Spring, F.A. 511
"Get up, Nautiel."
Green eyes snapped open as she jerked awake, making Satarion wonder if his daughter ever really slept at all. At the very least she had stopped cringing away from him when he came too near. Still, there was that same unwavering fear in her eyes that mirrored what he saw in them that fateful day in Doriath.
Nautiel slowly uncurled herself and stood. She was a good head shorter than he but still rather tall compared to others of her mother's kin. Her dark hair, the same color as his, hung messily in front of her face, unbound by any braids or bindings. He wondered if this was in response to his suggestion that she cease braiding her hair in the style of the Nandor around him and his kin in the camp of Maedhros.
"Arm yourself appropriately... please."
She made no sound in response, only bowed once to him and went about making herself ready for the day, knowing well that he meant to resume her lessons in the art of battle this morning. The concerned frown never left his face, even as he stepped away from her and set off toward the training field to wait for her.
The empty field lined with targets and racks of weapons was empty save for his aide and the early morning mist that lingered, creating dew upon the new shoots of spring grass. It was easier to impart what knowledge he had to his strange daughter during this hour when many others were yet asleep. Though, he did wonder whether he had managed to teach her much at all. She had merely stared at him in that silent, piercing way of hers whenever he gave instructions and moved only when he asked her to. And still, though the way of the sword and shield no longer seemed so foreign to her, she still seemed to favor her spears she crafted herself. Was it out of defiance? Or something else?
He did not have to wait long for her; she appeared so silently that he was almost taken by surprise as she appeared out of the mist at his side, still standing apart from him, armed in leather for ease of movement, with her most recently made spears, crafted from sturdy wood and sharpened metal he had procured for her. He had once offered her one made by the finest of smiths but she had refused to use it.
Father and daughter merely looked at each other for a moment, he with concern and confusion and she with tighty coiled fear, ready to spring away from him at the first wrong move. At the sound of his aide clearing his throat, Satarion sighed and gestured for her to follow him as he stepped onto the field, his aide in tow.
"I would see how you fare in combat with someone far more intelligent than a straw dummy. Terevo here will be your opponent. Three strikes to one's person will end the round. Do you understand?"
He watched at Nautiel merely nodded once. He had still not grown used to her complete silence. He doubted that he ever would. Just once, he would like to hear that soft, tinkling laughter of a babe that he remembered hearing from her as a babe in her mother's arms. But that was so long ago. He had missed so much. The grown daughter in front of him now was as strange as she was familiar and, that bothered him.
"Choose your weapon, Nautiel. Terevo will be using the sword."
He managed to not sigh again as she removed her spears from her back before setting one aside and taking up her newly made one. Satarion had the two opponents walk ten paces apart before standing back to observe.
"You may begin."
Nautiel did not make the first move. Terevo came at her with the quickness of accuracy of a fine swordsman. His sword arm darted forward like a flash of lightning and was parried to the side with a single movement of her spear. Satarion noted that, when Nautiel's gaze was not trained on him, she exhibited none of the fear he had become accustomed to seeing in her eyes.
Back and forth the two of them went; Terevo attacking and Nautiel parrying with silent and practiced ease. After awhile, though, Satarion found himself a bit frustrated.
"Nautiel, I would see you demonstrate if you have learned anything I have taught you. Please, focus yourself to this task."
She paused a moment and turned her face to stare at him and he felt chilled to the bone to see that the vibrant green in her gaze had turned quite dark. But this lapse in concentration costed her as Terevo landed a well placed swipe to her side, steel easily cutting through the leather of her armor, creating a small surface scratch in the pale skin underneath, which bled slightly. The two froze as Satarion winced ever so slightly and held up one finger.
"One strike for Terevo. Continue."
Her attention snapped back to her opponent and she made a quick step forward and then stopped. A feint; one that Terevo fell for. He charged forward to attempt to close the distance between them but was easily knocked aside with a sharp blow from the side of her spear to his side. Satarion held up one finger on his other hand to call out her strike but was unable to make himself heard as she continued on with the spar, not stopping for anything.
Terevo reccovered well enough, rolling away from her even as she followed. Once back to his feet, he was immediately driven backwards by sharp, quick movements of her spear, the sharpened tip coming close to impaling him again and again. He parried away with his sword as best he could but her spears seemed to be almost an extension of her arm and body. Satarion's aide turned pale as she drove him further across the field and winced as he felt the tip of her spear pierce through his leathers, nicking him in the shoulder. Satarion was equally pale as he held up a second finger and called out Nautiel's second strike.
But Terevo would not stand to be beaten by a lowly Laiquendi, not even by his lieutenant's daughter. He launched himself forward and smashed the hilt of his sword against her wrist, severely injuring her as he heard some of her bones crack. However, a chill entered his heart when he did not hear her cry out in pain. No, that Nandorin chit did not make a single sound as she let go of her spear with her injured hand, holding it just as menacingly as before in her uninjured dominant hand. He retreated a step backwards as she launched forward again, taken by surprise at the unchecked rage on her pale face; teeth gritted in a silent snarl, and that same fire of battle he had seen in his superior's eyes more than once, though in her eyes it burned untamed and wildly.
Terevo's retreat proved to be a mistake as she slammed the side of her spear into his midsection, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him tumbling to the dewy grass. He could barely hear the shout of his lieutenant to stop as he felt her crawl upon him, hands clenched into fists striking repeatedly at his face. Then he felt a great pressure about his neck, squeezing tightly, cutting off his air. But, just as he began to feel his vision begin to turn dark, the pressure was taken away and he felt her scramble off of him.
Nautiel, in a panic retreated away from Terevo, clamboring backwards across the grass of the field, eyes wide with horror. She did not hear her father's shouts to stop until she felt his strong hand close about her left wrist and was lifted bodily off the ground. She did not cry out at the searing pain this caused her injured wrist. Her free hand curled into the semblance of a claw and she struck Satarion across the face, nails creating three red scratches across his cheek. Only then did he let go of her, letting her fall to the ground once more, cradling her injured wrist to her chest and staring up at him. Once again, her vibrant green eyes, the same as her mother's, looked upon him with fear, though the horror in this moment seemed to be mangified a hundred fold and was not solely directed at him.
And then, she ran. Quick as a fox she stood and darted across the field, back to some safe place to hide from him in. He knew she would not leave. He had seen to it that she was never allowed out of the bounds of their settlement and she had long learned that it was useless for her to try anymore.
Satarion grunted and ignored the stinging pain in his face for a moment as he attended to his wounded aide.
From that day forward, he trained her no longer.
