Marek and Jason stood back to back, blunted swords in hand. Around them five of their father's knights closed around them, armored in mail and half helms. Above them, Lord Marten watched in silence, clad in steel grey breast plate and his shadowcat fur draped around him. His eyes betrayed nothing.
The first knight came with an overhead strike, Marek easily parrying and countering to his exposed knee, dropping the older man to the dirt. Jason launched himself at two foes, driving one back while deflecting the attack of the other. Turning aside one blade, he fired off a back kick that caught the knight behind him in the stomach, doubling him over. With a flourish, he parried another strike, thrust and crunched the knights shoulder guard, denting the steel plate. He dropped his sword in defeat, yielding to the young Jason.
Marek now faced the final two on his own, sweat beading from his forehead. Pressing the moment, he launched a flurry of blows, each strike perfect and precise. The fury of the attack drove the knights back who could break through the storm of steel. One of them experienced a moment of courage and charged Marek, who knocked his outstretched blade and swept his knee from under him, crashing him face down into the dirt. Picking up the discarded tourney sword, Marek held one blade out in front and the other above him, ready to fight once more.
"Enough!" called his father, putting an end to the melee. Jason and Marek lowered their swords and faced the Lord Father, grim and stoic. His ash blonde hair had gone gray at the sides, with a close cropped beard to match. His sons were four and ten now, almost men grown, strong and lean. Around them, the knights picked themselves up and returned to their barracks.
"Rest tonight, for on the morrow you will depart for Starfall. Lord Criston has agreed to take you both as squires. In time, perhaps you may distinguish yourselves for knighthood. I shall look for you on the morrow. Ser Harlen, take charge." He turned and departed, his cloak billowing behind him.
Marek could stomach it no longer. Tossing his swords to Jason, he ran off into the keep. The halls were dimly lit and cold, his sweat tingling against his spine. Bounding up the great steps to the inner keep where the Warlord's Seat was, the great stone tower that dominated Swordhall castle. Two great ironwood doors led to his Lord Father's sanctum, a large room devoid of warmth but filled with tomes, scrolls and weapon racks. In the corner sat a suit of black armor, lamellar shoulder plates, and a death's head flanked by Valyrian sphinxes wrought in pale silver. The helm was topped with a silver skull crest with a long crimson plume, gathering dust. It was his father's armor, passed down from his father before him. Only the heir of Severus would be permitted to done it, as tradition dictated.
Lord Marten had taken his great oaken seat behind his table, carved from ebony and decorated with grinning skulls.
"Father, why do you send us off like cattle?" Marek demanded, the heat rising in him. Marten sifted through his books and glanced upwards before returning to his pages.
"It is time you and your brother to become knights, should Lord Damon deem you worthy."
"And do you deem us worthy, not of knighthood but to be your sons?" Marek spat.
"You are both my sons, nothing can ever change that." Replied Lord Marten.
"Did Mother's death harden you towards your blood so much?" No sooner had the words left him, did Marek realize there was no going back. His father's pale blue eyes met his and held, never blinking or moving. To his credit, Marek stared right back.
"You will not speak of your mother, boy. You did not know her." his face darkened, his eyes with it.
"How could we, when you never mention a word of her. To know anything, we must confront the kitchen staff or your knights for a mere description of the women who bore us.
"The woman who died giving you and your brother life. Never forget that." He added icily.
"How can we? You remind us of it every time you send us away. Why do you hate us so?" Marek saw the hurt in his father's eyes, and knew he had wounded him. He stood and crossed the table.
"I do not hate you nor Jason, Marek." It stunned him, as it was the first time he had ever called them by name. "What you learn at the hands of the smiths, the fisheries, the hunters and horse masters are the tools by which you will succeed. If something is given to you, it can be taken away. You and your brother have been given nothing; all you know has been hard earned, in blood and sweat. I take no credit for your accomplishments, they are not mine to grant." It was the most Marek had ever heard his father speak and he did so softly, as a man would speak to his son.
"Whatever you make of this life, whether they be vows or promises, they are yours alone. Did you ever wonder we never kept a sept here in?" he asked. Marek only nodded.
"It is because the world claims our lives are gifts from the gods, the Seven. Like any gift, it can be bestowed or taken from you. The night your mother died was the night I stopped believing in the Seven. They took her from me, despite all the hours of prayer and begging. Any god that takes a woman as loving as your mother shall not my worship nor my sons."
"Father..I—" Marek began.
"You will be squired at Starfall, the House of your mother. There you will learn more of your mother than I can ever say. From the Daynes, you will hone and perfect what it is to be a warrior. In time, you and your brother will return here." Then he placed his hand on his shoulder and sent Marek off wordlessly.
He did not remember going to his room or being packing. It was evenfall when his brother found him, his trunk sealed.
"What did father tell you?" he asked, taking the chair across from him.
"We're to learn from the Daynes, and about our mother."
Jason's eyes widened.
"He spoke of mother?" he asked fervently. Marek shook his head and saw Jason's disappointment.
"No, only that we would learn more from her family than by staying here. He means well, brother. I see that now, you were right." He admitted, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Jason nodded.
"Then we best get a good night's meal and rest, brother. We've a long road ahead of us."