A/N; Haha… I'm running out of ideas for what happens in Arya's life before the book. XD So if any of you want to make any suggestions… I'm all up for them. ;D

By the wayyy… There is an OC in this chapter, as… well, it's kind of hard to do this without having an OC. x3;;

Ooookaaaayyy!

Another chapter, here we go! ^^

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"It is a skill that you must maintain, as you never know when you will need it. If you combine agility and speed along with the optional addition of grace, there will be few who can best you in it. Swordsmanship is important, and your training will not be taken lightly. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Isyel-ebrithil," came the response, sounding out in a dutiful voice.

"Good. Let us begin."

At that, Isyel began reciting many different instructions and directions for Arya to memorize. It was an extensive list, and she knew that she would have to learn these lessons many more times before she would be able to understand all of it.

Isyel wasn't a boring teacher—quite the contrary. The subject he taught, however, didn't appeal too much to Arya, as she was of a more gentle nature than swordsmanship allowed in a person. She eyed the blade she carried warily, uncertain whether or not she would ever be able to wield such a weapon of destruction in battle.

"Do you have any questions, Arya?"

The query caused Arya to jolt back from her thoughts. "N-no, Isyel-ebrithil," she responded, trying to make it appear as if she had been listening for the whole entire time. In truth, she had blanked out on about half of what Isyel had said—but she was never going to admit it unless she had to.

"Then guard your blade," her mentor directed. When she simply stared back at him with a puzzled look, he gave a sigh. "Arya, I will ask again: do you have any questions?"

Hating the fact that he was getting exasperated with her, she nodded and tried to patch things up. "What do you mean by guarding my blade?" she asked.

Isyel seemed to be pleased at the fact that she had gotten over her pride and was admitting that she had some difficulties. "Think of it this way: if you and I were to pursue combat without any protection, we would without a doubt injure each other severely—not to mention what would happen after some new techniques are drilled in to your head. So, in order to prevent this…" He left off here, raising an eyebrow in a way that suggested Arya to give an answer.

"…We must guard our blades," Arya said, giving a satisfied nod.

"Yes. Now, repeat after me… Though you know the proper words in order to guard your blade, it is best to make certain that you know for sure."

The two of them progressed to guard their blades. Once that was complete, Arya looked to Isyel for instruction. The two stood there, doing nothing except holding their swords. Arya took this time to examine her sword, as well as Isyel's. Both of their weapons were of similar construction; light and fast, a sense of grace etched in to the sword's entire being.

Suddenly, Isyel's head jerked up from looking down at the ground. "Begin," he uttered, then continued to strike with a sharp jab, which Arya swiftly blocked, though it was last minute. Though she tried her hardest, she could not even begin to think about trying a blow on Isyel—she was forever on the defense against his rain of attacks. At last, Arya pulled back.

"I forfeit," she said, casting her eyes downward as she awaited Isyel's reprimand.

It did not come.

Instead, Arya's head snapped up as a blow from the flat of his sword hit her right side.

Arya wasn't weak, but she knew pain when she felt it. Her hands flew to her side and she gave an exclamation of recognition to the now sore spot. Eventually, the pain dulled down to a slight throb, and she knew there would be a bruise there later.

Though she knew it was disrespectful, she glared at Isyel. "What did you do that for?" she demanded, eyes narrowing.

Isyel heaved yet another one of his sighs as he gazed straight in to the green eyes of his pupil. "You must understand the concept of fighting until the death, Arya," he explained, bringing his sword to rest at his side. "In real battle, what you just did would be considered an act of cowardice, and would be a complete and utter death wish. You want to fight to the death, do you understand?"

Arya mulled over Isyel's words for a moment. She knew that he wanted an immediate answer, but it didn't hurt to think, did it? "But what do I have to fight for?" she asked, not letting the topic get away easily.

"That," Isyel said, "is something that you must decide for yourself."

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Arya collapsed on her bed in her quarters, exhausted. She pressed the palm of her right hand to her forehead, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She ached all over from her training with Isyel. Elves apparently had more stamina and endurance than humans—or so she had heard—but that just meant that elves had longer training sessions, which still wore them out—and Arya was no exception.

Of course, she could easily go and complain to her mother about Isyel, and Arya would receive a new mentor that would be easier on her… but something inside Arya said no to this idea. When she thought about it, a part of her, a more competitive side, said that Isyel was there as somewhat of a test—a test to try her patience and her ability to learn. This was nothing but a challenge—and Arya was determined to win.

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"Again."

Arya once more began a series of attacks that were on a basic level, according to Isyel. To her, there were difficult, and she couldn't help but get a little frustrated as Isyel continuously, in a monotone voice, said the word:

"Again."

Every single time she completed the set of moves, she expected to be given a slight bit of praise—but it never happened.

"Again."

"Would it kill you to say anything else besides 'again'?" Arya hissed through her teeth, her irritation mounting up.

"Once more, then."

It took most of Arya's willpower to not roll her eyes at this statement, though she did comply with Isyel's words. Stepping to the right, she whipped around quickly in a circular motion, bringing her blade striking through the air. The momentum from this swing, however, proved to be too much, sending Arya straight to the ground, her sword gone from her grasp.

Arya groaned and sat up. Isyel was right beside her in an instant, extending his arm, which held her sword. Feeling relatively demoralized, Arya took the blade from him and exhaled deeply. "I'm hopeless," she muttered underneath her breath, hoping that no one heard her.

Her hopes weren't given to her, however. Isyel, hearing her words, looked at her intently as if studying her. "Do it again slowly," he said, not unkindly. "You almost have it."

Arya nodded. Despite the fact that his words weren't in the context that would ordinarily classify them as encouragement, she took heart in what he said. Determined to do it right this time, she settled herself in a ready position, letting the sounds of the forest fill her ears for a moment before she began.

She inhaled deeply and then commenced the pattern. She took a delicate step to the right, spinning around once more in a circular movement. Her actions this time, however, were slower, and much more thoughtfully planned out. With a sense of grace, Arya brought her sword around in a sweeping motion—peaceful, yet deadly during battle.

The female elf continued while her mentor watched on. Each movement transferred lithely to another, running like fluid. During some points, Arya felt as if she were about to falter in her movements, but nonetheless, she took a chance and went on, even daring to speed up.

In a matter of minutes, the elf had finished the sword dance. She ended with an extra flourish: bringing her sword behind her back so that it curved diagonal from her right shoulder to her left hip. Her ending wasn't exactly perfection, however, as she stumbled slightly before managing to stand still. Nevertheless, a sense of contentment filled Arya.

That, however, wasn't enough. Slowly drawing her gaze up, she looked to Isyel, waiting for his judgment.

"That was…" he began, his voice monotone. For a few seconds, Arya thought that he was going to start giving her a lecture on something she had done wrong during the procedure. What he said next, however, made her smile. "…The best I've seen in a while."

"Thank you, ebrithil," Arya answered, barely containing her excitement. Subconsciously, it dawned on her that she didn't necessarily have to address Isyel as 'ebrithil' due to the fact that she was a princess, and thus of higher standing than him no matter what, but somehow, simply calling him Isyel would seem… disrespectful and out of place. He had seen many more years than her, making him wise beyond her own years.

"Now," Isyel said, briskly changing topics. "We shall duel. Guard your blade."

Arya nodded and obeyed, even though she would have preferred a little more time discussing about how well she had done. No matter, Arya. You can't allow yourself to expect praise all the time.

Readying herself, Arya waited for Isyel's cue to begin. As she had been training with him for a while now, she had somewhat learned how to react within a few moments of him uttering his consent to begin.

"Begin."

Once the word was said, Arya instantly leapt in to action. Her previous success with the sword dance caused her to be rather daring today as she attempted moves that she herself didn't even fully understand. This technique worked relatively well until she happened to find herself so tangled up that she wasn't exactly sure which way to move. Isyel instantly sensed her confusion and without delay attacked, though Arya managed to assume a regular position quick enough to defend.

It was a tough match for both of them, teacher and student alike. In the end, the flat of Arya's blade ended up pressed to Isyel's left shoulder, with his own blade pressed against Arya's as if restraining her from using a sweeping motion.

They both broke off at this time, panting.

"Well fought, Isyel-ebrithil," Arya commented, a hint of a wry smile brushing her lips as she brought her sword to rest at her side.

"And I must say the same to you, Arya," Isyel responded, giving her a nod. "You have learned well—there is not much else for me to teach you in swordsmanship. However, there are still a few lessons, and I believe that it would do you good to know a little bit about them…"

Arya inwardly groaned here, but she kept a normal, unbiased demeanor on the outside. "Yes, ebrithil."

"…But first, why don't we put your swordsmanship to the test a little more?" Isyel added to his previous statement, a smile twinkling in his eyes. "You started out not liking swordsmanship very much… how do you feel about it now?" he asked.

"It's… all right," Arya admitted, shrugging. Though a sword wasn't exactly her weapon of choice (as she preferred to use a bow and arrow), she had found herself gradually getting used to holding and wielding the weapon. There were even some occurrences when she found herself rather liking the ability to swing the gleaming piece of metal around with a sense of dignity and elegance.

"Just all right?" Isyel asked, but then pursued the topic no further, as a new presence had made himself known—Arya could tell by the way Isyel's eyes flickered away from her to behind her. She turned, and saw Faolin walking from the expanse of the forest.

"Right on time, Faolin-vodhr. Welcome," Isyel greeted. "I've asked you here in order to test your skills against Arya's."

Faolin nodded, turning his silvery eyes on Arya. "Well then," he began, grinning. "I'm sure it's something that we're both looking forward to."

Arya, in turn, let a smile flit across her face before she nodded her approval of the challenge.

Positioning themselves in a ready stance after making sure that their blades were guarded, they waited for Isyel.

"Commence."

Immediately, both Faolin and Arya entered in to combat mode, jabbing and parrying whenever needed. As Arya continued dueling with Faolin, she noted that Faolin seemed to remain consistent with his attacks, keeping them all the same, whereas she simply attacked with whatever moves happened to fit the situation.

Faolin was a good warrior, although he wasn't exactly light on his feet. He made up for that, however, by keeping his moves thorough, always making sure that they did what they were supposed to do.

It was apparent that both elves had a certain level of determination, for neither of them faltered, not even when they were panting, with sweat forming on their brow. When one appeared to have the upper hand, the other was to never be underestimated, for they would often come back with a stronger move.

The sound of swords clanging against each other filled the air, metal against metal.