Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

             “Hyah! Huh! Hyah! Huh!”…

             Ayra continues through her drills, making rapid, calculated strikes at the air in front of her. With each swing, a wave of energy flows from her feet, through her chest, to her hands, and out to the tip of her sword. And each time, the sword slices right through the same spot in the air.

             Briggid stands off to the side watching the swordswoman’s training, her bow slung casually over her shoulder. Her eyes follow the tip of the sword as it makes each precision cut, and then returns to its position right in front of the swordswoman’s eyes. Her purple robes ripple with each strike

             “Are you just going to stand there all day with your mouth agape?” Ayra asks with a hint of annoyance. She brushes a strand of jet-black hair from her face, and turns to face Briggid, resting a hand on her hip.

             “Forgive me if I’ve insulted ya, miss” Briggid answers, nodding respectfully, “The way ya fight is jus’ so elegant to me, I couldn’t help but stare.”

             “Swordsmanship is an art—the same as archery,” Ayra replies coyly, eyeing the bow slung over Briggid’s shoulders. “However, unlike archery, it is an art that does not allow for mistakes. That is why I train daily. It makes no difference to me if you chose to watch, but I’d rather you stay where I can see you…”

             Briggid meets Ayra’s glare with a cunning stare. She reaches for the bow at her shoulder, watching Ayra’s sword hand twitch. With a sigh, Briggid heaves the bow off her shoulders, and lets it fall to the soft grass below. “Relax,” she says, with a soft chuckle, “I ain’t here to attack ya.”

             “You’d die before you got the chance…” Ayra states.

             “Train me,” Briggid says, her eyes turning serious. “I’d learn the ways of the sword, and I’d have a lass as skilled as you teach me.”

             “No.”

             “I wasn’t askin’,” Briggid answers, a grin tugging at the end of her lips, “Yer not wrong with whach’ya said: a bow ain’t worth much ‘nless yer foe can’t see ya.”

             “I don’t need you to tell me that I’m correct…”

             “Don’ worry, I ain’t wet behind the ears when it comes to swords. I’m just no match for a lass like you…yet,” Briggid adds.

             “Leave my sight, eyvel, before you anger me.”

             “One duel then,” Briggid asks, frowning. “If I can last ‘till the count of 20, you train me.”

             Ayra sighs, rolling her eyes.

             “…Fine. Draw.”

* * *

             Briggid lies sprawled out on the ground, her arm bleeding from a gash in her shoulder. Ayra stands over her, her sword pointed at Briggid’s throat.

             “…six. You lose, eyvel,” Ayra says flatly.

             “Alright, alright,” Briggid groans, holding her arm. “you win…”

             Ayra lowers her sword, and flips her hair over her shoulder as she turns away. “I’ll admit,” she says, “I didn’t expect you to last past 3…meet me at sunset tomorrow, we’ll start then, eyvel.”

             Briggid sighs as Ayra walks away confidently, then grunts as she heaves herself to her feet. “That’s one hell of a woman,” she chuckles to herself as she collects her sword and begins hobbling back to camp…

Chapter Text

Brigid walks out to the forest clearing the following evening, sword held casually in her hand. She notices Ayra sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, towards the far end, and so leans against a tree and waits, watching her.

“You’ll learn nothing by watching,” Ayra says, her voice cold.

“Jus’ didn’t wanna disturb ya, miss.”

Ayra doesn’t bother to hide her annoyance. “Come,” she orders, “sit.”

Brigid obediently walks over and sits cross-legged in front of Ayra, laying her sword at her side. When Ayra doesn’t react, she, too, closes her eyes, and waits for further instruction. As soon as she does, however, she feels the cold edge of a blade pressed against her throat.

“Lesson one,” Ayra whispers with a venomous tongue. “Trust nobody. Your guard never wavers, around friend or foe.”

Brigid takes a deep breath, attempting to steel her nerves, and nods.

“Foolish eyvel,” Ayra spits, tossing her student’s sword back into the grass. “Stand!”

Brigid quickly grabs her sword and then stands up. She tries to hold the blade between herself and Ayra. This elicits a chuckle from the swordswoman, and certainly not one of elation.

“We of Issach do not teach our ways to foreigners,” Ayra explains, pacing back and forth in front of Brigid. “However, many of the fundamentals are shared across many blade styles. It is these fundamentals that I will teach you, nothing more.”

Brigid nods. “I understand.”

“You understand nothing, eyvel,” Ayra says, drawing her sword. “I have no desire to waste my efforts humiliating you again. You will learn, or you will fail.”

Brigid says nothing. She just watches, the sword held tight in her hands.

As Ayra takes a step forward, Brigid steps back to maintain the distance. Ayra’s eyebrow raises ever so slightly, as if to challenge her, and goes to take another step forward. Brigid follows suit, taking another step back.

Ayra takes another step forward, only this time she lunges for Brigid as soon as her foot hits the ground. In an instant, she has knocked Brigid’s blade from her hands, and a sweeping kick sends the woman collapsing to the ground. Ayra pins her on her stomach, twisting one of Brigid’s arms behind her back.

With both hands, she grips the woman’s forearm tightly, and twists, eliciting strained grunts of pain.

“Feel that?” Ayra scowls, “that is how you were gripping your sword just now. Did you think it would run away from you, eyvel?”

“No miss…” Brigid grits her teeth and tries to keep her voice steady.

Ayra scoffs, and releases her grip on Brigid. By the time Brigid stands up and turns around, Ayra is across the clearing, as if carried by the wind.

“Pick up your sword,” she orders. “Unlike you, it doesn’t deserve to be tossed unceremoniously to the earth.”

Brigid picks up her sword, taking care not to grip it as tight this time.

“Now,” Ayra says, “come hither.”

Brigid narrows her eyes. She steadies her breathing, and takes a step forward. She keeps her eyes glued on Ayra, her sword in her hand, and takes another step forward.

Ayra shakes her head in disappointment.

Brigid continues her methodical approach. Barely daring to blink, she inches forward…

…waiting for the inevitable…

…until she is nearly face-to-face with Ayra.

“…pathetic.” Ayra sighs. She takes a quick step forward, bringing her face close enough to feel Brigid’s startled gasp, and watches as the woman falls backwards.

“…perhaps we shall end here for the night, eyvel,” Ayra remarks, allowing the hint of a smirk to show on her face as she looks down at her disgruntled student. “Do try not to disappoint me so much tomorrow…”

Brigid nods. She hauls herself up and picks up her sword.

“And do sharpen that blade before you return tomorrow evening,” Ayra calls over her shoulder as she struts away towards camp.

Brigid walks along behind her, watching as Ayra sheathes her sword. She begins to quicken her pace ever so slowly, closing the distance between Ayra and herself. Her sword is held loosely at her side.

As she gets within a sword’s length of Ayra, she suddenly lunges, the blunt side of the blade swinging towards Ayra’s shoulder. Brigid watches as the blade makes contact not with the swordswoman’s arm as she had anticipated, but the palm of her opposing hand. Ayra grips the sword by the blade and yanks it forward, sending Brigid stumbling towards her. A quick twist, and the blade has been wretched from Brigid’s hands once again, and she hurtles face-forward into the dirt.

“There are few tactics as shameful…” Ayra’s voice hisses from above where Brigid lies. “Next time, I cut you down before your foot leaves the ground…”

She turns on her heel, dropping the sword at Brigid’s side and leaving her to find her way back to camp.

She dares not look back, lest Brigid catch a glimpse of the smile she tries in vain to hide.