Chapter 2:
He hated it.
"Up!" a gruff voice barked.
Link scrambled up. He could already feel his chest bruise up where Sir Russel's last blow had landed.
"You are slow! You are a quarter my age and stand there like an old woman. MOVE YOUR LEGS, BOY!" and the old bear launched into another flurry of quick jabs with his dulled blade.
Link managed to parry them all but was constantly driven back.
"Don't just backpedal! Sidestep, shorten the distance, DON'T BE PREDICTABLE!" he roared and performed an underhanded swing that dodged Link's sword and hit him neatly in his right armpit, precisely where it hurt most. Link gritted his teeth, made two quick jabs at the old man's face and followed it up with a powerful vertical slash. The jabs were swatted away and the slash was redirected almost uninterestedly by Sir Russel, who sidestepped and raised his blade to Link's now exposed throat.
Link could only frown at yet another humiliating defeat.
"Yes, I'd frown too. You are slow, you are predictable, you STILL do these heavy attacks without using their momentum for a follow-up attack, your legwork is lazy, your jabs are weak and you parry like a block of wood parries an axe." Sir Russel lectured, barely out of breath. Link meanwhile was panting heavily.
Russel shook his head. "And you are out of shape. Nothing but lazing around! It's unhealthy!"
Link had to fight with himself not to roll his eyes. He'd grown to hate that word.
"I have it on good authority that Gors of House Gorridan runs 10 kilometres a day before each training. Healthy, that! You will do the same from now on. Every. Day. Boy. And I know you have trained fuck all on your own. Do you think me a fool?"
Link looked up, surprised. He had never heard Sir Russel swear like this before. He must be quite angry to lose his composure like that. He had the decency to feel bad. The old man was using a lot of his free time to train him. He did it as a favour to his father. But he…
"I apologize, Sir. I will train more seriously from now on." Link promised, uncertainly.
"Hmph. Not the first time I have heard that from you, boy." He grumbled, his expression most sour. But it did seem to take some of the anger out of him.
"Listen, lad! These sessions here are only the tip of the iceberg. You need to practice as I have instructed to strengthen your body and make it quicker. If you don't, these hours with will only continue to be painful for both of us. Raw talent won't save you. Battlefury won't save you. Grinding your body until it is dangerous without a weapon will. Exercising your mind until you not only react but know the course of the battle before it has even begun will. Do you think you can defeat a bunch of Bokoblins by just reacting to their fierce attacks? You need to be able to weave through a horde of enemies, knowing their actions so far in advance that you need only perform as if you were guided by a higher power. You have no time to REACT." He bellowed, lunging at Link and jabbing him right in the stomach before he could even raise his sword. Link toppled over. It hadn't been a particularly hard strike, but impacting enough to get the message across.
"But before we can even begin working on your mind you need to steel your body, boy. I'm not even half as fast as you could be. With your youth and your build you should be dancing around me like a leaf in a storm. LAZY!"
The old bear turned around, shaking his head. He stomped towards the small table where he had prepared to cups of water. He took both and handed one to Link who was just about able to breath again. He took the cup, momentarily surprised by the kind gesture.
"Drink. I'm not done with you for today. Your lack of training will not excuse you from my lessons, even if it turns out to be pointless. And painful for me to watch you flail your steel about like a mad baboon."
"Believe me, Sir, it is painful for me too." It was a lame comeback, Link knew.
"Yes? Good. Maybe a few bruises will get your obstinate head to understand, when words or honour failed. Understand that the gruelling part of your instruction is the necessary foundation to everything other skill. Do you think your father would be the master blacksmith he is today if he hadn't first honed his body and mind, one simple nail or horseshoe at a time? You know what the really frustrating part is though?" Sir Russel turned to gaze towards the distant mountains, glowing orange in the evening sun. "I was a hopelessly untalented wretch. Flabby, weak, slow to learn anything. I got my skill through years of endless, hopeless grinding. I trained when the other lads went to bed or into town to drink and wench. Oh how they mocked me. I would challenge them again and again, just to learn how to fight. And every time I was knocked on my arse, I had learned to move a little quicker, to anticipate a little better. Oh how they laughed whenever they had knocked me to the floor. Right up until I started catching up. And suddenly none of them could beat me. I had negated my lack of talent with hard work."
He looked lost in thought, with a tiny satisfied smile on his lips. Then he looked back at Link and his usual sour expression returned.
"And here's you. More talent than sense, but it's wasted because you refuse to do anything with it. You would need but a fraction of my effort to become good with a sword. You are spoilt!"
Link stared at the old man, wide eyed. To his knowledge Sir Russel never spoke of himself, least of all in such a verbose manner. For the grizzled warrior to speak so openly was unthinkable. And hearing it, hearing the meaning behind his words hit Link right in the gut.
"Do you think you can pull yourself together and work for it? Use this talent of yours learn to become not good, but great?" Sir Russel asked with a stern expression.
"I… don't know." Link admitted, his gaze lowered.
"… I see. I don't know what is keeping you. I still think you are spoilt. But I guess the needed resolve is not given to everyone. Will you at least try? Give it a serious attempt instead of sticking your head in the sand?" The old knight looked dejected.
The remark about him being spoilt stung, but Link doubted it would pull him out of his lethargy. He had never wanted to participate in the tourney. It was his father's insistence and the prospect of training with a knight that had made him consent. Now it was only the fear of his father's disappointment that made him keep at it… half heatedly. He attempted to look sincere and uttered "… I will try."
The old warrior nodded grimly. "Then raise your steel and come at me."
An hour later Link trudged back home. If the steel they used had been sharp he would have been cut to ribbons. He vowed to himself that he would actually train the remaining 8 weeks, but even to his inner ear, he lacked conviction.
Once he reached his front door he sighed and banished his no doubt pitiful expression from his face. He found his family already at the table: Mother, Father and his two siblings, 9 year old Ria and 7 year old André, named after his father.
His mother smiled warmly at him. "Ah, dear, perfect timing! Wash your hands and sit down. We're ready to eat." Wordlessly he did as she asked.
"Is everything alright, dear?"
"Sure."
She looked at him with a very doubtful expression but chose not to pry any further.
While they were eating his father talked about his day at the town hall. How his haggling for raw iron had gone, what news from the capital and the surrounding countries he had heard, nothing of great interest to Link.
Then however he spoke up. "By the way. Apparently the rumour we heard about the princess stopping in Ord on their way back from Kirria was actually true. An outrider of her retinue arrived today, bringing confirmation. She'll arrive the day after tomorrow."
Link listened up at that. A whole royal procession of knights did sound interesting. Possibly just the right thing to take his mind off that stupid tourney.
"I heard princess Zelda is a true beauty like her mother." Meera said conspiratorially, smirking at Link. Of course she had misinterpreted his perking up… He wasn't interested in royalty. They'd probably be lucky if they even got a glimpse of her, with her guards swarming all around her. He was more interested in the life of a soldier, their capabilities, their stories.
"We'll get to see the princess?" Ria asked with glittering eyes.
"Will there, be a feast?" André Jr. wanted to know. There's a kid who had his priorities straight, Link thought.
"The princess will be weary from her months of travelling. Seems like she just wants to spend the night, then be off in the morning again." Replied his father.
"How old is Princess Zelda?" asked Ria.
"Fifteen? Possibly sixteen." Meera answered
Great, Link thought. A pubescent princess and his entire village at her beck and call… What fun.
"Anyway, how was sword practice, son?" The dreaded question…
Link wouldn't shame his father by lying. "Not great, to be honest."
"How so?"
"I… don't think I am good enough." That was at least half true.
"Ah. So you think it would be best to not even train?" His father asked plainly.
Bullseye. Link wondered if he was truly that easy to read.
"I…"
"You are not a child, Link." His father interrupted. "I trust that you find the problem and solve it. If I can help you, I will. But I have a feeling that it has more to do with motivation than actual skill. Part of growing up is to motivate yourself. Sir Russel has high hopes for you. And so do I. So I expect you to do the best you can. Not the best you want."
"… yes sir." Link mumbled.
With that the matter was settled for André. He knew he expected a lot. He also knew his boy. He would do well.
Link wasn't so sure. But he would pull through until the princess' entourage came to take his mind of things.