Disclaimers: Elena Gilbert, Stefan Salvatore and friends, along with the Vampire Diaries I - IV belong to L.J. Smith. Everything else belongs to me. No harm intended or money made from this fic.
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 14 December 2002
~ Twenty Six ~
Creaking sounded loud in his ear. Eiran held the position for a moment before releasing the arrow, hearing the bow spring back into position. With a thud, the arrow embedded itself in the target. Not a bull's eye but it was a darned sight better than he had been able to do four days ago.
He realized, as he shot another five arrows at the various targets set randomly before him, that his body was beginning to accustom itself to the weapon. The actions of drawing arrows, nocking, aiming and releasing were smoother, surer. He was more able to focus on externals now.
Standing to one side was his instructor, Jason. With sharp features and a neat goatee, he looked like he belonged in tunic and leggings with a feathered cap over his wavy brown hair. His expression was _not_, however, merry. The hunter had a habitually sour look on his face. Taura had assured the trainees that didn't have to do with their performance; Jason was just like that. Gruffly, the hunter nodded, before turning to scrutinize another archer behind him, dismissing Eiran for the day.
Eiran collected his equipment. Gunshots shook the air and the sound of metal on metal ran grating fingers down nerves as he picked a careful way through the various training sessions spread out on the lawn. Beneath the ruckus ran an undercurrent of subdued thudding of wood striking wood.
Even after nearly a year of being human again, he was sometimes disoriented by his senses. None of the Turned reverted completely to what they once were before they became vampires. A number retained a hint of the perfect beauty that vampirism had bequeathed them, or simply the quality of a predator. Some often wore a faintly haunted look, holdover of ghastly experiences.
Reflexes and senses, however, were a curious melding of the physical and the mental; the body remembered being able to do things beyond its physical capability and was sometimes taken aback by its limitations. Speed that was once effortless was now impossible; sights, sounds and scents that were once sensed were only half-detected, a remnant of an unconscious, uncanny knowledge. Sometimes, Eiran _knew_ that a particular sound was there because it _should_ be although his ears could not hear it.
It was like a deaf and blind person given sight and hearing and then having it taken away again. Or perhaps like an ordinary person walking around with a film over his eyes and cotton up his nose and in his ears.
Depositing his stuff on the fringe of another training group, he stepped up to a large, muscular woman. She smiled at him, sharp and quick, and motioned for a pair of – previously – non-combatants to stop their sparring.
"That's enough for you today, May-Ling. And here is Eiran to volunteer as a practice dummy for you, Nelson," she said, slyly. "Run through the moves you learned yesterday. Let's see how much a night's sleep has made you forget," she instructed him. She draped a hand around the slender Chinese girl as she led her away. Eiran could hear her counseling in a voice at once brisk and encouraging, unlike the merrily derogation she used on him. "Your footwork's better. Just remember to trust your body and your own instincts. You've got a _good_ head on those shoulders, not to mention all that ancestral knack..."
Elsa was a bundle of surprises. A tough fighter but wholly feminine, she treated most people with rough efficiency that demanded excellence. There were a number of her 'students', however, who would not have fared well with that treatment and the female warrior seemed to know that. These she treated... well, differently. Not so gently that they felt conspicuous but tenderly enough that they did not retreat into themselves.
Eiran and Nelson took up a fighting stance opposite each other and began the exercise. Most of the non-combatants focused on a single weapon but Eiran did double training in archery and hand-to-hand combat. In his bag of equipment was a pair of nasty wooden claws that were meant to be fastened to the back of his hands like a second set of fingers. Wearing those and with fists clenched, he was ready to do a fair bit of damage, slashing and ripping, but he didn't often use it in practice.
He had decided on archery because it was a clean, removed way of fighting. Hand-to-hand combat he had chosen because he knew that he would need close fighting knowledge if he ever had to protect Elena from physical harm. As he blocked his sparring partner's hits and struck his own, Eiran reminded himself that he wasn't the only one undergoing double training.
Across the field, Elena exchanged blows with Sheila under the watchful eye of Seth. It was almost like dancing, this weapons work. You learned the steps and learned them well and you learned the sequence. Somewhere along the way, you broke away from the formula and your body took the intention of the mind and translated it into a combination of steps that were appropriate, making it no longer individual moves but a flowing arrangement. You learned to weave a pattern to entrap your opponent.
Perspiration coated her skin but Elena felt strangely elated, alive, as she whirled and spun the once-heavy lance. The aching of overused muscles had faded over the last two days and she felt more in tune with her body than she ever had. Today, Seth had presented her with a new staff, slimmer and lighter but every bit as tough as the earlier one. Sheila wielded a different sort of lance, flexible where Elena's was firm. The wildly rebounding stick wobbled threateningly and Elena had to concentrate on its rhythm to ensure she did not get hurt. Seth had taught the two girls how to use the features of each weapon to their own advantage and exploit the weakness of the opponent's weapon.
Sheila dealt her a particularly ruthless bash, jarring her bones as the rigid wood translated the shock up into her fingers. Clenching her teeth, Elena caught the end of Sheila's spear with her staff, stilled the wobbling with a quick turn and bent it to her own design. The ex-vampire lost control of her rebounding weapon. Her grip slipped and Elena managed to strike the flexible rod aside, disarming her foe.
Seth, hands on his hips, motioned for one of the spectators to retrieve the lance as the two girls turned to him. "Better," he said, in his sparse way. "Maybe we won't put up a bad showing next week, after all."
Next week was planned as a free for all with people using different weapons going up against each other. Next week was also the time the witches had promised a number of the hunter-trainers a clean bill of health. Taura looked forward to that with great anticipation. Needless to say, training would step up a notch in intensity then.
Seth waved a hand at them to go away. "Rest. Tomorrow is a new day," he said rhetorically. His group gathered their gear and headed to the mansion. Most did not need the Jacuzzi anymore but a hot shower was still welcome.
Elena moved with them, only half paying attention to the happy chatter. The past four days had the curious quality of seeming a long time and yet no time at all. In that time, although the line between Turned and hunter had not been blurred, at least both parties had drawn closer together. A number, particularly among the trainers, had become staple presences among the non-combatants and were learning that there was more to the peaceable group than met the eye. Elena had caught a look of surprise and mild respect a time or two when a trainee made a particularly ingenious move or said something unexpected. With the lessening of antagonism, the non-combatants in turn, were beginning to come forward and shine. Elena was glad.
For herself, her days were filled with weapons training and generally working with the people around her, her nights taken up with being pounded on with raw Power by Jerrick. If she was making progress in the latter, it was imperceptible. She sighed with frustration, earning curious looks from her fellow trainees, which she didn't notice.
On the bright side, she fell into bed exhausted at the end of each day and all this activity left her little time to brood and pine for a certain green-eyed vampire during the day.
She paused as they reached the mansion and the others flowed past her. Dust motes caught the light and the orange of the setting sun was glaring as she looked back on the lawn that was their daily practice field. A number of individuals were putting in additional hours or learning night-fighting. Some had come late and were just getting started. Elena noticed Eiran sparring with Elsa wearing those nasty-looking wooden claws of his. A little removed from them, a band of stubbornly contemptuous vampire hunters were carrying out their own exercises.
Despite all the frenetic activity, Elena felt a restlessness in the air, a sense of waiting among hunter, the Turned and the witches alike. There was no clear direction or target for them; 'what's next?' was on many minds. They didn't know it yet but the answer would come soon.
It would come tonight.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I know this one's rather long-winded. Feedback is, of course, much craved. =)
Notes:
~ Chapter ~
::Thoughts or telepathy::
_emphasis or italics_
Date posted: 14 December 2002
~ Twenty Six ~
Creaking sounded loud in his ear. Eiran held the position for a moment before releasing the arrow, hearing the bow spring back into position. With a thud, the arrow embedded itself in the target. Not a bull's eye but it was a darned sight better than he had been able to do four days ago.
He realized, as he shot another five arrows at the various targets set randomly before him, that his body was beginning to accustom itself to the weapon. The actions of drawing arrows, nocking, aiming and releasing were smoother, surer. He was more able to focus on externals now.
Standing to one side was his instructor, Jason. With sharp features and a neat goatee, he looked like he belonged in tunic and leggings with a feathered cap over his wavy brown hair. His expression was _not_, however, merry. The hunter had a habitually sour look on his face. Taura had assured the trainees that didn't have to do with their performance; Jason was just like that. Gruffly, the hunter nodded, before turning to scrutinize another archer behind him, dismissing Eiran for the day.
Eiran collected his equipment. Gunshots shook the air and the sound of metal on metal ran grating fingers down nerves as he picked a careful way through the various training sessions spread out on the lawn. Beneath the ruckus ran an undercurrent of subdued thudding of wood striking wood.
Even after nearly a year of being human again, he was sometimes disoriented by his senses. None of the Turned reverted completely to what they once were before they became vampires. A number retained a hint of the perfect beauty that vampirism had bequeathed them, or simply the quality of a predator. Some often wore a faintly haunted look, holdover of ghastly experiences.
Reflexes and senses, however, were a curious melding of the physical and the mental; the body remembered being able to do things beyond its physical capability and was sometimes taken aback by its limitations. Speed that was once effortless was now impossible; sights, sounds and scents that were once sensed were only half-detected, a remnant of an unconscious, uncanny knowledge. Sometimes, Eiran _knew_ that a particular sound was there because it _should_ be although his ears could not hear it.
It was like a deaf and blind person given sight and hearing and then having it taken away again. Or perhaps like an ordinary person walking around with a film over his eyes and cotton up his nose and in his ears.
Depositing his stuff on the fringe of another training group, he stepped up to a large, muscular woman. She smiled at him, sharp and quick, and motioned for a pair of – previously – non-combatants to stop their sparring.
"That's enough for you today, May-Ling. And here is Eiran to volunteer as a practice dummy for you, Nelson," she said, slyly. "Run through the moves you learned yesterday. Let's see how much a night's sleep has made you forget," she instructed him. She draped a hand around the slender Chinese girl as she led her away. Eiran could hear her counseling in a voice at once brisk and encouraging, unlike the merrily derogation she used on him. "Your footwork's better. Just remember to trust your body and your own instincts. You've got a _good_ head on those shoulders, not to mention all that ancestral knack..."
Elsa was a bundle of surprises. A tough fighter but wholly feminine, she treated most people with rough efficiency that demanded excellence. There were a number of her 'students', however, who would not have fared well with that treatment and the female warrior seemed to know that. These she treated... well, differently. Not so gently that they felt conspicuous but tenderly enough that they did not retreat into themselves.
Eiran and Nelson took up a fighting stance opposite each other and began the exercise. Most of the non-combatants focused on a single weapon but Eiran did double training in archery and hand-to-hand combat. In his bag of equipment was a pair of nasty wooden claws that were meant to be fastened to the back of his hands like a second set of fingers. Wearing those and with fists clenched, he was ready to do a fair bit of damage, slashing and ripping, but he didn't often use it in practice.
He had decided on archery because it was a clean, removed way of fighting. Hand-to-hand combat he had chosen because he knew that he would need close fighting knowledge if he ever had to protect Elena from physical harm. As he blocked his sparring partner's hits and struck his own, Eiran reminded himself that he wasn't the only one undergoing double training.
Across the field, Elena exchanged blows with Sheila under the watchful eye of Seth. It was almost like dancing, this weapons work. You learned the steps and learned them well and you learned the sequence. Somewhere along the way, you broke away from the formula and your body took the intention of the mind and translated it into a combination of steps that were appropriate, making it no longer individual moves but a flowing arrangement. You learned to weave a pattern to entrap your opponent.
Perspiration coated her skin but Elena felt strangely elated, alive, as she whirled and spun the once-heavy lance. The aching of overused muscles had faded over the last two days and she felt more in tune with her body than she ever had. Today, Seth had presented her with a new staff, slimmer and lighter but every bit as tough as the earlier one. Sheila wielded a different sort of lance, flexible where Elena's was firm. The wildly rebounding stick wobbled threateningly and Elena had to concentrate on its rhythm to ensure she did not get hurt. Seth had taught the two girls how to use the features of each weapon to their own advantage and exploit the weakness of the opponent's weapon.
Sheila dealt her a particularly ruthless bash, jarring her bones as the rigid wood translated the shock up into her fingers. Clenching her teeth, Elena caught the end of Sheila's spear with her staff, stilled the wobbling with a quick turn and bent it to her own design. The ex-vampire lost control of her rebounding weapon. Her grip slipped and Elena managed to strike the flexible rod aside, disarming her foe.
Seth, hands on his hips, motioned for one of the spectators to retrieve the lance as the two girls turned to him. "Better," he said, in his sparse way. "Maybe we won't put up a bad showing next week, after all."
Next week was planned as a free for all with people using different weapons going up against each other. Next week was also the time the witches had promised a number of the hunter-trainers a clean bill of health. Taura looked forward to that with great anticipation. Needless to say, training would step up a notch in intensity then.
Seth waved a hand at them to go away. "Rest. Tomorrow is a new day," he said rhetorically. His group gathered their gear and headed to the mansion. Most did not need the Jacuzzi anymore but a hot shower was still welcome.
Elena moved with them, only half paying attention to the happy chatter. The past four days had the curious quality of seeming a long time and yet no time at all. In that time, although the line between Turned and hunter had not been blurred, at least both parties had drawn closer together. A number, particularly among the trainers, had become staple presences among the non-combatants and were learning that there was more to the peaceable group than met the eye. Elena had caught a look of surprise and mild respect a time or two when a trainee made a particularly ingenious move or said something unexpected. With the lessening of antagonism, the non-combatants in turn, were beginning to come forward and shine. Elena was glad.
For herself, her days were filled with weapons training and generally working with the people around her, her nights taken up with being pounded on with raw Power by Jerrick. If she was making progress in the latter, it was imperceptible. She sighed with frustration, earning curious looks from her fellow trainees, which she didn't notice.
On the bright side, she fell into bed exhausted at the end of each day and all this activity left her little time to brood and pine for a certain green-eyed vampire during the day.
She paused as they reached the mansion and the others flowed past her. Dust motes caught the light and the orange of the setting sun was glaring as she looked back on the lawn that was their daily practice field. A number of individuals were putting in additional hours or learning night-fighting. Some had come late and were just getting started. Elena noticed Eiran sparring with Elsa wearing those nasty-looking wooden claws of his. A little removed from them, a band of stubbornly contemptuous vampire hunters were carrying out their own exercises.
Despite all the frenetic activity, Elena felt a restlessness in the air, a sense of waiting among hunter, the Turned and the witches alike. There was no clear direction or target for them; 'what's next?' was on many minds. They didn't know it yet but the answer would come soon.
It would come tonight.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I know this one's rather long-winded. Feedback is, of course, much craved. =)