Written for prompt #7 - 'battle' at 100foraslan LJ community. 200 words exactly.
Caspian hated fighting with his uncle.
When he was a little boy, he'd dreaded Miraz' summonses that seemed invariably to lead to harsh words and beatings. He lied about the bruises, if his masters ever saw them, because the alternative was to admit that he was a bad, weak, feeble sort of boy, and that his uncle despised him for being too bookish and having no backbone.
The older he grew, the more it angered him. One day, when Miraz was setting in on him for no apparent reason, he snapped. He hit back, hard, sending Miraz sprawling on the floor. It had taken weeks to recover from the whipping he had received, but since then the impromptu beatings had stopped.
It wasn't often that Miraz showed any interest in his education. But today was his sixteenth birthday, and he was celebrating it by trying to prove that he had made progress with his swordplay. He spun round and round the sparring field, dodging and lunging, fully aware that no blows would be pulled should he falter.
A bead of sweat trickled down his neck, and he wondered what he had done to make his uncle hate him so much.