Post by Seek on Sept 28, 2020 3:54:59 GMT 10
Title: A Bout of Tolerance
Rating: G
Word Count: 1894 words
Summary (and any Warnings): Lerant continues to try to decide what to make of Kel. Kel isn't impressed.
Notes: Lioness Rampant says Raoul will have a limp, though it's from Jon and might be fallible. It's never mentioned again. I haven't written in ages and I'm not all that fond of this fic, but there you go.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1894 words
Summary (and any Warnings): Lerant continues to try to decide what to make of Kel. Kel isn't impressed.
Notes: Lioness Rampant says Raoul will have a limp, though it's from Jon and might be fallible. It's never mentioned again. I haven't written in ages and I'm not all that fond of this fic, but there you go.
Kel was already sweating through the heavily-padded armour, and the entire native mosquito population in the Royal Forest was feeding on her, despite having slopped the insect repellent from the supply stores all over her body.
Her one consolation was that her opponent was equally miserable.
Lerant of Eldorne glared at Kel, and then slapped at a mosquito that was trying to feed off his left arm.
What seemed like half the King’s Own had already gathered to watch the spectacle. “Bet on Squire Kel!” Dom cried out, and she heard a fascinating amount of chatter as men of the King’s Own hastened to place their bets.
“I’m for Lerant,” said someone else, who might have been Giles of Veldine. “You forget how that man fights. I don’t get between him and anyone fancying milord’s guts for sausages.”
Lord Raoul sat, one leg propped on a camp stool, and part of Kel wondered why. But squires didn’t question their knight-masters, even if Lord Raoul seemed to think that pitting two of his charges against each other was a good idea.
She met the amount of hostility radiating from Lerant with polite Yamani indifference. Lord Raoul would hardly let Lerant beat her into pulp for no reason.
“En garde,” Lord Raoul called out, and Kel settled into a fighting stance, and so did Lerant. She didn’t recognise the way he stood—a high, aggressive guard, with the blade tilted towards her eyes. “Begin!”
The first exchange was over embarrassingly quickly. Lerant was snake-swift. He swept for her, Kel blocked, and Lerant’s sword—still bound in the practice sheath—thumped into her side. Lerant wasn’t as broad-shouldered as Dom, but he still hit almost as hard as a quintain. If it wasn’t for the padded armour, Kel was certain she’d feel it more. “Point,” Lord Raoul called out, and Lerant smiled fiercely, as though he’d won.
Kel wasn’t really sure why Lerant thought that was much of an achievement. They separated, Kel picking over the clash in her head. Lerant was fast, and she’d blocked too high, and Lerant had responded to the gap in Kel’s defense before Kel could think about it. She was used to having the length of a pole-arm in her hand, not a sword.
She heard the fierce whispering among the gathered men of the King’s Own and schooled her own features back to blankness.
“En garde,” Lord Raoul said. Still the high guard from Lerant. Kel wasn’t interested in playing that game, as she settled into the stable defense of the middle guard. “Begin!”
She thought she was prepared for Lerant’s attack this time. She parried the first thrust and beat him back with a series of tight slashes straight out of the practice yards. Sergeant Ezeko had drilled them in this sequence until Kel could have performed it in her sleep; muscle memory took over, here. Lerant fell back and then turned aside a cut with a two-handed block that brutally slammed Kel’s blade out of line, leaving her exposed for a swift jab that poked into her ribs.
Kel bit back a yelp and glared at Lerant. That blow had hurt, and he hadn’t bothered to pull it. She was going to have some lovely bruises the next day.
“Point,” Lord Raoul called out again, and they separated.
“What’s wrong with the Girl?” someone asked.
“Shhh!”
I am stone, Kel told herself. It was just a match. She would learn. The next bout went to her, as Kel’s blade flicked past Lerant’s guard, but Lerant claimed the last point, and stood there, basking in the praise of some of his fellows.
“Thank you,” Lord Raoul said, to Lerant. And then, “The rest of you, shoo! I need to work with my squire, now.” Chattering among themselves, with some good-natured grumbling, the men of the King’s Own dispersed. Someone clapped her lightly on the shoulder, and Kel started.
It was Dom, who winked. “Don’t take it too hard,” he murmured. “You’re green, and it shows. You’ll learn.”
“Thank you,” Kel said, and meant it. “Don’t worry. I’m here to learn.”
“I guess this is cold justice for my meal at the Jugged Hare,” Dom said, with feigned sorrow. “I’ll keep betting on you though, Kel.” He grinned at her, and faded away with the rest of the King’s Own. Kel tried to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest at Dom’s words. Stop it, she told herself, sternly. She was here to learn, not to swoon inside and go silly at the way Dom’s smile seemed to cut her legs out from beneath her.
Lerant remained behind, with his feet spread apart and his thumbs in his belt, affecting an air of nonchalance.
“It’s a good start,” Lord Raoul remarked, smiling good-naturedly. “I suppose you’ve been wondering what I was doing, Squire.”
“My lord,” Kel replied. “I assumed you wanted me to practice against a live opponent.”
“Partly,” remarked Lord Raoul. “I also wanted to see you in action. I know you favour the glaive, and Lerant is good with a sword. I also know Lerant was showing off,” and now Lerant stared fixedly at his boots. “But that’s all right. You both needed to learn.”
Lerant wasn’t going to say it, so Kel did.
“Learn what, my lord?”
Lord Raoul shrugged. “Working together. Not underestimating a green opponent,” and this time, his eyes flicked towards Lerant, who looked stricken. “In my day, pages spent more time fencing against each other than in sword-drills. I know Lord Wyldon changed things.”
“We do practice against each other,” Kel said staunchly, feeling the need to be fair to Lord Wyldon.
“I know,” said Lord Raoul, kindly. “I also know Sergeant Ezeko drills you senseless in the sequences you’re allowed to use against each other. It’s not the same as a live fight, is it?”
Kel thought of the unpredictability of facing Lerant, of the way he had broken into her sequence. Armsmistress Nariko had emphasised over and over again that muscle memory was not infallible: the best warriors responded without thought, but that training itself could be defeated. She thought of the spidren, of the fight with the bandits in the hill country, of her spear in the stricken bandit’s body. Of the centaur and getting kicked.
Her training had kept her alive. It had also fallen short against someone who knew well the sword.
“Not exactly, my lord,” Kel said. “Not against another swordsman.”
“Fencing against a live opponent is different,” said Lord Raoul. “It’s over fast. And it’s over for a lot of reasons: awful reach, being slower, some mistake or other, or just getting out-thought. Lerant tends to have an advantage because he grew up in the hill country. They use a different kind of sword-style there, which is why I want you practising against him.”
Which meant more bouts with Lerant. Kel swallowed a sigh. She wasn’t thrilled by the prospect, but it was training, and she was seeing action. She wasn’t going to complain about something like that, and apparently, neither was Lerant, for all he glared at her.
Lord Raoul stood up—stiffly, part of Kel noticed—and clapped her on the back. “Good spar, for someone who’s never fought live before,” he remarked. “But that’s my job, squire. Let’s take your training out of the practice yards.”
“Yessir,” Kel said.
“Well, then. Both of you get back into place,” Lord Raoul said. “We still have some time before nightfall. Lerant, don’t get cocky. Squire, let’s see if you can start breaking down his defense more reliably before the cooks start shouting at us for holding everyone up.”
Kel trudged back into place, and slapped at another mosquito. Lerant cocked his head at her and waited.
“En garde,” Lord Raoul said. “Begin!”
Her one consolation was that her opponent was equally miserable.
Lerant of Eldorne glared at Kel, and then slapped at a mosquito that was trying to feed off his left arm.
What seemed like half the King’s Own had already gathered to watch the spectacle. “Bet on Squire Kel!” Dom cried out, and she heard a fascinating amount of chatter as men of the King’s Own hastened to place their bets.
“I’m for Lerant,” said someone else, who might have been Giles of Veldine. “You forget how that man fights. I don’t get between him and anyone fancying milord’s guts for sausages.”
Lord Raoul sat, one leg propped on a camp stool, and part of Kel wondered why. But squires didn’t question their knight-masters, even if Lord Raoul seemed to think that pitting two of his charges against each other was a good idea.
She met the amount of hostility radiating from Lerant with polite Yamani indifference. Lord Raoul would hardly let Lerant beat her into pulp for no reason.
“En garde,” Lord Raoul called out, and Kel settled into a fighting stance, and so did Lerant. She didn’t recognise the way he stood—a high, aggressive guard, with the blade tilted towards her eyes. “Begin!”
The first exchange was over embarrassingly quickly. Lerant was snake-swift. He swept for her, Kel blocked, and Lerant’s sword—still bound in the practice sheath—thumped into her side. Lerant wasn’t as broad-shouldered as Dom, but he still hit almost as hard as a quintain. If it wasn’t for the padded armour, Kel was certain she’d feel it more. “Point,” Lord Raoul called out, and Lerant smiled fiercely, as though he’d won.
Kel wasn’t really sure why Lerant thought that was much of an achievement. They separated, Kel picking over the clash in her head. Lerant was fast, and she’d blocked too high, and Lerant had responded to the gap in Kel’s defense before Kel could think about it. She was used to having the length of a pole-arm in her hand, not a sword.
She heard the fierce whispering among the gathered men of the King’s Own and schooled her own features back to blankness.
“En garde,” Lord Raoul said. Still the high guard from Lerant. Kel wasn’t interested in playing that game, as she settled into the stable defense of the middle guard. “Begin!”
She thought she was prepared for Lerant’s attack this time. She parried the first thrust and beat him back with a series of tight slashes straight out of the practice yards. Sergeant Ezeko had drilled them in this sequence until Kel could have performed it in her sleep; muscle memory took over, here. Lerant fell back and then turned aside a cut with a two-handed block that brutally slammed Kel’s blade out of line, leaving her exposed for a swift jab that poked into her ribs.
Kel bit back a yelp and glared at Lerant. That blow had hurt, and he hadn’t bothered to pull it. She was going to have some lovely bruises the next day.
“Point,” Lord Raoul called out again, and they separated.
“What’s wrong with the Girl?” someone asked.
“Shhh!”
I am stone, Kel told herself. It was just a match. She would learn. The next bout went to her, as Kel’s blade flicked past Lerant’s guard, but Lerant claimed the last point, and stood there, basking in the praise of some of his fellows.
“Thank you,” Lord Raoul said, to Lerant. And then, “The rest of you, shoo! I need to work with my squire, now.” Chattering among themselves, with some good-natured grumbling, the men of the King’s Own dispersed. Someone clapped her lightly on the shoulder, and Kel started.
It was Dom, who winked. “Don’t take it too hard,” he murmured. “You’re green, and it shows. You’ll learn.”
“Thank you,” Kel said, and meant it. “Don’t worry. I’m here to learn.”
“I guess this is cold justice for my meal at the Jugged Hare,” Dom said, with feigned sorrow. “I’ll keep betting on you though, Kel.” He grinned at her, and faded away with the rest of the King’s Own. Kel tried to ignore the warmth spreading through her chest at Dom’s words. Stop it, she told herself, sternly. She was here to learn, not to swoon inside and go silly at the way Dom’s smile seemed to cut her legs out from beneath her.
Lerant remained behind, with his feet spread apart and his thumbs in his belt, affecting an air of nonchalance.
“It’s a good start,” Lord Raoul remarked, smiling good-naturedly. “I suppose you’ve been wondering what I was doing, Squire.”
“My lord,” Kel replied. “I assumed you wanted me to practice against a live opponent.”
“Partly,” remarked Lord Raoul. “I also wanted to see you in action. I know you favour the glaive, and Lerant is good with a sword. I also know Lerant was showing off,” and now Lerant stared fixedly at his boots. “But that’s all right. You both needed to learn.”
Lerant wasn’t going to say it, so Kel did.
“Learn what, my lord?”
Lord Raoul shrugged. “Working together. Not underestimating a green opponent,” and this time, his eyes flicked towards Lerant, who looked stricken. “In my day, pages spent more time fencing against each other than in sword-drills. I know Lord Wyldon changed things.”
“We do practice against each other,” Kel said staunchly, feeling the need to be fair to Lord Wyldon.
“I know,” said Lord Raoul, kindly. “I also know Sergeant Ezeko drills you senseless in the sequences you’re allowed to use against each other. It’s not the same as a live fight, is it?”
Kel thought of the unpredictability of facing Lerant, of the way he had broken into her sequence. Armsmistress Nariko had emphasised over and over again that muscle memory was not infallible: the best warriors responded without thought, but that training itself could be defeated. She thought of the spidren, of the fight with the bandits in the hill country, of her spear in the stricken bandit’s body. Of the centaur and getting kicked.
Her training had kept her alive. It had also fallen short against someone who knew well the sword.
“Not exactly, my lord,” Kel said. “Not against another swordsman.”
“Fencing against a live opponent is different,” said Lord Raoul. “It’s over fast. And it’s over for a lot of reasons: awful reach, being slower, some mistake or other, or just getting out-thought. Lerant tends to have an advantage because he grew up in the hill country. They use a different kind of sword-style there, which is why I want you practising against him.”
Which meant more bouts with Lerant. Kel swallowed a sigh. She wasn’t thrilled by the prospect, but it was training, and she was seeing action. She wasn’t going to complain about something like that, and apparently, neither was Lerant, for all he glared at her.
Lord Raoul stood up—stiffly, part of Kel noticed—and clapped her on the back. “Good spar, for someone who’s never fought live before,” he remarked. “But that’s my job, squire. Let’s take your training out of the practice yards.”
“Yessir,” Kel said.
“Well, then. Both of you get back into place,” Lord Raoul said. “We still have some time before nightfall. Lerant, don’t get cocky. Squire, let’s see if you can start breaking down his defense more reliably before the cooks start shouting at us for holding everyone up.”
Kel trudged back into place, and slapped at another mosquito. Lerant cocked his head at her and waited.
“En garde,” Lord Raoul said. “Begin!”
-
Kel was dog-tired, bruised, mosquito-savaged, and peeling off her sweat-soaked padded armour when she heard footsteps outside her tent. The griffin definitely knew—it let out a wretched squawk, which probably meant it was feeding time all over again.
“Come in,” she called out, as whoever it was drew to a halt. For an irrational moment, part of her traitorous heart wished it was Dom, but then it was Lerant drawing up the tent-flap. “You again?”
“You didn’t tell him,” Lerant said, frowning.
Kel sighed. “I thought we’ve been over this,” she said, reasonably, going over to her packs to locate the jerky. “I don’t tell on people.” And I’ve had worse, she thought, though she didn’t give voice to those words. Lerant hitting harder than he should have in a practice bout was nothing.
He looked at her, both angry and confused, as if she was some sort of puzzle he was still trying to work out. Kel didn’t understand why it was so hard.
“Is that all?” Kel asked, as she pulled out the jerky and the griffin began to squall more loudly. “Because if you’re done, I have a griffin to feed.”
“You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“Obviously not,” said Kel. She began to lace on the first leather sleeve as the griffin’s shrieks gained volume. At least the griffin hadn’t begun to learn to fly yet. “Pass me the other one, please?”
Lerant looked as though he was considering saying no, but he sighed, stepped into her tent, and handed her the other arm protector. Kel laced it on as well. “I can’t believe you’re keeping that around,” he muttered.
Kel was really beginning to question the wisdom of that decision herself, but she wasn’t going to say as much to Lerant. Instead, she said, “Good evening.” She had chores to do, and a baby monster to feed, and none of that involved putting up with whatever was going through Lerant’s head right now.
Lerant’s mouth twisted. “Aren’t you at least curious why he isn’t teaching you personally?”
She was curious, but it was also none of her business. “No,” said Kel. But she did wonder. Surely as her knight-master, Lord Raoul should have been teaching her to fence. The Lioness would definitely be teaching Neal the sword, and she tried to swallow down the intense surge of jealousy she felt at the thought.
Lerant took a long, steadying breath and seemed to come to some decision or other. “My lord fights from horseback where he can,” he said. “He has a limp. He was wounded at the king’s coronation. It gets worse when he’s tired. When he’s had a long day.”
And then Kel understood. Because they’d been walking among the villagers out in the Royal Forest, and fighting, and hunting, and carrying building materials, and Lord Raoul had seemed a little unsteady as the day wore on but he’d waved her off, and she’d thought…
It hadn’t shown, as badly as Anders’s. But Lord Raoul fought, all the same. He carried on in active duty, and never complained, and never said a word.
“Don’t let him strain it, or he’ll be in bed for the week, and grouchy,” Lerant added, and then seemed to regret he’d said as much. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere. My lord doesn’t need a squire doing his chores for him.”
“If you say so,” said Kel, politely, and waited for him to show himself out as the griffin shrieked loudly enough to wake the dead in the Peaceful Realms.
“Come in,” she called out, as whoever it was drew to a halt. For an irrational moment, part of her traitorous heart wished it was Dom, but then it was Lerant drawing up the tent-flap. “You again?”
“You didn’t tell him,” Lerant said, frowning.
Kel sighed. “I thought we’ve been over this,” she said, reasonably, going over to her packs to locate the jerky. “I don’t tell on people.” And I’ve had worse, she thought, though she didn’t give voice to those words. Lerant hitting harder than he should have in a practice bout was nothing.
He looked at her, both angry and confused, as if she was some sort of puzzle he was still trying to work out. Kel didn’t understand why it was so hard.
“Is that all?” Kel asked, as she pulled out the jerky and the griffin began to squall more loudly. “Because if you’re done, I have a griffin to feed.”
“You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“Obviously not,” said Kel. She began to lace on the first leather sleeve as the griffin’s shrieks gained volume. At least the griffin hadn’t begun to learn to fly yet. “Pass me the other one, please?”
Lerant looked as though he was considering saying no, but he sighed, stepped into her tent, and handed her the other arm protector. Kel laced it on as well. “I can’t believe you’re keeping that around,” he muttered.
Kel was really beginning to question the wisdom of that decision herself, but she wasn’t going to say as much to Lerant. Instead, she said, “Good evening.” She had chores to do, and a baby monster to feed, and none of that involved putting up with whatever was going through Lerant’s head right now.
Lerant’s mouth twisted. “Aren’t you at least curious why he isn’t teaching you personally?”
She was curious, but it was also none of her business. “No,” said Kel. But she did wonder. Surely as her knight-master, Lord Raoul should have been teaching her to fence. The Lioness would definitely be teaching Neal the sword, and she tried to swallow down the intense surge of jealousy she felt at the thought.
Lerant took a long, steadying breath and seemed to come to some decision or other. “My lord fights from horseback where he can,” he said. “He has a limp. He was wounded at the king’s coronation. It gets worse when he’s tired. When he’s had a long day.”
And then Kel understood. Because they’d been walking among the villagers out in the Royal Forest, and fighting, and hunting, and carrying building materials, and Lord Raoul had seemed a little unsteady as the day wore on but he’d waved her off, and she’d thought…
It hadn’t shown, as badly as Anders’s. But Lord Raoul fought, all the same. He carried on in active duty, and never complained, and never said a word.
“Don’t let him strain it, or he’ll be in bed for the week, and grouchy,” Lerant added, and then seemed to regret he’d said as much. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere. My lord doesn’t need a squire doing his chores for him.”
“If you say so,” said Kel, politely, and waited for him to show himself out as the griffin shrieked loudly enough to wake the dead in the Peaceful Realms.