The sounds of steel clashing together rang out in the yard, with the many boys shouting as they fought one another. It was a warm afternoon in Pelargir, and everyone was sweating and panting as they trained with their swords.
The boys ranged from around ten years of age to fifteen, all with varying levels of skill with a blade. Arenborn was older than the rest, having seen seventeen summers, and had taken on a duty of helping to train some of the younger squires in swordsmanship. It was a part of the day that he truly loved.
“Keep your guard up Penmir! Don’t let him through!” He instructed as he watched the lad’s sword drop a little. His training partner, Lamborn pressed the attack with a flurry of strikes. “Good Lamborn! Keep it up, don’t go easy on him!” Penmir managed to block the attacks, and took advantage of Lamborn’s poor footwork, sweeping his legs from beneath him. Lamborn fell to the floor, and Penmir had his blade at his throat in moments.
Aren clapped for the two boys, both around twelve years of age. “Well done both of you.” He said with a smile, stepping over to help Lamborn up. “But what have I said over and over?”
“The fight is in your feet.” The two boys answered in unison.
“Aye,” Aren responded, “if you are off balance for even a moment, no matter how good your swordsmanship is, you will end up on the floor. Lam, you need to keep your guard up, but your footwork was good, Pen, you have the opposite issue.”
The two boys nodded as they listened, and Aren talked them through a number of exercises to practice together, instructing them to help one another with the training. “I want you to go through each of them five times, then come back to me, got it?”
The boys nodded. “Five times then come back to you.” Lamborn answered. Aren nodded, and the boys scampered off to find a free space to practice.
Aren watched them for a little bit before he heard his name being shouted from across the yard, one of his fellow instructors calling him over. They enjoyed a small conversation about how each of their students were getting on, before Aren was pulled away by the two younger lads again to watch them spar some more.
*****
The cold, blustery morning in the Bree-land winter was a far cry from that afternoon in Gondor. It had been about six years since that day, and Aren couldn’t help but recall how simple it had been to teach those two boys. Now though, he had to carefully manipulate his students arm and weapon to show him the correct technique, unable to explain.
Every movement was painstakingly demonstrated and then adjusted when Leoffrith attempted it, the young lad taking a long time to master each cut he was shown. Aren admired his persistence and sheer determination, but felt he would learn much quicker with a teacher that could speak.
Aren couldn’t help but feel frustrated by this, his mood dropping as the evening went on. He didn’t let this show, and every time Leoffrith managed an adequate attempt at a cut he would beam happily to encourage him on. It was good to see, even if it took a lot of effort to get him to this point. Part of Aren hoped that his wife would come along and act as a translator for him, but another part of him wanted to learn to function without her. If he couldn’t communicate on his own, then what use would he be if he were ever separated from her.
Eventually, the lesson finished and Aren waved Leoffrith off on his way. He watched for a while as the ginger lad made his way home from the Hookworth Barracks, before turning to conduct his own training.
He battered the poor mannequin for over an hour and a half. With each blow the mannequin turned into someone different in his mind, cycling through the faces of the brigands that had done this to him, that had robbed him of his voice. Even as rain began to fall, dripping through his dark hair and mingling with sweat, he continued until finally, the dummy broke, its sturdy wooden frame snapping half from the beating it had taken.
Aren collapsed to his knees into the mud, panting for breath as the cold rain continued to lash him well into the evening.
