"Pathetic! Get up!"
Her muscles ached, arms and legs trembling as she tried to push herself up to at least get her head out of the dirt. She only just managed to dribble some bloody spittle onto the ground before they gave in and she found herself sprawled face down again.
"Get up, I said!"
Why? The ground was a far more pleasant place to be, sucking in dust with each forced breath, sharp stones digging into her skin, the dirt slowly mixing with tears, snort, blood, and spit, clinging to her face.
"You're wasting my time... Get! Up!"
And there it was. That tinge of disappointment in her voice. Anything but that. A sharp kick to the ribs would have been much preferred.
She groaned and dragged her legs in beneath her, forcing herself up while every part of her being begged for her to remain on the ground, a faint whimper and another ragged breath escaping her lips before she wiped off her face with the back of her hand and turned around.
"Again."
Calmer now, but the disappointed tone was still there. How she hated hearing it. But it would go away, be replaced by annoyance instead, perhaps, as long as she kept getting up, kept trying, kept improving.
She moved forward, every muscle screaming in agony as she raised her arms, her legs threatening to give way again with each step. The first blow came fast and hard, she only just managed to duck below it. The next set her off-balance, and then the third stuck the side of her head and sent her back into the dirt. She tried to roll with the fall, scrambling to get back on her feet, upright for the briefest of moments, then her knees scraped against the ground.
"Again!"
Ameren woke, staring up at the lightening sky, the songs of the earliest birds soft in the air.
Just a dream.
She rolled over on her side and reached out for something, yet her outstretched hand found nothing but cold, dew splattered grass.
Stop it. He's not there.
She turned her hand, studied the drops of moisture on her fingers in the half-light for a moment before she pushed herself up and pulled on her boots. Sweeping the heavy cloak around her shoulders and tugging the mask into place as she climbed to her feet, Ameren looked around the camp. The others were still fast asleep near the campfire, save for the hillman keeping watch. They exchanged silent glares in acknowledgement, something which had quickly become the standard greeting between Branson and the three savages, she buckled on her sword belt and set off down the hill.
Lee seeping into my dreams again, refusing to stay dead. Silly to have thought I was rid of her. Why now, I wonder.
Ameren stopped near the stream, pulling the sword free of its scabbard and flicking her left wrist to let the dagger concealed in her gauntlet drop into her hand.
Is it because I'm finally back on the route I was suppose to have taken all those years ago?
She rolled her shoulders and started going through the forms, same as every morning.
"This won't do, Ameren, this simply won't do. We can never settle for adequate. Adequate works in a little backwater like Bree, if you're lucky, but not down south. Not in Gondor." Isn't that what she used to say, when I whined and wanted to stop? When I'd finished a job successfully despite making countless mistakes? Whenever I was anything less than perfect?
Gondor. Far off still. Very far, the journey had only just begun, after all.
Is it because I miss Lee?
Ameren gave an amused snort, flourishing the blades, dancing around in the grass with smooth, precise steps even with the soggy ground shifting under her boots.
Perhaps not Lee herself, but it's difficult to deny that things were simpler back then. Or they seemed to be, when I had the certainty of knowing what I was and what was expected of me. My little reason for living. I should consider myself lucky, few people get to experience that certainty, feel the calm it brings even in the most nerve-racking of situations. No hopes, no dreams, no fears, no doubts. If you failed, then that was that, you were no longer suited for your purpose. There was ever only one option, making things real easy.
She spun around and the blades cut through the air, the sword in a high, wide arc while the dagger remained closer to her body in a low guard.
Perhaps that's it? I doubt it would be a bad thing, to have that certainty over the next few months. To be a tool once again.
Ameren frowned while the blades continued to slash and cut around her.
A tool... Lee's words, the ones she had used ten years ago, before leaving me for dead in that alley.
"You are a tool, Ameren! Carefully and expertly crafted over many years from the best material available, with the right set of instincts and the right temperament, into an implement capable of creating masterpieces. But without the right hand to wield you, none of that matters. You have no purpose other than the one I made you for."
The sun broke past the horizon and started spilling light over the landscape. Ameren stood up straight and backed away from the bank, sheathing the blades again. She turned her face toward the sun and closed her eyes.
A tool, perhaps, but now my own tool, capable of serving my own purposes. The past decade has taught me that much.
She glanced over her shoulder, up toward the hill and the waking camp.
Better get back to it, so much to do if this little venture is to be a fortunate one. For starters we're going to see if we can't raise mister Holmwood's life expectancy in a fight from five seconds to six.
