Chapter 5: Training
*Thrain 9 Years Old*
In the palace training grounds of the lightning clan, it was nothing more than just a plain field. A golden haired boy was doing pushups with a younger black haired girl siting on his back.
"One hundred and ninety-five, one hundred and ninety-six, one hundred and ninety-seven, so brother why are you at this again, uncle Hundingr told you to rest if he catches you over-training again your done for"
When Thrain reached his goal of two hundred pushups Hela stood up and jumped off his back.
Standing tall Thrain's body had already began showing signs of his father's blood flowing through his veins, he now had the beginning signs of a warriors physic, glistening in the afternoon sun.
"Hahaha! Darling sister, I have told you this hundreds of times, the harder you push your body today the stronger a body you wake up with tomorrow, and as for rest, I will rest when I sleep." Thrain spoke with a boisterous laugh speaking as if he was laying words of great wisdom.
"Come on Lady Hela you know that he will not listen" these words came from Brynhidr (Sif), one of the Thrain's close friends.
"Yeah I would think you would have given up by now my Lady, if he could I know he would train forever"-Hermodrs (Frandral)
"Hahahahahaa! My friends, you might mock my dedication but it's the reason why I stand head and shoulder above you all when it comes to combat-abilty."-Thrain
"Ohh! Then I Fafnir (Hogun), would enjoy the chance to cross blades with the all-so Great Prince Thrain" Fafnir sarcastically challenged Thrain.
Chuckling to himself Thrain responded "Fafnir, what's the record to our mock battles so far? I don't remember the numbers but I do know that I'm winning"\
"It's 20 to 15" Fafnir corrected threw gritted teeth, with that the two were now glaring at each otheras if sparks were flying between them.
*******
The others already used to Thrain and Fafnir's rivalry moved off to the side of the field.
"Brynhidr I thought I told you to just call me Hela" Hela tiredly corrected Brynhidr for the hundredth time.
"I'm sorry My lady, I mean Hela, it's still a work in progress".
"So who do you think is going to win this time?" Hermodrs asked the boy standing beside him, but when the response to his question was late he noticed that Agnar (Volstagg) was preoccupied with the roasted drumstick of a giant turkey.
"Come on Agnar, would you stop eating, because I don't think you can get any lager, and you still have time to grow" Hermodrs chided.
"Just get off my back already, it's not my fault that you can't appreciate the soothing comfort of food" and the moment he finished his sentence he was drawn back to his food and continued ignoring Hermodrs.
"it's going to be a long afternoon" sighing to himself Hermodrs started dreading the afternoon
********
Back to the field Thrain and Fafnir stood face to face swords in hand.
"So what shall it be Fafnir, this is your last time to back down, cause I will not hold back." Fafnir just ignored Thrain's attempt at getting a rise out of him.
The training ground was thick with tension as Thrain and Fafnir circled one another. The score was 20 to 15 in Thrain's favor, but the look in Fafnir's eyes suggested he was done with being the runner-up.
Fafnir moved first. True to the defense-heavy style of his lineage (taught to him by his Father), he didn't charge wildly. Instead, he advanced with slow, crushing deliberate steps, his practice sword held low like a barricade.
"Always so cautious, Fafnir!" Thrain bellowed, his golden hair whipping behind him as he blurred into motion.
Thrain lunged, his wooden blade striking with the speed of a summer gale.
Clack! Clack-clack!
Fafnir parried each blow with minimal movement; his feet rooted to the earth. He was waiting for his prince to overextend, his eyes tracking every flicker of Thrain's jewel-blue gaze.
Thrain shifted his weight, attempting a high feint before pivoting for a low sweep. It was a move that had worked ten times before, but Fafnir had learned. Instead of retreating, Fafnir stepped into the strike, catching Thrain's blade on his hilt and using his shoulder to ram into Thrain's chest.
Thrain gasped as the air left his lungs, stumbling back. For a split second, he was off-balance—the perfect opening.
"Got you!" Fafnir barked, swinging his practice sword in a heavy horizontal arc aimed at Thrain's ribs.
The others leaned forward. "He's going to do it!" Hermodrs whispered. "Fafnir's about to win!"
Thrain seeing the approaching blade did not freeze, instead his mind went into overdrive till it reached an appropriate way of offsetting the approaching strike, 'it only took less than a second for him to figure it out'
He held his sword vertically downwards by his side to protect it, when Fafnir's sword finally hit he used the force of the strike to add strength to a sideways jump.
With the jump the onlooker's saw as if Thrain had been thrown by Fafnir's strike and were about to rush to help Thrain till they heard a laugh from the dust cloud that had been kicked up.
Hahahahahahahahaahahaha
"You mighty Fafnir! , a mighty opponent indeed.
I can feel it! MY BLOODS BOILING, we can't stop now, let's give it our all"
Hahahahahahahahaha
Fafnir didn't wait for Thrain to finish his laugh. He lunged forward, his practice sword held in a two-handed grip. Unlike Thrain's flashy and erratic style, Fafnir fought like the earth itself—slow, heavy, and impossible to move, but Thrain's heavy strikes were giving him trouble.
Clack! Clack-clack!
Fafnir parried the heavy blows, his smaller frame vibrating with every impact. At ten years old, his muscles were lean and corded but it was nothing infront of Thrain who was like a tall muscular mountain to those of his age but make no mistake his size did in no way diminish his speed.
Fafnir might train to a near death state in order to catch up to Thrain but all that effort went moot when his rival did the same.
"Is that all?" Fafnir taunted, his eyes darting for an opening amoung Thrain strikes. He stepped into a quick feint, dipping his shoulder left, but Thrain didn't bite. Instead, Fafnir swung his wooden blade in a wide, horizontal arc.
Thrain flipped backward, the wood whistling inches from his nose. He landed in a crouch, his golden hair dusty from the field. "You're getting faster, Fafnir! But you're still too predictable!"
Thrain exploded forward. He didn't use a standard charge; he used his momentum. It was a risky, high-energy move that exhausted most children in seconds, but Thrain's lungs felt like they were made of bellows. He struck four times in one breath—left shoulder, right hip, legs, and chest.
Fafnir grunted, his shield-arm (holding an imaginary shield) taking the brunt of the force. He was being pushed back, his heels digging ruts into the dirt.
"Twenty-one... is not coming... today!" Fafnir growled. He took a hit to the ribs just to gain an opening, then dropped his shoulder and drove his entire weight into Thrain's midsection.
The air left Thrain's lungs in a violent whoosh. He was sent tumbling across the ground.
Fafnir was already closing in for the finishing blow. "Yield, Thrain!"
"Never!"
Thrain didn't swing his sword. He dropped low, sliding under Fafnir's guard like a snake. With a surge of raw strength, he grabbed Fafnir's lead leg and pulled. At the same time, he slammed the hilt of his wooden sword into Fafnir's lower back.
The physics were undeniable. Fafnir went down hard, face-first into the dirt, with a muffled oomph.
Thrain scrambled on top of him, pinning Fafnir's sword arm behind his back and pressing his own wooden blade against the back of Fafnir's neck.
"Twenty-one... to fifteen," Thrain panted, his face covered in sweat and grime, but wearing a triumphant smirk.
The training ground went silent until Agnar broke it with a loud crunch of his turkey bone. "Well," Agnar muttered, "at least Fafnir made him work for it this time. I thought for a second that Thrain was going to eat dirt."
Thrain let go of Fafnir and collapsed onto his back next to him, both boys staring up at the clouds, chests heaving.
"You're a monster, Thrain," Fafnir wheezed, spitting out a bit of grass. "I hit you with everything I had, and you just... kept moving."
"It's the training, Fafnir," Thrain said, though he looked at his own hands with a puzzled expression. The warmth was fading, leaving him exhausted. "We just have to train harder. If we're this tired after a mock duel, how are we going to handle the real world?"
Hela walked over, looking down at her dusty, battered brother. She sighed, offering him a hand. "The real world doesn't have Uncle Hundingr to stop the fight when things get dangerous. Now get up, both of you. You smell like wet dogs and the maids will have your heads if you track that mud into the palace."
Thrain took her hand, pulling himself up.