10 Training Begins (Part 1)

"Are you nervous?" Vale asked, turning to glance at Neve as they walked through the courtyard.

"Nervous? No," Neve replied. "Why would I be?"

"Of course," Vale snorted. "I must be a fool for asking."

Today was Neve's first training session with the knights of House Rosentine. She was dressed in a fur-lined tunic and woolen pants–barely warm enough for the northern winds. Still, Neve was too excited to feel discomfort. Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn't wait to wield a sword once again.

"I'm eager to practice," Neve remarked. "I haven't been able to train regularly since I moved to the Capital, so I'm a bit rusty."

"You and I both," Vale agreed. "I can't join you today, but I'll introduce you to a good friend of mine."

Neve pondered for a moment. "I haven't met him before?"

"He was studying in another country until recently," Vale answered. "I know what you're thinking. Yes, I actually have friends."

"I find that hard to believe."

The Rosentine siblings rounded a corner, finding themselves in front of the knights' training grounds. It was merely a field, surrounded by stone walls, and a nearby stable. Nevertheless, Neve was happy to return to the familiar place.

It was still early morning, so the present knights were just beginning to warm up. Their squires maintenanced the facilities and equipment.

Some of the knights noticed the presence of the Rosentine siblings, bowing politely in greeting. Vale nodded at them as he scanned the grounds.

"Ah, there he is!" Vale exclaimed. He waved over a brown-haired man, who looked to be about the same age as him. The man smiled and jogged over.

The knight had a sunny disposition. He was a little tan, which was odd for Ironhold, but Neve attributed it to his time outside of the country. The man was about the same height as Vale, but his build was much wider. Certainly, he was well-versed with the sword.

"Greetings Lord Vale, Lady Neve," the knight said as he approached, bowing quickly. He turned to address Neve directly, grinning crookedly. "I'm Oliver, the second son of Marquis Roger Fabeck. Pleased to meet you, My Lady."

"Likewise, Sir Oliver," Neve replied politely, though she was genuine. There was something trustworthy about the man.

"I'm entrusting my sister to you, Oliver," Vale said. "You've got two weeks to whip her into shape."

Oliver hummed, rubbing his chin as he thought. "That's not a lot of time. But I believe Lady Neve has some experience with the sword?"

"That's correct," Neve confirmed. "I trained periodically with the squires until I came of age."

"Well, I think we should start by evaluating your technique," Oliver decided, his eyes glinting as he dared Neve to accept his challenge. "Care to dance, My Lady?"

Neve smiled dangerously. "I would love to, Sir Oliver."

–––

Neve faced Sir Oliver in the centre of the training grounds. The heavily-trafficked area was worn, grass stomped out to reveal dry, grey-ish dirt.

She had been fashioned with casual leather armour, meant to protect her arms and torso. Besides, they would only be sparring with wooden swords today. The extent of any injuries would be bruises at most.

"How's the waster?" Oliver asked, gesturing toward Neve's blunted sword. "It's about the same size and weight of your longsword."

"It feels about the same," Neve replied. "Though I haven't used that sword before."

"Well, that's all the more reason to practice," Oliver shrugged. "Are you ready to begin?"

Neve shifted her stance, placing her right leg behind her. "Of course."

"Whoa, whoa!" Oliver exclaimed, letting out a hearty laugh. "We're not sparring just yet, My Lady."

Scowling, Neve lowered her sword. Oliver chuckled at her sullen expression.

"I'm not that careless, Lady Neve," Oliver said. "I need to evaluate your technique first. Can't have you getting injured on your first day of training."

"I suppose that makes sense," Neve mumbled. "Where do we begin?"

"You're familiar with the Twelve Guards?" Oliver asked.

He was referring to the particular school of martial arts House Rosentine followed. It was an old style of combat. Its lineage traced back to ancient times, though the Rosentine knights had adapted the style as weaponry became more advanced.

"I am."

"Then let's begin," Oliver said, expression growing serious. "First Guard."

The First Guard was a defensive position called Full Iron Gate. Neve swivelled her hips, balancing her weight forwards on her left leg. She held her wooden sword with both hands, placing the blade to the right of her body. Neve adjusted her grip so the sword pointed down. It was a relaxed position that allowed her to maneuver the sword easily.

"Good," Oliver commented. He raised his own sword. "Parry this."

He swung in a downward arc, giving Neve little time to react. She brought her sword up, positioning the blade in front of her chest, and braced for impact.

Clack!

Oliver's blade bounced off Neve's sword, the collision stinging Neve's palms. She returned her sword to the First Guard, letting the tension bleed from her shoulders.

"Second Guard."

The Lady's Guard. Neve kept her stance the same, lifting the sword so the blunted tip faced skyward. This was both an offensive and defensive position. Oliver mirrored Neve's pose.

"Now strike," Oliver commanded.

Neve did not hesitate, lunging forward immediately. She thrust her sword forward, angling the tip so it would be difficult for Oliver to parry.

Clack!

Oliver quickly pivoted on his back heel, using the momentum of his body to push Neve's blade away. She withdrew, falling back into the Second Guard. Her palms tingled. Neve smiled inwardly at the nostalgic sensation.

"Good form," Oliver noted, "but the strike lacked strength."

Neve nodded, pursing her lips. There was little she could do about her lack of strength. She barely exercised at the Capital, and she was constantly forced to diet by the Queen. Any muscle she had built training at Ironhold had been long lost.

"No use sulking about it," the knight smirked, noticing Neve's frustration. "Third Guard."

Taking a steadying breath, Neve lifted her wooden waster above her shoulders. She leaned back, shifting her weight to her back leg, poised to strike. The Window Guard.

–––

Finally, Neve let her arms fall. They felt heavy, unaccustomed to the strain they had just endured. She loosened her grip on the sword and glanced down at her palms, which were stinging. Underneath her leather gloves, Neve was sure they were red.

She had only practiced the Twelve Guards, yet her body was already strained. Was this truly the extent of her limits?

"Are you tired, My Lady?" Oliver asked, stepping closer to Neve. He grabbed one of her hands, lifting it to examine her palm. He tugged off Neve's glove. Some of her skin had already been rubbed raw. "No calluses. I suppose that's to be expected."

Neve flexed her fingers, balling her hand into a fist. "Truthfully, yes. I didn't think my condition would be this bad."

"A knight will regress after even one month without training," Oliver replied, handing Neve the leather glove. "There's no need to belittle yourself, My Lady."

"I know," Neve sighed. "It's just...I gave up the sword to become Queen, and now I have neither."

"Well, at least you can get one of those things back," Oliver said, offering Neve a charming grin. He tapped his blade against Neve's sword, where it hung at her side. "Shall we spar?"

Neve smiled softly. "We shall."