Soon enough, the pair of exuberant youths pulled away from one another. It was clear to Tercor that should death take him now, he would be satisfied in this life. Angharad for her part, stared with heavy intention into the boy's eyes, before her own quickly returned to her feet in a bashful flit.
Tercor once more emboldened by his recent victory in the matters of love, lifted Angharad's hand to his lips. Before the girl even realized the young king still held it, he planted a ginger kiss on it; something learned from his time with Lady Edda and her teachings of etiquette.
"I am glad to know you enjoy my person to such an extent Angharad... or rather... my lady. Now you must excuse me, I've a great deal of work to do."
Tercor, quite obviously, hadn't. He knew it, Angharad knew it, he knew Angharad knew it, Angharad knew he knew she knew it.
In a form most unbecoming the giant boy king, he hurriedly stepped to his side. Unfortunately for him, he had forgot just a few moments prior -- before his elation at their shared kiss -- that he placed the basket filled of breakfast and toiletries there. With a dull schnap, the basket shattered under his foot; the breakfast and toiletries crushed as well.
Succulent meats, juicy fruits, and soft soaps of lye and lavender were splattered across the stone of the courtyard. Tercor turned ghastly pale, his body instinctually moving to clean it. As his right hand dropped to pick up the first pieces of the now scrapped items, Angharad's left hand landed on top.
"No, no, no Tercor. As you said, you've much to do, and the twins run ever onwards. Go on... I can most certainly clean up such a minor mess."
Angharad squeezed the young king's hand, her own was larger than the boy's already giant appendage. With the softest, most gentle stare, she coquettishly giggled at Tercor. Tercor immediately felt heat radiating through his body, his mind fumbling to come up with words as he rose to his feet.
"Ah... ah hmm, right, yes, of course. I am busy indeed... I shalt see you in a forthcoming now. I am to be away from you. Yes, post haste."
With his jumbled words and stricken appearance, Tercor raced off down the trail. His presence remained in spirit, yet only with diminishing mutterings of "You idiot!", "Truly a brain dead response...", and "Hwyfar stole your tongue, huh?" barely audible to Angharad. The girl giggled more raucously at this, her own mood lifted from the earlier interaction with Iáech.
●●●
The day passed without further incident. Tercor went in the afternoon for his teaching from Lady Edda, and Iáech returned in the evening to train the Young Rīks; Tercor noticed to a much lighter degree than he had in the past however. Him and Angharad still remained in proximity of each other, it being a difficult thing not to, when one was the others personal house laborer. Yet, like Tercor had been before, both now seemed too bashful to speak to or even gaze at one another.
As the twins crested the wispy tops of the mountains of the Ásvaldr clan, and night drew near, Urik showed up in Tercor's chambers.
"Uncle! What news is there tonight? I've a great many plans I've been thinking of, I even studied the battles of general Arnica Labbahn again. Especially that battle of Lake Reamstein!"
"Uh hah hah hie! Indeed, the man was a truly gifted commander and tarried a comparable army to the legion in our borders; albeit without such a general at the helm."
Urik patted Tercor's shoulders roughly, his hands heavy and all consuming to the boy. Quite literally, his hands encompassed the entirety of Tercor's already giant shoulders.
"Come, show me what you've learned without me. Let's have a fight in the courtyard."
With those words Urik swiftly turned tail and meandered outside. Tercor was curious however, there was something about his uncle's response that struck him with a pang of uncertainty.
'A fight... a fight? Uncle always chooses his words with care toward me, so to say he wants to 'fight' is odd. He's never said such a thing before.'
The thoughts swam through Tercor's head as he meandered behind Urik. When he stepped out, the biting chill of frozen mountain air cascaded onto the boy from above. Covered oil lanterns faintly flickered orange in the blowing wind, just barely illuminating the courtyard enough to see. The mountain felt darker, colder than it had ever been before. Even at night, there was never a tingling that shot through Tercor's spine. Yet tonight, there was.
As his thoughts carried on, a hefty poleaxe landed on his chest, his body reflexively catching it.
"Come now nephew, show me the fruits of your rigorous work and tireless training."
Urik stood motionless across the courtyard, barehanded. To Tercor, his figure had always been daunting, a figure of discipline, might, and ability. Tonight it was beyond that, beyond daunting: it was something akin to a devil.
Tercor intuitively understood tonight was bigger than Urik let on. The boy would certainly not rest on his laurels, it was simply not how he was raised.
The wind whipped up once more, carrying dread and anticipation with it; as if the mountain itself was peering into Tercor's abode. Elsewhere in the courtyard an oil lantern shattered on the floor, brought down by the gust.
Tercor did not hesitate.
The moment the glass of the lantern shattered, Tercor sprung into action. The boy dashed forward, swinging a broad horizontal slash towards Urik's ankles. Urik instantly stepped back, just beyond reach of the axe head.
In a flowing state, Tercor stepped forward and swung diagonally upwards, aiming to feint Urik. Urik slipped the cross body slash with a crouch. The boy had aimed for this as his hands rotated the hammer head down, and used the weight of the poleaxe and the momentum of his swing to smash directly downwards, onto Urik's skull.
Urik slipped it again, bounding sideways from his crouch. In the same moment he hurled a monstrous overhand towards Tercor's skull, now on the flank of his nephew. The boy rolled forward and dodged the rapid punch, planting the queue of the poleaxe into the stone ground and quickly reversing his grip.
With blinding speed he stabbed multiple times at Urik with the rear of his poleaxe, his sharpened dag just barely missing the man's shoulder and throat. With effortless motion, the man slapped away the dag of Tercor's poleaxe, diving into the interior of the boy's range.
Tercor responded in kind, he immediately released his left hand's grip and forcefully swung a sharp elbow towards Urik's face. On any other occasion, utilizing a warrior's own speed against them, a counter elbow would connect clean. Urik was no common warrior.
When Tercor threw his elbow, Urik level changed and dropped towards the boy's waist. In a blur of movement, he shot, wrapping the boy up by his left leg and attempting a single-leg takedown. Tercor was all too used to Urik and his love to bring one-on-one fights to the ground, so he sprawled. Despite being the lighter and smaller of the two, he was able to kick his right leg backward and jam it against the stone, providing just a moment of stability against the shoot.
With his left hand already free, he moved to guillotine choke Urik, who had placed his head and neck outside of Tercor's hips. His right hand dropped the poleaxe, it being of little use with his opponent so close. Urik and his weight pushed through the sprawl however, and Tercor was taken down to his back.
Thankfully he had gotten a partial guillotine on Urik, and Tercor swiftly moved to tighten his left arm's choke with a right arm lever. It was too late. Urik muscled through Tercor's left arm and mounted up before the boy's right could support the guillotine.
Urik was swift, the moment he broke free from the choke he passed over Tercor's legs. He immediately straddled him, sitting on his waist, and prepared to throw a hail of fists towards the boy's skull. Tercor bucked up, pushing his hips to the sky in an effort to force Urik off of him. Despite being tirelessly trained and a giant of a boy, Urik was simply too heavy; too muscular. However, the bucking caused Urik to be jostled out of position for the slightest fraction of a second.
That was all Tercor needed. With a series of rapid movements the boy drove his knees into Urik's lower back and glutes, providing just enough space to slide his legs out from under the hulking man. In efficient, precise movements, Tercor did just that. Urik noticed what was about to happen, but he acted too slowly to stop it. Tercor shot his now freed legs upwards, sandwiching the man's arm between them, and wrapped his feet together above Urik's right shoulder. Simultaneously, the boy grabbed Urik's massive timber of an arm with his left. He intended to break it, he intended to use an armbar.
As he wrapped his left over Urik's right, he had an opportunity, one that would not fail due to his right arm being slow; not this time. The left was the crank and the right was the support as Tercor clasped his hands tight. Using all the force he could muster, with every muscle he had ever honed and fibre he had developed, he shot his hips up, towards Urik's right elbow. At the same time he jammed his crossed legs forward, and cranked his arms and shoulders backwards.
He hoped, prayed, this would work. If Tercor didn't pull off this armbar, a heady realization sprung on him.
'Haa haa, if this doesn't work, Uncle could just pick me up and slam me against the stone ground... please work!'
The Young Rīks summoned every morsel of strength in his person, every drop of will in his psyche, as he cranked the armbar tighter. He had never closed his eyes in a spar with Urik before -- a disciplined rule taught by Urik meant to keep him aware during combat -- but right now, for the first time: he did just that. The armbar felt tight, and Tercor knew it was only a matter of time: either the man's arm breaks, or the boy's skull gets smashed. Time would tell, and it would announce it soon.
Just then, Tercor felt a heavy tapping on his knee. With precocious eyes, he gradually opened his lids to discern what it was. As quickly as the fight started, it ended. Urik tapped out. The hulking devil of a man tapped, and so soon at that.
Tercor instantly released his grip, his body still flat on his back, and slumped into absolute exhaustion. The boy felt as though he were sinking into the floor. It took everything just to stop himself from panting. He had sparred for longer, harsher, and perhaps more intensely in the past; but nothing could ever come close to the utter exhaustion he now felt. Tercor utilized everything, every muscle, every drop of willpower, every figurative iota of mental might in the last, say, 20 or so seconds. For the first time, he truly understood, this is what fighting felt like. This cloud of exhaustion and the elation that came of being victorious afterwards. It gripped the young king and entirely exhilarated him.
Urik stood back up, rising to his normal titanic stature, and broke out into his trademark laughter. With joy plastered across his face he massaged his right elbow with curious motion.
"Uh hah hah hie! That was incredible, especially for your age nephew. Congratulations are in order!"
Tercor finally opened his eyes again, albeit he was now drenched in a pool of sweat that seemed to instantly form on his skin, and doggedly looked to Urik.
The man appeared as if he were untouched. Not the slightest heaving of his chest to mark heavy breath nor the faintest drop of sweat on his skin. If an onlooker saw the pair as they were now, they would most definitely believe Urik had just crushed Tercor; with incredible ease as well. To the boy, the man felt as if he had just swatted away a mosquito, in a state utterly unbothered.
'So this is the greatest warrior in Elledora... Uncle didn't even try against me...'
This revelation caused a fair amount of annoyance to Tercor, however, it brought the fuel of growth and ambition along with it.
'Soon... just like father, I'll be able to beat him with a single move. Soon...'
Urik stretched casually, a yawn breaking open from his mouth.
"Whatever you may be thinking, you're right. I gave you a fight two or three times more difficult than that of a common legionnaire of the coalition. Did you notice the mistakes I gifted you?"
His breathing heavy, Tercor sat on the question. After a few breaths, he replied.
"Haa haa, yes, I think I caught them all... you moved slowly during the grapple, you left your head exposed on the takedown, and there were two... three times you didn't counter attack. Haa haa."
"Keen observation boy. What were your mistakes then?"
"Hmm... the only one I can think of was during my armbar, when I closed my eyes."
"Fair assessment, but this was a mock fight, not a spar. You're correct, never, ever close your eyes. Also, in a fight, unless absolutely necessary, never resort to grappling. That armbar especially, while it would have worked on less versed or technical warriors, was a foolish move. If you faced someone with even a tenth of my strength, they would have smashed your skull apart on the stone beneath us."
Tercor sat up now, reflecting on Urik's insight. Although it had stopped when Iáech began to train the boy this prior week, assessing spars and the training as a whole was something the uncle-nephew duo did with zeal.
"You obviously know what would have happened if there was more than a single enemy, so I won't broach that. The final demerit is that you didn't grab a backup weapon from the rack before we fought, or go for your poleaxe after you broke my top mount. Every man bleeds, and weapons are simply better tools than our bodies... unless you're versed in magick. Otherwise, you fared well. You fought with your entire being and no hesitation."
Urik paused and contemplated for a moment, apparent joy still resting on his features. Tercor had also come to his feet, and succinctly returned his weapon to the courtyard rack.
"I know you spoke of wanting to see battle in this war, and I agreed. It would do you some good to experience it, even as young as you are. Lady Edda and I decided on testing you in this form... tomorrow we will use Vegr-Gang and strike at the legion; and you will be with me."
Tercor turned back to his uncle Urik, naïve joy improperly visible on the boy's features. He had never seen a true fight, not even battle, and tomorrow he would be at war. This was everything for the Young Rīks. Everything for the boy enamored by historied battles and fabled warriors and generals. It was everything for a boy that wished to prove himself, not to anyone, save perhaps Urik and maybe even Angharad, but to himself; to prove he was truly fit to become Rīks.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would march to war.