Ser Nerys Ronain, Knight of Redcliffe (ronain) wrote in thedas, @ 2010-04-06 14:48:00
Who: Nerys Ronain, Coan Bryland & Billy Reid (NPC) Where: Gwaren Castle When: Parvulis, 9:34 Dragon Summary: Sparring practice between a squire and her young lord. Rating: K+
A loud crack, and the match was done. The wooden blade shattered as it was brought down upon the round buckler; though the sword snapped in half, the sheer force of the blow sent the bearer reeling backwards. Billy landed against the stone floor hard, and found himself looking upward in a daze at his opponent. The young woman was panting, visible beads of sweat rolling down from her raven hairline and over her dark skin, still posed in her final stance. By the looks of it, she was just as stunned as he, her hands still gripping on to the hilt of her practice weapon while the rest of its splintered remains were scattered about the floor.
"Maker's breath, Ronain, you have monster hands!" the younger squire exclaimed as he set aside both his shield and matching longsword before sitting up. The statement seemed to shake Nerys out of her puzzled trance, such that she pried one of the aforementioned hands off the handle and stepped forward to offer it to him.
"And you have the upper body strength of a young elf girl," quipped back his peer, not entirely offended by his comment, as a lopsided smirk formed on one the corner of her mouth. Billy accepted her open palm with a grin, and their combined efforts raised him back to his feet. Sorely, he rubbed at his backside, and could have sworn his coccyx was bruised as a result of the tumble. Glancing around at the mess made by the broken greatsword and the dented shield, he couldn't help but remain in awe of the power behind her swing.
"No, I'm serious... I'm not even trying to be insulting," Billy added as he scratched his head, only to find a handful of sawdust caught in the short ginger strands. Luckily, he already knew he would need to bathe after this intense sparring session. Nerys had lived up to her reputation as one of the toughest knights-in-training that Gwaren had to offer, in spite of all strikes against her -- the first and foremost being that she was a girl. He continued to brush off the rest of his clothes, trying not to sound overly surprised or intimidated, "I'm kind of impressed, even. But...mostly terrified."
At that, she could only laugh, her smirk growing into a grin, "Not any less than you ought to be, Reid." Nerys was only teasing, but Billy still felt his nonchalance falter at her chuckle and the dangerous look in her eye. Thus far, their relationship had been positive since his arrival at the castle a little over a month before. Nevertheless, he knew he never wanted to get on her bad side.
"Yeah? I--" he began to retort, but stopped as he saw a thin stream of red dripping down from the hand that was still wrapped around her sword. "Oh. Er, you're bleeding." She looked down, the amusement fading from her expression, though she didn't seem overly troubled.
"It's nothing. Just a scratch," she shrugged casually as she traded the weapon between hands, raising her arm up to examine her palm. Billy could see from where he was standing that part of her flesh was raw. If she was in any pain, she didn't show it. In fact, he seemed more troubled by the sight of her injury than she was. Nerys glanced back up at him, dismissive of his concern, "I'm fine. After I wrap it up, want to go again?"
He made a face. "Seriously? Well, if you're not going take a rest, I am." It was the gentleman's way out. She was stubborn as any of the other boys in the guard, though -- if she didn't want to stop, at least he had tried to give her the chance to do so without damaging her dignity. The youth massaged the wrist that had been holding the buckler when she struck; he could still feel his bones rattling from the moment the warrior landed her mark. "Ow. You're like a bronto."
"So's your--" Nerys started out of instinct, though she had enough tact to stop before she said the wrong thing. So many people had been lost in the war that it was difficult to tell who was a Blight orphan these days. There was an awkward beat there, and the woman looked as if she almost wanted to apologize, but her pride wouldn't allow it. He didn't want to hear it anyway. Billy wasn't upset; four years was not enough time to forget the pain of losing his mother, but he'd grown a thicker skin to cover the wound. It was better not to talk about these things. She picked up again, brow arched as she waved him away, "Go on, then. I don't want to break you like the delicate porcelain doll you are."
Bending over to collect his discarded weapons, Billy pouted up at her, "Don't hate me because I'm prettier than you." Not that it was entirely true -- Nerys could, in fact, clean up nicely, but the opportunity to see her in a dress and actually looking like a young lady, rather than one of the boys, was as rare as a dragon sighting.
Halfway to the chest that contained the injury kits, she turned and laughed again, "Not for long if you keep blocking that way." They were both quiet as they went about their tasks. He restored his battered buckler and worn sword to their proper armament racks, while she settled herself on a bench and proceeded to wind a bandage around her hand. The echo of footsteps from down the corridor leading to the practice chamber caused them to look up at the direction of the source.