A/N: So while I was poking into Tolkien's legendarium the other day, I discovered that the Númenórean rulers adopted absolute primogeniture like here in SASBB. Descendents of Númenor (an island to the west of Middle Earth) have unusually long life and boast such characters as Boromir and Aragorn in their ranks. Just thought that was really interesting.
Takes place roughly around the previous chapter, so Johan is 66 and Lena is 16.
Chapter Thirteen: The Duel
If there was one thing The Most Honorable Lady Lena Anthea, daughter of Johan and Clara, heiress to Kasterborous and Gallifrey, hated most, it was how out of place she felt in court life.
Court itself wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If she was very honest with herself, on the silent, windless, nights where the moon hung full and amber against the blood-red sky, she could sometimes convince herself she enjoyed it. Lena was very good at law and rationale and sums and crops and livestock. She knew how the marquisate worked, from the assistant pig-keepers to her parents on their governance chair. Sometimes, even her tutor had trouble finding new challenges for her when it came to stratagem and soldiering might. If that was all court life consisted of, she would have been content.
Then there were the times she loathed, where she felt clearly unwanted and out of her element. Gatherings of nobility always made her uncomfortable, and tonight was no exception. She found herself at a dinner of next-in-lines to titles old enough to be away from their governesses and mothers. The heirs sat by their predecessors—fathers, brothers, uncles, nephews, cousins, all together… except she was not only the youngest, but the only daughter as well. It was certainly a place not forbidden to her, but definitely not one deemed appropriate by most of the others in the room. Some had been cold at best before dinner and nearly all the rest pretended she didn't even exist.
"Papa, how long do I have to stay here?" she asked through a clenched smile. The Marquis pat his whiskers with his napkin, pretending to dab at some drink gone too high.
"Until His Royal Highnesses dismiss us; damn the earth it's only just started," he muttered from behind the cloth. "I know, it's boring, get used to it. I had to."
"You always had an unfortunate advantage in these dinners that I never shall, Papa," Lena growled. She took a drink of wine and kept pretending that nothing was happening. They were made to turn and suddenly she found her dining partner to be a man nearly ten years her senior and slathered in hair grease.
"Lucky me, being paired with the loveliest dinner partner in the whole company," he smiled, trying his best to be friendly. "I'm Alfred, next Baron of Chatham."
"…and I'm Lady Lena, Earlessa of Gallifrey," she replied stiffly. Alfred nearly choked on his drink in laughter.
"Please, don't be so formal, not now," he insisted. "You haven't even been presented at court—don't think of me as an enemy."
"I have better things to do than be presented," she said. "Gallifreyan tradition states that in two years I shall have a coming-of-age ceremony and assume greater responsibility within the marquisate, so that I may practice for when my father retires and I take his place as the march's protector. He and Mama still have the final say until then, but it's much more practical a way to spend my days than learning how to curtsey."
"Yes, you do have strange customs in the north, don't you?" he asked curiously. "Though I didn't realize women rulers were one of them."
"Are you saying I'm not fit to rule?"
"Not at all—I barely know you, let alone well enough to pass judgement. Just… I have an elder sister, yet I'm the one sitting at this table. If I've heard correctly, you have a younger brother, correct?"
"I have two younger brothers, first of all," Lena quipped. "Secondly, there are twin sisters between the eldest and me and another girl between them. Thirdly, they are ten and three—neither one can do very much ruling, even if they tried."
"Apologies. I just find it curious, is all, that out of everyone here, it's the Black Spectre of Gallifrey grooming his daughter to lord over his lands and knock swords with a foreign soldier every once in a while…"
"Is there something you wish to say about my father, Lord Alfred?" Lena asked, raising her voice calmly so the whole table could hear. All other conversation stopped and eyes turned to them.
"Uh… no, Lena… it's just…"
"It's just that, despite your initial friendly attitude, you find that my presence here is bothersome. The laws allowing my being here are so old that one needs to dust simply to find the hidey-hole in which the scrolls are kept… much newer than the one that permits your father to force me to talk to you and not your lady sister…"
"Johan, tell your daughter to hold her tongue," someone ordered. Lena could tell it was neither the king, nor his son, and knew her father was going to do nothing.
"I am just a maiden of sixteen—how can my father taking interest in my ability to govern ruffle everyone so?" she smirked. "Oh wait, that's it… because I won't be presented alongside your sisters and your daughters and instead stand a skirt amongst you the moment I come of age. You all wore dresses before you were breeched, so I see no reason to be so jumpy."
"Your Majesty, I take affront to this," someone down the length of the table snapped. The king looked at Lena and sighed in exasperation.
"I do not challenge your right to sit at this table, nor your right to speak, as your father made it very clear the moment you were born that you are to succeed him, but you are correct: you are a maiden of sixteen. You are still learning your place, just as many are at your age, no matter if they wear breeches or a skirt, are destined to govern or till the lands."
"With all due respect, Your Majesty, my place is here."
The king nodded, chuckling. "Well said. Ah! The soup has arrived! What perfect timing!"
The remainder of dinner passed without incidence, which only isolated Lena. Though the Marquis gave her a supportive pat on the knee, he remained turned towards the Earl of Adipose the entire meal. Alfred remained wordless and no one else engaged her in conversation until dinner was done and they were lead into the lounge to mingle afterwards.
"I don't particularly enjoy picking on girls, children especially, but how you behaved was severely disrespectful towards His Majesty as well as everyone else at the table," a young man said. He was the heir to a barony, older than her, though younger than Alfred, and towered over her despite both her heels and height that favored her father. "You leave me little choice, Lady Lena: I challenge you to a contest of strength and skill."
"Are you joking?" her father deadpanned. He sipped his malt and stared at his daughter's challenger. "If the king brushed it off…"
"Even His Royal Highness cannot call off a personal challenge amongst the heirs once it has been levied," the baronling smirked. He turned back to Lena. "The first three disciplines, choose wisely."
She thought for a moment, mulling it over. "Swordsmanship, marksmanship, and hand-to-hand combat."
"Then I choose archery and mounted combat as the tie breakers… as if it'll come to those," her challenger scoffed. He then left, the lounge going deathly quiet.
"Thank you, Papa, for bringing me here after all," Lena grumbled. The Marquis raised his eyebrows and leaned down, close enough to whisper in her ear.
"What for?"
"If I had not known them and this had been my pool of suitors, Astra would be the Fifteenth Marchioness."
"Oh, we wouldn't want that, now would we?" he chuckled, taking another sip of his malt.
The following morning most of the guests of the dinner had gathered down in the courtyard, where the challenge areas had been set up. Lena stood on a wooden platform, where she was making the final adjustments on her outfit. She had to borrow a pair of breeches, but luckily she already had a shirt and pair of gloves that would suffice. Her boots still had a large chunk of heel, though she did not mind as it allowed her the extra height to come past her challenger's chin.
"You know, you can still choose a champion," Alfred said nervously. He was standing next to the platform, hidden from the shoulders down. "A couple baronets did so a few years ago and things were fine. Don't take the risk."
"Why not?" she asked plainly, adjusting her gloves before flipping her braid over her shoulder to sit against her back.
"He could seriously hurt you," he replied. "Lena, he's twice your size and you aren't even wearing the proper boots for a duel! What would the Marquis do if you were cut down because you didn't employ a champion?"
"I don't know, but I think there's a reason why you're the one trying to talk me out of this and not my lord father," she said. Alfred blinked and looked over his shoulder; sure enough, the Marquis was off to the side, chatting casually with some of the older titled men who had seen their fair share of duels. He looked back, only to see that Lena had taken her place across from her opponent. The prince hopped up onto the platform, standing between the two—he was of an age with Lena's opponent, making the young lady seem all the more out of place.
"First to three hits is the winner, inflicting major injury is grounds for disqualification," he announced. "Any questions? Substitutions?"
"Not too late to summon my younger sister, now is it?" Lena snarked. The prince couldn't help but chuckle.
"We do not have the time, no. Now on my signal," he said. The prince crept back down off the platform and watched the fighters ready their stances. "Begin!"
Lena and her opponent clashed immediately, the sound of their swords echoing throughout the courtyard. A couple spins and a few taps of the blades and they both froze again, the tip of the baronling's blade pressing lightly into Lena's right cheek.
"Point!" the prince called out. The challenger flicked his wrist and lowered his sword, drawing a thin line of blood. Lena hissed, bringing her free hand to her face to wipe the wound clean.
"What, did you think that just because Papa doesn't object to you fighting that means you'll leave without a scratch?" he chortled. He and Lena began to circle one another, readying for another volley.
On the sidelines, Alfred watched uncomfortably. While it was true he did thought that Lena's father bringing her was a mistake, he also did not think it respectable to challenge a child. Had she been an insubordinate soldier fresh out of Academy that would have been one thing, but a delicately-framed heiress was another story entirely. He was so wrapped up in watching them stalk the platform that he did not notice Lena's father appear at his side.
"She's not her sister, that's true, but I can almost guarantee that she'll make the next three hits," the Marquis said blithely, leaning up against the platform boards. Alfred jumped in surprise.
"You mean that, sir?"
"Of course I do—if Tara was here she'd have the match over and done by now, but that doesn't mean that Lena's skill is exactly pale." He turned back to the match to watch his daughter land the flat of her blade on her opponent's thigh. "See? She can do it."
"With all due respect, that's one point."
"Just watch."
The two fighters stepped apart, staring at one another momentarily before charging again. Lena had to jump to dodge a low sweep of the sword, but was still able to touch the tip of her blade to the baronling's chest after a few extra parries.
"Point!" the prince shouted. "Next hit risks match!"
The courtyard fell still as the combatants stared one another down. Circling the platform again, the fighters attempted to predict the other's move without making one of their own. Tension became palpable while Lena and the Marquis smirked simultaneously.
She had this.
Lunging forward, Lena and her opponent both made to strike. For every blow the young man attempted, the young earlessa made an effortless parry. The baronling stumbled as he tried to make a turn, allowing her to go on the offensive. A few more hits of their swords and her opponent tripped over himself. He dropped unceremoniously on his rear and instantly found the tip of Lena's sword precisely fitted inside his right nostril.
"Uh… that is point and match," the prince stated, his astounded voice carrying well in the silence. Lena brought her sword away with a flourish, taking a nick out of her opponent's nostril in the process.
"Ow, you bitch!" he hissed. Blood dribbled from his nose as he put a hand up to try to stop the bleeding. All Lena could do was chuckle.
"Oh look, we match now," she smirked. Her opponent staggered to his feet, half in a rage and half astounded, as she sheathed her sword. "Are you ready for the shooting competition? Just to let you know, I'm an eight-year battle veteran and can pick off a Dalek at over a hundred paces… though I may be a little rusty since I haven't been in the field for a few months." She inspected the nails on her sword hand, ignoring how wide and terrified his eyes were becoming. "By the way, we might as well hammer out the rules for hand-to-hand combat now—are you well-versed in kickboxing or merely traditional grappling? I can go either way, but I'll comply with whatever works for you."
"You… you're insane!" the young man exclaimed. "You're no girl!"
"Did you wish mounted combat to be done sidesaddle or astride? I really have no preference… or would you rather change the challenges to needlepoint, oration, and serving tea?" Lena asked. When her opponent made no noise she chuckled before sauntering off the platform. "I thought so."
Lena Anthea, Earlessa of Gallifrey, won her first duel that day with ease, much to the surprise and horror of many of those in attendance. She was not challenged to many more after that, for most learned by the day's example and never provoked her into a contest of strength and wits as long as they could help it. Her papa was proud of her and lorded it over his fellow lords for as long as he could without drawing out their ire. If any more of their peers had thoughts as to who should inherit Kasterborous and Gallifrey from the Black Spectre himself, all they needed to do was look towards his firstborn child and pray that she be merciful.