[FIN]Tear Down The Sky [Nairore]

[Zenethil]

There were fewer things in his life that gave Zenethil greater pride than his adoptive daughter. One was his position as Zelda's chosen champion. A valiant defender of the Light. Captain of the Hylian Knights. And it was in this capacity that he often found himself conflicted when she trained with the Knights. A finer student of the blade he had not taught. A fact he rejoiced in the fact of. But even so, every time she seemingly effortlessly defeated each of his newest Knights, he displayed evident displeasure. His pride was out-weighted by his annoyance on two accounts.

The first, the utter incapability for them to beat her. True, she was a phenomenal swordsman. But even so, many of them seemed to not take her seriously. And it irked him. The second was the speed which she had taken to it. Hallmarks of a heritage, a past, that he had tried so hard to stop from coming back to haunt him. The fluid movements. The utter lack of mercy as the wooden blade clattered into heads, chests, hamstrings, tripping, slamming and generally thrashing every comer. He shook his head, moving into the ring, nodding once at Nairore.

I will pose three questions to you. Each begins with why. The first, why is she beating you? The second, why is able to make an absolute mockery of you all? And third, why do none of you seem to care?

His voice was level, calm, but the disdain was evident, almost visible in the air. Each time she came down to the ring, she humiliated this particular group of Knights. They were, in his eyes, the worst batch he had ever had the displeasure to train. These ones were, unusually, more gifted with magic than most other Knight potentials were. He turned to his 'daughter', gesturing with one arm, looking out across the eight recruits before him.

One, because she is much more skilled with a blade than all of you. Her form is far beyond what I would expect anyone of her age and point in training to be. Two, because she is both naturally skilled, and singularly devoted. Despite being better than all of you, she still trains hard. Harder than all of you. Three, because you feel, as proficient magic users, that you can neglect your studies of the blade.

His arm lowered, before pacing in front of them all, his eyes boring into each one in turn. None dared hold his gaze, all tilting their heads down slightly. Pathetic. And they were supposed to be the next batch of Knights? Who had trained them to be so lazy? He reached the end of the line, pivoting on the heel, facing them all, looking down the, admittedly, perfectly straight line of Knights.

If you wanted to become exclusive spellcasters, you joined the wrong barracks. You should have joined the Priesthood. Or the Mages. Or, put simply, not wasted my time. Tomorrow evening, we will convene here again. Nairore will put you through your paces again. And if I don't see an improvement from the shambles today, I will drill you, day, and night, until the message becomes clear, that I will not tolerate laziness and complacency in the Knights. Dismissed.

Snappily, they clicked heels together, before moving back to their barracks, looking very forlorn. Good. Perhaps that would get them to actually do something about it. He walked over to Nairore, a small smile upon his lips.

Once again my child, perfect form. Unfortunately, this sorry lot are going to take a lot of work. Whoever passed them out of basic is both a fool and inept. Come, let us retire for the evening.

His smile vanished, replaced by his customary impassive, yet still disdainful looking expression. He looked at her, that familiar feeling of pride bubbling up within his chest. Thank Farore for her blessing of the wisest of decisions on that day. He strode on, walking alongside a daughter who, he had noticed, had been gaining more and more looks from the younger Knights. Something that a few bolder ones had earned a well-deserved beating for. He smiled. The last one she had dealt with he had been the healer for. Of course, the blood in his eyes had stopped him from seeing. Certain thoughts he had spoken aloud, thinking they were in confidence, had amused Zenethil. And earned the man four weeks of guard duty.

[Nairore]

x x

Nairore stood as her father did his paces, gave his lectures. She had heard it all before; she had assisted him in training on numerous occasions. It was the closest thing to a job she allowed herself beyond her own training; her father was in such a position that money was never tight and she could get what she wanted. But at her father's insistence she collected a small pittance for each day she helped school the new recruits. And school she did, barely breaking a sweat after putting each and every one through their rounds, carefully and calculatingly finding their strengths.

There she stood as her adopted father told each of the recruits off. While the Knights kept stern faces as her father passed, once his back was to them she could feel their eyes falling on her. Some of their glares were irritation, some of their gazes were admiration. A few sized her up a bit more than they should've been comfortable for. She kept track of the faces that owned those eyes, keeping them in her memory. They would get particularly severe beatings if they ever acted on the impulses their gazes spoke of.

Nairore kept an impassive look and posture, her wooden sword resting loosely in her hand, the tip on the ground. Of course in combat she would never be caught with such a pose, her guard so low, but she knew what was going to happen from here. Her father would tell off the Knights for being slack, for not training hard enough, and send them on their way. The fighting was over. Though she did feel a little sting when he spoke of their magical prowess, something she had always been lacking. She maintained her impassive expression and set her eyes on her pacing father.

Then the recruits saluted and departed. Her father turned and insisted they leave. She fell into step behind him. "Perhaps I am too much for them to handle this early in their training, father," she commented, remembering which ones showed potential and which ones were so perfectly lazy. "Maybe I should test some of the more seasoned recruits instead, instead of embarrassing green knights." In truth she yearned for a challenge when it came to swordplay, and insisted regularly that her father match her in training with someone better that recruits.

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[Zenethil]

Zenethil thought for a moment. Too much to handle? Most definitely. But then, that was the point. They needed to be given hard lessons, quickly, and early on. This lot particularly. Being as they were so magically capable. And lazy. He looked at her daughter, the door to the house that the two had lived in since she was eleven. Well before she'd become a woman, this had been her home. It was a rather large place to live. Two people could live here and actually be able to avoid each other, save for meal times. Perks of being well placed in society.

And yet, the reason for such a house was very simple. For her. So she would grow up in comfort. Some small gesture to make amends for killing her mother. Oh, he had no regrets about killing her in terms of duty, but she did feel some responsibility for the welfare of her child. His child now, in all but blood. He shook his head once.

No, we must stress exactly what it is that we expect from them. To do otherwise would do them a disservice. Just as I taught you.

He smiled at the memory. She hadn't exactly been a difficult student to teach. But it was his ethos. People learnt better from pressure and failure, but also continuous tutelage. His daughter was proof of it. He looked at her, a serious expression on his face, as though measuring some unseen scale of how ready she was. He nodded once, before opening the door to his rather spectacular abode.

Perhaps it is time we moved your training along. I had hoped that we might coax a more tangible magic out of you. But alas, Din has blessed you with physical might, but not magical. A shame. I feel I am a better tutor in that field.

He entered the hallway, lit by everburning lamps, removing his cloak, having neglected to wear armour to a mere training session, his lithe, slender frame clad in his customary white and red. Anyone who looked at the two of them next to each other would assume they were directly related. Both were not what you would call 'well-built'. Oh, by no means were they unfit, or weak, but they both leaned heavily to the side of slender. Nairore, however, was also blessed with curves most women would gladly murder their own brother for.

I will place you into Sergeant Kaelen's training group. He's a good man, I've known him for a long time. And he's been itching to teach you. I suppose I've kept him, and you, waiting for long enough now. Come, let us sit, it has been a long day.

He took a seat in his chair. It was unusual for someone to select possibly the most uncomfortable seat in the house as his own chair. But it had sentimental value. This was the same chair that he used to spend many a night with the then child Nairore, whether reading to her, listening to her explaining her day, or simply letting her sleep whilst in front of the fire, this chair was special to him. It kept him connected to the girl he had raised. Reminded him of she was, irrespective of her race.

I have a letter from our medicae. High Priest Yriel in fact. He wants to let me know that several of my Knights have come back from their leave with various relatively minor injuries. A couple of broken noses, bruising. One was more serious. Dislocated shoulder. More advances on you I take it?

He left the question open, allowing her the chance to be honest. It was, however, difficult to say what he felt. Obviously, he was annoyed that his Knights were, most likely, STILL making poor advances upon his daughter, and also annoyed that she had put yet more of them into the medicae. But, he was also proud, that she was able to look after herself, and moreover, resist the temptations of the opposite sex. At least he didn't have to worry about her being a 'loose woman'. He'd brought her up better than that. Pride swelled in him at the thought.

[Nairore]

x x

Nairore followed obediently behind her father, the only man she actually followed, perhaps one of the only people she actually cared for. The rest was this instinctual urge to continuously better herself, and getting too attached to others might hinder that cause. She saw her father's high position within the Knights and yearned to keep him proud of her, this man who had raised her, had given her so much. She sought to keep him proud; if she lost it would be in a glorious fight, if she won it would be worthwhile, regardless of the other person's ability.

The house they lived in was huge. And filled with fond memories. Not the kind most children have. She could remember the first time her father had caught her running laps through the hallways. He'd asked her what kind of game she was playing, and she had told him she was exercising. It had been raining that day, so she hadn't wanted to go outside and get wet. Now it was different, the rain didn't hinder her, it was only water. But that was the kind of childhood memories she had; always thriving to satisfy that urge for betterment.

Needless to say the first bully to ever try and rough her up had gotten what for.

While her father hung up his cloak she removed her coat and hung it, as well as putting the wooden training sword aside. Much like her main weapon, this one had been specially crafted for her, to suit her fighting style. The normal long swords were too light and she often overcompensated with them, hitting too hard, even breaking bones. This one was heavier, much like the two-handed weapon she normally fought with--though she only needed one hand to use it--and similar in design. A lot of Knights blamed the sword for why she beat them. They often didn't know the mercy that the sword was.

She sat down with her father as he ran through a list of issues to discuss. Putting her under the tutelage of Sergeant Kaelen seemed like the logical step for her, but she shook her head. "I think I've sent more of Kaelen's squad to the medicae than any other. And Kaelen looks at me no differently than they do. The only difference is he might get his hands on me before I teach him a lesson. Plus if I can send his squad to the infirmary so easily then his training wouldn't do much for me," she said flatly, answering his question in the process. She didn't hide the fact that she injured a lot of Knights. And not just Knights, as she got quite a few unoriginal advances in the streets. The only difference was that common thugs weren't reported to the Commander.

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[Zenethil]

An eyebrow was raised. So much for Kaelen. He'd have to have words with him in educating his squad on the correct conduct outside of the barracks, irrespective of how well they thought they knew certain occupants of the castle grounds. He looked at the impassive expression upon Nairore's face as she enlightened him. He sighed briefly, disappointed that the simple option of placing him with Kaelen seemed to be out of the question. She evidently was very scathing of him. And he could think of nobody else who actually tutor her properly. He thought on the notion for a moment.

Regrettably, you do make a valid point. Though I am surprised Kaelen looks at you in such a way. Perhaps he's been indulging in being one of my favoured units. Perhaps a few routine patrols will get him back into the idea of this not being an excuse to see himself as higher than others. As to your training, I shall have to look around for an alternative means for your progress.

He thought on his options. It would have to be someone good, and someone as detached from his pupils as he was. Otherwise she'd break his nose and be done with it. Not something he intended on happening. Not when she seemed to hospitalise anything that looked at her the wrong way. Not that he was overly concerned about that, he knew that several of the Knights saw her as little more than a hanger-on, and sought to 'take advantage' of her. The thought almost made him laugh. Little chance of that ever happening.

It's a shame that they treat you so. I suppose, it keeps the medicae busy. And probably entertained. I remember one of them myself. He was quite taken by you apparently. Some of the things he said were quite flattering. I'm sure he regrets saying them. He's only just finishing his stint of continuous guard duties.

A small smile crossed his lips, wondering whether she'd remember who it was. Joliq. His name was Joliq. Quite a meek sort of Knight, really. Probably had been duped into making a pass at Noirore by his comrades-at-arms. Poor boy had evidently been head over heels for her. But he wasn't what you'd call 'articulate', nor was he particularly impressive in terms of anything really. Except for the fact he put more effort in to everything he did that most of his peers. He was someone he was watching closely. hence the severe, unspoken punishment. He wanted to test him. Try to weed out the last vestiges of boyhood from him. See what man came out the other end. He hoped it would be as driven as the boy.

[Nairore]

x x

Nairore pouted a little as her father's options were diminished. She had really been hoping to have some sort of challenge, some sort of training soon. It was very hard to train on your own and maintain your skill, and near impossible to better yourself doing so. You can train your muscles with techniques and control as much as you want, but it's the wit you kept about you in the heat of a good fight that mattered most. Keeping your mind in check and being able to out think your opponent while besting them was a task, but it was key.

She sighed a little and stretched, her shirt raising at the hem to reveal her honed stomach, the wiry muscles working out the kinks from that day's training, the entire motion holding her typical feline grace. "Perhaps we should outsource, seek someone outside of the Knights? Perhaps then my reputation wouldn't scare them away," she said with the touches of a grin on her lips. She knew full well the various thoughts held by the Knights of her. Some were afraid, some were annoyed, others were intimidated; it kept them at bay most of the time.

Of course every man thought he was better than his buddies in the art of picking up a woman. Nairore felt it her place to teach them otherwise. Just because his tongue was quicker or his jaw was more masculine didn't put a Knight at any more an advantage than his comrades. Such an attitude could work against them in battle, not only putting himself but the other Knights in danger in certain situations. That was one reason for all of the hospitalized Knights, though she would by lying if she said she didn't enjoy showing them up.

"In this day and age of legendary warriors surely we can find someone," she said, continuing her previous thought. "Maybe I'll be good enough to be given Sheikah training," she pondered hopefully, though the prospects were low. Not only was she not a Sheikah, but she was a Gerudo, perhaps the least likely of the races to actually be chosen to get such training. Still, the thought was entertaining, and even a girl like Nairore was allowed to dream.

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[Zenethil]

A single nod was all that he gave on the matter of out-sourcing. He'd heard good things about a number of different people. He wondered what had happened to Gerudo he had employed to train the Hylian sailors... She was good. He quickly erased the thought. He would not have a Gerudo, no matter how far removed from the normal lifestyle of a desert dweller, teaching his daughter how to kill. He'd sooner let a Darknut teach her...

I'll be keeping my eyes and ears out for such a tutor for you. Failing that, I can help to educate you, but I'm afraid that the blade has never been my favourite means of attack.

He smiled, almost apologetically. In terms of combat, the two were worlds apart. He was a massively capable magic user. She was an inherently masterful duellist. The difference was that you could train to use a blade. Magic? You could either grasp it, or you couldn't. In her case, she could only manage to channel the most basic of energies. Fortunately, they seemed to cling on to her, channeling themselves into sustaining her through combat. An interesting turn of events that had been. Combat with dulled blades. An exercise in healing for the recruits. She was supposed to make her opponent drop to his knees, where the recruits had to keep the subject alive, and the subject had to wear her down. Except she never seemed to retain her wounds. A very useful power indeed. He shook his head slightly at her girlish dreams however.

Would you really be content being trained to become an assassin?

That, after all, was the route many Sheikah seemed to take. Their natural speed and grace led them down that path, and their affinity with shadow made this all the more common. A Gerudo, even one who had lived amongst Hylian's, was born for single combat. Not clandestine, sanctioned murder.

Perhaps a human would be more suited to being a training partner... While the overwhelming majority of them truly are mundane, some of them are surprisingly capable fighters. I've seen one human, a monk, punch a hole through plated steel. I've seen another die, and yet still stand back up moments later, and continue fighting, as though he had done little but fallen over for a moment...

He mused on this thought. While they lacked the grace and form of a Hylian, or a Sheikah, and lacked in the sheer ferocity and skill of a Gerudo, they were, after all, very versatile and capable fighters. And perhaps she needed a more simplistic and efficient combatant to face. He would have to look into this. See what strings he could pull...

[Nairore]

x x

Of course he would deny the thought of propositioning a Sheikah. While they were assassins their fighting style would blend well with her own. She was capable of matching their speed while holding her own strengths to make up where they lacked. Assassins had to be competent fighters and well disciplined, as well. Quick-witted, like her, when it came to making decisions in the heat of the moment. But alas, her father obviously didn't see it that way. She let that issue drop.

Then his thoughts fell to humans. She threw him a humorless half-smile, as if suggesting it was a joke. The Hylian Knights were revered for their ability as a special unit, a strong force unparalleled in Hyrule. The humans had their own army, which served along side the Hylian Knights, but it wasn't was noteworthy. If she could beat just about anyone in the Hylian Knights in a fight what chance was there for the humans to have? She shrugged it off and let her father have his thought.

Or not.

"Maybe if you can find me that man who died and got back up I'd be able to practice with Naurlambe," she scoffed, reclining and relaxing in her seat. She knew she could be arrogant, but she also knew she had the skill to match it. This was a regular conversation they had and it rarely went anywhere. They talked of tutors and by the following day it was right back to training with the Knights. She began to think it would be up to her to find a suitable teacher, as her father would put each one through a lethal gambit of tests in his mind and rule them out before they could prove themselves.

He was a little overbearing sometimes. Nairore was used to that. She owed him too much to not accept it. "When is your next trip to the borderlands? I haven't had a real battle in quite some time," she commented, changing to subject from that tired old topic. Truth be told she did miss the thrill of battle, that feeling where every decision she made counted as life or death. Training with wooden swords made you sluggish, as a whack from them merely bruised. Fighting a real battle required all of your attention, all of your thoughts, and only after you survived and tended to your wounds could you reflect on what you did wrong.

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[Zenethil]

Ah, she had all the haughtiness of a Hylian. He smiled at her scathing comment of humans. He could understand. The average human was, for all intents and purposes, a peasant who could do little except farm and subsist. Not exactly a race bred for war. But then, there were the exceptional ones. The Human Champion, Ryan, for example. His human counterpart, for the most part. He'd seen him die and simply get back up and destroy the offending party. The first time he'd seen it, he was ready to mourn the passing of such a newly inaugurated champion. Prematurely, he had soon found out. He smiled at the thought, however, of his daughter being able to vent her frustration on someone, completely, without fear of killing someone important, and in a safe environment.

If I didn't know better, I would say that's typically Hylian. Do not mistake humans to be entirely useless. It may come back to teach you a lesson. I've seen men defeat hydra's using nothing but their bare-hands and sheer grit and determination. They make up for their lack of finesse with sheer willpower in many cases.

It was true. He had seen humans shoving Goron around wrestling rings before. Maybe not the largest Goron, but even so, it was an incredibly impressive feat of strength to basically pick up a boulder and throw it a few meters without really straining yourself. The look on that particular Goron's face had been a mixture of shock, awe and confusion. Quite hilarious, considering his elders were congratulating the human in question.

He looked at Nairore, the eyebrow raised again. So eager for bloodshed. Some parts of her heritage were evidently irrepressible. Still, he had raised her a warrior. To not let her behave as such would be hypocrisy. He thought for a moment, before leaning forward, pointing at a location on the map in front of him. There had been reports of a necromancer in the area. It was always a trouble spot. The dead were particularly restless in the location, thanks to the ministrations of a much more powerful necromancer in days gone by. His arcane might had tainted the ground. Several High Priests had tried to cleanse it. All they had managed to do was weaken the curse upon the land. It was managable, but bothersome.

My next expedition is tomorrow. Here. The dead walk freely in the surrounding area of this village, so I am told. Led by a man who professes to be the 'Messenger of the Goddesses'. An abomination. One I will not allow to corrupt the land any longer than necessary.

Inwardly, his mind seethed, but his outward expressions remained impassive. False prophets were always the worst. They made him furious, defiling the name of the Goddesses, practising unholy sorcery, while using their name to corrupt the minds of the weak. He hated dealing with them, because invariably, otherwise innocent lives would be turned into frenzied, almost inhuman acolytes of their foul arts.

I want you to come with me. You have yet to witness this side of our eternal battle. From the sounds of things, he's not the most powerful we have faced. A better orator than a spellsmith. But that, in some respects makes him more dangerous.

[Nairore]

x x

"Willpower cannot wield a blade," she said with a lazy shrug. She knew it was arrogant to dismiss them, but she had never met a human who had impressed her more than a Hylian. "Find one who can beat me in a straight sword fight and maybe I'll change my mind," she added and got up from her chair, stretching again. Her arms reached up high, one hand clasping the other wrist and pulling it. Her shoulder popped from the motion and she sighed with relaxation.

"Zombies and stuff that barely fights back?" she practically moaned, before shrugging. "If you insist. I don't see how slaying undead would help me out," she grunted and turned. "Orators die to the sword just like everything else," she added dismissively before turning and walking to the door. "I'm going to get a bath, I'll be down in time for dinner," she said finally, as if slaying necromancers was not that great of an issue.

And truthfully she didn't think that much of the mission. A necromancer who can raise slow zombies and convince yokels that he was a Messenger of the Goddesses did not sound all that threatening. A quick slice and he would be dead. No man was invincible, not even the monks that her father was going on about. The monks just had tricks, some sort of magic at work. In this day and age such wonders aren't always wonders. She grunted and turned, stepping out through the threshold and into the depths of the house.

A hot bath would be nice. She worked to better herself, but she knew the benefits of taking care of her muscles.

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[Zenethil]

...two nights later...

---

He hoped this had been a lesson for Nairore. It had been a solemn, sobering experience for the Knights he had taken. Even he had been shaken by it. Not a single townsperson had been unaffected in some way. His soporific words had insinuated themselves into the minds of the townsfolk. Some had become shellshocked. Some had become frenzied. Some, worst of all, had devoted themselves to him entirely. Sure, he wasn't the most powerful of necromancers, but there was something about the way he spoke. Hypnotic. He himself had burnt his soul beyond any hope of redemption. An abomination. Not a single person in the town had been left unaffected. Scant few were redeemable. Most had to be killed, or put out of their misery. About twenty were in the care of the priests, having their minds restored.

Generally, it had been successful, save for the soul-destroying nature of the ordeal. Nairore had handled herself well. A couple of slight cuts and bruises sustained, which he was now treating her for. Nothing major, the usuals. It happened when you fought undead. Hopefully, she'd realise that. Stalfos in particular, they were reasonably competent fighters, being the remains of dead warriors, except they had no fear, no regard for personal safety. Quite often, guarding was ignored in favour of slotting a strike in. Conservative fighting was what was required. Zenethil, having fought against the Undead countless times, had remained unscathed, despite taking on a Darknut single handedly. But then, he had the advantage of his magic.

Hopefully, you've learned something from today. Several things, actually. That was one of the worst cases I've seen. In terms of the skill required, it's comparatively minor. But against the undead, and against that sort of manipulative effect, it's more a battle against your mind. Still, you handled it well. Just be wary of the nature of undead the next time. They don't fight like we do.

His hands glowed with a golden light, one healing her thigh, the other her shoulder and upper arm. The wounds closed up, no scar tissue marked her pristine flesh. Something, he knew full well, would not remain as such, given her choice of career. He moved backwards, smiling slightly at her. He had long since removed his armour, and was in his white and red tunic again, as the night before. Regrettably, the town would have to be eradicated from the maps. They'd razed it to the ground, to prevent the corruption from spreading. Why people had decided to build a town there, he didn't understand. So close to the Deadlands as the Knights referred to it.

And yet despite our successes one thing still irks me. That Merik, the one man who plagues our kingdom most, is free to walk amongst use on our holy days... While I do not doubt it is the right decision, the fact he may wander as he pleases amongst our people...

He did not finish the sentence, the annoyance creeping upon his face. For he, that was an admission of his blood boiling. Few things could provoke him so. He was one of them. And that he might walk by his own daughter... The thought worried him. That voice of doubt. That constant thought that he might lose her. For whatever reason. Death, or to her inner nature. This, he had learned to never show.

[Nairore]

x x

So much slaughter. As her father tended to the few scratches she had obtained during the fighting words ran through Nairore's head. Uncertain words, spoken by a man at night. The slaying of innocents. Her father had insisted that the town had been corrupt. She was to accept his word, to accept that his magic allowed him to sense this. Yet some of those people had seemed perfectly normal, hadn't even put up a fight. Perhaps her father was right, but there was a seed of doubt now and that was all it took.

The doubt was enough to egg her on, for her to carry out her plan. Normally at this point she would reconsider. This was her father she was about to lie to, the man who had given her everything, made her everything she was. Yet it was for him that she was about to do what she was going to do. She took a breath and quenched all those feelings, clinging to the drive fed to her by the doubt. Perhaps Merik was right, though she found that so hard to believe.

"The Festival grants some questionable freedoms, but it brings things together, it's a rather useful time," she started, setting the groundwork. "The night that we stopped there I met someone, actually," she continued, knowing this was where things began to get dangerous. Her face was impassive, as always, and her voice was steady. "A swordsman by the name of Rwaht Orin, I believe you've heard of him. I challenged him, thinking it would be good sport, and he beat me. But it wasn't a total loss. He agreed to become my tutor, if I traveled with him."

That was her lie. A simple change of names to one she'd heard before, one she knew her father respected. From there he would do the rest of the work himself. If he bought it, if he believed her, then he would practically insist she go, even providing supplies where necessary. If hurt her to do this to her father, but it was a necessary evil. "He said if I could get your permission to meet him back at the Festival tomorrow night," she added with calculated timing, to keep her father from thinking too much on the name.

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[Zenethil]

This was an interesting turn of events. She had apparently found a tutor. On the night they had stopped there in fact. Unusual, particularly, that Rwaht hadn't sought him out. Or entered the tournament. His eyebrow shot up his brow. But then, he hadn't heard of his whereabouts for quite some time. He was, after all, quite an elusive man. And tutoring his daughter? How that would improve her immensely. And perhaps teach her a thing or two about the wider world. And perhaps find her true place in this world. He sensed her unease around the Knights. She wasn't one of them. Despite how much he wished she could be.

Rwaht? I haven't seen him in several years... Truth be told, I didn't think that festivals were the sort of thing he would ever partake in. You say he's offering training?

He paused for a moment. This could work very well indeed. Rwaht was indeed a fabulously gifted swordsman. One of the best. He had never been trained by Rwaht himself, but everyone who had, had become a far more well rounded person, and warrior. It would, should all things go well, make her happy.

Travelling and training. From tomorrow? Hmmm... It's an interesting prospect. I will say, he is, from what I've heard, a hard taskmaster. But that shouldn't be a problem for you.

He leaned back on his chair, meshing his fingers together. He wondered if many other fathers went through something like this. Probably not. Perhaps their child leaving. But not like this. He continued to think on the prospect, wondering where on earth fortune like this had come from. Of all people to find her, this was probably the best one. He was, however, a little taken aback by it.

Tomorrow? Not a lot of time to decide. Before I make my decision, I want to know one thing. Is this being decided with your head? Or your heart?

[Nairore]

x x

Her choice had been a good one. Her father was certainly buying it, and Rwaht's elusive nature would allow her to pull off the lie. She shrugged her shoulders at his speculation. "Perhaps that's why not many people saw him there. He was passing through. The center of Hyrule Field is a very busy route, after all," she replied. An innocent enough cause. The worse lies came when you tried to pull off something outlandish, but someone passing through Hyrule Field casually was a common occurrence; it would be strange to even suspect it.

Furthermore Rwaht's reputation lent itself to her rouse. "He wasn't staying for long, that's why he's leaving tomorrow night. I'm sure you know how he is." There was a tension in her stomach she wasn't used to, a feeling of nervousness that hadn't visited her for years. But then she had never lied to her father like this before. White lies, yes, but they were simple, they were committed without much thought and dismissed just as easily. This was something major.

Her father asked his question and she caught herself from rolling her eyes. He was a magician, the heart and the head were different things, just like the soul and all that other mumbo jumbo. Still, she played along. He was going along with it all so easily she couldn't risk compromising now. "I'm going because I seek training and he's one of the best. You know I wouldn't simply leave for anyone, father, nor am I abandoning you or Lori." It was regrettable that she'd have to leave her 'sister', but this was her choice to make.

"And I won't be gone forever, either. It's training, I will follow him and learn. The travels will almost assuredly cross with your own, and even then I will be back in Castle Town now and then. You needn't worry, father, you know well enough I am capable of handling myself. And you also know full well that this is an offer I will be taking, with or without your blessing. I'd just much rather have it." Her jaw was set and her vibrant blue eyes, enchanted to hide the Gerudo yellow, determined.

[/size][/justify]

[Zenethil]

So impetuous. So stubborn. So driven. It made him smile. If a little worried. Still. She was old enough to take the consequences of her decisions. And at least she'd made the promise to continue to see her and Lorina. Lorina wouldn't be happy at all if she simply upped sticks. Nor would he, though somehow, he felt Lorina would be the more fractious of the two. He nodded once.

You make a valid point. You are, after all, past the age where I can actually stop you from doing anything. Just as long as you check in on Lori. She would make my life a misery if you didn't.

He smiled again at the thought. He hoped that she would keep that part of the bargain. He thought for a moment. He actually wanted to meet Rwaht again. He hadn't spoken to him in a very long time. Perhaps with his daughter as a student, he would be able to arrange such a meeting. He would maintain that thought in the back of his head. He looked at his daughter, a measure of pride evident upon his face.

Whatever you decide, you should know, I support you fully. You don't have to request my blessing. You already have it.

He stood up, opening his arms wide, his vastly tall frame towering over her, and yet, despite his great height, his demeanour and expression were welcoming, proud, anything but over-bearing. Something he tried not to be. If sometimes unsuccessfully.