Post by Deleted on Jul 3, 2023 0:28:59 GMT -5
[ ONE-SHOT | Late Hiems 828, about a week before departure to Cambria. This documents the finding of Warren's Shield of Malleability. ]
Warren sat in the middle of his fathers armory, a myriad items surrounding him. He'd been in the armory for hours, since early morning. He'd never realized just how many items his father had collected over the years. Every possible type of weapon, tons of shields, and multiple suits of armor. One by one, Warren had sorted them out into piles and made lists of each. It was easy enough to pick out a couple of items for his mother and sisters to keep, and the rest was sorted out between his six nieces and nephews.
He'd dragged a chair into the room and used one of the many display tables as a desk. One by one each item was listed under the names of one person or another, though the lions share went to Declan, his youngest sisters second son and his own heir. He was distracted from his work only at the sound of quick footsteps running up the stairs toward the room, and from the door emerged that very boy.
"Uncle Warren!" Declan exclaimed, jumping over the feet of a laid-out set of armor in order to reach Warren's chair. A wooden sword hung at the boys hip and smacked lightly against Warren's leg, which made him lean down and groan as if it had done him some damage. "Oops! Not your leg!"
"I'm afraid so," Warren said, face contorted in pain. "I think they'll have to take it, now."
"You can wear a peg leg like in the stories, and...stash weapons in it! Like a dagger!"
"I'm hiding weapons in my wooden leg, now? All because you've accidentally chopped it off?" Warren asked, and Declan nodded excitedly.
"Yup. And once you're out doing pirate stuff, I'll be Captain, and I'll have to go catch you, and we'll have a really cool sword fight on the boat, and at the very end, you'll take my leg. We'll become arch enemies and forever try to get revenge for our legs!" The boy drew his wooden sword and held it in front of his own leg, pretending to hobble around on it. Warren's laugh was belly-deep and he leaned against the back of his chair, shaking his head.
"I fear this lesson has gone awry. If you ever decided not to be a soldier, I think you'd make a good story-teller." He placed the lid over top the little glass inkwell, resting his quill by the paper as Willa, his youngest sister and Declan's mother, appeared as well.
"Don't worry, Uncle Warren, I'll be a soldier just like you. Not a story-teller, or a pirate!"
Warren smiled, ushering the boy back over to him and grabbing hold of him. At first he shook him playfully, then he pulled him in and kissed the boy on the top of the head. "Whatever you choose will make me proud. Except maybe the pirate part. Why don't you go outside and play with your siblings and cousin?"
Declan frowned, sliding his sword back in through the loose loop on his belt. "Alright," he said, though he clearly didn't want to go. "Will you come out and train with us when you're done?"
"Of course," he nodded, and with his smile rekindled, Declan hurried back downstairs. Warren waited until he heard the door close at the base of the stairs, and then turned his eyes up toward his sister. "It's not near lunch already is it?"
"No, still some time," Willa answered, glancing around. "I was just coming to make sure Declan wasn't preventing you from finishing...whatever it is you're doing."
"I'm itemizing father's armory," he replied with a sigh as he, too, looked around the room. On the floor, Warren had gathered most of the valuable items and organized them into piles for each person in his will. In each pile, the items were laid out neatly, but somehow it all still looked like one big mess.
"You act as if you don't intend to return from Cambria, Warren. I see no reason why you shouldn't."
"I'm going to Coheed after that." He reminded her. "I don't intend to die, but I have to be prepared, Willa. If I'm not, I'll be leaving all of this to mother and in the event of my death I'd prefer she not have to worry over any of it. Once it's done, it's done." He'd almost finished, and after stretching his back, he returned his attention to the parchment he'd been recording the items on.
"And you're still leaving the estate to Declan?"
"Who else?"
"Well, I don't know," she said, her voice a little more sing-songy. He'd heard it time and time again over the years, and immediately sat his pen back down. He turned his gaze back to her, expression flat.
"Whatever it is, speak it and let's get it done with," he said.
"Yes, well," she began, hands moving determinedly to her hips. "Thelma said that she was fairly sure you brought a woman home recently and I was curious about it. Mother and Everly insisted we shouldn't ask, but I don't see why we shouldn't."
"Here we go," he said, rubbing his face with his hands.
"What? Was she a woman of the night?" Willa asked, though her tone lacked anything remotely judgemental.
"No," Warren replied quickly.
"No? So there was a woman here. Is she a commoner, is that why you're hiding her from us?" His sister seemed disappointed, but he knew it wasn't due to the potential status of whatever woman had been brought to the Woodwick estate. Instead, it was because her older brother was keeping secrets from his family. That was very unlike him.
Warren stood up from his chair, cursing that she'd so easily gotten half of the truth out of him, though he should have expected it. He walked over to the corner of the room, where a few packed boxes of things remained to be sorted, and began opening those boxes. "It has nothing to do with her status, Willa. It's just not quite as simple as that."
Willa gasped, her hand held to her heart. "Warren Woodwick, you are not having an affair with a married woman! If mother hears about this--"
"She's not married, Willa," he interrupted, turning to look at her as if she had truly lost her mind. When he did, the toe of his boot bumped into the simple, wooden shelf that stood against the wall near the boxes, and from behind it slipped the edge of something shiny and metallic. Warren frowned, reaching for the item and pulling it out from behind the shelf. It was a simple heater shield, unpainted, and looked nearly brand new save the cobwebs it had collected.
Even Willa paused their argument to tilt her head. "That's strange. Why was it behind the shelf?"
Warren ran a hand over it, brow furrowed, just as confused as his sister. "I'm not sure. Perhaps father put it on top and it fell behind." Something about the shield felt off. It was lighter than it should be, given it's size. As light as it was, he'd expect the first sword it countered to go right through the center, but as he knocked his knuckles against it, it felt harder than it's weight would indicate.
"Right, well, anyhow, about this woman," Willa began again, and Warren lifted his hand in the air to stop her.
"No more questions, Willa. I'm not explaining myself further."
"Theeeennnn," she glanced at him, and he eyed her. There was a warning there, but it was one she didn't even begin to acknowledge. In fact, she danced right around it. "I'll just assume that this has something to do with those rumors about you and that woman from the ball. You know? The one whose blood was all over you when you came home?" She shrugged and headed for the door. "I'll let mother and Everly know, they'll be able to find more out than I can."
"Willa," Warren walked over and with his free hand, grabbed his sister by the wrist. She returned her gaze to him, slipping her wrist free and crossing her arms. Warren sighed. "I don't know yet what will come of it. I care for her, but she isn't...traditional. I'm not sure if she'll want to stay, and it would be better if mother didn't get her hopes up."
Willa sighed, seemed to think on it, then nodded. "Fine. I'll put them off your trail for now." He started to look relieved, and she lifted a finger to poke him in the chest. "But you really should figure that out, Warren. Sooner rather than later."
At his sisters scolding, Warren nodded, then he smirked. "I'm at her mercy."
Willa out-right groaned as she turned to head once more for the stairs. "You're too soft, big brother! I'm not sure how you ended up that way with all of those curses we put on you!"
Chest heaving up and down as she exited, he looked back at the work he still had left to do. There wasn't much, besides those few boxes that remained for him to sort through, and his eyes were tired from staring at the parchment. Still holding onto the shield he'd found behind the shelf, he made his way downstairs to join the rest of his family.
Stepping into his back yard, Warren watched for a few minutes as the kids fought. Winnie and Declan were teaming up on Ian and Theo, which hardly seemed fair. Elisse standing by and watching, as she often was, shouting advice at any number of the others. "Hit him in the leg!" or "Don't let her come up behind you!" and quite a few "ugh, you dummy!"s. The eldest of the group, Evangeline, was at a nearby table, reading. When she spotted Warren, she snapped her book closed and began to walk inside. As she began to pass him, Warren reached out for her, but she stepped to the side to avoid him.
"Evie, why don't you stay out here and help Theo?" He suggested, his tone as gentle as it had ever been.
"No thank you," the words were cold and crisp as she continued on by, entering the home through the back door. Warren swallowed that pain. He didn't understand why she was still so angry with him, especially about something he couldn't have had any of control over. But he wasn't going to force her to forgive him, so instead he let her go.
Walking out to greet the other children, he lifted the plain shield up into the air. "Who among you," he growled, voice booming. "Thinks they can take on the soldiers Captain of the Nevermeran forces?"
"Ugghh, you're so lame," Elisse said, rolling her eyes. Warren lifted his brows.
"So I take it you can't take on the soldiers Captain of the Nevermeran forces, then?" He asked, and shrugged. "If that's so, I humbly accept your forfeit."
Elisse squinted her eyes at her Uncle, who ventured over to a rack full of wooden swords and took one for himself, resting the shield in his left hand. The rest of the group slowly walked over to stand in front of Elisse, their weapons at the ready, their eyes all turned on Warren. He took a defensive stance and banged the wooden sword against the shield. "So it shall be." He said. "Do your worst."
"Attack!" Elisse demanded, and Ian, Theo, Winnie, and Declan all ran forward with their swords raised.
It was a game played many times before, and one he wasn't quite ready to let go of yet. Declan was nine, would soon be ten, and once his training began, all of them would give up on it. They only continued to play now for the sake of the youngest among them.
On and on the game went, as it always did, until there was but one child left. Winnie had been chosen to win today, and she alone stood against the Captain while the others pretended to groan and writhe in pain on the ground. The twelve year old pushed her Uncle forward with a flurry of swings, knocking his sword from his hands and leaving him only with the shield. With each swing, he lifted the shield to block. "Give up, Uncle!" She called out, swinging again. "You have no sword, you can't win!"
He blocked again, and surprisingly, the shield was holding strong. "I may not have a sword, but I won't give up," he insisted, but she had already gotten him down to his knees. He ducked under the shield now, weathering her wooden swords blows.
"You might as well!" She swung again.
"Help! Someone! I need a sword!" It was usually around this time that Willard or Evangeline would have appeared from nowhere and give him a sword. He'd make his exclamation, and be slain anyway. But neither Willard or Evangeline were there to save him. "A sword, anyone?"
As Winnie's sword came down to strike the shield one final time, it struck the sharp edge of a sword instead, and split the wooden sword clean in half. It took Warren a moment to realize what was happening. He'd been doubled over, protecting himself from the child's attack, still playing the game until part of the wooden sword fell in front of him. Eyes wide, he turned quickly to make sure the girl was okay. She was, but she stood in front of him with equally wide eyes, and a ruined wooden sword in her hands.
In Warren's hands rested a sword as well, though not damaged. It was a sleek, sharp weapon with a weight to it unlike any he'd held before. But he was confused. Where had it come from?
He glanced around as the other children began to sit up out of the grass, confused. The shield he'd been holding was nowhere to be seen. "Is it over? Did Winnie win?"
"I think...Uncle Warren won," the little girl said, holding up her half-a-sword. "How did you do that?"
"Do what?" He asked, still looking at the sword as he stood up.
"Change it? The shield? It was a shield, and then it was a sword. I think that's cheating. If you cheated, I will win."
"Yeah, cheating means Winnie wins," Declan confirmed as they converged on the two.
"Winnie wins," Warren agreed, and they all looked up as Estelle stepped outside.
"Lunch," she called, and the kids all dropped their wooden weapons and shields and went running for the door. The fight had left them near starving, but Warren didn't budge. "Warren?"
"I'll be right in," he called back to his mother, who nodded and followed the children inside. Once they were gone, he shook his head. It must have been a trick by the children, he assumed, and walked over to the table to set the sword down. He turned away from it to collect the wooden swords and return them to the rack where they belonged, but when he came back to the sword, a shield was sitting on the table.
Magic could do a lot of things, but he'd never seen it do that. This was a very elaborate trick if he'd ever seen once, and he took a moment to spin in place and look under the table to ensure none of the children had stayed behind. Then he picked the shield up and held onto it. He shook it and nothing happened. He swung it and nothing happened. It remained a shield. He sighed. If he was going crazy, now was really not the time.
But he kept it in hand, and carried it inside with him. For the time being, he'd put it down and leave it.
[ A couple of days later ]
The courtyard was bustling with soldiers, and Warren had taken a break from his office and pulled his eldest nephew from his training to spar instead. The two found a safe spot in the corner, out of the way of the other groups, and as he prepared himself, Warren stepped up to the young man. With that plain heater shield in his left hand, he drew his sword slowly from it's scabbard with his right, and held it out for his nephew to see.
"I want you to take this sword from me today, Theodore. If you can disarm me, it's yours."
"It's mine? What do you mean?" The young man asked, confused, but clearly hopeful and already edging on excited. Of all his nieces and nephews, Theodore was the one most likely to continue on as a soldier. Declan might have been determined now, but Warren had a feeling that over the course of his mandatory training, and with his mother and aunt in his ear, he'd eventually change his mind.
"I mean it's time you took it over."
"But that's grandfathers sword, it's your sword."
"Yes. He gave it to me in the same way, when he was my age, and now I'm choosing to give it to you. I think you'll put it to good use. So, are you ready?" Warren took a few steps back and with sword and shield in hand, he took an offensive stance. Theodore drew his own sword and nodded, and as he lunged forward, the spar began.
They went back and forth for some time, more often than not with Warren having the upper hand. It was always going to be an unfair fight in experience, no matter how well Theo was trained, so he gave the boy room to move and allowed him wins now an again, helping to build his confidence during the fight instead of squashing it too quickly. But Theodore was improving every time they fought, and more and more, Warren had to give him less because Theo would merely take it. Experience was all well and good, but Theodore was a young man, with a younger body and younger reflexes.
"Try harder," Warren demanded of his nephew. "Remember to breathe. You're holding your breath again, it will tire you out faster."
Gritting his teeth, Theodore growled and pushed forward again, both hands on his sword. He lifted it up and swung hard downward, pushing Warren's sword with it. They both went so low that the tips of the swords dug into the dirt, but that seemed to be what Theo wanted. With another grunt he pulled the swords back upward with all of his strength, twisting at the same time. In doing so, he yanked the old family sword from Warren's grip and flung it away, to the side.
But he wasn't done. Theodore moved forward with the momentum, pushing Warren back. He had his uncle trapped, almost like Winnie had two days prior. Warren's eyes dipped from side to side, looking for a weapon to finish out the spar with. Sword, sword, sword... the word repeated in his mind over and over until he could no longer keep his eyes off of his target. A sword came down, and a sword, not a shield, came up to meet it. Regardless, the sword found itself in his left hand, and while he could fight that way when necessary, it wasn't where his strength lied. Theo's sword slid up just a little further than Warren's, and paused by his throat.
"I think I have a couple of questions," Theodore said, breathing heavily.
"You're not the only one," Warren said, also breathing heavily, his eyes on the sword in his left hand. The both drew their swords away from one another, standing up fully. Warren wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. He motioned his head toward the sword that had been dropped, and Theodore nodded. The boy returned his own sword to it's scabbard, and picked up the Woodwick family sword. He held it out to Warren, but Warren shook his head. "It's yours now, so you have to take care of it. That means keeping it clean, keeping it sharp, and never losing it. And when you turn forty, you pass it down to your children. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Theodore said, still looking at the sword in awe. Then he looked back at the one Warren was still holding.
"Is that the one you'll be using from now on? Is it really magic?"
"I'm not sure..." he turned, and found Theo's group exiting the courtyard. Their time had run out. "Here, give me your old sword. I'll return it to your mother. Take your grandfathers and catch up with them."
Nodding, Theo removed the sword he'd put in his scabbard and handed it over, slipping the new sword into it's place. "Thank you, Uncle." He said, offering his hand. Warren smirked and took it, shaking the young man's hand firmly.
"You're welcome, Theodore." With eyes that threatened to water and a firm hand still settled on the grip of his new sword, Theodore jogged to catch up with his departing troop.
Back in his office, Warren rested Theodore's old sword on the side table and focused instead of this strange new sword of his own. He walked over to the couch and sat it down. This time, he watched with his own eyes as the sword morphed back into the shield he had been previously holding. He picked it up again, and held it firmly in his right hand. "I need...a sword."
The shield morphed again, like fluid magic, and reshaped itself into a sword, the grip fitted perfectly to his hand. It was so surprising that he dropped the sword, and by the time it clattered to the ground, it was a shield again.
His father had never spoken of purchasing or finding any such magical item, but perhaps that was why it had been hidden away in the armory. He couldn't recall ever seeing his father use it before, either, so what had been the purpose? Had he simply found it, and thinking it was a plain shield, left it on the shelf, only to fall behind and be forgotten? Had Warren not been put into a specific situation where he thought of needing the sword, would he have ever known that it was magic?
Regardless, he picked the shield up once more and repeated the process. Over and over and over, until it felt somewhat normal to him. It all felt somewhat silly, but his mind grasped it regardless. I wonder if it can turn into an axe, he thought to himself, the thought more for his own amusement rather than an actual idea. Yet, as soon as he thought it, the sword morphed again, and a battle-axe suddenly rested in it's place.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Warren sat in the middle of his fathers armory, a myriad items surrounding him. He'd been in the armory for hours, since early morning. He'd never realized just how many items his father had collected over the years. Every possible type of weapon, tons of shields, and multiple suits of armor. One by one, Warren had sorted them out into piles and made lists of each. It was easy enough to pick out a couple of items for his mother and sisters to keep, and the rest was sorted out between his six nieces and nephews.
He'd dragged a chair into the room and used one of the many display tables as a desk. One by one each item was listed under the names of one person or another, though the lions share went to Declan, his youngest sisters second son and his own heir. He was distracted from his work only at the sound of quick footsteps running up the stairs toward the room, and from the door emerged that very boy.
"Uncle Warren!" Declan exclaimed, jumping over the feet of a laid-out set of armor in order to reach Warren's chair. A wooden sword hung at the boys hip and smacked lightly against Warren's leg, which made him lean down and groan as if it had done him some damage. "Oops! Not your leg!"
"I'm afraid so," Warren said, face contorted in pain. "I think they'll have to take it, now."
"You can wear a peg leg like in the stories, and...stash weapons in it! Like a dagger!"
"I'm hiding weapons in my wooden leg, now? All because you've accidentally chopped it off?" Warren asked, and Declan nodded excitedly.
"Yup. And once you're out doing pirate stuff, I'll be Captain, and I'll have to go catch you, and we'll have a really cool sword fight on the boat, and at the very end, you'll take my leg. We'll become arch enemies and forever try to get revenge for our legs!" The boy drew his wooden sword and held it in front of his own leg, pretending to hobble around on it. Warren's laugh was belly-deep and he leaned against the back of his chair, shaking his head.
"I fear this lesson has gone awry. If you ever decided not to be a soldier, I think you'd make a good story-teller." He placed the lid over top the little glass inkwell, resting his quill by the paper as Willa, his youngest sister and Declan's mother, appeared as well.
"Don't worry, Uncle Warren, I'll be a soldier just like you. Not a story-teller, or a pirate!"
Warren smiled, ushering the boy back over to him and grabbing hold of him. At first he shook him playfully, then he pulled him in and kissed the boy on the top of the head. "Whatever you choose will make me proud. Except maybe the pirate part. Why don't you go outside and play with your siblings and cousin?"
Declan frowned, sliding his sword back in through the loose loop on his belt. "Alright," he said, though he clearly didn't want to go. "Will you come out and train with us when you're done?"
"Of course," he nodded, and with his smile rekindled, Declan hurried back downstairs. Warren waited until he heard the door close at the base of the stairs, and then turned his eyes up toward his sister. "It's not near lunch already is it?"
"No, still some time," Willa answered, glancing around. "I was just coming to make sure Declan wasn't preventing you from finishing...whatever it is you're doing."
"I'm itemizing father's armory," he replied with a sigh as he, too, looked around the room. On the floor, Warren had gathered most of the valuable items and organized them into piles for each person in his will. In each pile, the items were laid out neatly, but somehow it all still looked like one big mess.
"You act as if you don't intend to return from Cambria, Warren. I see no reason why you shouldn't."
"I'm going to Coheed after that." He reminded her. "I don't intend to die, but I have to be prepared, Willa. If I'm not, I'll be leaving all of this to mother and in the event of my death I'd prefer she not have to worry over any of it. Once it's done, it's done." He'd almost finished, and after stretching his back, he returned his attention to the parchment he'd been recording the items on.
"And you're still leaving the estate to Declan?"
"Who else?"
"Well, I don't know," she said, her voice a little more sing-songy. He'd heard it time and time again over the years, and immediately sat his pen back down. He turned his gaze back to her, expression flat.
"Whatever it is, speak it and let's get it done with," he said.
"Yes, well," she began, hands moving determinedly to her hips. "Thelma said that she was fairly sure you brought a woman home recently and I was curious about it. Mother and Everly insisted we shouldn't ask, but I don't see why we shouldn't."
"Here we go," he said, rubbing his face with his hands.
"What? Was she a woman of the night?" Willa asked, though her tone lacked anything remotely judgemental.
"No," Warren replied quickly.
"No? So there was a woman here. Is she a commoner, is that why you're hiding her from us?" His sister seemed disappointed, but he knew it wasn't due to the potential status of whatever woman had been brought to the Woodwick estate. Instead, it was because her older brother was keeping secrets from his family. That was very unlike him.
Warren stood up from his chair, cursing that she'd so easily gotten half of the truth out of him, though he should have expected it. He walked over to the corner of the room, where a few packed boxes of things remained to be sorted, and began opening those boxes. "It has nothing to do with her status, Willa. It's just not quite as simple as that."
Willa gasped, her hand held to her heart. "Warren Woodwick, you are not having an affair with a married woman! If mother hears about this--"
"She's not married, Willa," he interrupted, turning to look at her as if she had truly lost her mind. When he did, the toe of his boot bumped into the simple, wooden shelf that stood against the wall near the boxes, and from behind it slipped the edge of something shiny and metallic. Warren frowned, reaching for the item and pulling it out from behind the shelf. It was a simple heater shield, unpainted, and looked nearly brand new save the cobwebs it had collected.
Even Willa paused their argument to tilt her head. "That's strange. Why was it behind the shelf?"
Warren ran a hand over it, brow furrowed, just as confused as his sister. "I'm not sure. Perhaps father put it on top and it fell behind." Something about the shield felt off. It was lighter than it should be, given it's size. As light as it was, he'd expect the first sword it countered to go right through the center, but as he knocked his knuckles against it, it felt harder than it's weight would indicate.
"Right, well, anyhow, about this woman," Willa began again, and Warren lifted his hand in the air to stop her.
"No more questions, Willa. I'm not explaining myself further."
"Theeeennnn," she glanced at him, and he eyed her. There was a warning there, but it was one she didn't even begin to acknowledge. In fact, she danced right around it. "I'll just assume that this has something to do with those rumors about you and that woman from the ball. You know? The one whose blood was all over you when you came home?" She shrugged and headed for the door. "I'll let mother and Everly know, they'll be able to find more out than I can."
"Willa," Warren walked over and with his free hand, grabbed his sister by the wrist. She returned her gaze to him, slipping her wrist free and crossing her arms. Warren sighed. "I don't know yet what will come of it. I care for her, but she isn't...traditional. I'm not sure if she'll want to stay, and it would be better if mother didn't get her hopes up."
Willa sighed, seemed to think on it, then nodded. "Fine. I'll put them off your trail for now." He started to look relieved, and she lifted a finger to poke him in the chest. "But you really should figure that out, Warren. Sooner rather than later."
At his sisters scolding, Warren nodded, then he smirked. "I'm at her mercy."
Willa out-right groaned as she turned to head once more for the stairs. "You're too soft, big brother! I'm not sure how you ended up that way with all of those curses we put on you!"
Chest heaving up and down as she exited, he looked back at the work he still had left to do. There wasn't much, besides those few boxes that remained for him to sort through, and his eyes were tired from staring at the parchment. Still holding onto the shield he'd found behind the shelf, he made his way downstairs to join the rest of his family.
Stepping into his back yard, Warren watched for a few minutes as the kids fought. Winnie and Declan were teaming up on Ian and Theo, which hardly seemed fair. Elisse standing by and watching, as she often was, shouting advice at any number of the others. "Hit him in the leg!" or "Don't let her come up behind you!" and quite a few "ugh, you dummy!"s. The eldest of the group, Evangeline, was at a nearby table, reading. When she spotted Warren, she snapped her book closed and began to walk inside. As she began to pass him, Warren reached out for her, but she stepped to the side to avoid him.
"Evie, why don't you stay out here and help Theo?" He suggested, his tone as gentle as it had ever been.
"No thank you," the words were cold and crisp as she continued on by, entering the home through the back door. Warren swallowed that pain. He didn't understand why she was still so angry with him, especially about something he couldn't have had any of control over. But he wasn't going to force her to forgive him, so instead he let her go.
Walking out to greet the other children, he lifted the plain shield up into the air. "Who among you," he growled, voice booming. "Thinks they can take on the soldiers Captain of the Nevermeran forces?"
"Ugghh, you're so lame," Elisse said, rolling her eyes. Warren lifted his brows.
"So I take it you can't take on the soldiers Captain of the Nevermeran forces, then?" He asked, and shrugged. "If that's so, I humbly accept your forfeit."
Elisse squinted her eyes at her Uncle, who ventured over to a rack full of wooden swords and took one for himself, resting the shield in his left hand. The rest of the group slowly walked over to stand in front of Elisse, their weapons at the ready, their eyes all turned on Warren. He took a defensive stance and banged the wooden sword against the shield. "So it shall be." He said. "Do your worst."
"Attack!" Elisse demanded, and Ian, Theo, Winnie, and Declan all ran forward with their swords raised.
It was a game played many times before, and one he wasn't quite ready to let go of yet. Declan was nine, would soon be ten, and once his training began, all of them would give up on it. They only continued to play now for the sake of the youngest among them.
On and on the game went, as it always did, until there was but one child left. Winnie had been chosen to win today, and she alone stood against the Captain while the others pretended to groan and writhe in pain on the ground. The twelve year old pushed her Uncle forward with a flurry of swings, knocking his sword from his hands and leaving him only with the shield. With each swing, he lifted the shield to block. "Give up, Uncle!" She called out, swinging again. "You have no sword, you can't win!"
He blocked again, and surprisingly, the shield was holding strong. "I may not have a sword, but I won't give up," he insisted, but she had already gotten him down to his knees. He ducked under the shield now, weathering her wooden swords blows.
"You might as well!" She swung again.
"Help! Someone! I need a sword!" It was usually around this time that Willard or Evangeline would have appeared from nowhere and give him a sword. He'd make his exclamation, and be slain anyway. But neither Willard or Evangeline were there to save him. "A sword, anyone?"
As Winnie's sword came down to strike the shield one final time, it struck the sharp edge of a sword instead, and split the wooden sword clean in half. It took Warren a moment to realize what was happening. He'd been doubled over, protecting himself from the child's attack, still playing the game until part of the wooden sword fell in front of him. Eyes wide, he turned quickly to make sure the girl was okay. She was, but she stood in front of him with equally wide eyes, and a ruined wooden sword in her hands.
In Warren's hands rested a sword as well, though not damaged. It was a sleek, sharp weapon with a weight to it unlike any he'd held before. But he was confused. Where had it come from?
He glanced around as the other children began to sit up out of the grass, confused. The shield he'd been holding was nowhere to be seen. "Is it over? Did Winnie win?"
"I think...Uncle Warren won," the little girl said, holding up her half-a-sword. "How did you do that?"
"Do what?" He asked, still looking at the sword as he stood up.
"Change it? The shield? It was a shield, and then it was a sword. I think that's cheating. If you cheated, I will win."
"Yeah, cheating means Winnie wins," Declan confirmed as they converged on the two.
"Winnie wins," Warren agreed, and they all looked up as Estelle stepped outside.
"Lunch," she called, and the kids all dropped their wooden weapons and shields and went running for the door. The fight had left them near starving, but Warren didn't budge. "Warren?"
"I'll be right in," he called back to his mother, who nodded and followed the children inside. Once they were gone, he shook his head. It must have been a trick by the children, he assumed, and walked over to the table to set the sword down. He turned away from it to collect the wooden swords and return them to the rack where they belonged, but when he came back to the sword, a shield was sitting on the table.
Magic could do a lot of things, but he'd never seen it do that. This was a very elaborate trick if he'd ever seen once, and he took a moment to spin in place and look under the table to ensure none of the children had stayed behind. Then he picked the shield up and held onto it. He shook it and nothing happened. He swung it and nothing happened. It remained a shield. He sighed. If he was going crazy, now was really not the time.
But he kept it in hand, and carried it inside with him. For the time being, he'd put it down and leave it.
[ A couple of days later ]
The courtyard was bustling with soldiers, and Warren had taken a break from his office and pulled his eldest nephew from his training to spar instead. The two found a safe spot in the corner, out of the way of the other groups, and as he prepared himself, Warren stepped up to the young man. With that plain heater shield in his left hand, he drew his sword slowly from it's scabbard with his right, and held it out for his nephew to see.
"I want you to take this sword from me today, Theodore. If you can disarm me, it's yours."
"It's mine? What do you mean?" The young man asked, confused, but clearly hopeful and already edging on excited. Of all his nieces and nephews, Theodore was the one most likely to continue on as a soldier. Declan might have been determined now, but Warren had a feeling that over the course of his mandatory training, and with his mother and aunt in his ear, he'd eventually change his mind.
"I mean it's time you took it over."
"But that's grandfathers sword, it's your sword."
"Yes. He gave it to me in the same way, when he was my age, and now I'm choosing to give it to you. I think you'll put it to good use. So, are you ready?" Warren took a few steps back and with sword and shield in hand, he took an offensive stance. Theodore drew his own sword and nodded, and as he lunged forward, the spar began.
They went back and forth for some time, more often than not with Warren having the upper hand. It was always going to be an unfair fight in experience, no matter how well Theo was trained, so he gave the boy room to move and allowed him wins now an again, helping to build his confidence during the fight instead of squashing it too quickly. But Theodore was improving every time they fought, and more and more, Warren had to give him less because Theo would merely take it. Experience was all well and good, but Theodore was a young man, with a younger body and younger reflexes.
"Try harder," Warren demanded of his nephew. "Remember to breathe. You're holding your breath again, it will tire you out faster."
Gritting his teeth, Theodore growled and pushed forward again, both hands on his sword. He lifted it up and swung hard downward, pushing Warren's sword with it. They both went so low that the tips of the swords dug into the dirt, but that seemed to be what Theo wanted. With another grunt he pulled the swords back upward with all of his strength, twisting at the same time. In doing so, he yanked the old family sword from Warren's grip and flung it away, to the side.
But he wasn't done. Theodore moved forward with the momentum, pushing Warren back. He had his uncle trapped, almost like Winnie had two days prior. Warren's eyes dipped from side to side, looking for a weapon to finish out the spar with. Sword, sword, sword... the word repeated in his mind over and over until he could no longer keep his eyes off of his target. A sword came down, and a sword, not a shield, came up to meet it. Regardless, the sword found itself in his left hand, and while he could fight that way when necessary, it wasn't where his strength lied. Theo's sword slid up just a little further than Warren's, and paused by his throat.
"I think I have a couple of questions," Theodore said, breathing heavily.
"You're not the only one," Warren said, also breathing heavily, his eyes on the sword in his left hand. The both drew their swords away from one another, standing up fully. Warren wiped the sweat from his forehead with his forearm. He motioned his head toward the sword that had been dropped, and Theodore nodded. The boy returned his own sword to it's scabbard, and picked up the Woodwick family sword. He held it out to Warren, but Warren shook his head. "It's yours now, so you have to take care of it. That means keeping it clean, keeping it sharp, and never losing it. And when you turn forty, you pass it down to your children. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Theodore said, still looking at the sword in awe. Then he looked back at the one Warren was still holding.
"Is that the one you'll be using from now on? Is it really magic?"
"I'm not sure..." he turned, and found Theo's group exiting the courtyard. Their time had run out. "Here, give me your old sword. I'll return it to your mother. Take your grandfathers and catch up with them."
Nodding, Theo removed the sword he'd put in his scabbard and handed it over, slipping the new sword into it's place. "Thank you, Uncle." He said, offering his hand. Warren smirked and took it, shaking the young man's hand firmly.
"You're welcome, Theodore." With eyes that threatened to water and a firm hand still settled on the grip of his new sword, Theodore jogged to catch up with his departing troop.
Back in his office, Warren rested Theodore's old sword on the side table and focused instead of this strange new sword of his own. He walked over to the couch and sat it down. This time, he watched with his own eyes as the sword morphed back into the shield he had been previously holding. He picked it up again, and held it firmly in his right hand. "I need...a sword."
The shield morphed again, like fluid magic, and reshaped itself into a sword, the grip fitted perfectly to his hand. It was so surprising that he dropped the sword, and by the time it clattered to the ground, it was a shield again.
His father had never spoken of purchasing or finding any such magical item, but perhaps that was why it had been hidden away in the armory. He couldn't recall ever seeing his father use it before, either, so what had been the purpose? Had he simply found it, and thinking it was a plain shield, left it on the shelf, only to fall behind and be forgotten? Had Warren not been put into a specific situation where he thought of needing the sword, would he have ever known that it was magic?
Regardless, he picked the shield up once more and repeated the process. Over and over and over, until it felt somewhat normal to him. It all felt somewhat silly, but his mind grasped it regardless. I wonder if it can turn into an axe, he thought to himself, the thought more for his own amusement rather than an actual idea. Yet, as soon as he thought it, the sword morphed again, and a battle-axe suddenly rested in it's place.
"Well, I'll be damned."