Post by wordy on Jul 27, 2009 9:08:53 GMT 10
Title: Tired
Rating: G
Prompt: #7, excess
Summary: Our favourite training master does some soul-searching.
It had been a long day already. His bones ached and he was exhausted, though not just physically. He had never realised until this moment that he was getting old.
Nevertheless, he hefted his lance and steadied it in it's stirrup. Heart shifted impatiently beneath him. Wyldon wondered if his horse was getting too old for this, as he wondered nearly every afternoon.
He also began to wonder if any of it would ever make a difference. Every afternoon he found himself drawn once again to the training grounds, an unquenchable urge in his chest that pushed him to regain his old strength, fitness, and skill. As if chasing after a group of lads all day wasn't enough.
His training always led to this; he would find his mind drifting, exploring those niggling what ifs. And then suddenly Heart would whinny or sound from the kitchens would reach him and he would come back to the present with a jolt, reminding him once again that he had more training to do, and the sky had already darkened into night time.
Most evenings, his mind was preoccupied with the same line of thought. It was about what he had done, saving the Royal children. People called him a hero (behind his back, of course). He sometimes wondered about that; was he a hero because his swordarm had been torn to shreds, his pride as a knight stolen away? No. If he was this hero that his peers thought he was, would he have been injured in the first place?
Once again, he realised where he was. Heart was looking round at him with tired eyes. Are we done yet?
Wyldon raised his lance, careful to keep it steady despite his injured arm. Kicking Heart into a trot, he silently rejoiced as he felt his horse's muscles tense, and then they were riding toward the tilting-dummy at full speed. They were not done yet.
Rating: G
Prompt: #7, excess
Summary: Our favourite training master does some soul-searching.
It had been a long day already. His bones ached and he was exhausted, though not just physically. He had never realised until this moment that he was getting old.
Nevertheless, he hefted his lance and steadied it in it's stirrup. Heart shifted impatiently beneath him. Wyldon wondered if his horse was getting too old for this, as he wondered nearly every afternoon.
He also began to wonder if any of it would ever make a difference. Every afternoon he found himself drawn once again to the training grounds, an unquenchable urge in his chest that pushed him to regain his old strength, fitness, and skill. As if chasing after a group of lads all day wasn't enough.
His training always led to this; he would find his mind drifting, exploring those niggling what ifs. And then suddenly Heart would whinny or sound from the kitchens would reach him and he would come back to the present with a jolt, reminding him once again that he had more training to do, and the sky had already darkened into night time.
Most evenings, his mind was preoccupied with the same line of thought. It was about what he had done, saving the Royal children. People called him a hero (behind his back, of course). He sometimes wondered about that; was he a hero because his swordarm had been torn to shreds, his pride as a knight stolen away? No. If he was this hero that his peers thought he was, would he have been injured in the first place?
Once again, he realised where he was. Heart was looking round at him with tired eyes. Are we done yet?
Wyldon raised his lance, careful to keep it steady despite his injured arm. Kicking Heart into a trot, he silently rejoiced as he felt his horse's muscles tense, and then they were riding toward the tilting-dummy at full speed. They were not done yet.
I can so see this. ♥
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!