The next few weeks were like rousing from a dream - to find your body aching and sore.
Clementine ran for all she was worth, each morning she arose before the sun itself did and ran laps around the estate. It was torture at first, but she was justly motivated, so there was little to hold her back other than aching muscles. She'd come inside for breakfast only when she felt like her legs couldn't hold up her weight anymore.
The rest of the staff watched on with pity in their gazes, but she quickly learned not to let it make her falter. Mira especially was worried for her, and Clementine could see her lamenting for the dresses that went unworn or her hair that tangled too easily. She found a middle ground with Mira by braiding her hair, the long white curls got in the way less, then.
However, the laps around the estate were child's play in comparison to what would happen around noon when her father would take her to the courtyard for combat training.
The man she had once known as soft quickly turned into a harsh master. Nothing would satisfy his standards, not a correct stance nor a correct grip. At times Clementine felt as if she was bucking against stone itself when she trained. The worn leather dummy her father had brought down from one of the storage buildings at the edge of the estate saw plenty of abuse, though not enough, Clementine supposed. At first, the Duke had her train with a wooden sword. She felt like a child, trying to dent a stone with a twig, but her father didn't relent.
"I should train with a real sword first.." she had huffed, but her father just shook his head.
"No. You will learn properly. Now, again."
She'd just grit her teeth, but took a breath and continued attacking the dummy. By evening, her father would teach her to fight. Rudimentary punches and kicks were easy enough to learn, especially against the poor dummy, but when her father had her fight against him the first time, it was a harsh experience.
The fight started with her father taking a stance, unexpected. She tilted her head, stepping out of her stance against the dummy as she looked at him. "Father?"
"An attacker won't give you the courtesy of warning, ever. Though, I will warn you this once, Clem. Take a stance and leave the dummy be. You will fight against me now."
Clementine took a breath and then retook her stance facing her father, balling her fists. He let her take the first blow. She puffed out a breath, stepping to lunge at him, but the duke kicked her unbalanced leg out from under her. She landed on her front with a wince, the stones weren't kind to her knees or hands. She looked at her father again, and the duke just lifted his chin with a steely look on his face. "Rise. Again."
She got to her feet and retook her stance. He let her take the first blow again. This time she tried to be more subtle so her father wouldn't have the time to react. She avoided the puff of breath and lunged outright. He easily deflected her first blow and landed a punch to her stomach. As she gasped for air, he kicked her legs out from under her again, as she had lost her stance at the punch. Now she was getting irritated, a hand on her stomach as she looked up at him.
His expression didn't change as he looked down at her, there was no hint of remorse, but no sign of enjoyment either. His lips were tightened into a thin line. "You keep losing your stance, child. And you leave your stomach wide open when you strike. It will be guarded only by chain mail, Clementine. If a fist can land there and you are neutralized this easily, there is no hope for you."
Her jaw tensed, and she lowered her eyes. Her father sighed and turned his back. "Leave it for today. We will head inside for dinner and you will try again tomorrow."
"No." Clementine protested, getting to her feet. She took a deep breath, forcing the pain to the back of her mind. "No. I want to try again." She retook her stance.
Her father looked over his shoulder at her, that same steely gaze.
But he relented. He turned around and retook his stance. Clementine watched him and readjusted her own. His expression didn't change. Once more, the first blow was hers to take. She circled him, but he followed her. She stalled for a moment more before she lunged. He easily deflected her first blow to his face, but she managed to block his blow to her stomach this time. The two exchanged blows for a moment more, the two of them not managing to strike each other. He cast a punch aimed at her face and she managed to In the moment - she saw it - as her father deflected a blow to his face once more - an opening at his stomach!
She took the blow - and landed it. She heard Duke Frederic wince -
But then, a kick. Her stance -
He kicked her legs out from under her, and she landed on the ground with a matching wince, her palms scraping against the stones. She hissed slightly, looking at her palms, the scrapes burning.
Her father just looked down at her with a sigh, wiping his mouth. She huffed softly as she met his gaze. "Better." he said. "But still not enough."
"Did I hurt you?" Clementine asked. Her father just looked down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly before he kneeled to be on her level. "Clementine, look at me."
She looked at him with a frown, her lips tightening.
"Always assume your attacker is tougher. Stronger. That they won't keel at just anything." He pointed his finger to her shoulder, his gaze intense. "Because, in many if not all cases, that will be the truth - without a single doubt. You are going to be smaller, and weaker, Clem. Do not falter. No matter what you do, strike to incapacitate a man, not to incapacitate yourself. Do not show them the mercy you would onto me, or yourself."
Clementine let out a breath, her eyes lowering dejectedly.
"Understood?" the Duke asked.
"Understood…"
The Duke sighed, shaking his head. "Your stance still needs work. But lay it to rest now, Clem. Come. Dinner awaits. Mira will be inconsolable if you miss it." he held out a hand, and she took it. Duke Frederic helped her up with another sigh, his eyes casting to where she still ghosted a hand over her stomach, where he had hit her. "Are you alright?" he finally asked. And for the first time that day, Clementine saw the concern in his gaze.
She sighed but managed a smile. "I'm fine, Father. Let's go inside now, I'm hungry."
The Duke breathed a sigh, but he smiled too. "Alright. I will show you how to wrap your hands tomorrow, so they will not scrape as harshly if you fall."
The two walked back into the manor, with the Duke having an arm over her shoulder. He ghosted a hand over his stomach as well, assured at the very least that his daughter had been paying attention to his lessons.
Clementine held her arm over her father's back as well. It felt odd, to no longer be coddled like a child. Something was refreshing to it, as if she had glimpsed a sign of her father's truer self, the warrior rather than the kindly old duke…
Perhaps he had lived longer, in that nightmare. But her gaze steeled, and she closed her eyes. No. Rather it be her blood on the helmet than his. Her grip tightened slightly around her father as she helped him inside. She would do better.