Admiré
adMire`
A young child dressed in a plain comfortable uniform, with gray loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt. It was paired with deep navy boots and a vest. The colors brought out the pale pink skin of the child and his vibrant cerulean eyes. On top his head, his black hair shimmered a dim navy in the sunlight.
Sitting outside in an courtyard full of worn out grass, dirt patches and few trees, the child watched as an older man who looked strikingly similar to him was practicing sword techniques. The man spun the dull claymore around, then thrust it forward- the movements blended together as if it were some form of dance. Mesmerized by the fluid motions, the child couldn't look away. There were other young men, and a few women, practicing similar techniques with their own swords, gladii and rapiers. Even though every one was moving equally as fluid as the man, only he could keep the child's attention.
After a few moments, the man handed off the claymore to a man around his age, patted his shoulder and then headed towards the child. He smiled at him briefly in the corner of his lips, but it vanished quickly as he spoke, “You shouldn't just watch. Get up and interact with these.” He gestured to the lightweight gladius next to the boy.
The boy shook his head, “Why do I have to learn this?”
The man nodded, “Protecting your kingdom is important, to everyone. Don't you want to protect the things you care about?”
“Hm... Things I care about? Like people?” the child asked. Once more, the man nodded, lifting his hand up to ruffle the dark hair atop the child's head.
“You'll find out what you wanna protect soon.”
“Sir!” the man with claymore came running up suddenly, interrupting their conversation. When the man glared at him, he bowed his head quickly. “Sorry, but the squires would like you to demonstrate the claymore again against someone.”
“Very well.” He groaned, stretching his arms a bit. He took back the sword and tested its weight briefly before nodding to the man, sending him off. “I wish they'd just learn to watch closer.” He looked down to the boy, and patted his head again, “You'll be a squire in no time!”
The boy laughed, “It's hard enough being just a page.”
“You'll catch on as soon as you find what you wanna protect.” Though his voice was warm, firm and friendly, there was no smile on his face. After he finished speaking, he walked off toward a group of early teenagers with claymores-- all of which seemed too tall for them.
After a few moments of speaking and simple slow-motion demonstrations, the man began to move once more with the sword. The child could hear across the courtyard directions such as “it's an extension of your body,” and “don't force it to move,” and “balance is key.” It was hypnotizing watching these motions. The man moved with grace, balance and purpose. Clearly, he had something he wanted to protect- the kingdom, his family, his friends- the kid wasn't sure which of these was the correct answer. Did the answer matter, or was it the need to have an answer?
While the child thought this over, years passed and soon he was a squire at the young age of 11; training with other squires 14 and 16 years old. It felt awkward and forced, but he had the skill to be there.
Early in the morning, the young man spent his free time before breakfast jogging or practicing with various swords and spears in the courtyard. On this particular morning, cool mist hung heavily in the air, rising off of the grass and captured in by the box of the walls. High above in the sky were dim gray clouds, slowly growing white as the sun peaked over the horizon, flooding golden light from the ocean to the east. The young man practiced, swinging a dull claymore around as he desperately tried to mimic the fluid dancing motions that had captivated him years before.
After ten minutes, he swung the sword wrong, lost his balance and fell over. He groaned, sitting up to glare at the heavy sword. “It's too long.”
“No.” came a voice from within the shadows of the overhang to the right. Annoyed, but curious, the boy looked over to see the very man he was copying walking toward him. “You're just making movements that aren't necessary.” The boy groaned at him. “You want help, Lien?”
Sighing as he stood up, picking up the sword once more. “Sure, Dad. Show me.” His father took the claymore from Lien and started to show him slow movements and positions, how to have your hands and twist them wrist correctly. When Lien tried the same movements, he attempted to put his own spin on them, but his father caught him immediately and forced him to do the basics again.
Finally, with the sun peeking up, and the morning mist having burned off, Lien fell to his knees. “You're making me hold my feet down too much!”
“You're not moving them correctly.” his father argued back, his arms crossed. “You have to perfect the upper half from your hips up before you can add any footwork to it.” He noticed the annoyed and depressed look that was coming over his son's face. Attempting to take that grim expression off, he added, “Work with the weapons you're naturally talented at- one-handed swords.”
Lien rolled his eyes, picking the claymore up and readying a basic position with the blade parallel to the ground. “They're too easy.”
Shifting his chin, his father mumbled, “Try spears. That'll give you a workout and their weight is distributed differently.”
“Claymore. Broadsword, two-hands,” Lien answered stubbornly, thrusting the sword forward and its tip plummeted into the dirt. His arms were too tired and weak to hold it upright any longer.
Without a word, Lien's father came over and picked up the sword from his hands. He held it parallel to the ground, thrust it forward flawlessly and nodded. “It's too long. We'll get you a shorter one.” Lien stared at his back, wondering in the back of his mind if he could have that kind of confident poise when he found something he truly wanted to protect and wasn't just mimicking.
Sitting outside in an courtyard full of worn out grass, dirt patches and few trees, the child watched as an older man who looked strikingly similar to him was practicing sword techniques. The man spun the dull claymore around, then thrust it forward- the movements blended together as if it were some form of dance. Mesmerized by the fluid motions, the child couldn't look away. There were other young men, and a few women, practicing similar techniques with their own swords, gladii and rapiers. Even though every one was moving equally as fluid as the man, only he could keep the child's attention.
After a few moments, the man handed off the claymore to a man around his age, patted his shoulder and then headed towards the child. He smiled at him briefly in the corner of his lips, but it vanished quickly as he spoke, “You shouldn't just watch. Get up and interact with these.” He gestured to the lightweight gladius next to the boy.
The boy shook his head, “Why do I have to learn this?”
The man nodded, “Protecting your kingdom is important, to everyone. Don't you want to protect the things you care about?”
“Hm... Things I care about? Like people?” the child asked. Once more, the man nodded, lifting his hand up to ruffle the dark hair atop the child's head.
“You'll find out what you wanna protect soon.”
“Sir!” the man with claymore came running up suddenly, interrupting their conversation. When the man glared at him, he bowed his head quickly. “Sorry, but the squires would like you to demonstrate the claymore again against someone.”
“Very well.” He groaned, stretching his arms a bit. He took back the sword and tested its weight briefly before nodding to the man, sending him off. “I wish they'd just learn to watch closer.” He looked down to the boy, and patted his head again, “You'll be a squire in no time!”
The boy laughed, “It's hard enough being just a page.”
“You'll catch on as soon as you find what you wanna protect.” Though his voice was warm, firm and friendly, there was no smile on his face. After he finished speaking, he walked off toward a group of early teenagers with claymores-- all of which seemed too tall for them.
After a few moments of speaking and simple slow-motion demonstrations, the man began to move once more with the sword. The child could hear across the courtyard directions such as “it's an extension of your body,” and “don't force it to move,” and “balance is key.” It was hypnotizing watching these motions. The man moved with grace, balance and purpose. Clearly, he had something he wanted to protect- the kingdom, his family, his friends- the kid wasn't sure which of these was the correct answer. Did the answer matter, or was it the need to have an answer?
While the child thought this over, years passed and soon he was a squire at the young age of 11; training with other squires 14 and 16 years old. It felt awkward and forced, but he had the skill to be there.
Early in the morning, the young man spent his free time before breakfast jogging or practicing with various swords and spears in the courtyard. On this particular morning, cool mist hung heavily in the air, rising off of the grass and captured in by the box of the walls. High above in the sky were dim gray clouds, slowly growing white as the sun peaked over the horizon, flooding golden light from the ocean to the east. The young man practiced, swinging a dull claymore around as he desperately tried to mimic the fluid dancing motions that had captivated him years before.
After ten minutes, he swung the sword wrong, lost his balance and fell over. He groaned, sitting up to glare at the heavy sword. “It's too long.”
“No.” came a voice from within the shadows of the overhang to the right. Annoyed, but curious, the boy looked over to see the very man he was copying walking toward him. “You're just making movements that aren't necessary.” The boy groaned at him. “You want help, Lien?”
Sighing as he stood up, picking up the sword once more. “Sure, Dad. Show me.” His father took the claymore from Lien and started to show him slow movements and positions, how to have your hands and twist them wrist correctly. When Lien tried the same movements, he attempted to put his own spin on them, but his father caught him immediately and forced him to do the basics again.
Finally, with the sun peeking up, and the morning mist having burned off, Lien fell to his knees. “You're making me hold my feet down too much!”
“You're not moving them correctly.” his father argued back, his arms crossed. “You have to perfect the upper half from your hips up before you can add any footwork to it.” He noticed the annoyed and depressed look that was coming over his son's face. Attempting to take that grim expression off, he added, “Work with the weapons you're naturally talented at- one-handed swords.”
Lien rolled his eyes, picking the claymore up and readying a basic position with the blade parallel to the ground. “They're too easy.”
Shifting his chin, his father mumbled, “Try spears. That'll give you a workout and their weight is distributed differently.”
“Claymore. Broadsword, two-hands,” Lien answered stubbornly, thrusting the sword forward and its tip plummeted into the dirt. His arms were too tired and weak to hold it upright any longer.
Without a word, Lien's father came over and picked up the sword from his hands. He held it parallel to the ground, thrust it forward flawlessly and nodded. “It's too long. We'll get you a shorter one.” Lien stared at his back, wondering in the back of his mind if he could have that kind of confident poise when he found something he truly wanted to protect and wasn't just mimicking.