Reeds for Steel: The Gleeman’s Folly
Balin al'Brennan, Written by Misty
Posted on Thu, Jun 24, 2010 21:47 pm
Swords.
He had thought he would be headed home by now, Tar Valon and the Tower at his back as he guided his new bride through Caemlyn and then to the river ferry that would eventually take them back to Deven Ride. The only way he had expected to see a sword would be glowing red on his anvil, awaiting the hammer. But that had been his planned life, and plans had a way of coming undone, as easily as a pleading glance given from a woman wearing white. Overnight, his simple life had taken on aspects of a gleeman's tale, one of the ones that were so ridiculous you could not suspend your disbelief. Had anyone heard the one about the lad who had stalked into the White Tower and demanded the return of his wife, only to have to admit they were only engaged, be ridiculed, and then beg to stay, just because her big, dark eyes had filled with tears at the idea that he might go?
She had given him back his life, once. He had pledged it to her when he'd asked for her hand. Now, he would do the one thing that his da said a man always did – keep his promises. And if that meant waking while the sky still had stars and eating breakfast that he would have reconsidered swilling pigs with, then that was the price he would pay. Her mama and his own da might never understand – he had not yet figured out how to word that letter – but they had, each in their own way, created this dilemma whose horns he sat betwixt. Cerawyn wouldn't go back to their village, and he had been told to "watch out for her." If she would not leave, then neither would he. Clinging to this declaration to avoid having to admit how frightened he truly was, Balin ducked a few bows to men in fancloth and was summarily shunted toward a gathering class. He'd been present in the yards for the better part of a fortnight, and most of the faces surrounding Elaryl's were at least vaguely familiar.
Shocking, how quickly an assorted lot of louts became a village. He knew of one who had been cast out of the Whitecloaks, and another who had come in search of his long-lost sister, and a third, who, like himself, had a betrothed in training. His gaze traveled over the assorted men and the few girls, and finding a few that he trusted as good examples, he gingerly began mimicking their motions, warming up. It seemed so unnecessary, this endless weapon training, the running and lifting and riding and archery: it seemed wasteful, too. While his own body was thickly muscled from years of smithing, and his stocky frame hid more strength than his arms proclaimed, some of the Gaidin made him look weak. For that matter, some of the Gaidar did, too.
He listened to the lecture, feeling slightly overwhelmed even before it had begun properly. He had been raised to use a bow and sometimes, a staff: a sword was a nobleman's weapon, something he might smith a few times in his life when some fool with money and a desire to play the Game of Houses disturbed his peaceful existence. He knew much more of plowshares, and far, far more of horseshoes. Biting back a rueful smile as he listened to voices proclaiming awards and honors, kills and tourneys, he did not succeed at keeping the red from his cheeks. "Balin al'Brennan, of Deven- Light, I mean Andor." No one knew where Deven Ride was here: the village that had been his world had been eclipsed by places that he had never even read of in books. Maradon and Amadicia, Saldaea and Seanchan: places with names so exotic that he felt simple. Plain.
Stupid.
"I could make a sword," he said, slowly, his ears glowing like cherry coals in a winter fire. "I haven't, though. And I've never used one. I can use a staff, and a longbow, and a shortbow, but I like the longbow better. I…" Specialize? He knew he'd have to, had been told so, but he was still waiting for Cerawyn to decide whether he could take her back where she belonged. "I think the bow?" he asked, hesitantly. He was good with a bow, and his strong, steady arms gave him an advantage in archery. His average height helped, as well. "And I ah…" He scrubbed a hand through his short, dark hair. "Peace. I had a betrothed, in my village. She was brought here. And her mama said I should come and bring her back, but neither of us knew she couldn't come yet." His blush did the impossible, deepened, and he shrugged, praying he did not look as awkward as he felt.
"I keep my promises," he mumbled, wishing he could melt into the ground, or better yet, that it would open and swallow him where he stood.
In reply to Reeds for Steel: Basic Swords[show]/[hide]
The Training Grounds seemed particularly busy today, with few empty spaces and sparring yards visible among the knots of young men and women training in various weapons and fighting styles. Here and there a vertigo-inducing Fancloak waved as Warders supervised. Elaryl was glad that she had a fenced-off sparring area reserved for her lesson, or she suspected she would have had to cancel.
She made her way through the Yards, clutching an armful of practice lathes and several wooden wasters, nodding and mumbling at people who waved as she passed. Several pieces of short, dark brown hair were already falling out of the leather tie holding it back, and she brushed it out of her eyelashes irritably with a shoulder. As she passed the Archery Range, Serai waved off in the distance, then trotted over to walk beside her, dark curls bouncing.
“Veryle and I are going into the city today for lunch. We’re tired of Tower food. Want to join us?”
Elaryl actually had very few problems with the food in the mess, but some time off sounded absolutely delicious. After months of lackluster work, not caring about training beyond the bare minimum, and prolonging her time as a mid-rank Trainee, the last few weeks had been exhausting. Ever since she had run into Talaban at the Warder’s Rest, Elaryl had seemed to remember why she had come to the Tower in the first place. She had thrown herself back into her training, remaining in the Yards past dark, waking up before dawn like she had as a new Trainee. She shook her head and sighed mentally.
“I’ll try, but I have a lesson. New babies to teach.” Although some of those “babies” may well be thirty years old, for all I know. “I’m in one of the yards by the stables… see if I’m done when you’re ready to go.”
Her friend’s grey eyes smiled as she poked Elaryl in the shoulder. “Taught enough classes for your liking?”
Elaryl grimaced and pushed Serai with her right hip. “Leave me alone. Go practice your archery, you’re terrible. You still owe me a silver mark from last time.” Serai immediately crinkled her nose and veered away from Elaryl, running back to the Range, waving. The Mayener woman was right; Elaryl had spent so much time as a mid-rank Trainee that she could not keep track of the lessons she had taught. She shook her head. All she could do about it now was work harder.
By the time Elaryl reached her yard, several Trainees had already assembled, some looking a little lost, others looking bored. What they should be doing is warming up, not standing there like Light-blinded idiots. She did see one or two, a little older than the others, no doubt with more experience, stretching; another looked to be no more than fifteen, obviously eager to get started. She set down the lathes in a pile near the fence, set the wasters leaning against it, adjusted her swordbelt around her hips, and hopped up on the fence to wait as more students drifted into the yard.
Finally she decided she had waited long enough; enough students had trickled in, and it was time to teach. She pushed herself off the fence, landing lightly on the packed dirt, and walked to the front of the yard, folding her arms behind her back. She waited for the slight talking to quiet down and began.
“Good morning. My name is Elaryl M’Kasa. I have fifteen years of experience with swords, and I am a mid-level Trainee, two merit badges.” She tapped the badges sewn to her left sleeve and re-folded her arms behind her back.
“I’m sure you all have varying experiences with weaponry and fighting styles, and preferences, I expect; but the Tower expects all of their Warders to be proficient with a sword. That skill is what I will begin teaching you today. No doubt some of you also have some experience with a sword, perhaps years.” She focused on one Trainee who looked to be older than she was, and was certainly an experienced fighter, and a boy who regarded the bundled lathes with distaste. Itching for steel, not reeds. “I assure you, you are all beginners here. We will begin with the very basics, which to some of you will no doubt be incredibly disappointing.” She nodded.
“I understand. I took the same class as a new Trainee—we all did—and at that point I had been training with a sword for nine years. And I have taught this class…” Elaryl looked skyward, trying to count the Basic Swords classes she had taught during her time at the Tower, and eventually gave up. “…over and over and over. Trust me when I say that it is not a bad thing to start over from the beginning.
“If you already know the skills I am teaching you today, consider this class an opportunity to refine those skills.” Elaryl paused and looked around at the assembled Trainees, then delivered the news that was always most disappointing to students. “There will be few swordforms taught in this lesson.” She was met with the expected groans and sighs and slumped shoulders. “Only the most basic. This is only the first of a long line of sword lessons you will take part in during your training—further swordforms will be taught in further lessons. Today you will be learning how to hold a sword; how to avoid cutting off your own arm; those kinds of skills. Important, more important than they sound. Although not cutting off your own arm, I would imagine, sounds reasonably important.
“So, before we begin, I would like to know each of your names; your experience with a sword, if any—and if you have none, please tell me. Plenty of Warders started at the Tower without ever having picked up a sword—any other weapons experience you have, and if you have an idea of what you would like to specialize in; and why you’ve come to the White Tower. Also, please let me know if you have any questions before we begin.”
OOC: Ok, here we go! Welcome to Basic Swords for new Trainees! Introduce your character and away we go. At least 300 words please, for this intro post. Later posts will probably have longer requirements. Also let me know about any questions you have OOC; my contact info is in the Members section. In about a week we’ll continue with the next part!
