Lloyd

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"Nervous?"

Lloyd looked to his right from his seated position. His father was leaning on the entrance hall to the prep room. Merely calling it a room didn't do it justice. Lloyd was told that shortly after he was born, his father made it a point to furnish every and all rooms with weapons and armor. No matter if it was the bathe house, latrines, or cook house. It didn't matter if you didn't know how to use the weapons like a swordsman. So long as you knew which side was the pointy end, that was enough. 

Needless to say, the prep room could likely equip a small army.

"No, pa," Lloyd said, shaking his head. "If anything...I'm excited. It's not every day one gets to match a hero swordsman." He clasped his shaky hands tightly.

Arthur nodded solemnly. "As you should be. He said you were a little young, so you don't have to get any points."

His father peered at him. "Win. Or lose." Arthur came to offer his hand. "I'm proud of you either way."

Lloyd grabbed the extended hand. He rose to give his father an embrace.

"I know pa," he whispered.

"With that being said." Arthur held him out at arms length. "Go kick his arse!"

"Yessir!"

The match was coming. He knew. They say the jitter always come before a match. Sometimes it was to the death. Other times it was to first blood. Thank Ultor, his was only until he gave up or scored a point. Otherwise, he would have just fallen on his own sword to save himself some time. Knowing who his opponent was, that'd be a mercy. One point on a clean hit. Sounds easy enough. Against the greatest swordsman he's ever known, heard of, or maybe even of all the dukedoms...it should only take him a few cycles. 

Or maybe a lifetime.

Each step he took through the hall, he walked a little straighter.

Each step, he stood taller.

His heart beat quickening, but his pace steady. 

His hands shook, but only slightly now. 

HIs mind filled with anticipation.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" an announcer yelled off to the side. "Here he comes! Our last challenger of the day!" His voice amplified and carried by the wind of the gifted. Silencing the crowd. 

Lloyd stopped briefly at the sudden loud noise. He could see the arena. Perfectly cubed cobblestones formed a square wide enough to sit twenty men on each side. It was cordoned off by miniscule walls, merely a precaution for the little ones. His sight was blinded momentarily by the high shines of the day. But then, he saw him.

In all his glory. A giant of a man. Tall and lithe. Graceful and beautiful, although his attitude could use some work. He wasn't vain. Didn't compete to gain honor or prestige. Not for coins. Not for the loyalty of others. Nor was it to win the hand of a fair maiden. 

He fought for justice.

"Stop staring and go kick his arse son! Any more ogling and it'll go straight to his giant head!" Arthur yelled from his bench.

"Stop that," Alice scolded beside Arthur. Lightly cuffing him on the head.

Lloyd breathed again. Coming back to himself from his daydream. Seeing his parents together always put a smile on his face. Whether bickering or warming together. Just seeing them here. Watching over him. 

Watching him walk the gallows, but that's beside the point.

It made him felt good. 

Proud, to be their son.

Lloyd walked to the center of the arena. Facing off against a man. A man of legends if the stories were true. And he'd bet his father's virtue, they were. He's seen enough to believe every one. Unbelievable feats. Slaying hundreds with no injuries. Fighting off savage animals with nothing but his hands. Bedding thousands of women in a night...

Well...that last one may be a bit of a stretch.

The way he walks.

The way he moves.

A god among men.

"Stare at me any longer and I'll poke your eyes out," his opponent cried. 

His opponent hopped from foot to foot. Tossing his sword from palm to palm. As if an arm length of steel was nothing but a toothpick. 

"I thought we were using wooden swords?" Lloyd asked confusely. Holding his own.

The man shrugged. "My last opponent had a different idea." Gesturing to a corner in the arena of somone being carried off in a stretcher. 

Lloyd gulped. "He's not dead is he?"

"I doubt it. He was still cursing my name until just a moment ago."

Making a face, Lloyd decided to ask no further and leave all else out of his mind. Focusing on his match.

"Pleasure to have a match with you, Sir!" Lloyd bowed at the waist.

"Well, well. Aren't you all grown up." His opponent walked to the side to retrieve a wooden sword. "Last time I saw you." He made a gesture to his hips. "You were about yee high."

"Aye, Sir!" Lloyd saluted. "It's all the meat and greens I eat, Sir! Ma said they will me big and strong as you someday. Sir!" He finished with another salute to his chest. 

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"Should I be worried about our son?" Alice asked Arthur with furry brows. "He doesn't talk like that to me, much less you."

"He's fine, dear. He just really admires the guy. Give it a few cycles. It'll go away." Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "Boys will be boys."

Alice didn't look convinced. Instead she raised a hand to let Lloyd know she wanted to speak with him before the match.

Looking around the crowd from his opponent's head gesture, Lloyd saw his mother. He bowed to his opponent again to apologize for the delay and lightly jogged to her.

"Yea, ma?"

"Are you okay, hon?" 

It was her eyes. 

Deep.

Soulful.

Like she was afraid he would disappear.

"Yes, ma." Lloyd reached over the wall to embrace her. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

Not a brilliant one, but it was a plan.

Sort of.

He let the embrace go on for a bit longer than necessary before he gently pulled back. Giving her a nod, he turned around and attempted to jog back into the arena.

Alice reached out and stopped him. Grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn around.

She looked at him again. 

Gah! I'm melting!!!

"I'll be fine, ma. I promise." He tried to give his most serious face. 

Alice covered her mouth to deny a chuckle.

He blushed and quickly jogged back into the arena.

"You have a wondeful mother."

"I know..." Lloyd responded. "Thank you."

"A fool of a father though."

"I think he gets it from you..."

His opponent laughed. A big one from his throat.

"Bwhahahahahahaha!"

The laughter seemed to ring all around the crowd. Hushing the whispers. The incessant foot taps and dallyings. The whole crowd seemed to be in a trance, holding its breath. Waiting for release that would never come.

Then, the laughter stopped abruptly. 

"Let us begin."

Lloyd woke up at the edge of the arena, the base of the wall. Sitting with his back to it. He shook his head this way and that. Confused and disoriented. He flexed his hands. 

Good. He didn't drop his sword. He'd never hear the end of days from Tim if he dropped it here. Not having used it once.

The crowd didn't know if to applaud or scream at the display. "Th-th-the winner is-is-" the announcer stuttered to finish.

"Drop the rules. This match isn't over until he gives up or scores a hit on me. I gave the duke my words." His opponent wasn't laughing anymore. No mirth on his face. It was a deadly beauty of sorts.

"Get up."

Lloyd struggled to move his legs. His head hurt, but not too bad. He needed a moment. To slow his breathing. To focus on his legs and hands. He focused on his will.

His determination.

His drive.

His reason for being here.

To be in this arena.

For a chance to be with the best.

To show his father how far he came with his training. 

He stood up slowly. Wobbling at first, but then he straightened out. 

Lloyd inhaled in another slow, agonizingly sweet, breath. Then he charged. 

"Arthur...," Alice slowly pulled on his sleeve. Not looking away from her son. Every time he was struck down, he got back up. Every time he flew to one corner, he charged back in.

Never dropping his sword.

"I know, dear," Arthur whispered. He clasped both her hands. "I know."

This time!

Lloyd woke up in the corner again. His body hurt all over. If he didn't hurt so much he'd have thought himself dead. But Death was never that kind.

This time for sure. He can see it now. The nuance in his opponent's swordplay. He sucked in a breath. Running head long back into the grinder. 

Two more steps and I'll be in his reach.

Lloyd made the second step and then he pre-emptively jumped and pivot right. Just as he was in mid jump the ground trembled where he once stood. The tremors no longer froze his heart. The devastation he'd felt for the past blows were no longer as terrifying. He brought his sword up for an arm strike. Aiming for just the tip. 

His sword passed through nothing. He already knew. He planned this.

His momentum carried his slash through, but he was already dropping his knees. Bending them to lower his frame. 

He felt it then. 

A hurricane of force above his head. A gale of mass destruction.

Lloyd finished his spin rotation and brought his sword over his right shoulder to transition to an overhanded strike. Pleased with himself for a moment he could actually get one successful hit.

He struck nothing, again. He despaired. He thought for sure he got him this time.

Lloyd felt the sensation again. His skin tingled. His hairs standing up on ends. The incoming blow. The natural disaster. The might of a thousand men. His opponent was simply too strong. Too fast. Too..., everything.

He couldn't win.

Even though he trained so hard. He trained until he bled. Until he collapsed. Until he couldn't move.

Day in and day out.

He didn't have time to make real friends. Who'd want to be friends with the child of the most powerful person in the city. They'd be terrified of saying something out of turn and being snitched on. Or they'd tried to coerce him and use him for their own ends. Some of the nobles were no different. He knew his father was a good person. A good duke. He's made a lot of good changes in the city. He allowed for the people's voice to be heard. He paved ways for the poor to have a chance at redemption. But nothing's perfect. Lloyd thought he saw what was wrong with their city. The source of the corruption. It wasn't entirely the nobles fault. He didn't blame them.

You don't blame a wolf for eating a sheep. 

Instead Lloyd wanted to grow up and be the strongest and righteous person ever. His father was only one man. 

He will be many.

He will be the man to call for help if someone needs it.

When someone needs a hand to tend the farm.

He'll be there to pay for the healing brews when a sick person needs them.

Redeem those who were forced to commit themselves to a life of crime. 

He'll dole out punishment to the unjust and give them reprieve. 

Show them the light.

The world doesn't have to be a cruel place.

He will be many.

Lloyd saw the blade coming. He didn't see it with his eyes though. Nor was it a feeling either. It was a weird sensation he couldn't describe. It's like when you toss something up and you know it must come down. One does not need to see or feel it to know it is inevitable.

If he's fast enough. A side-step. That's all he need. 

Lloyd struggled with his mind. Making it tell his legs to move faster than he's ever tried before. Just a step. 

Just one step!

The blow came. It thundered onto his leg. A piercing crack could be heard if he wasn't deaf to all outside noise.

But he didn't cry out. 

Instead he used that as the crutch his body needed to spring into action. On his way down he used as much strength as he could muster for one last swing. 

Do, or die.

Lloyd stirred awake at a slapping on the face. Forcing his head this way and that. 

"Owwwww..."

"The slapping or...everywhere else?"

"Boootthhh," Lloyd moaned.

Lloyd attempted to open his eyes. Tilting his head to and fro.

Upon inspecting his opponent's shin. He smiled.

A mark.

"Hehe...I...win," he chuckled lazily.

Ancile smiled warmly. "That you did, lad."