Perwyn (i)Mature

The Courtyard was a pretty place, like a moment of the ancient world trapped in high, stone walls. In essence it was, for the garden had stood a thousand years or more.
                Large plants, ferns and bulging flowers that oozed thick sap, pervaded throughout the green amidst the willows, broken by a pathway that looked like it had been shattered by a mighty fist. This gave way after a short time of walking, to a more open space and an entirely different scene.
                Targets and straw men had been erected for fresh soldiers to hack at whilst others sparred or went through their drills.
                Red and Blue were two such men sparring. They were is mother’s favourite guards, though that wasn’t saying much, and so named for the colour of their cloaks, in part due to their families, minor vassals under the Hellespont name, his father’s family. Red was on the offense, his wooden sword splintered however and Blue was unscathed whilst Red had a bruise on his forehead. She won’t like that, she likes her guards neat.
                They bowed as he ordered them, and moved on to where a loud voice drilled orders.
                He stood to watch for a time. After they completed the basic exercises, Dunsul arranged them into pairs, with more than a few insults pouring from his mouth. Artur fought a boy Dunsul called Jerren Highwater, older and bigger.
                It started well. Both held their wooden swords and circled the other, clacks emanating every now and then as they tested. Artur feinted, slapping Jerren’s hand, nearly dropping his sword. Jerren reacted in kind, lunging straight for the ribs. Artur span to a side but was caught, though as he span, he brought his sword down on Jerren’s leg, knocking him to a knee. The older boy used his strength to push from the ground, knocking Artur to the floor and pummelling him with his fists until Artur threw him of, raised the wood, went to strike him in the face—
                “Artur!” Perwyn called.
                The shouting stopped.
                “Sir Perwyn, you have reason to disrupt my teaching,” a grizzled old man growled.
                “I came for my squire, to attend me, Sir Dunsul, that is all. I mean no slight.”
                Artur extricated himself from the tangle of weapons and armor on the floor and brushed himself off. The other boy, slightly older, pushed him.
                “Please, continue,” Perwyn urged, as he grabbed Artur before he could retaliate.
                “I had a hand in teaching Perwyn here, and if it wasn’t for me boys, he’d have less discipline than he does manners.” The spittle came out of his mouth like a spring rain as he raged.
                Perwyn went to leave, doing his best to ignore the old knight, cursing and complaining behind him. His head was already pounding.
                Sir Dunsul grabbed his arm.
                Perwyn turned only his head to look straight at the knight.
                “Are you drunk sir?” He uttered.
                “What?” The man blustered on, red faced as ever, “How dare you?”
                “You must be to lay your hands on the Captain of the King’s Household guard.” He warned.
                The  knights face paled.
                “Let’s see. Drunkenness whilst on duty,” He touched his free hand to his chin. “A night in the dungeons perhaps, a demotion at the worst. Threatening the King’s man however, that is akin to treason.” He stepped around the man, “Young me, tell me the punishment for said crime?”
                “Death.” Artur said immediately from behind him, as the few young fighters chimed in a little later.
                Sir Dunsul let go of his arm, finally and Perwyn wasted no more time.

The End

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