fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Monday Morning

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The Salle, Monday Morning

It had been very, very, very good for Arthur's nerves - not that he ever had nerves, thank you - to come home to an empty dorm room last night. He hadn't known where Leto was, nor had he particularly cared, and instead he'd abused the new space to get a chance to breathe.

The last week had made a fine attempt to do his head in. Arthur was, of course, better than that, and when he arrived at the salle that morning he was feeling remarkably fresh for the first time in far too long.

Starting in on an intermediate drill, he took the time to enjoy the fact that his muscles were finally moving properly again. God help them all: Arthur was actually feeling chipper.

The only thing that interfered with that at all was the thought that he was, at some point, going to have to talk to Leto in a way that didn't involve shouting.

[[ open like the salle is! ]]

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That was actually...

Fairly good. Arthur stopped to watch in earnest now, categorizing what moves she was making with a careful eye. He didn't say anything yet, not wanting to interrupt her.

Elspeth finished off a set of moves with a half-twist and an uppercut. She took a moment to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her face with a towel, then approached her watcher. "Hello," she said with a smile. "Are you the weaponsmaster here?"

"No," he said, unwilling to admit to any grudging admiration towards a girl's swordwork - barring, perhaps, Jaina's - just yet. "There's no weaponsmaster here that I know of. I'm Prince Arthur of Camelot."

Yes, the title was required every single time.

"I'm Lady Elspeth of Valdemar," Elspeth said, matching title for title. "Fellow student, then?"

"So the school tells me," said Arthur, to allow for his ego. "You're newly arrived, Lady Elspeth?"

Elspeth nodded. "Just two days ago. Have you been here long?"

"I found myself here in spring," which neatly sidestepped the details that had been making Arthur's life miserable. "So you couldn't really call me a native."

"Interested in a bit of sparring?" she asked. "I could use the practice."

[Back in a bit!]

"I don't think that would be appropriate," Arthur replied. Because she was a girl, and while good with the sword--

Yeah, he'd be concerned about hurting her. If she'd been anyone he'd known for longer than a few seconds, he would've even told her it was a ridiculous idea. "I don't want to hurt you."

There were a number of possible responses to that and if she'd known him longer than a few seconds, she might have gone with a less diplomatic one. Instead, she just said, "Better in here than on the battlefield."

"I've no intention of facing you on the battlefield, either."

Oh, Arthur.

"Right," Elspeth smiled. It had a dangerous edge to it. "If we met on the battlefield, would you just surrender or would you turn tail and run?"

Arthur stared at her. "I would do neither," he said. Someone would put a woman on the front li--

All right, considering Ealdor, he had no leg to stand on on that account.

"What, then, lay down and cry?"

"Never," he shot back. "Stand there and insult me as you wish, I'm not going to fight you."

This was probably exactly how Morgana managed to get him to spar with her nine times out of ten when they were children, although Arthur knew (somewhat) better by now.

"What do you intend to do when you have to face a woman on the battlefield, then?" Elspeth asked.

"Disarm her as soon as possible," Arthur said, "I'm not in the business of harming women." Beyond sorceresses, anyway.

Why was this such a difficult concept for these people?

That put him one up on Ancar, to whom harming women was both a business and an avocation.

It was still irritating, however. "Why not see if you can disarm me, then?" she asked. At this point Elspeth wasn't sure how useful he'd be as a sparring partner but she wouldn't mind an excuse to hit him.

Oh, for the love of--

"Will it make you go away?" he asked, because he realised he couldn't actually dismiss her.

"I'll stop talking to you, if that's what you mean," Elspeth said. "I still intend to use the salle."

"Stop bothering me, yes," he clarified, "It's not my salle, you're free to use it as you wish."

"All right, then." Elspeth brought her practice sword up in a defensive posture. "Try to disarm me."

Arthur gave his own a twirl - mostly because he was genetically incapable of not doing that - and struck a blow at her that was clearly meant for the sword.

Wouldn't be too hard to distract her and then twist the sword out of her hands, right? Arthur could do that.

Elspeth had spent nearly eight years training daily with a weaponsmaster who never held back. Who knew that any day could be the time when the skills he taught her would make the difference between survival and death.

It would take a bit more than a distraction.

She avoided his blow by simply lowering her sword and then swept it back up in a half-circle, aiming for the wrist of his sword arm.

Arthur was not enough of a novice not to duck and twist out of the way at the last second, but that? Had been close. Especially considering that his sword arm, while now fully usable, probably wouldn't take kindly to being damaged again.

He gripped his own blade with two hands, utterly disbelieving that a girl could get that close, and struck again, low.

He was aiming less for the sword this time. He would not admit to that.

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