Bryn was certain her journey was pointless by now.

Not only had she spent three days now in the capital of Irilea, but she had come up completely empty handed. All she needed was to meet a Irilean Knight and have them show her how to fight. She knew a Knight would have no reason to say no, especially if she showed them what she already knew. She wa no novice to the sword. Her father had trained her well, yet her father was no Knight. She idolized him, but she also knew his teachings were limited. What she needed was, well… Something more. The attack from her childhood was proof enough of that. She refused to blame her age on her past failures. No, it was her weakness that got her father killed. Her failure had reduced her mother to a shadow of her former self. Her failure cost people their lives. She would not fail again.

And that is why she hadn’t given up yet. While many would have given up their search within the sprawling metropolis, Bryndolin was not so easily broken. Failure was not an option for her. And yet, she still felt the temptation to just return home. Her legs ached from the constant walking. She was beyond frustrated at getting lost in the Capital. Her shoulders felt heavy, as if her failure over the past few days were quite literally weighing down on her. She hadn’t eaten in at least a day.

But Bryn was not easily broken. While she was doubting herself on the inside, she still held her head high. She WOULD find a Knight, and they WILL teach her how to protect her mother.

So once Bryn stood in the middle of market square and started yelling, no one was surprised. Many were frustrated, but none were surprised.

“I’m looking for an Irilean Knight! If any know of how I can find one, tell me now!”

She’d been at this routine since her entire time here. Find a group of people, and make sure they heard her. It was very common in smaller villages like Hearthshire, yet the reaction she got in the Capital was far different.

“You’re wasting your time kid!”

“Why would a Knight bother with some village girl?”

“They don’t just do handouts you know!”

Maybe they were right. Maybe she was wasting her time. But she knew she couldn’t falter. Someone would listen, and someone would direct her to a Knight. Somebody HAD to listen.

Many more people grew more and more upset as the girl continued her crying out, until eventually one man decided to challenge her directly.

“Would you just shut up already!”

Bryn could handle rude comments. She’d heard more than a fair share. What she couldn’t tolerate was the man grabbing her wrist. What he hoped to accomplish by it, she had no clue. He probably wasn’t a threat, but she was already in motion before she could think about what she was truly doing.

In the blink of an eye, Bryn smashed the palm of her free hand into the man’s stomach. He instantly let go, though the girl wasn’t quite finished. She used her momentum from the first hit to shove shoulder first into the man, sending him to the ground.

“Do NOT touch me,” Bryn growls, unaware of the the shocked stares she was receiving. Nor did she notice the two city guards pushing their way through the crowd to see what was going on.

Sirius had found the day's events beyond boring. The world had turned slowly, dooming him to wait for what had felt like a lifetime for some commander or another to finish the same speech he heard every time he was required to attend a ceremony. Valor this, honor that, loyalty here, fiends there, and so on. In all honesty, Sirius found himself rolling his eyes at this young upstart of an officer. Before long he’d be replaced by some other stiff which would, inevitably, give the same speech styled with his own tongue. Thankfully, he was finally permitted to leave after shaking a few hands and kneeling at a few heads. He was surprised they hadn’t gotten the knights to lick their boots after all these years.

Sirius was set to go bandit hunting sometime this week, but his patrol was along some scenic routes which he had detested. Sure, he was getting old, but he hadn’t yet been reduced to a few steps per day. In fact, he could still outrun some of the younger knights. Irilean nobility had really been slacking lately. Maybe it was a sign that their militaristic views were slowly curling up like a spider does when it dies, but an old soul like Sirius knew better. If anything, the sudden ineptitude of the younger generation would spur a renaissance in their militaristic order. At least they’d have good knights, he supposed.

The Capital had plenty of places to provision oneself for an adventure, and this amount was tenfold for any knight worth his weight in salt. But Sirius himself had developed certain relationships with a few folks, so he always found himself being ripped off by a friend instead of checking out any of the new places. His path often took him through the market square, though he seldom found himself lingering for too long. Today was supposed to be no exception, but apparently the cruel hand of fate had deigned to amuse him today.

Some cretin had insisted on yelling in the market square. Such a thing wasn’t rare, but this wasn’t some cheap merchant trying to draw you to his stalls or some crier boy informing the masses of the outcome of some battle or another. Instead, it was one of those fools who seeks to duel a knight that crop up every few years. Most of the time they’re seeking mastery, but they only find humiliation. Still, it was probably something best ignored.

Well, that’s what Sirius had assumed until he saw who the pair of lungs belonged to. Or, more specifically, how she’d just smashed some poor lad into the ground. He couldn’t help but bite his tongue as a laugh began to well up in his gut. Of course, if he’d seen it, that’d mean that the guard were probably on their own way. This poor girl wasn’t looking for guards, she was looking for a knight. He pondered for a moment before remembering some line about a knight always heeding a call, then figured he ought to heed the call before him. But maybe he was just making up some excuse to intervene. Either way, Sirius made his way to the scene, arriving just a few steps ahead of the city guard.

“Aye, I’ll handle this lout for you. She was calling for a knight, after all.”

His authority was clear enough, but his tone was less imposing and friendlier. He was trying to signal to the guards that he’d take care of it because he was off-duty, and they ought to watch out for bigger threats. He wasn’t sure if that was clear, but he succeeded in taking over the situation. When he received the all-clear, he helped the victim of this poor village girl up and sent him on his way with a light kick to the rear. He had no intentions of punishing someone over something so small, but there must’ve been a reason she called for a knight. And besides, her show had pulled him away from some of the mind-numbing monotony of the day.

“Aye girl, why are you hollerin’ for a knight? And moreso, why’re you flipping men on their backs? It better not be a duel you’re hopin’ for. Too many promising knights waste their lives like that, and I’d hate to wind up as one of them.”

Sirius offered his mouthful with a slap to his belly, but his stance remained guarded. If it really was a duel he needed to be watching out for, then he couldn’t afford to let this girl catch him off guard. His posture was clearly defensive, while still carrying an air of practiced civility.

“You’ve called for a knight, and honor demands I heed the call. Sir Sirius Omul, at your service. Might you have a name, too?”

"My name...?" Did her name really matter? No, no it didn't. However, the man had referred to himself as a Knight. Her call had been answered, and she did not want to waste this chance. She should have felt excited about finally succeeding, but all she felt as mellow as ever. Her head was pounding. Her entire body felt like lead. What was wrong with her?

"My name is Bryndolin, but most just..." The girl loses her train of thought for a moment, though she quickly recalls what she meant to say. "Most just call me Bryn."

Despite the dizziness and the pain ringing through her head, Bryn couldn't help but be painfully aware of her own country dialect. Most people in the Capital talked in a refined and articulate manner, while Bryn just sounded more... Plain. She found herself feeling downright less intelligent than those around her, especially the man she now spoke to. Was it really an issue though? She wasn't hear to learn how to not sound like a country bumpkin. She had a purpose, and she wasn't going to throw it away.

"I want you to teach me. I want to learn how to fight."

The girl had more that she wanted to say, but she found it difficult to speak. She had a vague sense of what it was. She must have been dehydrated, or at least just exhausted. She hadn't drank any water in at least a day. The symptoms felt familiar because she often drove herself to dehydration and exhaustion in her training.

"I won't take no for an answer either," she continues, ignoring the urge to collapse. "I will become your apprentice. I will do whatever it takes. I need to become stronger. I need to protect my home!"

Sirius chuckled. She was different than he’d been when he was her age, that much was true. But it was refreshing to see something different. Most Iriliean knights were very stuck up, especially early on. They knew this technique and that technique, had studied under this master or that, had a gleaming gem-encrusted hilt for their sword, were prepared to see men die, and so on. Once he’d heard a kid gloat about how proficient he’d grown at slicing goats. Some of the older knights laughed about how great of a butcher he should be, but he wound up being trained nonetheless. Someone in his family had, apparently, too much wealth on their hands.

But to hear someone admit that they want to learn was refreshing. It was rare. Or maybe he just hadn’t been listening. He’d never actually trained an apprentice, and there were some higher-ups breathing on his neck to produce an “heir”. He couldn’t take a female apprentice, however, so he would have to let the girl down gently. Still, she had promise. Purpose, even. Then again, she’d also just leveled a man to the ground. Then again, he’d done worse. A terrible predicament, really. So, Sirius opened his mouth to deliver the bad news.

And, just then, his back started to ache.

“Damnable age…”

The words came out as a mumble just barely under the breath.

“Tell you what. I need to gather some provisions. If you help me lug some of the stuff around, I’ll help you with your form. But that’s about it.”

Someone as persistent as her would probably follow along, accept the deal, and try to negotiate something better later. Easier to break the news without breaking his back. So, Sirius turned around, trying his best not to showcase his old age. His walk was still confident, filled with all the luster of an aged knight. Of course, part of him felt off giving a show, but knights were supposed to look their best. Or something like that.

Sirius weaved through the capital with expert direction. He’d been here many times. It was, arguably, his home. Of course, a nomadic lifestyle like his negated any real roots, but he had friends here. He returned his orders here. Wasn’t that what a home was? Sirius grumbled in his mind, knowing full well that the answer was no. He didn’t turn to face the village girl. With luck, she’d have sought out someone younger. That’d take a load of guilt off him.

Well, maybe his back ache was fate trying to steer his hand. That rule against ladies being knights was as old as the order itself. No wonder no fresh blood came in. A bunch of nobles sent in their vastly underprepared sons to play at being soldier for a few years before coming home without having done anything in service to their liege, or even worse, having been changed by the things they’d seen. The few village boys were often better at this sort of thing. They were used to hard work. Often, they were dedicated. Motivated, some of the time. Sure, Sirius himself had technically been the son of a noble, but he was already used to hardwork before then. A noble’s life never suited him. And, to be frank, it still didn’t.

“Aye, just up ahead in here.”

Sirius had navigated the paths offhandedly, not really paying attention but still knowing full well where he was headed. A little shop with walls overflowing with necessities. And, even better, the owner was a dear friend who gave him his favorite pastries. The owner gave him whatever pastries he’d baked for the day. A life of war was over for this shopkeep, twenty-two years too late. Those years would have been spent better at a bakery of his own. Regardless, too many pastries later and with an excess of other provisions to lug around (food, water, a couple of torches, and everything an old knight would need to be overprepared), Sirius was done with his business.

“Alright, basic weight training. Do this enough and you’ll be strong. Make sure you don’t throw out your back. We go until you’re tired, then I’ll help you with your form.”

Truthfully, he’d never trained an apprentice. And most of his knowledge was muscle memory. He’d forgotten what his instructor looked like by now. Well, not really. He still remembered him very vividly. But only his face. His name had escaped him some years back. But now that he was acting as an instructor, it almost came back. Not quite, though.

And so began the illegal apprenticeship of Bryndolin from Hearthshire.

For six months, the days the two spent together were nearly the same. By day, she would train. By night, she would train. While the routines and the drills differed, the general routine of the day was the same. The biggest difference, however, were the locations. Her master had some strange liking to training in a different place every day. Some days they were in a field doing drills. Some days they were on the rooftops of the Capital. Bryn never quite cared enough to ask why they were constantly switching locations, though it did leave her quite curious.

In six months, Bryn had shown much progress. Her master never told her whether or not she was strong enough to be a Knight, though her questioning always led him to the same lesson: “Knighthood requires more than strength alone.” To Bryn it sounded like empty platitudes, but not once did she complain or question the teachings she received. Yet, even if she weren’t strong enough after only six months, she had shown signs of progress.

She now carried a sword at her side, a sleek and slender thrusting sword her master had called a rapier. The weapon suited her well, as it taught her the need of precision. A rapier could not block the blows of most weapons, nor was slashing effective. To fight with a rapier meant the wielder must be precise. Their blow must be mortal, most likely a stab to the heart. The lack of a reliable guard meant the wielder must also be agile, lest they die when they commit to their own attacks. Bryn was both. Her lighter frame, along with that natural grace with which most women naturally moved, made her a perfect candidate to wield such a weapon. She wore no metal plating, as it would only slow her down.

In those six months, Bryn seldom cut her hair. While it never grew out past her chin, there were many days after training where she ended up with hair matted in her face. Her master insisted she kept up with the boyish appearance, but with so many men having somewhat longer hair… Even now, her hair sat at the comfortable length of just above her jaw, with her bangs completely chopped down. She still looked feminine, but with loose fitting shirt and pants, along with her long coat she always wore, her face was the only tell. To those who didn’t know any better, she just had the misfortune of being a boy with a pretty face.

Today was one of those days where she was drenched in sweat, strands of hair sticking messily to her face. Today’s exercise had not only been rigorous, but it had also been the first day she and her master truly sparred. He held nothing back, or at least that’s what he said. While she had started out confident, he crushed her each and every match. She was faster, more agile, but her master was stronger. He was more experienced, which no speed or agility would beat. He seemingly knew every move before she made it, while she could barely move out of the way of his most basic attacks.

After sparring for almost 2 hours, Bryn sheathes her weapon and rests herself on one knee, her gaze going past him and out to the vast cliff edge before them. Master had insisted they spar upon the mountain top, though as usual she never got an answer as to why. The view was beautiful, to say the least. While Bryn wasn’t much of a person to pay attention to scenery, she couldn’t help but admired the vast fields of Irilea, with the massive Capital towering over it all.

"Master... I can't. My energy is spent. I can barely lift my sword, and I..."

Sirius sighed. Bryn had come a long way since they had first met, but two hours just wasn’t good enough. He yawned, creeping age getting the best of him. Well, they could do better, but now was a perfect time for a break. He pushed his own sword to the ground. It wasn’t his most favored weapon – he preferred a two-handed club, though he had always been told that such a thing was primitive – but, it was the weapon he’d brought along for this excursion. Bryn had taken to the rapier, and so she wouldn’t have been able to parry his club strikes unless she was particularly gifted (and, even then, it was unlikely).

“Well, I suppose we could stop for now. Enjoy the view. It’s not the reason I picked this spot, but it is a nice consequence which we shouldn’t ignore. Consider this a training in how to keep up morale.”

Training on the tops of the mountains was important. For one, it was closer to the gods, and they always enjoyed a pleasant show. But on the other hand, Sirius was as practical as he was holy, and he knew that so far up there was less air to breathe in. It was a subtle thing, but it would mean that the body would tire sooner, and it would become disciplined faster. He tried to bring her to such high places often, but it was also important that she got the feel for other terrains. A warrior who could only fight in the desert was ill equipped for a swamp, after all.

Sirius sat himself on a rock, taking a breath. He’d let Bryn rest for a few minutes, but they had to get back to training. Of course, if he pushed himself any further, they’d have to rest here. While Sirius hadn’t yet detailed his plans exactly, he figured that they ought to head toward some of the Southern grasslands, do some rounds and find a few places to train. The villagers there tended to keep to themselves, but there were a few mountains which he had gone to for pilgrimage underneath his own teacher. Admittedly, he would probably be committing a crime of some sort by training his own apprentice there, but at this rate it didn’t matter much.

Sirius stood, reaching for his sword again. Thirty more minutes of training, and then they’d still be able to make it.

“Bryn, you better lift that sword, else I’ll leave you ‘ere alone.”

Sirius was going to train, regardless of whether his apprentice followed suit. This last thirty minutes was going to be for him. While, physically, he hadn’t held back on Bryn, he was still using somewhat basic swordplay techniques. Thing he’d learned at her age, but with more than a few years of muscle memory to back it up. Despite being an unfavored weapon, he’d still learned at least a few things beyond just bare fundamentals, so he figured now was as good a time as any to show them to Bryn.

Sirius’s motions were swift, but less forceful. It was not that he was holding back, but rather, he was planning to disorient Bryn with a flurry of blows. While he was growing tired, he knew that his apprentice must be more so. Of course, it was important to him that she knew how to fight against it. His intense barrage was slower than he figured he could do, just a warm up so that his apprentice could see some of the openings in such an attack. Of course, he was no master, so perhaps it was too slow. But, Sirius reasoned to himself, it was good to train her observation skills.