Dastan hasn't dreamed for a long time, and even he did dream, it always the same nightmare. The memory of lost everything still haunting him to this day.

But tonight, something's changed. Dastan had a dream, a dream that takes him back to the time when Dastan just a young boy...

Dastan never likes combat lessons. Not because he doesn't know how to fight, as an orphan who grew up on the street, Dastan mastered dagger and street fighting techniques at a very young age.

But when it comes to wearing big armor, holding a shield and a sword? That is a different story.

Despite his quick feet and flexible skills, the chainmail armor just too heavy for Dastan, every time Dastan sparring with the instructor, he always ends up gets knocked to the ground.

This happens too many times finally Dastan's adoptive father no longer asks him to participate in the fighting lessons with his brother.

Garsiv, Dastan's older brother looked at Dastan, who was overwhelmed by the heavy armor, got strike down by Garsiv's shield and now lying on the ground.

"Maybe you should learn how to dance instead of fighting, little brother. That way at least you will fall to the ground gracefully." Garsiv scoff and said.

And the worse thing is? Dastan's adoptive parents think it's a good idea. When Dastan's adoptive mother entered the courtyard, she heard Garsiv's joke, thought about it for a while and says.

"Great idea! Dastan, I think maybe Waterdeep's dance will suit you better than fighting in bulky armor."

"Are you saying ... Water dance? That may be a good idea, my love." Dastan's adoptive father watched the children train as he listened to his wife's speech and smiled meaningfully.

"Then I think you are agreed with this idea, dear husband. I just heard that a very experienced Dancing Master is in the city, tomorrow I will invite him over and start to teach Dastan ." The adoptive mother said.

So the next day after lunch, Dastan's father sent Dastan to the Small Hall. The rug had been moved and the table and benches shoved against the walls.

The hall seemed empty, until an unfamiliar voice said, "You are late, boy."

A Dwarf without a beard but thick chest hair stepped out of the shadows, holding a pair of slender wooden cutlasses.

"Tomorrow you will be here at midday."

The Dwarf had an accent, the scent of the west Faerûn, Waterdeep perhaps, or Baldur's Gate.

"Who are you?" Dastan asked.

"I am your new dancing master!" The Dwarf tossed Dastan one of the wooden blades. He grabbed for it, missed, and heard it clatter to the floor.

"Tomorrow you will catch it. Now pick it up."

It was not just a stick, but a true wooden sword complete with grip and guard and pommel.

Dastan picked it up and clutched it nervously with both hands, holding it out in front of him.

It was heavier than it looked, much heavier than the sword Dastan used to practice with.

The Dwarf snap his tongue. "That is not the way, boy. This is not a greatsword that is needing two hands to swing it. You will take the blade in one hand."

"It's too heavy," Dastan said.

"It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong, and for the balancing." The dwarf threw the wooden blade into the air, held the blade with the palm of the other hand, balanced the wooden blade in his hand, and then threw the blade up again to catch the handle with the original hand.

"Its hollow inside is filled with lead, one hand is all that is needing."

Dastan took his right hand off the grip and wiped his sweaty palm on his pants. He held the wooden blade in his left hand.

The Dwarf seemed to approve. "The left is good. All is reversed, it will make your enemies more awkward. Now you are standing wrong. Turn your body side face, yes like this. You are tall and skinny as the shaft of a spear. That is good too! The target is smaller. Now the grip. Let me see."

The Dwarf moved closer and peered at Dastan's hand, prying his fingers apart, rearranging them. "Just so, yes. Do not squeeze it so tight, no, the grip must be deft, delicate."

"What if I drop it?" Dastan said.

"The steel must be part of your arm," the Dwarf told Dastan. "Can you drop part of your arm?"

The Dwarf Juggling his sword around and thrust his sword into the air looks almost like a performance.

"No! I'm the Champion of Waterdeep swordsmanship tournament for seven consecutive years, I know these things. You must listen to me, boy."

It was the third time the Dwarf had called him a boy. "My name is Dastan." Dastan objected.

"Boy, girl, Dastan, Jastan," The Dwarf said. "You are a sword, that is all." He snaps his tongue.

"Now that is the grip. Remember you are not holding a battle-axe, you are holding a cutlass."

The dwarf stands in the fighting position.

"Now we will begin the dance. Remember, child, this is not the iron dance of longsword we are learning, the Warrior's dance, hacking! and hammering!" The Dwarf swinging his blade powerfully as he demonstrates.

"No. This is the blade dance, the water dance." The Dwarf slowly moves his blade in the air like he is drawing a picture with his blade. "It is swift... and sudden!" He thrust the blade into Dastan's face then stop before the tip touch Dastan's nose.

Dastan was shocked by the sudden thrust, he falls to the ground. The Dwarf smiles and says.

"All men are made of water, do you know this? When you pierce them," The Dwarf poke Dastan's belly, said. "The water will leaks out and they die." He pulls Dastan off the ground.

The Dwarf took a step backward, raised his own wooden blade. "Now you will try to strike me."

Dastan tried to strike the Dwarf. Although there was no bulky armor to limit his movements, the dwarf still easily parry off all the attacks from Dastan, the dwarf didn't even move a step.

Dastan tried for four hours, until every muscle in his body was sore and aching, while the Dwarf snap his tongue and told him what to do.

"Wrong! The grip is too tight, it must be delicate so the blade can dance in your fingers."

"Faster! Again! Faster!"

"No no no, turn your body side face, you don't wear heavy armor and do not use a shield so you must make the target smaller for your opponent."

"Wrong again! You are holding a wooden cutlass, not a wooden club! Don't use your strength, use your dexterity!"

In the end, Dastan is ling on the ground panting for breath, every muscle and bone is hurting, but a big smile was on Dastan's face.

"I assume you are in pain?"

Dastan nods his head.

"Good! every pain is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better. Rest now, boy, tomorrow the real work began."

"I still can fight!" Dastan objected.

The Dwarf smiles and says."Don't lose your calm to the thirst for battle, you are not a barbarian, child, you are a—"

"—a Swashbuckler!" Dastan finished for him, fiercely.

The dwarf laughed heartily. "Exactly! very good, boy." Then turn around and ready to leave.

"Wait!" Dastan stops him and said."What is your name? Mentor."

"Varric Vakarian, First sword of Waterdeep."

Three years past, everyday Dastan practiced swordsmanship with Varric from midday to dusk. Today is Dastan's 18th birthday.

"Yes! Very good! Quick as a snake and quiet as a shadow. But remember, Look with your eyes, hear with your ears, taste with your mouth, smell with your nose and feel with your skin, then comes the thinking, not just use brute force but use your mind in battle, that it's the heart of swordplay. Now again!"

After the practice, Varric looks at Dastan and says."Today not just your 18th birthday, it's also our last dance lesson, Mustachio."

Mustachio, Varric's nickname for Dastan ever since Dastan decide to grow a mustache. At least he stops calling me boy or child. Dastan thinks.

"But mentor! I still have so much to learn."Dastan objected.

"Yes, very much, but none of the things I can teach you," Varric said.

"You must learn on your own, mustachio. Go travel maybe, expand your horizon. Your father gives you a task, right? Find your own path on the way. Here, take this."

Varric gives Dastan a beautiful recurve shortsword. Dastan takes the blade and waving around.

"Athkatlan recurve shortsword, your birthday present, and graduation gift. Congratulation! Dear boy, you are graduated."

Dastan kneeled in front of Varric and kissed Varric's boots, this is a traditional manner of Porsia. It's the way for the students to pay their highest respect to the teacher and thank them for teaching.

"Thank you for your teaching, my mentor. I shall always honor you, and make you feel proud to call me your student."

"Oh, don't get all teary-eyed on me, Mustachio. You know I can't stand to see a human cry."Varric laughed and secretly wipe off his own tears, said.

"Remember, find your own path. You not barbarian can fight with rage and Strength or a battle master like me, but you can fight with your dexterity and your head. like —"

"—a Swashbuckler! " Dastan finished for him, proudly.

The End

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【機器狼工房】詩人小姐吸水杯墊！

機器狼不用學英文的呢！因為可以用翻譯模組處理 ヾ(*´∀ ˋ＊)ﾉ（用鼻子聞聞）