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all your tomorrows start here.
Apr. 21st, 2014 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smithereens.
.
.
Nobody tried to stop Ailin as she made her way to the barracks, a building she had never once felt the need to set foot in--before today.
Today, she wanted to learn how to protect herself--and the things she loved. She’d waited too long already, and had lost her home without once picking up a sword to defend it.
That wasn’t going to happen again. Though she had to wonder what, exactly, she loved enough to fight for anymore.
There was a large training hall inside the building, already occupied by several groups of men in the midst of sparring and practicing, she could only assume, with and without weapons. Their attention slowly trickled towards her when she walked in, though a few were too absorbed in their training to notice her. It was a curious sort of attention, and she tried not to let it sway her resolve.
Finally, one man peeled away from his group to approach her. He was older than her by a few decades at least, grizzled and creased with age and sun, and wearing a serious expression that looked almost chiseled into his skin.
“My lady, is there anything I can help you with?” he asked politely enough.
“I’m looking for the master here,” she said.
The man’s eyebrows lifted mildly. “I’m the master.”
Oh. Ailin shifted her weight, reminding herself that she had just as much a right to anything in Souza’s house as she did in her old one. This house--her house, technically. Perhaps even more of a right.
“I want to learn how to fight,” she said, lifting her chin. “Swordplay--close combat. Anything you can teach me.”
Now the master’s eyebrows lifted until they nearly reached his hairline. “I can’t teach you.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Princess,” he said, and the overly patient way he spoke her title made her bristle, “the barracks are no place for a woman. You’ll distract my men, and it’s far too dangerous--”
“That’s ridiculous. If my lord husband--” she tried to keep the tartness out of her voice and probably failed “--can swing a sword around, then I don’t see why I can’t.”
“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself, my lady,” the master said, scowling. “The soldiers are here to protect you in case of any attack on the castle.”
Ailin didn’t know what offended her more: the fact that he apparently doubted she could even lift a sword, or that he assumed she was only looking out for her own safety. She found herself stepping forward in challenge, her fists balled at her sides, hidden by her sleeves, though he didn’t budge an inch.
“And if I’m outside of the castle? What then?” she asked acidly.
“You’ll always be protected, my lady.” His eyes flashed in spite of the evenness of his tone, and she realized that he’d already dug in his heels.
“It doesn’t matter!”
“There’s no one here to teach you,” the master said, his jaw tight. “I can’t spare anyone.”
She was speechless with anger, her mouth open with no words coming out. Without hesitating, he bowed and turned sharply on his heel, leaving her alone to stew in her frustration--and failure.
.
.
.
“I understand that my wife was here earlier,” Souza said neutrally, pinning Kuzo with his stare.
Kuzo didn’t even flinch, though he stood suspiciously more rigidly than normal. “Yes, my lord.”
“And?”
“She wished to learn swordplay,” Kuzo said gruffly. “I don’t know what they teach their women in whatever backwater village of hers you conquered, my lord, but I told her that our women don’t have a use for swords here.”
“Renhua,” Souza said mildly, resisting the smile that pulled at his lips. Ailin wanted to learn how to fight, did she? He didn’t think anything could make him admire her more, but somehow this small determination to make herself strong--stronger--proved him wrong.
“My lord?”
“That’s the name of her backwater country,” Souza said, idly running his fingers over the rough wooden hilt of a practice sword.
Kuzo blinked owlishly, and Souza was reminded of so many childhood days spent in these barracks, on the receiving end of that exact same look when he tried to get too far ahead of Kuzo’s instruction. It usually ended when Souza found himself beat into the floor, but it had been many years now since Kuzo was able to do that.
“Teach her,” Souza said, wondering if Kuzo would try, for old times’ sake.
“You’re not serious,” his old master said, frowning in disbelief, and this time Souza did smile outright.
“You don’t have to worry about her strength or spirit, Master,” he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “I assure you of that.”
“That isn’t my worry, my lord. Women don’t--”
“Would your wife appreciate you continuing that sentence?” Souza interrupted, pulling the practice sword from its holster and testing the balance.
Kuzo grunted, which Souza knew to take for an answer.
“Neither would mine,” Souza said, tossing the sword, hilt out, towards Kuzo. “Do you trust me?”
Kuzo stared at him balefully as he caught the hilt with one hand, absently twirling the sword between his fingers like it was an extension of his arm. “I should whip your ass, boy.”
Souza grinned, pulling another wooden sword out and gripping it in both hands, widening his feet into a ready stance. “She won’t disappoint you,” he said. “You’ve had more impertinent students before, haven’t you?”
“Just one,” his old master said as Souza surged forward, swordpoint barreling towards Kuzo’s chest.
.
.
.
Nobody tried to stop Ailin as she made her way to the barracks, a building she had never once felt the need to set foot in--before today.
Today, she wanted to learn how to protect herself--and the things she loved. She’d waited too long already, and had lost her home without once picking up a sword to defend it.
That wasn’t going to happen again. Though she had to wonder what, exactly, she loved enough to fight for anymore.
There was a large training hall inside the building, already occupied by several groups of men in the midst of sparring and practicing, she could only assume, with and without weapons. Their attention slowly trickled towards her when she walked in, though a few were too absorbed in their training to notice her. It was a curious sort of attention, and she tried not to let it sway her resolve.
Finally, one man peeled away from his group to approach her. He was older than her by a few decades at least, grizzled and creased with age and sun, and wearing a serious expression that looked almost chiseled into his skin.
“My lady, is there anything I can help you with?” he asked politely enough.
“I’m looking for the master here,” she said.
The man’s eyebrows lifted mildly. “I’m the master.”
Oh. Ailin shifted her weight, reminding herself that she had just as much a right to anything in Souza’s house as she did in her old one. This house--her house, technically. Perhaps even more of a right.
“I want to learn how to fight,” she said, lifting her chin. “Swordplay--close combat. Anything you can teach me.”
Now the master’s eyebrows lifted until they nearly reached his hairline. “I can’t teach you.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Princess,” he said, and the overly patient way he spoke her title made her bristle, “the barracks are no place for a woman. You’ll distract my men, and it’s far too dangerous--”
“That’s ridiculous. If my lord husband--” she tried to keep the tartness out of her voice and probably failed “--can swing a sword around, then I don’t see why I can’t.”
“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself, my lady,” the master said, scowling. “The soldiers are here to protect you in case of any attack on the castle.”
Ailin didn’t know what offended her more: the fact that he apparently doubted she could even lift a sword, or that he assumed she was only looking out for her own safety. She found herself stepping forward in challenge, her fists balled at her sides, hidden by her sleeves, though he didn’t budge an inch.
“And if I’m outside of the castle? What then?” she asked acidly.
“You’ll always be protected, my lady.” His eyes flashed in spite of the evenness of his tone, and she realized that he’d already dug in his heels.
“It doesn’t matter!”
“There’s no one here to teach you,” the master said, his jaw tight. “I can’t spare anyone.”
She was speechless with anger, her mouth open with no words coming out. Without hesitating, he bowed and turned sharply on his heel, leaving her alone to stew in her frustration--and failure.
.
.
.
“I understand that my wife was here earlier,” Souza said neutrally, pinning Kuzo with his stare.
Kuzo didn’t even flinch, though he stood suspiciously more rigidly than normal. “Yes, my lord.”
“And?”
“She wished to learn swordplay,” Kuzo said gruffly. “I don’t know what they teach their women in whatever backwater village of hers you conquered, my lord, but I told her that our women don’t have a use for swords here.”
“Renhua,” Souza said mildly, resisting the smile that pulled at his lips. Ailin wanted to learn how to fight, did she? He didn’t think anything could make him admire her more, but somehow this small determination to make herself strong--stronger--proved him wrong.
“My lord?”
“That’s the name of her backwater country,” Souza said, idly running his fingers over the rough wooden hilt of a practice sword.
Kuzo blinked owlishly, and Souza was reminded of so many childhood days spent in these barracks, on the receiving end of that exact same look when he tried to get too far ahead of Kuzo’s instruction. It usually ended when Souza found himself beat into the floor, but it had been many years now since Kuzo was able to do that.
“Teach her,” Souza said, wondering if Kuzo would try, for old times’ sake.
“You’re not serious,” his old master said, frowning in disbelief, and this time Souza did smile outright.
“You don’t have to worry about her strength or spirit, Master,” he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. “I assure you of that.”
“That isn’t my worry, my lord. Women don’t--”
“Would your wife appreciate you continuing that sentence?” Souza interrupted, pulling the practice sword from its holster and testing the balance.
Kuzo grunted, which Souza knew to take for an answer.
“Neither would mine,” Souza said, tossing the sword, hilt out, towards Kuzo. “Do you trust me?”
Kuzo stared at him balefully as he caught the hilt with one hand, absently twirling the sword between his fingers like it was an extension of his arm. “I should whip your ass, boy.”
Souza grinned, pulling another wooden sword out and gripping it in both hands, widening his feet into a ready stance. “She won’t disappoint you,” he said. “You’ve had more impertinent students before, haven’t you?”
“Just one,” his old master said as Souza surged forward, swordpoint barreling towards Kuzo’s chest.
.
