𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐄 ~ aemond targaryen (discontinued)

11 ~ Deathblow ~ 11

I opted for one blade, discarding my second to the side of the ring. I was a woman of honour if nothing more. I would keep this dual fair and equal. Not that I thought Aemond deserved that kind of decency. I knew he would play dirty the moment he got a chance, refusing to make a fool of himself in front of an audience.

Although my swords were sharp and deadly, I still knew how to swing with only the intention to disarm, just as well as the move to kill.

Too well. I knew how to kill all too well.

I pushed it away, swallowed the vision down, deep. But it floated back up like a dead body in water.

The warm stickiness, coating my hands. The red. Pooling, gushing, red. So much red. Too much red to stifle. Too much to clot. Flooding. Skin breached. Stiff, pallid flesh. Eyes lifeless and empty, staring at the sun. Mouth gaping, catching flies and maggots.

I shook my head. Hard and forceful. The haze faded like a mist carried by the wind. Squeezing my eyes shut I opened them again to be met with a mirror of the past. A violet, questioning gaze keeping me grounded. I would never reveal to the prince all of the ways the memory of him brought me calm in war. Calm in panic. Peace in strife. Never would he know of the nightmares his face warded off. Never. He would never know. I wouldn't offer him the power.

Clenching my jaw, I shifted my grip on the shaft, testing its sturdiness.

"No." Ser Criston spoke. I rolled my eyes, "You use this one."

In his extended hand was a rusted hunk of metal, difficult to consider a weapon nevermind a sword. It was as if he had plucked the thing from a century long rest at the bottom of the ocean, disturbing its swim with the fishes.

I scoffed, "You think this will stop me from winning?" This was quite obviously a tactic to get into my head, to patronise me with such a pitiful blade.

"I know not of your intentions; it is to stop you from killing the prince. Or injuring him. A precaution."

I chuckled dryly, "You've inspired me, Ser. I take that as a challenge." I swapped my blade for his, feeling the balance of it in my arm.

Not too bad considering it was more rust than steel.  The weight was nice enough and easy to build force behind. Not too heavy to blunder my own swing or tire me out quickly. I may know how to use a sword but strength was not something that could be picked up like a skill, especially as a woman.

"Are you finished?" The Prince flicked at a peice of lint on his shoulder, looking down at me with sheer boredom.

I hummed. Moving myself into position, legs parted and bent. Shoulders loose. Elbows relaxed.

Aemond and I circled each other, a mimic of two cats sizing each other up, waiting to pounce just at the right moment.

My tactic had already been decided. Taking the defense was less arduous than assuming offense; a costly position to take, but worthy if skilled in combat.

Aemond was likely edging on exhaustion from his previous round of sparring with Criston. It could be an easy win if I played my cards right. If I gave him the illusion of the upper hand. If I allowed him to spend his energy on the attack.

All I had to do, was wait. I knew Aemond well. He was impulsive. The prince would get bored of moving in circles and take the initial hit just to get it over with.

I hopped back on one foot.

Just as predicted, frustrated and impatient, Aemond made the first
move with a great arching swing.

He followed, slicing again, aiming for my abdomen.

I dodged. He swung. My arm lifted in time for him to miss. The prince huffed, jabbing at my ribs next. I stepped to my left, using my own blade to draw his down and away. Hard and forceful. His sword almost slipped from his grip.