Seren stares at her opponent across the chamber from her, waiting for the signal, every muscle tensed and eyes narrowed.
At the sound of a whistle, she feints forwards before bolting straight up into the air, evading the other knights immediate rush for her and spiraling around behind him, blunted training wingblades whistling as they carve through the air. Her opponent pulls both wings behind his back to protect himself from Seren’s first strike, wingblade clashing with wingblade even as Seren rolls through the air to land behind her opponent, both facing away from eachother.
As both twist their bodies around in a rush to retaliate, her opponent swings his double-sided sword held tightly in his mouth down in an arc. Seren deftly parries the strike with her own wingblades, ducking low below her opponents guard and diving forward at the same time. Long, blunted hoofclaws sweep out her opponents legs from beneath him.
Before he can recover, Seren tackles her opponent and pins him onto his back, holding her wing-blade up to his throat as he groans. “Match!” The instructors whistle calls out after him, and Seren steps back to allow her opponent to rise back to his feet again as he huffs in frustration.
“A skilled feint, but you rely too heavily upon deception.” Instructor Silverthorn calls out, as he strides over in front of Seren while the other knight stalks off to the sideline, grumbling. “If your opponent were to call your bluff, that maneuver you just pulled would have left you entirely open.”
Seren nods in response, standing fully at attention. “What would you suggest, then?”
“You’ll spar with me next. For this round, try to rely solely on the basics-no advanced maneuvers, nothing acrobatic. See if you can stop me in my tracks.” The instructor states. “You should work on your raw reflexes and precision, you’ve already shown yourself to be creative enough in your choice of tactics.”
Seren nods once more, settling into a position across from her instructor. When he moves, she barely even sees it coming, barely deflecting the first uppercut from his hoofclaws, holding her wing protectively over her face as he sweeps down with his. She tries to backpedal and gain some ground, but he was already inside her guard, his other hoofclaw having slipped past her defenses while she was focused on his wing. Two talons lever themselves at her throat, and she sighs as she knows she’s been beaten again.
Not that that is anything to be particularly ashamed of; Instructor Silverthorn is generally considered the most talented blademaster in Luddas. It wouldn’t do to have any less as the personal instructor for the rulers of the duchy. As she disengages from her opponent, Seren’s preparations for another bout are interrupted by a voice from the side.
“Sister?” The familiar voice of Ceridwen calls out as the door to the dueling arena opens. Seren winces in discomfort, but tries her best to hide her reaction.
“Yeah? What is it?” She wipes off the sweat on her brow and does her best to compose herself. She’d been training nonstop since early that morning, and even holding herself upright now is making her muscles sore.
Ceridwen shuffles in place. “Um, well, Mom and I were wondering if you’d like to join us for dinner today. We’ve barely seen you since...” he trails off; both of them knew exactly what had set this off.
Seren quirks her mouth in irritation, glancing back at her instructor. She is just about to tell Ceridwen to go eat without her, when Silverthorn nods his head. “I think my pupil could use a rest, she’s been working herself ragged. We can resume after lunch, madam Seren.”
Seren groans. Well, looks like there isn’t any getting out of it now. Averting her gaze from her brother, she sighs. “Alright, I guess.” She is keenly aware of how that reaction affects her brother, can practically feel his gaze drooping from where she is standing, but it can’t be helped.
Shedding her equipment into a pile on the ground-some servant could clean it up, that wasn’t for her to worry about-she reluctantly follows Ceridwen, averting her gaze from the other pony. There’s an awkward air of silence that hangs in the air, and she can almost feel Ceridwen’s concerned gaze burrowing into her skull as they trot down the halls.
Eventually, her brother breaks the silence. “Are you sure you’re doing alright, Seren? You’ve been training almost nonstop. We’ve barely even seen you the last few days.”
Seren rolls her eyes. “Is that any different from how you normally are?” She responds dryly. “If mother didn’t drag you away from your books I’m pretty sure you’d spend your entire life in that observatory.”
Ceridwen winces in response, looking down and away. “Well… Maybe that’s exactly why I’m worried about you.” He mumbles in a low tone. “It’s easier to stay sequestered away like that, but that doesn’t mean it’s healthy. I don’t want you to become like me in that way.” There’s a tone of vulnerability in his voice, that almost provokes Seren into just saying what’s really on her mind. Almost, but not quite.
Damnit, why do you have to make this so difficult, Hawky? She was just trying to distance herself, but here he had to be looking out for her and making it harder than ever to remain stoically separated. At least she can justify not responding to that statement by just entering the dining room and greeting her mother. Flinging open the doors to the dining room, she strides on in.
Snowgleam’s face noticeably brightens upon the view of her daughter. “Oh Seren, I’m so glad you could join us today. How is your training going?” She asks, politely.
Seren allows herself the smallest of smiles. This was easier to deal with; simple small talk. She crosses the room to sit down; not directly next to her mother, but not across the table either, a healthy two seats away. Ceridwen, perhaps inevitably, chooses to sit in between the two mares. “I believe I am making good progress.” She professes, rubbing her sore muscles. “But I suppose some rest is necessary between bouts. Mhm, I hope that we have fish in storage, I think I’m going to need the protein.”
Beira gives her daughter a slight smile. “I’m sure I can arrange that. I’ll be right back.” The mare stands and heads to the door leading to the kitchens to make the request.
Seren slumps against the table, hoping that Ceridwen would leave them in silence while they wait. Surprisingly, she gets her wish; when her eyes flicker up to view the pegasus, she sees him staring dismally at his plate below him. Another pang in her heart, and she looks away.
He’ll get over it. It’s better this way. Seren tells herself, uncertainly, closing her eyes tightly. At some length their mother returns; she noticeably hesitates upon seeing the somber mood of the two ponies, before trying to project the most pleasant smile she has in her arsenal to lighten the mood. “Well, the chefs have dinner on the grill! It’ll be ready in no time. So, why don’t you two tell me how your classes are going?”
Seren looks at Ceridwen with mild surprise. “You’re taking classes too? Whatever for?” He’d exceeded his tutors in academics years ago, so there isn’t much in the way of classes that would actually apply.
Ceridwen makes a face; though Seren notices a slight smile hiding underneath it, perhaps just happy that his sister was finally engaging in conversation with him. “Father’s had me taking etiquette classes for the last couple weeks, ever since the promenade.” He explains, the disgust in his tone making it obvious just what he thought about these classes. “It’s… Um, I mean, it’s going alright. I’m doing my best.” He offers, halfheartedly.
Oh boy, I don’t envy his tutor. Seren thinks to herself. Ceridwen Starhawk had always found such things worse than irritable. That he was trying at all was probably mostly a demonstration of how hard father had been pushing him.
“Oh, that reminds me!” Beira Snowgleam pipes up. “Do you remember that lovely mare you spoke with back during the promenade? Seren, I believe her name was. Well, we’ve received a correspondence from her family. It’s nothing official yet, but it seems they have some interest in you.” Snowgleam explains. “Your father already sent word that he approves of the potential match. Not surprising, since she’s the second child of the Iutru dynasty. A real powerhouse, that one, he probably thinks they’d make a good counterbalance to the Powells influence in the region.”
Stolen story; please report.
The Powells. Ceridwen winces at the mention; the family that dastard Rosewine had come from. “That's good, I guess.” he replies noncommittally. He’d have to get married sooner or later, and he supposes if he had to then somepony he could at least tolerate would be better than anything else. Besides, it would at least get his father off his back.
“Evander will be increasing the pressure on you, too, Seren.” Snowgleam states, looking over at Seren with a concerned expression. “You may want to look into that, at least see if you can get married on your own terms rather than his.”
Seren shrugs. In a way, it didn’t sound so terrible-it might help with the other problem she is having. But soon enough, she wouldn’t need to worry about it anymore, if she had her way about it. “Just try and keep him off my back a little longer. I’ll take care of things, don’t you worry.” She replies flippantly.
Her mother frowns, looking at her for a long moment. “If you say so.” She eventually replies. Just in time, too, as the doors open and a servant pony carts in a trio of dishes. “Ah! Excellent. Dinner is served!”
Seren sighs with relief as the platter of food is placed down before her. She would rather not be here but, if she was going to be stuck, it would be best for her to re-energize herself with fresh nutrients. After all, how else was she going to build any muscle? Besides of which, cramming her face full of food is an excuse to not have to talk. Mhm, Salmon.
“It seems you’ve worked up quite the appetite.” Snowgleam smiles softly towards Seren. “You must really be hard at work in there. How goes your training, Seren?” She asks, politely, over the dim sound of silverware scraping against ceramic.
Pausing her dinner for just a moment to respond, Seren flips her mane back. “It’s going alright. I still haven’t come close to beating Silverthorn, so not well enough.” Her tone is adamant, harsh, somewhat telling of how impatient she is to get back to it.
“I mean, you can’t expect to defeat him that easily, he is the premier bladespony in Luddas…” Ceridwen points out.
Seren levers a pointed gaze at him. “And? Would you just accept it if one of your engines performed worse than somepony else's model in the same weight class?”
Ceridwen rubs the back of his head, sheepishly. “Well, no, but…”
“There you go.” Seren states, firmly, taking another bite. “I won’t be satisfied till I win.”
Snowgleam and Ceridwen both give her concerned looks while she continues eating, doing her best to ignore them. “Honey, is this because of what happened at the promenade?” Snowgleam gently prods after some time, inciting Seren to wince and look away. “You know you’re safe here, right? We won’t let anything happen to you, especially not after last time. No matter what-”
She is cut off by Seren loudly clearing her throat. “I have my own reasons. Now, thank you for the meal, but I really must be going.” She announces, taking one final bite, hopping from her seat, and stalking off back towards where she came from.
Ceridwen and Snowgleam both watch her, eyes wide with worry, as she crosses around the corner. “Seren…” Starhawk mumbles, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I… I guess I should get going, too. I have… Um… A lot of work to get to.” Without any more specificity, he clambers from his seat, gaze lowered to the ground as he makes his way towards the observatory. Somehow, he feels he’ll be spending a lot of time there in the near future, even moreso than usual.
Soon enough, the feast hall, built for so many ponies to share, is left alone to just Beira Snowgleam, staring listlessly across the empty table. And so, nopony is there to hear the mournful whimper she lets out as she leans back into the plush chair, feeling as alone as ever.
----------------------------------------
Despite her intentions, Seren does not not make it back to the training ground. Instead, on her way she is intercepted by Saoirse Starshot, the servant looking more than a little disgruntled as she salutes the aristocrat with forced politeness. “Seren Ardorwynn, the Lord Duke requests your presence immediately.” She reports, bowing her head.
Seren raises a brow, taken aback. This was not typical behavior for Saoirse at all; was she concerned somepony was watching them? Didn’t she seem… Nervous? “The lord duke, hrm?” Seren scoffs at the notion. It seemed at least a more fair title than referring to that uncaring dastard as her ‘father’. Turning towards the parlor, Seren hangs her head and sighs. “Well, guess there’s no getting out of it. Best not keep him waiting or he’ll just be even more of a pain.” With that grumbling, she turns on her heel and makes her way for Evander’s office.
Just what does he want? Seren ponders, steeling herself and flitting through the possibilities in her mind. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the promenade. If he dared say anything about that, it might be difficult to keep her cool. Patience, patience. You just need to keep it together a little longer. Seren tells herself. Soon enough you’ll be assigned your own governorship and you can get away from all this.
Striding up to the broad double doors to the office, Seren takes a deep breath as the guards on duty salute her. “Go on in, his Excellency is waiting for you inside.” The senior of the two states. Seren barely acknowledges the duo’s presence as she pushes open the doors and steps inside the room.
It had been some time since she’d been in here, since it was rare that her father invited her. It's a roughly octagonal room, with fine wooden dressers containing all manner of baubles, shows of wealth and artifacts that likely were never touched. Seren’s eyes merely flit over the furnishings before looking front and center. There, silhouetted against the broad triple archway window behind him, is the duke himself, sitting at his hefty oak desk, quill in hoof and stern expression upon his face. “Good. You’re here.” Evander pushes the parchment on his table off to the side and leans forward, talons clasped before him.
Seren nods briefly, carefully keeping her emotions in check. It wouldn’t do any good to let Evander know how she felt; it wasn’t like the pony was receptive to others emotions anyhow. “Of course, father. What is it that you need?”
Evander’s beak twitches in an expression that almost resembles approval or mirth. “Hmph, straight to the point. Good. There is a rather delicate matter which I cannot entrust to anypony outside of the family. It is a matter of uptmost secrecy.” Evander starts explaining, glancing this way and that surreptitiously as if worried somepony was eavesdropping. In a low tone, he continues. “And worse, I am not able to take care of it myself, as I have a pre-existing arrangement in the north. Between you and Ceridwen, I believe you are most suited to this task, given your more gregarious nature and skill at arms. Besides of which, Ceridwen still has classes to attend.”
Seren’s curiosity is piqued, and she tilts her head, carefully watching Evander for any hint of what he was getting at. “That serious, hrm? And what is this matter?”
“A band of ruffians from Hyperaustralis has resettled very near the border between us and the Powells. Normally that wouldn’t be such an issue, but the region has a poorly defined border and is rather rural. If the Powells catch wind of the situation, they could easily use the presence of their own serfs in the region to claim that the territory had always been theirs, and we would have little way to disprove that notion. But we cannot afford to lose it, as it is an area of key strategic importance.” Evander explains. “They must be excised, quickly and quietly.”
Seren raises a brow in suspicion. 'key strategic importance'? Wasn't that description... Oddly vague? Could it be some manner of trap..? No, surely the duke still needed her to further his lineage. Carefully, Seren responds. "And exactly what is this location? Why is it so important?"
Evander stares unblinking at Seren. “I cannot tell you that, I am afraid. Just know that it is of vital importance not only to our family, but our nation, that this is taken care of as soon as possible.”
I’m not going to get any answers from him. Seren nods her head. “Very well.” I’ll find an explanation one way or another. “And how am I to find this location, if you can’t tell me what it is?”
Evander extends one of his forelimbs, clutching a scroll tighlty in his talons. "This map should lead you there. There should be a stone tower in the vicinity." Despite the simplicity of that statement, Seren Ardorwynn hears... a slight hesitation in her mothers voice at the word 'tower'. Just what is going on here?
Opening the map, Seren furrows her brow. It is a map of the local area, with a simple mark designating her destination. It is, as far as she can tell, in an entirely arbitrary location in the wilderness, with the exception that it is placed precisely on the boundary of what is considered Iutruscan territory. Looking up again, she is met with Evander’s cold gaze.
“Whatever you do, do not permit anypony else to glimpse that map. You have been warned.” Evander’s voice takes on a hard edge, threatening.
It’s all Seren can do not to growl or sneer in response, but she has to keep her feelings under wraps until it is time to strike out on her own. So all she says is simply, “Of course, father.”
Evander leans back in his seat, eyes drifting up towards the wall as if looking for something there. “You should leave at first light. That will be all. Dismissed.”