Practicing with Ceodore was always an event filled with conflicting emotion. There was pride, of course. Pride in the man his son was becoming, pride in the knight Cecil knew that he could be. Joy, too. Sheer joy of a small, understated and quiet moment where in which the long list of duties and never-ending trail of responsibilities associated with the crown meant nothing- where he could simply be a father sparring with his son.

But there's also a regret. A quiet regret- that lessons, these lessons, could only be learned with harshness. There was no constructive way that he could knock the lad off his feet to show him any foundational error he had made in his approach- no gentle way he could properly assess his footwork nor his balance.

These lessons had to be taught with a firm hand to be learned well. And Cecil meant for the boy to learn well. He was the future of Baron. But more importantly- he was loved. The world, though much recovered, was still full of dangers. And the thought of Ceodore learning these lessons with injury, or his death, was too much to bear.

This was not the first time they had practised together. So perhaps, bright as he was, Ceodore would have taken on a foundational knowledge of his father's approach itself. Guidance, or even comment, would not be issued when he was doing something correctly. And so far, Ceodore's approach is perfect. His feet are his shoulder's width apart. His front foot faces Cecil. His back foot is turned slightly outward. His knees are somewhat bent to allow for a quick reaction. Both of his hands are clenched upon the handle of his practise sword. The tip of it is pointed toward Cecil's neck.

...Excellent. Truly. Without fault thusfar. So it is for that reason that Cecil says nothing. The same bright blue eyes look unto those of his son- and the paladin charges him.

Clang!

The lunge would almost feel like being hit, head-on, by a monster. Despite many years of peace, the paladin's strength was still overwhelming. But Ceodore's armour is good. His stance is good. Despite the violence of the motion, he should not be hurt.

Cecil moves his swordarm horizontally making for a blow to Ceodore's left side. Perhaps he would see the shield coming for his face from the right and react accordingly, while also parrying the blow from the left. Perhaps he would not.

The next few moments would tell.

Were that a sword, she would not have been best pleased- no. And were Ceodore too slow to react accordingly, she would not have liked the bruising the shield would likely have left upon him. Feeling it collide with nothing, Cecil can't help but allow himself a faint smile. Very faint. Very fleeting- as he had not the time to indulge himself.

The sword that comes for him is from Ceodore's right hand. It's a quick blow- but no less capable of causing damage for the haste of which it was delivered. Given their position, Ceodore's right hand means it would be aimed at Cecil's left side. So it was a simple matter to deflect the thing with that shield still upon his left arm- stepping forward to aim a (quite savage, actually) kick at Ceodore's torso as a counter.

The lesson would have been a simple one. Expect attack at any time. from anywhere. at any part of your body. But the lesson didn't need teaching- his son had already stepped away as he had swung, which meant that Cecil's foot meets nothing and that kick that would have winded him, armour or not, is reduced to a ...rather large step into nothing. at nothing. And a slow turn back around toward him.

Once again, Cecil finds himself smiling. He turns, sword and shield in hand, before speaking. Evenly, calmly. Clearly not even slightly out of breath.

"Very good. I think you may be ready for training with a live blade."

...Well. That was something Rosa certainly wouldn't like. Maybe he could wait a little longer. For her sake.

"I would have you prove yourself once more, my son. Take my shield from me."

Despite his talent and despite the work the lad had put into his training thusfar, Ceodore would not be able to do so. He was sure. Him doing so would be the son outmatching the father. And while Cecil was certain that one day it would happen, now was not that time. It was a dead cert that any attempt now would be a failure.

...And perhaps that would grant Rosa peace from worry of accident for a little longer.

Ceodore's certainly on the right track when it comes to employing speed in order to achieve his goal. But there's a problem. His first blow results in nothing- the sword missing Cecil and the shield entirely- bouncing harmlessly against the concrete below them. He has to be commended for enduring the recoil that would have taken place from that. It couldn't have been easy to shrug it off, pull the sword back, and slide the blade underneath the shield.

But even then, his attempt is doomed. It was far easier for Cecil to leverage the shield strapped to his arm (and the blade now being held underneath it) than for Ceodore to leverage his blade to manipulate the shield. Cecil twists his arm and the shield upon it backward, twisting the blade along with it.

Now, the blade was well and truly wedged between Cecil's armoured body and the underside of his shield, giving absolutely no opportunity for retrieval. And worse, the blade is at a disjointed angle- giving the wielder two choices. Let go, or very possibly risk breaking his wrists.

His choice. Cecil hoped it would be the former- for prize or not, this was only training. Regardless. He ends the lesson by making his own point- or rather, the point of his own practise blade, touch the center of his son's neck. It's a tap. Nothing more. But the point is clear. If he had tried that in actual combat, he would be dead.

He removes the sword- and then straightens out his arm, allowing Ceodore's own blade to slip free. And, gently:

"A good effort. Would you care to try again, or would you prefer to move onto axes?"

Or they could take a break and just talk. With all the affairs of the kingdom having the majority of the king's time, and training having the majority of the prince's, it had been quite a while. But it's Ceodore's choice. In Cecil's mind, any time spent with him was good time.