IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on June 19, 2013 at 04:32:41 AM by t r i s t a n
 It worked out perfectly. As promised they were split off into their pairs from the previous week, and, as such, Tristan found himself looking over at Tarquin, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “Come on,” the prince said, walking over to the far corner of the yard, trusting that the older boy would follow him. He stopped, and put on his helmet, fastening the buckle beneath his chin, and pulling his sword free from its scabbard. They were supposed to be practicing blocking. Tristan however had no such intention. He waited patiently for Tarquin to ready himself and draw his own sword, but it was the prince who made the first move. His blade arched through the air, aiming for the very centre of Tarquin’s helmet. This forced the other boy to raise his own blade in order to stop the assault, but, as Tristan had intended, exposed his chest completely. Tristan lifted his foot from the ground as he stepped forwards and gave Tarquin a strong push with the sole of his boot. The boy was knocked off balance and staggered backwards into the nearest fencepost. Tristan followed after him, and pushed him back against the post with his arm, leaning his head in close enough so that Tarquin could hear him mutter, “you and I are long overdue a little chat.” Tristan took a few steps back again, spinning his sword around within his grip as he grinned behind his visor. Everything about his body language was telling Tarquin to charge him...and that was exactly what Tarquin did. The swords of the two boys met, once, twice, three times, thrust and parry, thrust and parry. “I thought you could take a joke Tris,” Tarquin said as they broke apart and began to circle one another, their knees bent and their eyes fixed upon one another. “only when they’re funny,” Tristan countered, “and you’re not exactly witty.” Tarquin laughed, but the prince took the opportunity to make his next move and directed his sword towards his opponent’s left arm. Quarter of an hour later, Tristan, sweating profusely gave Tarquin a final kick, and sent the other boy sprawling backwards in the dust. The prince barely gave him chance to catch his breath as he moved forwards in order to pin the older boy to the floor. Leaning forwards he lifted up Tarquin’s visor and smiled down into his face triumphantly. He glanced over his shoulder to check that the sergeant at arms was preoccupied before turning back to Tarquin and asking, “when was the last time you beat me in a fight?” Tarquin didn’t respond, so Tristan gave him another kick. The boy muttered something. “I’m sorry,” Tristan pressed, “I can’t hear you.” Tarquin glowered at him before repeating one word, “never.” Nodding, Tristan adjusted his grip on his sword, “I’m only going to say this once. You’re going to leave Thoth alone. Anything happens to him, and I will personally make sure it happens to you in kind.” He wasn’t bluffing, his eyes portrayed that much as he stared Tarquin down. “I don’t even need Thoth to tell me, if I so much as suspect that something has gone down then there will be repercussions. If you tell your father anything, then I’ll tell mine, and that will do it every time. Do I make myself clear?” Tarquin glared up at him but nodded once stiffly, and moved to sit up. Tristan pushed him back again with his foot. “How many times have you beaten me in a fight, Tarquin?” he asked in a lower voice. “Never,” Tarquin breathed through clenched teeth. “That’s what I thought.” The prince removed his foot from the other boy’s chest and offered him his hand. The boy’s fingers closed tightly around Tristan’s vambrace, and he pulled Tarquin to his feet.  |
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