617 MR - Sparring with Fredrick

Frederick and Lucian faced off on the sandy training grounds just behind Keildel’s stronghold. Lucian looks down at his wooden sword. “Why can’t we use steel training swords? I think I am old enough to use the steel training swords.” Lucian questions Frederick. 

“So young Master Cross wants to use the steel training swords”, mockingly says, Frederick. “First you need to best me with the wooden sword before you graduate to the steel sword.”
 
Lucian sighs, “So be it.” He wants this to be over so he can meet Maggie in the library at noon. She promised she was going to teach him his first cantrip. Lucian never cared for martial training with Frederick he was always so firm and had no sense of humor. Parry this way, side step that way…blah, blah, blah.
 
Lucian waits, trying to anticipate his first move, feeling quite anxious he gets tired of waiting and charges in swinging wildly at him. He deftly blocks his blow with his small round shield and swings himself and taps him on his buttocks with the flat of the wooden blade.
 
“Ouch! That hurt!” bellowed Lucian. “Well don’t get hit then. At this rate you will never be going to use a steel training sword let alone a real sword.” quipped Frederick.
 
Regaining his footing and rubbing his arse his lips tighten and ready his sword. Ok. Focus Lucian. You got this. Frederick’s blade was a blur as it swept up toward Lucian. It sliced empty air, barely missing the edge of his shirt as he sidestepped. Lucian held his breath. Frederick shifted his weight and his sword responded, flashing left after Lucian. He had him on the defensive, already. He blocked blow after blow, sometimes getting his wooden sword up at just the last instant so that Lucian thought he might actually hit him.
 
Frederick’s barrage of blows drove young Lucian back, step by step until he had him cornered. When his back was against the wall, he locked his blade against his blade and pressed it until he was trapped by his own weapon.
 
“Never let a battle turn to a contest of strength.” Frederick dropped his stance and backed away. “You will always lose.”
 
Lucian swiped his arm across his forehead. “Yes, Sir.”
 
“Drop the ‘sir.’ You don’t title people who are beneath you; are you a lord or not?”
 
The expression on Lucian’s face might have been a scowl if he had been a little less regal. But with the way he was standing, somehow looking down his nose at him in spite of being a foot shorter, it just looked like dignified distaste.
 
“I am not. I am just Lucian Cross.”  
 
Frederick studied him as if trying to decide whether or not to disagree. He seemed to decide against it. “The result is the same. Come. Again.”
 
They sparred again with similar results. Lucian ducked and dove, putting increased effort into not being cornered, but he did it anyway. Frederick was always right where he needed to be to press his disadvantage and he was where he wasn’t expecting.
 
“The best defense is a good offense. Again. Put your back into it!”
 
Again they went, this time Frederick drew him into the offensive. His wooden sword spun, pressing every advantage. This time it was Lucian who bore down on Frederick with fire in his eyes; Lucian could hardly follow the flow of movements as he drove him back toward the wall, one step at a time. For a moment, it looked as if he would win.
 
Then Frederick slipped out of the way as if he had simply been testing his strength. He shrugged off his next strike, his expression never changing, and in half a step he was behind him. If he had been breathing, Lucian might have screamed. Frederick’s blade moved around Lucian like a living thing. He only barely got the end of his sword up in time before it would have knocked him in the collarbone.
 
He could have done that whenever he wanted, Lucian realized, stunned. Lord Cross never had the advantage—he only let it appear as if he did.
 
“Your strikes are sloppy. Tighten up your form or your opponent will take advantage.” Frederick dropped his wooden sword, putting his free hand between Lucian’s shoulder blade and shoving.
 
Lucian stumbled forward and rounded on him; for a moment there was indignation printed on his face before it cooled into something calmer. “Yes, Sir.”

“Don’t call me ‘Sir’.”

Lucian straightened, meeting Frederick’s gaze levelly. “I’ll call you as I see fit.”