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It was an easily identifiable sound, and one that when it rent the morning peace, betrayed the presence of the elder of Irakles’ sons within the archontiko. An immovable part of the man’s routine, Achilleas would without fail rise early to put in an hour’s training with sword and spear before he began the day proper. It was his way of keeping himself sharp, keeping his hand in when often so many of his duties had him fending off paperwork than actual assailants. Never mind if he was in Euttica or Vasiliadon, he was a creature of habit and discipline.
He didn’t apologise for the disturbance that might be caused by the noise of the wooden practice sword glancing off one another, the sound catching in the courtyard walls and bouncing back on itself. His father and brother would understand, and if he were being honest with himself, he didn’t much care for the opinions of the others who he might waken with his practice.
The Lord did at least attempt to keep his voice lowered as he spoke with his opponent, a young Lieutenant from the Lions whom Krysto had mentioned showed particular promise. With little time to spend on the grassroots level training of the unit, Achilleas trusted his Captain and long time friend to nurture such talents: Krysto was more than capable, an outstanding soldier. Still, it did not sit well with the Commander to be entirely removed from his own Province’s unit, so when he could, he would *borrow* such nominated individuals to act as personal guard to him for a few days, so he might take such opportunity to train with them. It gave him an opponent with a different approach and the chance to see those that Krysto considered worthy of note, and it was hardly an opportunity any young soldier would pass up. This one, Andonios, was a farmer’s boy, but he showed enough promise to carve himself an entirely different life, should he wish it.
Achilleas had a good reputation amongst the men of Taengea’s military. He was firm yet fair, accomplished yet not unapproachable despite his own rank and title. And he was not a nobleman who sat behind a table with a title bestowed only for his name, he had and always would be a man happier with sword in hand on the front lines that sitting at home and giving orders. Now, he raised his eyebrows at the younger man before him, smiled a little and tilted his head. “ You are fast, as Captain Krysto says. Enough to make me feel my age. Again, and this time stop holding back. You aren’t going to be punished for whacking me with a wooden sword. I’m not so breakable”
He readied himself for the attack: the soldier was lightning quick, but his moves were still a little predictable, he hadn’t yet the confidence to really come at the Commander with his best effort. Achilleas was working to respond to the other’s pace but otherwise, it was a fairly lazy defence he was putting forward. Frowning slightly when Andonios did not step forward into the bout, the Mikaelidas Lord saw the younger man’s eyes lift over his shoulder and so he stopped, turned with the wooden sword held loosely in his right hand to see what had called the attention of the soldier. He was mildly unimpressed that the lad would allow himself to be so distracted, even more so when his gaze fell upon the young girl who had no doubt been responsible for the youth’s wandering attention.
Tempted to ignore her presence and return to the task at hand, Achilleas realised that to do so would be more than a little rude, and so with an irritated expression on his face, he turned back to Andonios, shooting the boy a sharp look that suggested he shouldn’t let his attention linger on the girl. “Go get a drink. We’ll resume in a few moments.” Dismissing the youth, he then turned his attention to the cause of the disruption, greeting his half-sister with an expectant look rather than anything welcoming.
Achilleas could not claim to share any particular closeness with either of the girl's who shared his blood if not his name, and nor was he in any hurry to forge such a relationship. They existed, and he was not thrilled about that, but he tolerated their presence. That was as far as it went. He rather preferred it if their paths did not cross, and so was not particularly pleased with this interruption.
“Is there something I can do for you? Or is swordplay a spectator sport now?”
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Clack, clack.
Clack.
It was an easily identifiable sound, and one that when it rent the morning peace, betrayed the presence of the elder of Irakles’ sons within the archontiko. An immovable part of the man’s routine, Achilleas would without fail rise early to put in an hour’s training with sword and spear before he began the day proper. It was his way of keeping himself sharp, keeping his hand in when often so many of his duties had him fending off paperwork than actual assailants. Never mind if he was in Euttica or Vasiliadon, he was a creature of habit and discipline.
He didn’t apologise for the disturbance that might be caused by the noise of the wooden practice sword glancing off one another, the sound catching in the courtyard walls and bouncing back on itself. His father and brother would understand, and if he were being honest with himself, he didn’t much care for the opinions of the others who he might waken with his practice.
The Lord did at least attempt to keep his voice lowered as he spoke with his opponent, a young Lieutenant from the Lions whom Krysto had mentioned showed particular promise. With little time to spend on the grassroots level training of the unit, Achilleas trusted his Captain and long time friend to nurture such talents: Krysto was more than capable, an outstanding soldier. Still, it did not sit well with the Commander to be entirely removed from his own Province’s unit, so when he could, he would *borrow* such nominated individuals to act as personal guard to him for a few days, so he might take such opportunity to train with them. It gave him an opponent with a different approach and the chance to see those that Krysto considered worthy of note, and it was hardly an opportunity any young soldier would pass up. This one, Andonios, was a farmer’s boy, but he showed enough promise to carve himself an entirely different life, should he wish it.
Achilleas had a good reputation amongst the men of Taengea’s military. He was firm yet fair, accomplished yet not unapproachable despite his own rank and title. And he was not a nobleman who sat behind a table with a title bestowed only for his name, he had and always would be a man happier with sword in hand on the front lines that sitting at home and giving orders. Now, he raised his eyebrows at the younger man before him, smiled a little and tilted his head. “ You are fast, as Captain Krysto says. Enough to make me feel my age. Again, and this time stop holding back. You aren’t going to be punished for whacking me with a wooden sword. I’m not so breakable”
He readied himself for the attack: the soldier was lightning quick, but his moves were still a little predictable, he hadn’t yet the confidence to really come at the Commander with his best effort. Achilleas was working to respond to the other’s pace but otherwise, it was a fairly lazy defence he was putting forward. Frowning slightly when Andonios did not step forward into the bout, the Mikaelidas Lord saw the younger man’s eyes lift over his shoulder and so he stopped, turned with the wooden sword held loosely in his right hand to see what had called the attention of the soldier. He was mildly unimpressed that the lad would allow himself to be so distracted, even more so when his gaze fell upon the young girl who had no doubt been responsible for the youth’s wandering attention.
Tempted to ignore her presence and return to the task at hand, Achilleas realised that to do so would be more than a little rude, and so with an irritated expression on his face, he turned back to Andonios, shooting the boy a sharp look that suggested he shouldn’t let his attention linger on the girl. “Go get a drink. We’ll resume in a few moments.” Dismissing the youth, he then turned his attention to the cause of the disruption, greeting his half-sister with an expectant look rather than anything welcoming.
Achilleas could not claim to share any particular closeness with either of the girl's who shared his blood if not his name, and nor was he in any hurry to forge such a relationship. They existed, and he was not thrilled about that, but he tolerated their presence. That was as far as it went. He rather preferred it if their paths did not cross, and so was not particularly pleased with this interruption.
“Is there something I can do for you? Or is swordplay a spectator sport now?”
Clack, clack.
Clack.
It was an easily identifiable sound, and one that when it rent the morning peace, betrayed the presence of the elder of Irakles’ sons within the archontiko. An immovable part of the man’s routine, Achilleas would without fail rise early to put in an hour’s training with sword and spear before he began the day proper. It was his way of keeping himself sharp, keeping his hand in when often so many of his duties had him fending off paperwork than actual assailants. Never mind if he was in Euttica or Vasiliadon, he was a creature of habit and discipline.
He didn’t apologise for the disturbance that might be caused by the noise of the wooden practice sword glancing off one another, the sound catching in the courtyard walls and bouncing back on itself. His father and brother would understand, and if he were being honest with himself, he didn’t much care for the opinions of the others who he might waken with his practice.
The Lord did at least attempt to keep his voice lowered as he spoke with his opponent, a young Lieutenant from the Lions whom Krysto had mentioned showed particular promise. With little time to spend on the grassroots level training of the unit, Achilleas trusted his Captain and long time friend to nurture such talents: Krysto was more than capable, an outstanding soldier. Still, it did not sit well with the Commander to be entirely removed from his own Province’s unit, so when he could, he would *borrow* such nominated individuals to act as personal guard to him for a few days, so he might take such opportunity to train with them. It gave him an opponent with a different approach and the chance to see those that Krysto considered worthy of note, and it was hardly an opportunity any young soldier would pass up. This one, Andonios, was a farmer’s boy, but he showed enough promise to carve himself an entirely different life, should he wish it.
Achilleas had a good reputation amongst the men of Taengea’s military. He was firm yet fair, accomplished yet not unapproachable despite his own rank and title. And he was not a nobleman who sat behind a table with a title bestowed only for his name, he had and always would be a man happier with sword in hand on the front lines that sitting at home and giving orders. Now, he raised his eyebrows at the younger man before him, smiled a little and tilted his head. “ You are fast, as Captain Krysto says. Enough to make me feel my age. Again, and this time stop holding back. You aren’t going to be punished for whacking me with a wooden sword. I’m not so breakable”
He readied himself for the attack: the soldier was lightning quick, but his moves were still a little predictable, he hadn’t yet the confidence to really come at the Commander with his best effort. Achilleas was working to respond to the other’s pace but otherwise, it was a fairly lazy defence he was putting forward. Frowning slightly when Andonios did not step forward into the bout, the Mikaelidas Lord saw the younger man’s eyes lift over his shoulder and so he stopped, turned with the wooden sword held loosely in his right hand to see what had called the attention of the soldier. He was mildly unimpressed that the lad would allow himself to be so distracted, even more so when his gaze fell upon the young girl who had no doubt been responsible for the youth’s wandering attention.
Tempted to ignore her presence and return to the task at hand, Achilleas realised that to do so would be more than a little rude, and so with an irritated expression on his face, he turned back to Andonios, shooting the boy a sharp look that suggested he shouldn’t let his attention linger on the girl. “Go get a drink. We’ll resume in a few moments.” Dismissing the youth, he then turned his attention to the cause of the disruption, greeting his half-sister with an expectant look rather than anything welcoming.
Achilleas could not claim to share any particular closeness with either of the girl's who shared his blood if not his name, and nor was he in any hurry to forge such a relationship. They existed, and he was not thrilled about that, but he tolerated their presence. That was as far as it went. He rather preferred it if their paths did not cross, and so was not particularly pleased with this interruption.
“Is there something I can do for you? Or is swordplay a spectator sport now?”
The youngest daughter of Irakles had her hands full with a basket of flowers and herbs from her portion of the gardens. It was a good enough harvest for what she wanted, which was to make flower crowns for her friends although she wanted to talk to the gardener about what she could do to increase her yield. The leather-wrapped handle was soft in her grip, as she hummed while walking away from the gardens and back towards her room to get started.
Clack, clack
Clack.
Her song was interrupted by the sound, and the fourteen year old paused for a moment. What was that? She wondered, turning her head back toward the direction that she thought the sound might be coming from. The pale blue of her chiton rustled as she turned fully toward the sound, drawn to it as if it were a siren’s call -- curious and unable to help herself. Her sandals hardly made a sound, even though she was practically running -- earning the ire of Erika as she slid past the housekeeper.
She came to the courtyard, the clacks much louder and more distinct now. Swordplay. Her basket temporarily forgotten -- the brunette put her hands to a short railing that separated the hall from the courtyard, near the short set of steps that led down to the well-kept grounds. It was like that on all sides, offering multiple avenues of escape should one need it. It was much easier to cut directly through the courtyard than to go around it.
Sara smiled at the two men who were practicing, one she recognized as her eldest brother and the other an unfamiliar presence. Was this one of Achilleas’ prospective soldiers? It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to have them in the archontikos, testing the promising ones. She leaned against the railing, happy to spectate without interference. But after a few minutes, it seemed that she had been noticed -- her eyes meeting directly with the young soldier’s before he went back to the work at hand. It was too late however, and she dropped into a crouch behind the railing as Achilleas’ turned to see her standing there.
She winced, still visible she knew thanks to the spaces between the columns that made up the railing. Her hand reached for her basket, ready to sneak away -- except then he called out to her.
Is there something I can do for you? Or is swordplay a spectator sport now?”
She winced again, knowing he was not going to let her slink away without a rebuke. So she took a deep, steadying breath and straightened up -- an embarrassed flush on her face. ”Apologies, Achilleas.” She said, swinging her basket to hold it with both hands in front of her. ”I just heard the swords and...wanted to see.” She admitted. She would never admit that she had interest in such things. She was fair enough with her slingshot, and she did not think she was the type to be able to actually wield a more ‘true’ weapon. She simply didn’t have it in her.
Still, she found herself cautiously approaching the short flight of stairs. ”He seems good.” She said awkwardly. ”N-not as good as you, of course! I bet that you could teach anyone...even someone like me.”
Artemis save her, could she make things any worse for herself?
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The youngest daughter of Irakles had her hands full with a basket of flowers and herbs from her portion of the gardens. It was a good enough harvest for what she wanted, which was to make flower crowns for her friends although she wanted to talk to the gardener about what she could do to increase her yield. The leather-wrapped handle was soft in her grip, as she hummed while walking away from the gardens and back towards her room to get started.
Clack, clack
Clack.
Her song was interrupted by the sound, and the fourteen year old paused for a moment. What was that? She wondered, turning her head back toward the direction that she thought the sound might be coming from. The pale blue of her chiton rustled as she turned fully toward the sound, drawn to it as if it were a siren’s call -- curious and unable to help herself. Her sandals hardly made a sound, even though she was practically running -- earning the ire of Erika as she slid past the housekeeper.
She came to the courtyard, the clacks much louder and more distinct now. Swordplay. Her basket temporarily forgotten -- the brunette put her hands to a short railing that separated the hall from the courtyard, near the short set of steps that led down to the well-kept grounds. It was like that on all sides, offering multiple avenues of escape should one need it. It was much easier to cut directly through the courtyard than to go around it.
Sara smiled at the two men who were practicing, one she recognized as her eldest brother and the other an unfamiliar presence. Was this one of Achilleas’ prospective soldiers? It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to have them in the archontikos, testing the promising ones. She leaned against the railing, happy to spectate without interference. But after a few minutes, it seemed that she had been noticed -- her eyes meeting directly with the young soldier’s before he went back to the work at hand. It was too late however, and she dropped into a crouch behind the railing as Achilleas’ turned to see her standing there.
She winced, still visible she knew thanks to the spaces between the columns that made up the railing. Her hand reached for her basket, ready to sneak away -- except then he called out to her.
Is there something I can do for you? Or is swordplay a spectator sport now?”
She winced again, knowing he was not going to let her slink away without a rebuke. So she took a deep, steadying breath and straightened up -- an embarrassed flush on her face. ”Apologies, Achilleas.” She said, swinging her basket to hold it with both hands in front of her. ”I just heard the swords and...wanted to see.” She admitted. She would never admit that she had interest in such things. She was fair enough with her slingshot, and she did not think she was the type to be able to actually wield a more ‘true’ weapon. She simply didn’t have it in her.
Still, she found herself cautiously approaching the short flight of stairs. ”He seems good.” She said awkwardly. ”N-not as good as you, of course! I bet that you could teach anyone...even someone like me.”
Artemis save her, could she make things any worse for herself?
The youngest daughter of Irakles had her hands full with a basket of flowers and herbs from her portion of the gardens. It was a good enough harvest for what she wanted, which was to make flower crowns for her friends although she wanted to talk to the gardener about what she could do to increase her yield. The leather-wrapped handle was soft in her grip, as she hummed while walking away from the gardens and back towards her room to get started.
Clack, clack
Clack.
Her song was interrupted by the sound, and the fourteen year old paused for a moment. What was that? She wondered, turning her head back toward the direction that she thought the sound might be coming from. The pale blue of her chiton rustled as she turned fully toward the sound, drawn to it as if it were a siren’s call -- curious and unable to help herself. Her sandals hardly made a sound, even though she was practically running -- earning the ire of Erika as she slid past the housekeeper.
She came to the courtyard, the clacks much louder and more distinct now. Swordplay. Her basket temporarily forgotten -- the brunette put her hands to a short railing that separated the hall from the courtyard, near the short set of steps that led down to the well-kept grounds. It was like that on all sides, offering multiple avenues of escape should one need it. It was much easier to cut directly through the courtyard than to go around it.
Sara smiled at the two men who were practicing, one she recognized as her eldest brother and the other an unfamiliar presence. Was this one of Achilleas’ prospective soldiers? It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him to have them in the archontikos, testing the promising ones. She leaned against the railing, happy to spectate without interference. But after a few minutes, it seemed that she had been noticed -- her eyes meeting directly with the young soldier’s before he went back to the work at hand. It was too late however, and she dropped into a crouch behind the railing as Achilleas’ turned to see her standing there.
She winced, still visible she knew thanks to the spaces between the columns that made up the railing. Her hand reached for her basket, ready to sneak away -- except then he called out to her.
Is there something I can do for you? Or is swordplay a spectator sport now?”
She winced again, knowing he was not going to let her slink away without a rebuke. So she took a deep, steadying breath and straightened up -- an embarrassed flush on her face. ”Apologies, Achilleas.” She said, swinging her basket to hold it with both hands in front of her. ”I just heard the swords and...wanted to see.” She admitted. She would never admit that she had interest in such things. She was fair enough with her slingshot, and she did not think she was the type to be able to actually wield a more ‘true’ weapon. She simply didn’t have it in her.
Still, she found herself cautiously approaching the short flight of stairs. ”He seems good.” She said awkwardly. ”N-not as good as you, of course! I bet that you could teach anyone...even someone like me.”
Artemis save her, could she make things any worse for herself?
If he were being honest with himself, much of his annoyance came from the way the young soldier’s gaze had settled on Sara in interest. She was barely more than a child, and Andonios should have been more focused. Still, whatever the cause, the interruption was unwanted, and the baron frowned at his half-sister as she ducked, somehow hoping he wouldn’t notice her there. There was the sharp arch of a brow that let her know her attempts were not successful.
‘Apologies, Achilleas. I just head the swords and... wanted to see’
He couldn’t exactly argue with that. Despite how grossly inappropriate it was, the archontiko was her home, Achilleas had no recourse for that situation. And he supposed the noise might have been a disturbance. The man’s frown smoothed away and he sighed. “It's fine. It is Andonios who is at fault for being so easily distracted”
He might have turned away then, gone to get a drink for himself during the brief respite he’d allowed his sparring partner, but his half-sibling moved to close the distance between then, and so, with a slightly sinking feeling, Achilleas stayed where he was, the wooden practice sword hanging loosely at his side, his other hand resting lightly at his hip. Looking mildly surprised at the girl’s shyly offered commentary, he directed a glance over to the far side of the courtyard where the younger man was wiping his face with a damp cloth and tilted his head appraisingly.
“He is quite good. He’d be even better if he didn’t let a pretty face steal his focus” There was a press of his lips at the girl’s next words, and Achilleas flipped the wooden sword up easily so it laid between his two hands. “Anyone can learn anything if they put their mind to it. Its hard work and perseverance that separates those who are able and those who are not.”
He knew of his reputation, of the whispers of Ares’ favour, but there was not a single person who knew the elder of Irakles’ sons who could deny that he practised what he preached. Achilleas did not slack off in his training: he was not one to be out carousing and emerge from his bed at midday. Even now when so much of his time was taken with running a barony, he practised every day without fail.
As a boy, so keen to live up to the expectations upon a general’s son, he had trained longer and harder than the other boys. Not being the best was unthinkable, and even when he was defeating men years his senior, his father’s only words had been to ask if he was satisfied with that when there was so much still left to improve.
So no, Achilleas was not one to accept that lack of natural talent was enough to excuse poor results. If you didn’t possess a flair for something, then you only needed to work harder. “So yes, even someone like you” he went on, eyeing Sara sceptically. He wasn’t certain if she was expressing a genuine interest or just attempting to make conversation “Have you ever tried?”
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If he were being honest with himself, much of his annoyance came from the way the young soldier’s gaze had settled on Sara in interest. She was barely more than a child, and Andonios should have been more focused. Still, whatever the cause, the interruption was unwanted, and the baron frowned at his half-sister as she ducked, somehow hoping he wouldn’t notice her there. There was the sharp arch of a brow that let her know her attempts were not successful.
‘Apologies, Achilleas. I just head the swords and... wanted to see’
He couldn’t exactly argue with that. Despite how grossly inappropriate it was, the archontiko was her home, Achilleas had no recourse for that situation. And he supposed the noise might have been a disturbance. The man’s frown smoothed away and he sighed. “It's fine. It is Andonios who is at fault for being so easily distracted”
He might have turned away then, gone to get a drink for himself during the brief respite he’d allowed his sparring partner, but his half-sibling moved to close the distance between then, and so, with a slightly sinking feeling, Achilleas stayed where he was, the wooden practice sword hanging loosely at his side, his other hand resting lightly at his hip. Looking mildly surprised at the girl’s shyly offered commentary, he directed a glance over to the far side of the courtyard where the younger man was wiping his face with a damp cloth and tilted his head appraisingly.
“He is quite good. He’d be even better if he didn’t let a pretty face steal his focus” There was a press of his lips at the girl’s next words, and Achilleas flipped the wooden sword up easily so it laid between his two hands. “Anyone can learn anything if they put their mind to it. Its hard work and perseverance that separates those who are able and those who are not.”
He knew of his reputation, of the whispers of Ares’ favour, but there was not a single person who knew the elder of Irakles’ sons who could deny that he practised what he preached. Achilleas did not slack off in his training: he was not one to be out carousing and emerge from his bed at midday. Even now when so much of his time was taken with running a barony, he practised every day without fail.
As a boy, so keen to live up to the expectations upon a general’s son, he had trained longer and harder than the other boys. Not being the best was unthinkable, and even when he was defeating men years his senior, his father’s only words had been to ask if he was satisfied with that when there was so much still left to improve.
So no, Achilleas was not one to accept that lack of natural talent was enough to excuse poor results. If you didn’t possess a flair for something, then you only needed to work harder. “So yes, even someone like you” he went on, eyeing Sara sceptically. He wasn’t certain if she was expressing a genuine interest or just attempting to make conversation “Have you ever tried?”
If he were being honest with himself, much of his annoyance came from the way the young soldier’s gaze had settled on Sara in interest. She was barely more than a child, and Andonios should have been more focused. Still, whatever the cause, the interruption was unwanted, and the baron frowned at his half-sister as she ducked, somehow hoping he wouldn’t notice her there. There was the sharp arch of a brow that let her know her attempts were not successful.
‘Apologies, Achilleas. I just head the swords and... wanted to see’
He couldn’t exactly argue with that. Despite how grossly inappropriate it was, the archontiko was her home, Achilleas had no recourse for that situation. And he supposed the noise might have been a disturbance. The man’s frown smoothed away and he sighed. “It's fine. It is Andonios who is at fault for being so easily distracted”
He might have turned away then, gone to get a drink for himself during the brief respite he’d allowed his sparring partner, but his half-sibling moved to close the distance between then, and so, with a slightly sinking feeling, Achilleas stayed where he was, the wooden practice sword hanging loosely at his side, his other hand resting lightly at his hip. Looking mildly surprised at the girl’s shyly offered commentary, he directed a glance over to the far side of the courtyard where the younger man was wiping his face with a damp cloth and tilted his head appraisingly.
“He is quite good. He’d be even better if he didn’t let a pretty face steal his focus” There was a press of his lips at the girl’s next words, and Achilleas flipped the wooden sword up easily so it laid between his two hands. “Anyone can learn anything if they put their mind to it. Its hard work and perseverance that separates those who are able and those who are not.”
He knew of his reputation, of the whispers of Ares’ favour, but there was not a single person who knew the elder of Irakles’ sons who could deny that he practised what he preached. Achilleas did not slack off in his training: he was not one to be out carousing and emerge from his bed at midday. Even now when so much of his time was taken with running a barony, he practised every day without fail.
As a boy, so keen to live up to the expectations upon a general’s son, he had trained longer and harder than the other boys. Not being the best was unthinkable, and even when he was defeating men years his senior, his father’s only words had been to ask if he was satisfied with that when there was so much still left to improve.
So no, Achilleas was not one to accept that lack of natural talent was enough to excuse poor results. If you didn’t possess a flair for something, then you only needed to work harder. “So yes, even someone like you” he went on, eyeing Sara sceptically. He wasn’t certain if she was expressing a genuine interest or just attempting to make conversation “Have you ever tried?”
It was no surprise that Sara mostly steered clear of her eldest brother -- his dislike for her mother was not a secret, and as she had come into her own she had learned of the shameful history that had led to her own birth. She could not find fault with him to keep his distance, although she did try in her own small ways to impress upon him her affection. It was not so open as it was with Emilios, but she’d always snuck it in. Small, unobtrusive flowers in his things or foods that she thought he would like sent along by the servants.
Still, it was hard not to squirm under the frown he had directed at her. She found that her gaze found other things to look at, one hand drawn up to the nape of her neck to play nervously with her hair. Her gaze flicked to the young man when Achilleas spoke his name, and she found that he was looking back at her. Her blush deepened, and she quickly looked away again. Andonios, hm?
She had almost missed his fleeting comment on her appearance, and she wondered just how much more red she could become. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him say something so nice about her before. But she didn’t dare even acknowledge it, beyond the tightening of her grip on her harvest basket. He spoke of perseverance and hard work, and she found herself nodding along. Achilleas certainly had both of those, she thought.
He was one of the hardest working men that she knew. She admired him for his work ethic, and took pride in knowing that she shared even some part of the blood that made him so strong. Maybe that meant that she could be strong too. Her eyebrows shot up as he asked if she had ever tried her hand at the sword. She shook her dark head quickly. ”Oh no...I don’t think I ever have.” She said sheepishly, a nervous laugh falling from her lips at the idea.
”My talent lies more with the slingshot.” She said automatically, closing her mouth with a click of teeth -- nearly biting her tongue as she had not meant to say that aloud. She smiled to cover her mistake and gave a little shrug. Still, she found herself moving forward until they were on the same ground -- although she was much shorter than he was. There was no way that she could stand against him in a sword fight -- mock or not. He was an imposing figure, and she could see why he must be feared on a battling field.
She opened her mouth to ask for a lesson, but found the idea too bold for her liking. There was no way in hades that he would agree to do that. Emilios perhaps, if she were truly inclined to learn -- but she wasn’t sure that she was. ”Is it...too distracting if I keep watching?” She asked instead, thinking that she could find a place out of the way. She glanced where the young man was watching them more openly now.
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It was no surprise that Sara mostly steered clear of her eldest brother -- his dislike for her mother was not a secret, and as she had come into her own she had learned of the shameful history that had led to her own birth. She could not find fault with him to keep his distance, although she did try in her own small ways to impress upon him her affection. It was not so open as it was with Emilios, but she’d always snuck it in. Small, unobtrusive flowers in his things or foods that she thought he would like sent along by the servants.
Still, it was hard not to squirm under the frown he had directed at her. She found that her gaze found other things to look at, one hand drawn up to the nape of her neck to play nervously with her hair. Her gaze flicked to the young man when Achilleas spoke his name, and she found that he was looking back at her. Her blush deepened, and she quickly looked away again. Andonios, hm?
She had almost missed his fleeting comment on her appearance, and she wondered just how much more red she could become. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him say something so nice about her before. But she didn’t dare even acknowledge it, beyond the tightening of her grip on her harvest basket. He spoke of perseverance and hard work, and she found herself nodding along. Achilleas certainly had both of those, she thought.
He was one of the hardest working men that she knew. She admired him for his work ethic, and took pride in knowing that she shared even some part of the blood that made him so strong. Maybe that meant that she could be strong too. Her eyebrows shot up as he asked if she had ever tried her hand at the sword. She shook her dark head quickly. ”Oh no...I don’t think I ever have.” She said sheepishly, a nervous laugh falling from her lips at the idea.
”My talent lies more with the slingshot.” She said automatically, closing her mouth with a click of teeth -- nearly biting her tongue as she had not meant to say that aloud. She smiled to cover her mistake and gave a little shrug. Still, she found herself moving forward until they were on the same ground -- although she was much shorter than he was. There was no way that she could stand against him in a sword fight -- mock or not. He was an imposing figure, and she could see why he must be feared on a battling field.
She opened her mouth to ask for a lesson, but found the idea too bold for her liking. There was no way in hades that he would agree to do that. Emilios perhaps, if she were truly inclined to learn -- but she wasn’t sure that she was. ”Is it...too distracting if I keep watching?” She asked instead, thinking that she could find a place out of the way. She glanced where the young man was watching them more openly now.
It was no surprise that Sara mostly steered clear of her eldest brother -- his dislike for her mother was not a secret, and as she had come into her own she had learned of the shameful history that had led to her own birth. She could not find fault with him to keep his distance, although she did try in her own small ways to impress upon him her affection. It was not so open as it was with Emilios, but she’d always snuck it in. Small, unobtrusive flowers in his things or foods that she thought he would like sent along by the servants.
Still, it was hard not to squirm under the frown he had directed at her. She found that her gaze found other things to look at, one hand drawn up to the nape of her neck to play nervously with her hair. Her gaze flicked to the young man when Achilleas spoke his name, and she found that he was looking back at her. Her blush deepened, and she quickly looked away again. Andonios, hm?
She had almost missed his fleeting comment on her appearance, and she wondered just how much more red she could become. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him say something so nice about her before. But she didn’t dare even acknowledge it, beyond the tightening of her grip on her harvest basket. He spoke of perseverance and hard work, and she found herself nodding along. Achilleas certainly had both of those, she thought.
He was one of the hardest working men that she knew. She admired him for his work ethic, and took pride in knowing that she shared even some part of the blood that made him so strong. Maybe that meant that she could be strong too. Her eyebrows shot up as he asked if she had ever tried her hand at the sword. She shook her dark head quickly. ”Oh no...I don’t think I ever have.” She said sheepishly, a nervous laugh falling from her lips at the idea.
”My talent lies more with the slingshot.” She said automatically, closing her mouth with a click of teeth -- nearly biting her tongue as she had not meant to say that aloud. She smiled to cover her mistake and gave a little shrug. Still, she found herself moving forward until they were on the same ground -- although she was much shorter than he was. There was no way that she could stand against him in a sword fight -- mock or not. He was an imposing figure, and she could see why he must be feared on a battling field.
She opened her mouth to ask for a lesson, but found the idea too bold for her liking. There was no way in hades that he would agree to do that. Emilios perhaps, if she were truly inclined to learn -- but she wasn’t sure that she was. ”Is it...too distracting if I keep watching?” She asked instead, thinking that she could find a place out of the way. She glanced where the young man was watching them more openly now.
Achilleas did not miss the way that Sara’s eyes drifted beyond him to seek out the young soldier, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he intended to shift the way he was standing to block her view, but he did. They might not be terribly close, but like it or not, the young girl was partly bound to him through family and he wasn’t entirely sure he was happy at the idea of her gawping at Andonios, nor with the boy gawping back. Gods teeth, was this going to be the way of it now? As if he didn’t have better things to do than shepherd moony-eyed teenagers.
Talking about the art of swordplay and the importance of hard work was something he felt much more comfortable with, and so he did just that, warming to his subject a little until Sra caught him off guard with one remark she made. There was a brief pause before he lifted a brow in question. “Slingshot?”. Now, where would she have even gotten a slingshot? He was surprised, the little girl in front of him hardly seeming made of the stuff to want to go around firing rocks at people. “And how did you find any talents lying in that direction?”
He could hardly imagine Meena looking away from her reflection long enough to gift the girl such a thing, and Tasia didn't seem the rough and tumble type either. Maybe Emilios? He was always soft with Sara, Achilleas noticed. The girl was obviously feeling bold because she’d closed the distance between them even further, and seemed on the verge of asking something of him. When the question came, it had her brother frown slightly, as if he thought that would be a very bad idea indeed, and Achilleas glanced over at Andonios and back to Sara before he replied, sounding resigned to whatever he’d decided. “Just wait there a moment”
He turned and walked across the courtyard to where the young soldier waited. His walk was very straight-backed, even here in his own home Achilleas didn’t slouch, but was very precise in his movements. He came to a crisp halt in front of his soldier and Sara couldn’t hear what passed between them, but she did see Andonios give a bow and then hurry off back towards the armoury, shooting her a furtive glance when his Commander’s back was turned.
Achilleas took a moment to accept a cup of water from the servant who stood by with a pitcher, and he drank deeply before setting the cup down, reaching for something else she couldn't quite see and making his way back over towards where Sara stood. He stopped before her and said brusquely. “You really ought to know at least how to defend yourself”. And that was apparently his offer to teach her because she noticed the item he’d picked up before was now being offered out toward her. A small dagger, blade wrapped in leather strips to make it suitable for practice. “ I am honestly surprised father has not seen to it already,” Achilleas said, frowning. Particularly if she was now going to be drawing the attention of young men, which apparently she was.
“Well?” he prompted impatiently, waiting for her to take the knife. “A slingshot will do you no good in close quarters you know”
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Achilleas did not miss the way that Sara’s eyes drifted beyond him to seek out the young soldier, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he intended to shift the way he was standing to block her view, but he did. They might not be terribly close, but like it or not, the young girl was partly bound to him through family and he wasn’t entirely sure he was happy at the idea of her gawping at Andonios, nor with the boy gawping back. Gods teeth, was this going to be the way of it now? As if he didn’t have better things to do than shepherd moony-eyed teenagers.
Talking about the art of swordplay and the importance of hard work was something he felt much more comfortable with, and so he did just that, warming to his subject a little until Sra caught him off guard with one remark she made. There was a brief pause before he lifted a brow in question. “Slingshot?”. Now, where would she have even gotten a slingshot? He was surprised, the little girl in front of him hardly seeming made of the stuff to want to go around firing rocks at people. “And how did you find any talents lying in that direction?”
He could hardly imagine Meena looking away from her reflection long enough to gift the girl such a thing, and Tasia didn't seem the rough and tumble type either. Maybe Emilios? He was always soft with Sara, Achilleas noticed. The girl was obviously feeling bold because she’d closed the distance between them even further, and seemed on the verge of asking something of him. When the question came, it had her brother frown slightly, as if he thought that would be a very bad idea indeed, and Achilleas glanced over at Andonios and back to Sara before he replied, sounding resigned to whatever he’d decided. “Just wait there a moment”
He turned and walked across the courtyard to where the young soldier waited. His walk was very straight-backed, even here in his own home Achilleas didn’t slouch, but was very precise in his movements. He came to a crisp halt in front of his soldier and Sara couldn’t hear what passed between them, but she did see Andonios give a bow and then hurry off back towards the armoury, shooting her a furtive glance when his Commander’s back was turned.
Achilleas took a moment to accept a cup of water from the servant who stood by with a pitcher, and he drank deeply before setting the cup down, reaching for something else she couldn't quite see and making his way back over towards where Sara stood. He stopped before her and said brusquely. “You really ought to know at least how to defend yourself”. And that was apparently his offer to teach her because she noticed the item he’d picked up before was now being offered out toward her. A small dagger, blade wrapped in leather strips to make it suitable for practice. “ I am honestly surprised father has not seen to it already,” Achilleas said, frowning. Particularly if she was now going to be drawing the attention of young men, which apparently she was.
“Well?” he prompted impatiently, waiting for her to take the knife. “A slingshot will do you no good in close quarters you know”
Achilleas did not miss the way that Sara’s eyes drifted beyond him to seek out the young soldier, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he intended to shift the way he was standing to block her view, but he did. They might not be terribly close, but like it or not, the young girl was partly bound to him through family and he wasn’t entirely sure he was happy at the idea of her gawping at Andonios, nor with the boy gawping back. Gods teeth, was this going to be the way of it now? As if he didn’t have better things to do than shepherd moony-eyed teenagers.
Talking about the art of swordplay and the importance of hard work was something he felt much more comfortable with, and so he did just that, warming to his subject a little until Sra caught him off guard with one remark she made. There was a brief pause before he lifted a brow in question. “Slingshot?”. Now, where would she have even gotten a slingshot? He was surprised, the little girl in front of him hardly seeming made of the stuff to want to go around firing rocks at people. “And how did you find any talents lying in that direction?”
He could hardly imagine Meena looking away from her reflection long enough to gift the girl such a thing, and Tasia didn't seem the rough and tumble type either. Maybe Emilios? He was always soft with Sara, Achilleas noticed. The girl was obviously feeling bold because she’d closed the distance between them even further, and seemed on the verge of asking something of him. When the question came, it had her brother frown slightly, as if he thought that would be a very bad idea indeed, and Achilleas glanced over at Andonios and back to Sara before he replied, sounding resigned to whatever he’d decided. “Just wait there a moment”
He turned and walked across the courtyard to where the young soldier waited. His walk was very straight-backed, even here in his own home Achilleas didn’t slouch, but was very precise in his movements. He came to a crisp halt in front of his soldier and Sara couldn’t hear what passed between them, but she did see Andonios give a bow and then hurry off back towards the armoury, shooting her a furtive glance when his Commander’s back was turned.
Achilleas took a moment to accept a cup of water from the servant who stood by with a pitcher, and he drank deeply before setting the cup down, reaching for something else she couldn't quite see and making his way back over towards where Sara stood. He stopped before her and said brusquely. “You really ought to know at least how to defend yourself”. And that was apparently his offer to teach her because she noticed the item he’d picked up before was now being offered out toward her. A small dagger, blade wrapped in leather strips to make it suitable for practice. “ I am honestly surprised father has not seen to it already,” Achilleas said, frowning. Particularly if she was now going to be drawing the attention of young men, which apparently she was.
“Well?” he prompted impatiently, waiting for her to take the knife. “A slingshot will do you no good in close quarters you know”
Her gaze had flickered up to Achilleas’ when he stepped into her line of sight, naive to the reasons why he might do that. Granted, Achilleas had never been the most...approachable big brother -- her presence more tolerated than appreciated. She did well to stay out of his way, and they perhaps had awkward run-ins like this a couple of times a year. She had been more apt to chase after him when she had been small -- escaping the watching eyes of her nursemaids in order to find her brothers and insist that they hold her hand or carry her on their shoulders. She had been so innocent once, and to many she was still.
And how did you find any talents lying in that direction? He had questioned, and she felt a little insulted by his surprise. She tilted her chin up, preening just a bit. ”Stephanos.” Sara said, shrugging at the mention of her cousin’s name. ”He says I’m pretty good...for a girl.” But she knew she was better than good. Her accuracy was rather impressive, and she knew that if she should choose to pick up a bow that it could easily become something more. However, the idea of doing much more than target practice was stomach churning -- and what was the point of learning to loose arrows if she never did anything with it?
She was looking directly at him, her shoulders dropping considerably as he frowned at her question and gave a resigned reply for her to wait. Her face was already falling, though she was trying to build up walls of stone to hide it -- drawing on a memory of her father’s face as she tried to replicate it. Admittedly, it was a poor attempt but she did wait although she wanted nothing more than to turn and disappear. Sometimes she did not know why she even tried so hard to win Achilleas’ affections. She yearned for his approval, even if she was afraid of him. Some small part of her thought that if she could just be kind enough, sweet enough, brave enough, smart enough that he would like her just a little. Just a sliver, that was all she wanted.
She fidgeted with the basket between her hands, her grip twisting the handle nervously as she looked down at the flowers she had planned to braid into crowns and press into books along with the herbs she was going to dry out to try her hand at herbal remedies. Maybe she should just go, but she worried that might make him think that she couldn’t follow orders either.
When he returned, she was about to open her mouth to excuse herself after all but she hadn’t had time to get them out before he was speaking. Defend herself? She wondered, her brows furrowing together as she tilted her head up just enough to meet his eye. Wasn’t that what the guards were for? The blue gaze dropped to the leather-wrapped dagger in his hand, held out for her to take. Sara hesitated, wondering if this was a trick but she did reach out, one hand leaving the handle of her basket to take the dagger gingerly from him.
She held it a little wrong, her fingers not quite sure how to grip it and she watched the blade warily as she turned to set her basket down and out of the way. Her heart began to increase its pace as she turned back to her brother -- surprised to have heard her own inner desires come true. A lesson with Achilleas, that should be...terrifying.
”How should I be holding this?” She asked, shifting the grip in different directions. Once it looked like a dinner knife in her hand, at another it was aligned down her arm with the grip facing up. That felt more natural somehow, but perhaps a little overzealous for a beginner. She blushed, a bubble of anxious laughter finding its way out of her throat. ”Sorry. First time.”
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Her gaze had flickered up to Achilleas’ when he stepped into her line of sight, naive to the reasons why he might do that. Granted, Achilleas had never been the most...approachable big brother -- her presence more tolerated than appreciated. She did well to stay out of his way, and they perhaps had awkward run-ins like this a couple of times a year. She had been more apt to chase after him when she had been small -- escaping the watching eyes of her nursemaids in order to find her brothers and insist that they hold her hand or carry her on their shoulders. She had been so innocent once, and to many she was still.
And how did you find any talents lying in that direction? He had questioned, and she felt a little insulted by his surprise. She tilted her chin up, preening just a bit. ”Stephanos.” Sara said, shrugging at the mention of her cousin’s name. ”He says I’m pretty good...for a girl.” But she knew she was better than good. Her accuracy was rather impressive, and she knew that if she should choose to pick up a bow that it could easily become something more. However, the idea of doing much more than target practice was stomach churning -- and what was the point of learning to loose arrows if she never did anything with it?
She was looking directly at him, her shoulders dropping considerably as he frowned at her question and gave a resigned reply for her to wait. Her face was already falling, though she was trying to build up walls of stone to hide it -- drawing on a memory of her father’s face as she tried to replicate it. Admittedly, it was a poor attempt but she did wait although she wanted nothing more than to turn and disappear. Sometimes she did not know why she even tried so hard to win Achilleas’ affections. She yearned for his approval, even if she was afraid of him. Some small part of her thought that if she could just be kind enough, sweet enough, brave enough, smart enough that he would like her just a little. Just a sliver, that was all she wanted.
She fidgeted with the basket between her hands, her grip twisting the handle nervously as she looked down at the flowers she had planned to braid into crowns and press into books along with the herbs she was going to dry out to try her hand at herbal remedies. Maybe she should just go, but she worried that might make him think that she couldn’t follow orders either.
When he returned, she was about to open her mouth to excuse herself after all but she hadn’t had time to get them out before he was speaking. Defend herself? She wondered, her brows furrowing together as she tilted her head up just enough to meet his eye. Wasn’t that what the guards were for? The blue gaze dropped to the leather-wrapped dagger in his hand, held out for her to take. Sara hesitated, wondering if this was a trick but she did reach out, one hand leaving the handle of her basket to take the dagger gingerly from him.
She held it a little wrong, her fingers not quite sure how to grip it and she watched the blade warily as she turned to set her basket down and out of the way. Her heart began to increase its pace as she turned back to her brother -- surprised to have heard her own inner desires come true. A lesson with Achilleas, that should be...terrifying.
”How should I be holding this?” She asked, shifting the grip in different directions. Once it looked like a dinner knife in her hand, at another it was aligned down her arm with the grip facing up. That felt more natural somehow, but perhaps a little overzealous for a beginner. She blushed, a bubble of anxious laughter finding its way out of her throat. ”Sorry. First time.”
Her gaze had flickered up to Achilleas’ when he stepped into her line of sight, naive to the reasons why he might do that. Granted, Achilleas had never been the most...approachable big brother -- her presence more tolerated than appreciated. She did well to stay out of his way, and they perhaps had awkward run-ins like this a couple of times a year. She had been more apt to chase after him when she had been small -- escaping the watching eyes of her nursemaids in order to find her brothers and insist that they hold her hand or carry her on their shoulders. She had been so innocent once, and to many she was still.
And how did you find any talents lying in that direction? He had questioned, and she felt a little insulted by his surprise. She tilted her chin up, preening just a bit. ”Stephanos.” Sara said, shrugging at the mention of her cousin’s name. ”He says I’m pretty good...for a girl.” But she knew she was better than good. Her accuracy was rather impressive, and she knew that if she should choose to pick up a bow that it could easily become something more. However, the idea of doing much more than target practice was stomach churning -- and what was the point of learning to loose arrows if she never did anything with it?
She was looking directly at him, her shoulders dropping considerably as he frowned at her question and gave a resigned reply for her to wait. Her face was already falling, though she was trying to build up walls of stone to hide it -- drawing on a memory of her father’s face as she tried to replicate it. Admittedly, it was a poor attempt but she did wait although she wanted nothing more than to turn and disappear. Sometimes she did not know why she even tried so hard to win Achilleas’ affections. She yearned for his approval, even if she was afraid of him. Some small part of her thought that if she could just be kind enough, sweet enough, brave enough, smart enough that he would like her just a little. Just a sliver, that was all she wanted.
She fidgeted with the basket between her hands, her grip twisting the handle nervously as she looked down at the flowers she had planned to braid into crowns and press into books along with the herbs she was going to dry out to try her hand at herbal remedies. Maybe she should just go, but she worried that might make him think that she couldn’t follow orders either.
When he returned, she was about to open her mouth to excuse herself after all but she hadn’t had time to get them out before he was speaking. Defend herself? She wondered, her brows furrowing together as she tilted her head up just enough to meet his eye. Wasn’t that what the guards were for? The blue gaze dropped to the leather-wrapped dagger in his hand, held out for her to take. Sara hesitated, wondering if this was a trick but she did reach out, one hand leaving the handle of her basket to take the dagger gingerly from him.
She held it a little wrong, her fingers not quite sure how to grip it and she watched the blade warily as she turned to set her basket down and out of the way. Her heart began to increase its pace as she turned back to her brother -- surprised to have heard her own inner desires come true. A lesson with Achilleas, that should be...terrifying.
”How should I be holding this?” She asked, shifting the grip in different directions. Once it looked like a dinner knife in her hand, at another it was aligned down her arm with the grip facing up. That felt more natural somehow, but perhaps a little overzealous for a beginner. She blushed, a bubble of anxious laughter finding its way out of her throat. ”Sorry. First time.”
He had not expected to hear his cousin’s name fall from her lips, that much was clear at the lift of his brows. Truly, Achilleas sometimes forgot they were her family as much as his, but he wondered when exactly she had spent time enough with Stephanos for him to arm her with a slingshot and teach her to use it. He didn’t know quite how to feel about that. A little put out perhaps that his cousin had chosen to take Sara under his wing like that? And as Achilleas looked at her, he realised with a bit of a jolt that it wasn’t because he thought it might offend his mother, but rather that surely if anyone was going to teach Sara how to defend herself, it should be [i[him[/i].
He was a better swordsman than Stephanos, he was almost sure of it. His cousin was skilled but also lazy and too happy to forgo practice in favour of other, more enticing, pursuits. With a sigh, he bid the girl wait and wandered over to dismiss the young solider, they could resume tomorrow. And when he returned, presenting Sara with the short-bladed weapon, he was curious to see whether she would accept the offer, or if she would find some excuse not to. She seemed like such a meek little thing.
But the young girl was not so mild, for she held her ground and reached out to take the knife from his grasp, clutching it awkwardly as she turned to place down the woven basket she had been carrying. Achilleas, quietly pleased, took a couple of steps back and waited for her to be ready.
He’d chosen a knife because it was the kind of weapon a girl like Sara would be able to carry with her if needed, without it becoming a talking point. When she turned to him and asked how best to hold the thing, the Lord stepped over to her, standing to the side and taking her wrist in one hand whilst using his other hand to wrap her fingers securely around the hilt.
“You hold it firmly,” he said, glancing at her and pressing her fingers to emphasise his point. “A loose grip and you are as likely to injure yourself as harm anyone else. I assume you wish to keep all your fingers attached to your hand?”
He moved away, nodding at Sara to try out the grip “Go on” he urged. “Get comfortable with it.” There was often a reticence in those unused to weaponry, a reluctance to move, a wall of fear at suddenly being in the possession of a thing designed to harm. That fear was the first thing that had to go.
Weapons deserved respect, but fear of the tools of Ares’ wrath would only render any attempt to wield them fruitless. And Achilleas, when he decided to do anything, was ill-equipped to accept anything less than success.
He watched her sceptically for a moment as she toyed with the weapon, and then without any warning, whipped his hand out and drew it across the very tip of the blade she held. It scored a fine line across his palm, blooming red. Before Sara could panic, Achilleas held his hand up “It’s nothing” he reassured “But now you’ve drawn first blood. It will be different of course if you do it with intent but the end result is only varying degrees of this. Remember that. If you have cause to use the knife, don’t be afraid of what it might lead to.”
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He had not expected to hear his cousin’s name fall from her lips, that much was clear at the lift of his brows. Truly, Achilleas sometimes forgot they were her family as much as his, but he wondered when exactly she had spent time enough with Stephanos for him to arm her with a slingshot and teach her to use it. He didn’t know quite how to feel about that. A little put out perhaps that his cousin had chosen to take Sara under his wing like that? And as Achilleas looked at her, he realised with a bit of a jolt that it wasn’t because he thought it might offend his mother, but rather that surely if anyone was going to teach Sara how to defend herself, it should be [i[him[/i].
He was a better swordsman than Stephanos, he was almost sure of it. His cousin was skilled but also lazy and too happy to forgo practice in favour of other, more enticing, pursuits. With a sigh, he bid the girl wait and wandered over to dismiss the young solider, they could resume tomorrow. And when he returned, presenting Sara with the short-bladed weapon, he was curious to see whether she would accept the offer, or if she would find some excuse not to. She seemed like such a meek little thing.
But the young girl was not so mild, for she held her ground and reached out to take the knife from his grasp, clutching it awkwardly as she turned to place down the woven basket she had been carrying. Achilleas, quietly pleased, took a couple of steps back and waited for her to be ready.
He’d chosen a knife because it was the kind of weapon a girl like Sara would be able to carry with her if needed, without it becoming a talking point. When she turned to him and asked how best to hold the thing, the Lord stepped over to her, standing to the side and taking her wrist in one hand whilst using his other hand to wrap her fingers securely around the hilt.
“You hold it firmly,” he said, glancing at her and pressing her fingers to emphasise his point. “A loose grip and you are as likely to injure yourself as harm anyone else. I assume you wish to keep all your fingers attached to your hand?”
He moved away, nodding at Sara to try out the grip “Go on” he urged. “Get comfortable with it.” There was often a reticence in those unused to weaponry, a reluctance to move, a wall of fear at suddenly being in the possession of a thing designed to harm. That fear was the first thing that had to go.
Weapons deserved respect, but fear of the tools of Ares’ wrath would only render any attempt to wield them fruitless. And Achilleas, when he decided to do anything, was ill-equipped to accept anything less than success.
He watched her sceptically for a moment as she toyed with the weapon, and then without any warning, whipped his hand out and drew it across the very tip of the blade she held. It scored a fine line across his palm, blooming red. Before Sara could panic, Achilleas held his hand up “It’s nothing” he reassured “But now you’ve drawn first blood. It will be different of course if you do it with intent but the end result is only varying degrees of this. Remember that. If you have cause to use the knife, don’t be afraid of what it might lead to.”
He had not expected to hear his cousin’s name fall from her lips, that much was clear at the lift of his brows. Truly, Achilleas sometimes forgot they were her family as much as his, but he wondered when exactly she had spent time enough with Stephanos for him to arm her with a slingshot and teach her to use it. He didn’t know quite how to feel about that. A little put out perhaps that his cousin had chosen to take Sara under his wing like that? And as Achilleas looked at her, he realised with a bit of a jolt that it wasn’t because he thought it might offend his mother, but rather that surely if anyone was going to teach Sara how to defend herself, it should be [i[him[/i].
He was a better swordsman than Stephanos, he was almost sure of it. His cousin was skilled but also lazy and too happy to forgo practice in favour of other, more enticing, pursuits. With a sigh, he bid the girl wait and wandered over to dismiss the young solider, they could resume tomorrow. And when he returned, presenting Sara with the short-bladed weapon, he was curious to see whether she would accept the offer, or if she would find some excuse not to. She seemed like such a meek little thing.
But the young girl was not so mild, for she held her ground and reached out to take the knife from his grasp, clutching it awkwardly as she turned to place down the woven basket she had been carrying. Achilleas, quietly pleased, took a couple of steps back and waited for her to be ready.
He’d chosen a knife because it was the kind of weapon a girl like Sara would be able to carry with her if needed, without it becoming a talking point. When she turned to him and asked how best to hold the thing, the Lord stepped over to her, standing to the side and taking her wrist in one hand whilst using his other hand to wrap her fingers securely around the hilt.
“You hold it firmly,” he said, glancing at her and pressing her fingers to emphasise his point. “A loose grip and you are as likely to injure yourself as harm anyone else. I assume you wish to keep all your fingers attached to your hand?”
He moved away, nodding at Sara to try out the grip “Go on” he urged. “Get comfortable with it.” There was often a reticence in those unused to weaponry, a reluctance to move, a wall of fear at suddenly being in the possession of a thing designed to harm. That fear was the first thing that had to go.
Weapons deserved respect, but fear of the tools of Ares’ wrath would only render any attempt to wield them fruitless. And Achilleas, when he decided to do anything, was ill-equipped to accept anything less than success.
He watched her sceptically for a moment as she toyed with the weapon, and then without any warning, whipped his hand out and drew it across the very tip of the blade she held. It scored a fine line across his palm, blooming red. Before Sara could panic, Achilleas held his hand up “It’s nothing” he reassured “But now you’ve drawn first blood. It will be different of course if you do it with intent but the end result is only varying degrees of this. Remember that. If you have cause to use the knife, don’t be afraid of what it might lead to.”
She found herself holding a breath as he stepped towards her again, taking her wrist in one hand and squeezing her fingers into place around the grip with the other. She looked quite serious about it, adjusting it only slightly to make it more comfortable in her small hand. The leather wrapped around the hilt bit softly into her hand, and she knew that these callouses would be different than the one that the slingshot had given her. Her eyes met his briefly before dropping nervously back down to the weapon and task at hand. She had not dared to hope for a lesson from Achilleas, yet here she stood about to get one.
When he stepped back, she adjusted the grip further. She shifted the blade from her right hand to her left, and back again -- simultaneously practicing her grip while determining which hand that the weapon fit best in. She ultimately settled on her right, the predominant hand she used for writing and the like as well. And she had found it not to be too difficult, the blade light enough in her hand that it was like wielding some sort of dangerous paintbrush. She glanced at her brother’s imposing figure, knowing that he was watching as she gave it a few half-hearted swipes. None of it was particularly good but she was new at this. Points for trying.
She was not expecting it when he suddenly threw out his hand, scoring it over the blade in her hand. The youngster froze, color draining from her face as the sticky red blossomed from his palm. Her blue eyes were wide, as a horrible feeling settled in her stomach even as he tried to reassure her that he was fine -- and in her head, she knew that. She knew that. He was hardly going to die from something so inconsequential. But that didn’t stop her from lowering the blade, keeping it tighter to her side rather than out as far as it had been.
”You shouldn’t have done that.” She said, her voice on the cusp of a shake. Her eyebrows had knitted together, causing a crease in her brow. ”I wouldn’t be scared.” She insisted, her usual cheer dissipated into something somber and very unlike herself. ”If they deserved it. But that…” She tried to shake the feeling that she could not have described. ”You made me hurt you.” She had not dropped her gaze however, meeting him inch for inch with her stare. ”Don’t do that.” She said, in a firm voice that she’d never dared to use in his presence.
She was aware of the dagger still in her hand as she marched towards him, taking the wrist of the hand that he had injured to make some kind of point. ”Come on.” She said, giving it a tug. He would go nowhere unless he wished it so, and they both knew it. ”You’ll need a bandage. Small cuts infect as easily as big ones. And you’ll let me do it.” And there wasn’t exactly room for argument in her tone. ”Then you can teach me more without…” She hesitated, not exactly wanting to call him stupid, even if she felt it. ”Without that...sort of demonstration...”
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She found herself holding a breath as he stepped towards her again, taking her wrist in one hand and squeezing her fingers into place around the grip with the other. She looked quite serious about it, adjusting it only slightly to make it more comfortable in her small hand. The leather wrapped around the hilt bit softly into her hand, and she knew that these callouses would be different than the one that the slingshot had given her. Her eyes met his briefly before dropping nervously back down to the weapon and task at hand. She had not dared to hope for a lesson from Achilleas, yet here she stood about to get one.
When he stepped back, she adjusted the grip further. She shifted the blade from her right hand to her left, and back again -- simultaneously practicing her grip while determining which hand that the weapon fit best in. She ultimately settled on her right, the predominant hand she used for writing and the like as well. And she had found it not to be too difficult, the blade light enough in her hand that it was like wielding some sort of dangerous paintbrush. She glanced at her brother’s imposing figure, knowing that he was watching as she gave it a few half-hearted swipes. None of it was particularly good but she was new at this. Points for trying.
She was not expecting it when he suddenly threw out his hand, scoring it over the blade in her hand. The youngster froze, color draining from her face as the sticky red blossomed from his palm. Her blue eyes were wide, as a horrible feeling settled in her stomach even as he tried to reassure her that he was fine -- and in her head, she knew that. She knew that. He was hardly going to die from something so inconsequential. But that didn’t stop her from lowering the blade, keeping it tighter to her side rather than out as far as it had been.
”You shouldn’t have done that.” She said, her voice on the cusp of a shake. Her eyebrows had knitted together, causing a crease in her brow. ”I wouldn’t be scared.” She insisted, her usual cheer dissipated into something somber and very unlike herself. ”If they deserved it. But that…” She tried to shake the feeling that she could not have described. ”You made me hurt you.” She had not dropped her gaze however, meeting him inch for inch with her stare. ”Don’t do that.” She said, in a firm voice that she’d never dared to use in his presence.
She was aware of the dagger still in her hand as she marched towards him, taking the wrist of the hand that he had injured to make some kind of point. ”Come on.” She said, giving it a tug. He would go nowhere unless he wished it so, and they both knew it. ”You’ll need a bandage. Small cuts infect as easily as big ones. And you’ll let me do it.” And there wasn’t exactly room for argument in her tone. ”Then you can teach me more without…” She hesitated, not exactly wanting to call him stupid, even if she felt it. ”Without that...sort of demonstration...”
She found herself holding a breath as he stepped towards her again, taking her wrist in one hand and squeezing her fingers into place around the grip with the other. She looked quite serious about it, adjusting it only slightly to make it more comfortable in her small hand. The leather wrapped around the hilt bit softly into her hand, and she knew that these callouses would be different than the one that the slingshot had given her. Her eyes met his briefly before dropping nervously back down to the weapon and task at hand. She had not dared to hope for a lesson from Achilleas, yet here she stood about to get one.
When he stepped back, she adjusted the grip further. She shifted the blade from her right hand to her left, and back again -- simultaneously practicing her grip while determining which hand that the weapon fit best in. She ultimately settled on her right, the predominant hand she used for writing and the like as well. And she had found it not to be too difficult, the blade light enough in her hand that it was like wielding some sort of dangerous paintbrush. She glanced at her brother’s imposing figure, knowing that he was watching as she gave it a few half-hearted swipes. None of it was particularly good but she was new at this. Points for trying.
She was not expecting it when he suddenly threw out his hand, scoring it over the blade in her hand. The youngster froze, color draining from her face as the sticky red blossomed from his palm. Her blue eyes were wide, as a horrible feeling settled in her stomach even as he tried to reassure her that he was fine -- and in her head, she knew that. She knew that. He was hardly going to die from something so inconsequential. But that didn’t stop her from lowering the blade, keeping it tighter to her side rather than out as far as it had been.
”You shouldn’t have done that.” She said, her voice on the cusp of a shake. Her eyebrows had knitted together, causing a crease in her brow. ”I wouldn’t be scared.” She insisted, her usual cheer dissipated into something somber and very unlike herself. ”If they deserved it. But that…” She tried to shake the feeling that she could not have described. ”You made me hurt you.” She had not dropped her gaze however, meeting him inch for inch with her stare. ”Don’t do that.” She said, in a firm voice that she’d never dared to use in his presence.
She was aware of the dagger still in her hand as she marched towards him, taking the wrist of the hand that he had injured to make some kind of point. ”Come on.” She said, giving it a tug. He would go nowhere unless he wished it so, and they both knew it. ”You’ll need a bandage. Small cuts infect as easily as big ones. And you’ll let me do it.” And there wasn’t exactly room for argument in her tone. ”Then you can teach me more without…” She hesitated, not exactly wanting to call him stupid, even if she felt it. ”Without that...sort of demonstration...”
He had meant to shock her: it was a short sharp way to ensure that she understood this wasn’t playing, that weapons were not toys. He would teach her, yes, but only if she were to go into it with her eyes open. Knives were for hurting people, and there was only harm to be done if that wasn’t grasped from the beginning.
Achilleas had been prepared for her to recoil, maybe make some girlish protest. It would indicate if she actually wanted to learn or if she just wanted to play at fighting. He was ready to wrap the entire exercise up before it had started if she got hysterical. But Sara did no such thing. She didn’t shriek or cry or carry on, but instead fixed those blue eyes on him dolefully and did not look away.
You shouldn’t have done that.
Achilleas’ brows lifted a little in surprise as she spoke, her little voice firm even if it sounded like she was having to work to make it so, and he tilted his head a little, curious as to this almost fierce girl who had appeared from nowhere.
“I’m not hurt” he repeated, because it was little more than a slight sting, and he didn’t want her fretting over it. But Sara had decided his opinion was no more valid than her own and so the lord could only watch as she marched over to him, caught a hold of the hand she’d scored and tugged at him so she might tend to it. And whilst a crease formed between his brows, he didn't resist her, just eyed her curiously as she led him off to wrap the trifling injury.
He might have protested had she not been right - he would have at least flushed it with water himself so she deserved credit for having a sound head on her shoulders. And as he watched her serious expression, he did, for a moment at least, wonder if that had been a little too brusque an introduction.
“You understand the point I was trying to make?” he asked, as they wandered into the kitchens of the archontiko. They made for a rather incongruous pair, with Achilleas standing more than a head taller and twice as wide. But Sara had a determined stride and her half-sibling stood by placidly, ignoring the curious glance of the cook as the girl the looked out what she needed to play healer.
“Perhaps it was a blunter demonstration than necessary. But there is no point picking up a weapon unless you are willing to use it, Sara. If you can’t follow through, then it is only ever going to be more of a danger to you than any kind of protection”
Achilleas had been holding a weapon since he was a boy: he was almost more at home with a sword or spear in his hand than he was without. Swordplay, fighting, they were uncomplicated things and fell naturally to him. He was a soldier more than anything else really. And he had killed. There were invisible bloodstains on his hands that would never wash clean, and he’d been forced to make his peace with that. A tool of Ares’ trade, he could not understand those who shuddered at the notion of blood, of death.
And he fully believed that if you were going to pick up a weapon you ought to be prepared to use it as intended. This was what he was trying to convey the girl who now fussed over the slice upon his skin.
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He had meant to shock her: it was a short sharp way to ensure that she understood this wasn’t playing, that weapons were not toys. He would teach her, yes, but only if she were to go into it with her eyes open. Knives were for hurting people, and there was only harm to be done if that wasn’t grasped from the beginning.
Achilleas had been prepared for her to recoil, maybe make some girlish protest. It would indicate if she actually wanted to learn or if she just wanted to play at fighting. He was ready to wrap the entire exercise up before it had started if she got hysterical. But Sara did no such thing. She didn’t shriek or cry or carry on, but instead fixed those blue eyes on him dolefully and did not look away.
You shouldn’t have done that.
Achilleas’ brows lifted a little in surprise as she spoke, her little voice firm even if it sounded like she was having to work to make it so, and he tilted his head a little, curious as to this almost fierce girl who had appeared from nowhere.
“I’m not hurt” he repeated, because it was little more than a slight sting, and he didn’t want her fretting over it. But Sara had decided his opinion was no more valid than her own and so the lord could only watch as she marched over to him, caught a hold of the hand she’d scored and tugged at him so she might tend to it. And whilst a crease formed between his brows, he didn't resist her, just eyed her curiously as she led him off to wrap the trifling injury.
He might have protested had she not been right - he would have at least flushed it with water himself so she deserved credit for having a sound head on her shoulders. And as he watched her serious expression, he did, for a moment at least, wonder if that had been a little too brusque an introduction.
“You understand the point I was trying to make?” he asked, as they wandered into the kitchens of the archontiko. They made for a rather incongruous pair, with Achilleas standing more than a head taller and twice as wide. But Sara had a determined stride and her half-sibling stood by placidly, ignoring the curious glance of the cook as the girl the looked out what she needed to play healer.
“Perhaps it was a blunter demonstration than necessary. But there is no point picking up a weapon unless you are willing to use it, Sara. If you can’t follow through, then it is only ever going to be more of a danger to you than any kind of protection”
Achilleas had been holding a weapon since he was a boy: he was almost more at home with a sword or spear in his hand than he was without. Swordplay, fighting, they were uncomplicated things and fell naturally to him. He was a soldier more than anything else really. And he had killed. There were invisible bloodstains on his hands that would never wash clean, and he’d been forced to make his peace with that. A tool of Ares’ trade, he could not understand those who shuddered at the notion of blood, of death.
And he fully believed that if you were going to pick up a weapon you ought to be prepared to use it as intended. This was what he was trying to convey the girl who now fussed over the slice upon his skin.
He had meant to shock her: it was a short sharp way to ensure that she understood this wasn’t playing, that weapons were not toys. He would teach her, yes, but only if she were to go into it with her eyes open. Knives were for hurting people, and there was only harm to be done if that wasn’t grasped from the beginning.
Achilleas had been prepared for her to recoil, maybe make some girlish protest. It would indicate if she actually wanted to learn or if she just wanted to play at fighting. He was ready to wrap the entire exercise up before it had started if she got hysterical. But Sara did no such thing. She didn’t shriek or cry or carry on, but instead fixed those blue eyes on him dolefully and did not look away.
You shouldn’t have done that.
Achilleas’ brows lifted a little in surprise as she spoke, her little voice firm even if it sounded like she was having to work to make it so, and he tilted his head a little, curious as to this almost fierce girl who had appeared from nowhere.
“I’m not hurt” he repeated, because it was little more than a slight sting, and he didn’t want her fretting over it. But Sara had decided his opinion was no more valid than her own and so the lord could only watch as she marched over to him, caught a hold of the hand she’d scored and tugged at him so she might tend to it. And whilst a crease formed between his brows, he didn't resist her, just eyed her curiously as she led him off to wrap the trifling injury.
He might have protested had she not been right - he would have at least flushed it with water himself so she deserved credit for having a sound head on her shoulders. And as he watched her serious expression, he did, for a moment at least, wonder if that had been a little too brusque an introduction.
“You understand the point I was trying to make?” he asked, as they wandered into the kitchens of the archontiko. They made for a rather incongruous pair, with Achilleas standing more than a head taller and twice as wide. But Sara had a determined stride and her half-sibling stood by placidly, ignoring the curious glance of the cook as the girl the looked out what she needed to play healer.
“Perhaps it was a blunter demonstration than necessary. But there is no point picking up a weapon unless you are willing to use it, Sara. If you can’t follow through, then it is only ever going to be more of a danger to you than any kind of protection”
Achilleas had been holding a weapon since he was a boy: he was almost more at home with a sword or spear in his hand than he was without. Swordplay, fighting, they were uncomplicated things and fell naturally to him. He was a soldier more than anything else really. And he had killed. There were invisible bloodstains on his hands that would never wash clean, and he’d been forced to make his peace with that. A tool of Ares’ trade, he could not understand those who shuddered at the notion of blood, of death.
And he fully believed that if you were going to pick up a weapon you ought to be prepared to use it as intended. This was what he was trying to convey the girl who now fussed over the slice upon his skin.
She kept hold of his wrist as she hauled him behind her, her cheeks heating with embarrassment to be carting the big, scary Achilleas off to tend to his wounds. It was probably strange to the servants who watched them go too -- given that this particular pairing of siblings was rarer than the rest. The hand that still held the dagger flexed around it’s leather grip, and she was hyper aware of both of the dangerous things currently in her hands. She took him to the kitchens, flashing a smile at the cook who was not unfamiliar with Sara’s presence in the place.
She let him go when they reached a space that would be suitable enough, and she hesitated before deciding to lay down the dagger for now. She would not worry so much about cleaning it as she would the shallow wound on Achilleas’ hand. She rummaged, seeking out what she would need in order to do the job. Water, salve and strips of cloth from her personal, hidden stash. She glanced at Achilleas only once as she opened a specific cabinet, ducking down low to reach as far back as she could for the things that she hid in here where Meena would not find them. Her mother did not approve of most of Sara’s pursuits, finding them to be the work of common people or unbefitting the lady she wanted her daughter to be.
You understand the point I was trying to make? He asked, and she examined one of the labels of her salves. She had to make sure to give him the right thing, now didn’t she? She opened the lid, bringing it to her nose for a sniff before nodding to herself. She gathered her things, straightening up and closing the cabinet with her foot before returning to where the young lord stood. She pointed up, indicating a bowl that she could not reach before adding Please to her otherwise silent request.
His words did not fall on deaf ears, but she took her time in forming an answer. When he had pulled down the bowl for her, she set his hand over it and began the simple process of doctoring it. It was mostly clean already, but she would wash it anyway.
”I understand.” She said slowly, looking up from her work to meet his eye. ”The idea of what you were doing was not lost on me, but that was…” She frowned, as the word stupid nearly came out of her mouth for a second time. So she just shook her head. ”I think that if it came down to it, I would be able to defend myself.” She said, but it sounded more unsure than she would have liked. Would she hesitate because she believed the absolute best in people? Would it end up being her downfall because she put her trust in the wrong person?
She finished flushing the shallow wound, carefully patting it dry with a cloth before opening one of the salves and smearing it onto his hand. ”It shouldn’t sting.” She said, though she doubted that he would even flinch if it did. She could feel some of the anger leaving her as she took care of the hurt he’d made her inflict on him, and her shoulders began to lose some of their tension.
”I don’t like hurting people.” She admitted, taking up the strips of cloth and wrapping them quickly but firmly across his hand. ”But if it came down to them dying or me? I will pick them every time, selfish as that may be.” She frowned, shrugging her shoulders as she pulled back for him to inspect her handiwork. While he did, she took up the blade and made sure it was clean before piling her things to put away later, and discarding any used items that could not be re-used.
”Now.” She said, smiling again as if this entire strange encounter had not happened. ”Am I supposed to swing this blade? Or wait for someone to get close before I use it?” She asked, putting the dagger back in her grip -- correctly this time.
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She kept hold of his wrist as she hauled him behind her, her cheeks heating with embarrassment to be carting the big, scary Achilleas off to tend to his wounds. It was probably strange to the servants who watched them go too -- given that this particular pairing of siblings was rarer than the rest. The hand that still held the dagger flexed around it’s leather grip, and she was hyper aware of both of the dangerous things currently in her hands. She took him to the kitchens, flashing a smile at the cook who was not unfamiliar with Sara’s presence in the place.
She let him go when they reached a space that would be suitable enough, and she hesitated before deciding to lay down the dagger for now. She would not worry so much about cleaning it as she would the shallow wound on Achilleas’ hand. She rummaged, seeking out what she would need in order to do the job. Water, salve and strips of cloth from her personal, hidden stash. She glanced at Achilleas only once as she opened a specific cabinet, ducking down low to reach as far back as she could for the things that she hid in here where Meena would not find them. Her mother did not approve of most of Sara’s pursuits, finding them to be the work of common people or unbefitting the lady she wanted her daughter to be.
You understand the point I was trying to make? He asked, and she examined one of the labels of her salves. She had to make sure to give him the right thing, now didn’t she? She opened the lid, bringing it to her nose for a sniff before nodding to herself. She gathered her things, straightening up and closing the cabinet with her foot before returning to where the young lord stood. She pointed up, indicating a bowl that she could not reach before adding Please to her otherwise silent request.
His words did not fall on deaf ears, but she took her time in forming an answer. When he had pulled down the bowl for her, she set his hand over it and began the simple process of doctoring it. It was mostly clean already, but she would wash it anyway.
”I understand.” She said slowly, looking up from her work to meet his eye. ”The idea of what you were doing was not lost on me, but that was…” She frowned, as the word stupid nearly came out of her mouth for a second time. So she just shook her head. ”I think that if it came down to it, I would be able to defend myself.” She said, but it sounded more unsure than she would have liked. Would she hesitate because she believed the absolute best in people? Would it end up being her downfall because she put her trust in the wrong person?
She finished flushing the shallow wound, carefully patting it dry with a cloth before opening one of the salves and smearing it onto his hand. ”It shouldn’t sting.” She said, though she doubted that he would even flinch if it did. She could feel some of the anger leaving her as she took care of the hurt he’d made her inflict on him, and her shoulders began to lose some of their tension.
”I don’t like hurting people.” She admitted, taking up the strips of cloth and wrapping them quickly but firmly across his hand. ”But if it came down to them dying or me? I will pick them every time, selfish as that may be.” She frowned, shrugging her shoulders as she pulled back for him to inspect her handiwork. While he did, she took up the blade and made sure it was clean before piling her things to put away later, and discarding any used items that could not be re-used.
”Now.” She said, smiling again as if this entire strange encounter had not happened. ”Am I supposed to swing this blade? Or wait for someone to get close before I use it?” She asked, putting the dagger back in her grip -- correctly this time.
She kept hold of his wrist as she hauled him behind her, her cheeks heating with embarrassment to be carting the big, scary Achilleas off to tend to his wounds. It was probably strange to the servants who watched them go too -- given that this particular pairing of siblings was rarer than the rest. The hand that still held the dagger flexed around it’s leather grip, and she was hyper aware of both of the dangerous things currently in her hands. She took him to the kitchens, flashing a smile at the cook who was not unfamiliar with Sara’s presence in the place.
She let him go when they reached a space that would be suitable enough, and she hesitated before deciding to lay down the dagger for now. She would not worry so much about cleaning it as she would the shallow wound on Achilleas’ hand. She rummaged, seeking out what she would need in order to do the job. Water, salve and strips of cloth from her personal, hidden stash. She glanced at Achilleas only once as she opened a specific cabinet, ducking down low to reach as far back as she could for the things that she hid in here where Meena would not find them. Her mother did not approve of most of Sara’s pursuits, finding them to be the work of common people or unbefitting the lady she wanted her daughter to be.
You understand the point I was trying to make? He asked, and she examined one of the labels of her salves. She had to make sure to give him the right thing, now didn’t she? She opened the lid, bringing it to her nose for a sniff before nodding to herself. She gathered her things, straightening up and closing the cabinet with her foot before returning to where the young lord stood. She pointed up, indicating a bowl that she could not reach before adding Please to her otherwise silent request.
His words did not fall on deaf ears, but she took her time in forming an answer. When he had pulled down the bowl for her, she set his hand over it and began the simple process of doctoring it. It was mostly clean already, but she would wash it anyway.
”I understand.” She said slowly, looking up from her work to meet his eye. ”The idea of what you were doing was not lost on me, but that was…” She frowned, as the word stupid nearly came out of her mouth for a second time. So she just shook her head. ”I think that if it came down to it, I would be able to defend myself.” She said, but it sounded more unsure than she would have liked. Would she hesitate because she believed the absolute best in people? Would it end up being her downfall because she put her trust in the wrong person?
She finished flushing the shallow wound, carefully patting it dry with a cloth before opening one of the salves and smearing it onto his hand. ”It shouldn’t sting.” She said, though she doubted that he would even flinch if it did. She could feel some of the anger leaving her as she took care of the hurt he’d made her inflict on him, and her shoulders began to lose some of their tension.
”I don’t like hurting people.” She admitted, taking up the strips of cloth and wrapping them quickly but firmly across his hand. ”But if it came down to them dying or me? I will pick them every time, selfish as that may be.” She frowned, shrugging her shoulders as she pulled back for him to inspect her handiwork. While he did, she took up the blade and made sure it was clean before piling her things to put away later, and discarding any used items that could not be re-used.
”Now.” She said, smiling again as if this entire strange encounter had not happened. ”Am I supposed to swing this blade? Or wait for someone to get close before I use it?” She asked, putting the dagger back in her grip -- correctly this time.
Being ‘scary’ was hardly a reputation Achilleas had sought to create. It was true that the man’s demeanour tended towards the more serious, and perhaps combined with the sheer scale of him that he could be considered intimidating, if you didn’t know him all too well. And Sara certainly fell into that camp, with her eldest brother rarely having made any effort to spend any time with her or her sister.
This was rather a novelty then, and Achilleas was amenable enough to let the young girl manouvre him as she wanted, only smiling faintly when she pointed up at a bowl far beyond her reach. He retrieved, said nothing if he were surprised at how well she knew her way around the kitchen. How was he to know what was normal for the girl, he didn’t pay her a lot of mind. Perhaps he would ask Briseis later, just for curiosities sake.
Achilleas found himself sitting on the long bench that ran one side of the table in the kitchens, forearm resting along its surface and palm turned upwards so that Sara could appease herself that he wasn’t going to die of a blood fever from the tiny knick she had unwillingly imparted. He thought she had understood the purpose of the exercise but it was hard to tell if she was more concerned with the idea of having injured him. Admittedly, he didnt have a lot of experience teaching young girls, maybe they were a different breed.
‘It shouldn’t sting’ Achilleas realised he’d been gazing at Sara as if to solve the puzzle of her, and his eyes dropped down to his hand that she was tending to, too used to the lies of military physicians to think that her words meant anything other than ‘This is going to burn like the fires of Tartarus’. He was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing other than the sticky slightly cool sensation of the salve, and with his free hand, Achilleas reached for the jar, lifted it and niffed at the contents. “What’s in this?” he asked curiously, peering at the unguent within. If it actually did anything useful he might have to have Krysto share the knowledge with the field physicians.
Holding still to let Sara wrap the wound that barely needed such attention, the Lord nodded at her words, reassured a little at least. “Good. I am not saying you have to enjoy it, but you have to be ready for it, or you’ll freeze up and be useless with or without a blade in your hand.”
Standing, he took the bowl away and set it in the great stone basin where it could be washed, let Sara stash away her things like the odd little thing she was and then waited, a little uncertain as to whether she would wish to continue. He was about to ask her when she picked up the blade again, all concentration once more.
This time he did smile, amused at how readily she had moved past her irritation. She was more resilient than he might have given her credit for. “Perhaps not in here” he observed, glancing toward the staff bustling around and tipping his head back towards the courtyard.
When they had stepped out once again into the sunshine, he paused to inspect the grip Sara had taken upon the blade and nodded once in satisfaction before moving away once more. “First thing to learn, don’t pick the up the blade unless you’re willing to use it. Second thing to learn, don’t even think about using it unless you have to. If you can, and this important Sara, so remember it well, always try and get away rather than confront an attacker. You are likely to be disadvantaged in weight and height, and by the far the best thing to do is to call for help or to run”
She was no soldier after all, just a slip of a girl, and it would be stupid beyond measure to give her the impression that she might be able to hold her own against a man in a physical confrontation. But, if she were to be in a situation where escape was impossible then it was better than nothing to have some ability to defend herself. Now Achilleas answered her question of before.
“ As for your question, back to rule number one. Only draw a blade if you are absolutely prepared to use it Don’t swing it out in front of you as a show or warning. Better to let a person come within range and then use it.”
He stepped forward so he was a little closer, within range of the girl’s reach if she extended her arm. “If you find yourself backed into a corner, and there is no other option but to fight, then you’re looking for a way to buy yourself time to get away. Disable the threat. Go for vulnerable areas that are quick wins. Eyes , throat, groin, gut.” He gestured to each and it quickly became clear to Sara how the difference in height between her and any would be attacker would influence the ease of going for any of those regions.
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Being ‘scary’ was hardly a reputation Achilleas had sought to create. It was true that the man’s demeanour tended towards the more serious, and perhaps combined with the sheer scale of him that he could be considered intimidating, if you didn’t know him all too well. And Sara certainly fell into that camp, with her eldest brother rarely having made any effort to spend any time with her or her sister.
This was rather a novelty then, and Achilleas was amenable enough to let the young girl manouvre him as she wanted, only smiling faintly when she pointed up at a bowl far beyond her reach. He retrieved, said nothing if he were surprised at how well she knew her way around the kitchen. How was he to know what was normal for the girl, he didn’t pay her a lot of mind. Perhaps he would ask Briseis later, just for curiosities sake.
Achilleas found himself sitting on the long bench that ran one side of the table in the kitchens, forearm resting along its surface and palm turned upwards so that Sara could appease herself that he wasn’t going to die of a blood fever from the tiny knick she had unwillingly imparted. He thought she had understood the purpose of the exercise but it was hard to tell if she was more concerned with the idea of having injured him. Admittedly, he didnt have a lot of experience teaching young girls, maybe they were a different breed.
‘It shouldn’t sting’ Achilleas realised he’d been gazing at Sara as if to solve the puzzle of her, and his eyes dropped down to his hand that she was tending to, too used to the lies of military physicians to think that her words meant anything other than ‘This is going to burn like the fires of Tartarus’. He was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing other than the sticky slightly cool sensation of the salve, and with his free hand, Achilleas reached for the jar, lifted it and niffed at the contents. “What’s in this?” he asked curiously, peering at the unguent within. If it actually did anything useful he might have to have Krysto share the knowledge with the field physicians.
Holding still to let Sara wrap the wound that barely needed such attention, the Lord nodded at her words, reassured a little at least. “Good. I am not saying you have to enjoy it, but you have to be ready for it, or you’ll freeze up and be useless with or without a blade in your hand.”
Standing, he took the bowl away and set it in the great stone basin where it could be washed, let Sara stash away her things like the odd little thing she was and then waited, a little uncertain as to whether she would wish to continue. He was about to ask her when she picked up the blade again, all concentration once more.
This time he did smile, amused at how readily she had moved past her irritation. She was more resilient than he might have given her credit for. “Perhaps not in here” he observed, glancing toward the staff bustling around and tipping his head back towards the courtyard.
When they had stepped out once again into the sunshine, he paused to inspect the grip Sara had taken upon the blade and nodded once in satisfaction before moving away once more. “First thing to learn, don’t pick the up the blade unless you’re willing to use it. Second thing to learn, don’t even think about using it unless you have to. If you can, and this important Sara, so remember it well, always try and get away rather than confront an attacker. You are likely to be disadvantaged in weight and height, and by the far the best thing to do is to call for help or to run”
She was no soldier after all, just a slip of a girl, and it would be stupid beyond measure to give her the impression that she might be able to hold her own against a man in a physical confrontation. But, if she were to be in a situation where escape was impossible then it was better than nothing to have some ability to defend herself. Now Achilleas answered her question of before.
“ As for your question, back to rule number one. Only draw a blade if you are absolutely prepared to use it Don’t swing it out in front of you as a show or warning. Better to let a person come within range and then use it.”
He stepped forward so he was a little closer, within range of the girl’s reach if she extended her arm. “If you find yourself backed into a corner, and there is no other option but to fight, then you’re looking for a way to buy yourself time to get away. Disable the threat. Go for vulnerable areas that are quick wins. Eyes , throat, groin, gut.” He gestured to each and it quickly became clear to Sara how the difference in height between her and any would be attacker would influence the ease of going for any of those regions.
Being ‘scary’ was hardly a reputation Achilleas had sought to create. It was true that the man’s demeanour tended towards the more serious, and perhaps combined with the sheer scale of him that he could be considered intimidating, if you didn’t know him all too well. And Sara certainly fell into that camp, with her eldest brother rarely having made any effort to spend any time with her or her sister.
This was rather a novelty then, and Achilleas was amenable enough to let the young girl manouvre him as she wanted, only smiling faintly when she pointed up at a bowl far beyond her reach. He retrieved, said nothing if he were surprised at how well she knew her way around the kitchen. How was he to know what was normal for the girl, he didn’t pay her a lot of mind. Perhaps he would ask Briseis later, just for curiosities sake.
Achilleas found himself sitting on the long bench that ran one side of the table in the kitchens, forearm resting along its surface and palm turned upwards so that Sara could appease herself that he wasn’t going to die of a blood fever from the tiny knick she had unwillingly imparted. He thought she had understood the purpose of the exercise but it was hard to tell if she was more concerned with the idea of having injured him. Admittedly, he didnt have a lot of experience teaching young girls, maybe they were a different breed.
‘It shouldn’t sting’ Achilleas realised he’d been gazing at Sara as if to solve the puzzle of her, and his eyes dropped down to his hand that she was tending to, too used to the lies of military physicians to think that her words meant anything other than ‘This is going to burn like the fires of Tartarus’. He was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing other than the sticky slightly cool sensation of the salve, and with his free hand, Achilleas reached for the jar, lifted it and niffed at the contents. “What’s in this?” he asked curiously, peering at the unguent within. If it actually did anything useful he might have to have Krysto share the knowledge with the field physicians.
Holding still to let Sara wrap the wound that barely needed such attention, the Lord nodded at her words, reassured a little at least. “Good. I am not saying you have to enjoy it, but you have to be ready for it, or you’ll freeze up and be useless with or without a blade in your hand.”
Standing, he took the bowl away and set it in the great stone basin where it could be washed, let Sara stash away her things like the odd little thing she was and then waited, a little uncertain as to whether she would wish to continue. He was about to ask her when she picked up the blade again, all concentration once more.
This time he did smile, amused at how readily she had moved past her irritation. She was more resilient than he might have given her credit for. “Perhaps not in here” he observed, glancing toward the staff bustling around and tipping his head back towards the courtyard.
When they had stepped out once again into the sunshine, he paused to inspect the grip Sara had taken upon the blade and nodded once in satisfaction before moving away once more. “First thing to learn, don’t pick the up the blade unless you’re willing to use it. Second thing to learn, don’t even think about using it unless you have to. If you can, and this important Sara, so remember it well, always try and get away rather than confront an attacker. You are likely to be disadvantaged in weight and height, and by the far the best thing to do is to call for help or to run”
She was no soldier after all, just a slip of a girl, and it would be stupid beyond measure to give her the impression that she might be able to hold her own against a man in a physical confrontation. But, if she were to be in a situation where escape was impossible then it was better than nothing to have some ability to defend herself. Now Achilleas answered her question of before.
“ As for your question, back to rule number one. Only draw a blade if you are absolutely prepared to use it Don’t swing it out in front of you as a show or warning. Better to let a person come within range and then use it.”
He stepped forward so he was a little closer, within range of the girl’s reach if she extended her arm. “If you find yourself backed into a corner, and there is no other option but to fight, then you’re looking for a way to buy yourself time to get away. Disable the threat. Go for vulnerable areas that are quick wins. Eyes , throat, groin, gut.” He gestured to each and it quickly became clear to Sara how the difference in height between her and any would be attacker would influence the ease of going for any of those regions.
”Medicinal herbs from my garden. I started growing them about two years ago, after reading about them in some of the books that father keeps in his study.” She said with a light shrug as if it were the most obvious answer. ”I keep a few supplies in random places in the house, just in case they’re needed. The servants know where they are and so do I.” She hid a small smile as he examined her handiwork.
When she had finished putting away everything back to their proper place, and turned back ready to continue -- she was a little surprised to see him smiling. It caught her a little off guard, as she was unsure that she had ever seen such an expression directed at her but she quickly wiped that surprise away, hiding it with a smile of her own.
Perhaps not in here.
”Oh, right.” She said, flushing in embarrassment, before turning to follow him back out to the courtyards. ”I feel a little bad, interrupting your training with the other soldier.” She ventured, for the sake of conversation. Surely Achilleas had better things to be doing than teaching someone like her to use a weapon that she might not ever use. She held onto the dagger, keeping it firmly in her grip at her side until they’d reached the courtyard again.
She held her hand a little higher than she would normally, letting him inspect her grip -- and pleased with herself when he did not correct it, before letting the blade fall to a more comfortable height. Her gaze was focused as he began to teach, and she listened as if the words were from the gods themselves. He wanted her to run? Her face scrunched in confusion, and she opened her mouth to speak.
”Is it cowardly to run?” She asked, genuinely concerned. ”I mean, if...if someone is coming after me and I know that they mean to hurt me -- shouldn’t I stand and fight instead of running away?” He’d said it was best for her to run or call for help, but… ”What if the person who answers my call for help is even less able than I am? Or if they get hurt trying to help me?”
Sara would not allow others to be hurt for her sake. She...well, she knew that she was not worth such a risk. She was an illegitimate child, and her death would not be particularly mourned. Perhaps, it might even bring relief to some in her household if she and Tasia were….
She found herself stiffening as Achilleas’ stepped closer, drawing her away from such dark thoughts. Her grip on the blade tightened, and she worried for a flicker of a moment that he was about to do something stupid again for the sake of making a point. He was just within her reach, and her gaze followed his hand as he gestured to where she should aim for the most impact. The sheer difference in size between the half-siblings made it very apparent where she would have to aim to actually hit. She’d have to go low because he’d stop her without a thought if she tried for his throat or eyes. The gut and groin though, those were going to be an easier target.
”Would someone be more...protective of the lower areas if they know that I’m more likely to hit them?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. She raised the blade, careful not to move too quickly -- angling it towards his eyes. He was within range, but she made sure that she didn’t even come close. ”Even if I miss the eyes...I might hurt them enough that it won’t matter.” She murmured, mostly to herself as she glanced at the blade. ”And if I could get away after that...a blade’s mark to the face will make them easy to recognize.”
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”Medicinal herbs from my garden. I started growing them about two years ago, after reading about them in some of the books that father keeps in his study.” She said with a light shrug as if it were the most obvious answer. ”I keep a few supplies in random places in the house, just in case they’re needed. The servants know where they are and so do I.” She hid a small smile as he examined her handiwork.
When she had finished putting away everything back to their proper place, and turned back ready to continue -- she was a little surprised to see him smiling. It caught her a little off guard, as she was unsure that she had ever seen such an expression directed at her but she quickly wiped that surprise away, hiding it with a smile of her own.
Perhaps not in here.
”Oh, right.” She said, flushing in embarrassment, before turning to follow him back out to the courtyards. ”I feel a little bad, interrupting your training with the other soldier.” She ventured, for the sake of conversation. Surely Achilleas had better things to be doing than teaching someone like her to use a weapon that she might not ever use. She held onto the dagger, keeping it firmly in her grip at her side until they’d reached the courtyard again.
She held her hand a little higher than she would normally, letting him inspect her grip -- and pleased with herself when he did not correct it, before letting the blade fall to a more comfortable height. Her gaze was focused as he began to teach, and she listened as if the words were from the gods themselves. He wanted her to run? Her face scrunched in confusion, and she opened her mouth to speak.
”Is it cowardly to run?” She asked, genuinely concerned. ”I mean, if...if someone is coming after me and I know that they mean to hurt me -- shouldn’t I stand and fight instead of running away?” He’d said it was best for her to run or call for help, but… ”What if the person who answers my call for help is even less able than I am? Or if they get hurt trying to help me?”
Sara would not allow others to be hurt for her sake. She...well, she knew that she was not worth such a risk. She was an illegitimate child, and her death would not be particularly mourned. Perhaps, it might even bring relief to some in her household if she and Tasia were….
She found herself stiffening as Achilleas’ stepped closer, drawing her away from such dark thoughts. Her grip on the blade tightened, and she worried for a flicker of a moment that he was about to do something stupid again for the sake of making a point. He was just within her reach, and her gaze followed his hand as he gestured to where she should aim for the most impact. The sheer difference in size between the half-siblings made it very apparent where she would have to aim to actually hit. She’d have to go low because he’d stop her without a thought if she tried for his throat or eyes. The gut and groin though, those were going to be an easier target.
”Would someone be more...protective of the lower areas if they know that I’m more likely to hit them?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. She raised the blade, careful not to move too quickly -- angling it towards his eyes. He was within range, but she made sure that she didn’t even come close. ”Even if I miss the eyes...I might hurt them enough that it won’t matter.” She murmured, mostly to herself as she glanced at the blade. ”And if I could get away after that...a blade’s mark to the face will make them easy to recognize.”
”Medicinal herbs from my garden. I started growing them about two years ago, after reading about them in some of the books that father keeps in his study.” She said with a light shrug as if it were the most obvious answer. ”I keep a few supplies in random places in the house, just in case they’re needed. The servants know where they are and so do I.” She hid a small smile as he examined her handiwork.
When she had finished putting away everything back to their proper place, and turned back ready to continue -- she was a little surprised to see him smiling. It caught her a little off guard, as she was unsure that she had ever seen such an expression directed at her but she quickly wiped that surprise away, hiding it with a smile of her own.
Perhaps not in here.
”Oh, right.” She said, flushing in embarrassment, before turning to follow him back out to the courtyards. ”I feel a little bad, interrupting your training with the other soldier.” She ventured, for the sake of conversation. Surely Achilleas had better things to be doing than teaching someone like her to use a weapon that she might not ever use. She held onto the dagger, keeping it firmly in her grip at her side until they’d reached the courtyard again.
She held her hand a little higher than she would normally, letting him inspect her grip -- and pleased with herself when he did not correct it, before letting the blade fall to a more comfortable height. Her gaze was focused as he began to teach, and she listened as if the words were from the gods themselves. He wanted her to run? Her face scrunched in confusion, and she opened her mouth to speak.
”Is it cowardly to run?” She asked, genuinely concerned. ”I mean, if...if someone is coming after me and I know that they mean to hurt me -- shouldn’t I stand and fight instead of running away?” He’d said it was best for her to run or call for help, but… ”What if the person who answers my call for help is even less able than I am? Or if they get hurt trying to help me?”
Sara would not allow others to be hurt for her sake. She...well, she knew that she was not worth such a risk. She was an illegitimate child, and her death would not be particularly mourned. Perhaps, it might even bring relief to some in her household if she and Tasia were….
She found herself stiffening as Achilleas’ stepped closer, drawing her away from such dark thoughts. Her grip on the blade tightened, and she worried for a flicker of a moment that he was about to do something stupid again for the sake of making a point. He was just within her reach, and her gaze followed his hand as he gestured to where she should aim for the most impact. The sheer difference in size between the half-siblings made it very apparent where she would have to aim to actually hit. She’d have to go low because he’d stop her without a thought if she tried for his throat or eyes. The gut and groin though, those were going to be an easier target.
”Would someone be more...protective of the lower areas if they know that I’m more likely to hit them?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. She raised the blade, careful not to move too quickly -- angling it towards his eyes. He was within range, but she made sure that she didn’t even come close. ”Even if I miss the eyes...I might hurt them enough that it won’t matter.” She murmured, mostly to herself as she glanced at the blade. ”And if I could get away after that...a blade’s mark to the face will make them easy to recognize.”
Achilleas waved away her apology as they made their way back toward the courtyard. He had not really cut the training session short, and besides, he was a little irritated and Andonios for being so easily distracted. The boy would need to learn to focus if he were to reach his full potential.
Not a thing that Sara seemed to be lacking in, he mused as she fell right back into it as soon as they got outside. He had never realised she was so determined, had mistaken her quiet nature for passiveness, when in fact he could see she was far from that. Bold enough to question him when he told her she’d be better running, a fact that had him raise his eyebrows slightly.
“You are worried about being thought cowardly?” The man shook his head “If you were a soldier, perhaps. But you aren’t. You are a young girl, and thus it would be stupid in the extreme to try and fight off someone physically superior unless you have no other choice.” Achilleas fixed the girl with a look that spoke against any argument. “You run”.
Moving in closer, he did, however, in part a little instruction about what she should do if fighting became inevitable, though he hoped she would have no reason to put it into practice. Listening to her question him again, this time he tilted his head to the side consideringly, not dismissing her reasoning instantly.
“Perhaps. But the further the blade has to travel the longer the target has to react” He ducked sideways in slow motion as if to illustrate his point before coming back to centre and looking down at her once more “ And whilst I can applaud the thinking behind that little bit of reasoning, I will say that should it ever come down to it, be more concerned about ensuring your escape than about leaving your attacker with any marks. Justice is a luxury, not a given. Survival is what matters in such a scenario”
He gently pushed on her wrist so the blade was held low again, and then once, twice, a dozen times made her react to him coming at her in slow motion, making adjustments and suggestions each time until the girl started to get a feel for what she doing. Confidence came with familiarity, and she would need to keep practising if she wanted to have any hope of building any real skill, but Achilleas gave her a grounding, keeping her going again and again until he caught sight of the girl’s mother watching from one of the open walls of the solar.
Achilleas frowned slightly and held up a hand to stay Sara’s next attempt. “That’s...probably enough,” he said. “I can’t spend all day playing knives with you”. It was a rather abrupt shift from having been quite open and personable in the moments before, but Achilleas did not give Sara too long to think about it before he was turning away to pick up the practice swords, gathering them together with a clatter. “You can keep the knife. Don't make this a waste of my time, practice with it”
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Achilleas waved away her apology as they made their way back toward the courtyard. He had not really cut the training session short, and besides, he was a little irritated and Andonios for being so easily distracted. The boy would need to learn to focus if he were to reach his full potential.
Not a thing that Sara seemed to be lacking in, he mused as she fell right back into it as soon as they got outside. He had never realised she was so determined, had mistaken her quiet nature for passiveness, when in fact he could see she was far from that. Bold enough to question him when he told her she’d be better running, a fact that had him raise his eyebrows slightly.
“You are worried about being thought cowardly?” The man shook his head “If you were a soldier, perhaps. But you aren’t. You are a young girl, and thus it would be stupid in the extreme to try and fight off someone physically superior unless you have no other choice.” Achilleas fixed the girl with a look that spoke against any argument. “You run”.
Moving in closer, he did, however, in part a little instruction about what she should do if fighting became inevitable, though he hoped she would have no reason to put it into practice. Listening to her question him again, this time he tilted his head to the side consideringly, not dismissing her reasoning instantly.
“Perhaps. But the further the blade has to travel the longer the target has to react” He ducked sideways in slow motion as if to illustrate his point before coming back to centre and looking down at her once more “ And whilst I can applaud the thinking behind that little bit of reasoning, I will say that should it ever come down to it, be more concerned about ensuring your escape than about leaving your attacker with any marks. Justice is a luxury, not a given. Survival is what matters in such a scenario”
He gently pushed on her wrist so the blade was held low again, and then once, twice, a dozen times made her react to him coming at her in slow motion, making adjustments and suggestions each time until the girl started to get a feel for what she doing. Confidence came with familiarity, and she would need to keep practising if she wanted to have any hope of building any real skill, but Achilleas gave her a grounding, keeping her going again and again until he caught sight of the girl’s mother watching from one of the open walls of the solar.
Achilleas frowned slightly and held up a hand to stay Sara’s next attempt. “That’s...probably enough,” he said. “I can’t spend all day playing knives with you”. It was a rather abrupt shift from having been quite open and personable in the moments before, but Achilleas did not give Sara too long to think about it before he was turning away to pick up the practice swords, gathering them together with a clatter. “You can keep the knife. Don't make this a waste of my time, practice with it”
Achilleas waved away her apology as they made their way back toward the courtyard. He had not really cut the training session short, and besides, he was a little irritated and Andonios for being so easily distracted. The boy would need to learn to focus if he were to reach his full potential.
Not a thing that Sara seemed to be lacking in, he mused as she fell right back into it as soon as they got outside. He had never realised she was so determined, had mistaken her quiet nature for passiveness, when in fact he could see she was far from that. Bold enough to question him when he told her she’d be better running, a fact that had him raise his eyebrows slightly.
“You are worried about being thought cowardly?” The man shook his head “If you were a soldier, perhaps. But you aren’t. You are a young girl, and thus it would be stupid in the extreme to try and fight off someone physically superior unless you have no other choice.” Achilleas fixed the girl with a look that spoke against any argument. “You run”.
Moving in closer, he did, however, in part a little instruction about what she should do if fighting became inevitable, though he hoped she would have no reason to put it into practice. Listening to her question him again, this time he tilted his head to the side consideringly, not dismissing her reasoning instantly.
“Perhaps. But the further the blade has to travel the longer the target has to react” He ducked sideways in slow motion as if to illustrate his point before coming back to centre and looking down at her once more “ And whilst I can applaud the thinking behind that little bit of reasoning, I will say that should it ever come down to it, be more concerned about ensuring your escape than about leaving your attacker with any marks. Justice is a luxury, not a given. Survival is what matters in such a scenario”
He gently pushed on her wrist so the blade was held low again, and then once, twice, a dozen times made her react to him coming at her in slow motion, making adjustments and suggestions each time until the girl started to get a feel for what she doing. Confidence came with familiarity, and she would need to keep practising if she wanted to have any hope of building any real skill, but Achilleas gave her a grounding, keeping her going again and again until he caught sight of the girl’s mother watching from one of the open walls of the solar.
Achilleas frowned slightly and held up a hand to stay Sara’s next attempt. “That’s...probably enough,” he said. “I can’t spend all day playing knives with you”. It was a rather abrupt shift from having been quite open and personable in the moments before, but Achilleas did not give Sara too long to think about it before he was turning away to pick up the practice swords, gathering them together with a clatter. “You can keep the knife. Don't make this a waste of my time, practice with it”
”Honor is important.” She said, sounding a little unsure. ”Truth, loyalty, honor.” It sounded like a mantra falling from her lips. She personally liked to add kindness to that list, but that was more for herself. Life had not always been kind to Sara, particularly once she had learned the truth about her birth and the circumstances surrounding her mother and father. There would always be doors that would never be open to her, and some that were only open because of her father holding them open with his bare hands. He protected her and her sister, which to Sara was a form of love. Perhaps it was not the soft love that she had seen with others, or had read about in her books but it was love.
Achilleas had gone on, however, and she tightened her jaw as he told her how stupid it would be for her to try to take someone on. She was weak and small, true, but she had the heart of a lion just as any of the rest of them. She would prove it to him. Maybe she could never be as strong or able as he was, but she could try to become...adequate enough.
Her head bobbed, the dark curls down her back flouncing with the movement as he slowly ducked, and came back to center. Fine, go for anything that she could hit, but remember the sensitive areas. She adjusted her grip on the blade’s hilt, bringing it up to just below her chest. She took a step back, sinking a little to give her knees a bend and increase her flexibility.
Learning to wield a blade sounded exciting, but as Sara was quickly learning -- it was actually a great deal of work. She was unaccustomed to working so hard, at least in this way, and she found that she tired quickly although she worked hard to keep up with Achilleas. How in the world did he do this, and more? Achilleas was like a God of War himself, an artist whose sword served as his brush and the blood of his enemies his paint.
Every time that her blade got a little too high, his hand would push it down again until she learned where it should stay. He went slow, showing her the different ways that she could use the knife against him and when she strayed from what he preferred, he would steer her back to the correct form. It was a strange interaction for them, given how few times she could say that they’d had a moment like this. She mostly stayed out of his way, and he was not one to intentionally seek her out.
Her gaze flickered in the same direction as his when he stopped them with a motion of his hand. Her mother was watching them, looking none too pleased but not daring to interrupt without Irakles behind her. Sara felt her chest tighten as he dismissed her, the slight warmth between them having cooled suddenly like a winter wind. She straightened, looking down at the knife in her grip as he gathered up the practice swords which had been forgotten. She had clenched her jaw to keep herself from arguing that she didn’t want to stop yet. He’d done enough by giving her this much of his time.
When she looked up again to where her mother had been, she had pulled back from viewing -- but the damage was done. Sara squeezed the grip, and bowed deeply to her older brother.
”Thank you.” She said earnestly. ”I will practice.” And then she took a step back, crossing the open space to pick up her forgotten basket of flowers and herbs. She hardly felt like making flower crowns now, putting the blade atop the stems.
As she walked away, heading back up to the marble halls, she could not help but glance back at him -- and despite herself, she smiled. A good memory for certain.
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”Honor is important.” She said, sounding a little unsure. ”Truth, loyalty, honor.” It sounded like a mantra falling from her lips. She personally liked to add kindness to that list, but that was more for herself. Life had not always been kind to Sara, particularly once she had learned the truth about her birth and the circumstances surrounding her mother and father. There would always be doors that would never be open to her, and some that were only open because of her father holding them open with his bare hands. He protected her and her sister, which to Sara was a form of love. Perhaps it was not the soft love that she had seen with others, or had read about in her books but it was love.
Achilleas had gone on, however, and she tightened her jaw as he told her how stupid it would be for her to try to take someone on. She was weak and small, true, but she had the heart of a lion just as any of the rest of them. She would prove it to him. Maybe she could never be as strong or able as he was, but she could try to become...adequate enough.
Her head bobbed, the dark curls down her back flouncing with the movement as he slowly ducked, and came back to center. Fine, go for anything that she could hit, but remember the sensitive areas. She adjusted her grip on the blade’s hilt, bringing it up to just below her chest. She took a step back, sinking a little to give her knees a bend and increase her flexibility.
Learning to wield a blade sounded exciting, but as Sara was quickly learning -- it was actually a great deal of work. She was unaccustomed to working so hard, at least in this way, and she found that she tired quickly although she worked hard to keep up with Achilleas. How in the world did he do this, and more? Achilleas was like a God of War himself, an artist whose sword served as his brush and the blood of his enemies his paint.
Every time that her blade got a little too high, his hand would push it down again until she learned where it should stay. He went slow, showing her the different ways that she could use the knife against him and when she strayed from what he preferred, he would steer her back to the correct form. It was a strange interaction for them, given how few times she could say that they’d had a moment like this. She mostly stayed out of his way, and he was not one to intentionally seek her out.
Her gaze flickered in the same direction as his when he stopped them with a motion of his hand. Her mother was watching them, looking none too pleased but not daring to interrupt without Irakles behind her. Sara felt her chest tighten as he dismissed her, the slight warmth between them having cooled suddenly like a winter wind. She straightened, looking down at the knife in her grip as he gathered up the practice swords which had been forgotten. She had clenched her jaw to keep herself from arguing that she didn’t want to stop yet. He’d done enough by giving her this much of his time.
When she looked up again to where her mother had been, she had pulled back from viewing -- but the damage was done. Sara squeezed the grip, and bowed deeply to her older brother.
”Thank you.” She said earnestly. ”I will practice.” And then she took a step back, crossing the open space to pick up her forgotten basket of flowers and herbs. She hardly felt like making flower crowns now, putting the blade atop the stems.
As she walked away, heading back up to the marble halls, she could not help but glance back at him -- and despite herself, she smiled. A good memory for certain.
”Honor is important.” She said, sounding a little unsure. ”Truth, loyalty, honor.” It sounded like a mantra falling from her lips. She personally liked to add kindness to that list, but that was more for herself. Life had not always been kind to Sara, particularly once she had learned the truth about her birth and the circumstances surrounding her mother and father. There would always be doors that would never be open to her, and some that were only open because of her father holding them open with his bare hands. He protected her and her sister, which to Sara was a form of love. Perhaps it was not the soft love that she had seen with others, or had read about in her books but it was love.
Achilleas had gone on, however, and she tightened her jaw as he told her how stupid it would be for her to try to take someone on. She was weak and small, true, but she had the heart of a lion just as any of the rest of them. She would prove it to him. Maybe she could never be as strong or able as he was, but she could try to become...adequate enough.
Her head bobbed, the dark curls down her back flouncing with the movement as he slowly ducked, and came back to center. Fine, go for anything that she could hit, but remember the sensitive areas. She adjusted her grip on the blade’s hilt, bringing it up to just below her chest. She took a step back, sinking a little to give her knees a bend and increase her flexibility.
Learning to wield a blade sounded exciting, but as Sara was quickly learning -- it was actually a great deal of work. She was unaccustomed to working so hard, at least in this way, and she found that she tired quickly although she worked hard to keep up with Achilleas. How in the world did he do this, and more? Achilleas was like a God of War himself, an artist whose sword served as his brush and the blood of his enemies his paint.
Every time that her blade got a little too high, his hand would push it down again until she learned where it should stay. He went slow, showing her the different ways that she could use the knife against him and when she strayed from what he preferred, he would steer her back to the correct form. It was a strange interaction for them, given how few times she could say that they’d had a moment like this. She mostly stayed out of his way, and he was not one to intentionally seek her out.
Her gaze flickered in the same direction as his when he stopped them with a motion of his hand. Her mother was watching them, looking none too pleased but not daring to interrupt without Irakles behind her. Sara felt her chest tighten as he dismissed her, the slight warmth between them having cooled suddenly like a winter wind. She straightened, looking down at the knife in her grip as he gathered up the practice swords which had been forgotten. She had clenched her jaw to keep herself from arguing that she didn’t want to stop yet. He’d done enough by giving her this much of his time.
When she looked up again to where her mother had been, she had pulled back from viewing -- but the damage was done. Sara squeezed the grip, and bowed deeply to her older brother.
”Thank you.” She said earnestly. ”I will practice.” And then she took a step back, crossing the open space to pick up her forgotten basket of flowers and herbs. She hardly felt like making flower crowns now, putting the blade atop the stems.
As she walked away, heading back up to the marble halls, she could not help but glance back at him -- and despite herself, she smiled. A good memory for certain.