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Posted on August 18, 2011 at 02:36:06 AM by tristan & gawain
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Gawain held his wooden sword skilfully, mimicking the way he had seen his father do so outside when he was training. But holding a sword and swinging one were a completely different matter. His arm stretched out and the sound of wood hitting wood rang in the air for a minute and he grinned at his green eyed sibling. The way he thrust the sword was naieve and inexperienced. He would grow out of that, though. Tristan dodged one of his brother's blows, a triumphant laugh breaking free of his young mouth as he straightened up once more, holding his wooden sword out ready for the fight to continue. He dived forwards, thrusting out with his toy blade, "this is my castle, Sir!" he announced enthusiastically over the knocking sound of the meeting swords, "you shall not have it!" Violet cat eyes watched his brother's movements as they sparred. "Your castle!" He retorted. "It was mine all along!" Another blow on Tristan's sword followed by a playful swipe to his knees - not meant to maim, meerly injure. For a moment black hair flopped over his eyes and he cried out "Vision impared! Oh no, I'm done for!!!" before collapsing on the floor to play dead. The younger boy's joy-filled giggles filled the air once more as he jumped backwards in an attempt to save his knees, "this castle is the spoils of war! It belongs to the victor!" he responded, his green eyes gleaming delightedly. He stuck out at his brother once more, the blow timed perfectly with Gawain's encounter with his fly-away hair, and within moments, his sibling lay upon the floor, his chest rising and falling due to the exhurtion of the last hour's frantic play. "Huzzah!" Tristan shouted, jabbing his saw vertically into the air in victory, before laughing again and holding his hand out in order to help Gawain to sit up, "Father said you needed a haircut." Gawain grinned, and as Tristan put out his hand, grabbed it and pulled his younger brother to the ground and sat on top of him. "And Mother said you shouldn't fall for cheap tricks." He ran his hand through his hair, tucking it back behind his ears. Standing up he stretched and grinned at the figure of his brother. Two sides of the same coin, completely different and so similar. Tristan froze, his hand going stiff against the fabric of his brother's shirt, "can you hear that?" he asked wide-eyed, "listen." The pair fell silent themselves, and sure enough, through the quiet their ripped the gentle creak of groaning floorboards, of boots against a wooden floor. In the corner of the room, Celidon, who had previously been sleeping soundly, began to growl, his deep voice reverberating through the air, as his lips peeled back to form a warning snarl. The green-eyed boy looked to his sibling as he bit nervously into his bottom lip, his heart hammering against his ribs, as his familiar began to bark. Great booming barks. "Someone's here..." Tristan muttered, "I think they're coming up the stairs."Gawain stopped moving, he heard everything his brother did with the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. He put his finger to his lips in a motion for his brother to be quiet. Then he reached into his boot and pulled out a short blade - only a few inches long. Mother had given it to him for a birthday, and he was allowed to keep it so long as he kept it hidden from Tristan. Didn't seem to matter much now though... "Behind me." He said, instincts kicking in. He was sure that he always let his brother win sparring, they had never really gone at it serious enough to warrant using full force... "Don't be thick," Tristan hissed back with a vehement shake of his head, "you're not getting involved in any fight without me." The younger boy bent down and picked up his wooden sword from the floor, turning it around in his hands so that the weightier handle was free to hit intruders with. It did not cross his mind that, at five and a half, he was likely to be able to do little damage with it. His little heart was brave, or, some might have said, foolish. Gawain’s heart was in his throat as he saw the door handle twist and click open. He raised the blade defensively... Gawain swallowed hard, trying to swallow his heart. He felt sick and excited and terrified all at the same time. Was this what his father felt every time he was about to go into battle? When the intruders burst in his blood ran cold and he shuddered, pushing himself between his brother and the intruders. The door seemed to ricochet off the inner wall as it was kicked violently ajar, and, just as the people began to swarm into the room, Celidon surged forwards barking and snapping, the rough hair which ran across his large shoulders stood on end as his hackles rose. Tristan's small hand wrapped itself in the fabric of the sleeve of his brother's free arm, "Father will save us," he said, his voice shaking in fear, he had never seen people like these before, and they turned his heart cold. Whoever they were, they weren't exactly here for a friendly conversation, or to play sword fighting. This was real, and this was bad. As Gawain had heard Poppy so accurately say once "Oh Bugger" |
for we were made of stronger things, the memories of soldiers, the children of kings |
 original image by Stefan Tell at flickr.com |
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