Author: Triane
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Except Iona. Everything else belongs to someone else.
Summary: Iona begins her training, and finds her thoughts on her situation have changed.
Tristan, Iona found, was a patient and thorough and completely aggravating teacher.
It seemed to take forever for her to master shooting an arrow vaguely in the right direction, and Tristan wouldn't let her stop until she shot one into the exact centre of the target he had set up. Then she had to work until she could shoot a dozen arrows into the same spot without missing once, even with the other knights popping up in unexpected places to distract her.
Then she had to follow Tristan's voice, shooting at different targets as he called them, to simulate the instant and random threats on a battlefield.
And once she could do all that, she had to do it running.
And once she could do that, she had to do it on a galloping horse.
Tristan soon learned to ignore her when she started muttering in English – the one time he had asked her what she was saying, Iona burst into such a tirade in both English and Latin that the normally deadpan scout's eyebrows shot into his hairline.
Dagonet, meanwhile, was a patient and thorough and completely distracting teacher. How she ever learned to ride, Iona didn't know – it seemed like most of her riding lessons were spent wrapped up in Dagonet's arms, which Iona didn't mind in the least. Dagonet's eyes had been wicked when he grabbed her by the hips to show her how to move in the saddle, which had led to…well, nothing to do with a horse. And yet, by the fourth day, she was able to drop the reins at a full gallop and guide the horse with her legs so she could shoot her bow or wield her sword.
Iona's new horse was a beautiful, spirited bay mare named Ardin, which, Arthur said, meant 'fiery'. She certainly was a fiery little thing, with enough spunk to sink a ship. Dagonet had momentarily re-thought Arthur's choice when Ardin reared and struck at him with her front hooves, but Iona had danced under his protective arm and was soon running her hands over Ardin's soft coat. They bonded the Sarmatian way – sleeping in the same stall for a week of nights – and on the eighth morning Dagonet looked at the pair of them and knew they would fight to the death for each other.
The only thing Iona lacked was armour, so she had to watch bitterly as the knights mounted up for one last patrol without her. Dagonet chuckled at her glum face and kissed the corner of her down-turned mouth before swinging onto Agravain's tall back.
"This future that has been decided for you…you're certainly eager for it, Iona." She smiled wryly, petting Agravain's soft nose.
"I am just worried for you. I do not know how you all survived this long without me to protect you." Dagonet chuckled, grabbing her hand and pulling her up to the saddle in front of him. He kissed her long and insistently, his hands tangling in her black hair. When he pulled back, his voice was husky.
"Move your things into my room while I'm gone?" Iona's answer was another kiss, warm and promising, until Arthur gave the call to ride and she was forced to jump to the ground.
She and Vanora ran to the top of the wall to watch as their men thundered down the road away from the wall. And despite the knowledge that the knights were more than capable, Iona couldn't dispel the knot of worry in her stomach.