Chapter Text
“No no no! Hold the shield up and tilt it away from your face! How many times must we repeat ourselves?” Cullen shook his head, trying not to lose his temper. He was close; a bad night’s sleep – another bad night’s sleep – and the headache forming behind his eyes was not helping matters. These fool recruits were by far the greatest test of his patience.
He let out his breath in a soft sigh. I too had to learn once, and the hard way, if I recall. He chuckled to himself at the memory. “Here, recruit,” he said, no longer angry. “Let me show you.” He reached out and took the shield and practice sword from the young man – Maker, he can’t be more than eighteen – and turned toward his sparring partner. Cullen nodded to the other recruit and they saluted one another, practice swords raised before their faces in formal acknowledgement of the duel.
The other recruit – Brandon, Cullen thought his name was – fell into proper stance, as he had been taught: feet shoulder-width apart to evenly distribute his weight; knees slightly bent for greater balance; eyes on his opponent’s chest, wary for any signal of an attack. Cullen did likewise, and waited for the other man to attack him. Brandon, to his credit, showed no qualms about attempting to strike his commander. He feinted right before swinging his sword to Cullen’s left, the side with the shield. Cullen saw the feint and raised his shield to block the blow, taking care to tilt the upper edge away from his face. Brandon’s practice sword slid off Cullen’s shield, carried by the momentum of the blow. Cullen took the opening to work his own sword up underneath his opponent’s shield, and struck a hard blow to the recruit’s ribs.
Brandon went down with a huff, the wind knocked out of him. Cullen dropped his sword and offered him a hand up. “Very good,” he said. “But you made some mistakes, as well. Your form is good, especially your footing, but you need to work on your balance. I should not have been able to knock you down so easily. Also, keep your shield closer to you if you are going to strike out like that, makes it harder for me to get underneath it while you are distracted.”
He turned to the first recruit. “Did you see what I did?” The recruit nodded. “What’s your name, son?” Cullen asked.
“Christophe, sir,” he answered, his voice timid.
“Ah,” Cullen nodded. “Orlesian, are you?” The boy nodded. “Well, try to keep that shield pointed the right way. You keep that edge angled toward your face, a clever and skilled fighter can force you to bash yourself in the face with the edge. Not to mention it will help you block unfriendly magic.”
The recruit nodded again. “Yes, Commander. I will remember.”
“See that you do.” Cullen gestured for them to begin practicing again, and watched for a moment. Satisfied they had both made progress, he moved up and down the line, watching the other recruits in their drills. They were doing better. The veteran Templars were an enormous asset to their army, and this is where it showed the most.
Cullen squinted in the bright sunlight of early morning. His headache had momentarily eased in the midst of exercise, but it was returning with a vengeance. He made his way toward the weapon rack and picked up a weighted practice sword and shield. He called to one of his lieutenants. “Ser Barris!”
The younger man strode over to him and saluted. “Commander!”
“Spar with me. I need the exercise.”
Ser Barris grinned. “Of course, Commander.” Cullen matched his grin with one of his own as he slid down into his fighting stance. They danced back and forth for a few minutes, matching blow for blow. Cullen chose Ser Barris because he was very nearly as good as he was himself – better than Cullen had been at his age. Sweat began beading on his forehead as they fought, even in the coolness of the mountain air. Soon the recruits stopped their own drills to watch the fight. Cullen could see them taking bets on who would win, even though they tried to disguise the fact.
He met Ser Barris’ eyes for a second and grinned again. Ser Barris nodded and smiled back in acknowledgement. They both quickened their pace, each trying to outmaneuver the other. Their swords clacked against each other and their shields, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and carrying over the cheers and shouts of the recruits.
Finally, Cullen saw an opening and took it. He moved so quickly his motions were a blur, and then Ser Barris was on the ground, the tip of Cullen’s sword pressing lightly on his throat.
“Yield?”
“I yield, I yield,” Ser Barris replied, breathless with exhaustion and amusement. “Thanks for the workout, Commander.”
Cullen pulled him up off the ground and clapped him on the shoulder. “Anytime, Ser Barris. Keep up the good work.”