(11) - The Taste of Defeat

Griffonclaw looked up at the silver and bronze armor of his opponent from where he lay on the ground. His head ached from where her warhammer had struck him with enough force to lift him off his feet and sprawl him sideways; he had tried to get his own blade to its shaft to fend it off, or at least reduce the force of the blow, but he'd been too slow, and his failure to parry had earned him the ear-ringing blow.

He remembered the first time they had met - although not spoken - in the dark tram car of the Ironforge <-> Stormwind Tram, and how she had captured his attention. He had not been able to take his eyes off her the entire time, but he had been too shy to approach her. Only at the end of the ride had she caught him staring, and blushed.

But she had smiled.

Griffonclaw slowly got to his knees, the dust of the practice yard covering him from head to toe. Missing his parry was bad enough; he was going to have to spend some time thoroughly cleaning his armor and tabard after this, assuming he survived. He could not see her smirk under her helm, but he was pretty sure it was there. He missed the old days, when she didn't wear a helm and he could steal glances and glimses of her at odd moments. Such stolen sweetness never failed to leave him with a longing ache in his heart, and a desire to gather her into his arms, holding her close...

He ducked suddenly, and her Verigan's Fist whistled over his head, narrowly missing a repeat of his previous disgrace. "Focus, dammit..." he mumbled as he followed the mallet's path, closing and pivoting to the right, kicking out with his right foot. He caught her unawares, his boot hitting her on the inside of her kneecap as she was bringing her hammer down and twisting to face him for an overhead strike, and it was her turn to tumble to the ground.

It was his turn to grin, just as widely as he had upon their second meeting.

After their first encounter on the train, he had ridden the tram whenever possible, hoping to see her again. He had meditated, and screwed his courage to the sticking point - he would not be shy again, but rather bold and intrepid, even though his healing arts could not protect or repair broken hearts. Finally, he had been successful, and had found
her riding the tram again, after she had gone on a shopping spree for alchemical tools and herbs from Ironforge. He had struck up a conversation, and they had left the tram on its arrival in Stormwind with Griffonclaw carrying her package, in search of a tavern, where she and Griffonclaw had talked for hours over an extended luncheon.

Again, his reminiscing proved his undoing. Valentia launched a feint with her mallet and followed up with a fierce butt-end strike. Griffonclaw evaded both, but Valentia's form was perfect and she had not over-extended the blow, allowing her to pull the butt-end down and use the leverage to switch to a devastating overhead strike. Griffonclaw bent backwards, avoiding most of the blow, but in evading it he had gone too far backwards and landed hard on his armored butt.

Valentia took a step back, and removed her helm. Her cornflower-blue eyes twinkled with merriment as she wiped the sweat from her face with a cloth she had tucked into her belt. "Thats two out of three to me, Beloved! I win, and you must pay the forfeit!"

Griffonclaw looked up at his fiance, pride in her growing prowess erasing any embarrassment at defeat. "I own it - you are victorious! It shall be as you say..." he declaimed as he climbed once more to his feet. "Instead of roast chicken at the Shady Dragon in Stormwind, we shall go to the Stonefire Tavern, and feast on their Stuffed Pork and some good Dwarven Stout!"

"And dancing afterwards, in the Park?"

"And dancing afterwards, wherever you like!" he confirmed.