[ONGOING]
[THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA:
PRINCE CASPIAN ➵ THE LAST BATTLE]
[EDMUND PEVENSIE × FEM!OC]
[HIGHEST RANKINGS:
#548 IN 'FANFICTION' OUT OF 116K STORIES
#164 IN 'FANTASY' OUT OF 22.4K STORIES]
･°*✧•.
𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗧
- 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦
Begi...
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19 | A DANCE WITH SWORDS
Metallic clinks fill her ears as the king assists her with putting on her suit of armour.
"Why aren't you in appropriate wear?" she asks.
Edmund yanks at a rusty latch with little patience, "Because, the probability of you hurting me is negligible. There is no obvious need for external protection, for my mastery is more than adequate," he boasts, lips pressed into a line as he tautens a strap of old leather, "Is it too tight?"
She makes effort to shift her torso, "A little, I believe?"
Shrugging, he unlatches the catch for readjustments.
"Hey, what did I say about your arms?" he appeals. He retreats his fingers from her suit to flash a small scowl at her, "My head could've hit your forearm. Please, hold them up, it's hazardous."
"Sorry, it's just really tiring," she says, hoisting up her elbows a little higher, "And you're right, this does weigh quite a bit."
"At this rate, I wouldn't be sure you have the required strength to deliver blows with impact in combat," he accuses, the metal piece he is occupied with clicking into place.
He clutches the hilt of the sword on the table, raising it up towards her, "Ready?"
She accepts the blade with grace. With a nervous laugh, she replies, "Can I say otherwise, your Majesty?"
･•*.° ➵ °.*•･
"Shouldn't you go easy on me!?" she screams, ducking so his blade went above her. She stumbles off-balance, "I'm an amateur! I am not versed at this sport!"
"One, you thought wrong. And two, welcome to my beginner's course."
He whirls his sword round with a twist of his wrist, flaunting his well-practiced command on the weapon, pacing round her.
"I place firm belief in my teaching, lass. Learning through experience and allowing instinct to take control has proved to be most effective in developing one's unique tactics. You don't want yourself to be too predictable, do you? You want to be a fresh opponent, full of surprises up your sleeves. Now, word of advice: if I were you, I'd be getting into my best stance of defence-"
He lurches at her mid-sentence. Metal on metal, she halts the blow inches from her skin. With what little muscle she has flexing, she thrusts the blade away.
Then she sprints.
Her feet carries her half-way across the dais in front of the How they are training on, away from the middle, where Edmund stands.
