Jax, The Grandmaster At Arms Fanfiction

Jax, the Grandmaster at Arms

	'Who's Jax', you ask? That's a question that doesn't have a straight answer. Everyone knows what he's done, but nobody know who he is. Though, I might have some answers...What? I never said it would be free, did I? Pay up and my tongue might get loosened up a bit. Maybe 500 gold as a buffer would be good, you know?

	 I'm assuming right off you know all that stuff about why Jax fights with a lamppost, so let's skip that and talk about something interesting. Namely, how he got his rep as the Grandmaster at Arms.
	Growing up, Jax wasn't anything special. This may shock you a bit, but it is what it is. He was a thug, spent most of his free time in pubs drinking the beer and starting fights. Some say he had a perfectly normal life but grew up a thug just because, and some say he had it rough growing up and that's why he was a thug, but no matter who you ask, it all leads back to the pubs. Speaking of which, Jax had the misfortune of being caught by authorities while in the middle of a fight with three other drunkards at once. They hauled him off and the drunkies beside, and put him in prison for five years for 'consistent aggravated assault under the influence of fine spirits'. This would be a problem for some, but Jax was a lucky guy. Someone was watching him on the day he brawled with three people at once and was winning before he got dragged off to prison, and this someone paid a high amount of money to pardon Jax and take him under his instruction over in Demacia. It's not the most original story in the world, and cliche on top of that, but you do have to start somewhere...

	"I yield!"
	I was knocked down on the ground, with my master holding a wooden sword to my face. The sun was setting, but it hadn't gotten dark yet.
	"Too slow, Jax." He sheathed the practice sword and pulled me to my feet. The man who bailed me out of prison was fairly old, in his mid-forties at least. The left side of his face was scarred---I had assumed he picked the scars up from a duel or a war, but he never said and I never asked. He had lightly tanned skin and was wearing some light chainmail, and was tall, taller than most of the guys who hung around pubs. I'd put him at around 6 feet, 3 inches. His skill at weapons was remarkable. And most notably, he had quite the sharp tongue.
	"Jax, I pardoned you because I saw you had talent. Most people can't take on three men at once and win, even if they're drunk. But right here, right now, you're a disgrace. You move so slow that in the time it takes for you to finish a swing, I could play an entire chess game and win. You hit so softly, if you hit at all, that I wonder if I'm not dealing with a child of 8 playing at soldier instead of a 16 year-old teenager experienced in pub fighting. Most of all, you have no grace, no finesse. Your fighting embarrasses me every time we spar. Shall I arrange for you to be transferred back to prison and go back to fighting drunk braggarts with no talent for fighting?"
	He was right, but the way he criticized me in that polished tone and accent stung my pride. We both knew he wasn't going to send me back to prison, but sometimes I wonder if he would do it just to spite me.
	"We meet again on the morrow, at five in the morning. Be there early, no excuses. Are we clear?"
	"Yes, Master."
	"Dismissed."
	He turned on his heel and left the dueling arena.  I took a deep breath and winced in pain---during the fight, Master had given me a good thrashing, and I was aching all over, so much that the act of breathing hurt. Moving slowly and carrying my wounded pride, I went back into my master's estate.

	My master's estate was not how I imagined someone as skilled as him would live. It was modest in size, lacking decorations of any sort, and it resembled a house for a man of modest means more than the house of a practical legend. It was located in a less-populated block of Demacia, just a bit off the beaten path. It was hard to find this estate by accident. There were two floors, each with a clear purpose. On the first floor, there was a kitchen, a practice arena one room left from the kitchen with all sorts of equipment, and a study. The stairs were between the kitchen and the study, and led to the the second floor, which was made up of living quarters, private baths and a laundry room. And of course, the backyard was a dueling arena, just around the corner of the room where the practice arena was.
	I walked through the door, went down the hallway and climbed the steps to the second floor. As I went up to my room for a quick nap, I passed my master's room. He was polishing a sword on his bed, and on his wall were various weapons---a sword, quarterstaff, rapier, spear, mace, axe, bow and a fishing rod, and a large chest just under that wall that I assumed held even more weapons. It was otherwise a simple room.
	Taking a chance, I decided to ask him something.
	"Master?"
	"Yes?" He had stopped polishing the sword, and set it at the foot of his bed, turning to face me.
	"How did you come by all these weapons?"
	He scoffed, seemingly amused. "Boy, you're hardly in a condition to sit through a long story. You should be eating by now. But, I can tell you this. When I was your age, I served under the Demacian king. Twenty-five long years of fights, duels and campaigns has taught me the use of various weapons."
	"How does a fishing rod fit into twenty-five years of fights, duels and conquests?" I said, mimicking his tone.
	He waved me off. "Go to the kitchen. Dinner will be ready in an half hour. Another time, you'll hear the full story." He had rose to his feet, moving to put away the sword he was polishing.
	"Five in the morning, you said?"
	"Yes."

	After dinner, I went straight to bed. As I laid in bed, I was thinking of how long it had been. Only a week had passed since I had been pardoned, and it was hard for me to come to terms with how lucky I was. Growing up, I had no idea who my parents were. I remember that I was in an orphanage of sorts in Bilgewater, but I looked very different from the other kids, so no one adopted me. When I was 12, I was released from the orphanage, and I had to learn to fend for myself. The thing is, I was always good at fighting. No one I had fought with was close to my equal, and I had no formal training until now. I suppose 12 was my dark patch in life, as all I did and remember was get drunk and fight everyone and everything. The pubs weren't picky about serving to minors, and unlike everyone else, spirits didn't affect me that much. In fact, getting drunk seemed to sharpen my edge when I fought without the downsides that the thugs and sailors complained about, like blacking out and waking up hungover. Still, in a lot of ways, getting arrested was the best thing to happen to me. Thinking about it now, it was odd that my master was in a pub at the same time I fought 3 people at once before getting arrested, but with how fast everything moved, I hadn't had the chance to ask why he went to the trouble to pardon me. Before long, this line of thinking tired me, and I dropped off to sleep.

	I woke at 4 in the morning. Sleep had taken most of the pain I had from the duel yesterday, but I felt stiff all over. I was also fighting the urge to go back to bed and sleep, as my master didn't like it when I was late for anything. I learned the hard way when I was forced to run laps around the estate and do pushups after every lap from early in the morning until the sun set, because I overslept and showed up a half hour late to practice. With that memory in mind, I found the strength to rise from my bed and change into practice clothes, then grab a small treat to eat, go down to the dueling arena and wait. My master came at exactly 5 in the morning, satisfied that I was there and waiting for him.
	All my practice sessions started the same way, and this was no different. "20 pushups, now."
	I obliged, occasionally shifting my position around in response to criticism. Then he did something new---he told me to do 20 more pushups, but put his boot on my back. The pressure of his boot was very real and very painful, and I couldn't finish one pushup.
	After what felt like an eternity, the pressure finally lifted. He looked down at me and shook his head. "Disgrace. On your feet."
	The rest of practice had new 'improvements', such as running laps while having 20-pound weights, doing one-handed pushups from a thin 10-foot pole, and fighting while having a leg tied behind my back. After 3 hours, practice was over and I could swear I was dead and my body hadn't figured it out yet. Everywhere hurt, almost as much as yesterday's practice if not more. Master paced for a bit before finally letting out a sigh. "At this rate, I could send for one of the prince's squires to spar with you, and the fight would be over in ten seconds or less. You don't work hard enough, and you are nowhere close to being my equal in a fight.
	"That being said. I've orders from the king to attend a tournament in a month from now as a referee. You are going to come with me, of course, but not to participate. You will spectate, and perhaps spar with some of the apprentices, but if you carry on like this, you're better off not fighting anyone, as the embarrassment would be too much for both you and I."
	His voice softened a bit. "Remember also, no one has seen what you look like prior to this tournament. Doubtless you would look like a demon to the green boys. Don't lose heart, and don't let yourself be defined by your appearance."

	The rest of the month passed by before I realized it. Finally, it was time to go out into the city to sit in on the tournament. We woke early and rode to the center of Demacia on a carriage, and I decided to take this time to look around and marvel at the sights. The only time I had gotten more than a glimpse of the sights in Demacia was when I was first brought there, and at the time, there was the more pressing issue of what was going to happen to me now that prevented me from really enjoying the sights. This time, I freely looked around. In the morning, Demacia felt a bit like the good neighborhoods in Bilgewater, but one street on Demacia had far more class than the whole of Bilgewater. Two-, three- and four-story buildings were abound, each with their own function. Guards, civilians and merchants alike were doing their rounds, and people greeted each other as they passed. In comparison, a Bilgewater greeting was not getting punched in the face or having people pick your pocket. After roughly two hours of riding, we came to the site of the tournament. It was a large circular arena with four banners on each side of the arena. The doors were made of iron and were at least twice as high as the average man, and looked heavy enough to need two people to open them. We stopped in front of this arena just as the bell rang for 9 in the morning.
	Master and I dismounted. The guards nodded to him, but shot wary glances at me that could have been slight disgust. They opened the doors, and the first thing I saw going in was a lounge of sorts. All kinds of people were in this lounge, from extraordinarily rich people whose clothes could've paid for a year of food to commoners with just enough money to exist but not enough to really live on. Straight ahead was the arena itself. Since it was so early, the only people who were down there were apprentices sparring with each other and their mentors. The tournament would not start for at least three hours. Master and I entered the arena.
	The sound of fighting was in the air, but a bit muted because the apprentices were using practice weapons. Two pairs of apprentices were sparring, but one person in particular stood out---a girl with raven-black hair and red highlights in a lightly armored bodysuit. Her skill at fighting immediately stood out, as compared to the person she was sparring with, her movements were more fluid and less telegraphed. The fight went on for perhaps ten seconds before the fencer she was sparring with went for a thrust and was disarmed, then knocked down to the ground in two smooth moves.
	"Yield! Yield!" He was backing away and breathing heavily as the girl had her rapier at his throat, perhaps afraid that she would attempt to kill him with a wooden rapier.
	She scoffed and let the rapier hang to her side, then turned her back on the boy, as if he had ceased to exist.
	A man walked over to the girl to her right, apparently being her mentor. He looked to be in his late 30s and was tall, but not as tall as Master. He had a beard and his clothes were quite luxurious, carrying a symbol that I assumed was a coat of arms, but I had no idea where it came from. From where Master and I were standing, I could hear their conversation perfectly.
	"Father, how am I to improve my skills when none of the boys here can even pretend to know how to fence?"
	"Perhaps rather than humiliating them by winning all your duels in less than thirty seconds, you can drag the duels out so you can focus on one thing you need to practice."
	She made a face. "Didn't you just tell me last week not to hold back when I fight?"
	The man chuckled a bit. "That was then, when no one knew what to expect. Now, though, you should be lucky that anyone is willing to spar with you. You're just too good for them overall." He looked around a bit, spotting Master and I. "Oh, Master Ashram is here. Come with me and I'll introduce you."
	The man and girl walked over to us.
	"Good morning, Master Ashram. It's been so long since I've seen you in the city. Is that your new apprentice?"
	"Morning, Count Aldric Laurent. Yes, that is my new apprentice."
	Aldric was smiling initially, but looking at me, his smile slowly hardened until it looked like he was worried rather than happy.
	"I see, I see...You are aware of his...unique appearance, are you not?"
	The girl was also looking at me, not bothering to disguise the open look of disgust and surprise she had. She looked like she might say something, but I assume upbringing had taught her to stay quiet if no one had talked to her. As it was...
	"Yes, I am well aware," my master Ashram said, looking a bit impatient. "Is this important right now?"
	Aldric had cleared his throat, seeming eager to change the subject.
	"I don't believe you've been introduced to my daughter, Fiora. Fiora, this is Grandmaster Ashram. He is a man who served the king for twenty-five years and learned every weapon that exists in the world in only a third of these twenty-five years. And this is...?"
	Master Ashram nudged me.
	"I...I'm Jax. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." I felt both Fiora and Count Laurent's stares on me, and it felt uncomfortable enough that I had to look down.
	Aldric was stroking his beard. "Well, he knows manners. That's a start. Is he any good at fencing, though? My Fiora has a hard time finding practice partners, as she's on a level of skill at least two times higher than the rest."
	"Jax, would you be interested? It'd be nice to fight someone other than myself to pass the time," Master said.
	"Well...yeah."
	Aldric smiled again. "Then, it's settled. But don't take it personal if you lose, as my Fiora is very, very good at fencing." Fiora scoffed at these words, though I doubted it was out of humility.

	I found myself with a wooden rapier in my hand and facing Fiora Laurent. Master had taught me some fencing and how to make my own rapier, but fencing wasn't exactly something I was wholly comfortable with. All I knew was that this particular duel was a first to three, as in whoever landed 3 hits first won. And if Count Laurent's boasting meant anything, I was about to face a prodigy. I only prayed that the end would come quick when I lost.
	Fiora had moved in a neutral guard stance, her rapier pointing diagonally upwards and her feet spaced apart. I barely had time to mimic her stance before the call came out.
	"En garde!"
	Fiora and I circled each other, one waiting for the other to move. I wasn't sure if I should move first, but I decided to wait for something to happen. We stared each other down for what felt like years but was more like ten seconds when Fiora got impatient and struck first. Our rapiers collided with each other with a soft 'clack', and I made a move to spin her rapier around with mine to get her in a bad position. She had seen this coming and stepped back before the thought had occurred to me. We were at neutral again.
	From the first exchange, I could tell she had strength on her, but contrary to what I had witnessed, her movement didn't feel as fluid. Taking a chance, I decided to swing at her. She sidestepped the vertical swing and brought her rapier up in the same movement, then thrusted, hitting me in the chest. After executing this, she was smiling, apparently having sized me up to being just like that kid she had beaten in only fifteen second, no skill and all. That and the pain on my chest had done it for me---I didn't care if I lost, as long as I put up enough of a fight to wipe that smile off her face.
	So, I went for another exchange. I feinted a vertical swing, then turned it into a horizontal swipe at her neck into a forward thrust. She moved back just enough to dodge the swipe and thrust, and tried to counter with a thrust. I moved to block it, but it had been a feint, and I got smacked on the head. She had jumped back again, having landed two clean hits to my zero. Her skill was apparent, but I couldn't---wouldn't---let that stop me.
	This time, I waited. She feinted an overhead slash into a leg slash, which I countered with a block into thrust feint, then flicked my rapier so that it was a slash from groin to head instead. She attempted to block the feint, getting hit on the chin instead. Her smile had vanished, replaced with surprise and anger in her eyes. To look at her, you would think it was the first time she ever got hit by a sparring partner in a long time, and I was willing to bet that she really had not been punished for making mistakes in a long while. To be honest, though, her eyes alone scared me, and I almost regretted doing that. Almost.
	Now, I went for a thrust, but turned it into a counterclockwise block, catching her sword in the process. I then tried to move closer while we were attempting to overpower the other's blocking. She overcame the block and swatted my sword aside, almost disarming me, and thrusted. Having anticipated this, I jumped to the right and brought up my rapier in the split second she was attempting to recover from her whiff and did a diagonal slash, hitting her on the side. Two for two, it seemed.
	Before I could register this fact, Fiora had closed the gap with a lunging thrust, which I only barely blocked, and went into her own combination. Spinning slash, upwards slash, thrust feint, horizontal slash, leg slash, and then it just became a blur that I tried to react to. She was moving far faster than I had seen in action, and it was all I could do to keep on the defense without letting another hit go through.
	However, the effort of blocking every move she threw at me got exhausting really fast, and I fell for an upwards slash feint. She had smiled as soon as she saw my block, knowing that I wouldn't be able to recover in time, and did a small step back into a lunging thrust that hit me in the neck and sent me flying backwards.
	Three for two.

	When I came to a minute later, I could feel Master Ashram shaking me awake. I was vaguely aware of people standing around me, with looks on their faces that were a mix of awed because I had lasted longer than thirty seconds in a duel versus arguably the best fencer in the arena, wide-eyed curiosity because I was a no-name, and concern because when I was hit by that lunging thrust, I had hit a wall in the process. Finally, I shook my head and reassured my master that I was fine, then came to my feet with the help of my Master. The world felt unsteady for two horrible seconds, and then righted itself.
	Fiora was waiting just in front of me. Her look of contempt and disgust had been replaced with respect and something tender. One could say that  She looked me over, and then spoke.
	"Father, can I keep him? I believe this boy would make for a good pet, better than all these apprentices playing at fencing."
	Count Aldric was walking up, laughing at the absurdity of the statement.
	"No, child. Just because Ashram's apprentice almost beat you at fencing doesn't make him a pet. In fact, I would argue that---"
	The bell rang for 10 in the morning. Aldric balked as if he were remembering something.