Chapter Synopsis: Harry and Sirius finally show their faces in the training yard, ready to give this medieval sword swinging thing a try. Though only one of them was trained in the use of a blade by the goblins.
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Last Time: … Lord Edwyle gave Harry a friendly smile, "You may not hold the Stark name Harry, but as the founders of our ancient house, the Peverell name holds a special place in the hearts of the Starks. Know that you will always be welcome in Winterfell. Not least for all the good you've already done here"
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Chapter 15: Into the Training Yard
On one of the warmer days, with the sun finally shining in a mostly cloudless sky, Harry and Sirius, feeling the need to take a break from their various projects, decided that a little exercise would be good to get their blood pumping. And what better activity in the medieval world than a bit of sword swinging in the training yard? The idea of it actually had Harry a little giddy.
Harry had trained hard under the tutelage of master Goblin warriors, and was keen to test his own skills against those of the medieval swordsmen of Westeros. Harry was sure he would make a good showing in the training yard, and that wasn't even counting the powerful strength and agility charms he'd learnt from the Black library family magics. He doubted he'd need to apply any of those charms in the yard today, but he should find some time to practice those as well, he might be getting a bit rusty.
Harry smirked to himself, of course, he hadn't informed Sirius of his skills with the blade yet, the last time Sirius knew him, he was a hapless 15 year old.
Sirius had some duelling training from his childhood under tutors hired by the Black Family and, in his usual way, Sirius was very confident in his abilities. He was frankly strutting as they made their way down to the training yard, hearing the clank of blunted steel on steel from a few already going through their afternoon training routines.
As they approached the training yard, Harry couldn't help but smile at Sirius's enthusiasm. He admired his godfather's confidence and eagerness to learn, even after all these years. It was a testament to their resilience and adaptability in this strange new world.
Upon reaching the yard, Harry spotted Ser Cassel, the Master at Arms, overseeing the training of several guardsmen.
"Ho there, Ser Cassel" Harry greeted from halfway across the yard, "mind if we join?" he queried, getting the attention of most in the yard.
Harry trotted over to the older man, smiling ear to ear at the rather taken aback look on Ser Cassels face. Harry concluded that Ser Cassel had written him off as a curiosity but non-threat. The type of lordling that's overly educated by Maesters, and undereducated by the fighters of the household.
"I hope you don't mind" Harry started again, getting the knights attention back to reality, "it's been too long, and we're both keen to brush the rust off our sword forms, you never know what we'll encounter on the road," looking around at the guardsmen in the yard, Harry continued, "And I'd love to test myself against some of the North's finest" knowing that such a compliment would be well received, even if it might be a bit of an overstatement. Harry saw a few chests puff up at that comment.
Ser Cassel shook himself a bit and finally responded, "You're merchants, aren't you?" he inquired gruffly. "And minor foreign nobles, if what I've heard is correct." He was obviously asking this loudly for the benefit of the guardsmen, as Ser Cassel knew them full well, having accompanied them on the still secret discovery of the Winterfell treasure and wardstone.
Harry understood that Ser Cassel probably wanted the guardsmen to know their standing, and not write them off as passing, uppity merchants.
"Aye, that's us" Sirius replied, already looking over the blunted swords in on the racks. "Can we borrow these? Our own swords are obviously too sharp for a training bout" he added.
Ser Cassel nodded. "Ah, yea, that and some protective gear, we wouldn't want you injured, a friend of Lord Stark is always welcome in the training yard, but are you sure you're up for it?"
He'd added the friend comment to further establish their position for the benefit of the guards.
Sirius replied confidently, his chest puffing out a bit. "We're quite skilled in the art of swordplay, I assure you."
Determined to be less flowery in his response, Harry took on a more solemn tone for effect, "I'll not comment on my own ability" he said, "I'll let you find out in the ring. Actions speak louder than words." A few of the guards seemed to like this comment, grunting in response or in challenge to what were obviously fighting words.
Ser Cassel raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Well, if you're as capable as you claim, I'll be happy to go a round with you myself. I'm curious to see what foreign nobles can do." That got a few whistles and cheers. Everyone seemed keen to see something new, especially since they were the first real visitors since winter ended. Things got a bit stale when the guardsmen only had each other to train with over the winter, and even fewer bandits to fight in the field. Harry simply grinned, this would be fun.
While they waited for Ser Cassel to arrange the protective gear, mainly some greaves and a chest plate, Harry took the opportunity to observe the guardsmen around them. The men moved with fairly good precision and skill, clearly well-trained and disciplined, though he got the impression their stamina could use a little work.
Harry suspected the concept of endurance exercise was not really established, nor was weight lifting or muscle mass. They did however have a clear and strong focus on accuracy and sword form, so he couldn't really fault them. He found himself silently admiring their techniques, hoping to glean some new insights that he could apply to his own fighting style which was clearly quite different.
Harry noticed Ser Cassel send a page boy scurrying off, no doubt to inform interested parties about the spectacle unfolding in the yard. He glanced at Sirius, who seemed entirely unconcerned.
Sure enough, it wasn't long before Lord Edwyle and Maester Garrick made their way to the training yard, eager to see the merchants-turned-swordsmen in action. Harry felt a twinge of apprehension as he caught the Lord Edwyle's scrutinizing gaze, but it faded quickly, he had no reason to be concerned, his skill was nothing to scoff at, even if he'd been rather lax in training during his time in Westeros.
Harry unsheathed his blade and took a few swings, deciding to begin warming up with his own blade while he waited for Ser Cassel to sort out their training equipment. He got a bit of attention when he drew the sword of Gryffindor from his hip. He had taken to carrying it with him everywhere, but it was quite flashy sword, so he had a mild notice-me-not cast on the scabbard.
The blade itself received many appreciative and covetous looks from others in the yard now that it was clearly on display. Harry could understand why of course, it was a beautiful blade, possibly one of the greatest achievements of goblin forging in his old world. The blade was currently in the form of a longsword, the longsword being Harry's preferred blade, though the sword itself could change according to the user's will.
The handle and cross guard glinted in the light of the sun, shining gold for all to see, and on the pommel sat a ruby large enough that that it could easily sit in pride of place on a king's crown. The blade itself shone sliver, but was much stronger than the colour of the metal would suggest, having been forged from near-impregnable goblin silver. Harry was sure the blade was stronger than anything this world could throw at it, and sharp enough to carve a rock in two like it was butter. No armour would stand up to this blade.
The goblins had been impressed with the addition of basilisk venom to the blade and the tale Harry told of his battle against the Basilisk. In recognition of this great feat, the goblins had carved his name on one side of the blade, to join the engraved name of 'Gryffindor' on the other. Harry himself was quite proud to have been considered worth of being named beside Gryffindor and was happy to notice that whatever magic the goblins had carved into the sword had caused the engraving to change to 'Peverell' when he entered this world and took up the name of his ancestors.
The goblins had also provided Harry with a simple enchantment they layered on similar blades which could remove the effect of the venom temporarily at the will of the user.
Of course, Harry wouldn't use this sword in his training bout. Even though it had enchantments to temporarily blunt the blade, it would raise a whole lot of unnecessary questions amongst those around him. All these men knew that your blade was your pride, and none would ever deliberately blunt their sword, that's what training swords were for.
Without the help of magic, the blunting of a sword was a permanent damaging of the weapon, you'd never get it back to its original state. Nor would anyone here believe he carried a pre-blunted sword as his main weapon, that would just make him look like an oaf. So after a few more swings, to get into a pace for practicing his sword forms, he removed the scabbard and made to hand his sword to a page for safe-keeping.
A call of "Harry" pulled him out of his hunt for a page to hold his sword. Looking over to the source of the call, Harry saw Lord Edwyle walking towards him with Maester Garrick in tow. The Lord stopped in front of Harry and stared at the sword for a moment.
"That is a beautiful sword", he said, "I have never seen it's like, and I have seen many famous swords."
"What is it made of" asked Maester Gerrick
"Silver"
"You must be jesting" Maester Gerrick replied in shock "silver is too soft to form a good sword, and certainly not one of this quality. Though I concede that the colour does seem correct for the metal."
"It is perhaps the greatest sword, forged by the most celebrated smiths of the land I come from" Harry stated with pride "I can't claim to know the secrets of its make, because those secrets were held most jealously, but there is no doubt that the blade is a form of silver hardened beyond its normal attributes. Much as the gold in the hilt is hardened for use in the sword"
"Gold!" the Maester exclaimed staring in shock at the hilt of the sword which he had assumed was some form of polished bronze. "Such a sword would be priceless. Even the king does not have such a blade! What would it cost to commission such a sword?"
"It could not be commissioned. There is no-one in this world that knows the secrets to re-forge it."
Maester Garrick's eyes took on that hungry look he often had when discussing new knowledge and ideas with Harry "Ah, secrets lost to the ages then, much like the secrets of Valyrian steel. How exciting."
Harry had of course heard of Valyrian steel and seen the great sword hanging in Lord Stark's solar. He had observed the ripple of grey and black that spilled across the blade. It looked a lot like Damascus Steel from his old world. Damascus Steel was a wizarding creation, and had befuddled many a muggle given it originated from some of the many failed attempts by wizards to copy goblin forging techniques.
Though in his brief time near Lord Stark's sword, he had felt fire magic wrapped tightly around the blade, which was certainly new. Something to look into.
Maybe he should try to try reforge Valyrian steel himself. Harry was sure there were some books in his library on how to make Damascus steel, which was probably at least halfway there. Either way, he was fairly confident Valyrian steel couldn't hold a candle to a proper goblin forged blade.
"Where did you come across such a sword then?" Lord Edwyle continued.
"This sword was forged for an ancestor of mine who was a great warrior millennia ago" Harry turned the sword over showing the names 'Gryffindor' and 'Peverell' carved into the blade.
"We have a similar ancient sword in our family." Lord Edwyle commented in response, pleasantly impressed by Harry's ancient familial sword. "Ice is made of Valyrian steel and had been passed down the main line of Starks since the founding of the house under Brandon the Builder. Surely to hold such a blade as this must show great status among your people, much as a Valyrian steel blade does in Westeros."
Harry took a moment to consider this. It hadn't occurred to him yet that the blade he wore at his hip could denote something more to the people of Westeros than the fact he was armed. Looking at the opulent blade in his hand, he felt a bit dumb for a moment. Of course it would mean something to people. To these men, their sword was their life in a very real sense. And even if only the hilt was visible, it was gold with a giant ruby on the end of it after all.
Casting his mind back to his travels so far, Harry considered that this might partially explain some of the more welcoming attitudes he received from the lords he had met even when posing as a simple merchant. They must have seen the sword and immediately thought he was a lord of some status.
Well that was certainly useful in its own way. Harry was now glad he had decided to carry the sword on his hip at all times. Still, he felt he should clarify for Lord Stark.
"The sword is not just passed down from one son to another. It must be earned by those who perform great deeds" Harry continued. "It is a great honour to hold the sword carrying the names and deeds of my ancestors. Though it is true either way, that I am the last of my name."
Lord Edwyle was left thinking on the implications of Harry's last statement. He hadn't fully realised that Harry and Doberic were the absolute last of the Peverells, he certainly seemed bereft of family, other than his brother, but to be the last was tragic; especially for a man who was quickly becoming a friend. If this is the last of the Peverells, then he should ensure they were kept close to the family. He owed it to the house of Stark and their Peverell matriarch, mother of the first Starks.
Meanwhile, the crowd in the training yard had grown quiet as they digested the conversation and admired Harry's sword. Entertainment was hard to come by in this era, so stories of swords with vaunted histories tended to capture attention, even if it was just so they could later recount the story and claim to have seen the sword to friends in the Tavern, obviously embellishing where appropriate.
Many were now wondering what great deed would be required to earn a sword such as this, and who would decide such a great deed had occurred. Naturally, none of them guessed that a talking hat was the one to grant him the sword. They also wondered what skills they would see in the spars to follow if Lord Peverell was as great a warrior as the sword would imply. Certainly everyone was now anticipating a great show in the yard and no-one was in a hurry to leave. They would not be disappointed.
As Ser Cassel returned with their protective gear, Harry was genuinely impressed with the quality of craftsmanship and durability of the simple leather training armour. The Starks may be frugal, but they clearly didn't skimp on quality in matters of war. It was a far cry from the enchanted robes and protective charms they were used to, but there was a certain charm to the simplicity of it all.
As a page tightened the straps on Harry's gauntlets, he looked over at Sirius, who having his own armour fitted. They shared a knowing smile, both eager to test their skills against the Master at Arms and prove their worth in this unfamiliar world. Harry certainly intended to leave a lasting impression.
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Harry stepped onto the ring in the middle of the training yard, his muscles warming up as he ran through a few of his sword forms and footing exercises. He had finished donning the boiled leather armour they had put together for him and had picked out a blunted training sword similar in size and shape to the sword of Gryffindor. The training sword felt heavier in his hand, but nothing he couldn't compensate for.
Sirius, on the other hand, walked into the yard swinging his training sword with little form but a lot of confidence. He seemed to be more focused on putting on a show than preparing for the upcoming matches.
The first fight was between Harry and one of the guards. The guard was strong and had a solid stance, but Harry's speed and agility was a natural and easy counter to a strong opponent. He dodged and weaved around the guard's attacks, his movements fluid and graceful, occasionally deflecting a blow here or there. In the blink of an eye, Harry struck, his sword finding the necessary gap and swiftly smacking the guard on the arm, causing him to drop his sword. A classic disarming move. The onlookers cheered and clapped, still somewhat surprised by the ease with which Harry won the bout, despite his prior grand story about his sword.
Next, Harry faced Ser Cassel. Harry suspected this would be a more evenly matched challenge. The older man was clearly experienced and frankly, spent his entire life training with the sword. Harry was strong and had incredible reflexes honed during his days as a seeker, but he had only picked up the sword later in life. Since he wasn't applying any magic enhancements during this training bout, it would likely be a hard fight.
Following a casual bow, they moved in and clashed, their swords ringing through the air as they exchanged a flurry of attacks and parries. Harry was right, Ser Cassel had good reflexes and well honed sword forms, but in the end, Harry had youth, and much greater endurance to his advantage. He also had the benefit of foreign sword forms, for which Ser Cassel had no easy response. Whereas the forms Harry noted from Ser Cassel matched well with old English and French medieval forms; which he'd trained against quite extensively with the goblins.
Harry's lithe form darted back and forth, narrowly avoiding Cassel's powerful swings. At one point, Harry rolled to the side, evading a particularly vicious swipe that would have taken him out had it connected. This was definitely not a delicate duel, this was real sword fighting, rough and hard, Harry was loving it. He grinned and sprang back up, immediately launching a counterattack; his sword slashing through the air in a series of rapid, controlled movements to force Ser Cassel into a defensive stance and to regain his own position after being knocked down.
Cassel, for his part, was not easily deterred. He met Harry's attacks with equal ferocity, his years of experience evident in his precise, calculated strikes. The sound of steel meeting steel echoed throughout the yard as the two combatants pushed each other to their limits. Despite the chilly air, Harry was sweating. This was exactly the exercise he'd been seeking. He grinned again and heaved the sword around to push forward, after two quick deflections had put him on the back foot.
Despite Cassel's impressive skill, Harry's speed and agility eventually won the day. He feinted to the left, drawing Cassel's attention, then darted to the right and delivered a swift, decisive blow to his opponent's side, causing Ser Cassel to stumble. Harry took the advantage and quickly dealt a follow-up blow to the shoulder blade, causing Ser Cassel to drop his sword. The crowd murmured in appreciation, impressed by his skill.
Everyone seemed quite pleased, with the bout, even Ser Cassel, who was panting and rubbing his side, but smiling from ear to ear. It had been a while since two such skilled parties had put on a display like that in the Winterfell yard. Lord Edwyle was well past the age for such things, though a twinkle in his eye suggested he wouldn't have minded testing his mettle against Harry; imagining the showings of his youth wistfully.
The next two rounds followed a similar pattern, with Harry consistently outmanoeuvring Ser Cassel, much to the delight of the spectators.
Then it was Sirius's turn to step into the yard. His first match was against another guard, and only through accidentally tripping did he avoid the first swing of his opponent. With a stroke of luck, after three deflections and a stumble, Sirius blindly swung back around and caught the guard's wrist, forcing him to drop his sword.
Sirius was quite happy with the win, even though it was hard to attribute it to skill. However, as the following rounds played out, Sirius quickly learned that his duelling skills were quite rusty, and not well suited to the rougher swordplay of a medieval training yard. He struggled to maintain his footing and react to his opponents' attacks, losing as many rounds as he won. He wasn't terrible, just mostly average, and with that realisation his confident blustering bravado began to fade, replaced by a more serious and determined demeanour.
As the training session wound down, Sirius decided that he should spend time sharpening his old skills with the blade.
Harry also quietly offered to teach Sirius the charms he himself had found in the Black library for increasing strength and agility. This would certainly help him improve quickly and put him in a position to best most swordsmen. Though it was clear to Sirius that in order to keep up with Harry and hold his own against the best in this new world, he would need to put in the effort. He knew that the enhancement spells would lift his skill in a real fight for survival, but nothing beats actual practice. Those spells were just enhancements, not skills in and of themselves.
Of course, Sirius consoled himself that, if it really came down to a matter of survival, he could just start throwing spells around and end things quickly. Sword fighting was clearly an important skill in this world both to hide their magic, and as powerful status symbol. But if the chips were down, then all bets were off, he would be throwing out bombardas like confetti at a parade.
Harry, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment after the training session. He had proven himself to be a formidable fighter, even in this foreign setting. However, he knew that there was always room for improvement and growth, and he vowed to continue practicing and refining his abilities whenever he got the chance.
He decided that, despite the lack of danger so far, he would continue to carry his sword at his hip, much like the other nobles he had met in Westeros. The thought of engaging in real skirmishes as they journeyed through the medieval kingdoms caused him to smile.
He was sure they would meet some truly skilled swordsmen in their travels, and he was keen to test his mettle against the best when the chance arose. Either way, it wouldn't do to get rusty in a world that seemed to value sword skills so highly.
They'd definitely be coming back to the training yard on a more frequent basis while they were here. And maybe Harry would look into adding a training space to the tent. He might even be able to build some sort of autonomous training manikin to battle against.
Though, for now, they both agreed that what they most needed was rest. They felt the exhaustion and soreness that came with a day of intense physical activity.
Working with a page boy to strip the armour, Harry thanked Ser Cassel, and gave a nod of acknowledgement to Lord Edwyle who was now across the other side of the yard speaking to some senior guardsmen. With that the armour off, and their sore muscles starting to make themselves known, the two stumbled back down to the town for rest. Maybe he'd get Dobby to run him a nice bath with one of those soothing bath bombs, Harry thought in contentment.
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Chapter 16 Teaser:
..."He can't possibly have lost another horse," Lord Edwyle mumbled, attempting to reassure himself, only to have his denial dashed by Harry's first words.
Harry called to them as he approached with a wave and a smile, "Lord Edwyle" he called, "I can't say this has ever happened to me before", he lowers the decibel as they approach closer rubbing his head in an embarrassed manner, "but I seem to have misplaced my horse".
Harry's not sure he's ever received such a sceptical and disappointed look in his life.
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