Don't Break Character (Beowulf)

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When one thinks of Snow White, one thinks of beauty, of kindness, of a homemaker; one does not think of a warrior. She was not entirely ignorant of the ways of battle, nor of how to fight. In the beginning of her marriage Edward had shown her a few basic tactics with a small sword, one fit for a child, but it had been more for joy and entertainment than for anything serious. In the ten years since she had watched soldiers practice on the grounds of the castle, and had been witness to several tournaments, but merely watching did little to prepare her for battle herself.

During the current war, Snow had chosen to stay in the camps instead of retreating to the island, claiming to want to help the soldiers in the best way she could by providing them nourishment, and while that was true it was not her entire reason. In the moments of downtime she received, while one of the other cooks took her place in the kitchens, the princess had taken to running off to a quiet place just at the edge of the forest where nobody else seemed to venture. She had taken an old sword from the makeshift armoury, one that clearly needed to be reworked, and had begun her own sort of training. The sword had been heavy at first, almost too much so for her to swing, but she was gaining strength and could wield it much easier now than in the beginning. But that was only half the battle, as her skill that was still lacking.

Swinging again at the large tree she faced, she struck it soundly at the height of a man’s shoulder. Pulling it free she let the blade rest on the ground a moment before raising it and hacking again. In those few seconds of rest an enemy could have taken her life thrice over.

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Beowulf needed to do something. It had been a long time since he’d been hunting and he needed to stop thinking about much Sunny needed him. He needed to stop thinking that he should never have let her go into battle with him. He had been a fool to think that he could keep her at his side. This was a war. He had promised to protect her and to keep her safe. He had done neither. He should have made her stay behind.

Beowulf kicked at a tree in his anger. He wasn’t even hunting so much as getting away from all the noisy heathens and the heathens that looked like the dead were haunting them. The stupid heathens kept reminding him that these had no idea what it meant to protect everything you have. It made him angry, because not even a Viking could protect and keep one small girl safe. He cursed, though he made sure to keep his voice down. He knew very well that spies could lurk in these woods.

He trekked through the underbrush until he spotted a woman wacking away at a tree with a sword that was obviously too heavy for her. It clearly hadn’t been made for her specifically and she clearly had little practice with the thing. Beowulf was unimpressed. He grunted as he stepped out of the underbrush. “That sword is too heavy. You’ll die before you get a chance to kill.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking back at the weapon. “The blade is dull. The grip is all wrong. The thing looks unbalanced. You’ll need a different weapon if you actually intend to fight.” Beowulf had a lot of experience with weapons and had watched enough be crafted to know how they worked, so really he was doing this woman a favor.

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Snow jumped at the voice, turning wildly until she saw Beowulf emerging from the brush. She had never had him as a student but she had learned the names of most of the men she had taken to feeding since the beginning of the war, and she recognized him as one of the more visible presences among all of Prince Arthur’s men.

He was also one of the more frightening and imposing.

She looked down at the blade, it’s tip now resting against the ground, her eyes travelling from the dull edges to her own grip before finally rising back up to Beowulf, feeling almost like a child being reprimanded.

“I need to learn the skills before I intend to fight,” she countered, raising her chin slightly to overcome her uneasiness. “It was what was easily available and would not be missed.”

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Beowulf didn’t care what weapons were available or wouldn’t be missed. The smith could make more. They didn’t even have to be great weapons, they just had to be sharp and able to kill another man. As long as it wasn’t too heavy for the wielder then there would be no problems.

“Get a different weapon. If you intend to fight at all, you will need a weapon you can wield.” She might need some training to fight, but it would have to be with a weapon that she could actually fight with. “Don’t train with that. You’re not strong enough.” If she meant to join battle soon, then she would not gain the strength fast enough to use it anyway. There was no point in training with a weapon you weren’t going to fight with.

Beowulf pulled a small hand axe off his back and handed it to the woman handle first. “Try this instead,” he instructed. “It’s lighter. Easier to fight with. You’ll use the axe from now on.” The Viking preferred his axe to his sword any day. It had a different range of motion and was much more manageable. It was also easier to bash a head in with an axe than a sword anyway. At the end of the day it was easier to smash skulls than run a man through.

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Snow wanted to protest when he flat out said she wasn’t strong enough, her pride wished her too, but it was hard to argue against the physical evidence that weighed her down. Her arms were already tired from trying to wield the heavy sword and she could hardly claim to have improved since she had begun her secret ‘training’.

Besides, Beowulf was hardly someone to spite.

Flinching slightly when he pulled out his axe, she reluctantly dropped the sword and took the smaller weapon from his hand. It was much lighter, that was for certain, but she didn’t like the idea of how close her enemy had to get for her to effectively use it.

“How can I possibly defend myself against a broadsword with only this?” she questioned, trying to maintain some sort of air of importance and strength, to prove she wasn’t to be pushed around nor to follow blindly. She didn’t appreciate him telling her that this was her new weapon without consulting with her. “Will the sword not cut through the handle?”

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For once, it seemed that someone wasn’t going to argue with him when clearly he was the one with the superior knowledge in this situation. He might not be the nicest about giving orders, but there was a war. There was no time to be nice if this woman wanted to prove her worth and be able to fight.

And then she started asking questions. Beowulf wasn’t sure he had the patience to deal with this woman. “You can block with the handle, or any other way you can. You’re fighting to survive. You survive however you can.” He didn’t have time to teach her every single thing he knew about how to block. She’d have to rely on her instincts.

He glared at the next question. “No,” he replied flatly. Swords couldn’t actually cut through as much as people tended to think they could. “Swords are meant to cut padding under armor and flesh. Nothing more.”