Post by moralhazard on Apr 24, 2019 19:24:16 GMT
Sundabar, 1483-1484
“Again.” Ironfist thumped the butt of her staff on the ground, sending up a puff of dusty air.
Kara lay on her back on the practice grounds, staring up at the star-dotted sky, the breath knocked clean out of her lungs. In the six weeks she’d been training with Ironfist, she had taken a lot of falls, and even more blows. She had thought, after advancing to a glaive two weeks ago, that she was making progress; they had drilled the strikes and motions until Kara had felt they were second nature. A few spars against Ironfist had gone well – she hadn’t ever touched Ironfist with either the butt or the blade, but she at least felt she hadn’t embarrassed herself – and had left her with even more drills to tackle.
Then, tonight, Ironfist had surprised her with something new: a spar against Anders, a second year guardsman armed with a halberd.
Ironfist knocked against Kara’s ribs with her staff, not hard enough to bruise but not gently either. “Again.”
“Don’t drop your glaive next time, Bells,” Ironfist said, stepping back and looking down at Kara. “Dropping your weapon gets you killed.”
“Go,” Ironfist crossed her arms over her chest.
There was no sound on the practice courts but those that they made. There was the heavy blows of the two wooden staves against each other, the shuffle of two feet on the stones, the faint soft rustle of training clothing. For Kara there was the sound of her own heavy breathing, each painful inhale rasping against her aching ribs. The night was quiet and still, with only the faint distant sounds of Sundabar beyond the walls of the guard complex. Distantly Kara heard the gates open -
Kara didn’t wait for Ironfist this time, pushing herself up to her knees, gripping the glaive with all her strength - and promptly doubled forward and emptied her guts onto the ground, gasping and retching.
Ironfist chuckled. “Enough for the night, then. Clean that up, Bells, and you can sleep. Good work holding on to that glaive.” She turned and walked off, humming tunelessly.
“I’ll help,” Anders’s hand rested on her neck, gently sliding beneath the heavy masses of Kara’s hair and lifting them off of her skin.
“Of course you are,” Anders agreed, smiling. “But I remember getting dumped on my arse until I vomited when I started training with Captain Ironfist. And I wish someone would’ve helped me clean up.”
Kara groaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut. For a few moments, it was all she could do to breathe and clutch the cloth to her neck. She opened her eyes, watching as Anders washed the vomit away from the stones. Kara had only just stopped shaking when he turned back to her. He had a slightly crooked smile, Kara noticed.
“Well?” Anders extended a hand to her.
Kara hesitated, then took it with the hand she hadn’t used to hold the cloth in place, her dry one. His grasp was warm and firm, and her hand tingled a little when he let go, having pulled her to her feet.
Kara nodded, slowly, grudgingly, and limped towards the barracks. She glanced back once to see Anders on his own, training, chopping and slashing with his halberd, smooth and even and flawless as he traversed the courtyard with big, powerful steps. Kara watched, awe-struck, heart pounding in her chest. He stopped and looked straight at her, smiling again. Kara turned and fled, disappearing into the dark depths of the hallway.
“Anders? Oh yes, I’ve definitely noticed him.” The sound of laughter rose above the chatter of the lunch crowd.
Kara looked up from her food at the sound of the voice, involuntarily. The speaker was a girl sitting on the other side and end of her long table, with long blonde hair, braided, with a spiked strap woven through it. Her companion was a tall, slender brunette, with the sort of sleek hair that gleamed in even in the rough lights of the guards’ canteen, and smooth pale skin, as flawless as her hair.
“Yes – he’s hard to miss!” The tall girl replied. Her plate was only half empty, but she didn’t even glance at it.
The brunette laughed; her laugh was lower, softer. Kara wasn’t sure what about it was different from the blonde’s, other than pitch, but something – something in her tone was. “Exactly! He isn’t seeing anyone, is he?”
“How could he not be?” The blonde was grinning. “It can’t be serious or we’d have heard, but… anyway, I thought you liked a bit of competition, Alys.”
“You know, Ironfist said there was no need to come for training tonight.” Anders’s voice was soft and dry, and he startled Kara out of the strike she’d been midway through.
Kara jerked, but kept a hold of the glaive. She turned to scowl at Anders. “I know.”
Pointedly, Kara turned away, resetting the glaive and going for her thousand and first repetition of this combo: overhead block, downward sweeping strike from right to left, twist and slash across. She finished it and did it again, and again.
“Hey –” Kara tried to pull away without touching him, but she was all but trapped between the glaive and Anders, and before she could manage it he had swept the glaive down for her, effortlessly moving the glaive despite her resistance.
“Feel that?” Anders was utterly serious. “It’s not just the motion. The glaive will fight you on every swing if you don’t get the angle right.”
Anders guided her through a few more strikes, talking through each in a low voice, adjusting his hands and hers each time until Kara had the feeling of it in her muscles. Finally he let go, and Kara sprung away, turning to face him.
“I know,” Anders lifted his hands, palms facing her. “You didn’t ask for my help and you don’t want it. Right?”
Kara shook her head. “Thank you.”
There was a pause, and Anders laughed.
Kara scowled, feeling her cheeks grow red. She had thought she was used to people laughing at her, but somehow this was worse.
“You’re welcome,” Anders smiled again. There wasn’t, Kara thought, anything mean about it, but he was – staring at her.
Kara took a half-step back, suddenly even more uncomfortable, too aware of the heat blazing in her cheeks. “I should – practice,” she lifted the glaive a little, happy to fix her gaze on it rather than Anders.
“Of course,” was he laughing again, inside? Kara didn’t think so but she wasn’t sure. “I’ll see you around, Kara,” Anders grinned at her, and strolled off, leaving her alone on the practice courts in the moonlight.
Kara took a deep breath, and went back to her training, blush dying away as she focused on the smooth, even strikes. She could feel the difference, the way the glaive seemed to work with her, rather than against her, in each strike, and she reveled in it.
Strike block slash block strike - the smooth steady rhythm of the two pole arms filled the practice courts, faster and faster until both weapons were a blur, Kara’s smooth brown with a flashing silver tip and Anders’s a darker almost-black with a heavy iron blur capping it.
Kara saw the opening and took it, shoving Anders back and striking again, using the staff to sweep his legs. He landed hard on the ground.
There was a long pause, then Ironfist clapped, slowly, just a few times. “Very good, Bells,” she paused, looking at the fallen guardsman. “Anders, keep your guard up – Bells won’t be the only opponent fast enough to hit those gaps when you transition.”
Kara looked down at Anders, expecting - she wasn’t sure what. Most men were angry when she bested them. She’d seen it often enough in the practice courts since starting her guard training; it was hard enough for them to bring themselves to fight her. It wasn’t just her gender, but her size too. When she won - not often, even still, but more and more frequently as their weeks of training continued - there was anger, disbelief, resentment.
Anders was grinning, one hand still gripping his halberd.
Kara relaxed, extending a hand to him. He clasped it and she pulled, helping lift him to his feet.
“Very good,” Anders murmured in that brief moment when he was close to her. He stepped back.
“Drills now,” Ironfist announced. “Bells, I’ve got a new one you’ll like.”
“Yes sir!” Kara grinned, a soaring happiness building in her chest and spreading warmth through her.
“Ready for graduation?” Anders rested the butt of his halberd on the ground, leaning against the wall. He crossed to the opposite side of the weapons room, fetching a bottle of oil.
“Yes,” Carefully, Kara set her glaive down as well, adjusting the angle to keep it from falling. She was sore and aching from another practice session; these days she could beat Anders one in three fights, and once or twice she’d even managed to get a strike past Ironfist’s guard. She would forever treasure the surprise on Ironfist’s face the first time Kara had stopped a blow not half an inch from the captain’s stomach; it had been better than any compliment she had ever received. The only better moment that Kara could think of had been the look of pride that had followed it.
“You’ll like patrolling,” Anders said. He poured some oil into his palm, and passed the bottle to Kara.
Kara poured some oil onto her palm as well, competently starting to rub down the wood of the shaft. “Doesn’t everyone?” She asked.
Anders laughed, diligently working on his halberd. “Ahh, now it shows that you’re from a guard family.”
Kara scowled at him, her hands never pausing. “What does that mean? All guards should look forward to patrolling! That’s when you’re out in the city, doing real work.”
“So you do talk,” Anders grinned at her. “You know, I’d started to wonder.”
Kara scowled harder. “I talk,” she mumbled, starting to work the oil into the blade, grateful for something other than Anders to focus on. Now she was cautious and much slower, having already cut herself more than once while caring for the blade.
“All guards should look forward to patrolling,” Anders agreed. “Many don’t, you know. They’d rather have the easy shifts - standing duty at the gates or markets, even paperwork. The streets beat that fire out of them; you've seen it. Alys was one, the guardsman who quit last week. Your mother’s known for never giving that up; you must know how much promotions she’s declined.”
Kara thawed, slowly, as he spoke, still carefully working at the glaive’s blade. “I know. Do you like patrolling?”
“More than anything,” Anders winked at her, the axe-head of his halberd glistening evenly. He hoisted the weapon and stored it, going to wash his hands clean.
Carefully, Kara rubbed in the last of the oil and stepped back, surveying the blade. It hadn’t been long since Ironfist had graduated her from a training glaive to this – beauty. Kara didn’t know where it had come from, and she was almost afraid to ask, afraid that if she asked Ironfist might realize she wasn’t worthy of it and take it away from her. After a last happy moment of contemplation, Kara stored the glaive next to Anders’s halberd, and followed him outside to wash her hands and collapse, utterly exhausted, for another night of sleep.
“… and we thank you, Helm, for your shining light of duty,” Vanka bowed her head, one hand holding Kara’s.
Kara sat back against the pillows of the infirmary bed, her head dutifully bowed as well. “By his gauntlet,” she agreed.
“By his gauntlet,” Vanka squeezed Kara’s hand, and lifted her head, smiling at Kara.
“Mama,” Kara said, softly. “I – “
“Kara!” Anders burst into the room, eyes wide, and stopped abruptly at the sight of Vanka sitting next to the bed. He stared at her for a moment, then turned to Kara, frowning, the first time she’d ever seen a frown on his face. “Kara, what were you thinking? Going after that – that – scum alone?”
Kara’s cheeks went bright red and she straightened, sitting up from the pillows, scowling at Anders.
Vanka laughed. “I think the broken arm is lesson enough,” she told Anders. She let go of Kara’s hand, leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and rose from the bed. “Your father will be here in the morning,” she told Kara.
“Have a good patrol, Mama,” Kara said, dutifully.
Vanka smiled at Anders, brushing past him on the way out of the room.
Anders watched her go, then looked back at Kara. Abruptly he laughed. “Oh, gods, that was Vanka Bellringer!” He pressed his face into his hands, then plopped down on the side of Kara’s bed. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” he told her, frowning again. “Kara, really – what were you thinking?”
“He was escaping!” Kara struggled a bit more upright, scowling at Anders. The movement jarred her arm a little, and she winced, trying to adjust the sling that kept it immobile against her front.
“So you just – ran after him? Into a room you’d never seen before? On your first patrol? Kara, there could have been someone waiting to slit your throat. It’s no surprise he got the drop on you. You’re lucky that a broken arm was the worst of it,” Anders was scowling again. Kara couldn’t think of any time he’d done less than smile; she’d thrown him to the ground or knocked him down a hundred times, and he’d laughed at each blow. Now he was frowning, really genuinely frowning.
Anders reached forward, though, and his hands were as gentle as ever as he adjusted the sling. Kara lowered her hand, letting him do it, aware of the warmth of his skin close to hers.
“It was stupid,” Kara admitted. “I won’t do it again.”
“You’d better not!” Anders grabbed her free hand, almost as if unable to help himself. “Kara, I – ” He paused, sitting on the bed. The scowl slid away off of his face, and his shoulders slumped slightly.
Kara just looked at him. The room itself was quiet; she could hear faint sounds coming in from the rest of the infirmary, but they seemed to sort of – fade, off into the background. She could hear her own heart pounding, and it felt almost as if it was trying to climb up into her throat.
Slowly, almost timidly, Anders leaned forward. Time seemed to slow down. Kara didn’t move; she didn’t dare, in case he changed his mind. His mouth touched hers in a soft, gentle kiss, just a faint deepening of pressure before Anders sat back, his cheeks as red as hers.
Kara’s eyes were wide, and she didn’t say anything, just looking at him.
“Just – be careful, Kara,” Anders’s voice was hoarse, suddenly, and he swallowed, hard, giving her hand a little squeeze. “Please be careful.”
Kara nodded, slowly, looking into his eyes and seeing things she had never even begun to imagine. “I will,” she promised.
“Bells, Anders!” Captain Ironfist leaned over the ramparts, looking down at the four guardsman heading towards the gate.
Kara stopped, turning and looking back up at the ramparts. “Yes sir!” She straightened a little.
“Yes sir!” Anders chimed in.
“Wait there a moment, would you?” Ironfist called.
“Yes sir!” Kara and Anders both agreed, in near-unison.
There was a momentary pause while Ironfist disappeared from view.
Hana grinned. “So that’s Captain Ironfist? I heard she’d been traveling for – what, the last few months? I guess you becoming a guard drove her out of town, Bells.”
Kara scowled at Hana.
Anders laughed. “Dardahr, Hana, you two don’t have to wait for this,” he said.
“Are you kidding?” Hana grinned, broadly. “A chance to chat with the famous Captain Ironfist, master of every weapon ever invented and some known only to her? A chance to see her bully Anders, the world’s best guard, and our very own Bells? I’d never pass it up.”
“And she may have news,” Dardahr added, stroking his beard with one hand, looking up at the other three – well, more like at Kara, and up at Anders and Hana. All four sobered, slightly, standing around. Kara rested a hand on the hilt of her baton, the typical weapon of a guardsman, hung at her waist along with a dagger.
Ironfist appeared in a few moments. She nodded to Dardahr and Hana. “Guardsman Greyhelm, Guardsman Telnarryl. A pleasure to meet my students’ partners.” She turned back to Anders and Hana.
“Where are your weapons?” Ironfist asked, sharply, looking at both of them.
“Sir?” Kara asked.
“Sir,” Anders said, “Captain Ironfist, regulation is the baton and dagger. The Watchblade said – given the unrest in the city – it’s better if all guards present a uniform face, these days.”
Captain Ironfist snorted. “I’ll have my own words with the Watchblade, then,” she said, one hand tightening into a fist. “For now – I don’t want you out in the city another day without your weapons. Understood?”
Kara glanced at Anders. Anders looked back at her. Ironfist stared daggers at them both, squinting slightly at the look that passed between them.
“Yes sir,” The two chorused.
“Any news from outside, Captain Ironfist?” Dardahr stood straight-backed, looking an inch or two up at Ironfist.
Ironfist fixed him with a glare. “None I can share here,” she was quiet. “What have you heard?”
Dardahr hesitated. “Rumblings in the Undercity,” he said, quietly. “There are those who say there are – signs, rumors trickling in from the Kingdom of Many-Arrows.”
“And you?” Ironfist turned to Hana and Kara. “Guardsman Bellringer, Guardsman Telnarryl?”
“… People speak of an army of orcs,” Hana said, quietly.
Kara lowered her eyes. “The priests at the Temple of Vigilance call it a time for preparation.”
Ironfist swore under her breath, muttering into her beard. She turned to Anders last, raising an eyebrow. “And you?” She asked him, grumpily.
Anders exhaled. “All this and more,” he ran his hand through his hair. “There are – rumors that frost giants are coming down from the Shining White, rumors too that the orcs are recruiting dragons to fight along side them.”
“Dragons!” Hana cried out.
“Quiet,” Ironfist snapped at her. “Anders, you’d best not repeat any of that again, you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Anders said.
“Go get your weapons,” Ironfist barked. “You two,” she looked at Hana and Dardahr. “A guard keeps order not just with weapons, but also with words. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir!” Hana said, snapping to attention. “Yes Captain!” Dardahr agreed, eyes wide.
Kara set off at a jog, cutting around the edge of the training grounds towards weapons storage. Anders caught her halfway there.
“Kara!” Anders reached for her arm then stopped, still following close behind him.
Kara shook her head at him, not saying a word.
“Kara, just – let me explain,” Anders said, softly.
“Don’t,” Kara swallowed, hard. She stalked into the weapons room. The two trainees inside fled at the sight of her, with Anders behind.
Anders closed the door, holding it shut and leaning back against it. “Kara, please,” his voice was raw. “I should have told you. They were only rumors – Ironfist was away, I couldn’t confirm them – I should have told you. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“You didn’t – “ Kara’s voice rose and cut off, sharply, and she turned back to him, hands squeezed into tight fists. “I am not a child,” she glared at him. “I am a guardsman, the same as you.”
“I know,” Anders grabbed one fist with his hand; he wasn’t even that large, for a human, but his hands dwarfed hers. They both looked down at the sight of her small fist, callused, tucked into his palm. “I know,” he repeated. Slowly, he lifted their hands to his mouth and kissed hers. “It’s part of why I love you.”
Kara’s eyes widened a little, and she pulled her hand back. “You can’t just say you love me to get out of a fight,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not fair.”
Anders smiled. “What if I just want to say it?”
“No,” Kara scowled at him. The words were new and precious; she hadn’t said them yet herself, but Anders had whispered them several times, amidst shared moments and snatched kisses that lived like a flickering flame in her heart. “Well,” she couldn’t help softening. “You can say it, if you want, but it doesn’t change me being mad at you.”
Anders grinned. “Fair enough.” He agreed. “I am sorry, Kara. I should have told you. I – we don’t get much time together. I didn’t want to spend what we do get talking about the… war.”
Kara was quiet. “So it will be war, then?” She asked, small-voiced.
“Yes,” Anders said, one hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It will be.”
Kara shuddered, a little, and, slowly, tucked herself against him, accepting his arms around her and the comfort of his lips brushing the top of her head. Anders held her tight against his chest for a moment, sighing, softly.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes before they emerged from the weapons shed, Kara with her glaive in hand and Anders holding his halberd. Ironfist was gone by the time they rejoined Hana and Dardhar. All four guardsman made their way to the keep’s gate, and split off at the entrance, heading on their separate routes.
“So,” Hana said, cheerfully. “You look in a better mood. Did you and Anders work it out?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kara mumbled, her cheeks burning red. She used her glaive like a walking stick, careful not to scuff the bottom against the stone streets.
Hana laughed. “Of course,” she agreed. “Well, I’m glad – things are going to get worse before they get better, Bells. It’s not a time to fight with those you love.”
“I don’t – ” Kara couldn’t bring herself to say she didn’t, stopping still in the street.
“I know, I know,” Hana said, cheerfully. “It’s a secret. But, Bells, let’s be honest – you’re not very subtle.”
Kara scowled at her. “Hana, please don’t tell anyone. Please! If anyone in the guards know, then – my parents will know.”
Hana began to laugh. “Ahhhh, the trials of a guardsman family! Bells, you trust me, don’t you? I’m your partner?”
“Yes…” Kara drew the word out, carefully, eyes narrowing.
“Then trust me with this,” Hana smiled at her. “You and Anders are very good together, Bells. Don’t worry so much right now. Try to be happy.”
Anders stopped, for a moment, then crushed her against him, squeezing her so tightly that Kara let out a sharp little noise. He laughed, and Kara did too, as if the soft feeling of his laughter echoed through her. “I know – I know, Kara. I love you too.” He kissed her again, and the rest of the world outside melted away.
“Again.” Ironfist thumped the butt of her staff on the ground, sending up a puff of dusty air.
Kara lay on her back on the practice grounds, staring up at the star-dotted sky, the breath knocked clean out of her lungs. In the six weeks she’d been training with Ironfist, she had taken a lot of falls, and even more blows. She had thought, after advancing to a glaive two weeks ago, that she was making progress; they had drilled the strikes and motions until Kara had felt they were second nature. A few spars against Ironfist had gone well – she hadn’t ever touched Ironfist with either the butt or the blade, but she at least felt she hadn’t embarrassed herself – and had left her with even more drills to tackle.
Then, tonight, Ironfist had surprised her with something new: a spar against Anders, a second year guardsman armed with a halberd.
Ironfist knocked against Kara’s ribs with her staff, not hard enough to bruise but not gently either. “Again.”
Kara groaned, beginning to cough. She twisted onto her side, curling up slowly and pushing herself to her knees. After the last five times he’d knocked her to the ground, she had thought she couldn’t hurt any worse; she was sorry to feel how wrong she’d been.
Slowly, Kara reached for the glaive, taking it in both hands. The weapon was taller than she was, and heavy; her arms shook just lifting it. She shoved the butt into the ground and levered herself to her feet.
Anders grinned at her, holding his halberd off the ground in a light, easy grip. “Ready?” He asked. He’d stopped offering his hand after Kara had rejected it the first four times.
Kara lifted the glaive again, muscles throbbing from her fingertips to her shoulders. She set herself into her stance against protesting legs, shifting the glaive to a firmer position. “Ready,” she said, firmly.
Anders had his halberd up and ready in half a heartbeat, effortlessly intercepting Kara’s swing and turning it to the side. Kara shifted and struck again, building up her momentum; Anders blocked her just as effortlessly, never losing his smile.
Anders’ halberd twisted and Kara’s legs flew out from under her. She gripped the glaive close with one hand and slapped the ground with the other, taking a little sting out of the fall - but not nearly enough.
Ironfist chuckled. “Enough for the night, then. Clean that up, Bells, and you can sleep. Good work holding on to that glaive.” She turned and walked off, humming tunelessly.
Kara groaned, still doubled over.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Kara glared up at him as best as she could. She was breathing hard; her mouth tasted like vomit and blood, the spot where she’d bit through her cheek several falls ago stinging from the bile.
Anders grinned. “Touchy little thing, aren’t you?” He still held her hair, gently; her only awareness of it was the feeling of a soft breeze on her neck, very soothing, and a soft, not painful pressure against her scalp.
Kara yanked her head away; he let go rather than pull her hair, although Kara felt the soft sting of a few pieces ripped out. She forced herself up to her feet, still trembling. “I don’t need or want your help,” Kara all but spat the words at him. “I’m fine on my own.”
Kara opened her mouth to argue and dropped to her knees instead, glaive clattering on the stones next to her, vomiting again as another surge of nausea overwhelmed her. By the time she was done Anders was back, draping a wet cloth over the back of her neck with one hand, carrying a bucket and a push broom with the other.
Kara groaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut. For a few moments, it was all she could do to breathe and clutch the cloth to her neck. She opened her eyes, watching as Anders washed the vomit away from the stones. Kara had only just stopped shaking when he turned back to her. He had a slightly crooked smile, Kara noticed.
“Well?” Anders extended a hand to her.
Kara hesitated, then took it with the hand she hadn’t used to hold the cloth in place, her dry one. His grasp was warm and firm, and her hand tingled a little when he let go, having pulled her to her feet.
“Get some rest, Bells,” Anders smiled at her.
Kara nodded, slowly, grudgingly, and limped towards the barracks. She glanced back once to see Anders on his own, training, chopping and slashing with his halberd, smooth and even and flawless as he traversed the courtyard with big, powerful steps. Kara watched, awe-struck, heart pounding in her chest. He stopped and looked straight at her, smiling again. Kara turned and fled, disappearing into the dark depths of the hallway.
Kara looked up from her food at the sound of the voice, involuntarily. The speaker was a girl sitting on the other side and end of her long table, with long blonde hair, braided, with a spiked strap woven through it. Her companion was a tall, slender brunette, with the sort of sleek hair that gleamed in even in the rough lights of the guards’ canteen, and smooth pale skin, as flawless as her hair.
Kara looked back at her plate, shoving the spoon into the remaining bits of turnips and beef and wriggling it back and forth, trying to listen instead to the scrape of silverware on bowls, the low chatter of mostly male voices coming from all the tables around them. She very nearly succeeded.
The blonde laughed. She had a pretty, tinkling sort of laugh that Kara found annoying, even as she saw two guardsmen sitting nearby glance over at the older woman. “I’ve seen him in the practice courts! Those muscles,” she gave an exaggerated shiver that both men visibly seemed to notice.
Kara scowled and shoved a spoonful of stew into her mouth, industriously chewing at a rough chunk of beef.
“How could he not be?” The blonde was grinning. “It can’t be serious or we’d have heard, but… anyway, I thought you liked a bit of competition, Alys.”
“I do,” the brunette’s grin seemed almost wicked, or maybe it was the way her eyes shone in the light of the dining hall.
Kara was still chewing; the lump seemed not to be breaking up or shrinking in any meaningful way. She lowered her eyes back to her plate, then, unable to help herself, glanced up at the two older girls again.
“Well, let me know how it goes,” the blonde scooped up her tray and stood, twitching her braid over her shoulder with a shake of her head. “And if he’s anything like the rumors, I’d be more than happy to join you two...” her voice trailed off into giggles and the brunette joined her in laughter, carrying her half-eaten food away.
Kara gave up, spitting the lump of beef into her napkin, and dropping the messy bundle on her tray. She watched the girls go, still laughing, and turned back to the last drops of her stew, scowling again. Suddenly no longer hungry, Kara shoved back from the table, grabbing her tray to clear it.
“You know, Ironfist said there was no need to come for training tonight.” Anders’s voice was soft and dry, and he startled Kara out of the strike she’d been midway through.
Kara jerked, but kept a hold of the glaive. She turned to scowl at Anders. “I know.”
Pointedly, Kara turned away, resetting the glaive and going for her thousand and first repetition of this combo: overhead block, downward sweeping strike from right to left, twist and slash across. She finished it and did it again, and again.
“Here,” Anders’s hands closed over hers; Kara was horribly aware of the warmth of his body behind her, although he was careful not to touch her anywhere except her hands. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her, any more than she’d heard him enter the practice courts.
“Hey –” Kara tried to pull away without touching him, but she was all but trapped between the glaive and Anders, and before she could manage it he had swept the glaive down for her, effortlessly moving the glaive despite her resistance.
“Feel that?” Anders was utterly serious. “It’s not just the motion. The glaive will fight you on every swing if you don’t get the angle right.”
Kara nodded, thoughts of getting free forgotten. The strike had felt – different. Good. She tried to hold on to the feeling, not sure how to ask him to show her again. Her hands moved beneath his, slightly, but she didn’t try to throw him off again.
“I know,” Anders lifted his hands, palms facing her. “You didn’t ask for my help and you don’t want it. Right?”
Kara shook her head. “Thank you.”
There was a pause, and Anders laughed.
Kara scowled, feeling her cheeks grow red. She had thought she was used to people laughing at her, but somehow this was worse.
“You’re welcome,” Anders smiled again. There wasn’t, Kara thought, anything mean about it, but he was – staring at her.
Kara took a half-step back, suddenly even more uncomfortable, too aware of the heat blazing in her cheeks. “I should – practice,” she lifted the glaive a little, happy to fix her gaze on it rather than Anders.
“Of course,” was he laughing again, inside? Kara didn’t think so but she wasn’t sure. “I’ll see you around, Kara,” Anders grinned at her, and strolled off, leaving her alone on the practice courts in the moonlight.
Kara took a deep breath, and went back to her training, blush dying away as she focused on the smooth, even strikes. She could feel the difference, the way the glaive seemed to work with her, rather than against her, in each strike, and she reveled in it.
Kara saw the opening and took it, shoving Anders back and striking again, using the staff to sweep his legs. He landed hard on the ground.
There was a long pause, then Ironfist clapped, slowly, just a few times. “Very good, Bells,” she paused, looking at the fallen guardsman. “Anders, keep your guard up – Bells won’t be the only opponent fast enough to hit those gaps when you transition.”
Kara looked down at Anders, expecting - she wasn’t sure what. Most men were angry when she bested them. She’d seen it often enough in the practice courts since starting her guard training; it was hard enough for them to bring themselves to fight her. It wasn’t just her gender, but her size too. When she won - not often, even still, but more and more frequently as their weeks of training continued - there was anger, disbelief, resentment.
Anders was grinning, one hand still gripping his halberd.
Kara relaxed, extending a hand to him. He clasped it and she pulled, helping lift him to his feet.
“Very good,” Anders murmured in that brief moment when he was close to her. He stepped back.
“Drills now,” Ironfist announced. “Bells, I’ve got a new one you’ll like.”
“Yes sir!” Kara grinned, a soaring happiness building in her chest and spreading warmth through her.
“Ready for graduation?” Anders rested the butt of his halberd on the ground, leaning against the wall. He crossed to the opposite side of the weapons room, fetching a bottle of oil.
“Yes,” Carefully, Kara set her glaive down as well, adjusting the angle to keep it from falling. She was sore and aching from another practice session; these days she could beat Anders one in three fights, and once or twice she’d even managed to get a strike past Ironfist’s guard. She would forever treasure the surprise on Ironfist’s face the first time Kara had stopped a blow not half an inch from the captain’s stomach; it had been better than any compliment she had ever received. The only better moment that Kara could think of had been the look of pride that had followed it.
“You’ll like patrolling,” Anders said. He poured some oil into his palm, and passed the bottle to Kara.
Kara poured some oil onto her palm as well, competently starting to rub down the wood of the shaft. “Doesn’t everyone?” She asked.
Anders laughed, diligently working on his halberd. “Ahh, now it shows that you’re from a guard family.”
Kara scowled at him, her hands never pausing. “What does that mean? All guards should look forward to patrolling! That’s when you’re out in the city, doing real work.”
“So you do talk,” Anders grinned at her. “You know, I’d started to wonder.”
Kara scowled harder. “I talk,” she mumbled, starting to work the oil into the blade, grateful for something other than Anders to focus on. Now she was cautious and much slower, having already cut herself more than once while caring for the blade.
“All guards should look forward to patrolling,” Anders agreed. “Many don’t, you know. They’d rather have the easy shifts - standing duty at the gates or markets, even paperwork. The streets beat that fire out of them; you've seen it. Alys was one, the guardsman who quit last week. Your mother’s known for never giving that up; you must know how much promotions she’s declined.”
Kara thawed, slowly, as he spoke, still carefully working at the glaive’s blade. “I know. Do you like patrolling?”
“More than anything,” Anders winked at her, the axe-head of his halberd glistening evenly. He hoisted the weapon and stored it, going to wash his hands clean.
Carefully, Kara rubbed in the last of the oil and stepped back, surveying the blade. It hadn’t been long since Ironfist had graduated her from a training glaive to this – beauty. Kara didn’t know where it had come from, and she was almost afraid to ask, afraid that if she asked Ironfist might realize she wasn’t worthy of it and take it away from her. After a last happy moment of contemplation, Kara stored the glaive next to Anders’s halberd, and followed him outside to wash her hands and collapse, utterly exhausted, for another night of sleep.
“… and we thank you, Helm, for your shining light of duty,” Vanka bowed her head, one hand holding Kara’s.
Kara sat back against the pillows of the infirmary bed, her head dutifully bowed as well. “By his gauntlet,” she agreed.
“By his gauntlet,” Vanka squeezed Kara’s hand, and lifted her head, smiling at Kara.
“Mama,” Kara said, softly. “I – “
“Kara!” Anders burst into the room, eyes wide, and stopped abruptly at the sight of Vanka sitting next to the bed. He stared at her for a moment, then turned to Kara, frowning, the first time she’d ever seen a frown on his face. “Kara, what were you thinking? Going after that – that – scum alone?”
Kara’s cheeks went bright red and she straightened, sitting up from the pillows, scowling at Anders.
Vanka laughed. “I think the broken arm is lesson enough,” she told Anders. She let go of Kara’s hand, leaned forward to kiss her forehead, and rose from the bed. “Your father will be here in the morning,” she told Kara.
“Have a good patrol, Mama,” Kara said, dutifully.
Vanka smiled at Anders, brushing past him on the way out of the room.
Anders watched her go, then looked back at Kara. Abruptly he laughed. “Oh, gods, that was Vanka Bellringer!” He pressed his face into his hands, then plopped down on the side of Kara’s bed. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you,” he told her, frowning again. “Kara, really – what were you thinking?”
“He was escaping!” Kara struggled a bit more upright, scowling at Anders. The movement jarred her arm a little, and she winced, trying to adjust the sling that kept it immobile against her front.
“So you just – ran after him? Into a room you’d never seen before? On your first patrol? Kara, there could have been someone waiting to slit your throat. It’s no surprise he got the drop on you. You’re lucky that a broken arm was the worst of it,” Anders was scowling again. Kara couldn’t think of any time he’d done less than smile; she’d thrown him to the ground or knocked him down a hundred times, and he’d laughed at each blow. Now he was frowning, really genuinely frowning.
Anders reached forward, though, and his hands were as gentle as ever as he adjusted the sling. Kara lowered her hand, letting him do it, aware of the warmth of his skin close to hers.
“It was stupid,” Kara admitted. “I won’t do it again.”
“You’d better not!” Anders grabbed her free hand, almost as if unable to help himself. “Kara, I – ” He paused, sitting on the bed. The scowl slid away off of his face, and his shoulders slumped slightly.
Kara just looked at him. The room itself was quiet; she could hear faint sounds coming in from the rest of the infirmary, but they seemed to sort of – fade, off into the background. She could hear her own heart pounding, and it felt almost as if it was trying to climb up into her throat.
Slowly, almost timidly, Anders leaned forward. Time seemed to slow down. Kara didn’t move; she didn’t dare, in case he changed his mind. His mouth touched hers in a soft, gentle kiss, just a faint deepening of pressure before Anders sat back, his cheeks as red as hers.
Kara’s eyes were wide, and she didn’t say anything, just looking at him.
“Just – be careful, Kara,” Anders’s voice was hoarse, suddenly, and he swallowed, hard, giving her hand a little squeeze. “Please be careful.”
Kara nodded, slowly, looking into his eyes and seeing things she had never even begun to imagine. “I will,” she promised.
“Bells, Anders!” Captain Ironfist leaned over the ramparts, looking down at the four guardsman heading towards the gate.
Kara stopped, turning and looking back up at the ramparts. “Yes sir!” She straightened a little.
“Yes sir!” Anders chimed in.
“Wait there a moment, would you?” Ironfist called.
“Yes sir!” Kara and Anders both agreed, in near-unison.
There was a momentary pause while Ironfist disappeared from view.
Hana grinned. “So that’s Captain Ironfist? I heard she’d been traveling for – what, the last few months? I guess you becoming a guard drove her out of town, Bells.”
Kara scowled at Hana.
Anders laughed. “Dardahr, Hana, you two don’t have to wait for this,” he said.
“Are you kidding?” Hana grinned, broadly. “A chance to chat with the famous Captain Ironfist, master of every weapon ever invented and some known only to her? A chance to see her bully Anders, the world’s best guard, and our very own Bells? I’d never pass it up.”
“And she may have news,” Dardahr added, stroking his beard with one hand, looking up at the other three – well, more like at Kara, and up at Anders and Hana. All four sobered, slightly, standing around. Kara rested a hand on the hilt of her baton, the typical weapon of a guardsman, hung at her waist along with a dagger.
Ironfist appeared in a few moments. She nodded to Dardahr and Hana. “Guardsman Greyhelm, Guardsman Telnarryl. A pleasure to meet my students’ partners.” She turned back to Anders and Hana.
“Where are your weapons?” Ironfist asked, sharply, looking at both of them.
“Sir?” Kara asked.
“Sir,” Anders said, “Captain Ironfist, regulation is the baton and dagger. The Watchblade said – given the unrest in the city – it’s better if all guards present a uniform face, these days.”
Captain Ironfist snorted. “I’ll have my own words with the Watchblade, then,” she said, one hand tightening into a fist. “For now – I don’t want you out in the city another day without your weapons. Understood?”
Kara glanced at Anders. Anders looked back at her. Ironfist stared daggers at them both, squinting slightly at the look that passed between them.
“Yes sir,” The two chorused.
“Any news from outside, Captain Ironfist?” Dardahr stood straight-backed, looking an inch or two up at Ironfist.
Ironfist fixed him with a glare. “None I can share here,” she was quiet. “What have you heard?”
Dardahr hesitated. “Rumblings in the Undercity,” he said, quietly. “There are those who say there are – signs, rumors trickling in from the Kingdom of Many-Arrows.”
“And you?” Ironfist turned to Hana and Kara. “Guardsman Bellringer, Guardsman Telnarryl?”
“… People speak of an army of orcs,” Hana said, quietly.
Kara lowered her eyes. “The priests at the Temple of Vigilance call it a time for preparation.”
Ironfist swore under her breath, muttering into her beard. She turned to Anders last, raising an eyebrow. “And you?” She asked him, grumpily.
Anders exhaled. “All this and more,” he ran his hand through his hair. “There are – rumors that frost giants are coming down from the Shining White, rumors too that the orcs are recruiting dragons to fight along side them.”
“Dragons!” Hana cried out.
“Quiet,” Ironfist snapped at her. “Anders, you’d best not repeat any of that again, you understand?”
“Yes sir,” Anders said.
“Go get your weapons,” Ironfist barked. “You two,” she looked at Hana and Dardahr. “A guard keeps order not just with weapons, but also with words. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir!” Hana said, snapping to attention. “Yes Captain!” Dardahr agreed, eyes wide.
Kara set off at a jog, cutting around the edge of the training grounds towards weapons storage. Anders caught her halfway there.
“Kara!” Anders reached for her arm then stopped, still following close behind him.
Kara shook her head at him, not saying a word.
“Kara, just – let me explain,” Anders said, softly.
“Don’t,” Kara swallowed, hard. She stalked into the weapons room. The two trainees inside fled at the sight of her, with Anders behind.
Anders closed the door, holding it shut and leaning back against it. “Kara, please,” his voice was raw. “I should have told you. They were only rumors – Ironfist was away, I couldn’t confirm them – I should have told you. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“You didn’t – “ Kara’s voice rose and cut off, sharply, and she turned back to him, hands squeezed into tight fists. “I am not a child,” she glared at him. “I am a guardsman, the same as you.”
“I know,” Anders grabbed one fist with his hand; he wasn’t even that large, for a human, but his hands dwarfed hers. They both looked down at the sight of her small fist, callused, tucked into his palm. “I know,” he repeated. Slowly, he lifted their hands to his mouth and kissed hers. “It’s part of why I love you.”
Kara’s eyes widened a little, and she pulled her hand back. “You can’t just say you love me to get out of a fight,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not fair.”
Anders smiled. “What if I just want to say it?”
“No,” Kara scowled at him. The words were new and precious; she hadn’t said them yet herself, but Anders had whispered them several times, amidst shared moments and snatched kisses that lived like a flickering flame in her heart. “Well,” she couldn’t help softening. “You can say it, if you want, but it doesn’t change me being mad at you.”
Anders grinned. “Fair enough.” He agreed. “I am sorry, Kara. I should have told you. I – we don’t get much time together. I didn’t want to spend what we do get talking about the… war.”
Kara was quiet. “So it will be war, then?” She asked, small-voiced.
“Yes,” Anders said, one hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It will be.”
Kara shuddered, a little, and, slowly, tucked herself against him, accepting his arms around her and the comfort of his lips brushing the top of her head. Anders held her tight against his chest for a moment, sighing, softly.
It wasn’t more than a few minutes before they emerged from the weapons shed, Kara with her glaive in hand and Anders holding his halberd. Ironfist was gone by the time they rejoined Hana and Dardhar. All four guardsman made their way to the keep’s gate, and split off at the entrance, heading on their separate routes.
“So,” Hana said, cheerfully. “You look in a better mood. Did you and Anders work it out?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Kara mumbled, her cheeks burning red. She used her glaive like a walking stick, careful not to scuff the bottom against the stone streets.
Hana laughed. “Of course,” she agreed. “Well, I’m glad – things are going to get worse before they get better, Bells. It’s not a time to fight with those you love.”
“I don’t – ” Kara couldn’t bring herself to say she didn’t, stopping still in the street.
“I know, I know,” Hana said, cheerfully. “It’s a secret. But, Bells, let’s be honest – you’re not very subtle.”
Kara scowled at her. “Hana, please don’t tell anyone. Please! If anyone in the guards know, then – my parents will know.”
Hana began to laugh. “Ahhhh, the trials of a guardsman family! Bells, you trust me, don’t you? I’m your partner?”
“Yes…” Kara drew the word out, carefully, eyes narrowing.
“Then trust me with this,” Hana smiled at her. “You and Anders are very good together, Bells. Don’t worry so much right now. Try to be happy.”
“Kara?” Anders opened the door of his room a crack, eyes wide. As a second year guard, he was allowed to live in a private room near the Keep, and he did. “Is everything okay?”
Kara nodded, standing in the hallway outside his room, a small brown cloak pulled up to cover her head.
“Did you sneak out?” Anders stepped back, pushing the door open wider, voice still soft and low. “Come in – you’re all right?”
Kara stepped into his room and pushed the hood back, long dark hair loose over her shoulders. “I – I didn’t want to be alone,” she admitted, voice small. She swallowed, hard. “Nothing’s – wrong.”
Anders smiled, looking at her. “Kara…” He reached out for her. Kara clung to him, shaking, and Anders wrapped her in a tight hug, holding her close, then tipping her chin up and kissing her, softly at first, then firmer, his hands warm against her. Kara kissed back just as intently, her own hands searching out the place where she could slip between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants, gingerly feeling the hard muscle of his sides.
“I love you,” Kara whispered, trembling.
((Word count: 4,902))
