Knighthood Ideals
By
Midori Aoi
Disclaimer: I don't own squat.
Dedicated to Mika, aka Fukushuu, whose stories will utterly destroy you.
Chapter 1: Quintaine
"Again."
A sharp gasp ripped its way through gritted teeth as a firm back collided with the ground. Bright green eyes blinked up, bleary, as the young man tried to scramble back up from the dirt and rubble around him. To say he was in agony was a slight understatement. It didn't help that the armor around his body made it hard enough to breathe as it was. But with little money… well… he was lucky he even had armor to begin with.
Narrow steel eyes blinked down at him, unmerciful and bored. A pair of narrow lips parted to drawl out a repeat of the previous command. "Again."
"W-wait," the young Knight—well, young Knight-in-training—wheezed out. Sweat dribbled down to sting in his eyes. "Master, can't I get…just a short—"
"I have not entertained the idea nor shall I while you are under my tutelage, you tiresome little shit." His master spat with the same amount of venom a snake would spit at a mouse when already full. "Now, don't make me repeat myself once again, Eren." Several steps closer, dirt crunching under soft soles and firm legs, his master narrowed his eyes once.
"Eren!" The enthused cry was enough to save the squirming Knight any more time under the dragon-like glare of his master. With a grimace, Eren turned his face to meet the encouraging grins of his friends and fellow squires, Armin and Jean. "You can do it!"
"Fat lot of good your shouts are doing for me, Arm!" Eren called back, groaning as he hefted himself off the ground with no help from the shorter, yet fair able-bodied counterpart. The blond boy responded with a sheepish chuckle when their master turned around.
"Kirschstein," the dark haired man called with an even voice. The two young teens almost leaped a foot in the air at his sudden attention. The taller brunet fumbled with a reply while dust rose beneath each step of the short knight. "Get Eren one of the Brischst Lances."
Eren let out a cry of dismay, "Oh, wha—no! The Brischst?" he cried only to fall silent by a dark glower as Jean rushed toward their gear. With a hissing sigh, the young armored man dragged his way over to the horse standing just feet away. Wincing, he swung himself over the beast's back.
"But, Master Levi, the Brischst is the heaviest lance we have!" Armin exclaimed as he lifted one of the wooden planks that made their makeshift training arena. His statement was only emphasized by Jean's poorly hidden grunts of efforts. The taller squire wheezed while he carried the massive and blunt weapon toward Eren. "Eren's too tired, he would never be able to—"
"Armin, there will come a day where I will give a flying tolerant shit for your opinion and excessive interruptions. Today, however, is not that day." Their master drawled, turning to land that fierce glare back on Eren's form. Tanned skin marred with sweat and dirt was enough to send an irritated wrinkle over the Knight's sharp nose. Yet, Eren took the heavier lance with trained, albeit dreaded, silence.
"Get to the mark, Eren." Levi grunted, jerking his chin forward, dark hair flicking over his narrow steel gaze.
The horse gave a soft knicker as Eren gently kicked at its hind legs. The animal moved to a trot, closer to Jean where the squire waited to give the green eyed man his weapon. Lifting it up alone was enough to make the tall amber eyed teen grimace with effort. Once Eren's gloved hand could grip around the base, he gave his friend a curt nod of sympathy and encouragement. Eren took the appraisal with a strained shrug the moment his hand gripped firm around the handle. Once Jean let go, Eren's arm almost completely gave to the weight of the lance and he let out a thin cry when it almost tipped him off the horse.
"Stop wasting time, Jaeger!" Lord Levi shouted, crossed arms over his firm chest. "If I can carry a Brischst with my smallest finger than you have no right to complain!"
That's because you're not human. Eren thought with clenched teeth as he jerked his body to the other side. Forcing the lance into the space under his arm and close to his chest, Eren managed to get it in the cradle. How? He had no clue. Moving the horse to settle at its mark, Eren waited for Armin to rush in with the flag. Sweat gathered around his forehead and dripped down his eyes and neck. It stung where armor was tied firm against linen clothed skin.
Through the yards of space and training equipment, Eren responded to Armin's encouraging smile with a determined nod. With a flair, the bob of golden hair spun as the squire threw the flag into the air before sprinting out of the way. Eren spurred the horse and braced himself against the sudden shove of motion. The beast let out a hard grunt and kicked off into a firm gallop toward the quintaine several hundred yards away.
Muscles screamed hot flames through his arm and upper body to burn through his legs and tug at the wires of sinew in his neck. Standing with the weight of the Brischst had been nightmarish as it was, but with the force of the horse and wind at his face – it was hell itself. How Lord Levi managed to spin the immense lance with one arm was unbelievable. To direct inhuman speed and precise attacks with it at his opponents could only be a work of God. Because trying to shove the blasted thing back in the cradle was threatening to tear his arm off.
"Get it in the cradle!" Armin exclaimed in the distance. Eren gave a guttural snarl as he snapped the weapon firm against his side. Stars bloomed pain against his ribs yet his grip had secured finally beneath his armpit. Blinking, Eren turned his attention back to the wooden shield hanging over the quintaine's extended arm. It promised a vicious slam to the back of his head if he missed. The horse beneath him blew rhythmic bursts of air. The force of its hooves against the ground jarred him. Even so, Eren grit his teeth, seeing the post rush closer. With a final shout, Eren leaned into the weapon. He winced, the tip struck its edge, shattering the wood of the target but keeping his weapon intact. He had been close, but not close enough to spare him another bruise to his back.
The wood gave a sharp whine as the quintaine swung. Eren only had time enough to let out a sharp, "Oomph" before flying off the horse, crashing against the ground. He had no clue how long he remained gasping on the ground.
"Eren!" Armin's voice was distant. Eren's gaze stared into the blue of the bright mid-afternoon sky. The emerald of the trees blurred at the edges of his vision. Spine vibrating, ribs shaking like wind chimes, Eren struggled to gain air into his lungs. Only managing to wheeze out a thin, "Dammit…" after he managed to gulp down oxygen.
Footsteps rushed to his side and the worried glances of his companions obscured his view of the canopy above. "You alright, Jaeger?" Jean asked, wincing as he looked over Eren over. Eren couldn't even offer a sarcastic glare, opting instead to look away from his face to Armin's sympathetic blues.
"You were so close, Eren!" Armin gushed, smile wavering with a forced chuckle. "Even with the Brischst, that was impressive!"
"Please…" Eren gasped, letting his eyes slide close. "Just… stop talking."
Another series of footsteps soon approached Eren could feel his dread mount when they finally stopped by his head. Blinking weariness away, the green eyed knight gulped down the taste of dirt and pain to meet his Master's flat stare.
"Eren, I hope I don't have to say it." Levi grunted.
"Yeah, yeah," Eren coughed out, running a dry tongue over white teeth. "That was shit, I get it…"
"You're going to have to do a lot better than shit if you hope to win the Tournament in Trost." Levi continued, nudging a shoe at his armored shoulder. Eren let out a breathy groan, wincing through harsh pain when he realized he must've landed on it. "Get it together or I'll toss you from competing."
Eren nodded, teeth gritting as Armin knelt at his side to help him sit up, "Y-yes, Master Levi. I'll work on that."
Levi's narrow steel eyes stayed fixed on him for a moment longer. A warm breeze played at his raven hair and the fine stitching of his linen tunic and leather coat. After a moment, the older knight turned his attention on Armin, "Get him some water and check him over for any serious damage. Make sure he hasn't fucked up anything or I'll have no choice but to sack him. You have the rest of the day to rest, Eren. Spend this time wisely."
Dirt crunched as the knight turned around, fixing Jean with a hard stare. "Your turn, Kirschstein. Grab the swords, let's see if your performance will be more satisfactory than Jaeger's. Armin, clean up after Eren's wounds are looked over. We'll be practicing your archery later this evening."
Armin floundered, "Ah—but we'll lose the light of day, Master!"
"Oh, I'm counting on it, Arlert. God hope the sun fucking sets on time." their master shouted over his shoulder, sarcasm dripping through most of his voice as he walked away to put on his own armor.
Eren sighed, hand stinging and tingling with the thrill of his most recent rendezvous with the ground. Armin offered him a tight smile before the two worked to get him on his feet. "Nice of Lord Levi to give you the rest of the day off, eh, Eren?"
"Yes," Eren replied, snippy. "I am ever indebted to the tender mercies and gentle ministrations of our Master. Thank God he's in no way as harsh as the legends say of his temperament. Could you possibly imagine it, Armin? Truly."
Armin rolled his eyes, "If you ever get bored of training for knighthood you should try being in the theater, Eren."
"Fuck you, too, Armin."
"Haha, let's go get you looked over."
Upon finally stripped of the training leather and metal armor, it was no surprise to find the many new bruises over his skin. Blossoms of purple, pale yellow and black littered like kisses of pain over the young man's flesh. The slightest caress sent beads of anguish to run down his face and neck. If not for Armin's skill and Eren's promise not to punch him, he would've most likely thrown himself off the nearest cliff. Of course, there was a lightness in the young knight-to-be's heart, despite the many new injuries. Even the occasional glare of begrudging admiration toward their master was not as abrasive. Because, today, he almost struck the center of the post with a Brischst Lance. A feat that, while exceeding and painstaking in difficulty, unfathomable by the starving brat he was back then. Back when he had been taken under – now Lord – Sir Levi's wing.
In those days, the wish to ease his parent's poverty and bring honor back to their name had been simply that. A wish cast on cold stars and deaf ears of the divine. It had been difficult enough to get by with little money and even scarcer food. But Eren had zeal and an undying determination to save his family from the rut they were forced as common folk. This ambition had been enough to gain him the attention and even the favor of the Knight they call the Shadow of the Southern Corp. The Kingdom's most prized warrior.
At thirteen years of age, Eren was thrown into the Chamber of Trials. It was a common rite of passage for boys of that age to go through the Chamber. Scrawny or brawny, rich or poor, the Chamber judged only on skill and ability. Those who passed were certain to be chosen by a Knight and have a secure future.
The Trials placed on him were the stuff of nightmares. Marco, a boy whom Eren had befriended during their preparation, had spoken of magic and illusions. "It's alive," he had said. "The Chamber. I don't know how it knows. But it does. Your fears, your secrets… it knows it all and it won't hold back from exposing them to you."
Eren didn't know people could die during their Trial. Marco had been the only boy in their group to not make it through. It sobered many of the cocky boys into silence, and it only strengthened his resolve. Yet when he stood within the Chamber's immense space, he knew that Marco's words were not false. He saw his parents die in countless ways, saw himself become impaled by swords and lances. Though he felt no pain, Eren had screamed and shouted until his throat tasted of blood. Regardless of the mind numbing fear, Eren pushed through. The only conscious thought was that he had to survive. He had to.
When the Gate finally opened, Eren stumbled out to a crowd of men who cheered and accepted him with open arms. Among the many faces, he saw the faces of the Elders from his village. They eyed him in silence and without a chance for respite, ushered the surviving boys into the Grand Court. There they settled his fate. Eren had been both confused and nervous, still shaken from his ordeal. When the Counsel of Knights settled in front of them, it hit Eren full force. I'm being chosen. Yet it felt more like being auctioned off.
"Who will take Eren Jaeger?" the Head of Counsel boomed. Eren's mind spun with anxiety, yet there were only quiet instead of exclamations. Eren felt almost humiliated by the silence of the crowd. They were all silenced by the single announcement of one particular knight.
"I'll take the brat." The young boy whirled to face the speaker. The moment he saw his face, Eren paled.
"The Shadow of the Corp?" someone had whispered in surprise.
"What is the Shadow doing here?"
Narrow eyes burned holes within his soul as Eren gulped and glanced over the Counsel of Knights. There was a burst of murmurings around him, from both trainees and nobles alike. Yet in his mind slowed to a complete halt, green gaze widening when he realized that this was no joke. This knight, whose military prowess exceeded all praise, was now claiming ownership of his future. It had been an answered prayer. A miracle.
"Sir Levi," one of the Knights laughed. "You would take this welp? He is weak and frail and comes from a peasant country. Why not Reiner or Bertholdt?"
"I've made my decision, Lord Dawke." Even in the large space, those eyes did not fall from their power over the boy in its center. "I'll take the boy and train him."
"Levi," there was a stir over the people as a pale and blonde man stepped forward, Eren nearly fell to his knees then. There stood the Commander of the 13th Legion, all strength and poise within impressive armor. Standing there in the same room with the man Eren had all but idolized for the past four years. "You are certain you wish to take Eren Jaeger?"
"I'll not lavish you with repetitions, Erwin." The Shadow turned fierce eyes to meet the tall military man's expectant gaze. "I have made my choice."
And now six years later, Eren was nearer to Knighthood than he had ever been. He was stronger, faster, and nearly unmatched in tenacity. Under the harsh commands of Lord Levi, Captain of the 13th, he was honing himself to be one of the best knights to ever walk the lands. The Tournament would be one of his final tasks, and if he were to win… then he would be that much closer to stand on equal grounds with his master.
"What's with the smile, Eren?" Armin asked, breaking the bruised boy from his reverie. True to his observation, Eren realized he had been grinning. The brunet let out a thin snort through his nostrils, holding back a wince as Armin applied the last of the poultice to his shoulder.
"It's nothing…" He said. He blinked green eyes from the ground to watch his Master spin with finesse around Jean's slashing sword laden hands. With a flick of his wrist, Levi parried a blow as if it had been a simple toss of metal against steel. Wind sliced around them from the brute force. Levi's strength rippled through his arms, turning a serious stare into Jean's gasping face.
Eren's lips twitched before he glanced to the sky, "I'm just excited, is all…"
At that, Armin grinned to himself before slapping a warm towel to a bruise.
"Ow! God dammit, Armin!"
"Oh, don't be such a toddler, Eren."
Man's heavy ambition has always been to come up with new forms of sport. Be it benign; (such as hunting other animals, or training to strengthen their forms) or otherwise (warfare, murder, and so on). With each passing squabble and battle, men have increased their creativity, simply put, in beating the hell out of one another. From clubs to traps, swords to lances, there is nothing more sporting than proving to others that you were the best.
Tournaments of strength and practice were always enjoyed by men. Adrenaline and testosterone always put to the test in the finer feats of skill, and determined the worth of a man. Call it the biology of the male sex to constantly want to one-up one another to find a suitable mate, or just the pig-pigheadedness of blood lust, these times were always meant for demonstration.
Among the most popular of competitions was the Joust.
And it would be in such a tournament that one young man will be put to the test…
In more ways than one.
Get ready!