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Shepard adjusted the strap of his leather vambrace as he walked towards the training ground. His blood was coursing strongly with battle lust even though he would simply be training with some of his fellow knights; he always took a deep satisfaction in knocking the derision from their faces, their scorn for his low birth and lack of title.
As he rounded the corner Shepard saw the Master of Arms talking to a gentleman in fine robes. Sir Garrus would supervise the practice tournament that day, meaning that Shepard had a chance to win for once. Other instructors would always find fault with his technique, discount a winning strike on some flimsy pretence, barely hiding their distaste for the man they saw as an intruder in their high-born ranks. But not Sir Garrus; the man was fair to a fault, and one of the only noblemen that Shepard trusted.
The man speaking to Sir Garrus wore wine-red robes of velvet, and as he turned a little to reveal his profile Shepard stopped dead in his tracks; it was the King himself, features twisted in anger.
“That will not do,” the king said, his face ruddy with bad temper.
Shepard quietly moved sideways, ducking behind a wall where he was out of sight. He had no desire to walk in on an argument between the two men, but had nowhere safe to retreat to. Clenching his jaw, he stayed silent and tried not to listen.
“With the greatest respect, Highness, the prince must engage in a fair fight,” Garrus said. “I will not command the knights to give him an easy time – what will he learn from that? In battle the enemy will not lay down their swords at the sight of him - rather the opposite, as you are well aware.”
“It will not do for the heir to the throne to be shown up by a mere knight, even in false combat,” the King said, his voice ringing with authority and arrogance. “If he does not win this little tourney, Sir Garrus, I will demand to know why.”
“Yes, Majesty,” Garrus said, and Shepard could hear the weariness in it.
As soon as the king was gone Shepard strode around the corner, hackles up and blazing with irritation.
“Ah, Shepard,” Garrus said when he spotted him. He tilted his head and said, “That look of thunder tells me that you heard our king’s orders?”
“You are not seriously going to force us to lose against some…coddled little princeling?” Shepard snapped.
“Watch your mouth,” Garrus retorted harshly. “That princeling will be your king one day.”
Shepard took in a deep breath and released it through gritted teeth. “I won’t do it, Garrus. You know I won’t.”
“That is your decision,” Garrus said. “But make it in full awareness that others above me are waiting for a reason to strip you of your knightly status, and that defiance now could provide that reason. There are some who think you do not deserve to be a knight, and if you stir the King’s ire then I dread to think what the consequences may be for you. I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s the truth.”
Shepard swore, loudly and colourfully. “So I’m to roll over for His Majesty and let his precious son tickle my belly, is that it?”
Garrus laughed, and the warmth in it took some of the edge from Shepard’s anger. “Prince Kaidan is not quite who you think he is, my friend. He asks for no favours and detests his father’s meddling. I have a great affection and respect for him, and I daresay in different circumstances you may even like him too.”
“Hmph,” Shepard grunted. “I think that is highly unlikely.”
*
Shepard would admit he had been taken aback by the prince when he first appeared at the training ground. He wore no silks or velvets, but rather the same simple woollens and leathers as Shepard and the other knights. He carried himself with confidence but not arrogance, spoke with a quiet respect and dignity, shook Shepard’s hand at their introduction without flinching or preening.
Shepard would never admit how those dark eyes had affected him, how the prince’s calloused palm against his had made his pulse skip; how the form-fitting leather hugging the prince’s body sent his thoughts skittering off down an entirely inappropriate path.
And now the two men were circling each other in the centre of the training ground, unaware of the watching eyes all around them, focused only on each other. Both wore the bruises and blood of a dozen hard fights to reach this final round, though only a fool would deny that the prince’s path had been easier.
Shepard had watched each round of combat that Prince Kaidan had fought and couldn’t help but admire his lithe and adaptable fighting style. Though each knight he had faced clearly started off trying to go easy on the prince, by the end his tenacity and strength had forced them to fight back at their full capacity; and still he had won each round.
And now Shepard watched him closely, looking for the tells he had noticed in the prince’s other combats; the twitch of his eye, the shifting of his hand on the sword grip. Their fight so far had been even and tough; Shepard had caught the prince with a blow to the ribs that left him gasping, but Prince Kaidan had quickly retaliated with a flurry of sword thrusts that had left Shepard scrambling backwards, giving ground and fighting to stay upright.
Now they were both tiring, and Shepard instinctively knew that the fight was almost over. His blood sang, his heart pounding; he never felt so alive as he did in the heat of battle. But the next good blow would be the decider; neither man had much left to give.
Something made him glance over towards the royal tent to the side of the training ground. He saw Garrus first, the pinched look on his face that showed both approval and anxiety. Then he looked at the king and saw anger and petulance on his face, his eyes fixed firmly on Shepard. He suddenly became aware of the audience around him and recalled Garrus’s words ; he knew that if he beat the prince now, every inch of ground he had painfully clawed out for himself in his battle to become a knight would be undone.
Fury soured his belly as he looked back at Kaidan, so commanding and handsome, everything a prince should be. Shepard understood that he had to lose, but he hated it with everything within him.
When Prince Kaidan pressed forward, Shepard fell back. He allowed the prince’s thrust to get past his guard, the practice sword smacking him firmly in the chest. He didn’t have to fake the breathless gasp of pain, and when the prince attacked again Shepard let the blows land. He fell to the mud, clutching his ribs, spitting out blood as the roaring approval of the crowd swelled in his ears.
Shepard heard the king proclaim the prince’s victory, heard the crowd chanting Kaidan’s name. But then the prince appeared above him, offering a hand to help him stand.
“You let me win,” Prince Kaidan said, low and angry. “Why?”
“Just following orders, Highness,” Shepard said, his eyes flicking to the royal tent.
Prince Kaidan followed his gaze, a flush creeping over his cheeks. “Then follow mine,” he said, and when his eyes snapped back to Shepard’s the intensity made the knight’s skin prickle. “Fight me with everything you have. If you best me, then the better man won.”
Shepard grinned, a warm and unsettling respect blooming in his chest. “As you command, sire,” he said, and immediately went on the offensive.
They were so evenly matched, each thrust parried and each counter anticipated. Shepard caught himself laughing out loud as the blow he aimed at the prince’s head was blocked, turned to the side fluidly. He heard the prince laugh too, right before that practice sword almost took his head off; Shepard parried and side-stepped, rapping his blade against the prince’s ribs.
But as he moved, his foot hit a patch of mud and he began to slip. He tried to recover but the prince was faster; stepping in to close the distance, Kaidan jammed an elbow into Shepard’s torso and swept the blade up to his throat as he collapsed in the mud.
For a moment all was silent and still. Shepard’s chest heaved as he looked up at Prince Kaidan, tall and imposing, every inch the king-to-be; his heart juddered and he could swear he saw an echo of it in the prince’s eyes too. Then the air began to ring with shouts and cheers, and Kaidan stooped to offer his hand, and Shepard took it in a wrist grip and let himself be pulled to standing.
“Well fought, my friend,” Prince Kaidan said, his smile genuine and unfettered. “You have impressed me greatly today. If you are agreeable to it, I wish you to join my personal guard.”
“I…that would…” Shepard paused, grinned. “It would be an honour.”