((Takes place the morning after A Tentative Truce.))
The only child of Arlan's blood was not used to being a curiosity in his own city. Adare could usually walk from the citadel and through the streets of Phalion without occasioning more than the odd blessing from the people who lived and worked there as he went about his business. With Velasca and her retinue in residence, however, it seemed he couldn't even walk down to breakfast without feeling eyes on him from the various soldiers and functionaries she had brought with her. He was grateful for Rory's presence, though. It felt good to have someone he could talk to, to take his mind off those staring eyes and whispered rumors. But in the training yard, it was worse. Velasca's guard were there, going about their own daily routine, and Adare thought he might be sick at the prospect of having to spar with sword and practice his archery in front of professional soldiers.
By the weapons rack, he turned a particularly uncomfortable shade of sweaty pale, though only Rory could see it. "They're going to laugh at me."
Rory couldn't help but notice the eyes that glanced their way as they entered the training yard, curious about the newcomer Velasca had brought to Phalion to spy on the young prince. He could feel their eyes following him and Adare as they made their way to the weapons rack, and he felt a wave of anger rising up inside him, both protective and defensive. "Remember who you are and let them laugh," Rory whispered back, reminding Adare of his bloodline and origins. No matter his gender, he was the royal and rightful heir to the throne, not the Usurper and her daughter.
Adare nodded, his pale face creased in a worried frown as he straightened his back. "I'm not used to people watching me," he whispered, trying to explain his lack of confidence away as something out of the ordinary. But after last night's revealing conversation, Rory could be fairly sure that stage fright was one of the prince's biggest problems. Adare glanced up at the sound of a familiar voice, and he seemed to relax just a little. "Here comes Dalan," he said, gesturing for Rory's benefit.
Phalion's captain of the guard and weaponsmaster was a tall man, hair graying with age, but still fit and vital. And he wasn't alone - at his side walked the First Blade, both of them engaged in what seemed to be a surprisingly warm conversation as they crossed the training yard to join the prince and his squire.
"Just ignore them," Rory replied, knowing that was easier said than done, even for a commoner just as himself. Royal Squire was just a title, and though he had dreams and aspirations of his own, he hadn't yet considered where this new path in life might take him - if he survived. He turned his gaze toward those Adare was pointing out, recognizing the First Blade as she'd been the one to bring him here. He closed his mouth, turning silent as the pair approached, unsure of their loyalties. Though the First Blade had showed him some kindness, he knew she would do whatever Velasca ordered.
"Good morning, my prince, Rory." Dalan greeted the two as though he had done this every morning for both of their lifespans, a man who obviously knew that the audience for this morning's work was not going to help matters. "Basics today. Form and posture." He met Adare's grateful gaze with a warm smile, more fatherly than anyone might have guessed at first. "The First Blade has requested permission to spar with us this morning. So, my prince, start your drill please. Rory, let's get you kitted out."
As Shaye Dervla bowed to the prince and led the reluctant boy into the main part of the yard, Dalan smiled down at Rory. "Do you know who I am, lad?"
Unsure what was expected of him, Rory took his cues from Adare, noticing how the young prince seemed to relax in the presence of the Captain and First Blade, nor did he miss the fatherly affection with which Dalan seemed to address the prince, and tugged at his heart, reminding him of his own father's recent murder. "Yes, sir. Adare..." He broke off, worrying that he'd made a mistake in calling the prince by name. "The prince told me who you are."
Dalan laid a strong but gentle hand on the boy's shoulder as the first ring of steel on steel made itself known behind him. And it soon became obvious just why Shaye Dervla had volunteered to spar this morning. No one would laugh at anyone bested by the First Blade. Flicking a glance over his shoulder, Dalan steered Rory toward the armor racks. "Don't worry about calling him by name in front of me, lad," he told the boy quietly, selecting a leather jerkin to help Rory into. "Best to stick to the prince, or Prince Adare, while we've company, though."
Rory nodded, grateful for the man's understanding and advice. If he was going to survive here, he was going to have to learn who to trust here and be willing to listen to their advice. He heard the clash of steel behind him and turned to see the First Blade putting the young prince through his paces, curious how he would fare against the more seasoned soldier and feeling just a little bit out of his league. "I have never sparred with a real sword, sir," Rory admitted, turning back to Dalan, his face pale with trepidation. If anyone was going to be laughed at here today, he thought it likely to be him.
"Don't worry yourself overly much on that account," Dalan assured him. "I won't be starting you on a true sword until this lot have pushed off. What I have here is a practice sword, lighter and easier for a learner to use without being wooden." He tapped the second sword on his belt - it looked an awful lot like a proper sword sitting there. As he tugged the laces to make sure the jerkin was a good fit on Rory, he lowered his voice again. "I know what happened on the road, lad. Any problems you have, any worries, even if you just need someone to talk to and can't face Mila, come to me. I know what it is to lose everything on that woman's whim."
Rory arched a curious brow up at the older man, holding his gaze for a moment as he struggled to fight back the tears that he'd refused to let anyone else have the satisfaction of seeing, including Adare. But this was not the time or place for tears, not when there was a group of Velasca's thugs looking on. He couldn't help but wonder Dalan might have suffered under Velasca's rule. He wondered how she managed to remain in power if everyone hated her so, but he kept that thought to himself, at least for now. He bit back the tears in an effort to regain control of his emotions and turned his attention to the second sword at Dalan's belt. "Thank you, sir," he managed at last, glad his voice didn't betray his feelings.
With the boy secure in his own jerkin, Dalan laid his hands on Rory's shoulders, looking into the boy's eyes seriously. "I would like us to be friends, you and I," he said quietly. "My first duty, the rule that governs my life, is the safety and well being of Adare. Are you here to help that, or here to hinder it under orders?"
The only child of Arlan's blood was not used to being a curiosity in his own city. Adare could usually walk from the citadel and through the streets of Phalion without occasioning more than the odd blessing from the people who lived and worked there as he went about his business. With Velasca and her retinue in residence, however, it seemed he couldn't even walk down to breakfast without feeling eyes on him from the various soldiers and functionaries she had brought with her. He was grateful for Rory's presence, though. It felt good to have someone he could talk to, to take his mind off those staring eyes and whispered rumors. But in the training yard, it was worse. Velasca's guard were there, going about their own daily routine, and Adare thought he might be sick at the prospect of having to spar with sword and practice his archery in front of professional soldiers.
By the weapons rack, he turned a particularly uncomfortable shade of sweaty pale, though only Rory could see it. "They're going to laugh at me."
Rory couldn't help but notice the eyes that glanced their way as they entered the training yard, curious about the newcomer Velasca had brought to Phalion to spy on the young prince. He could feel their eyes following him and Adare as they made their way to the weapons rack, and he felt a wave of anger rising up inside him, both protective and defensive. "Remember who you are and let them laugh," Rory whispered back, reminding Adare of his bloodline and origins. No matter his gender, he was the royal and rightful heir to the throne, not the Usurper and her daughter.
Adare nodded, his pale face creased in a worried frown as he straightened his back. "I'm not used to people watching me," he whispered, trying to explain his lack of confidence away as something out of the ordinary. But after last night's revealing conversation, Rory could be fairly sure that stage fright was one of the prince's biggest problems. Adare glanced up at the sound of a familiar voice, and he seemed to relax just a little. "Here comes Dalan," he said, gesturing for Rory's benefit.
Phalion's captain of the guard and weaponsmaster was a tall man, hair graying with age, but still fit and vital. And he wasn't alone - at his side walked the First Blade, both of them engaged in what seemed to be a surprisingly warm conversation as they crossed the training yard to join the prince and his squire.
"Just ignore them," Rory replied, knowing that was easier said than done, even for a commoner just as himself. Royal Squire was just a title, and though he had dreams and aspirations of his own, he hadn't yet considered where this new path in life might take him - if he survived. He turned his gaze toward those Adare was pointing out, recognizing the First Blade as she'd been the one to bring him here. He closed his mouth, turning silent as the pair approached, unsure of their loyalties. Though the First Blade had showed him some kindness, he knew she would do whatever Velasca ordered.
"Good morning, my prince, Rory." Dalan greeted the two as though he had done this every morning for both of their lifespans, a man who obviously knew that the audience for this morning's work was not going to help matters. "Basics today. Form and posture." He met Adare's grateful gaze with a warm smile, more fatherly than anyone might have guessed at first. "The First Blade has requested permission to spar with us this morning. So, my prince, start your drill please. Rory, let's get you kitted out."
As Shaye Dervla bowed to the prince and led the reluctant boy into the main part of the yard, Dalan smiled down at Rory. "Do you know who I am, lad?"
Unsure what was expected of him, Rory took his cues from Adare, noticing how the young prince seemed to relax in the presence of the Captain and First Blade, nor did he miss the fatherly affection with which Dalan seemed to address the prince, and tugged at his heart, reminding him of his own father's recent murder. "Yes, sir. Adare..." He broke off, worrying that he'd made a mistake in calling the prince by name. "The prince told me who you are."
Dalan laid a strong but gentle hand on the boy's shoulder as the first ring of steel on steel made itself known behind him. And it soon became obvious just why Shaye Dervla had volunteered to spar this morning. No one would laugh at anyone bested by the First Blade. Flicking a glance over his shoulder, Dalan steered Rory toward the armor racks. "Don't worry about calling him by name in front of me, lad," he told the boy quietly, selecting a leather jerkin to help Rory into. "Best to stick to the prince, or Prince Adare, while we've company, though."
Rory nodded, grateful for the man's understanding and advice. If he was going to survive here, he was going to have to learn who to trust here and be willing to listen to their advice. He heard the clash of steel behind him and turned to see the First Blade putting the young prince through his paces, curious how he would fare against the more seasoned soldier and feeling just a little bit out of his league. "I have never sparred with a real sword, sir," Rory admitted, turning back to Dalan, his face pale with trepidation. If anyone was going to be laughed at here today, he thought it likely to be him.
"Don't worry yourself overly much on that account," Dalan assured him. "I won't be starting you on a true sword until this lot have pushed off. What I have here is a practice sword, lighter and easier for a learner to use without being wooden." He tapped the second sword on his belt - it looked an awful lot like a proper sword sitting there. As he tugged the laces to make sure the jerkin was a good fit on Rory, he lowered his voice again. "I know what happened on the road, lad. Any problems you have, any worries, even if you just need someone to talk to and can't face Mila, come to me. I know what it is to lose everything on that woman's whim."
Rory arched a curious brow up at the older man, holding his gaze for a moment as he struggled to fight back the tears that he'd refused to let anyone else have the satisfaction of seeing, including Adare. But this was not the time or place for tears, not when there was a group of Velasca's thugs looking on. He couldn't help but wonder Dalan might have suffered under Velasca's rule. He wondered how she managed to remain in power if everyone hated her so, but he kept that thought to himself, at least for now. He bit back the tears in an effort to regain control of his emotions and turned his attention to the second sword at Dalan's belt. "Thank you, sir," he managed at last, glad his voice didn't betray his feelings.
With the boy secure in his own jerkin, Dalan laid his hands on Rory's shoulders, looking into the boy's eyes seriously. "I would like us to be friends, you and I," he said quietly. "My first duty, the rule that governs my life, is the safety and well being of Adare. Are you here to help that, or here to hinder it under orders?"