Sera Landouen cackled, as she always did when spouting off at her squire's expense. The boy released a stream of murmured unknightly obscenities, readjusting his aim. Every part of his body ached -- they'd been riding for days now, and some part of him suspected they'd never reach their location until he was comfortable shooting from every position.
"This is stupid," said Necalli, face growing red at her side. "No one's going to respect me for being able to shoot apples from horseback."
"This is stupid, Sera Landouen," she corrected with ease, almost absentmindedly. "And you're not doing this for respect. You're doing it so you don't embarrass me. Can't let my first squire taint my legacy, is all."
Playful taunting was her way; the boy only ever responded positively to challenges. He'd been her charge for three years now, and it had taken a lot of harsh lessons for them to even get this far. Months of sparring to prove his inability to wield a sword, and twice that amount of time to get him to consider the bow, even if he hadn't given up the sword completely.
Even so, the payoff was noticeable and immediate. Where he was incapable of even the simplest of parries, his ability to precisely hit the smallest of targets at range was nothing to sniff at. She'd chosen to ride through an orchard to train his dynamic visual acuity -- being able to shoot at things that didn't move while standing still was nice, but he'd need more than that to make it as a knight.
What he needed now was versatility and inspiration. Some... obstacle, a challenge that would motivate him to struggle and persevere even past her goading. And fortunately for the two of them, Sera Landouen knew of just the person.
When the two finally emerged from the orchard, the sun had sunk low in the sky, casting a warm golden light on a nearby encampment. Those gathered were certainly warriors -- the pile of Cauruvos carcasses being burned nearby would attest to that. Still, the young squire's eyes were drawn to the semi-circle of bodies, cheering and jesting over the sounds of clashing steel.
In the center, two armored figures traded blows back and forth. One Aelrrigan, easily identifiable by his armor, and his squire, a gangly blonde with unruly hair that went past her shoulders, and eyes that burned like golden stars. It was clear that the older Knight, a Solvaan man, had the advantage. His feet barely touched the ground, deftly flicking his saber upwards to deflect blows from his companion's wicked greatsword.
This would hardly be worth the watch. Necalli scoffed, quietly, turning over his shoulder to -- KRRRK. He glanced back, to see the squire had finally managed to fully contact her sword to his saber, nearly rending the damned thing in half. The boy's jaw dropped, a detail that Sera Landouen took note of with mirth. It was a good start. She planted a gauntleted hand between his shoulders, steering him towards the duelists.
"Sera Laelarya," the Solvaan introduced himself heartily, clapping Necalli on the back. "And my squire, Signe."
The blonde levied a friendly bob of her head, still not taking the time to push the hair out of her face. Necalli craned his neck, forced to glance upwards to meet her gaze. Something about that pissed him off.
"You'll be training with these two for the next few months. I think it'll be good for you! Signe's quite excellent for her age, and has plenty to teach you, I'm sure," Sera Landouen assured him.
The boy sat up perfectly straight, clasping Signe's hand in his own, flashing his teeth in an altogether pleasant manner. "I look forward to finally working with another Squire," he breathed, pleased, certain there was nothing he could learn from her.
The months passed by hellishly. When he wasn't accompanying the two on a trek to some godsforsaken village in the middle of a forest to hunt some rampaging beast, he was losing duels to Signe handily. The sight of her standing over him with her gauntleted hand outstretched was burned into the backs of his eyelids.
"You're not very good at this," said Signe. There was no trace of malice to her words, barely audible over the crackling of the fire.
Sera Laelarya had retired earlier, leaving the two to spar and handle hunting dinner for the camp. The two squires had remained sat around the dying embers of their campfire, in a silence only just broken by the Arkenborn.
"What?" fumed Necalli.
Signe raised her hands in mock-surrender. The last thing she wanted was a debate -- not that it would be much of a debate, anyhow.
"You see it all," she explained, tossing the scraps of her meal into the smoldering cinder. "I can see you clock every feint. You're just not good enough to do anything about it."
His blood boiled with rage, but somewhere deep in his bones, her words rang true. The voice that had been whispering to him for years now did not lend his anger -- his laughter echoed through Necalli's ears.
"It's easy for you to lecture me about how terrible I am, but you were born blessed with both talent and physique," he spat venomously. "You wouldn't understand what it's like to be talentless. To have to work hard! If I can't wield a sword, there'll be nothing for me to offer."
Signe stood abruptly, blinking slowly at his choice of words. She smiled -- the first he'd ever seen it. Something about it made him sit up straighter.
"You are terrible. I never said you were talentless. Sera Laelarya uses a bow," she offered with a gentle brevity.
With that, she slipped away to her tent, leaving the boy to stew.
From that day forward, he dropped the sword completely, stopped practicing his swings until the sun went down. Instead, he pestered Sera Laelarya for further lessons, stalking after him when the Knight grew tired of teaching and explaining.
In the evenings, he'd begin work on an array of strange tools -- vials of glowing liquid, strange daggers carved into the shape of feathers, arrowheads that pulsed with purple light -- anything he could think of to make himself even a fraction more useful.
By the time Sera Landouen returned, she barely recognized her young squire. He was largely silent, the same scowl on his features as he recalled Signe's words, his hands always busy with some new implement.
Something stung at the Knight; Necalli had gained everything she had hoped he would -- motivation, a rival, a desire to prove himself. But it was clearly apparent that he had lost something unforeseen.
There was something haunted about the way he flitted between creations, something calculated about when and to whom he smiled at. His gaze had grown sharper in the many weeks she hadn't seen him, his eyes unraveled those he beheld like old sweaters, stared through them like they were muddy windows.
Still, she could not help but smile as she urged her steed back through the orchard, the boy sitting ahead of her this time, slumped back against her in his sleep. It was easy to remember that he was just a boy when he slept. There were no jagged profanities tumbling from his lips, no audacious rebuttals growled in his odd mixture of Common, Natl, and Droque.
He would never be what he dreamed of, but he might still make an excellent knight.
