The sound of iron echoed in the courtyard as the sun bore down on two opponents. One was clad in a tunic, breeches and boots of fine make, adorned with exquisite patterning. The other wore a robe, hood pulled back and sleeves rolled up to the elbow, of lesser quality than his companion. "Up, Master Alex! Keep that sword arm up! You'll do more damage than just letting it drag the ground!" A stern voice exclaimed, and there was another series of harsh metallic clangs. "By the Divines, Michael! I'm not as nimble as you!" Wiping strands of damp hair from his face, Prince Alex scowled, a dark look crossing his handsome features. Michael lowered his weapon, the tip of the blade digging into the soft turf. "Accepting defeat then, Alex? You know that if your father hears of this, that you quit in the middle of practice," the darker-haired man warned, "He'd -- " Alex feigned a grin, his face flushed. "He'd be furious. I know the rules, Michael. But I'm tired of practice. And my arm is sore from the beating you gave it." He gave a short bark of laughter, tossing the sword and belt to a waiting servant nearby. The boy hurried off to the castle blacksmith, knowing the prince wanted the dents worked out.
"Who would've thought, a bookkeeper wielding a blade. You should be a knight rather than me!" Running a hand through his curly locks, Alex sighed, the grin fading. He would need a bath to be drawn, and to confront his father on the matter of why he quit so early. He staunchly did not want to be a knight, one who believed in chivalry or fought for the hand of the village maidens, just a pampered princeling with servants attending him at every summons. To spend his life feasting on the finest of meats, drinking the most rich of wines.
He wanted to be an adventurer. One who delved in dungeons deep, wrenching the bones of the earth aside to reveal gleaming treasures of old. He spared a glance back over his shoulder at Michael, who was busying himself with gathering up his quills and scrolls. "Must you always bring everything with you?" He asked, walking across the field to where their horses had been secured, reigns tied round a thick post. Ignoring the long-winded remark he received, he removed his glove to stroke the horse's muzzle, looking into its wide, dark eyes. It's ears swiveled around to face Alex, blowing warm air against his palm from wide nostrils. The young man smiled fondly.
"Easy, Bulwark. Easy."
Reaching into his pocket, he produced an apple, plucked from the kitchens' stock. Said beast greedily took, whiskers tickling his palm. Patting its neck while it ate, he settled his foot in one of the stirrups and swung himself into the saddle. Shaking his head, he watched as his supposed "teacher" fumbled about. What was he going to do with him? Scholar wielding a sword.
Flicking the reigns, the horse fell into a steady trot off in the direction of the castle gates.
