(A/N): In this chapter, I used some Hylian words so if you don't know what they mean, here they are:
Piántile- Father (Gender specific, masculine)
piante- Parent (Gender neutral)
Ashei
It was cold.
The powerful gales felt like razor against her frail skin. Invisible knives dug through her white cheeks and buried deeply unto her pained knuckles and numb legs. Her lips, which were once as red as apples, quickly turned blue because of the low temperatures that now surrounded her. She wasn't used to so much cold, she didn't need to back at Castle Town; back at home...
"This isn't home."
She grew pale and was prompt to sicknesses during the first months up there.
During those times of flu and warm rabbit soup, she would often crawl from her cozy haven made of pillows and animal skins to peek out the snow-covered window and see her father training outside. He was busy most of the day either cutting wood, removing the snow from the cabin's door, getting something for dinner (tiny boars or rabbits), or training with his sword.
She enjoyed watching him during his time of training. She loved to see him covered on that thick, silver armor. It seemed elegant and quite impassable. A breastplate detailed with ornaments and inscriptions depicting the Holy Relic and Hyrule's symbol: the Phoenix, covered the wearer's chest. And rough chain mail embraced uncovered limbs and his torso, giving extra protection in case the first barrier was trespassed by a halberd or some other weapon.
Her father always carried a thin rapier next to his waist. The blade was long and dangerous, even if didn't look like it. It could cut down trees easily and she instantly imagined the same effect with skin... or bone. She stared intrigued through the window. Every day, she studied his moves: how he elegantly took the sword from out its sheath as it gave out a hissing sound that echoed all around the zone. That particular ring the sword made once it was unsheathed made her spine chill. Somehow, it was an extremely pleasant thing to hear. To her, it seemed almost like a voice, a female's voice crying out about freedom. So she kept watching him interested.
Yet it was not him to whom she was paying attention. At times, she found herself staring intently at the sword. How it cut the harsh wind with naught but one simple swing. Vertical, horizontal, a jump slice, a stab...
"Woah..."
Her father swung the blade with incredible speed, moving his body in the same direction the weapon was headed. Then he stopped swinging and positioned the blade in a vertical manner, next to his face. He stood his ground. His eyes studied the area carefully and the sword remained in its same position. He bent his knees slightly, as if he was crouching, preparing himself. She held her breath, waiting. What kind of technique was that? Was it new? Certainly, she hadn't seen it before. Then, he struck. Swinging horizontally with the rapier to his left, he quickly threw his feet forward and sprung toward the ground. Once he landed on the white cushion he landed on his side and rolled his body, circling where he once stood, and then leapt back up, sword ready, and swung at his invisible foes. He continued fighting the wind afterwards.
She stared amazed. Her breath getting stuck on the glass once she let out the air she had kept bottled up before her father had done such an astounding move. How could he do that? That way of controlling the blade and your own body seemed something so simple and yet, she could tell by her father's tired eyes that it was not as easy as it seemed.
She coughed. A battle cry reached her ears again. She looked back through the window and saw her father still battling a mysterious and cold enemy only he could see. He swung his word in different directions (yet never aimlessly). He stopped and took some distance from the unseen rival. Then he parried a blow, snow fluttering around him, and with a final cry for victory, he dug the rapier unto the bark of a tree.
´He won.´ She assumed satisfied.
Quickly, and without even taking something to cover her sick body with, the young girl slipped out of her bed and reached for the cabin's door. The warm atmosphere that had been created by the fireplace's heat was soon interrupted when she opened the door. She was badly welcomed by the eternal winter from outside. Her voice grew rough and low as snow hastily covered her sick body without mercy for a child her age.
"Piántile!" She panted with excitement, her heart bumping quickly against her small chest.
The bearded swordsman turned instantly at the sound of her muffled voice escaping her blue lips. His exhausted brow changed to a frown as soon as he spotted her outside wearing no cape or anything to cover her exposed shoulders.
"Ashei!" he hollered across the endless whisper of the blizzard, "What are you doing out here?! You're sick!"
He easily removed the sword from the tree trunk, placed it back inside its sheath, and trudged through snow until he stood before the raven-haired child. He removed his fur cape and placed it around his daughter's shivering skin. She looked at the warm cape and then stared directly at her piante's brown, concerned eyes.
"Go back inside. I'll prepare you some soup in a moment," he said, gesturing to the door with one finger.
She looked down shamefully, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to distract you from your training..."
"But you did."
Her next sentence got stuck in her throat. She held the cape closer to her shivering body. If her legs continued shaking so hard, then they wouldn't be able to handle her weight any longer.
"Your cold will worsen if you don't rest. Go back inside." He repeated.
"Piántile..." she looked back up, determined. "Teach me how to wield your sword!" she almost choked, afraid that he may laugh at her request.
Certainly, there were no female soldiers in the Royal Guard. Her father had told her that, and if he hadn't mentioned it, she would have noticed eventually anyway. Back at Castle Town, whenever there came new recruits to train with her father, they were always males.
"That's a ridiculous petition." He barked (as she had expected him to do). "I haven't trained a woman in all my years as High Commander of the Royal Guard."
Ashei stared at him straight in the eye with her own brown pools. She quivered uncontrollably but not because of the cold. She was nervous, scared, terrified that he might neglect her wish to become a swordsman like him just because she was a woman. That just seemed so unfair to her.
"But Piántile...!" she protested but was hushed.
"I have never trained a woman and will never train one. Knowing the same techniques and commanding a sword with skill will never make her equal to a man. Women don't fight."
She said no more.
"...Yet," he placed a big hand on Ashei's shoulder, "I can't train you as my daughter, but I can train you as my son."