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Jill always watches him train.
Clive is certain she must have many other things to do in her day-to-day than cheer him on. Young ladies, compared to their male peers, are expected to boast a great variety of accomplishments—needlework, painting, singing, dancing, playing an instrument—yet she always takes the time to watch him.
Joshua accompanies her more often than not, but Jill is a welcome constant.
It cannot be solely for him. Clive knows better than to make such an arrogant assumption even if he might hope, secretly, that she has enough fondness for him that it plays a part. A small one, perhaps, if he permits himself the childish fantasy.
However, Clive decides it’s more likely that her persistence in watching him spar must indicate some sort of interest in swordplay. It’s not permissible for a young girl, let alone a princess, to engage in such things, so watching Clive train is likely her way of living vicariously through him.
A more sensible voice in his head points out that if that were the case, Jill could be watching any of the Shields who train for hours in the courtyard, but he dismisses it immediately. It might be considered unseemly for her to pay any sort of attention to low-ranking guards, so Clive is her only safe option.
Having finished one of his practice bouts one afternoon, Clive gathers up his courage and approaches her. She deserves more than to simply sit and watch as an onlooker day after day.
Jill sits on her customary spot atop the large crate right outside the sparring ring, Torgal fast asleep beside her. She smiles brightly as he walks over, eyes narrowing slightly with a softness that almost makes him miss a step.
“You were great today,” she says, idly petting Torgal as her fingers run over his small spine. “Even quicker than yesterday, I think.”
Clive can’t quite seem to hold her gaze, a subtle heat gathering in his neck and cheeks. “You flatter me, my lady.”
“Not at all.”
His grip around his practice sword tightens, reminding him of his purpose. “Do you enjoy watching swordplay?”
Jill blinks at him, expression turning thoughtful as if she never considered it before. “I suppose I do.”
“Would you like to try it?”
Her eyes go wide, glancing down at his wooden sword. “You mean…?”
“I can show you,” Clive proposes, watching the way her gaze flits across the courtyard. “The only people you risk running into here are Joshua or my father, neither of which would scold you for it. My mother is occupied with one of her tea parties, she won’t notice.”
Jill seems to think on it a while, her slight frame tensed with nerves. Clive wonders if he was too forward, but before he can take back the suggestion and apologize, a look of determination crosses her features.
She hops down from the crate, lightly dusting off her skirt. “Alright. I’d love to learn, but I should warn you that I’ve never held a sword before.”
“It’s not that difficult,” he reassures her as she walks around the wooden fencing and enters the sparring area. “Although- give me one moment.”
The sword in his hand might be made of wood, its weight is comparable to a real one. Not ideal for a small girl to start with. Clive crosses the ring towards the rack of practice weapons, putting his own sword away and picking up a wooden dagger instead. It’s still quite big for Jill, larger than a knife, but it should be easier to wield.
Jill considers it with a flicker of interest as she takes it from him, turning it over in her hand.
“Too heavy?”
She shakes her head. “It’s light enough. I haven’t seen you use a dagger very often.”
“Usually, it’s a last resort.” Clive watches her grip the hilt more firmly as she lifts it. “You don’t want to bring a dagger to a sword fight in most cases. It has very little reach.”
“Am I holding it right?” Jill makes a slashing motion with the dagger, and Clive has to suppress a smile.
“Here, let me—” He reaches out before thinking, gloved hand lightly touching on her fingers.
Jill stills, while Clive realizes what he’s doing and quickly yanks his hand back, heart skipping a beat.
“My apologies,” he says quickly, but Jill shakes her head.
“It’s fine,” she says quietly, the light dusting of a blush tinting the top of her cheeks. “You were only showing me how to hold it.”
“Right.” Clive clears his throat, refocusing on the lesson. “You’ll want to use it to stab rather than slash.”
He goes through the short motion with an imaginary dagger of his own, smiling when Jill immediately mimics his posture and movement with understated enthusiasm. “It’ll do more damage that way, especially against an armored opponent.”
Jill gives him an amused look. “Think I’ll be fighting a lot of armored opponents?”
“You never know.” Clive gives a small grin, tilting his head in consideration when he watches her stab the air again. She has picked up the correct form remarkably quickly. “I think you might have a knack for it.”
“Really?” She looks at him, eyes lit up. “Enough to wield a sword?”
Clive huffs a laugh. She reminds him of himself when he first started training, all passion and determination. “Perhaps, after some practice. What kind of sword would you like?”
Jill considers his question. “Maybe something like… a fencer?” She imitates the vague approximation of a fencer’s stance, her arms a bit wobbly but in an earnest attempt as she stabs the dagger forward.
“A rapier?”
She does seem to like stabbing, especially.
What have I done, Clive thinks with affection as Jill smiles up at him with pure innocence after stabbing her imaginary opponent in the gut.
He doesn’t think he knows, or will ever know, another like Jill Warrick.