Winter 6th 513AV
Knight and Squire stood facing one another on the grassy training grounds. The field had been culled by the livestock held within the walls. Weapons and practice gear lay at their feet. While the cool morning air was filled with the promise of a temperate day, where hard work kept one warm.
“Today, squire I will teach you the basics of the Long Sword.” Maricks Patron Knight said as he stood before him. Like a pillar of strength, he rested at ease with his hands behind his back. A fire burned in his eyes, almost like an artists as they gazed into their medium. He wore a light brown Gambeson, a common sight to the Mithryn soldiers as they practiced. No parade arms, or fancy armor save only his silver sword badge at his color, just simplicity at its finest.
The Kelvic stood before him at rest, awaiting his instructions. His ears focused, and his eyes keen. Every movement of his Patron burned into his memory like a hot iron on flesh. He was hungry. He had always been hungry since he could remember. He felt the hunger for knowledge, for creativity, for problems and puzzles to solve. If it wasn’t working he wanted to fix it. If it was broken, he wanted to mend it. If the way was too slow, or inefficient he would find new paths. But now he was about to learn something new, and the Squire felt that hunger now more acutely. It was almost as if he were near the kitchens just before the supper bell, and all the wondrous anticipation of what was coming alighted in the imagination.
“Do as I do squire.” David said with a serious look on his face. “Kneel down on both knees, and rest your hands on your thighs.” Marrick watched and did as his master, attempting to mimic his behavior as perfectly as possible. “Now shut your eyes and breathe.”
The squire shut his eyes slowly and purposefully. He was not tired, and felt a massive clot of curiosity forming in his mind over the purpose of such an exercise. From his perspective, breathing had nothing to do with swordplay.
“Breathe deeply through your nose.” The Kelvic heard his Patrons voice as it rumbled softly in his ears. “And slowly out through your mouth.” His patron said instructively.
As Marrick exhaled he felt an overwhelming calm filling him up. Like the weight of life was simply, ebbing away from his mind. Yet, within himself he felt energy, flowing and elusive. He breathed in deeply with his Patron, obediently listening to him as they breathed together. Their breaths synced together almost as one single lung, pulling air through them like a bellows.
“Good, keep breathing just like that and open your eyes.” He said as he stood slowly from his kneeling position. “Do not be alarmed, nor afraid.” He said softly as he drew Marricks long sword from its sheath with a soft hiss of metal on metal, and the smooth whisper of leather.
“Keep breathing and focus your breath.” He said as he slowly kneeled again before him. “Do you feel calmed, little brother?”
Marrick continued to breathe rhythmically, trying to focus his attention on the cadence of his breath. Then when he felt ready for the next step he gave his Patron the slightest of nods and waited patient as a hound at the heel.
“Raise your hands palm up and take your sword from me.” David said, with the sagest of voices. “Do not gulp the air, do not waste the air. Simply hold your weapon. Cradle it as if it were a babe.”
Marrick did as his Patron instructed, silent save only for his cadence of air, in and out. As he took the blade from his patron he felt its weight in his hands, pulling on his arms. It wasn’t extremely heavy, yet he did not want to sit there on his flanks until he at last lost his will to struggle against the weapons weight. After a moment of resting there with the weapon in his hands he brought the weapon to his chest. Careful as a mother he cradled the blade against him to keep it from cutting, but to keep it close.
“Feel the weight of your weapon Marrick. Feel its burden.” David Whitevine said, his gaze never leaving his Squires face. “Remember this moment, and understand what the weight of this weapon means squire. It is the burden of death. A club, it can be used to bludgeon wheat, a scythe can cut down the stalks or a sickle. A stave can be used to carry water or grain, but a sword has one purpose. It was made to kill and maim. That is its purpose. Respect that purpose. Never draw your sword in anger. Never draw your weapon against a friend, unless you feel your life is threatened. Always remember the weight; The burden of your steel.” The Knight said wisely.
Marrick contemplated the Knights words, and considered the conflict that he often felt within himself. He thought of Oriah, and of the dangers in the field. He thought on the weight of his weapon and its meaning, both metaphorical and literal. Then feeling a strange urge to speak, he shut his eyes a moment and whispered. “It’s a comfortin weight.”
The Patron Knight flashed him a triumphant smile. “Then let us begin.” He said, as he stood again and drew one of his Falcions. “Stand up little brother and join me in breathing.” |
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by Marrick Corvis on February 20th, 2014, 9:24 pm 
