Word Count: 1,007
It had been a very long time since she had dueled her little brother. If memory served her well, it was just after she had become an adult in the eyes of the Pride? Filled with the confidence that came with youth and inexperience. Now, Iver was not a young male whose mane was yet to grow in, but a full grown lion; who was bigger and stronger than she was. He walked into the arena like he thought himself invincible, and she was sure most bets said the same. Eir rarely gambled, but she would love to see the stakes on this duel.
Eir had seen many young warriors like himself join the ranks of Nysno’s military and knew how fragile that pride, fueled by testosterone, could be. As a Beserkir her job often came down to simply beating it out of them - showing them that they were still mortal and they could bleed and die like any other. Admittedly, the male that stood before her was no longer the naive youngling he had once been. He had matured, trained alongside the families best warriors; and now he stood opposing her, his contempt radiating from a mass of solid muscle. There was some pride swelling in her heart, alongside the bitter taste of anxiety that she would not let show on her face.
Despite all of Eir’s sass and her quick tongue, she knew only a fool would underestimate him. Especially when he had so much to lose. Especially when he was looking at her with such scorching anger. The pale female smiled in the face of his rage as her eyes closed, her lungs slowly filling with air that was then released slowly through her nostrils so she could clear her mind steady herself.
It was the first time in a long while she had fought without the herbs and mushrooms and rituals that her rank was renowned for. Alas, she did not want to give him any excuse to why he would lose - other than his own incompetence. And for a moment he mind wandered back to the mountain; and the lioness she had met their. The one who had put this story into motion and sealed her fate. Was she watching over her now?
The female rolled her head, cracking her neck and stretching the muscle.
“Are you done?” The male finally snapped, having lost all patience with his sisters stalling. Eir’s lavender eyes opened, falling on him with affectionate amusement. Maybe he had not matured as much as she would have hoped.
“Steady your temper little brother, I am almost ready.” She replied, flexing her shoulders and letting a pleased growl escape her maw as the joint popped in its socket. The females nonchalant response to his urgency almost made his choke on his own tongue; was it not she who had challenged him? Was she trying to inspire his ire.
Bile bubbled in his gut.
Eir could have laughed at just how grumpy her younger brother looked in that moment, her father’s face so plainly plastered on his own that it was almost comical. Despite what Iver thought she did not hate their father; she had just fallen very far from the tree and seldom shared his traditionalist outlook. An outlook that had been beaten into her brother since the day his eyes opened; before he had a chance to experience the world and the freedom it offered.
“Well then, shall we begi-.” The female began to speak, but found herself darting to the side before she had time to finish her sentence, Iver certainly had no intention to let her speak; lunging at her mid speech.
There was a low groan bubbling in his throat, lingering in the arena like thunder as she struck again and again. Each time he missed, but with each swipe he came closer to landing one on target. Despite her speed, Eir’s luck had to run out, eventually; it came with a paw hitting her across the face, sharp claws tearing at the sensitive flesh that covered her nose as her body was sent stumbling. As soon as she hit the floor she had to roll out of the way of his pounce; even when she was down he had no intention of giving her any chance to recover.
This was not a normal duel; he was out for her blood. Out for revenge. The handsome male wanted to prove his worth as a Jarl and Eir had given him the opportunity.
The battle between them went on; the sister taking a more defensive position whilst her brother was on the attack. Every so often one sibling would get a strong hit on the other; and admittedly it was Iver who was landing the most blows. Two pale pelts were becoming more and more saturated with blood as they continued. The turning point came as Iver began to tire, allowing his sister to steal the upper hand almost as quickly as he had claimed it. One strong blow made him fall back, tripping over his own feet; the second one made him lose consciousness for a second; opening him up to the third that had him sliding down the elevated rock face in which they stood.
The once heir finally came to rest at the bottom of the drop, loose rocks cascading down to cloak his sturdy frame. It was his mother then that moved to be by his side; Eir watched her from her elevated position. The maidens chest was heaving with deep pants, one of her eyes closed to stop the blood from seeping into it from a nasty gash on her eyebrow. There she stood as Jarl for the first time, before the family it was not her duty to see prosper. The voices gathered rang out in harmony, the chant starting as a whisper before gaining momentum.
“Hail Jarl Nysno, Hail the new Jarl.”
And, as she promised, the old Jarl's body was yet to reach its resting place.