Chapter Text
“Welcome, recruits, to the first day of the rest of your lives…should you choose to see it through.”
A broad-shouldered man took leisurely steps in front of a line of young trainees. There were fifty of them, standing at attention, many looking half-awake. The pre-dawn wakeup call this morning was brutal, but everything in this training program was a test of some kind. They couldn’t afford to let anyone subpar through to the Royal Guard.
The man continued his speech, hands clasped behind his back. “You will be constantly evaluated on your performance here. As a trainee for the Royal Guard, skills with a sword will only get you so far. You must be tidy…punctual…and above all else, loyal to the kingdom.”
He stopped pacing and stood directly in front of a particularly tall trainee, who had unfortunately fallen asleep while standing. He stared at the tired young man with a smirk. “I can tell you right now – not all of you will pass into the Royal Guard.”
As he carried on with his speech and his pacing, another tall trainee with curly hair elbowed the sleepyhead, jolting him awake. He offered a sympathetic glance before returning to attention, hoping the assist wouldn’t get him in trouble. He couldn’t afford to go back home, and certainly didn’t want to make a bad impression on one of his superiors first thing in the morning.
Fortunately, the man’s back was to them, and the taller trainee mouthed thank you before standing at attention again.
“…return to your barracks to prepare for the day. You will be due to the mess hall for breakfast at 7, followed by your first training session at 8. Do not be late. Dismissed!”
The superior officer waited until the trainees clumsily answered, “Yes, sir!” With another snide look, he swept his cloak dramatically and left the group to go about their mornings.
The curly-haired trainee let out a breath and fished his timepiece out of his pocket. 5:37am. They’d been hurried out of bed before any light was in the sky for ten minutes of introduction? He groaned and figured he may as well go back to the barracks and make his bed. It was tempting to just go back to sleep, but he knew if he did that, he wouldn’t rise in time for breakfast call. He supposed he could use the extra time to explore the training grounds a bit.
“Hey!” someone called to him from the idling group. He turned to see the sleepyhead approaching, a tired smile on his face. He was surprised to find someone taller than himself, and admired the stylish length of his mousy hair.
“Thanks for earlier.” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Pedro. I’m from Saint-Germain, just up the road from here.”
“Oh, i-it’s no problem. My name is Thomas.” Said young man returned the handshake firmly, offering a small smile back. “Nice to meet you.”
Pedro glanced around. “Pretty big group here, huh? I wonder what everyone else is like.”
Thomas nodded, feeling out of place amongst his peers already. In the kingdom, status was everything; Pedro had revealed he came from one of the wealthiest kingdom districts, and Thomas imagined many of the others were the same. He had purposefully avoided mentioning to Pedro where he was from, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Thomas was from a small village outside the kingdom limits. It was a poverty-stricken area, and he knew he’d become a target if he let on that he came from nothing.
It was highly uncommon for country folk to participate in something as elite as the Royal Guard Training Program. Thomas happened to possess exceptional skills in sword-fighting, and he’d worked his whole life to provide for his family. As soon as he’d been old enough, he’d joined his village’s local guard, and he quickly rose through the ranks. Sometimes, he would sneak into the outer kingdom districts, entering himself into illegal fighting competitions. It could be dangerous, but the money had been worth it to support his parents, and Thomas used it to hone his skills.
Pedro talking more pulled him out of his brief reverie. “Want to head back to the barracks?”
Thomas realized at this point, most of the room had cleared out. He nodded, and together they made their way back to their sleeping quarters.
The Royal Guard Training Program was being held in an old military fortification, which had been retired from formal use many decades prior and now served an educational purpose. Thomas and Pedro had been in a small announcement hall, and were now walking down a dirt path towards the trainee barracks. There were other buildings nearby, which Thomas figured were training arenas and staff barracks. The mess hall was easily identifiable across a large grassy lawn, smoke already puffing out of an impressive chimney. It made Thomas’ stomach rumble, but he ignored the sensation and kept up with Pedro.
The training facility was very close to the kingdom’s imposing centerpiece: the castle, which housed their royal family. Thomas had never actually seen the castle in person; the kingdom districts he had visited were on the western outskirts, too far to see the large structure. He gaped at it now, intimidated by its shadowy appearance in the morning darkness.
Pedro noticed his staring and smiled. “What, never seen the castle before?”
Thomas balked, starting to stammer out an excuse, but Pedro ignored him and sighed good-naturedly. “I remember the first time I really noticed it, as a kid. I was with my family at a market when I just glanced behind me and realized it was there, like a mountain. It’s so tall, I kept asking my mother how it doesn’t topple over in the wind!”
He laughed at his own commentary. Thomas found Pedro a bit confusing, but appreciated that he didn’t seem to care that Thomas was a bit close-lipped. He supposed he should just enjoy their budding friendship, and forced a smile as they reached the barracks.
It seemed many other trainees had the same idea. The room bustled quietly, and Thomas made his way to his bedroll without making eye contact. He hadn’t noticed before, but apparently Pedro had claimed the bedroll to his right. The taller man smiled at him, and they began straightening their sheets in companionable silence. Other trainees had either gone back to bed or were fiddling with their belongings. Thomas noticed a small group huddled around a deck of cards across the room.
Pulling his thin sheet and blanket up to his pillow, Thomas thought about his meager bed at his parents’ house. They all had to share a room, but Thomas did get to have his own bed, mostly because he’d grown far too tall to share with anyone else. He fluffed his pillow, which had been issued to him by the Royal Guard Training Program. It was his first time ever having one, and he hoped if he got sent home, he’d be able to keep it.
Thomas’ mind drifted to his methods of income back home. His family had only been able to afford the extra bolt of fabric for his bed because he’d won an illegal fighting tournament. He’d lied to his parents, telling them he’d picked up extra shifts with the local guard to make the cash. It also helped excuse his frequent absences from their home at night, and the extra scrapes and bruises.
He hated having to lie, but he knew they’d forbid him from going out on his own if they discovered his secret. Fighting matches and tournaments were considered illegal if they weren’t managed by a kingdom-controlled organization. Non-royal fights were usually okay, but there was one distinctly different rule: If someone got killed, the crowds would turn the other cheek. Thomas had seen some utterly brutal fights and knew the risks well every time he participated.
Seeing the relief on his parents’ faces at the extra money made it all worth it, in the end.
Thomas exhaled slowly, sitting on his bedroll and reaching for his scabbard. With any luck, he’d pass through this program and work for the royal family. He’d send money home every month, and his family would never go hungry or cold again.
Pedro leaned over, curious about Thomas’ weapon. “Can I see?”
Self-consciously, Thomas unsheathed his sword, the metal hissing quietly against the worn leather. Pedro’s awed expression made some of Thomas’ anxiety melt away.
It really was a beautiful sword, and he was glad someone else could see that. Thomas had fashioned the weapon himself, tweaking everything to his personal liking. Before he’d been old enough to work for the guard, he’d spent his childhood apprenticing with the village blacksmith, and he’d shown excellent craftsmanship even at a young age.
The hilt curved simply but elegantly to protect his grip, which was wound in supple leather. He’d squared off the pommel of the sword, making it both a blunt surface to strike with, but edged to cut an opponent’s skin. It was overall a lightweight weapon, just hefty enough to create smooth momentum as he wielded it. He didn’t have the physique to throw around the more standard, heavy-set long sword that most fighters used. To compensate for its lightness, he made sure to sharpen the steel blade often, so it was always lethally piercing. He’d etched an English phrase down the middle of the blade: If love is the answer, you’re home.
“Wow, where did you get that?!” Pedro struggled to keep his voice down through his excitement. His dark eyes were sparkling at the sword’s elegance.
Thomas smiled at his creation, thumbing over some of the text gently. He lifted his gaze to meet Pedro’s proudly. “I actually made it.”
Pedro gawked at him, jaw falling open. “You-you made that?! You must be joking! It’s a work of art!” He paused, fixing Thomas with a scrutinizing look. “Where did you say you were from, again?”
Thomas hastily slid the sword back into its humble scabbard. He avoided Pedro’s eyes and muttered, “I-I didn’t actually say…”
An awkward silence fell between the two young men. Thomas felt his heart pounding, hoping he hadn’t just thrown away his first chance at friendship with someone in this program. He really couldn’t afford to be making enemies this early on.
Eventually, Pedro seemed to sense Thomas’ reluctance and let go of the question, much to the latter’s relief. He reached behind himself, hauling his own sword onto his lap. From a carved wooden scabbard, he drew a fine long sword, the steel glinting dimly in the dawn light.
“Here’s mine…she may not look like much, but she’s a beauty to me,” Pedro cooed at the sword.
Thomas, eager for the subject change, leaned over with a grin. He had no trouble getting excited about weaponry. His parents often lovingly called him a gear-head. “She’s amazing!”
Pedro began telling Thomas the lengthy story of how he bartered for a week at a blacksmith to get it, gradually wearing down the seller until it was half the original price. “I was always the negotiator in my family,” he shared with a puffed-up chest. “My mother always told me I should go into politics instead of fighting! But then I wouldn’t get to carry an awesome sword. So here we are!”
Thomas laughed at the theatrics. Pedro sheathed his weapon and patted it fondly. “It’s a compromise with my mother, really. Working for the government, but as a knight, not a politician. It’ll make both of us happy.”
Thomas admired his new companion’s attitude. He thought about his own goals, and appreciated that Pedro was also family-oriented. He hoped they both got through the trials of the next few weeks, so they could share in the glory of serving the royal family together.
“Have you ever seen the royal family?” Thomas asked Pedro, hoping the question wouldn’t reveal his lowly status. He figured most people hadn’t, even those that lived right at the foot of the castle. The royal family were generally liked but very private and mysterious. They had been known for their secrecy long before Thomas or Pedro had been born.
Pedro hummed, shaking his head. “No, never. Apparently, my family went to see them parade by many years ago, when the prince was born. I would have been a baby though, so I can’t remember any of it.”
Thomas still thought it was cool. He hadn’t realized the prince was their same age, and he briefly wondered what the young man was like. He didn’t have any idea of what princes really did, other than wait to take over their kingdoms.
“If we make it through,” Pedro whispered, “we get to meet them! They will come to the knighting ceremony. And then we’d work for them, of course.”
Thomas couldn’t fight back Pedro’s infectious smile. It was an exciting thought, to finally see the elusive family, and to serve them in such a noble way. He tried to picture himself in a full coat of arms. He hoped they’d let him keep his sword, although the Royal Guard probably had access to better materials. Perhaps he’d upgrade his weapon, if they would let him continue his blacksmithing skills.
Glancing out the window, Thomas felt prompted to check his timepiece again. 6:24am. He was surprised that they’d managed to kill almost an hour.
“Want to head over to the mess hall?” he asked Pedro. Standing, the pair made their way back out of the barracks and towards their breakfast. As they drew closer to the building, the scent of coffee and cooking meat made their legs move faster. Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed meat at breakfast, and he’d never tasted coffee. A couple of times while visiting the kingdom, he’d catch a whiff of it oozing out of cafés, but it was a luxury for villagers like himself.
Pedro apparently had no inklings about Thomas’ poor upbringing, and began lamenting over his coffee preferences. “Oh, I do hope the coffee has been ground fresh. I really can’t stand when the grounds have gone stale – it’s far too bitter. Oh, and I hope they have cream with it!”
Thomas couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He was going to learn far more from this program about how rich people lived, than about knighthood and sword technique.
They came to a stop at a collection of benches and tables outside the mess hall. It appeared to be a small outdoor dining area, and they sat and excitedly waited for 7am to come. Pedro was regaling Thomas with a story about tricking his sibling with dirt instead of coffee grounds, but the curly-headed trainee was only half listening. As the sun slowly lit the sky, Thomas could hear birdsong more loudly, and he wondered if the birds this close to the castle were any different than the ones he’d see back home. His eyes searched the branches of nearby trees to try and find the source of the chirping calls.
A sudden shout from the other side of the mess hall broke both young men out of their heads. Looking at each other worriedly, they rose from the bench and crept to peer around the large building.
The mess hall backed up closely to a thick forest, and at the edge of the dense foliage were three others. They appeared to be other trainees, based on their clothing: all trainees had been issued the same simple attire for daily activities, as well as sparring and nighttime wear. Two trainees were laughing, the taller dangling something above his head. Helplessly, the third trainee was trying to reach whatever it was, shouting at them in frustration.
Pedro shook his head. “What a scene. Poor guy.”
Thomas nodded solemnly. They observed the interaction for a few more tense moments. He watched fear flash across the victim’s face, and the cackles of the other two carried across the grass like crows. Thomas scowled, feeling a soft spot for someone being outcast. They had all qualified for the same elite program; what gave anyone the right to act better than someone else?
Before he could stop himself, he was stalking towards the trio, Pedro jolting after him in surprise.
“Wait – Thomas, wait up!” Pedro grabbed at his shoulder, but Thomas shrugged him off.
He reached the other trainees and folded his arms, hoping he looked more menacing than he felt. His heart was pounding wildly in his ears. Now that they were closer, Thomas could that they’d stolen the victim’s glasses and were playing keep-away. The victim stared at Thomas with huge eyes, and Thomas could see tear stains on his cheeks.
“Hey!” he shouted, willing his voice not to shake.
The two bullies turned to look at him. The shorter, who had dark hair that hung in his face, sneered and said, “Oh, don’t play hero, string-bean. Go back to whatever you were doing. This is none of your business.”
His taller companion, still dangling the glasses over his head, nodded intimidatingly. Thomas glanced between the two, feeling his confidence faltering, but before he could speak again, he felt Pedro at his side.
“Name-calling AND holding someone’s glasses away?” Pedro laughed coldly. “I guess this is a school yard and not a royal training program. I didn’t know they were letting little boys in with the rest of us.”
The sneer dropped off of the dark-haired trainee’s face, and he stepped up to Pedro. “You watch your mouth.”
“Oh yeah? What are you going to do, push me over?” Pedro was smirking down at the shorter man, hands on his hips. Thomas couldn’t help but laugh, which added insult to injury. They were both taller than the other trainees, and though Thomas was still panicking on the inside, it was clear a physical fight would be to their advantage.
The dark-haired trainee glanced between them indignantly. Growling a string of curse words, he muttered, “Come on, Gaspard.”
The glasses were tossed unceremoniously to the ground and the two bullies stormed away, shoulder-checking Thomas and Pedro hard. Thomas was still laughing, a bit like a mad man, and he willed his heart to slow down.
Pedro nudged him once the others had retreated. “You’re crazy! Picking fights before we’ve even had breakfast!”
Thomas pushed him back, then raced a hand through his hair. “YOU’RE the one th-throwing insults around! W-Where did that come from?!”
They reveled in the moment a bit longer before the shorter trainee left behind cleared his throat. Glancing over, they watched him clean off his glasses and perch them back on his nose. The dark frames made him look unfortunately vulnerable, but Thomas knew not to underestimate anyone here. He looked between them nervously, then stuck out his hand. “Thank you for helping me. My name’s Laurent.”
Pedro eagerly took his hand and shook it, nearly taking Laurent’s arm off in the process. “Pedro! Pleasure to meet you, Laurent. What were those idiots even doing with you, anyway? Stealing your lunch money or something?”
It was meant as a joke, but Laurent grimaced. He scuffed his shoe against the ground and explained, “Xavier and Gaspard went to the same school as me, over in Chaillot. They used to pick on me there, too. I guess they hadn’t heard I would be attending this program…”
Laurent trailed off, clearly worried about being trapped here with them, but Thomas had barely heard anything after the mention of Chaillot. It was one of the wealthiest neighborhoods, in the wealthiest district, of their kingdom. Thomas had only heard stories about it, and he could hardly believe he was going to be training amongst these privileged recruits.
“Well, don’t worry,” Pedro was saying. He clapped Thomas on the shoulder, bringing the curly-haired man out of his thoughts. “Stick with us and those jerks won’t bother you!”
Laurent seemed apprehensive, but nodded. He looked expectantly at Thomas, who realized he had never shared his own name.
“O-Oh! M-My name is Thomas,” he stumbled, sticking out his hand awkwardly. Laurent took it and offered a small smile of gratitude.
Before their conversation could get farther, the breakfast bell rang, making all three of them jump. Soon they were hurrying to the front of the building, where a hoard of trainees and staff members had gathered. The doors swung open and the crowd slowly shuffled in. Thomas fell in line behind his two new friends, gazing in wonder at the spread of food available in the mess hall.
The food was being served buffet-style, and patrons could pick whatever they wanted before finding a seat at one of the round tables in the room. Each table had enough room for eight people, but Thomas could already see chairs being dragged around and cliques forming amongst the trainees. He suddenly felt grateful for Pedro and Laurent, looking forward to not eating his first meal alone.
Thomas searched the buffets for anything familiar, but embarrassingly he could not have named more than half the foods he saw. His parents had rarely served breakfast, preferring to save their rations for supper. It was common in his village, and he’d never felt out of place about it until now. He saw a pastry counter, with a variety of breads and bowls of fruit, and quickly walked over.
The counter was empty; it seemed that most of the other trainees were interested in the selection of proteins. The cook stationed at the pastry counter perked up at the sight of a patron, and greeted Thomas warmly. “Good morning, sir. What would you like to eat?”
Thomas ran his eyes over the selection. He was glad no one else had come to the pastry counter, because he needed some time to take in all the choices. Although he could recognize the foods before him as breads, he’d never seen pastries twisted into such intricate shapes. Some of them appeared glazed in a sweet frosting, and others oozed different colored fillings. He felt anxiety rising in his throat, threatening to choke him.
The cook smiled, and began patiently explaining the choices. “These are croissants – just a plain, buttery bread. These are chou à la crème, a cream-filled pastry, and these are pain au chocolat – a croissant, with chocolate filling. We have tarte tatin, which is a cooked apple pastry, fresh madeleines, which are a lemon cake, and a wide assortment of macarons. These are like little cake sandwiches, in all kinds of flavors. Today, I’ve prepared vanilla, coffee, and lavender.”
Thomas’ felt his eyes going wider as the descriptions continued. The pastries looked, and sounded, like little works of art, not meant to be eaten. Without thinking, he blurted, “D-Do people really have all these sweets for breakfast?”
His ears went red, but the cook just laughed. “Now, don’t say that too loudly, or you’ll put me out of a job!”
Sheepishly, Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. The cook kept smiling at him, reaching for his tray. “I do agree with you, that many of these pastries are a bit rich this early. I’ll start you with a plain croissant for now, but do come back over if you’d like more. Oh, and take a piece of fruit or two – you’ll need some energy to get you through your morning training!”
He placed the flaky pastry on Thomas’ tray and pushed a bowl of fruit towards him. Shyly, Thomas selected an apple. He stammered an expression of gratitude to the cook and carried his tray away, stopping to take a cup of coffee from the beverage table. He elected not to add anything to it, enticed by the spicy aroma of the coffee plain. He turned around and quickly spotted Pedro and Laurent, who had claimed a table in the corner of the room.
Reaching his newfound companions, Thomas didn’t get a chance to speak before Pedro was questioning his tray. “Where’s the meat, my friend?!”
Laurent was also eyeing him quizzically. Thomas felt himself flush and mumbled, “I-I-I…n-not hungry…”
Pedro had already turned back to Laurent, disinterested in Thomas’ quiet response. He had been asking Laurent what his weapon of choice was, and they were both surprised to hear he preferred ranged weaponry. He’d been taking archery lessons since his childhood, and had perfected his training program’s equestrian-archery course at the highest level.
“Of course, that was just a training program,” admitted Laurent when the others had shouted too much praise. He pushed his glasses up and shrugged, picking at his food. “I’ve never been in real combat on a horse before. I’m sure it will be different.”
“Well, you’ll certainly be prepared for it,” argued Pedro. “It wouldn’t be your fault if the horse decides to go rogue on you.”
As they bickered over the demands of training a horse for combat, Thomas elected to stay out of the conversation. He wondered if Pedro, or anyone else here, had been in combat before. He’d assumed many of the other trainees were like him, and served their local guard to gain the skills needed for the Royal Guard Training Program. He hadn’t realized for elite families like Pedro’s and Laurent’s, youth combat programs were more fashionable than work.
Looking down into his cup, Thomas took a tentative sip of coffee. The warm beverage bloomed over his tongue, with a bitter, spiced bite. He’d never tasted anything like it. He quietly moaned at the taste, quickly embarrassed at the reaction. Pedro and Laurent ignored him, still arguing over horses. Thomas took another sip and relished it, enjoying how the warmth traced down his throat and settled into his stomach.
He considered adding cream or sugar tomorrow, but for now he became acquainted with the flavor of unadorned coffee. Picking up his croissant, he thought back to the cook’s description: plain and buttery. Ripping off a piece, he marveled at how airy the inside of the pastry was, the swirling pattern of the dough like no bread he’d ever eaten before. Thomas placed the bite in his mouth, astonished as it immediately began to dissolve on his tongue. His family owned two cows, in his youth, and he remembered helping his mother churn their milk into butter for them to enjoy on bread. He recognized the salty taste, but this pastry took his understanding of buttery to a new level.
The combination of bitter and salty was perfected when he bit into his apple, which was ripe and crisp. The sweetness of the fresh fruit amazed Thomas, and he stared at his tray in wonder. Forget sending his parents money every month – if he placed in the Royal Guard, he would send home sacks of pastries, coffee, and apples!
The thought made him chuckle, and Pedro and Laurent cast him a confused glance. Thomas just shook his head and continued eating, savoring each bite in case it was his last.
Twenty minutes later, the trio enjoyed their last morsels before stacking their trays and heading for their first training session at 8am. Thomas made eye contact once more with the cook that had helped him, who beamed at the sight of an empty tray. Thomas breathed a sigh of relief that at least one staff member here seemed to like him so far.
Following Pedro and Laurent, he trekked up the dirt path to one of the largest buildings in the old fortification, which had been converted to a training arena. It was large enough for trainees to ride horses, and Thomas looked around in wonderment with his peers. Large, folded-up wooden structures lined one of the long walls, likely to be used to create obstacles and barricades for fighting scenarios. Against the shorter wall that the trainees had entered through were rows of sparring dummies, stuffed with straw or wooden dowels. Excitedly, the mass of new trainees chattered amongst themselves until the man from this morning swept in, gesturing for them to find a seat in the spectator benches.
“I trust you’ve all enjoyed your first meal here!” The man was met with some cheers, to which he smiled. “Thank you all for being here on time. I’d like to go through some protocol before you split into your first training sessions.”
Thomas drifted in and out of focus, the buzz from his coffee starting to wear off. The man speaking revealed himself to be the head of the entire Royal Guard Training Program, and he introduced the other staff members that they’d be working with. Thomas made a note of which ones specialized in sword fighting; it was his primary combat method, and therefore the one he’d be getting the most instruction on. Laurent seemed excited about the person in charge of archery; when Thomas asked, Laurent whispered that she’d scouted him at the Chaillot training program he’d excelled in.
Thomas mulled over that as the head of program lectured them on barracks decorum. Some of his peers had been set on this path as children, long before Thomas had any clue about how he’d spend his life. He wondered how far behind he really was, and how many other recruits had been scouted by someone running this program. He’d never been one to feel insecure, but sitting at the foot of the royal castle surrounded by rich people had him doubting everything about himself.
“Alright, well, I suppose that’s enough from me now.” The head of the program opened his arms, and Thomas leaned forward a bit. “If your focus is sword fighting, please stay here. Archery folks will head out to the target range. Happy training, everyone!”
He clapped his hands to indicate the speech was done, and Thomas got to his feet. Discussion erupted from the large group as trainees went to their respective sessions.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you guys later,” Laurent shyly said, bidding Pedro and Thomas farewell.
Thomas was glad Pedro also focused on melee combat, relieved he’d have someone to spar with when they were inevitably paired up to practice. Finally, something familiar put the curly-haired man at ease, and he made his way down to the arena floor for their first training session.