"You're up early, Elliot. That's good. Very good."
I winced at the gruff, booming voice that effectively halted my progress into the washroom, straightened my posture, and quickly turned around to peer across the castle's grand, spacious hallway towards the source of the impressive sound. Indeed, it was very early and as such, only the most delicate caress of faint, dawn light filtered through the enormous wall of windows to my left. I was, however, still able to make out the unmistakable silhouette that surged toward me with a large sword in each hand.
My toes curled into the plush rug beneath them, and I gritted my teeth at the rapidly approaching form of an impossibly immense man who deftly heaved one of the swords at me. The whirring hum of the blade as it cut through the still air rang loudly in my ears, and I bent my knees to brace myself. After muttering a quiet curse under my breath, I thrust my arm forward, and by some miracle, managed to avoid the cartwheeling blade and grasped the sword by the hilt.
I barely had time to blink before the second sword came slicing towards me, this one still in the iron grip of my attacker. It met the blade in my hand with such force that I was shoved against the wall behind me. The impact of my body caused a large painting above me to dislodge, and I dove to the side to narrowly avoid it crashing down onto my head. I rolled and was on my feet in an instant, only to be met with another fearsome blow.
There is something terribly unnerving about the piercing clang of metal against metal- even more so when it is accompanied by a force that travels along the blade in the form of a sharp ache that shoots through one's fingers, up the arm, and into the shoulder. It's something that I don't think I'll ever get used to.
"Is this-" my words were halted when another impact wracked through my arm as I blocked the third blow. I winced from the pain and managed to suck in a ragged breath.
"-really-" a fourth blow nearly wrenched the sword from my hand and my fingers trembled weakly against the hilt.
"-necessary?" I finished the question with a gasp as my foe's blade rested a hair's thickness away from the flesh of my neck.
"I'm afraid it is, boy." An enormous hand wrapped around the collar of my pajamas and lifted me up so that my feet dangled nearly half a yard above the floor. It should have been illegal for a man to be so tall, especially since my own height was comparable to that of the average woman. I scoffed at the mischievous glint in my 'enemy's' dark eyes.
"This couldn't have waited until I changed out of my sleeping clothes? Or at the very least until after I used the restroom?" I should have known better than to address a knight with such an impertinent tone of voice.
There was an upward quirk of the man's lips beneath his rather impressive silver moustache, "I believe that the value of catching you off guard outweighed the possibility of you ruining the royal carpets with the contents of your full bladder- especially now that you seem to have graduated from footed pajamas."
I tried my best to suppress the blush from rising to my cheeks. I swear to you that I did not piddle on the floor- although it would have been justified considering that a high ranking knight had just attacked me while I was still half asleep- nor have I ever worn footed pajamas. Ever. But I wasn't about the dispute either fact any further. It would have only served to add fuel to the old man's fire, so I decided to change the subject.
"What about the possibility of ruining the King's official portrait? You seem to have no qualms about that, Sir Walter."
"True. You were a second away from wearing that painting. I could just see it now- your head bursting through the canvas, right around the spot where Logan's own head is... Prophetic if you ask me." I cocked an eyebrow at the knight's words as he continued to speak, "Have you never stopped to entertain the thought that one day you could be King?" He whispered.
"Surely you jest." I considered crossing my arms, but such a self-assured gesture would have looked ridiculous since I was still dangling in the grip of a man who could break me in half with the flick of a wrist. All of which, only made his previous words seem even more bizarre.
"The Princess is rather fond of you, Elliot. Or are you too much of a dolt to have noticed?"
This time I could not keep from blushing.
"I...she...If...If we were to...be together...well... that would just make me a prince then," I sputtered pathetically, "She's...she's not the Queen, Walter."
"Yet." The expression in the old knight's face was unnervingly unreadable.
"Regardless, we haven't so much as gone out on a date, and you speak as though she were asking for my hand in marriage," I paused to shut my eyes tightly and shook my head. I was getting rather uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading, and I really, really needed to urinate, "Could you put me down, Sir Walter? Please?"
"Begging for mercy are you?"
"Yes. I bow to your might and concede defeat." I smiled sheepishly as he put me down, placed a hand on my head, and ruffled my hair.
"Now hurry and wash up. Your combat training will resume shortly."
I groaned audibly, to which Sir Walter cleared his throat and frowned.
"For that, I think your session shall be twice as long as usual."
I swiftly closed the washroom door without further complaint, and after emptying my 'full bladder' as Sir Walter had so artfully described, I made my way over to the tub. Jasper, the royal butler, was accustomed to my habit of rising early and already had the staff fill the tub with freshly heated water. I had never known a kinder, more patient man than good old Jasper. As I removed my pajamas, I briefly questioned the merit of bathing when I would inevitably become filthy again after my training session with Sir Walter. I quickly shoved my doubts aside, if only to avoid thinking about the humiliation I would soon be subjected to, and entered the tub.
I often wondered why the old knight even bothered. It had been nearly a year since he had taken me under his wing and began training me in swordsmanship alongside the Princess. That she had taken to the training so eagerly and effortlessly only made things worse for me as I lagged behind. I wasn't surprised at her prowess with a blade, seeing as her father was the mighty Hero King. No one in all of Albion was ignorant to all that he had done for the kingdom, and there was no one who didn't owe their very existence to that benevolent ruler. Indeed, the Princess had the blood of a hero coursing through her veins. My veins were decidedly less noble. I never knew my real parents, but the woman who raised me, bless her heart, had been an advisor to the late King. So I grew up in the castle alongside the Princess.
After bathing, I exited the tub and headed over to the mirror. My hair had become rather long in the front and some of the strands touched my eyebrows. If only the hair on my face would grow half as quickly. I lamented as I examined my jawline- not even a hint of stubble. No matter what Sir Walter said, I was no longer a boy, but with my baby-faced countenance and my previously mentioned short stature, the casual observer would have no trouble disputing that fact. How I would ever impress the Princess, I didn't know.
"Have you learned nothing? Where is your head, boy?"
"I think you may have lopped it off with your sword," The session went just as badly as I had envisioned. I had tried my best, although Sir Walter would have been hard pressed to believe me if I told him so, "Where is the Princess?" I wondered aloud as I struggled to catch my breath, although, her failure to observe my laughable performance was no doubt a blessing.
"I believe that she's still in bed. You've been thinking about her, eh? Does that distraction explain your horrendous display of poor swordsmanship?"
I smirked as I lifted myself off of my now sore rump. I had lost count of how many times I had landed on it. Again, I could detect a cheerful glint in Sir Walter's eyes, and a light-hearted hint in his tone. The old knight often pushed me hard physically, but his words towards me were never harsh. Frustrated, yes- but never harsh. I don't think I would have been able to handle it if they ever were. Perhaps Sir Walter knew just as well as I did that training me was a useless endeavor. Perhaps he felt sorry for me. I bit my lower lip at the thought.
"Strike me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me, boy. Give me all that you have. Channel everything into one single strike. Do this, and you can consider your training to be over."
"For...Forever?" My voice reeked with false hope.
"For the day, you dolt. For the day." The exasperated knight sighed wearily, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
It was worth a try.
With his eyes still closed, I suddenly surged forward, my sword held tightly in my grip as I prepared to strike him just as he had commanded. The old knight wasn't the only one who could catch someone off guard. His eyes were wide as they snapped open and registered that I was mere inches away from him. Hopefully he wouldn't have time to react. Hopefully I could knock the sword out of his hands...
In a flash of gleaming steel, our blades connected. I couldn't even see the movement of the old man's arms as he moved his sword to meet my attack. Surely I would be regretting this stunt in the morning, if not from the pain in my arms from the impact of the impressive strike, then from the beating Sir Walter would undoubtedly give me for resorting to such an underhanded trick.
Before I knew it, I was on my back peering up at Sir Walter, who held his sword up triumphantly and promptly rested a booted foot on my chest.
"Thoroughly vanquished," I wheezed, if only to add more dramatic flare to the situation, as the knight was hardly applying any pressure with his foot. He shook his head and helped me back onto my feet.
"Nice try," he grunted, "Your tactics were...well they weren't exactly admirable, but I must admit, that was pretty crafty of you. You almost got the job done," He pointed to the spot on the ground where my sword had landed, and my jaw dropped upon realizing that it had been broken in half.
It shouldn't have been possible, but the man had somehow managed, with a flick of his arm, to counteract and surpass all of the momentum I had put into my strike.
"How?" I demanded, "How on earth did you do that?"
"Do what? Summon awe-inspiring speed and strength?" Sir Walter puffed out his broad chest and haughtily lifted his chin.
"No," I grinned, "How did you manage to switch my sword for such a cheap yet convincing prop? You're even more crafty than I am, old man. I thought it felt lighter than usual." To my amusement, Sir Walter promptly deflated at my retort. He then collected himself and ruffled my hair again- this time with his knuckles.
"If only your movements were as quick as that tongue of yours, you'd be one of the greatest warriors in all of Albion," he chuckled.
If only.