Wounded Pride ~Lillian~

[ashara]

It is often believed that if there is one thing a person shall always begrudge another for, it’s concerning matters of pride. Nerome, recently trounced Trainee awoke in the infirmary, with stars dancing in the black and a rather numb lower body. The first thing he thought of was the fact that there was going to be one sorry Accepted if he had his way. Dark haired, rosy lips and those blasted eyes. Pools of only Light knew what, smiling and smirking almost better than he did himself.. “Are you alright?” he asked, bending down and looking at her with concern. He had seen his defeat in those eyes the moment he had gone to help her. Selandre had always told him that for all his ‘charm’ when it came to the female gender, their charm often worked on him better than his did on them. Pah. “When may I leave?” he asked, his tone loutish, which of course, earned him a raised eyebrow but no answer.

 

It was a good two hours later that someone actually paid any heed to him. One Sister, frosty faced and brusque came to him. Eyes looking him up and down, Nerome shifted uneasily. It was one thing to be looked at like that by a woman, but this was an Aes Sedai, and there was no suggestion of anything but ruthless assessment in her face. After some time, she scribbled something on the paper she was carrying around and with a curt nod, spoke dismissively. “You can go.” Nice meeting you too. Quickly rising, he rushed out and weaved his way back almost subconsciously. Made sense really, the number of times he had found himself sitting up in the infirmary. One would’ve thought that such regular companionship on his part should bring him some warmth from those Yellows. Muttering, he welcomed the sun’s heat on his arms and face. Soon enough, he found himself in the more familiar training grounds. Roving green pupils hunted for the woman he had marked in his mind. He had a score to settle.

 

It wasn’t easy to find her. Firstly because these initiates of the Tower seemed to really like this ‘I’m stronger with my sword’ business, so there were too many of them to have the good fortune for a woman’s face to jump out at him or anything. Secondly because, far too many of them wore the same winning smirk. Accepted, so went the title. He would never train one if he got raised to Tower Guard! And that was a big if, as his mentor kept reminding him. Still, he had improved quite a bit he thought defiantly- he could’ve won that match with that girl. He certainly planned on winning this one, at any rate. Having spent a good deal of his time in the infirmary reasoning over the matter, Nerome had figured he had a pretty good chance. Now that he’d been up against her once, she would be easier to predict. Besides, the girl wouldn’t have the same desire to win that she had that time, that desire that he now had.

 

He finally spotted her running laps, and began to smile. By the time she had gotten around and reached him, it had become a beam. She was about to say something, but he cut her short. “I’m feeling much better thank you. And since it seems a waste to have found you just for that, how about we have a rematch? I’m feeling duly rejuvenated.”

 

~Nerome

Owner of the wounded pride

"Fight Fight Fight!"

[Wayfarer]

Victory had been all well and good, but there was no respite to be found, Rosheen had directed her back to her training. It was one thing to win a fight, but if she wanted to win future bouts and more importantly, be able to defend herself when the need arose, she was going to have to continue practicing. Formwork to develop the skills rather than training to develop the body, it was in the simplicity of the moment that she tried to find some semblance of calm. Not only from the giddiness of having successfully used her skills, but also because she was worried about what she had done to her opponent, Nerome.

 

It wasn't that she hadn't been aware that it was painful, that was the reason she had done it. Enough pain to turn the tables on him even though she was bereft of her weapon, and it had worked and she had been able to menace him with his own lathe and he had been left with no choice but to surrender. Indeed, he'd been in so much pain that he had been defeated the moment he had been struck, but that was what concerned her. She had thought maybe it was like being dazed for a moment, or something like that. Nerome had been unable to move, in fact she wasn't even sure if he had been entirely conscious when he had been taken to the infirmary. At best he had groaned and when he had been put to bed he had curled up into a foetal position.

 

Struggling between her feelings of triumph and guilt, they had mostly settled after a couple of hours of work. She had decided to do laps to finish up when she saw Nerome was standing by the side of the track. Slowing down as she went off the track towards him, she was about to ask if he was feeling any better when he started talking. Better, but then his words came to her, a rematch? That didn't sound like a good idea at all.

 

"You've only been healed and I don't want to hurt you a second time. It wouldn't be fair of me to fight you now. Are you sure you're alright?"

 

 

Lillian Tremina

Accepted of the White Tower