30 Days of Writing: Snowflake
Like a Circle in the Water
30 Days of Writing - A Drabble A Day Challenge
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: Prussia/England
Summary: If he had thought to glide through this unruffled and unscathed, he now knows better. Gilbert is certainly not likely to humour him just because of his high birth, after all. Medieval AU.
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
Snowflake
By the third time that Gilbert deftly hooks his blade around Arthur’s and tugs the sword out of his grasp, Arthur is gritting his teeth in frustration. Gilbert lets the tip of his blade caress Arthur’s neck for another moment before withdrawing.
Arthur briefly entertains the notion of taking a small break to calm his temper before continuing - as he has often been instructed to during his own formal training - but when he fails to pick up his fallen weapon, Gilbert quirks an eyebrow at him in impatience as he lets one hand rest squarely on his hip.
Arthur does as he is bid, grumbling under his breath all the while. Gilbert just laughs at him. “D’you think your opponent will be kind enough to wait for you to calm down before striking? He’s more likely to anger you further before slicing you open.”
The difference in their skills had become apparent fairly early on, and so Gilbert had immediately set about correcting Arthur’s stance and adjusting the younger’s grip. For all of Gilbert’s reservations, he has proven to be a strict taskmaster; he demands discipline and precision of his pupil, and is completely willing to goad and harass Arthur until he is completely satisfied with what he sees. The moment they step into their practice area of choice, Arthur ceases to be the baron’s son just as Gilbert is no longer a common born soldier in training. It will be a while before they can be equals, even here; Arthur has a lot of catching up to do after all.
If he had thought to glide through this unruffled and unscathed, he now knows better. Gilbert is certainly not likely to humour him just because of his high birth, after all.
As it turns out, Arthur is actually better with a sword than he gives himself credit for. As his footwork improves, the fog of frustration that had been hindering him gives way to a feeling of such clarity that now, after endless amounts of practice, he can sometimes catch Gilbert off guard by finding holes in the other’s defence that neither of them had even realised were present.
Their bouts can vary in time, sometimes lasting only a few short minutes before the winner is apparent. At other times their constant exchange of blows will last the entirety of the session, the only indicator of the time passing being their growling stomachs.
Arthur lets out a small grunt of exertion as he parries against the next onslaught of Gilbert’s attack, his breath coming out in shallow pants as he attempts to get his bearings. Gilbert is relentless, driving Arthur backwards with each swing of the sword. He moves without needing to spare a thought for his destination, his instinct guiding him through the drills that Arthur had first seen Gilbert performing.
Arthur freezes for a moment, eyes going wide.
Gilbert swings his sword again, and Arthur’s arm goes numb from the impact of it striking his own blade while he was off guard. He makes as though to trap Gilbert’s sword in the way the older boy had done to him so many times since starting their training, and it is as Gilbert slips out of the hold with his sword still in hand that Arthur strikes, quick as a viper.
His blade traces a low arc before sliding up and lightly tapping Gilbert’s unprotected side.
There are a few minutes of silence, as they each catch their breath, and Arthur can see the slow grin curling onto Gilbert’s lips. “Well fought, kid; very well fought.”
Arthur huffs, not bothering to get irritated by the nickname that he’s long grown used to. “Better watch your back, Weillschmidt, or you’ll have a rival on your hands instead of a student.”
“Right,” Gilbert snorts sounding thoroughly unconvinced, a hand reaching out to thoroughly ruffle Arthur’s hair. Then he’s moving across the room to put away his practice sword, using his shirt to mop up some of the sweat dripping down his forehead as he goes. “Don’t be letting one small victory get to your head; you’re a long way from consistently beating me.”
He smirks at Arthur over his shoulder, hand rising in a lazy wave, before he saunters out of the room to head home for the night. Arthur stares after him for a moment and then follows him through the door with a roll of his eyes.
~Hollyrose~
Notes:
In case you were wondering about the prompt for today, I took it to be ‘special snowflake’ and how Gilbert certainly isn’t going to treat Arthur like one while they’re training.
Sorry if there are any mistakes, today’s chapter hasn’t been beta’d by anyone; feel free to point them out to me if you spot anything!
30 Days of Writing - A Drabble A Day Challenge
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: Prussia/England
Summary: If he had thought to glide through this unruffled and unscathed, he now knows better. Gilbert is certainly not likely to humour him just because of his high birth, after all. Medieval AU.
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
Snowflake
By the third time that Gilbert deftly hooks his blade around Arthur’s and tugs the sword out of his grasp, Arthur is gritting his teeth in frustration. Gilbert lets the tip of his blade caress Arthur’s neck for another moment before withdrawing.
Arthur briefly entertains the notion of taking a small break to calm his temper before continuing - as he has often been instructed to during his own formal training - but when he fails to pick up his fallen weapon, Gilbert quirks an eyebrow at him in impatience as he lets one hand rest squarely on his hip.
Arthur does as he is bid, grumbling under his breath all the while. Gilbert just laughs at him. “D’you think your opponent will be kind enough to wait for you to calm down before striking? He’s more likely to anger you further before slicing you open.”
The difference in their skills had become apparent fairly early on, and so Gilbert had immediately set about correcting Arthur’s stance and adjusting the younger’s grip. For all of Gilbert’s reservations, he has proven to be a strict taskmaster; he demands discipline and precision of his pupil, and is completely willing to goad and harass Arthur until he is completely satisfied with what he sees. The moment they step into their practice area of choice, Arthur ceases to be the baron’s son just as Gilbert is no longer a common born soldier in training. It will be a while before they can be equals, even here; Arthur has a lot of catching up to do after all.
If he had thought to glide through this unruffled and unscathed, he now knows better. Gilbert is certainly not likely to humour him just because of his high birth, after all.
As it turns out, Arthur is actually better with a sword than he gives himself credit for. As his footwork improves, the fog of frustration that had been hindering him gives way to a feeling of such clarity that now, after endless amounts of practice, he can sometimes catch Gilbert off guard by finding holes in the other’s defence that neither of them had even realised were present.
Their bouts can vary in time, sometimes lasting only a few short minutes before the winner is apparent. At other times their constant exchange of blows will last the entirety of the session, the only indicator of the time passing being their growling stomachs.
Arthur lets out a small grunt of exertion as he parries against the next onslaught of Gilbert’s attack, his breath coming out in shallow pants as he attempts to get his bearings. Gilbert is relentless, driving Arthur backwards with each swing of the sword. He moves without needing to spare a thought for his destination, his instinct guiding him through the drills that Arthur had first seen Gilbert performing.
Arthur freezes for a moment, eyes going wide.
Gilbert swings his sword again, and Arthur’s arm goes numb from the impact of it striking his own blade while he was off guard. He makes as though to trap Gilbert’s sword in the way the older boy had done to him so many times since starting their training, and it is as Gilbert slips out of the hold with his sword still in hand that Arthur strikes, quick as a viper.
His blade traces a low arc before sliding up and lightly tapping Gilbert’s unprotected side.
There are a few minutes of silence, as they each catch their breath, and Arthur can see the slow grin curling onto Gilbert’s lips. “Well fought, kid; very well fought.”
Arthur huffs, not bothering to get irritated by the nickname that he’s long grown used to. “Better watch your back, Weillschmidt, or you’ll have a rival on your hands instead of a student.”
“Right,” Gilbert snorts sounding thoroughly unconvinced, a hand reaching out to thoroughly ruffle Arthur’s hair. Then he’s moving across the room to put away his practice sword, using his shirt to mop up some of the sweat dripping down his forehead as he goes. “Don’t be letting one small victory get to your head; you’re a long way from consistently beating me.”
He smirks at Arthur over his shoulder, hand rising in a lazy wave, before he saunters out of the room to head home for the night. Arthur stares after him for a moment and then follows him through the door with a roll of his eyes.
~Hollyrose~
Notes:
In case you were wondering about the prompt for today, I took it to be ‘special snowflake’ and how Gilbert certainly isn’t going to treat Arthur like one while they’re training.
Sorry if there are any mistakes, today’s chapter hasn’t been beta’d by anyone; feel free to point them out to me if you spot anything!