Private Tales A Light in the Dark

[Elijah]

No escape today.

Yet Elijah's body tensed, ready to spring away from the approaching danger of this conversation. His mind, of course, returned to the one they had left unfinished between them yesterday. Was she really confronting him for an answer to her confession here, in front of such an audience? Panic filled him. He'd come to the field to clear his mind and break the endless cycle of guilt, grief, desire and fear that he had warred with all night. He needed more time and yet here she was--

Teach me.

The Captain's mouth parted in a silent 'oh'. Her request was so far removed from any imagined scenario he had created that his mind was left reeling and an awkward silence began to stretch between them. The Guard Captain broke it by accepting Eli's hand at last and hurling himself to her feet.

"Good luck, Miss," he muttered as he dusted himself off, though the smile he directed to his opponent suggested he had relished every moment of their dual. With a clap on the back, he sauntered off and left the pair to it. The distraction seemed to have been enough to bring Elijah back to the moment and a tentative smile softened his expression.

"It would be my pleasure," inclining his head towards the softer ground where the other cadets trained, Elijah led the way to an unoccupied spot beneath a grand old willow tree. "We'll start with the basics, where everyone starts," passing her the wooden sword he had taken from the Guard Captain, he raised his own in the first defensive position. "Ready?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She was prepared for rejection, prepared to be told that such things were no place for her, for a Lady to be. And as the silence stretched, she prepared to dig her heels in. The mere possibility of denial made her ready to fight; a touch of red entered her cheeks that was all anger and nothing of embarrassment.

So when he answered her in the affirmative, it was her turn to be put off balance. For a moment she stood there, mouth hanging open in surprise. And then she fixed the other man with a withering stare that basically accused him of making her look stupid.

She shouldn't have been surprised. Elijah had never treated her like a porcelain doll before and had certainly never told her she couldn't do anything she had ever asked before. That had been her mother specifically who had said that some things were beneath her. Her mother had made sure everyone else knew it, too.

The certainty faded as she followed the Captain off to a spot that was empty of people. She wasn't dressed for this. She had never touched a sword in her life. She had no training whatsoever in combat. The excuses were as many as the stars in the sky. But it was not her mother that kept her from it these past years.

And blinked when a wooden blade was put into her hands. It was far, far heavier than the knives she had used before were, and she nearly dropped it out of surprise, so lost had she been in her own head. It took a fair bit of effort just to hold the business end up off the ground, and both hands to manage even that. Her balance felt off, too.

"No," she said, then grit her teeth. "Yes. I don't know," she added. She had gone this far and she would be damned if she turned back now that her pride was tied up in it.

 

[Elijah]

Elijah gave a quiet chuckle but it was not an unkind one.

"Everyone feels that way to begin with," even himself, if he recalled it right. Samantha had beaten him black and blue the first time he'd held one of these practise weapons, then left him in the dirt with the simple command to get better. Reflectively he twirled the sword about his hand. "Let's start with your footwork," he didn't think Lyssia would learn in the same way he had. A softer touch was called for here.

Over the next few hours Elijah took her through the basics of the proper stance, how to hold a weapon so it wouldn't break her wrist, and how to take the impact of a blow from an opponent much stronger than her. The Captain was a patient tutor, his corrections firm but gentle. He didn't go easy on her either, making sure she learnt the ways in which her failures would have resulted in her death. In their private ring, they were no longer Captain and a Lady but a Soldier and her Commander.

When it looked as though Lyssia might throw up from another round, Elijah called a break and passed her his waterskin.

"Not bad for your first go."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

It became abundantly clear that she was not a soldier, and it did not take long for her to be puffing and panting and really, really regretting wearing a dress. However simple and plain it might have been. Those skirts were tied up (reluctantly) ten minutes in.

Her balance was fine, and she was quick as it turned out. Not to learn, just physically so. She had no stamina, and she had no strength; learning how to take a blow from a stronger opponent would end up being a very important skill, as that basically included the rest of the entire world. After an hour, her wrists and arms joined the cacophony of her legs.

It was misery given form and flesh, but she was nothing if not stubborn. Even though it felt like an eternity and every part of her was going to catch fire or fall off (or both), she kept at it with the same grim determination that had seen her through everything else.

When a break was called for, she had to stop herself from collapsing on the spot. She accepted the water and drank from it greedily, physically trembling where she stood. She would not admit defeat, and she would not admit that she had already gone beyond her physical limits a long time before.

"Not good," she managed unevenly, wiping sweat and strands of damp fiery hair from her eyes as she handed his skin back to him. "Enough. Not good enough. Not strong. Enough," she said. There was an edge of frustration underlying the panted statements, exemplified by the fact that she still had not caught her breath. She would not say it was a mistake to even be here and doing what she was, but she was definitely thinking it.

 

[Elijah]

Elijah in contrast seemed unconcerned and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. Unlike Lyssia there barely seemed to be a bead of sweat upon his brow but he still sipped at the waterskin after she had had her fill.

"Everyone starts out like that. Nobles in particular seem to forget that fighting is a skill, not any old peasant can pick up a blade. It takes years of training," it had always been a quiet peeve of his when those he was tasked to guard would look down their noses at him despite his station. In part that had to do with his gender, he knew, but the majority of their judgement came from their wrong placed belief it was easy to swing a sword. Once sated he passed the waterskin back to her in a silent command to drink more.

"To build your strength alongside these sessions you should start exercising more. Running a few miles in the morning to raise your stamina, lifting weights, core exercises. Your body is as much a weapon as the one in your hand."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She might have snapped his head off at the implied slight if she wasn't wrung out like a rag. Such a fit of pique would not make her look anything other than a spoiled noblewoman, never mind that she that she had been and that his internal thoughts were more accurate than she would have liked to admit.

"A few miles?!" she exclaimed, wiping sweat from her forehead. She did not accept the waterskin, thinking she had drank enough already. "I could barely walk the entire time we were..,," she began, then cut off. "Anyway, look at this body. How much of a weapon do you think this is?" Slight of frame, short and comparatively weak to his human stockiness. The pale scars on her arms stood out against her paler skin, testament to the times she had been overwhelmed by enemies.

 

[Elijah]

Elijah's eyes ran over her body like a hot brand. There wasn't a part that he didn't seem to take in in his thorough assessment. Once he had returned his gaze back to hers he did at least have the grace to blush - albeit faintly. Weapon certainly wasn't the word he would use to describe the luscious curves and inviting mouth, even if it was twisted into a pout currently. In fact, if anything, that made it all the more tempting.

"It could be. Anyone can be," he cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to be assessing the training of the soldiers they could see through the parted willow leaves whenever a small breeze parted them. "When I first joined the army I was malnourished and half starved. I used to collapse at half a mile, now I can run ten with ease."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Her heart fluttered under his intense scrutiny, and everywhere his eyes went seemed to burn in response. The faintest flush of his cheeks seemed like some kind of victory. She hid the fire that burned within as best she could, looking away at nearly the same time he did.

It was not fair that he was made in the image of ancient gods, she decided. It made respecting his space much more difficult than it needed to be. Especially when she wanted those big, strong arms of his wrapped around her shoulders, and...

She shook her head violently.

"I was not allowed to train," she said. She was happy that he seemed to be having difficulty focusing as well; she sounded like a choked cat until she mastered herself. "Mother would not permit it. She said I would have other skills to rely on."

She laughed bitterly and looked at her feet. His background was much more harsh than hers, being penury and treated differently just because he was a man in a world that looked down upon such things. Even so, in many ways he had been more free than she had.

"I just want to be able to protect myself. I have been a ... liability ... for too long." She winced as she shifted, looking back to Elijah warily.

She finally drank, though slowly and without much enjoyment.

 

[Elijah]

"Well... That fire isn't something to be ignored," he hadn't wanted to bring up her use of magic when she had been resting. He had known, of course, that she wasn't human but seeing the extent of that unearthly gift that she possessed was something wholly different. Why she hadn't used it before he was unsure, but sensed it was a subject that might be sore.

"It could be - it is - a powerful gift, Lyssia."

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"It would be if I could use it when someone is fighting me," she said. There might have been an edge to it, anger or frustration.

It was also a misdirection. Being attacked was not the only time the enlivening flow of magic refused to bend to her will without on hell of a fight. Any kind of stress muddled it up and made it fail. She recalled the firestorm, the elemental. The stink of charred flesh and the utter horror in the make-shift hospital.

She blanched visibly at the memory.

"It's no different than a sword. Worthless without training to use it." In the specific way that involved lighting people on fire or striking them with lightning, anyway. "I just lose the thread of my thoughts when..," she began, and trailed off. When it is most important that I keep my head.

 

[Elijah]

Elijah's expression became distant and thoughtful. The comparison between blade and magic seemed absurd at first but upon reflection he supposed there were a lot of elements that crossed over one another. She would always be on the defensive to a certain degree with a blade owing to her size and strength, but the training Eli went through with his cadets strengthened more than just the body to handle the rigors of war. Perhaps it was the mental exercises he knew that could help Lyssia more in defending herself.

"Then we won't just train your body in these sessions, but your mind too," he declared with a nod more to himself than her. The stubborn man very rarely moved from his path once it was decided. "There are exercises I teach fresh recruits to keep their senses in the heat of battle. I cannot help with wielding the elements but I can perhaps help you with controlling your emotions in the heat of the moment. We'll practise every day. Physical training for two hours in the morning, mental exercises for an hour in the afternoons."