The warmth of the day at just the hour past noon has driven many of the denizens of the Red Keep to socialize in cool chambers, leaving the outdoors largely for the castle’s servants and the watchmen of the presently-disgraced City Watch. A few knights, however, find the emptiness in the yard conducive to the practice of arms. Here and there knights can be found, sweating in their armor as they spar with blunt swords or wooden blades, or practice against the pell. A handful of younger men are at the quintain, taking turns at setting its shield to spinning. And two or three, all of them in the robes of Dornishmen, practice with double-curved bows against targets set against the castle’s walls. One of these, the Dornish knight called Ser Aidan, seems distracted and not wholly attentive to the exercise, and there is a dark bruise along the line of hair at his right temple.
Within the group of men practicing, a few center themselves around two men. Ser Urston Coldwater and a younger member of the City Watch. Both armed with wooden blades, they circle around each other, slow, pacing, waiting for a chance to strike. The younger of the two wields his blade with two hands, keep it risen over his head, as Urston himself keeps the blade contained to his right hand and off to the side. The Knight gives a cold stare that would seem to send shivers down the spine of those it made contact with. This seems to continue for sometime, neither advancing.
That is when the Guard rushes. With the sword raised above his head, it comes swinging down at the Knight who, in an unexpected move, lunges forward with his bare lefthand out. It is fast enough to grab the forearm of the Guardsman, preventing his blade from falling any further, and the Knight’s own wooden sword flashes up, pointing the tip at the center of chest. There is a pause for a moment, before the two part, with Ser Urston grinning. “Your opening stance, it left too much room for me to work with. You need to keep yourself and your weapon contained in a box, for with that, so is your opposition contained within a box to attack. A trick I learned from a wiseman.”
“It’s your turn, cousin. Daydreaming again, are you?” one of the Dornishman, dressed in sandsilk of green and gold, tells Ser Aidan. The knight looks back, broken from his reverie, and he tests an arrow upon the string of his bow . . . and then loosens the string, and shakes his head. “I’m not up to it today, Tamlyn. I’ll leave you and Ser Athis to it.” Tamlyn shrugs at his cousin and goes back to matching arrows with the other Dornish knight, while Ser Aidan slips an arrow back into the quiver at his built. His robes swirling about his feet as he walks, he skirts around one sparring group, but slows to watch as an unfamiliar knight finishes his practice with a gold cloak.
A moment’s silence follows on Urston’s words, and then Ser Aidan remarks, “I would not agree that that advice is always best suited to the situation, ser.” He nods his head towards the guardsman and adds in his Dornish drawl, “That stance is a good one, but for defending oneself from a firm position rather than as an attack.”
The Knight takes a few steps from the guardsman, grinning as he wipes a little bit of the sweat from his brow, and the young Guardsman doing the same as the others eye on. There are a few grins amongst the watchers, with Urston about to make another comment only to be caught by the Dornish Knight’s own statement. Urston smirks at the man’s comment, eyeing over to Ser Aiden and recognizing the drawl for what it is. “A valid point. I have seen it used effectively before, if I think back on it. I would assume its just not a favorite of mine.” His eyes look downward towards the wooden blade, then back up to Ser Aiden. He is quite for a moment, his freehand tugging at his own cloak as he remarks, “Would you mind helping me show these lads how to do it? I’m with the firm belief that if someone is protecting you, they should be able to beat you at swordplay, or else what use is that man save for cannon fodder?”
The Dornish knight regards the other man for a long moment, and then offers carefully, “I do not think that is true, ser. A farmer given a spear to fight against an enemy is like enough to save your life in a tight spot as any good knight, if fate falls that way. Even the best swordsman can have need of good, brave men to either side of him, and behind him.” He chews his lip for a moment, and then says at last, “I can show a good use for the high guard, as I was taught in Dorne.” He looks to the other men for a practice sword, while he sets down his bow to lean against a nearby pell.
The freehand unwraps the cloak and Ser Urston sets it off to the side. “True to that, but I would prefer to know my bodyguards could defeat me. If they can defeat me, they can do a better job at protecting me.” The same freehand waves over to the original Guardsman who fought, pointing in the direction of Ser Aidan. The Gold Cloak moves, turning the blade around to offer the grip to the Dornish Knight as Ser Urston moves opposite to him, facing Aidan and getting himself into an attack stance. The tip of the wooden blade is lowered towards the floor, while the right hand gripping it is moved out to the side. It would seem an uncomfortable stance, except for the Ser Urston seems far from uncomfortable. His smile fades slightly, his eyes shift into a razored-look as they analyze the Knight before him.
The Dornish knight takes the wooden blade. “Thank you,” he says, his formal manner never changing. Grounding the point of the blade, the wide sleeves of his over-robe are taken care of, rolled back to expose the narrow sleeves of his underrobe. Only after this is done does he step forward to face the other knight. His eyes take in Coldwater’s stance, before he takes a position similar to what the guardsman had used before. “One mistake, master guardsman, is that you had the sword somewhat too high,” he announces, addressing the watching guardsman while never taking his eyes from the other knight. “The pommel should be just in sight.”
The Coldwater Knight nods in agreement, waiting for his opponent to finish speaking before moving to the attack. As the Dornight Knight’s last statement trails off, Ser Urston waits for a moment, noting the silence between the two, before dashing to the man’s right flank. He raises his own blade into a defensive position as he attempts to circle his foe. There is only a distance of a foot between the two as Ser Urston attempts to strike into the back thigh of the Dornish knight..
When Ser Urston moves, Ser Aidan shifts his stance quite suddenly, turning on the balls of his feet as he jerks back a small step . . . and then swiftly pulling his leading leg back, his hips turning with the motion. Where his right leg was before him, now it is behind, retreating his body a good pace back and giving him room for his counterattack. The twist of his hips powers the cutthat falls from the high guard, a hammerblow that follows through with the motion of his body.
The attack seems to have caught Ser Urston off-guard, yet his facial expression doesn’t give it away. Only the stumble in his feet as the Knight shifts the blade quickly to block the counter, his left hand moving up to grab the pommel in an attempt to add some additional strength to the defense. The Coldwater Knight is nearly not fast enough, only being saved by the grace of the cross-guard on the sword as it catches his opponents blow. Even then, there is a slight quiver, as if the sword’s grip may be released under the strain of the blow. This forces the knight to push himself off, his left hand becoming free once more, as the Ser rushes around to the left flank in another preparation to strike. “Quite the counter-attack, take note!”
Ser Aidan pulls back after Ser Urston pushes away, carrying on in a steady silence. He resumes the high ward, his left leg leading as he keeps his face towards Coldwater.
Ser Urston rushes forward, rising his blade into a downward swing from top-right to bottom-left. It appears to be a feint, however, as the blade comes down halfway, the grip twists inward, facing the Knight’s chest, and with the sword now in position to thrust forward as Ser Urston continues the rush. The left freehand snaps onto the pommel, helping it stab forward towards Ser Aidan’s open chest.
His wooden sword wavers for a moment, reacting to the feint as if to shift down to block it, but the Dornishman seems to realize the misleading intent. He repeats the pattern from before, changing his leading leg in response to the attack. His hips twist, his body follows and starts to pull away from the thrusting balde, and this time he leans back to try and escape the thrust. The tips slips within the fine outer robe, pulling at the material and hampering his upraised left arm. So he improvises. With a grunt of effort, he straightens his back, drops his left hand from the long grip, and with his right he slices the sword downwards to make a short, deliberate chop at Coldwater’s exposed forearms.
Urston’s continued thrust brings himself under the path of the wooden sword and the Knight takes a late note of it. Retreating from the attack, the blade pulls itself sharp in an attempt to take the strike of Sir Aidan’s sword. The forearms narrowly escape the strike, but the bottom part near the hilt takes a hard hit. It forces the sword from Ser Urston’s right hand, causing it to drop to the floor beneath them. Just as quick as it hits the ground, the Knight himself backs up, raising hands as a sign of being unarmed. “Know I remember the strong points of the stance. It gives more power to the swing, so even though it may seem straining and encumbersome, when put to proper use by a man who knows how to do it, it will cut through most things. Like a hatchet to a piece of wood. The strongest of us could even fail in our defence against a direct attack made. The prime example being my sword knocked from me with one well-placed strike, which I must say, I congratulate you on.” There is a broad smile that takes place on his lips, with him quickly offering a bow. “Ser Urston of House Coldwater.”
“I thank you, Ser Urston,” the Dornish knight says, wincing a little at his own smile—the bruise at his temple is fading, but clearly still a bother. “I recall you, I think, from the king’s grand tourney. You were among those he raised to knighthood that day.” The wooden sword is lowered, point grounded, before he offers a respectable bow. “Ser Aidan of House Dayne,” he says, introducing himself. He turns to the guardsmen and says to them, “Ser Urston helped show the value of the high ward by attacking. It is misleading in its openness, and at the same time threatens an attack that might encourage an opponent to attempt to forestall it by attacking first. That’s when you can best use the high guard, to counter-attack.” A pause, and then he adds diplomatically, “I would not recommend it as an opening attack, for all the reasons Ser Urston said earlier. It is too easy to avoid if your opponent is prepared for it, and you are likely to be left open for their response.”
“Take heed of Ser Aidan’s words. They are wise and far from lacking experience. If there is any man who could offer a valued word on this, it would be him.” The Coldwater Knight remarks with a deep nod, his eyes going over the fellow Knight as he moves to take the sword. “I knew you were far too familiar. Curse my memory for having me appear so rudely. At least, I don’t feel half as bad for being beaten now!” Sir Urston jests, turning his smile into a wide-toothed grin. He eyes the Gold Cloaks with a nod, then picking up the fallen sword to place it with a set of other training blades. “You were grand at the Tourney. I have the fortune to say it was the first true tourney I had ever witnessed. It is an honor you recalled me, for I was merely another face in the crowd.”
Ser Aidan follows Coldwater, returning his own blade to the pile of weapons. Unrolling his sleeves and straightening his robe after the exertions, he states, “It is hard to forget your knight, ser. You were the last of the hundred squires raised to knighthood, and that is not something one sees every day.” He moves back to the pell where he left his bow leaning, taking up the double-curved length of it with an easy familiarity that helped raise much havoc on the battlefields of Dorne. “It was a good day. The gods were generous. As was the king, of course.” The last is put after a brief hesitation, and he glances away then to see if his former companions are still at the archery targets.
“It was a good day.” Ser Urston remarks, eyeing in the same direction as Ser Aidan. “I would have to agree with you, it was a fine day, and they were generous… In some ways, those were better times, at least with the current troubles.” Ser Urston remarks with a slight nod, finding his own sword off to the side, having removed it for the training session. The Knight straps the sheath back into place, letting it hang slightly from his hip as he eyes towards the Stableyard. “I would love to catch up, ser Aidan, but I have some business to attend to. Unfortunately, I caught myself up in training.. As it tends to go, “His comment is an obvious jest, but with truth to it as he continues to smile as the Dornish Knight, “But I know for a fact we will meet up again soon, good ser.”
At the mention of troubles, Aidan’s expression grows more somber. A hand, as if of its own will, rises up to touch the bruise at his temple, and a finger brushes along the line of a healing scar hidden amidst his long, dark hair. “As you say, ser. I’ll leave you to your business. Good day to you.” And with that, he returns in a thoughtful mood to his Dornish friends, only to take a final leave of them as he makes his way from the outer yard.