Disclaimer: Fire Emblem does not belong to me.

Title: Swordplay - Prologue
Rating: T
Summary: In which Eirika learns to use a sword. Pre-game, eventual AU.
Status: Incomplete

Started: 13 January 2007
Edited: 27 April 2009
Word Count: 1,270
Posted: 27 April 2009

Last Edited: 10 Sept 2010 for formatting

Author's Note: This was the beginning of what was going to be my beserker!Eirika fic, but only this was written. Please also note that this was written around the first chapter of Crossroad, and the writing is a little embarrassing for me. Review replies will be located at the end of the chapter.

There are times when I doubt everything. When nothing seems certain and I want to scream and shout. Those are the times when I want to draw my blade and swing it down, ignoring the grace a rapier deserves, and let it destroy anything it should meet.

These are the times when I want to see blood running down my blade. I want to see it run in little rivulets down my blade and drip into puddles on the will-be blood-soaked ground. I want to feel the slippery blood on my hands, making it hard to grip my sword. I want to be able to smell that utterly distinct smell so clearly that I can lick it off my lips. I want to lick it off my blade and smile as the taste fills my senses and see the empty eyes of my enemy.

It scares me. It is not in my disposition to be so – Although I have fought in many battles and killed many soldiers, I have never enjoyed it. I never felt a sense of accomplishment or pride, only a deep sadness that I had taken someone's brother or sister. I enjoy practicing my swordplay, but only because it is necessary and no one is ever killed in these practices.

I am a calm person. When I was younger, I rarely ever threw fits. When faced with an upsetting prospect, I pouted a bit, and then went on with things, accepting them. That acceptance seems so strange now. On the rare occasion I did get upset, I was angry; my temper was – and is – molten, slow flowing and scalding. There was little for me to do with that anger. I found no satisfaction in stabbing pretty designs onto pillows, or planning which feuding dignitaries should sit next to each other at dinners. No, I wanted to hit something and hear it smash with a satisfying crunch. . .

My anger was like the exotic candy Father would bring home; it sweetly melted in your mouth, and I always begged him for another. . . My fervor was fickle; Ephraim, Father, or Mother would always be around whenever it rose within me, and I knew they would be disgusted by my frightful behavior. Father and Mother never noticed those near fits I had, but Ephraim did. It was he who first encouraged me to pick up the sword.

His logic may seem flawed, letting a troubled child hold a sword, but no. He was absolutely right, and I am eternally grateful to him for it. He let me take the sword out of his hands and throw it around foolishly, trying to hit things. Then he would place his hand over mine and show me what I should have done. His strong voice was like the sound of the ocean, and the anger was washed away, worn away into smooth sand. His lessons helped me a great deal. Had he not offered me that opportunity, I fear the terrible lust would have risen much sooner.

I started fencing with Ephraim regularly, but soon after his fascination with the spear began. He still practiced swordplay with me, but my rudimentary skills soon matched his. Eventually, he stopped progressing with the sword completely with his tutors, and concentrated solely on the spear. He excelled at it, and I watched in wonder how he worked with it. Once, I asked him to show me how to use it. After grabbing it incorrectly and waving it around, I instantly decided I didn't like it. It was too long and too unbalanced; I often lost my grip and almost took off my head. It was nothing like his sword. . .

And so, Ephraim kept his spear and gave me his sword. I was quite delighted with it.

He told me he couldn't teach me anymore. I had learned everything he had to teach me and said I should get proper instruction. He said he was hardly a worthy substitute for a proper teacher. I knew he was correct, but was hesitant to agree; Ephraim had always taught me secretly. No one even knew that I had ever held a sword, let alone knew how to use it. I was afraid I would be laughed at for my ignorance. I was sure Ephraim praised me too much, and my skills were sorely lacking. So I politely refused, hoping to save myself the shame.

Of course, it didn't stay that way.

It was a cold, sunny day in spring when it happened. Ephraim couldn't spar with me that day, and I longed to see him work with his spear; it was a beautiful thing to see, its own art. So, I settled for the next best thing. I went to watch the soldiers and recruits, although at the time I didn't know the difference between the two, practice.

I stepped onto the wooden railing and leaned over to watch. The soldiers were dressed in ill-fit shirts and pants that were obscenely dirty, and their faces were covered with sweat, I could smell the stables and the sweat, but I ignored all of that. I watched with wide-eyed fascination at the difference in style. Some attacked without any care for defense, while others just defended. Some used axes, others used lances. And of course, some used swords.

One of the soldiers noticed me and nodded his head towards me, tapping his sword against the ground. His partner sheathed his sword and looked over to me.

He smiled and said, "Princess, what are you doing here?"

I replied honestly, "I wanted to see."

"You're always watching," he laughed. I had to agree whole-heartedly. Ephraim had started taking me to watch them since he started teaching me. Many of the soldiers regarded me fondly for coming every rest day; they probably missed their own daughters and sisters.

"It's not even rest day yet."

"I wanted to watch," I said again.

"Why don't you do more for a change?"

My life, then, took an inexplicable turn.

I looked up at him and replied with the exuberance only a child could muster, "Really!"

"Of course, Princess," he said gently.

I stumbled over the fence with my dress and shakily landed in the practice field. He handed me his sword. "Be careful," he said. "Although these are for wooden, for practice only, they still hurt."

"Alright."

I grasped the sword in my hand and looked at the soldier. He was young, really young compared to the other soldiers practicing. A recruit, I thought. His hair was a soft shade of red that looked nothing at all like the blood I craved. . . It was the shade of red sunsets, or sunrises. It was cut distressingly short and made his head look too large for his body.

Taking his partner's sword, he asked, "Ready?"

"Yes!"

He slowly walked towards me and I saw the hilt move for an attack on my left. I blocked it without thought.

It didn't take long for him to realized I had done this before, and his false slowness – he had some consideration for the fact I was wearing a dress and he wasn't – gave way to a smooth cadence. I tried blocking; I couldn't even hit him. It ended with my foot getting caught in my skit, and a gentle hit to my shoulder.

"Good job, Princess."

"Really?" I replied puzzled.

"Yes. Would you like to try again tomorrow?"

"Yes!" He smiled, and I made to smile, but I already was.

And so, I started learning how to use a sword, properly this time.

Silvara: "Muted sadness" was what I was going for. The reason the pacing is so quick is… well, that's why it was filed here; I never felt it was fully completed. There was a lot of development missing. Sigh. Thank you for reviewing!

NewPaladin: I agree the beginning is quite easily OOC, and I never wrote the backstory leading to this; that's why I put the chapter here. I don't feel it's really been completed. Thanks for the review!