Chapter Thirty: To Fight a Lord
A/N: Mm, in Titan we actually didn't do too badly. We learned left and right oblique, which are a hard concept. But we didn't do too badly. I'm just worried about exhibition … and inspection. I hope nobody cries, that would be REALLY bad, since the Titan drill sergeants are so relatively nice …
…
Vainly trying to control her breathing once again, Aila pulled herself bodily from the tub, almost reluctantly. Wrapping the towel around her, sufficiently drying her hair, she pulled the cloak from the floor and set it about her shoulders once more, pulling the hood over her face.
"Lady," said the maid when she had walked through the door. "I have the dress for you to wear …"
"Dress?" asked Aila. "No, I'm not wearing a dress. Give me my traveling clothes back."
"Lady," said the maid, a bit impatiently, "those ratty traveling clothes are not to wear before the King of Riddermark!" Aila would have loved to cry out "Like I give a shit about the King of Riddermark!" but she knew she could not.
"Still," she said calmly from under her hood. "I do not wear a dress. Don't you have any breeches and a nice tunic."
"Only for men," said the maid pointedly.
"Then grab me some of those," Aila replied, causing the maid to throw her hands up in exasperation.
"Those are for men!" cried the maid. "They are not for feminine wear."
"I've never been one for 'feminine' wear myself," muttered Aila under her breath. "Why can't you people just wear pants?!" she cried, beginning to get quite angry. "Listen, all I care about is that I'm comforting and not flouting about in a ridiculous pink, frilly dress. Yes, I see that monstrosity you picked out for me and I'm appalled." She gestured toward the dress, which lay forlornly on the bed.
Its shade was a faded pink, more concentrated near the center of the dress. Lace flaunted the bottom half every half-foot or so until they ended in disgusting frills and curls at the base of the dress. It had tight, v-shaped long sleeves, that reached to a ridiculously low neckline.
"Trust me," said Aila, still looking disgustedly at it from under her hood. "A snowball has more a chance of surviving in hell, than you have of making me wear that."
Consenting, but angrily, the maid pulled the dress viciously from the sheets and left the room in a huff. Rolling her eyes and letting out a sigh, Aila flopped down to sit upon the bed, feeling quite exposed. She was only wrapped in a towel that hardly reached mid-thigh. Granted, she had some shorts that were shorter than that, but this was different … Her cloak helped minimally, covering her legs so that she felt draped in a blanket.
The minutes stretched into what seemed like hours, but still the maid did not return. A knock sounded lightly upon the door and Aila's head shot up.
"Well, it's about time," she snapped through the door, thoroughly in a bad mood. The door creaked open, but it wasn't the feet of the maid that met her minimal sightline due to the hood. Her visitor was wearing the heavy boots of a man, but he quickly turned around and stood upon the other side of the door. His feet shifted nervously, as if ashamed of walking in on her while she had on just a towel.
"I apologize, Lady," came Eomer's voice. "I came to invite you to a horse-ride with me so that I may show you around Riddermark. But I see that you are … 'engaged'"
"No, no," joked Aila, mocking his choice of words. "I'm actually quite single, but yes, I don't have any clothes yet … if that maid would get back with something other than a dress."
"Other than a dress, Lady?" She heard faint amusement in the Third Marshal's voice.
"Yes," snapped Aila, her joking mood dissipating once more. "Is this so hard to believe? You can't do very much in a dress. Try it sometime, Eomer. I'm sure you'd enjoy it," her tone held such bite that Eomer took a step back, but he almost fell over the maid, who was returning.
"Do this, do that," she was muttering to herself, mockingly. "Go get me some clothes, no, not a dress! I hate dresses! Not a snowball's chance in hell! Go get me men's clothing, so that I can truly look ridiculous, besides this cloak I wear about my face …"
"I may be partially blinded by this cloak," said Aila, turning to the maid's bitter voice. "But that doesn't mean I am not deaf! You have caught me in a bad mood, maid. This does not do you well--where did you put my sword?!"
"I'd be an idiot if I told you, would I not? Here, these are your man clothes. Enjoy them, 'Lady,'" Aila would have taken a swing at the maid, in her terrible mood, but she restrained herself, accepting the breeches and tunic that were handed her with a sarcastic grin.
"You're an idiot anyway," she said under her breath. She slammed the door as the maid bustled from the room, muttering to herself once more. Letting out a half scream of anger, Aila chastened herself for being so bitter. What could she do though? Boromir's death weighed heavily upon her mind, putting her in depression.
She sighed once more as she laid the clothes upon the bed. Never had she worried too much about creating outfits for fashionable purposes, but now she regretted the cold shoulder she had given to the fads. It had made her unsociable, but remarkably she maintained many friends. Fingering the straps that were to hold her socks up, she was strongly reminded of her old ROTC uniform's shirt girders. Those horrible elastic bands that had kept her socks from falling down and her shirt from coming un-tucked by connecting them. They were as uncomfortable as they were difficult to put on.
She pulled the stockings up, girders with them, and continued to dress herself in the pants, shirt, and tunic. The shirt was strange to her. It seemed the maid had managed to find a feminine shirt still, and it was full of wrinkles, giving it a smooth, creamy look. It's sleeves stretched down to the middle of her palm, and flared out slightly. Smiling, she neglected to tuck in the shirt, so that it flared out from under her tunic, on top of the pants, giving her a strange preppy-meets-rock-travels-back-in-time look. Always hating fashion, Aila couldn't help but smile at herself. This would probably be the next style. How fickle those fashion folk seemed to be …
Slipping out of the door before anybody else could come to see her, Aila wandered around Edoras, taking in its sight and watching its people as they went about their daily business. Receiving many strange looks, due to her cloak and covered face, Aila resolved to find a place that she could be alone with her thoughts.
Quite lost, she finally came to the stables and asked the stable-hand for a horse so that she could go find a place of solitude around the city.
"Sorry, Lady," said the man, in his strange Rohan accent. "But the Lord Eomer said you were not to leave the walls of this city without an escort."
"I can very well be my own escort," said Aila angrily, clenching her fists to her sides, fighting her overwhelming desire to draw her sword, which she hung dutifully at her side. The man's further refusal only angered her more. "Why does everyone think me helpless?" she cried, but it was a rhetorical question and she expected no answer, nor received one. "Where is Eomer?" she asked, her voice still held bite, but she thought she could at least try to reason with Eomer.
She stomped off in the direction that the stable-hand had directed her, her hands still clutched in fists at her side. Her cloak swept behind her and floated due to her speed, but her hood stayed firmly in place over her head. Her hair tickled her neck where the cloak held it, but she paid no attention.
"Eomer!" she cried, full of anger when she reached the Hall, passing Hama by with a sweep of her hand. Feeling considerably violent, she drew her sword before any could stop her, advancing upon the Lord who was walking in her direction down a corridor. He immediately stopped and raised his eyebrows, knowing she wasn't going to attack him. The men of the Mark all around him drew their swords, not knowing what she purposed and stood before their lord.
Frustrated and angry, Aila re-sheathed her sword and continued to walk towards Eomer, who was telling the men to put away their blades. When they continued to stand around their lord, still cautious of her, she pushed them roughly aside and stepped up to Eomer so that the top of her hood was under Eomer's chin. She stepped on his toes and took a shuddering breath of anger.
"Why can't I leave without an escort? I am not helpless!"
"The lands of Rohan are dangerous in these perilous times …"
"Oh shove it," she cried, stepping away from him. "I'm sick of this trash," she said, not caring whether she used slang or not. "There is no way to be alone in this city, and getting away from it is my only chance! Will you deny me privacy?"
"If I let you go," said Eomer, in a voice that exalted his ego, "you would go after you friends."
"And what if I gave you my word that I wouldn't?" she asked in a challenging manner, so desperate to be alone.
"And if I didn't accept your word?"
"I would fight you for it," she growled, reaching for the hilt of her sword once more. She smiled to herself, hidden under her hood, as she reached into a pocket of her tunic and pulled out Greenleaf, and placed it upon her finger. After she had said that, the men who were standing around watching began to laugh as if the notion were ridiculous. Aila, used to her threats being taken lightly in Middle Earth by now, turned her head menacingly toward them, her face hidden under her cloak. She knew she looked quite mysterious and frightful to them. Even Eomer stopped laughing.
"Don't joke of such things, Lady," even his tone was insulting to Aila, even though he didn't mean it, thoroughly thinking she was joking. Once more she drew her sword.
"Am I joking?" she asked searchingly, and Eomer caught the tone in her voice.
"You cannot be serious?" he asked, slightly horrified that she would put him up to fighting her.
"I am," was her cold reply. "If you win, I'll get an escort; but when I win," she said, not bothering to say if, "I get to go out of the city by myself, granted I don't run off in search of my friends."
"If I must fight you," said Eomer, with a small sigh, "then I want to raise the stakes a little higher."
"Do what you will."
"If I win, I go with you as an escort and you remove your hood." This statement infuriating Aila and she clutched her sword hilt all the tighter. "If you win, you are welcome to leave and go at will, but not search out your friends."
"You have added bonuses to your side, but not to mine," said Aila, not wanting to get cheated. "Why should I agree to your terms? When I have vowed not to remove my hood until the return of my friends? You wish me to contradict myself and disrespect my companions?" She was about to cry several profanities, one of the most prominent beginning in "f", but she restrained herself.
"If you win I give you leave to do whatever you will within the city, and to leave it without an escort for as long as you wish, granted you don't go in search of your friends. And when your friends arrive, I promise to give them all aid I possibly can."
"You will do that anyway," said Aila spitefully, "it's called hospitality. But I will accept your offer none-the-less." Ensuring that Greenleaf was securely on her finger, Aila smiled triumphantly to herself. Knowing that however good the lord was at sword fighting, she would be better.
He drew his long sword, glittering against the natural light of the hall, as Aila's sword glowed an unnatural blue, but not angrily, but rather sedately and calmly. This didn't bother Aila, because she didn't understand the sword too well. Had Legolas been there, versed on the Light Bearer prophecy, he would have warned her that the sword would no longer protect her against Eomer, because it knew he was no enemy and was not out to hurt her. Aila had no clue about this, however, but accepted her sword's color anyway. Each prepared for the fight before facing each other and touching their swords in salute.
"I wish you hadn't brought yourself to this," said Eomer, his face truly sorrowful, but Aila paid no more attention to him.
"Whatever," she said. "Good luck." With that the fight began. Immediately, Aila was surprised by his sword fighting skills, obviously he could do more than ride a horse and walk around royally. She matched him, thrust for thrust, their swords clanging as each attacked and defended when needed. A thought of using her mind wraiths flashed across Aila's mind, but she quickly pushed it away and concentrated wholly on the physical world. To use wraiths now was cheating.
She worked hard at keeping Eomer in front of her, so that she could see him from under her hood, but for such a tall man, he darted quickly and got to her sides more than she would have liked, playing his advantages of her hood. Continuing to do fairly well at keeping him in front of her, the fighting continued for what felt like an eternity, and Aila felt sweat collecting under her hood, her breath became labored. Eomer disappeared from her limited sight and she felt cold steel pressed into her back.
"Pax?" asked Eomer, in a much-too-proud voice, if she surrendered.
"Pax …" said Aila, drawing out the word, when she felt his sword retreat from her back, accepting her truce, she whirled around and brought her own sword clanging to his while she shouted, "NON!"
"Cheater," cried Eomer as they continued to fight. "You said pax, you cannot take that back."
"I said 'pax non' and you know it, you retreated far too quickly, Lord," she said his title spitefully. "Who is the cheater, you cad," she said, knowing to call him a cad was of the Arthurian ages (A/N: King Arthur … yeah). "You know very well I can't see my sides due to my cloak."
"You chose the handicap yourself, and then you said pax and took back your word. Who is the cad?"
"Still you," said Aila in a light voice, anger surging through her.
"I see now that your word means nothing. Win or not, you must take an escort with you when you leave my city, or you will go and find your friends, whether you promise or not." Infuriated, Aila strengthened her attacks and soon had him retreating quickly.
"Take it back!" she commanded, her voice deep and barking as if she were shouting AFJROTC commands at him. She kicked out and caught a foot behind his knee and pulled viciously forward. His knees buckled and he fell clashing to the floor. She quickly stepped on his forearm until he released his sword, which she kicked away just as fast. Sitting upon his chest, Aila held her sword to his throat.
"Pax?" she asked arrogantly, breathing hard.
"Pax non," grunted Eomer, as he dangerously shoved her from his chest and rolled over, pinning her to the ground in turn, grabbing her hands and held them to the hilt, but used his strength to put the sword to her own throat.
"Pax?" he asked, just as arrogantly.
"Pax non," she breathed heavily, struggling against his weight upon her chest.
"You must give in," said Eomer. "Pax?"
"Pax non," she repeated, struggling to breath. A worried expression crossed Eomer's face, but he didn't relent. Aila knew very well that she didn't have the strength to push him off as he had shoved her. She was light and he was strong, but in turn, she was weak and he was heavy.
"Pax?" he asked again, almost begging her to give in.
…
A/N: Hey, so that's chapter 30, interesting huh? Don't you just love it when people fight? I do. This was a fun sequence to write. I'm not so good with sword-fighting, or any kind of fighting except fist fighting, so I can't really describe it well, but I think everybody got the picture. (If anybody has ever read the Once and Future King, you know what I'm talking about with pax and pax non, but if you haven't, Pax sorta means 'I surrender' and pax non means 'I don't surrender' or 'I surrender not', get it?)
A/N: Mm, in Titan we actually didn't do too badly. We learned left and right oblique, which are a hard concept. But we didn't do too badly. I'm just worried about exhibition … and inspection. I hope nobody cries, that would be REALLY bad, since the Titan drill sergeants are so relatively nice …
…
Vainly trying to control her breathing once again, Aila pulled herself bodily from the tub, almost reluctantly. Wrapping the towel around her, sufficiently drying her hair, she pulled the cloak from the floor and set it about her shoulders once more, pulling the hood over her face.
"Lady," said the maid when she had walked through the door. "I have the dress for you to wear …"
"Dress?" asked Aila. "No, I'm not wearing a dress. Give me my traveling clothes back."
"Lady," said the maid, a bit impatiently, "those ratty traveling clothes are not to wear before the King of Riddermark!" Aila would have loved to cry out "Like I give a shit about the King of Riddermark!" but she knew she could not.
"Still," she said calmly from under her hood. "I do not wear a dress. Don't you have any breeches and a nice tunic."
"Only for men," said the maid pointedly.
"Then grab me some of those," Aila replied, causing the maid to throw her hands up in exasperation.
"Those are for men!" cried the maid. "They are not for feminine wear."
"I've never been one for 'feminine' wear myself," muttered Aila under her breath. "Why can't you people just wear pants?!" she cried, beginning to get quite angry. "Listen, all I care about is that I'm comforting and not flouting about in a ridiculous pink, frilly dress. Yes, I see that monstrosity you picked out for me and I'm appalled." She gestured toward the dress, which lay forlornly on the bed.
Its shade was a faded pink, more concentrated near the center of the dress. Lace flaunted the bottom half every half-foot or so until they ended in disgusting frills and curls at the base of the dress. It had tight, v-shaped long sleeves, that reached to a ridiculously low neckline.
"Trust me," said Aila, still looking disgustedly at it from under her hood. "A snowball has more a chance of surviving in hell, than you have of making me wear that."
Consenting, but angrily, the maid pulled the dress viciously from the sheets and left the room in a huff. Rolling her eyes and letting out a sigh, Aila flopped down to sit upon the bed, feeling quite exposed. She was only wrapped in a towel that hardly reached mid-thigh. Granted, she had some shorts that were shorter than that, but this was different … Her cloak helped minimally, covering her legs so that she felt draped in a blanket.
The minutes stretched into what seemed like hours, but still the maid did not return. A knock sounded lightly upon the door and Aila's head shot up.
"Well, it's about time," she snapped through the door, thoroughly in a bad mood. The door creaked open, but it wasn't the feet of the maid that met her minimal sightline due to the hood. Her visitor was wearing the heavy boots of a man, but he quickly turned around and stood upon the other side of the door. His feet shifted nervously, as if ashamed of walking in on her while she had on just a towel.
"I apologize, Lady," came Eomer's voice. "I came to invite you to a horse-ride with me so that I may show you around Riddermark. But I see that you are … 'engaged'"
"No, no," joked Aila, mocking his choice of words. "I'm actually quite single, but yes, I don't have any clothes yet … if that maid would get back with something other than a dress."
"Other than a dress, Lady?" She heard faint amusement in the Third Marshal's voice.
"Yes," snapped Aila, her joking mood dissipating once more. "Is this so hard to believe? You can't do very much in a dress. Try it sometime, Eomer. I'm sure you'd enjoy it," her tone held such bite that Eomer took a step back, but he almost fell over the maid, who was returning.
"Do this, do that," she was muttering to herself, mockingly. "Go get me some clothes, no, not a dress! I hate dresses! Not a snowball's chance in hell! Go get me men's clothing, so that I can truly look ridiculous, besides this cloak I wear about my face …"
"I may be partially blinded by this cloak," said Aila, turning to the maid's bitter voice. "But that doesn't mean I am not deaf! You have caught me in a bad mood, maid. This does not do you well--where did you put my sword?!"
"I'd be an idiot if I told you, would I not? Here, these are your man clothes. Enjoy them, 'Lady,'" Aila would have taken a swing at the maid, in her terrible mood, but she restrained herself, accepting the breeches and tunic that were handed her with a sarcastic grin.
"You're an idiot anyway," she said under her breath. She slammed the door as the maid bustled from the room, muttering to herself once more. Letting out a half scream of anger, Aila chastened herself for being so bitter. What could she do though? Boromir's death weighed heavily upon her mind, putting her in depression.
She sighed once more as she laid the clothes upon the bed. Never had she worried too much about creating outfits for fashionable purposes, but now she regretted the cold shoulder she had given to the fads. It had made her unsociable, but remarkably she maintained many friends. Fingering the straps that were to hold her socks up, she was strongly reminded of her old ROTC uniform's shirt girders. Those horrible elastic bands that had kept her socks from falling down and her shirt from coming un-tucked by connecting them. They were as uncomfortable as they were difficult to put on.
She pulled the stockings up, girders with them, and continued to dress herself in the pants, shirt, and tunic. The shirt was strange to her. It seemed the maid had managed to find a feminine shirt still, and it was full of wrinkles, giving it a smooth, creamy look. It's sleeves stretched down to the middle of her palm, and flared out slightly. Smiling, she neglected to tuck in the shirt, so that it flared out from under her tunic, on top of the pants, giving her a strange preppy-meets-rock-travels-back-in-time look. Always hating fashion, Aila couldn't help but smile at herself. This would probably be the next style. How fickle those fashion folk seemed to be …
Slipping out of the door before anybody else could come to see her, Aila wandered around Edoras, taking in its sight and watching its people as they went about their daily business. Receiving many strange looks, due to her cloak and covered face, Aila resolved to find a place that she could be alone with her thoughts.
Quite lost, she finally came to the stables and asked the stable-hand for a horse so that she could go find a place of solitude around the city.
"Sorry, Lady," said the man, in his strange Rohan accent. "But the Lord Eomer said you were not to leave the walls of this city without an escort."
"I can very well be my own escort," said Aila angrily, clenching her fists to her sides, fighting her overwhelming desire to draw her sword, which she hung dutifully at her side. The man's further refusal only angered her more. "Why does everyone think me helpless?" she cried, but it was a rhetorical question and she expected no answer, nor received one. "Where is Eomer?" she asked, her voice still held bite, but she thought she could at least try to reason with Eomer.
She stomped off in the direction that the stable-hand had directed her, her hands still clutched in fists at her side. Her cloak swept behind her and floated due to her speed, but her hood stayed firmly in place over her head. Her hair tickled her neck where the cloak held it, but she paid no attention.
"Eomer!" she cried, full of anger when she reached the Hall, passing Hama by with a sweep of her hand. Feeling considerably violent, she drew her sword before any could stop her, advancing upon the Lord who was walking in her direction down a corridor. He immediately stopped and raised his eyebrows, knowing she wasn't going to attack him. The men of the Mark all around him drew their swords, not knowing what she purposed and stood before their lord.
Frustrated and angry, Aila re-sheathed her sword and continued to walk towards Eomer, who was telling the men to put away their blades. When they continued to stand around their lord, still cautious of her, she pushed them roughly aside and stepped up to Eomer so that the top of her hood was under Eomer's chin. She stepped on his toes and took a shuddering breath of anger.
"Why can't I leave without an escort? I am not helpless!"
"The lands of Rohan are dangerous in these perilous times …"
"Oh shove it," she cried, stepping away from him. "I'm sick of this trash," she said, not caring whether she used slang or not. "There is no way to be alone in this city, and getting away from it is my only chance! Will you deny me privacy?"
"If I let you go," said Eomer, in a voice that exalted his ego, "you would go after you friends."
"And what if I gave you my word that I wouldn't?" she asked in a challenging manner, so desperate to be alone.
"And if I didn't accept your word?"
"I would fight you for it," she growled, reaching for the hilt of her sword once more. She smiled to herself, hidden under her hood, as she reached into a pocket of her tunic and pulled out Greenleaf, and placed it upon her finger. After she had said that, the men who were standing around watching began to laugh as if the notion were ridiculous. Aila, used to her threats being taken lightly in Middle Earth by now, turned her head menacingly toward them, her face hidden under her cloak. She knew she looked quite mysterious and frightful to them. Even Eomer stopped laughing.
"Don't joke of such things, Lady," even his tone was insulting to Aila, even though he didn't mean it, thoroughly thinking she was joking. Once more she drew her sword.
"Am I joking?" she asked searchingly, and Eomer caught the tone in her voice.
"You cannot be serious?" he asked, slightly horrified that she would put him up to fighting her.
"I am," was her cold reply. "If you win, I'll get an escort; but when I win," she said, not bothering to say if, "I get to go out of the city by myself, granted I don't run off in search of my friends."
"If I must fight you," said Eomer, with a small sigh, "then I want to raise the stakes a little higher."
"Do what you will."
"If I win, I go with you as an escort and you remove your hood." This statement infuriating Aila and she clutched her sword hilt all the tighter. "If you win, you are welcome to leave and go at will, but not search out your friends."
"You have added bonuses to your side, but not to mine," said Aila, not wanting to get cheated. "Why should I agree to your terms? When I have vowed not to remove my hood until the return of my friends? You wish me to contradict myself and disrespect my companions?" She was about to cry several profanities, one of the most prominent beginning in "f", but she restrained herself.
"If you win I give you leave to do whatever you will within the city, and to leave it without an escort for as long as you wish, granted you don't go in search of your friends. And when your friends arrive, I promise to give them all aid I possibly can."
"You will do that anyway," said Aila spitefully, "it's called hospitality. But I will accept your offer none-the-less." Ensuring that Greenleaf was securely on her finger, Aila smiled triumphantly to herself. Knowing that however good the lord was at sword fighting, she would be better.
He drew his long sword, glittering against the natural light of the hall, as Aila's sword glowed an unnatural blue, but not angrily, but rather sedately and calmly. This didn't bother Aila, because she didn't understand the sword too well. Had Legolas been there, versed on the Light Bearer prophecy, he would have warned her that the sword would no longer protect her against Eomer, because it knew he was no enemy and was not out to hurt her. Aila had no clue about this, however, but accepted her sword's color anyway. Each prepared for the fight before facing each other and touching their swords in salute.
"I wish you hadn't brought yourself to this," said Eomer, his face truly sorrowful, but Aila paid no more attention to him.
"Whatever," she said. "Good luck." With that the fight began. Immediately, Aila was surprised by his sword fighting skills, obviously he could do more than ride a horse and walk around royally. She matched him, thrust for thrust, their swords clanging as each attacked and defended when needed. A thought of using her mind wraiths flashed across Aila's mind, but she quickly pushed it away and concentrated wholly on the physical world. To use wraiths now was cheating.
She worked hard at keeping Eomer in front of her, so that she could see him from under her hood, but for such a tall man, he darted quickly and got to her sides more than she would have liked, playing his advantages of her hood. Continuing to do fairly well at keeping him in front of her, the fighting continued for what felt like an eternity, and Aila felt sweat collecting under her hood, her breath became labored. Eomer disappeared from her limited sight and she felt cold steel pressed into her back.
"Pax?" asked Eomer, in a much-too-proud voice, if she surrendered.
"Pax …" said Aila, drawing out the word, when she felt his sword retreat from her back, accepting her truce, she whirled around and brought her own sword clanging to his while she shouted, "NON!"
"Cheater," cried Eomer as they continued to fight. "You said pax, you cannot take that back."
"I said 'pax non' and you know it, you retreated far too quickly, Lord," she said his title spitefully. "Who is the cheater, you cad," she said, knowing to call him a cad was of the Arthurian ages (A/N: King Arthur … yeah). "You know very well I can't see my sides due to my cloak."
"You chose the handicap yourself, and then you said pax and took back your word. Who is the cad?"
"Still you," said Aila in a light voice, anger surging through her.
"I see now that your word means nothing. Win or not, you must take an escort with you when you leave my city, or you will go and find your friends, whether you promise or not." Infuriated, Aila strengthened her attacks and soon had him retreating quickly.
"Take it back!" she commanded, her voice deep and barking as if she were shouting AFJROTC commands at him. She kicked out and caught a foot behind his knee and pulled viciously forward. His knees buckled and he fell clashing to the floor. She quickly stepped on his forearm until he released his sword, which she kicked away just as fast. Sitting upon his chest, Aila held her sword to his throat.
"Pax?" she asked arrogantly, breathing hard.
"Pax non," grunted Eomer, as he dangerously shoved her from his chest and rolled over, pinning her to the ground in turn, grabbing her hands and held them to the hilt, but used his strength to put the sword to her own throat.
"Pax?" he asked, just as arrogantly.
"Pax non," she breathed heavily, struggling against his weight upon her chest.
"You must give in," said Eomer. "Pax?"
"Pax non," she repeated, struggling to breath. A worried expression crossed Eomer's face, but he didn't relent. Aila knew very well that she didn't have the strength to push him off as he had shoved her. She was light and he was strong, but in turn, she was weak and he was heavy.
"Pax?" he asked again, almost begging her to give in.
…
A/N: Hey, so that's chapter 30, interesting huh? Don't you just love it when people fight? I do. This was a fun sequence to write. I'm not so good with sword-fighting, or any kind of fighting except fist fighting, so I can't really describe it well, but I think everybody got the picture. (If anybody has ever read the Once and Future King, you know what I'm talking about with pax and pax non, but if you haven't, Pax sorta means 'I surrender' and pax non means 'I don't surrender' or 'I surrender not', get it?)