Post by The Smith on Apr 19, 2008 0:06:14 GMT -5
Ser Mychel stalked the halls of the White Sword Tower, acquainting himself with every passage and turn. The tower’s steward had fit him for new garb, though until his vows were spoken in the Great Sept he could not wear the White Cloak that soon spread across his shoulders. He wore a simple tunic of white linen, similar to those worn by the King’s Men, and he had already placed a commission for a set of armor of white steel. He opened a door, and found the King sitting, alone, at the Lord Commander’s desk, reading the White Book. King Rickon looked up when the door opened, and Ser Mychel met his gaze, before looking downward.
“Greetings, again, your grace. It seems as though you spend as much time in this tower as the Lord Commander itself,” he said lightly, with a smile. Rickon frowned for a moment, and then a grin began to creep across his face. “Perhaps, Ser Mychel,” Rickon gestured to the White Book, “but I wish to learn everything I can of the men who have guarded my life, and the lives of my ancestors. The many of the greatest knights to ever live in this kingdom have their own page in this book, and I would learn them all to honor their sacrifices for their kings.”
Ser Mychel looked at the boy, slightly incredulous, but then he smiled again. At eight, the king spoke like many men Mychel’s own age. “It is wise to honor them so, your grace. When I last met you in the tower, you were busy with your brother and Lord Commander Benfry’s squire, but I pose the same offer to you now, do you wish to come to the training-yard? Reading makes great kings, but some matters must always resolved with the sword, so it is useful to know how to use one properly,” Ser Mychel said.
Rickon looked up from the book. Ser Mychel could not read upside down but the shield in the bottom corner of the page was the black and purple lightning of House Dondarrion, which could only be the page of the Lightning Sword, who had been murdered outside the Red Keep by Blackwood’s men during the coup. “You are correct, Ser. I began training with Ser Tytos in the Vale, but he only gave me a few lessons.” He set the White Book carefully down on the desk, and then walked around towards the door.
The pair walked down the White Sword Tower towards the training yard. They were trailed by four King’s Men at all times, though they constantly swapped out the guards so that they could spread a network of the king’s location to the rest of the King’s Men around the castle.
Ser Mychel took two wooden swords off of a rack, and handed one hilt-first to Rickon. It was mostly King’s Men training in the yard, and many stopped their matches to watch their king, as he took a fighting stance. Ser Mychel held up his own sword, a one-handed sword rather than the greatsword of his preference, but he was here to teach, not to cause injury.
Rickon gripped his sword in two hands tightly, and Ser Mychel could see the young king’s knuckles whitening. “Loosen your grip, your grace. You must hold it firmly, but too tight a grip will only hurt your hands,” he advised, and Rickon complied. The young king shifted his feet slightly, and Ser Mychel’s smile widened as he saw Rickon shifting into the proper stance.
“I’m going to attack you, your grace, I want to show you how to defend against my strikes. If you can hold your own defensively in a fight, you can win no matter what the circumstances.” Ser Mychel hefted his own sword, and walked slowly towards Rickon, crouching slightly to even out their height difference as best he could. Rickon circled around him, moving instinctually toward what would be the older knight’s right, if they both carried shields on their left.
Ser Mychel lunged forward suddenly, striking out with his sword. Rickon’s wooden blade wooshed through the air, trying to parry, and missed Ser Mychel’s sword completely, which speared the air above Rickon’s left shoulder, several inches from his face. The King did not even flinch, though he frowned deeply and looked at his sword.
Ser Mychel smiled at him, and spoke. “Swordfighting is all about control of your weapon. If you can control precisely where your blade is, you can eventually get around any defense. Most swordsmen, however, will fall into a basic pattern of strikes. There are many things you can do with a sword, if you are taught properly, some easier than others.
“The most basic strike that you’ll see with this type of sword,” Ser Mychel said, hefting his wooden longsword, “is a spearing thrust. This is a one-handed weapon, so you expect to have a shield on your left, for cover. Holding a shield out, like this,” he demonstrated with his arm, as if a shield were strapped to it, “gives you the position to cover most of your body, but still but your whole shoulder and back into a thrust, and a swordpoint can pierce even steel plate if it is well placed.
“The easiest way to defend against that type of strike is to catch it on your own shield, and turn it away. Failing that, you can knock their sword down-” Ser Mychel stopped speaking as Rickon cut him off.
“That would put me at an advantage, if your sword were pointed down and mine were at chest level, right?” the young king asked. He frowned after asking the question. “That might work though, if you were stronger than I, I couldn’t knock your sword aside as easily.”
Ser Mychel laughed, hard. “Yes, and yes, your grace. You took the words from my mouth completely. If your opponent is stronger than you are, only certain moves will work, and others will be less effective. A good swordsman judges his opponent thoroughly before making any kind of attack.”
He stood up, and stepped a few feet back from Rickon. The young king hefted his sword again, and stood in a fighting stance. When Ser Mychel lunged this time, Rickon dodged, nimbly towards Ser Mychel’s right instead of trying to parry the blow, and whacked the westermen on the leg with his wooden blade. Ser Mychel laughed again, and massaged what would certainly be a bruise by nightfall. He sparred with the king for another thirty minutes, and then escorted him back to Ser Benfry’s Solar where they spoke of past battles, and generals and their tactics, as well as dead Kings and Kingsguardsmen, until the Lord Regent arrived to speak to the king about matters of state. Ser Mychel bowed, and retreated from the room, limping slightly, going to wash and take a nap in his quarters.
King Rickon I Baratheon improves to Apprentice Swordsman
King Rickon I Baratheon improves to Novice Battle
Ser Mychel Hill improves to Noteworthy Combat Instruction (Teaching)
Ser Mychel Hill improves to Master Swordsman (once improved)
“Greetings, again, your grace. It seems as though you spend as much time in this tower as the Lord Commander itself,” he said lightly, with a smile. Rickon frowned for a moment, and then a grin began to creep across his face. “Perhaps, Ser Mychel,” Rickon gestured to the White Book, “but I wish to learn everything I can of the men who have guarded my life, and the lives of my ancestors. The many of the greatest knights to ever live in this kingdom have their own page in this book, and I would learn them all to honor their sacrifices for their kings.”
Ser Mychel looked at the boy, slightly incredulous, but then he smiled again. At eight, the king spoke like many men Mychel’s own age. “It is wise to honor them so, your grace. When I last met you in the tower, you were busy with your brother and Lord Commander Benfry’s squire, but I pose the same offer to you now, do you wish to come to the training-yard? Reading makes great kings, but some matters must always resolved with the sword, so it is useful to know how to use one properly,” Ser Mychel said.
Rickon looked up from the book. Ser Mychel could not read upside down but the shield in the bottom corner of the page was the black and purple lightning of House Dondarrion, which could only be the page of the Lightning Sword, who had been murdered outside the Red Keep by Blackwood’s men during the coup. “You are correct, Ser. I began training with Ser Tytos in the Vale, but he only gave me a few lessons.” He set the White Book carefully down on the desk, and then walked around towards the door.
The pair walked down the White Sword Tower towards the training yard. They were trailed by four King’s Men at all times, though they constantly swapped out the guards so that they could spread a network of the king’s location to the rest of the King’s Men around the castle.
Ser Mychel took two wooden swords off of a rack, and handed one hilt-first to Rickon. It was mostly King’s Men training in the yard, and many stopped their matches to watch their king, as he took a fighting stance. Ser Mychel held up his own sword, a one-handed sword rather than the greatsword of his preference, but he was here to teach, not to cause injury.
Rickon gripped his sword in two hands tightly, and Ser Mychel could see the young king’s knuckles whitening. “Loosen your grip, your grace. You must hold it firmly, but too tight a grip will only hurt your hands,” he advised, and Rickon complied. The young king shifted his feet slightly, and Ser Mychel’s smile widened as he saw Rickon shifting into the proper stance.
“I’m going to attack you, your grace, I want to show you how to defend against my strikes. If you can hold your own defensively in a fight, you can win no matter what the circumstances.” Ser Mychel hefted his own sword, and walked slowly towards Rickon, crouching slightly to even out their height difference as best he could. Rickon circled around him, moving instinctually toward what would be the older knight’s right, if they both carried shields on their left.
Ser Mychel lunged forward suddenly, striking out with his sword. Rickon’s wooden blade wooshed through the air, trying to parry, and missed Ser Mychel’s sword completely, which speared the air above Rickon’s left shoulder, several inches from his face. The King did not even flinch, though he frowned deeply and looked at his sword.
Ser Mychel smiled at him, and spoke. “Swordfighting is all about control of your weapon. If you can control precisely where your blade is, you can eventually get around any defense. Most swordsmen, however, will fall into a basic pattern of strikes. There are many things you can do with a sword, if you are taught properly, some easier than others.
“The most basic strike that you’ll see with this type of sword,” Ser Mychel said, hefting his wooden longsword, “is a spearing thrust. This is a one-handed weapon, so you expect to have a shield on your left, for cover. Holding a shield out, like this,” he demonstrated with his arm, as if a shield were strapped to it, “gives you the position to cover most of your body, but still but your whole shoulder and back into a thrust, and a swordpoint can pierce even steel plate if it is well placed.
“The easiest way to defend against that type of strike is to catch it on your own shield, and turn it away. Failing that, you can knock their sword down-” Ser Mychel stopped speaking as Rickon cut him off.
“That would put me at an advantage, if your sword were pointed down and mine were at chest level, right?” the young king asked. He frowned after asking the question. “That might work though, if you were stronger than I, I couldn’t knock your sword aside as easily.”
Ser Mychel laughed, hard. “Yes, and yes, your grace. You took the words from my mouth completely. If your opponent is stronger than you are, only certain moves will work, and others will be less effective. A good swordsman judges his opponent thoroughly before making any kind of attack.”
He stood up, and stepped a few feet back from Rickon. The young king hefted his sword again, and stood in a fighting stance. When Ser Mychel lunged this time, Rickon dodged, nimbly towards Ser Mychel’s right instead of trying to parry the blow, and whacked the westermen on the leg with his wooden blade. Ser Mychel laughed again, and massaged what would certainly be a bruise by nightfall. He sparred with the king for another thirty minutes, and then escorted him back to Ser Benfry’s Solar where they spoke of past battles, and generals and their tactics, as well as dead Kings and Kingsguardsmen, until the Lord Regent arrived to speak to the king about matters of state. Ser Mychel bowed, and retreated from the room, limping slightly, going to wash and take a nap in his quarters.
King Rickon I Baratheon improves to Apprentice Swordsman
King Rickon I Baratheon improves to Novice Battle
Ser Mychel Hill improves to Noteworthy Combat Instruction (Teaching)
Ser Mychel Hill improves to Master Swordsman (once improved)