Title: Distraction
Fandom: Magic Knight Rayearth
Rating: General
Length: 1500ish words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Post-canon
Summary: Ferio faces a challenge.

oOo

The large water butt in the corner of the Guard’s training ground outside was mostly there so they could easily dampen down the ground to keep the dust from flying up during practise, as the ground itself was bare earth with an occasional set of markings scored into it to mark out particular practise areas. In practise, mostly the trainees ended up scooping up handfuls to splash over their own heads when training in summer got too much. There was a water fountain for drinking from on the wall the other side of the training ground, but it only delivered a thin stream to drink from, nothing you could really splash yourself with. The butt itself was charmed so the water would stay clean, even though it was rain-filled, from a gutter which came down off the castle roof. (There were identical water butts about the edge of the Castle which were used for watering the gardens.)

In theory, when sparring, anything outside the sparring-zone was out of bounds for the participants; you couldn’t reach out and ‘borrow’ a weapon from a spectator if you lost your own, for example, or retrieve your own.

Ferio knew all this.

His boot-heels scraped along the ground as he deflected a blow from LaFarga’s sword and had to retreat another step, getting dangerously close to the edge of the marked arena. If he was forced out, he would be out of play - and he didn’t have to beat LaFarga to get his qualification and join the Guards (well, no one would manage it, if they did have to) - but he wanted to at least do better than ‘not instantly knocked out of the ring’. (Or just ‘instantly knocked out’, that had happened once or twice, though LaFarga was normally able to pull hsi blows when he needed to.)

He also knew that if he fought to the best of his ability, did absolutely everything he could right - he still wasn’t going to win. Not unless he had some bizarre piece of luck, anyway. LaFarga was too fast, and too strong, and far more practised at fighting things sized and shaped like a human. Ferio had spent the last several years mostly fighting against the monsters infesting the forest of Silence. He’d been through the shortest training course LaFarga could put together, and while he’d done some sparring in there, it hadn’t been nearly enough to get him expecting his opponent to move like they had hands, and a weapon, and- he ducked under another blow and flung himself sideways, darting out of LaFarga’s range and getting back into the middle of the ring.

They needed him to pass this. For all the fancy clothes and the ‘Prince’ title he’d accepted for the sake of giving the people some visible form of stability during the period after his sister’s death, he had never held any actual rank; he’d not got as far as qualifying with any Guild and he’d spent a good portion of his life wandering about as a travelling entertainer. You didn’t need qualifications to do that.

You did need qualifications of some sort before you could start helping work on the defence of Cephiro, on rebuilding the ragged Guild meant to protect her people, and take recruits out to teach them how best to deal with all those monsters he had so much experience with - because there were a lot of monsters out there, right now.

Everyone having access to the heart of Cephiro had it’s downsides, as it turned out. The manifestations of people’s fears and doubts were appearing more frequently than ever before - so much so that they’d had to halt the first few villages they’d tried rebuilding, because they needed a permanent overnight patrol to keep anyone outside the Castle safe - and too many of the Guard hadn’t survived Zagato.

And there was Ferio, with precisely the right skill-set, and no idea how the Guard worked or how to train them.

Hence the accelerated training course, culminating today. He’d already undergone a three-hour examination that morning, a panel of the five Captains the Guard had left throwing questions about ethics and organisation and strategy at him incessantly until he felt like they’d been throwing rocks at him instead of words. This afternoon was the physical trials. He’d passed the agility and strength tests, he’d even - and that was definitely luck, however he’d come by it - managed to pass all the weapons tests, though normally he couldn’t have hit a target the size of the Castle with a bow and arrow. (He didn’t actually need to pass with all the weapons, just a majority of them, but he didn’t like doing things by halves. …Besides, Fuu had taken a few hours to tutor him on her last visit, and he’d wanted to make her proud.)

The sparring session was the final test. Both he and LaFarga were using a standard Guard’s sword, with a standard-issue poinard at their belt as well, so that they were on an equal footing in terms of weaponry. He was being marked - the four Captains who weren’t LaFarga spaced about the ring and taking notes, and a small crowd of spectators on the closest balconies which overlooked the grounds.

In front of all of those people, he wanted to look competent. Like they were doing the right thing, putting their trust in him.

But LaFarga was pressing him back again, without even seeming to try.

…Then Ferio saw the water butt, and it wasn’t so much that an idea struck, as that he acted on the sight without concious thought. He let LaFarga push him back again, but moved sideways a little, and a little more, and the next time that LaFarga engaged their blades he shifted, made to step away - and gave LaFarga the perfect opportunity to sweep his sword in an arc and send Ferio’s blade flying.

Only Ferio didn’t try to cling onto it as it happened, he just let it go, keeping hold just long enough to aim it. It span straight into the side of the water butt, with all the force of both their movements, right near the base. The wood cracked, and the sheer weight of the water inside did the rest; bursting the damaged plank open, it flooded out across the ground, a small wave which took LaFarga entirely by surprise and distracted him for just a second. Just long enough for Ferio - who hadn’t stopped moving - to grab his poinard and draw it, and then slam into LaFarga’s side with his shoulder and all the force he could put into the movement.

It wouldn’t have been enough to do more than make LaFarga take a step back, normally. But distracted by the water suddenly splashing about their feet, footing suddenly a lot less certain than it had been a moment before - he stumbled, and one foot went out from under him.

Ferio, still moving, had twisted around LaFarga’s other side, and brought the hilt of his poinard down on LaFarga’s hand as hard as he could; LaFarga’s sword landed on the drenched ground one moment and Ferio had it in his hand the next, before using all that entertainment training in acrobatics to leap straight over LaFarga’s head to relative safety on the other side of the ring, where he had just enough time to re-sheathe his poinard before LaFarga was up again, his own shorter blade now in his hand, and closing in on Ferio.

With the advantage of a weapon with a longer reach, and better balance to deal with the now-slippery ground as their feet churned the surface of it to mud… Ferio still couldn’t force LaFarga out of the ring, or get his last weapon away from him. But he kept him fighting until the watchers called for the end of the trial, and then collapsed to the floor in an exhausted heap, not caring a bit about the mud now soaking into his clothes.

At least LaFarga was also breathing hard. He came over, and offered Ferio a hand. “That was… an interesting way to change the field,” he said.

Ferio let himself be hauled to his feet. “I don’t remember anything in the books that rules out taking advantage of, uh, things which enter the ring under their own power. I mean, if it rained, we’d have kept going. It’s the same as that, right?” If they disqualified him, he’d have to do this all over again next week. But at the moment all he wanted to do was fall into a bath and then sleep all week, so he didn’t really care.

LaFarga snorted. “I think the rule-book will be getting some updates, but no, it’s not against the rules. Not quite. You could have one if you’d attacked when you took my sword, if you’d struck me in the back when you leapt over me.”

“I couldn’t have pulled the blow enough to keep from hurting you,” Ferio admitted.

He clapped Ferio on the shoulder. “Come on, then. You have to stay upright long enough for us to officially award you the title.”

“I’ll try.” Ferio grinned at him.

“…And then I’ll see you at work tomorrow morning,” LaFarga continued, brightly. “I’ve got a set of new recruits starting at sunrise-”

Ferio whimpered, but he let himself be dragged along, and he couldn’t stop smiling all the same.