistle beside her ear and right between her fingers, dug deep into the rock was a golden dagger.
Devon paled and then used it as a lever to get herself up to the top. Mithros, larger and not as agile as her, followed soon, but not terrifyingly behind. When he reached the top, she was nowhere in sight. He laughed a good-natured laugh, waiting for her to come out. He was sitting down and taking a sip of water from the stream, when she came out of nowhere, clinging to a jungle vine and knocking him over with a kick. He sprawled on the ground and then ran onto the sea ship simulation. He knew that she hated the feeling of the ground moving, so he was at an advantage.
She followed him boldly, but when her feet touched the platform she knew he was going to be hard to fight on this ground. Her knees were weakening and bile was churning in her stomach and threatening to burn her throat. Her eyes watered so she could barely see his moves, she blocked and dodged blindly, using only the cool whistle of his sword to tell where he was. Blind, weak, and unsure, she stumbled around, looking for a way out to level the playing field.
Her fingers brushed the smoke vial at her waist, and she wrenched it from its place and threw it down on the ship deck, the glass shattering. There was a whooshing noise and smoke rose before her, concealing her from Mithros' view. She stumbled off the deck and into the water, which was knee deep. Mithros wore metal armor and heavy pads, which would only get heavier as he got wetter. She wanted the advantage.
Within a few moments, he hurtled out of the smoke towards her, and she stepped further into the stream. Her breeches were soaked to the thigh and she grinned at him wryly, knowing he didn't really want to come in after her.
With a swing of her hand, she grabbed the rope from her vest and threw it over a rafter, swinging up onto it so she was right above Mithros' head. Silently, she dropped down behind him and struck at him with her sword, earning a surprised squeal from his armor. His shoulders sagged in defeat.
"I win!" Devon said, thrusting a fist into the air. Mithros smiled at her, and handed her a quiver and a bow as she'd seen by the door when she'd entered. The arrows were fletched with harrock feathers, and the tips were made of flint, the tips dyed black with poison.
"Here, take these." He said, holding them out to her. She took them carefully, admiring the smooth lines of the longbow. "You earned them. I have never fought so hard and yet you beat me. A perfect way to end a last lesson." He said warmly. She smiled, and before he could do anything about it, she hugged him fiercely around the middle. It took a moment for him to realize what was happening, but soon he relaxed and patted her head as a father would.
"You are your father's daughter." He whispered to her, winking at her jokingly. She playfully cuffed him on the arm and he grinned mischievously, then swatted her rear annoyingly as she walked out of his arena for the last time.
"Father, I'm home from my fighting lesson!" Devon called as she took off her boots.
"In the library, Devon!" Came the answering call. She went up the stairs and smiled as she opened the door to see the Black Lord in an armchair in front of the fire, reading.
"How were the lessons?" He asked, closing his book and waving her forward.
"The dancing lesson was dreadful. I think I trashed poor Greg's foot." She said, smiling wryly. The Black God laughed.
"And the colonel was stiff as a cane as usual, but he did say I was much improved."
"Always a good thing from the colonel." He said. Dobbin took his book and shelved it, then came back and bowed lowly to her, his hands behind his beard.
They talked for awhile about everything, history, life outside the realm of the gods, maps (led by Dobbin), and all other things one can talk about with another, or two others. Finally, the Black Lord changed the subject to her two-year life in Tortall.
"The Great Mother and I have chosen who is going to be accompanying you." He said. Dobbing grinned toothily at Devon, and scuffled his feet in the dirt.
"Dobbin, of course, you already know." He said, "Along with one of the Goddess' ladies in waiting, Sora, Quinn, and the colonel."
"But how will." She began, astonished.
"They'll be in disguise." The Black God answered. There was some silence.
"When will I leave?"
"A week."
Devon felt excitement jump within her, but she also sensed the Black Lord's resentment. She couldn't really envision life without him, and for two whole years?
"I'll miss you too, you know." He said, "But I'll be able to see you every once in awhile." She nodded, but still felt a little sad.
"You'll be fine, and after the two years you can always come back here."
"Where will I go? What will I do?" She asked.
"A relevant question, all times are good times to ask questions." He said wisely, "After a few months just traveling and learning about life outside the realm, you will go to live in the Tortallan palace in the city of Corus."
"How am I to get in?" She inquired.
"Another relevant question. The Goddess will talk to them.in a matter of speaking."
"A speech?"
"Do you have any other ideas?"
"No, you're right." She said, smiling. It was getting late, and she hugged her father goodnight, then went up to bed, falling asleep to dreams of the world where gods were not a common thing.
One week later.
Her pack pony was lightly packed with a few clothes, mostly breeches, as dresses took up a lot of room, and a bag of books, and a bag of maps. There was a small pouch of food, but the colonel and Quinn were skilled hunters, so that wasn't a cause of worry.
Devon swung up onto Psyche, and pulled Dobbin up with her, where he promptly covered his eyes with his beard. His long nose stuck out through the twig-filled gray hair.
Quinn rode up on her left on the good-natured gelding Torquil, and Sora was on Twilight, while the colonel trotted up mounted on a tall dappled gray stallion, Wesley, who was mouthing the bit eagerly. Each horse had a bedroll tied to the back of their lightweight traveling saddles, and sturdy cloth wraps were secured around their legs for protection and support.
Devon turned to see her father, the Black Lord, walking up to her side. They looked at each other for a moment, and hugged tightly, before he let go and handed her a long scabbard, nearly three feet in length, containing a solid iron sword with a spell cast on it to make it lighter. It was strong, with sharp double-edges and a metal and leather hilt. Around the blade was rapped a small sketch in charcoal Nobbin had done of a preteen Devon with the Black God reading. She murmured an awed thank you, folded the sketch and put it in her pocket. Then the colonel said stiffly, "We must be off."
They all nudged their horses into swift canters, and Devon looked back and waved, calling farewells. When she turned ahead, she saw the land of Tortall stretched out before her, and she galloped to the front of the group, clutching Dobbin tightly. Her adventure in unknown territory had begun.
Yay for cheesy endings! Yay for cheese, period!
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl
A/N: Another chapter! Yay! Cool fighting scene ahead! Yay for fighting scenes!
Secondary A/N: Draco Malfoy's hot! Yay for Draco Malfoy! ^_^
Chapter 5 - Last Lesson with Mithros
Devon walked back up to her room after her riding lesson, her legs feeling a tad weighted from being wrapped around her stallion's barrel for a length of time. She peeled off her clothes and found her practice gear ready and laid out on her bed, the breeches mended, the pads all in order and their straps new. She smiled as she thought of her faithful maid, Celeste, always on top of her wherever she went to make an impression, always the half step ahead to make everything ready.
Her practice armor was stout leather lined with a thin sheet of metal, moveable, yet effective against blows, and light. The shoulder guards arched over her squared, slightly broad shoulders as she pulled them over her head, secured to her shoulders by a leather strap that threaded through two slits in her chest armor in front and back. She snapped a belt around her waist that was broad and heavy for holding her sword elegantly off to her side and within a hand's easy reach, and for carrying several other things that may be of use, such as daggers, arrows, poison, smoking substances for concealing your position long enough for escape, and the like. The thought reminded Devon, and she put a vial of the substance on her belt. Inside the back of her quilted leather vest she put a tightly coiled rope with a grappling hook attached, and she slid her heels into a pair of revolving spurs with sharp edges. As in any other fighting lesson against a god, she knew she had to have every advantage.
With her spurs jingling as she walked down the hall, she tied her long hair into a leather strap so it wouldn't hinder her vision. As she walked down the halls looking every inch the poor wench going to her death, she spotted Quinn off to the side mopping the wood floors. He looked up and smiled at her, bowing deeply and sweeping off his fine crushed velvet hat that was adorned with black and red feathers. His simple gray clothing was made of the finest cloth linen the Black God could find. Devon smiled. Even servants in her father's house were treated as they were worth their weight in priceless gems and gold.
"Good evening Quinn." Devon smiled warmly to her friend, "Why mop the floors on such a beautiful night? They are sparkling clean as it is and I can see my reflection in them. Go walk in the gardens or ride that pretty palfrey you have, don't waste precious nights like these mopping." She said earnestly. Quinn smiled and leaned on the oak handle of his mop.
"Aye milady, the floors are clean already, and they show your reflection, but an imperfect one. Can't have people who love to gaze at floors thinking you are imperfect when they see your face reflected in it, do we?" He teased affectionately. Devon almost blushed under his compliment.
"Well then, go about your business, but do it tomorrow. That's an order, milord!" She said imposingly as she saw him take up his mop again. He laughed.
"No work's going to get done with ye down here, softy!" He said seriously. "And Master Mithros is waiting on ye. Besides, someone's going to need to mop you off the floor after he's done with ye. It's your final lesson and I think he'll treat it as such."
"I love how everyone seems to have ultimate, unconditional faith in me." Devon scoffed as she rolled her eyes. "Mop me off the floor indeed." She added as if in mock disgust. She looked up at Quinn, who had one of his hands resting on her shoulders. He was smiling.
"Go on now lassie, no use wasting a perfectly good lesson. And you can't do it tomorrow." Devon smiled and walked down the halls after throwing a mock salute to Quinn's grinning figure.
She opened the door to the practice arena and grinned.
Unlike a usual practice arena, this one was made to be like real environments. Oh sure, they'd started on flat grounds and nice, soft sand and good footing, but what was the chance you'd fight a war in an arena? After her twelfth birthday, her father had brought in rocks, created a stream, sectioned off a part for a jungle area, made blasting light and hot sand for deserts, and moving wood platforms for ships. Every place someone could fight, he'd made a place for. There was even a bedroom replica. Devon had asked why she was going to fight in someone's bedroom, and her father had grinned and said cheekily,
"Because some men are rougher than others."
Devon had gaped at his juvenile answer, and that had been the beginning of the longest, most serious play fight of all history. There was still a dent in the wall where they'd thrown stuff at each other, and the aforementioned fighting environment was still a subject of much disturbing humor.
In the corner, getting his armor put on by a realm squire was Mithros, the god of war and justice.
Even sitting in a chair he was huge. He was solid, thick, with a body of solid muscle and able to wield unforgiving strikes. His golden hair was tied into a loose horsetail, and his bright blue eyes watched as Devon began to stretch a few feet away. Being a god, he was devastatingly handsome, as the Goddess was breathtakingly beautiful. This had come up in one of Devon and the Black God's endearing father-daughter chats. It had been the start of the second longest, most serious play fights in history.
"No stretching today, Devon." Mithros said in his deep, commanding voice that rang like a bell, reverberating around the room. "Warriors don't have time to stretch before battle." He stood then, and she did as well, eying his armor for any part that was unprotected. Then she mentally slapped herself, he was all muscle, and he didn't have any venerable spots.
He took his solid gold sword from the squire who handed it to him gracefully, his head bent in respect. Mithros took it and did a few practice swings before pointing the tip at Devon's partially exposed neck.
"En garde." He said easily, as if it were as common a saying as 'hello' or 'ouch'. Devon took out her sword and crossed its tip with his, eyes on his face. Every trained warrior could tell someone's moves from their opponent's eyes. They flitted in every direction, betraying each and every of their thoughts about strategies. He smirked, a dangerous smirk she'd seen many times before her trainings, when she had gotten to be a real threat.
"Good." He said in mild praise, and with a shriek of his sword, he drew back and lunged at her.
She jumped back, dodging and swiping her sword across his, eliciting another shriek from the metal on metal contact, throwing his sword away from her body to bide herself more time. He was prepared for her move and pushed back, nearly popping her off her feet with the force of his blow.
"Come on Devon, concentrate!" he snapped. She responded with a lunge, but a quick, light one so when he forcefully blocked she wasn't taken off her feet. Clangs, screams, and dull, metallic thuds echoed through the room as the metals hit, the gold making a sweet noise and the iron sounding like a banshee beside it. Devon shoved Mithros away with all her strength and then turned and ran, jumping nimbly onto the fake mountains and rock faces her father had designed. Her trainer was right after her, hot on her heels. She heard a whistle beside her ear and right between her fingers, dug deep into the rock was a golden dagger.
Devon paled and then used it as a lever to get herself up to the top. Mithros, larger and not as agile as her, followed soon, but not terrifyingly behind. When he reached the top, she was nowhere in sight. He laughed a good-natured laugh, waiting for her to come out. He was sitting down and taking a sip of water from the stream, when she came out of nowhere, clinging to a jungle vine and knocking him over with a kick. He sprawled on the ground and then ran onto the sea ship simulation. He knew that she hated the feeling of the ground moving, so he was at an advantage.
She followed him boldly, but when her feet touched the platform she knew he was going to be hard to fight on this ground. Her knees were weakening and bile was churning in her stomach and threatening to burn her throat. Her eyes watered so she could barely see his moves, she blocked and dodged blindly, using only the cool whistle of his sword to tell where he was. Blind, weak, and unsure, she stumbled around, looking for a way out to level the playing field.
Her fingers brushed the smoke vial at her waist, and she wrenched it from its place and threw it down on the ship deck, the glass shattering. There was a whooshing noise and smoke rose before her, concealing her from Mithros' view. She stumbled off the deck and into the water, which was knee deep. Mithros wore metal armor and heavy pads, which would only get heavier as he got wetter. She wanted the advantage.
Within a few moments, he hurtled out of the smoke towards her, and she stepped further into the stream. Her breeches were soaked to the thigh and she grinned at him wryly, knowing he didn't really want to come in after her.
With a swing of her hand, she grabbed the rope from her vest and threw it over a rafter, swinging up onto it so she was right above Mithros' head. Silently, she dropped down behind him and struck at him with her sword, earning a surprised squeal from his armor. His shoulders sagged in defeat.
"I win!" Devon said, thrusting a fist into the air. Mithros smiled at her, and handed her a quiver and a bow as she'd seen by the door when she'd entered. The arrows were fletched with harrock feathers, and the tips were made of flint, the tips dyed black with poison.
"Here, take these." He said, holding them out to her. She took them carefully, admiring the smooth lines of the longbow. "You earned them. I have never fought so hard and yet you beat me. A perfect way to end a last lesson." He said warmly. She smiled, and before he could do anything about it, she hugged him fiercely around the middle. It took a moment for him to realize what was happening, but soon he relaxed and patted her head as a father would.
"You are your father's daughter." He whispered to her, winking at her jokingly. She playfully cuffed him on the arm and he grinned mischievously, then swatted her rear annoyingly as she walked out of his arena for the last time.
"Father, I'm home from my fighting lesson!" Devon called as she took off her boots.
"In the library, Devon!" Came the answering call. She went up the stairs and smiled as she opened the door to see the Black Lord in an armchair in front of the fire, reading.
"How were the lessons?" He asked, closing his book and waving her forward.
"The dancing lesson was dreadful. I think I trashed poor Greg's foot." She said, smiling wryly. The Black God laughed.
"And the colonel was stiff as a cane as usual, but he did say I was much improved."
"Always a good thing from the colonel." He said. Dobbin took his book and shelved it, then came back and bowed lowly to her, his hands behind his beard.
They talked for awhile about everything, history, life outside the realm of the gods, maps (led by Dobbin), and all other things one can talk about with another, or two others. Finally, the Black Lord changed the subject to her two-year life in Tortall.
"The Great Mother and I have chosen who is going to be accompanying you." He said. Dobbing grinned toothily at Devon, and scuffled his feet in the dirt.
"Dobbin, of course, you already know." He said, "Along with one of the Goddess' ladies in waiting, Sora, Quinn, and the colonel."
"But how will." She began, astonished.
"They'll be in disguise." The Black God answered. There was some silence.
"When will I leave?"
"A week."
Devon felt excitement jump within her, but she also sensed the Black Lord's resentment. She couldn't really envision life without him, and for two whole years?
"I'll miss you too, you know." He said, "But I'll be able to see you every once in awhile." She nodded, but still felt a little sad.
"You'll be fine, and after the two years you can always come back here."
"Where will I go? What will I do?" She asked.
"A relevant question, all times are good times to ask questions." He said wisely, "After a few months just traveling and learning about life outside the realm, you will go to live in the Tortallan palace in the city of Corus."
"How am I to get in?" She inquired.
"Another relevant question. The Goddess will talk to them.in a matter of speaking."
"A speech?"
"Do you have any other ideas?"
"No, you're right." She said, smiling. It was getting late, and she hugged her father goodnight, then went up to bed, falling asleep to dreams of the world where gods were not a common thing.
One week later.
Her pack pony was lightly packed with a few clothes, mostly breeches, as dresses took up a lot of room, and a bag of books, and a bag of maps. There was a small pouch of food, but the colonel and Quinn were skilled hunters, so that wasn't a cause of worry.
Devon swung up onto Psyche, and pulled Dobbin up with her, where he promptly covered his eyes with his beard. His long nose stuck out through the twig-filled gray hair.
Quinn rode up on her left on the good-natured gelding Torquil, and Sora was on Twilight, while the colonel trotted up mounted on a tall dappled gray stallion, Wesley, who was mouthing the bit eagerly. Each horse had a bedroll tied to the back of their lightweight traveling saddles, and sturdy cloth wraps were secured around their legs for protection and support.
Devon turned to see her father, the Black Lord, walking up to her side. They looked at each other for a moment, and hugged tightly, before he let go and handed her a long scabbard, nearly three feet in length, containing a solid iron sword with a spell cast on it to make it lighter. It was strong, with sharp double-edges and a metal and leather hilt. Around the blade was rapped a small sketch in charcoal Nobbin had done of a preteen Devon with the Black God reading. She murmured an awed thank you, folded the sketch and put it in her pocket. Then the colonel said stiffly, "We must be off."
They all nudged their horses into swift canters, and Devon looked back and waved, calling farewells. When she turned ahead, she saw the land of Tortall stretched out before her, and she galloped to the front of the group, clutching Dobbin tightly. Her adventure in unknown territory had begun.
Yay for cheesy endings! Yay for cheese, period!
Questions? Comments? Review and I'll answer!
Flames? Call 1-800-I-Don't-Give-A-Rat's-Arse
Nazzy Nazzy Nazgirl
