In the Throne Room, Cedric and Lord Thorne wait in silence, the tension palpable in the air as they await the arrival of the Lysanthor visitors. After a while, the grand doors of the room open, revealing the delegation.
At the forefront, a young lady with fire-red hair and a strong, determined presence steps forward with a firm gaze. Beside her is an experienced knight, Sir Caldor, with gray hair and eyes reflecting years of battles and wisdom. Behind them, the counselor of House Lysanthor, Lord Edric Greythorne, a man with an upright posture and calculating gaze, walks with the assurance of someone well-versed in the ways of power.
They enter the room and make a formal bow to Cedric and Thorne, greeting House Volcrist.
Lady Fianna Lysanthor: — Greetings to House Volcrist. We bring words from our house and hope that this meeting will strengthen the bonds between our domains.
Lord Thorne: — We appreciate the honor of your visit, Lady Fianna. It is always a pleasure to receive emissaries from Lysanthor.
Cedric, however, visibly irritated and with his temper frayed from a long and stressful day, does not share Thorne's cordiality.
Cedric: — Let's dispense with the formalities. What do you want?
Before Lord Edric could respond, a faint but authoritative voice echoes down the corridor. King Alaric, exhausted and leaning on Aemon, finally appears in view of everyone.
King Alaric: — I already know what you want... and the answer is the same as always. I will not grant it.
Alaric's presence fills the room with palpable tension. Lady Fianna and her entourage remain silent for a moment, exchanging glances before deciding on their next move.
In the Throne Room, the atmosphere remains thick with tension as Lord Edric Greythorne, Lysanthor's counselor, faces Alaric's fatigued gaze.
Lord Edric: — Your Majesty, we are not here to make the same proposal. Circumstances have changed, as have the people. We are ready to offer something more valuable.
King Alaric: — Even so, my answer remains the same.
Cedric and Lord Thorne exchange quick glances, both immediately understanding what Lysanthor desires. They know that any concession to that house may come at a high price.
Meanwhile, outside the Throne Room, Aemon is not in the library as the king had ordered. Instead, he heads to the training grounds, where he grabs a wooden sword and approaches a guard standing there.
Aemon: — Train with me.
Guard: — I can't, my lord. What if I hurt you?
Aemon: — I said, train with me. If I get hurt, it's because of my lack of skill, not yours. Let's go!
Reluctantly, the guard complies and prepares for the duel. Aemon assumes a combat stance, and the wooden swords clash, beginning a confrontation that, though friendly, carries the intensity of a real battle. Each strike is precise, and Aemon shows a fierce determination, as if fighting to prove something to himself.
At the same time, in the Throne Room, a duel of words unfolds.
Lord Edric: — Your Majesty, refusing so many of Lysanthor's requests could end very badly for Volcrist. Our houses have a long history of cooperation. We don't want that history tarnished by misunderstandings.
King Alaric: — I do not fear the consequences, Lord Edric.
Lord Thorne: — Your Majesty, perhaps we should hear what they have to say. If it's a proposal concerning Aemon, it could be an opportunity to strengthen our alliances. A lady of good family and lineage wouldn't be a bad idea, especially in times like these.
King Alaric: — That's not what they want, Thorne. Don't confuse appearances with real intentions.
At that moment, the sound of wooden swords echoes from the training grounds. Each strike from Aemon resonates as a silent declaration of his determination, while in the throne room, Alaric stands firm, ready to face whatever comes, whether in the corridors of power or on the battlefields.
Cedric, ever alert for potential advantages, sees an opportunity upon hearing the suggestion of an alliance through marriage. Seeing a chance to send Aemon away and perhaps weaken his position, he decides to support the idea.
Cedric: — Indeed, Your Majesty, a strategic marriage could be advantageous. It might be a good opportunity to...
Before Cedric can finish his sentence, Alaric, visibly exhausted, interrupts him firmly.
King Alaric: — A king should not leave his dominion, especially one who is still in training.
Alaric's words hang in the room for a moment, causing surprise among those present. Lady Fianna, with her fire-red hair, senses the implication and does not hesitate to ask the question on everyone's mind.
Lady Fianna: — So, Alaric, do you really intend to hand the throne to your grandson?
Alaric looks directly at Lady Fianna, his expression making it clear that the decision has already been made.
King Alaric: — Yes, I do.
The room falls silent as Alaric's words echo. Lord Thorne, ever pragmatic, steps in to ease the tension.
Lord Thorne: — Preparations have already begun, Lady Fianna. It will be a new era for Volcrist, one we hope will be marked by prosperity and stability.
Cedric, unable to hide his anger at what he sees as a betrayal of his ambitions, storms out of the Throne Room, practically fuming with frustration.
Meanwhile, in the open training field, the sounds of Aemon and the soldier's shouts echo through the air. The two are engaged in a formidable duel, their wooden swords clashing with force and skill. The duel, though friendly, is intense, and both combatants are fully immersed in the battle.
Aemon: (breathless but determined) — Again!
Soldier: (also breathless but smiling) — You have the spirit of a true warrior, my lord.
The two exchange blows once more, each movement charged with a mix of technique and brute strength. For Aemon, this duel is more than just training; it is a statement of his desire to be strong enough to bear the weight of the destiny now resting on his shoulders.
Sir Caldor, a battle-hardened knight with scars from ancient conflicts and a commanding presence, had remained silent throughout the conversation, leaning against one of the throne room's columns, merely observing. However, upon hearing the commotion and shouts from the training field, something stirs within his warrior spirit. His eyes gleam with a mix of curiosity and excitement as the sound of wooden swords echoes through the castle.
Sir Caldor: — So, that's the prince?
Lord Thorne, ever vigilant, responds promptly, though somewhat unsettled.
Lord Thorne: — No, Sir Caldor. Prince Aemon is currently in the library, immersed in his studies.
Caldor, however, is not easily convinced. His eyes remain fixed on the direction of the combat sounds.
Sir Caldor: — He's a young man with white hair... very similar to Corvinus'.
Caldor's words hang in the air, creating a moment of tension. Alaric and Thorne exchange surprised and concerned glances before quickly moving to the window. There, looking out at the training field, they see Aemon engaged in a fierce fight with one of the guards. Aemon's intensity and determination are evident in every movement, every swing of his sword.
Caldor, with a sardonic smile on his face, turns back to the others.
Sir Caldor: — It's quite a study, the prince is undertaking.
Alaric, watching his grandson with a mixture of admiration and concern, reflects on what he sees. The old king recognizes in Aemon not only the potential to be a leader but also a flame that needs to be carefully nurtured and directed.
King Alaric: (whispering to himself) — Perhaps he's learning more than we imagined...
Thorne, on the other hand, keeps his gaze fixed on Aemon, contemplating the future that lies ahead of them.
Edric, ever astute and with an eye for opportunities, recognizes the potential in the situation that could work to his advantage. He notices the intensity of the combat and the energy that Aemon displays, something he knows could be useful for his own plans. Without wasting any time, Edric moves swiftly towards the training field, where Aemon and the guard are dueling, determined to seize the moment for a conversation with the young prince.
Fianna, Sir Caldor, Lord Thorne, and King Alaric watch Edric's sudden action and, almost instinctively, follow him, not wanting to miss the unfolding events. They descend the stone corridors, driven by a mix of curiosity and concern, while Edric is just a few steps away from the field.
When they arrive, the sound of clashing swords and exertion fills the air. Aemon is completely focused on his duel, but the presence of the group, especially Edric, does not go unnoticed. The guard, aware of the unexpected audience, redoubles his efforts, trying not to disappoint in front of his superiors.
Edric, now at the edge of the field, watches Aemon for a moment before speaking, his voice firm but friendly, attempting to create an immediate connection.
Edric: — Prince Aemon, I see that your skill with the sword is as sharp as your mind. Perhaps, after your training, we could have a conversation? There are important matters concerning Volcrist that I believe you should consider.
Aemon, keeping his guard up and not losing focus on the fight, merely nods in acknowledgment. He senses the tension in the air, not only from Edric's presence but also from the group now observing the duel. Fianna, ever observant, watches every move Aemon makes, impressed by the determination and strength he demonstrates.
Caldor, for his part, feels his heart race, recognizing the spirit of a true warrior in the young prince.
Sir Caldor: (murmuring to himself) — This boy has something special... He's not just a student. He has the fire of the ancient kings.
Alaric and Thorne remain silent, but they exchange a significant glance. Alaric knows that Edric is not merely seeking a simple conversation but attempting to influence Aemon, perhaps even manipulate him to serve Lysanthor's interests. Thorne, ever cautious, begins to think about how to neutralize any undue influence Edric might try to exert over the young heir.
King Alaric: (in a low tone, to Thorne) — We can't leave him alone with Edric for too long. The lad is still impressionable.
Thorne nods, agreeing, already contemplating the next steps. Meanwhile, Aemon, sweat dripping from his forehead, finally disarms the guard with a swift and precise move. The guard falls to his knees, exhausted and defeated, while Aemon remains standing, his breath heavy but victorious.
Edric seizes the moment, stepping forward, ready to approach Aemon.
Edric: — Excellent work, prince. Now that you've proven your swordsmanship, how about we discuss the defense of Volcrist?
Aemon's eyes shine with curiosity and determination, but also with a newfound caution, aware that every word exchanged there could shape the future of Volcrist.
Before Aemon could respond to Edric, Sir Caldor, with a challenging gleam in his eyes, steps forward and picks up a wooden sword. With a slight smile, he addresses Aemon:
— Prince Aemon, it would be an honor if you would allow me to exchange a few blows with you. — Caldor's voice is respectful but carries an undeniable tone of challenge.
Aemon, still panting from the previous duel, hesitates for a moment, but his determination does not let him refuse. He nods in agreement.
— We can exchange a few blows, Sir Caldor. — Aemon replies, maintaining a firm stance despite his evident exhaustion.
Lord Thorne, noticing the direction the situation is taking, feels his anger rise. Standing next to Edric, he whispers impatiently:
— We have business to attend to; we can't waste time with these displays.
Edric, for his part, shares the same urgency, though for different reasons. He wants to move Aemon away from the training field to continue his attempt at persuasion.
— I agree, Thorne. — Edric murmurs, his eyes fixed on Aemon and Caldor. — There are more important matters to discuss.
But before either of them could do anything to interrupt the duel, Alaric, with a weary gesture, intervenes:
— Let them duel. — Alaric's voice, despite his fatigue, carries authority. — I want to see my grandson's limits against an experienced soldier. This is as important a test as any other lesson.
Fianna, observing everything closely, agrees with a nod. She also offers her guard for the duel, creating an environment of competition and learning.
The duel begins, and Sir Caldor, a veteran of countless battles, advances with surprising speed for his age. His wooden sword meets Aemon's with force, and the difference in experience is evident from the first strike. Caldor moves with precision and technique, dominating the combat and leaving few opportunities for Aemon to retaliate. However, despite being clearly outmatched, Aemon stands firm, resisting each thrust.
Caldor, impressed by Aemon's resilience, steps back for a moment, evaluating the young prince.
— Ready for me to start going all out, prince? — Caldor asks, his tone light but his gaze serious.
Aemon, sweating and breathing heavily, simply nods, indicating that he is ready. The training field, now silent except for the sound of footsteps and breathing, seems to close in around them. Everyone watches intently, each with their own thoughts and intentions. Thorne and Edric, anxious to pull Aemon from the field, remain impatient, while Alaric watches with a calculating look, seeking to understand how far his grandson can go.
The duel continues, and the pressure on Aemon intensifies with each passing second. Caldor, sensing the young man's fighting spirit, decides to test his limits, increasing the intensity of his strikes. Aemon, though exhausted, does not give up, and with a newfound determination shining in his eyes, he prepares to face the true power of a war veteran.