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———
Tytan readily agreed with Ser Rodrik's caution. After all, the whole point of this morning's exercise wasn't to actually cut each other to pieces.
While Tytan was supremely confident in his own abilities and control, he also knew that accidents could happen, especially in the heat of a spar.
An eager but inexperienced swordsman like Robb, facing someone with Tytan's speed and skill, could easily get overeager, make a mistake, maybe slip or overextend, and end up seriously hurting himself on a live blade.
Using the blunted practice swords was just common sense, safer for everyone involved.
Nodding in agreement, Robb Stark followed Tytan towards the weapon racks lining the edge of the training yard.
They both selected standard practice swords heavy, thick-edged pieces of steel with rounded tips, designed to simulate the weight and feel of a real sword without the deadly sharpness.
Then, they each grabbed a simple, round shield from another rack. These were basic wooden shields, probably rimmed with iron for durability, sturdy enough to take a beating.
Armed and shielded, the two young men walked towards the center of the cleared earthen space, kicking up little puffs of dust from the cold, dry ground.
They took their positions, facing each other a few yards apart. Robb looked visibly tense. He held his shield high and tight in front of his chest, his knuckles white where he gripped the handle.
His practice sword was held rigidly at the ready, point slightly raised, his body coiled like a spring ready to explode.
His blue eyes darted nervously towards Tytan, then back to the blunted tip of his own sword, then back to Tytan again.
Tytan, in contrast, looked far more relaxed. Almost casual.
He held his shield lower, resting easily against his left side, not defensively raised yet.
He took a few easy, practice swings with the training sword in his right hand, getting a feel for its balance. It felt different from his own dragon bone hilted bastard sword definitely heavier than it looked, and maybe a bit shorter too. Less nimble. He adjusted his grip slightly, mentally recalibrating.
"Alright, lads," Ser Rodrik Cassel spoke up again, his gruff voice cutting through the morning quiet.
He stood just outside the informal sparring circle, his arms crossed, a slight frown creasing his weathered brow. Tytan could practically see the gears turning in the old soldier's head.
He was probably realizing, maybe for the first time, just how important the two young men about to beat on each other with chunks of metal actually were.
One was the heir to Winterfell, the future Warden of the North. The other? The Crown Prince, the future King of all Seven Kingdoms.
If anything went seriously wrong here, if one of them got badly injured under his watch… yeah, Ser Rodrik knew exactly whose head would be on the chopping block.
"When you're both ready, you may begin," he instructed formally. "Listen for my call, though. When I say stop, you both stop immediately. Understood?"
"Got it, Ser Rodrik," Tytan replied easily, his voice light, almost airy. He shifted his stance slightly, gripping his borrowed sword more firmly now.
His eyes sharpened, losing their casual air, locking onto Robb's tense figure across from him. The playful mood vanished, replaced by focused intensity.
"You ready then, Stark?"
"Whenever you are, Baratheon," Robb shot back, his voice tight. His eyes narrowed, trying to read Tytan's intentions.
He began to cautiously circle Tytan, moving slowly to his left, his shield still held high, his gaze fixed warily on the tip of Tytan's practice sword.
He clearly felt uneasy about the Prince's seemingly relaxed, almost careless stance. It felt like a trap.
It was. Seeing Robb's cautious, defensive approach, Tytan didn't wait. He exploded forward in a sudden burst of speed that clearly caught Robb completely off guard.
Before Robb could react properly, Tytan's practice sword flicked out, a blur of motion, slapping Robb's own blade harmlessly to the side, breaking his guard wide open.
In the same fluid motion, Tytan followed through not with his sword, but with his right foot, launching a powerful kick aimed squarely at the center of Robb's raised shield.
Thump! The impact was solid, jarring. The force of the blow sent Robb staggering backwards, his shield arm numb, his feet stumbling on the uneven ground. He almost dropped his sword entirely as he fought desperately just to stay upright.
Tytan didn't give him a chance to recover. Following up instantly on the kick, Tytan slashed his heavy practice sword sideways in a powerful arc aimed at Robb's exposed side.
Reacting purely on instinct, Robb managed to wrench his shield back into position just in time, blocking the heavy blow with a loud clang of steel on iron-rimmed wood.
But the block left him unbalanced again.
Before Robb could even think about countering, Tytan rammed forward with his own shield, slamming it hard into Robb's chest.
The impact knocked the wind out of Robb, sending him stumbling backwards again, completely off balance this time.
He tripped over his own feet and landed hard on his arse in the dirt, shield askew, sword flailing uselessly.
He scrambled immediately, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, expecting the Prince to be on him in an instant, ending the spar with a sword point at his throat.
But Tytan didn't press the advantage. Instead, he deliberately stepped back a pace or two, lowering his sword slightly, a teasing smirk back on his face.
"Well," Tytan commented lightly, "at least you know how to block. That's something." He gave Robb a moment to catch his breath and get back to his feet, knowing full well he could have ended the fight right there.
But where was the fun in that? A quick, brutal takedown wasn't much of a learning experience, or much entertainment.
Robb pushed himself fully upright, shaking his head slightly to clear it. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the sting from the shield bash.
He quickly regathered himself, retrieving his dropped sword and settling into a lower, more defensive stance this time, trying to keep some distance between himself and the casually standing Prince.
His mind was racing, trying desperately to figure out how to approach this. Tytan wasn't just more experienced, that was obvious now.
He was faster, stronger, and far, far more skilled than anyone Robb had ever faced before.
The Prince's movements were economical, precise, explosive when needed. "Gods," Robb muttered, breathing heavily already, "You don't make this easy, do you?"
"Well, where would the fun be in that?" Tytan asked, flashing another quick, confident smile. And then, without any warning, he lunged forward again, his practice sword slicing through the cold morning air like a viper striking, aimed straight for Robb's center.
——
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