NOVEL NEXT Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Muscle Memory?
I could have been Joffrey and been thrown head first into a royal court I had no training for, Robb Stark where I would find myself leading a rebellion, or even Jon Snow.
That did bring up questions on who I was. Aegon was Schrodinger's dragon. I didn't know if I was the legit Aegon Targaryen, or an imposter.
I could be a Blackfyre if the theorists were correct, or simply a boy with the right eye and hair colour.
There were even theories that Young Griff was the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. The possibilities were endless. Before I do anything else, that'll be my objective: finding out who I truly am.
"Young Griff," came a voice.
I didn't turn around and continued staring off, too deep in my own thoughts.
The orange-haired man repeated my false name, only louder. I rolled my eyes, turned around and the man grinned.
In his hands were two practise swords. He wasn't a homely looking man, was Rolly not-yet-Duckfield, nor was he handsome. He was a tall and brawny with a shaggy beard that desperately needed a cut and a comb.
He wasn't wearing armour, but instead a thin brown tunic that rustled in the cool breeze. Not that I could blame him, the air was hot and swarming with midges.
"From the way you're brooding, I assume you've largely recovered by now," said the man with a grin. "Grab a sword and get ready to earn a few bruises. It'll take your mind off it."
I frowned. "I'm not brooding." My words didn't sound convincing even to myself.
He chuckled. "Are you sure, lad? It certainly looks like it. Nothing good has come from staring off into nothingness. Besides, you need the practise. You're behind on your lessons."
How could I forget Young Griff's lessons? At least it'll give me a fairly coherent picture of Volantene politics.
Though to be frank, if Tyrion's words were anything to go by, Aegon was perhaps one of the better educated characters.
Down to no small part of the company he kept around himself. At least I'll have that benefit compared to the others.
Chewing my lip, I decided it wasn't worth the bother to argue. I was reluctant though. I didn't want any bruises as he so cheerfully put it. I just got this new body and didn't want to ruin it just yet.
When I stood up, Rolly threw me the sword. I failed to catch and the blunted blade dropped to the ground, barely missing my foot. I just stared at it for a moment before rushing out an apology.
He chuckled. "Nothing to apologise for, lad. You were sick. I'm sure it'll take a while to get back to normal. Mayhaps you'll even remember something." He forced a smile, an uncomfortable one that gave me little reason to feel better.
"I don't think so," I replied. It was perhaps for the best that a lot of them thought I was suffering from amnesia.
"I really can't remember all that much. Bits and pieces, but that's about it. I believe that martial pursuits are included in that list of things I need to relearn."
Rolly chuckled and shook his head. "Don't put yourself down, that's all you've been doing since you've woken up. It'll come back to you, I promise. Your mind may forget, but your muscles wont. Come, let's see how much you do remember. Pick up that sword."
I did so and weighed it in my hand. It was a hand-and-a-half sword. A bastard sword and heavier than I expected. Most likely it had been filled with lead in order to make beginners build up strength in their arms.
The real deal would have been lighter no doubt. Not truly knowing what to do, my mind defaulted to the closest thing and I got into a stance I had seen others do.
Rolly looked at me with confusion and it was clear I made a mistake.
My master-at-arm's chipped lips formed a smirk. "Not how you do it, lad. Close, but not good enough. Do as I do."
And I did. First, Rolly taught me how to properly stand. My legs were too close together and my sword had been held too low. Young Griff may have had years of experience in his young life, but I had none.
The only experience I had was TV and watching HEMA videos online. I never practised HEMA though, so I was left following what they explained and showed without any first-hand experience.
'I'm going to be covered in bruises before this is done, aren't I?'
"Please . . . could you teach me once more, like if I was first starting out?" I cringed at my own voice.
'Bloody hell, I'll have to experience my balls drop.' Puberty was not something I was looking forward to experiencing again.
"Just . . . until I get a hang of it—I'm sure it'll come back to me . . . in time. But until then . . ."
"I'm your master-at-arms. That is my duty to you. If that is what you desire, I'll give it to you, my prince."
'Prince,' I was never called that before. It was strange. I was only a child, but in a position of authority solely because of my birth, however clouded by going incognito.
It'll be something I'll have to get used to if I survive long enough. Standing as tall as I could, I tried not to look like the twelve year old I was in the body of.
Twenty years I'd been alive on earth and now this . . . Well, at least this time Young Griff could be considered more mentally mature, though to be fair, that wouldn't be saying much.
I'd never been the most mature person myself so that may not be much of an improvement if at all. I almost laughed at the thought.
'I'm so going to die.'
All morning we practised. Rolly taught me the basics of sword fighting and combat. To say it was hard was the understatement of the century. Muscle memory? Ha, I wish