Harry’s sword flung from his hand in a flash of steel and light. A swift kick sent him down, landing squarely on his back. The force knocked the air from his chest, and he struggled to breathe for a moment. After taking in a sharp breath, he looked up at the imposing figure above him, sword pointing straight at him.

“You’ll never protect the princess like that, boy!” His father’s voice boomed over him and Harry could say nothing except a mild scoff which barely made any audible noise. “Get up! We’re going to run this again until you at least stop ending up on your back.”

Picking himself up, he walked silently to grab his sword which lay in the dirt a few feet away. How does he always do this? I haven’t lost a fight to any of the knights in years, and yet this old fart just puts me on my back every time we spar. Harry set his jaw, assumed his stance, and prepared for the onslaught that was his father’s attack.

Although Harry had long since grown taller than his father, the old man always managed to knock him flat on the earth. He seemed unusually strong, even for a blacksmith. Harry couldn’t understand how a man that was short enough to have trouble mounting a horse could move with such speed and ferocity.

Harry had no time to think of a new plan, his father was already moving in. The blacksmith used an aggressive one-handed style, so Harry changed up his stance to strong style, holding his sword further away from his body than normal with the tip raised up, and attempted to find an opening in his attack. He came at Harry with a quick over-hand slash, easily deflected, but then seemed to bounce off the parry and came in for a sweeping attack at his left side. Harry was forced to retreat a few steps to break off the engagement.

“Stand firm!” His father bellowed. “If I make it past you, I can hurt those you protect. Do not let me gain ground.” He came again, this time with a sweeping upwards swing. Harry saw his chance and took it, pressing his sword downward into the swing and bringing his leg up for a swift kick. The kick hit its mark and his father got knocked back, though he remained on his feet. That kick shouldn’t have hit. He’s normally faster than that.

“Well done, son.” He said with a mild grunt, showing his fatigue for the first time all training session. “Let’s call it a day. We need to get you ready for the princess’ birthday party. Come, dinner should be done about now.”

They both sheathed their swords and gathered their belongings and headed back into the house. It was certainly no grand castle, but Harry always felt safe here. A cozy stone house with one floor and only a handful of small rooms. A small fire pit with an open flame provided light to the dark interior. Harry kept telling his dad to knock out a few stones to act as windows, to which he always responded “I’ll get around to it.” He, of course, never did, and the home sometimes felt more like a cave, voices echoing in the small chamber of the main room. Harry set the swords and equipment down by the front door and went to change into some nicer clothes.

“You let me hit you, didn’t you?” Harry said.

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“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no way I could have stepped into the kick and push you off balance before gutting you. That would be way too much for these old bones to handle.”

Harry sighed and strode into his room. He removed his shirt and grimaced at the scars on his tan arms. He had been considered an adult for a few years by now, but still he felt as self-conscious as a first-time beggar. He was no longer the scrawny urchin that was shown pity by a lonely blacksmith. In fact, he was rather strong for his size. But still, he wished he could have fairer features. His rough black hair was always so unruly that it made him look sloppy, even in the finest of clothes. His dark brown eyes did little to stand out, often getting lost behind the hair that would hang over his face from time to time. How could he ever get someone like Bridget to ever notice him? He put on a fresh shirt and pulled on his jacket and boots. He hoped that his bright red jacket would at least make them acknowledge him.

Today was no day for doubts though; it was Bridget’s birthday, a wonderful day for celebrating and she was a wonderful person deserving of every praise that could be said. And he was finally ready to say those praises to her, because today he would be brave. Today was the day where a boy would become a man and tell a woman how much he loved her.

He knew that they couldn’t be together, but he wanted to tell her. He needed to tell her. He was so desperate to have her know that he would protect her for the rest of their lives if she would just let him. But of course, that would never be; the son of a blacksmith isn’t given the luxury of loving royalty. He wasn’t even sure that she felt the same way for him. He gets so tongue tied anytime he tries to say anything personal to Bridget; how could she feel anything but pity? But that was not the Harry that would walk out of this house tonight.

He practically burst through his doorway with renewed resolve, only to remember that he was still at home with his father. The old man was serving up hot potato soup with a large loaf of dark wheat bread.

“Now, now. We can’t go bursting into a royal party on an empty stomach.” He beckoned Harry to come eat, and Harry had to admit he was rather hungry after their sparring session.

Harry sat down and set to putting down his dinner as quickly as possible. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment. Silence always bothered Harry; it allowed him to hear his fears and doubts which he normally kept buried under the sounds of his surroundings. He had developed an uncanny ability to focus on distinct sounds and separate them even in louder settings. Who knew? Being able to pick out a particular set of footsteps in a crowded room might prove life-saving one day.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, he decided to start a conversation, even one he knew he wouldn’t like too much. “I’m ready to tell her.” Harry said through a mouth full of bread and soup. His father wrinkled his rather large nose at that remark and stared at him with his narrow eyes.

“You sure about this, son? You know it can only end in one way for you two.”

“I know dad. But whenever I see her look my way with those bright eyes, or her warm smile, or the way she looks when she blushes…” He trailed off for a moment, stirring at his soup. “I just need to let her know how I feel. If for no other reason than so she has an excuse to reassign me or pick a new guard.”

“So,” his father mused, “you’re ready to give up your knighthood for the sake of a woman.” His tone was serious, but his face carried a wry smile. “Well then, I’ll be sure to keep the forge warm for you when you manage to screw this up.”

Harry grabbed what was left of his bread and threw it straight at his father’s face.