Post by Seek on Aug 17, 2017 6:13:00 GMT 10
Series: Mountains and Rivers
Title: United Front
Rating: G
Event: Synchronised Swimming
Words: 706 words
Summary: Probationary Page Alanna of Trebond witnesses a rather extraordinary duel between the King's Champion and the Knight-Commander of the King's Own, ft. Sir Neal of Queenscove.
Note: This takes place in a reversal AU where: A) Kel disguises herself as a boy to win her shield, and B) deals with the events of Alanna's day, e.g. the Tusaine War and Duke Roger's scheming. Alanna and co. have not yet been born. (Okay, that last bit is not quite true since we've moved to Alanna's day. The companion longfic: A) Alanna of Trebond, the first probationary female page, and B) Alanna deals with the Scanran War, etcetera.)
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In retrospect, Alanna of Trebond and the other pages would later say that it was like watching a master troubadour strum a lute, or watching a master blacksmith work miracles with hammer and anvil, or—
“It’s poetry,” It was shy, blond Francis of Nond, in the end, who found the words they’d been struggling for. It was like poetry, like an illuminated page from a manuscript detailing some famous historical battle; like myth come alive.
It was all that and more, and watching, rapt with wonder, Alanna exchanged an unguarded glance with Alex of Tirragen and saw that he, too, had seen what she had, that they had both appreciated the sheer brilliance on display before them.
Sir Osric of Felgrath fought in the training yard, and the pages and squires fell still to watch. Even their instructors did not berate them; nor did Lord Wyldon call their attention back to their tasks.
The King’s Champion did not have to be tall and broad, did not have to be kingly; he did, however, have to be an excellent swordsman, an exceptional jouster, among other things.
Sir Osric was all of them, his cat-green eyes narrowed in concentration as he fought his opponents. Sergeant Ezeko and Lord Wyldon had been drilling them all in the various moves and blocks that would form the basis of swordsmanship, but Sir Osric, Alanna realised, was an artist. In his hand, the sword was no less an instrument than a lute or a paintbrush.
One-on-one, they would have been outclassed. But that, too, was part of the brilliance, Alanna thought. His opponents did not fight singly but together; faces rapt, too, with concentration, moving seamlessly as if they were merely two parts of a greater whole.
When Sir Osric’s blade slipped past Sir Neal’s guard, it was the Mountain herself, the Knight-Commander of the King’s Own, hero of the Tusaine Wars, Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan and Kennan who counterattacked, forcing Sir Osric backwards, and Alanna felt her heart swell with hero-worship.
This was her, she thought: the woman who had started it all. The one who had made it possible for women to become fighters. Alanna would be following in her footsteps, by becoming a knight. And she would. She shot a violet glare at the training master, who was watching the bout like a hawk. He’d insisted on the probation, even though no page in history had ever been accepted on a merely probationary basis.
Sir Neal laughed, and said something, in a low, mocking voice.
“Shut up—” Lady Knight Keladry said, exasperated.
“—and stop taunting the dangerous man with the big knife, yes, Mother,” Sir Neal retorted.
“The dangerous man with the big knife is going to give you the thrashing of your lives.” Apparently, Sir Osric wanted in on the taunting game as well.
“I don’t think so,” chorused both Lady Knight Keladry and Sir Neal in unison. They looked at each other; it was too distant for Alanna to make out their expressions.
They advanced once more, and Alanna noticed how they stood and moved: close enough to cover each other, and attacking at the same time, in order to force Sir Osric to defend himself from both of them simultaneously.
(“Offense always wins over defense, lass,” Coram had once said. “Defending just lets you hold th’ other fellow off, or wear him down. Attack and have done with!”)
Except that the King’s Champion, of course, turned his defense into his offense; attempting to play Lady Knight Keladry against Sir Neal, forcing them to stumble into each other and hamper each other, taking away their numerical advantage.
It was a clever strategy.
Yet Sir Neal and Lady Knight Keladry seemed to have an astonishing awareness of each other, and their position. And it was hardly surprising, Alanna knew. They’d been fighting for years now. Sir Neal narrowly dodged a collision with Lady Knight Keladry, while Lady Knight Keladry simply swung out wider and came at Sir Osric’s flank.
“They’re good, aren’t they?” breathed a voice by her ear.
Alanna startled, and realised that it was Jon. Instead of watching the practice bout, he was watching her, his expression inscrutable. “Yes. They are,” she agreed.
Title: United Front
Rating: G
Event: Synchronised Swimming
Words: 706 words
Summary: Probationary Page Alanna of Trebond witnesses a rather extraordinary duel between the King's Champion and the Knight-Commander of the King's Own, ft. Sir Neal of Queenscove.
Note: This takes place in a reversal AU where: A) Kel disguises herself as a boy to win her shield, and B) deals with the events of Alanna's day, e.g. the Tusaine War and Duke Roger's scheming. Alanna and co. have not yet been born. (Okay, that last bit is not quite true since we've moved to Alanna's day. The companion longfic: A) Alanna of Trebond, the first probationary female page, and B) Alanna deals with the Scanran War, etcetera.)
-
In retrospect, Alanna of Trebond and the other pages would later say that it was like watching a master troubadour strum a lute, or watching a master blacksmith work miracles with hammer and anvil, or—
“It’s poetry,” It was shy, blond Francis of Nond, in the end, who found the words they’d been struggling for. It was like poetry, like an illuminated page from a manuscript detailing some famous historical battle; like myth come alive.
It was all that and more, and watching, rapt with wonder, Alanna exchanged an unguarded glance with Alex of Tirragen and saw that he, too, had seen what she had, that they had both appreciated the sheer brilliance on display before them.
Sir Osric of Felgrath fought in the training yard, and the pages and squires fell still to watch. Even their instructors did not berate them; nor did Lord Wyldon call their attention back to their tasks.
The King’s Champion did not have to be tall and broad, did not have to be kingly; he did, however, have to be an excellent swordsman, an exceptional jouster, among other things.
Sir Osric was all of them, his cat-green eyes narrowed in concentration as he fought his opponents. Sergeant Ezeko and Lord Wyldon had been drilling them all in the various moves and blocks that would form the basis of swordsmanship, but Sir Osric, Alanna realised, was an artist. In his hand, the sword was no less an instrument than a lute or a paintbrush.
One-on-one, they would have been outclassed. But that, too, was part of the brilliance, Alanna thought. His opponents did not fight singly but together; faces rapt, too, with concentration, moving seamlessly as if they were merely two parts of a greater whole.
When Sir Osric’s blade slipped past Sir Neal’s guard, it was the Mountain herself, the Knight-Commander of the King’s Own, hero of the Tusaine Wars, Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan and Kennan who counterattacked, forcing Sir Osric backwards, and Alanna felt her heart swell with hero-worship.
This was her, she thought: the woman who had started it all. The one who had made it possible for women to become fighters. Alanna would be following in her footsteps, by becoming a knight. And she would. She shot a violet glare at the training master, who was watching the bout like a hawk. He’d insisted on the probation, even though no page in history had ever been accepted on a merely probationary basis.
Sir Neal laughed, and said something, in a low, mocking voice.
“Shut up—” Lady Knight Keladry said, exasperated.
“—and stop taunting the dangerous man with the big knife, yes, Mother,” Sir Neal retorted.
“The dangerous man with the big knife is going to give you the thrashing of your lives.” Apparently, Sir Osric wanted in on the taunting game as well.
“I don’t think so,” chorused both Lady Knight Keladry and Sir Neal in unison. They looked at each other; it was too distant for Alanna to make out their expressions.
They advanced once more, and Alanna noticed how they stood and moved: close enough to cover each other, and attacking at the same time, in order to force Sir Osric to defend himself from both of them simultaneously.
(“Offense always wins over defense, lass,” Coram had once said. “Defending just lets you hold th’ other fellow off, or wear him down. Attack and have done with!”)
Except that the King’s Champion, of course, turned his defense into his offense; attempting to play Lady Knight Keladry against Sir Neal, forcing them to stumble into each other and hamper each other, taking away their numerical advantage.
It was a clever strategy.
Yet Sir Neal and Lady Knight Keladry seemed to have an astonishing awareness of each other, and their position. And it was hardly surprising, Alanna knew. They’d been fighting for years now. Sir Neal narrowly dodged a collision with Lady Knight Keladry, while Lady Knight Keladry simply swung out wider and came at Sir Osric’s flank.
“They’re good, aren’t they?” breathed a voice by her ear.
Alanna startled, and realised that it was Jon. Instead of watching the practice bout, he was watching her, his expression inscrutable. “Yes. They are,” she agreed.
