{Tilda} Fighting in Freedom
Jan. 25th, 2009 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wayfarers_lodgeShe walked up to the one they called Firebrand, and crouched down beside him.
"So, they say you fight with a spear."
He looked at her, all perfect, shining beauty. She would have found it hard to believe that he was good for much in combat at all, if she hadn't fallen back alongside him as the hedge sharks closed in.
"Yes. It seems you do, too?"
She smiled.
"Do you want to play?"
"I don't believe in making the third time the charm for bringing you close to death."
She shrugged off the insult- it was true, she had been foolish, to the point that she should be dead. "Staves, then?"
He smiled in return. "Yeah, I think that'll do."
She picked up her spear and carefully, respectfully removed the head from the blackwood shaft, praying silently that it would serve her well. The shining one looked at her, slightly puzzled.
"I do have weapons already prepared. You're free to use them."
She didn't mean it, but she was pretty sure that her scorn would have burnt a hole through a lesser man.
"They're not mine."
"Fair enough, then."
She watched him carefully run his hands over the staff he had chosen for himself, adding little flourishes to the scrollwork with a pocketknife.
Tool, she caught herself thinking, weapons aren't supposed to be beautiful, they're designed to be functional.
He blew the last of the shavings away, and pulled himself up into a long defensive stance.
Ahah. Got you, you mealy-mouthed faggot.
She dropped down, making her stance wide and low.
It's been so long since I've had to use a polearm two-handed. Have I forgotten how?
A moment of memory- training. Hands firm on the shaft of her first spear, carved from white willow wood, sliding down and thrusting the point into a straw dummy.
No. It never leaves you.
Almost of its own accord, the staff flicked out to the right, rapping him hard on the bone of the hip. He sucked in breath through his teeth and brought his staff down hard on her left shoulder, a moment before her own flew up to knock it back. He locked his staff against hers, and tried to push her away. Indignant, on the precipice of anger, she pushed back, and it was him that staggered.
He's done something to his staff. The fuck's done something to his staff. It should be breaking by now.
As he struggled to find his feet, she whipped the staff around, connecting solidly with his lead ankle. He fell, and she rolled back into a ready stance.
"Come on," she said, smiling wickedly, "Get up."
It wasn't an invitation, it was a taunt, and he knew it. He sprang to his feet, and jabbed with his staff as he came forward. She cursed as she fell back, but not far enough, the butt of the staff connecting hard with her collarbone, almost dislocating it.
Tilda felt the weight of the other battles she had fought in her muscles, and the weariness from weeks (months?) trapped in the Hedge with little food. He was winning.
Damn, damn, damn! These men aren't soldiers, how can they beat me? Over and over, how do they keep doing it?
Am I going to stand for it?
Like hell I am.
The blackwood staff came down across her knee with a crack like lightning, and she didn't bother to hide the sharp smile as the bright one's eyes widened. He recognised the gesture, she wasn't just playing anymore. She was going to war.
One piece came up in her right hand, the jagged edge pointing outwards like a short spear. The other snapped back along the plane of her arm, serving as a shield.
This was the way she knew how to fight.
His stance shifted, and he brought the end of his staff down, which she blocked along the edge of her arm. She pushed, dragging his guard down, and snapped the blunt end of the other stick into the side of his head. The other changeling's eyes went out of focus for a moment, and he stumbled back a step, holding up his staff in surrender.
He can't hit me from there. Why did he drop like that? What's the use of such a maneuver?
He wants you to stop. That's a yield. You're not supposed to kill him.
LIKE HELL! It's a trick! Finish it, soldier!
Her spear arm tensed, eyes darting to the open, white expanse that was the shining one's throat and shoulder. He looked up at her, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to stop her striking- even a cry for help wouldn't bring someone in time to save him-
His name is Firebrand.
Pardon?
His name is Firebrand. He's not your enemy.
But we're fighting! You don't fight people unless you intend to kill them! This is what I was made to do!
Not anymore. They said there is peace now, that you are free, and you promised not to hurt them. Lower your weapon, soldier. Enough is enough.
Tilda paused, shifted back, her stance relaxing. Firebrand took his cue, and pushed himself to his feet, holding his hand out to her.
"You're very strong."
She shrugged, and stared at his hand for a second, before placing her own in it.
"Yes, I am. But so are you."
Between them, the unspoken words-
'I could have killed you. I should have killed you.'
'Yes, I know. But you're free now.'
"So, they say you fight with a spear."
He looked at her, all perfect, shining beauty. She would have found it hard to believe that he was good for much in combat at all, if she hadn't fallen back alongside him as the hedge sharks closed in.
"Yes. It seems you do, too?"
She smiled.
"Do you want to play?"
"I don't believe in making the third time the charm for bringing you close to death."
She shrugged off the insult- it was true, she had been foolish, to the point that she should be dead. "Staves, then?"
He smiled in return. "Yeah, I think that'll do."
She picked up her spear and carefully, respectfully removed the head from the blackwood shaft, praying silently that it would serve her well. The shining one looked at her, slightly puzzled.
"I do have weapons already prepared. You're free to use them."
She didn't mean it, but she was pretty sure that her scorn would have burnt a hole through a lesser man.
"They're not mine."
"Fair enough, then."
She watched him carefully run his hands over the staff he had chosen for himself, adding little flourishes to the scrollwork with a pocketknife.
Tool, she caught herself thinking, weapons aren't supposed to be beautiful, they're designed to be functional.
He blew the last of the shavings away, and pulled himself up into a long defensive stance.
Ahah. Got you, you mealy-mouthed faggot.
She dropped down, making her stance wide and low.
It's been so long since I've had to use a polearm two-handed. Have I forgotten how?
A moment of memory- training. Hands firm on the shaft of her first spear, carved from white willow wood, sliding down and thrusting the point into a straw dummy.
No. It never leaves you.
Almost of its own accord, the staff flicked out to the right, rapping him hard on the bone of the hip. He sucked in breath through his teeth and brought his staff down hard on her left shoulder, a moment before her own flew up to knock it back. He locked his staff against hers, and tried to push her away. Indignant, on the precipice of anger, she pushed back, and it was him that staggered.
He's done something to his staff. The fuck's done something to his staff. It should be breaking by now.
As he struggled to find his feet, she whipped the staff around, connecting solidly with his lead ankle. He fell, and she rolled back into a ready stance.
"Come on," she said, smiling wickedly, "Get up."
It wasn't an invitation, it was a taunt, and he knew it. He sprang to his feet, and jabbed with his staff as he came forward. She cursed as she fell back, but not far enough, the butt of the staff connecting hard with her collarbone, almost dislocating it.
Tilda felt the weight of the other battles she had fought in her muscles, and the weariness from weeks (months?) trapped in the Hedge with little food. He was winning.
Damn, damn, damn! These men aren't soldiers, how can they beat me? Over and over, how do they keep doing it?
Am I going to stand for it?
Like hell I am.
The blackwood staff came down across her knee with a crack like lightning, and she didn't bother to hide the sharp smile as the bright one's eyes widened. He recognised the gesture, she wasn't just playing anymore. She was going to war.
One piece came up in her right hand, the jagged edge pointing outwards like a short spear. The other snapped back along the plane of her arm, serving as a shield.
This was the way she knew how to fight.
His stance shifted, and he brought the end of his staff down, which she blocked along the edge of her arm. She pushed, dragging his guard down, and snapped the blunt end of the other stick into the side of his head. The other changeling's eyes went out of focus for a moment, and he stumbled back a step, holding up his staff in surrender.
He can't hit me from there. Why did he drop like that? What's the use of such a maneuver?
He wants you to stop. That's a yield. You're not supposed to kill him.
LIKE HELL! It's a trick! Finish it, soldier!
Her spear arm tensed, eyes darting to the open, white expanse that was the shining one's throat and shoulder. He looked up at her, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to stop her striking- even a cry for help wouldn't bring someone in time to save him-
His name is Firebrand.
Pardon?
His name is Firebrand. He's not your enemy.
But we're fighting! You don't fight people unless you intend to kill them! This is what I was made to do!
Not anymore. They said there is peace now, that you are free, and you promised not to hurt them. Lower your weapon, soldier. Enough is enough.
Tilda paused, shifted back, her stance relaxing. Firebrand took his cue, and pushed himself to his feet, holding his hand out to her.
"You're very strong."
She shrugged, and stared at his hand for a second, before placing her own in it.
"Yes, I am. But so are you."
Between them, the unspoken words-
'I could have killed you. I should have killed you.'
'Yes, I know. But you're free now.'
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no subject
Date: 2009-01-25 12:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-25 12:15 pm (UTC)Awesome story. As usual, very insightful into the character's thoughts and motivations. And it makes me look good, too, which is always nice! It was a cool scene.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-26 12:16 pm (UTC)*flees the scary, growly Katiebeast*
no subject
Date: 2009-01-26 01:33 pm (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed.
=^..^=