A/N: Thank you so much to all of you who reviewed the first chapter. I'm glad you all liked it; I didn't think this idea would take off.
2. The new batch
When Captain Rusthaven got his first glimpse of the new recruits, it took all his effort to stop himself from groaning out loud. As it was, he couldn't keep the look of disappointment off his face as he strode towards them.
More of the same.
20 young men. Most of them were teenagers. Nearly all of them were awkward-looking, with narrow shoulders. Just like the last bunch, and the one before that.
Damn it, thought Rusthaven to himself. Can't we get recruits who actually look like they've hit puberty? Just once?
He did not say this aloud, of course. It was best not to let those men know how disappointed he was; if they knew, they'd either lose faith or respect for him. Lose the latter, and they'd be less likely to follow his orders. Lose the former, and they'd be less likely to follow those orders to the best of their ability.
What he did do was stand in front of them, his back straight and his chest puffed out. The younger men took on a similar stance. At least most of them got it right this time.
"So," the Captain announced, looking down the line of new recruits. "You're the best we've got, are you?"
Sadly, they probably were. Anyone dangerously unsuitable would've been weeded out by the physical examinations.
"You reckon you've got what it takes, do you?"
Of course they did. Why else would they be here?
Sometimes, if he got lucky, some of these men actually did have what it took to be a soldier. For every five layabouts, you could have one man who was smart, or was good with a crossbow. If he got really lucky, this guy would stick around, gain a few pounds, and emerge from his cocoon as a tough and devoted officer. Rusthaven knew this was possible. After all, he'd been one of those scrawny young men once, as had several other guards who'd shown what they were capable of. But, for every capable man, you had the layabouts to deal with. These were the men who'd been drawn to the Guards by the promise of fame and women, or forced to enlist by proud parents who wanted the honour of having a soldier in the family. About half of these were spoilt brats who'd been mollycoddled for most of their lives and were utterly horrified by the idea of having to start training at 6am. And, of course, there were some who just weren't cut out for it. Maybe they were too clumsy, or rebellious, or just not good enough. Those men were usually the first to go, and the Captain wasn't upset to see the back of them.
Rusthaven knew he was being too cynical, but he had good reason to be. For him, this was not just a job. What he was doing – and, for that matter, what these men were doing – was keeping up a tradition. When he was growing up, the Guards were both feared and admired. Nobody messed with them, and they were always treated with respect. It was the Captain's job to make sure they were worthy of that respect, to make sure that the people they passed in the street looked upon them with admiration. How could they do that if every soldier they saw was some awkward little wimp who couldn't even catch a pickpocket?
He looked at the line again, wondering what was in store for him. How many of them would show up late and complain about the timing being "unreasonable"? How many would actually be able to fire in a straight line? How many would be brave enough to face a wanted man, even if said man was twice their size?
The Captain would find out soon enough.
They all would.