Fencing

''Come on, Giltbert! You're doing great!''

If he noticed the encouraging shout, he paid it no heed, instead fully concentrating on the duelist in front of him, and the saber currently closing in on his head. The steel blade swooped through the air, aimed directly at his face, the silvery edge so sharp it seemed to cut through the air itself, emitting a loud keening noise, as if screaming for his blood.

Parry.

His opponent withdrew the blade and re-entered the guard stance before attacking again, the slash now aimed at Giltbert's shoulder. To be honest, the attack was a disgrace to the art of fencing, more a desperate flail than anything taught in the colleges and academies of the kingdom, and would leave the assailant wide open to a counterattack if parried.

Parry.

A quick flick of his own sabre sent the attacker's blade downward and away from his body, leaving a split-second opening that most fencers in the Razor Peak Royal Boys' Academy would miss before they even noticed.
Giltbert, as he was known far and wide, wasn't like most fencers.

Riposte.

His sabre soared through the air at breakneck speed, the heraldic griffon etched onto the blade now nothing more than a gray blur. Seeing, rather than feeling the blade cut into his opponent's cheek, he allowed himself a triumphant smile and backed away just as the *directeur*  interrupted the bout.

''Halt!''

Score.

As shocked realization spread across the young man's face, he took in every detail of his defeat. The slowly deflating posture, the unfocused gaze, and the drooping sword-arm were all things he had seen dozens of times before, but still never seemed to get old.
Smiling, he backed away from the piste just as the first drops of blood started falling from the challenger's wound.
Walking to the corner of the room, he procured a small waterskin from his bag and took a deep draught of the contents, the cool water soothing his dry throat.
Glancing over towards the far wall of the *piste*, he saw the jury whispering amongst themselves, the professors and teachers coming to an agreement in mere seconds.

He allowed herself another triumphant smile, this one bigger than the last. Everybody in the room already knew the judges' decision would be unanimous. It had been unanimous every time he had bouted in the Academy, and with good reason. His parries were flawless, his dodges were quick, and his strikes never failed to make their mark.

In his own words, he was ''the best damn fencer you'll ever see.'' He wasn't alone in her opinion. Even the strictest teachers estimated a maximum of three years of practice before he'd make Champion material, and had forsaken betting on his bouts in favor of doing more productive things, such as watching the grass grow.

Which was quite fine with him.
Being the Kingdom's Champion didn't just mean fame and money, it was also a position of great honor, with Champions being invited to the grandest feasts the whole realm had to offer.
However, there was one small obstacle in her path. Namely, his, or actually her, gender.
The Kingdom had always maintained a strict stance on what genders were allowed to do what, and it just so happened that fencing was absolutely forbidden for anyone of the fairer sex.

Which wasn't fine with her.
Even getting into Razorpeak Academy had required enough subterfuge to coup d'etat a small nation, and competing in the Championships would be even harder to pull off.
So far, she had succeeded by binding her chest, feigning sickness during swimming lessons and adopting the mannerisms of the more rough-and-tumble men in the school, but there were still rumors going around. Nasty rumors.

Those were also the cause of most bouts she had been in lately. She had never been one to tolerate anyone going behind her back and always made sure to give lessons the blabbermouths wouldn't forget, but for every bug she squashed, three more appeared.
Luckily, she was on her final year, and as much as she liked the place, she wasn't stupid enough to stay as a fencing instructor, as some teachers suggested. There were some things that were almost impossible to hide, and despite being a late bloomer, periods were beginning to become more and more hellish.

She sighed softly and took another drink from the waterskin, eyes flitting over to the *directeur* who, as it seemed, was preparing to make the jury's decision public.

The short, burly man cleared his throat to silence the murmurs of the sparse crowd in the room, and in the monotone voice stemming only from repeating the same thing dozens of times, gave the verdict anybody could have expected.

''Ahem. Thus, the bout between Giltbert of House Eisenschild and Mahli of House Blutfeder is concluded. The victor is Giltbert, of House Eisenschild, with victory gained by way of bloodletting.''

With these words, most students slowly ambled out of the *piste*, most likely about to make their way into the common rooms or their dormitories, to tell their friends that, unsurprisingly, Girly Giltbert won a flawless victory.

Slowly feeling exhaustion creep on her, Gilda closed up her bag before exiting the room through one of the ornate doors and made for the baths, not sparing another glance to her surroundings.
The day had been long enough, and she sorely needed a bath and a soft bed.



After carefully double-checking the dressing-room, just to make sure nobody would see her, Gilda turned on the bath, the tub soon filling up with steaming hot water.
Carefully stripping down, making sure to leave her clothes and towel in close proximity to the bathtub, she undid her chest wraps, finally taking the first full breath of air she had taken during the whole day.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on just breathing, taking deep lungfuls of oxygen and slowly exhaling, the soreness in her chest starting to subside.
Not wanting to waste time, she soon found herself in front of one of the many mirrors of the room with scissors and a comb in hand, methodically cutting her hair in the short-on-the-sides, long-on-the-top style so common in the Academy.
Finishing her work, she took a quick look in the mirror to make sure that everything was in order, despite her dislike for her reflection.
Her dislike was not without reason, however.
Every look in the mirror reminded her just how much she had to pretend while going about her life.
Her slim face, while not particularly girly, still held a look of femininity despite the fencing scars criss-crossing her left cheek, and was something she just couldn't erase.
She sighed in frustration and gripped the washbasin tightly, squeezing her eyes shut and grimacing for a second, beofre returning to her normal expression.

''Come on, Gilda. You can do it. Show those dweebs what you're made of.''

Despite her pep-talk, her hoarse, cracked whisper brought forth another grimace from the woman, and she grunted, anger evident in her voice.
Her voice, oh Gods how she hated it. The pitch was way too high, and despite her best attempts, she'd never have a voice as deep as the other boys in her year.

And, to top it all off, it lead to name-calling. ''Girly Giltbert'' was one thing, but being called smelly or dirty on account of not bathing with the other men was another. It had gotten so out of hand that even the first-years had gotten around to doing it, and although she made sure to challenge anybody that insulted her to a duel of honor, it still didn't stop the bullying and the slander.

However, it *had* gotten better from before.

When she was in her first year, after a week of particularly heavy physical activities and the baths being filled from dawn 'til dusk, her dorm-mates had dumped a barrel of ice-cold water on her while she was sleeping, telling her to go wash herself, among other things.
However, she did get her revenge. After challenging, and defeating, every single one of the boys in her dorm in a bout of fencing, she found out the name of the planner, and beat him black and blue in the dining hall during lunch.
Although it did get her detention and grounding for two weeks, the name-calling stopped for a few weeks.

While doing it again would probably stop the bullying until the end of the term, she'd probably also get expelled for doing so, and have her diploma torn to shreds, despite getting straight *Lobenswert*, ''worthy of praise'', in every one of her classes.
And, as tempting as beating Gerhard or Jamshed into a bloody pulp would be, it would leave her nothing but a dishonored woman, forced to return to her family, her efforts in vain and her honor soiled.

She briskly shook her head to clear the unwelcome thoughts from her mind, ran her fingers through her hair, and took deep, calming breaths.

''Just a few more days, Gilda. Just a few more.''



Slipping into the bathtub and letting the hot water envelop her, Gilda sighed in satisfaction.
Wasting no time, she grabbed her soap, quickly rubbing away the dried sweat from her skin until she was as red as a lobster. Relishing the sensation of the hot water burning her raw skin, she closed her eyes and leaned back, just taking in the thick, steamy air, heavy with the scent of tar soap, feeling relaxation she couldn't feel anywhere else.
Running her fingers through her hair, she gave another sigh, finally feeling clean again.

''Well, well. What have we here?''

*Noanythingbutthis pleaseanythingbutthis.*

Her eyes flew open and she sank lower in the bathtub, slowly turning her head to face the intruder as an icy chill ran down her spine.

''Gerhard? W-what are you doing here?''

Her voice squeaked as the man in question snickered, sauntering in through the doorway with the nonchalant, annoying swagger of somebody who has not only power over his victim, but also the means to use it.

''Funny. I was meaning to ask you the same thing. This is a *boys only* academy, isn't it? 'Razor Peak Royal Boys' Academy.' That's the name, isn't it?''

*Pleasegoaway pleasegoaway pleasepleaseplease*

Locked in place, Gilda had no reply to give, her thoughts instead switching between possible escape routes and just how quickly she could smash him into oblivion if she tried. Clearly amused by her frustration, Gerhard's sardonic grin only grew wider.

''It is, isn't it? And here we have you. Looks like the little chicken flew too far from mommy's nest, doesn't it?''

*GoawayImeanit I'llsmashyourfacein I'llkillyou I'llkillyou I'llmurderyourwholefamily*

The intruder slowly shook his head and chuckled at her darkening expression, coming closer to the tub until he was close enough to touch. Or strangle, if one were inclined to do so.

''Oh, yes, really looks like it, don't you agree? And-''

He put his hand up, as if to stop her, grin firmly fixed on his face, his tone growing more and more amused as the young woman tried to hide his shame from his prying eyes, her face pale with shock and hate.

''Before you try anything, I got three of my boys outside, just waiting for me to say the word. You won't even make it out of the door. Now, I know what you're thinking.''

His tone switched from amused to a high-pitched lilt, mocking her feminine voice, her scowl deepening with every second.

''Oh, goodness me, boys are such dumb-dumbs! Why take the door, when I can just climb out of the window? What a silly, silly man!''

Finishing his imitation, he crossed one arm over his chest and put a finger to his lower lip, cocking his hip to finish the 'dumb blonde bimbo' look. He gave a short chuckle at her hateful look and leaned in closer, Gilda frantically writhing away from him until her head hit the solid tile wall. She hated to admit it, but she probably would have gone with the plan he was about to shoot down.

''You ever freeze to death, girl? We took your clothes, we took your sword, everything. But-''

Gerhard lead even closer, his voice now a conspiratorial whisper, Gilda swallowing spit, afraid of what humiliation he had planned for her this time.

''You'll be really nice to us, won't you? Then, you'll get everything back, and as an added bonus, I'll even leave you alone! Doesn't that sound great?''

''What do you want, Gerhard?''

Her voice was tired, the same cracked whisper as before, and her throat felt painfully dry. Gerhard's grin turned into a dirty, lascivious smirk and she noticed he was running his eyes over her body, lingering in all the spots one would imagine.

''We get to fuck you, plain and simple. The beds get awfully cold this time of year, and it just isn't right that a man of my caliber has to sleep alone, when there's a perectly good wench just *waiting* to service him.''

Gerhard pulled back and Gilda let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding, her expression completely dumbfounded, not wanting to believe what she just heard. As the proposition finally sunk in, her face contorted in unholy fury, and it took all of her self-control not to lunge at the man standing before her and beat his head in until his skull caved in.
She replied in a low, venomous hiss, her voice dripping hate and disgust.

''No. Now give me back my clothes. I'm leaving.''

She tried to leave the tub, only to be pushed back in again by Gerard, who took a playful, mocking tone as he scolded her.

''Oh, you silly girl. Didn't I already tell you that we took your clothes?''

''Give them back. Now.''

Gerard grinned again and fiddled with his blonde hair, slowly shaking his head.

''Nuh-uh! You'll just have to do as I say. Is it *really* that hard to understand, Girly Giltbert? Now-''

Gerhard moved to grab her shoulder, and Gilda recoiled, practically flying out of the tub, now so engulfed by her fury she didn't even bother hiding herself, instead pulling her arm back as if to punch the man in front of her.

''Do NOT touch me, you son of a whore! If you even lay as much as a finger on me, I will burn down your whole house, I'll fucking *murder* your family, I'll-''

She was interrupted by Gerhard who gave a loud whistle, the silence in the bathroom broken by the sound of running footsteps on the tile floor. In a matter of seconds, three young men, who Gilda assumed to be first-years, stood in front of her in a half-circle, two of them running their hands over the hilts of their swords, all of them staring at her, or rather, her body.

''Now, now, there's much better uses for that mouth of yours than spewing insults at your superiors, hmm? So, are you really *sure* that you don't want to do as I said? It'd be an awful shame if the principal found out his star student is of the weaker gender, after all…''

Gilda paled visibly, the implications of Gerhard's threat sinking in. If word came out about this to anybody, she would definitely be expelled, and return home dishonored and beaten, with nothing more than scars to show for her performance.
That is, is she even could return home.
She squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced again, too ashamed to even look her blackmailers in the eye as she felt the first tears begin to form.
Her voice nothing more than a pathetic whimper, she squeaked out the answer that would define her fate for years to come.

''I-I accept.''

''Well, it looks like we got ourselves a date!''

Gerhard laughed and threw her clothes on the floor, turning to walk out with his goons.
The last thing Gilda heard before the door slammed shut was his call, and if she had to choose one thing she hated more than anything right now, it was that playful, mocking voice.

''Supervisor's office, at midnight. Don't be late!''

For a second, the only sound in the bathroom was Gilda falling to her knees, too exhausted to even stand.
Then came the sobs.