Three Fates Entwined | Dream Team

Chapter Two

George sighed and rested his chin on his propped up hand. Being a prince was boring work. His father was the king, so all he had to do was sit there and look important.

Sure, he had luxuries that others could only dream of possessing, but he didn't enjoy it. He'd rather give it all away for a normal life. 

It wasn't even a very comfortable role, either. His blue shirt and navy pants were the only articles of clothing that he actually liked, along with his white clout glasses, a joking gift from one of his few friends. But like his father, he wore heavy golden accessories and a long blue cloak with a simple design of a white rectangle with an embroidery of red. His family's crest. All in all, he felt like an over-decorated Christmas tree, about to topple over at any second.

His father sat next to him, wearing a cloak much his own. He had straight brown hair and brown eyes, with fair skin and a bushy beard. George had always been told that he looked his like father, and apart from the beard, that was true.

"No, no, the trade must go through," his father argued with the nobleman in front of him. "There must be peace between our two territories. We have worked too hard for it to all go to waste."

"But, sire---" the nobleman began, but the king cut him off with an angry look.

"Just do it," he snapped. "Gather up the promised amount of leather and prepare it for shipment by midday. I don't want any more concerns regarding you to reach my ear, understood?"

"Yes, my Lord," the nobleman mumbled, bowing low and exiting the room.

George suppressed a chuckle. Watching his father impose his power on people who acted all high and mighty, only to get squashed down again, always managed to cheer him up.

The king sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He glanced over at George and frowned. "Are you laughing?"

"No," George said, perfectly straight-faced. "I'm not. Definitely not."

"You're laughing."

"No, I'm not."

"I just saw you laugh."

"Maybe you saw wrong."

A slight smile floated onto his father's face. "I have to admit, it is pretty amusing when it's not irritating me. But pay attention, George. Stop daydreaming all the time."

"I'm bored," George complained. "What is there to pay attention to? Nobles come in, complain, you complain back at them and tell them to stop complaining, and they carry out your orders and leave. There's nothing else to it."

"It does seem very bland when you put it that way," the king admitted. "But you'll be getting your first swordfighting lessons today. That's interesting, eh?"

"I'm going to get stabbed," George said glumly. "I'm calling it."

"You're not going to get stabbed," his father said, his brow creasing slightly. "Injured, maybe, but not stabbed. You're over exaggerating."

"Am I? You've seen how the knights in your army duel. How many people don't have all ten fingers anymore?"

"You'll be fine."

"Sure. My body won't be, maybe, but I'll be fine."

The king sighed again. "George, please. You're the prince. My son. Nobody in their right mind would dare to hurt you. But someone who isn't in their right mind will. That's why you have to take these lessons. I'm trying to protect you."

George smiled, even though his heart wasn't really into it. "I know."

***

"The sword is an extension of your body," the instructor, a young man named Filens, said as he paced in front of George. "You must wield it with feeling."

"Feeling of what?" George asked. "Hatred? Vengeance? Fear of getting your arms sliced off?"

"Armor alone isn't enough to protect you," Filens continued, completely ignoring him. "There will always be a chink that will lead to your downfall. But if you have a sword and can protect that chink, ensuring that nobody can strike at it, then you are as good as untouchable on the battlefield."

"What if I can't use a sword?"

"That's why I'm here to teach you." The knight fixed his eyes upon George. "Ah, good, you have a sword already. A sword is like a companion, a life-long friend that will stay by your side forever."

"So... like a pet?"

"A good sword can save your life," Filens droned on, brandishing his. The light gleamed off of the blade, reflecting into George's eyes and making him wish that he had brought his goggles with him. "You must treat your sword with respect, and in return, it will serve you."

"Sir, it's not alive, you know."

"Respect, young prince!" Filens lunged at George. "Now parry!"

"What? I don't even know what that is! You haven't taught me anything!"

George brought his sword up just in time to save his head from being chopped off and pushed back, putting some distance between himself and his very ignorant teacher.

"I believe in learning on the job," the knight announced, slicing in a downward arc at George before sidestepping his returning attack and moving his sword towards his undefended left side. 

George jumped away from the blade, but it kept coming. This is it, he thought miserably. Dead at the hands of a lunatic knight who has no idea what the concept of teaching really is. How embarrassing.

The sword stopped inches away from his blue shirt. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.

"That'll be enough, Filens," the king said, his sword the only thing stopping Filens's one from piercing through George. "Tomorrow, I want you to go over the basics first before throwing my son into battle."

Filens bowed low. "Of course, sire."

As the knight hurried away, the king turned to George. "So, how was your first day of swordfighting?"

"I'm pretty sure I almost died," George said, rubbing his head. "Are you sure that Filens is a compatible instructor?"

"He is a good fighter," his father said with a chuckle. "He just does things in a way that is different than ours."

"Too different," George muttered.

"I must say, for someone as inexperienced as you are, you did a fine job of protecting yourself," the king mused, giving George a warm smile. "I was ready to jump in and save you, but it seemed like I didn't have to until the end."

"I wish you had saved me earlier," he grumbled. "I'm pretty sure that Filens is going to appear in my nightmares now."

"You can handle him," the king said. "Alright, George, I must get going now. The sun is setting, and I have unfinished business to attend to. Goodnight."

George watched as his father strolled away. "Sweet dreams."