Practice makes Perfect {Gwen}

[Cazaril]

With a new body, came the need for practice and so, to practice with the sword sounded like the best option. Cazaril had been taught from a young age to kill with his sword, not to 'duel' as such in that flattering way some princes were taught to keep them busy. This was the way all the soldiers in Chalion had been taught, like a butcher, not a peacock. Even practicing had been done with their true swords when they hit squire age of thirteen. If you got nipped, it was your fault for fooling around. 

Now with his older body restored, it wasn't in it's best shape, and that was something he knew he would have to fix. So here he was, out in the field now it was clear, before the bonfire that night, striking his sword through the air and trying to build up speed. 

He had to learn this right, he had to get better, before the need to use his sword was required again. If his memory had been taken from him, he had to figure out why, and if so, how would he prevent it from happening again. 

He took a breath. He wasn't tired just yet, just trying to remember each step as he went, before doing a full cycle. It looked a little bit like Tai-chi at this pace, but with a sharp blade moving through the space around him with grace and precision. 

[Guinevere]

“…but I think that maybe Gaston is better at skipping stone because he is a mil-…and a milit…a shoulder.”

“Soldier dear,” said Gwen absentmindedly as the two of them walked through the field, keeping an eye out for danger whilst she held her sons hand.

“That’s what I said,” said Tristian without missing a beat, “and well you must know how to skip stones if you have to fight because-mummy look that man has a sword!”

Tristian was pointing to the other side of the field where a man was doing what looks like a strange dance with a sword. No, not a dance, a drill. Her instinct was to put Tristian behind her and draw her own weapon, however there was something familiar about the man. As she watched him and his face turned towards them she smiled warmly and waving said, “Cazaril!”

[Cazaril]

Cazaril is surprised, he hears voices. He looks round and sees a familiar woman, and a boy he'd never seen before. He sheaths his sword, smiling. Gosh, when was the last time he saw her? Again, his memory falters, as it always does, running a hand through his thinning silvery hair and moves towards her.

"Gwen--Your Highness?"

No. Your Magesty. His head lowers in a bow. She was married to Arthur now. So...before he even begins to correct it he realizes who the boy must be.

"And...this must be your son, hello, Prince Tristian." And Cazaril gives the young man a small bow. A little breathless. "I hope my sword drill didn't disturb you."

[Guinevere]

“Gwen is fine Caz, oh it’s good to see you,” said Gwen, refusing to stand on ceremony and stepping forward to embrace the man.

Her good feeling rapidly started to disappear as she remembered the pain the man must have gone through. Did he even know? Did he know what had become of Morgana? Did he know about what had happened to her son? That poor boy. Even Gwen did not know where Mordred had gone, where that witch had hidden him away, however she had vowed to help Arthur find him, hopefully, when they did, it would not be too late.

“Hallo Mr Caz,” said Tristian, making sure the adults still remembered that he was there, “it didn’t.”

Letting go of Gwen’s hand he picked up one of the sticks on the ground and then started to try and copy the movements that Cazaril had been doing only moments before. Gwen smiled at him fondly before turning back to Cazaril, “how have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages!”

[Cazaril]

The hug was warm and kind, and whenever Caz met Gwen it was hard not to feel overwhelming fondness, like a father with a daughter. Something he had never had. Something he had longed for when his life was settled, but something he probably never would now.

"I'm okay, I've been looking for portals ever since we were sent back, just wanted to get back home. Chalion is a beautiful place, but I don't belong there anymore...I'm glad to be back here."

Then the charming boy made himself known. In the moment that Tristian had spoken to him, Cazaril could feel an overwhelming sense of SOMETHING, that despite his joy and his relief to see Gwen and meet this charming young man, his eyes blinked back unconscious tears, as though there was something he was mourning for.

"Oh," he said, surprised wiping at his eyes, "must be allergies, terribly sorry...I'm alright."

He brushed it off.

"I see you're very good with a stick, I'd like to wager you're better than your father." He gave Gwen a smile, still troubled by his feeling of sudden grief, "Come duel with me, Mr Tristian?" he asked, picking up a similar sized stick, giving Gwen a look, questioning if this was okay. "If your mother will permit me?"

[Guinevere]

She should have expected it.

Allergies? No. Guinevere knew exactly what the man in front of her must have been thinking as he looked down at her son, and her heart went out to him. It was combined with a rage that flared up every now and then when she was reminded of that witch Morgana and what she did to her family. Arthur might have found it within himself to forgive her for the pain that she had caused, but Guinevere would never be able to do that. However it wasn’t because of what she did to Arthur, or even what she did to Caz…it was that poor boy, Mordred.

A mother should know better.

How could she believe that what she did now would help her child? How could this be good for him? Where was he now?

She fought down the rage, that wouldn’t help anyone right now, especially not the man in front of her, however thankfully she had someone to help her.

“No one is better than my daddy,” said Tristian, nodding his head sagely, “but I will duel you Mr Caz!”

Tristian started swinging his sword around in an attempt to copy one of his father’s flashier techniques and nearly ended up hitting himself in the end. He smiled at Caz and said, “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

[Cazaril]

Cazaril was glad she didn't ask about it, instead their focus was now on the tiny young boy who was eager to be involved and loved and listened too. He would be honoured to play him. Gosh, there was so much of Arthur in that stance and the way he stood. But there was Gwen too. Such kindness in his bright eyes.

"I am sure that you wont, my Prince."

He raises his stick and lunges it slightly forward. He's trying, but also he knows that the little boy will also try his hardest. The young man has probably been trained to duel, whilst he has been trained to kill, both sword techniques tend to differ.

Cazaril also takes a little jab near Tristian's knees, hoping he was quick enough to deflect their sticks.

[Guinevere]

Tristian jumped back at the jab to his knees and brought his stick round, only just missing Caz’s own stick. He spent quite a bit of time back home learning how to fight with his father and Lance, but parrying had always been a difficult one for him, as was footwork. He was quick with his hands, but when it came to his feet he just couldn’t get them to go the way he wanted them too. It was the same during his dancing lessons with his mother and her ladies, he knew the steps he just couldn’t seem to get his feet to do what his head knew.

Gwen smiled fondly at the two of them as they sparred with one another. Tristian pretending to go into a big swing round to the side and instead jabbing forward quickly towards Caz’s midsection.

It was a move she had seen Arthur use many a time, no doubt a move taught to him by the old man currently sparring with her son.

[Cazaril]

and Gwen would be right, as Tristian's little stick headed towards him, he spun, just out of the way, jabbing again towards the little one's legs, but he just wasn't far enough away before Tristian's sword pressed against where his kidney's would be, and he mock gasped.

"Well, I did say you were better than your father. Using my own trick against me."

He smiled, and gave a bow to the little prince.

"I have been bested. But perhaps, the prince would permit me a drink as the loser? The well over there does have some lovely water..."

It would give him a moment or two alone with Gwen, should she permit such a thing. He wanted to ask how she really was, which would be difficult in front of her darling boy, the boy who for some reason made it hard for him to smile properly, without something holding him back.

[Guinevere]

“That was your trick?” asked Tristian in awe, “my daddy taught me that one, he’s very, very good.”

When Caz asked for water Tristian nodded and said, “I will get it, wait here Mr Caz.”

Tristian then went running off towards the well to collect the water and Gwen moved closer to the older man. Smiling as her son tore off through the grass she said, “That’s all I’ll be hearing about for the next week now. How you said he was almost better than his dad.”

Placing a hand on his shoulder she asked, “How are you really Caz?”