User:Yuanchosaan/Fencing Lessons/Chapter 2

The Wrong Gauntlet

When the door to the Royal Study is forced open without even a knock, one doesn't have to wonder who has barged in.

"You're half an hour late!" shouts Bailey. "What happened to your lectures to us on punctuality?"

Frederick blinks slowly. He and Gabriel have spent the last three hours trawling through economic reports of harvests in the far reaches of Ithil. His desk is covered in scrolls and ledgers, and the dust seems to have settled on his brain. "What do you mean? Late for what?"

"What else could I mean? Fencing! It's today, Freddie."

Frederick forgets his royal dignity for a moment and swears quite loudly. He rounds on Gabriel. "Why didn't you let me know?"

He shrugs. "You seemed to be enjoying running the kingdom. Besides, you booked the visiting dignitaries of Gresta in for a dinner this evening, so I thought you had cancelled it."

"Enjoying-" Frederick splutters. "We've had this conversation before. You are the only person in this kingdom mad enough to enjoy bookwork." He begins shoving the papers into rough piles, shouting for his servants. "Clean this up for me! And bring me my foil- no, the sabre today. Argh, where did I leave the jacket..."

"There are lots of perfectly sane people who enjoy bookwork. Our entire civil service, for example, including your scribes," replies Gabriel calmly. His pile of papers is far neater than Frederick's and is already organised by date.

"Yes, but none of them are mad enough to give their daughter a ledger and an economics textbook for her birthday."

"Noelle enjoys reading, which is more than can be said for Rodger."

"She's five." Abruptly, Frederick pauses. "Wait, you said I had a dinner engagement...?"

"Yes. Their Graces, Duke and Duchess of Philtra, from the Kingdom of Gresta."

"And would there be any consequences if I cancelled the engagement?"

"We nearly went to war with Gresta last year. Also, Rodger skewered the Princess of Gresta's favourite doll with his rapier the other night. I think they were slightly annoyed by that."

Frederick moans softly. It had been going so well for the past few months. Despite the busyness of his schedule, he'd managed (with a lot of help from Gabriel) to slot in a lesson with his family every second night. It was just as he remembered: sparring with Gabriel and Bailey, doing the drills together (though now he, and not his father, is leading), instructing Cressida and Woton. Even Woton appeared to be enjoying himself in the lessons. In the last lesson, he'd scored a touch on Gabriel. Frederick isn't sure what he found more amusing: Gabriel's complete perplexion over having been struck by his younger brother, or Bailey falling over in laughter at the sight, leading Cressida to hit her on the head.

It felt like he had his family back.

"What if I say there's been an emergency?" he hears himself asking. He curses himself as he does - this is certainly not what a King should say! Rodger had to get it from somewhere, he thinks ruefully.

"It won't work. They'll know you'll be fencing. I believe they were quite flattered that you apparently cancelled fencing to have a dinner with them."

"Does everyone know about the fencing?"

"It's hard not to notice when the King looks happier than he has for two and a half years."

"I've only been ruling for two and a half years, Gabriel."

"Precisely."

"He's right, Freddie," says Bailey, adopting a dolorous expression. "Your court had all the liveliness of a funeral, with you being the cheerful guest of honour. I don't think anyone laughed for two years."

Frederick winces. "That bad?"

"I would have used the word "solemn"," says Gabriel, "but broadly correct. It's not that you looked miserable, but it was like you were...frozen. It seemed inappropriate to have laughter, ribald jokes or scandalous gossip in such a court."

"And why didn't one of you tell me that- no, no, I know it's because I'm the King and I set the court." He runs his fingers through his hair. Was that a few silver strands amidst the blond already? "Back to fencing, then. We'll reschedule to tomorrow- no, I have a meeting with Commander Zephyr about the Drakenaar problem, don't I? They day after I have to arrange the feast which takes place in the evening..."

He has a sudden vision of his father, staring out of a window - the window to Frederick's childhood bedroom. For some reason or other, they had missed fencing practice for two weeks in a row. That day had been Gabriel's eighth birthday, and the King had arrived at the court to say that he could not fence despite his promise. Gabriel had looked crushed, but said nothing.

Freddie, on the other hand, had looked at his brother's expression and thrown a tantrum over his father breaking his promise in front of the entire court. But it was the King he was speaking to, not Father, and the King's voice told him to go to his room without even a slice of birthday cake, until he had regained his dignity.

But later, after the feast, Father had come into his bedroom. Staring out the window, he said to him, "Frederick. I let you and Gabe down with the fencing, but the King must always put duty before pleasure. So the King cannot apologise for that."

"Does the King have to put his duty before his family?" asked Frederick.

"The King has to put his duty before everything."

"Being a King doesn't sound particularly fun."

Father laughed softly. Father's laugh was always soft, and very gentle, as was his voice. It was completely different to the King's booming laugh and bold pronouncements. "It isn't, but I'm afraid you don't have much choice about that."

"Can't you make Gabe King? He'd be better at it than I am."

Father stared at him. "Astute. Your mother would probably be a better King than I am, but that's what those two are for. They keep us in line. No, Frederick, this is our duty. Even if you do not feel like the King, you must put on his mask and be him."

Freddie remembered the words he had yelled at Father earlier and blushed. "I wasn't a good King-in-training today, was I? What if I'm a bad King?"

Father picked him up and spun him around, as he always used to do. "You'll be a great King, and both your mother and I will be proud of you. Now look what I've brought you, Freddie."

Freddie had a slice of the birthday cake after all.

Duty before pleasure, before family, before everything, Frederick thinks grimly. Was it this hard for his father? "Brother, sister," he says aloud. "Give my sincere apologies to Woton and Cressida. I do not want the lessons cancelled, however. I think it would be best if the two of you tutored them individually for now, so they don't become out of practice waiting for me to be free."

"Don't you dare use that voice on us, Freddie! This is our family lessons." Gods, it is hard ignoring the hurt in Bailey's voice. He so seldom hears it that he wants to apologise immediately and cancel whatever appointments he has to make her happy.

"They will still happen, whenever I can make them happen. For now, please look after Cressida for me. I am very sorry." Even his apology feels false to him, when spoken in the distant voice of the King.

Bailey shoots him another glare and storms out. Gabriel hesitates, then leaves as well once Frederick nods in approval. Finally, Frederick is alone with the King.

"I can't escape you, can I?" he says to the empty room. "It was an error for me to try. You are me."

He picks up a quill and begins drafting his speech to the dignitaries of Gresta.



Bailey storms into the practice courts, scattering courtiers and soldiers in her wake. She looks for a door to slam, but this being a practice court, there are none. To make up for this, she throws a pair of gloves at Woton's face. It looked like he was about to say something, so he deserved it, she thought mullishly.

Woton rubs his cheek thoughtfully. "Ow. Generally I expect to have begun the lesson before I get bruises. Though going by the clock, we are - or should be - fencing already."

"Where is Frederick?" asks Cressie anxiously. "Is he well?" ''Or is he angry with us? Did we do something wrong last lesson?''

"That stupid, selfish, insufferable, self-sacrificing damn...King of a brother of ours!" shouts Bailey. She picks up a foil next, prompting Woton to duck.

"Bailey, please," says Gabriel, as he enters the courts. "You are terrifying the court ladies."

"I think she's terrifying the guards. She's certainly cowed me," mutters Woton, earning him another thrown glove.

"Brother..." says Cressie. Gabriel looks at her pleading eyes and quashes a desire to draw her into a hug. If only she were a few years younger... Bailey has no such hesitations, and embraces her sister.

"If Freddie could only see you at the moment," she grumbles, but in a gentler tone.

"Business came up," explains Gabriel. "Our brother has been claimed by some visiting dignitaries, and cannot join us tonight. He wants us to continue our lessons, but knows that that the King's duties will often pull him away. Thus, Bailey and I will continue to instruct you individually, and we will have group lessons when we can."

"Let's go, Cressie. With me." Bailey leads Cressida away, holding her hand as if she is still five years old, and Bailey is her teenaged protector. She tries to smile reassuringly at Woton again, but he is staring glumly at the floor.



"So," says Gabriel briskly. "Stance, please." Woton complies, leading Gabriel to shake his head. "No, hand higher up so that your forearm is level. Turn your guard out, you are leaving yourself exposed. Eyes straight ahead, on your opponent. Now hold that stance for ten minutes, walk the length of the court, then hold it again for the same period."

"Ten minutes," repeats Woton in disbelief.

"Yes. Your stance must be improved. It is the foundation on which all else in fencing is based."

"Surely I have moved beyond just practicing stance?"

"It is excellent discipline for you. You need this, Woton."

The minutes crawl by slowly. Every now and then Gabriel will point out where Woton is slipping, forcing him to adjust. By the third session of stance holding, Woton has begun to look forward to these criticisms as a welcome break from the monotony of staring at the far wall of the practice court. His brother seems to be adept at leaving no opportunity for him to try his wit.

"Right. Single steps now, up and down the court." Woton breathes a sigh of relief. Gabriel makes him go through double-steps, lunges, every parry and strike several times over. His drills are longer than their usual fencing lessons.

"This is all very fascinating, brother, but aren't we going to fence at some point?"

"This is fencing." Gabriel's voice is as calm as ever. "You may be attempting sarcasm when you describe it as "fascinating", but I find the claim is true. These fundamentals have their own elegance, set apart as they are in the environment of the drill. It is like the sparse beauty of a mathematical theorem, separated from the whirlwind that is economics."

"I've never heard anyone speak of fencing like that," says Woton, startled.

"They are my own words, and unpopular ones. The flashy duellists of the hour always have talent, but without the calculation behind it, they will make mistakes. Inevitably."

"You would have me believe that you never make mistakes?"

"Of course I do. However, I am better able to pinpoint what my mistakes are, and correct them. The second mistake is the one that must be avoided."

"I scored a touch on you last match."

"If we were to fence again now, I will guarantee that will not happen again."

"Would you like to try it?"

"You are too easily bored, Woton. Sparring with me now would be a mistake for you."

"I've never regretted my mistakes. Only my correct actions."

"Very well. I warned you: en garde!"



"Bruises," moans Woton to Cressie later on. "Every single lesson. He has me fencing every day, and without Frederick watching over us, he seems set on killing me by fractions."

"I wish I could get some bruises," says Cressie, equally glum. "Bailey coddles me awfully. Then she decides to demonstrate some technique or other on a nearby guard, and completely demolishes them, but I'm not allowed to try."

"Three hours of drills without a break," he continues. "By the end I can't even wobble to my bedchamber."

"She asks me if I'm tired four times a lesson. Each time, I'll shake my head "no" and smile, which means I'll get cooed over for what a good girl I am."

"I thought you liked that sort of thing."

"Not from Bailey."

"She just wants you to be a proper lady."

"I'm already a proper lady, but this is fencing. It's not supposed to be ladylike."

"And there you have Bailey's problem."

She sighs, but has to accept he is right. Frederick hasn't been to a lesson for three weeks now, and their progress has slowed drastically. On the other hand, she has begun talking to Woton almost every other night - even if it is usually complaining about their fencing lessons. Woton's imitations of Gabriel and Bailey can have her giggling until rather unseemly hours of night.

Tonight, he is theorising about Gabriel. "I have come to the conclusion that our brother is actually an empty shell, filled with machinery and perhaps magical little people," he confides in her gravely. "No one human could take as much pleasure as he does from "discipline". Do you know, I think he gets as much happiness from doing a fencing drill or working at his ledger as he does from watching a play or enjoying a glass of port after dinner."

"I just wish Frederick would teach us again," she says. She makes the same wish every meeting.

There is a certain amount of comfort to finding that both were in the same awful situation, Cressie reflects. Woton has taken her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. With the two of them together, she feels that they can work through anything, even the trials of her strange older siblings. Two against the world is infinitely better than one.