Eyan was back in the throne room, and he was a storm. He leapt onto the table, slamming down with a thud that knocked over goblets and sent platters to the ground. He raised a fist and brought it down across Lord Richard’s face. The gasp of a hundred people in unison sucked the air out of the room. Richard was sent back to sitting in his throne and the guards along the wall readied their pikes.

Richard brought a hand up to his bloody cheek and stared up at the hand that struck him. The two guards immediately behind the throne rushed to his defense, but Richard held a hand to stay them. “Is that any way to treat your father, boy? To your chambers, NOW!”

It took everything Eyan had to stop himself there. He felt himself become a dragon, the red hot rage practically burning his insides. If he wanted to, he could breathe fire right now. Eyan righted himself, and for all to see, undid the straps on his gauntlet. One by one they came loose. Tink. Tink. Tink. He pulled it off his hand, raised it high and displayed it to the room, then tossed it at his father’s feet.

Richard looked up and down, between the gauntlet and his son. “What is the meaning of this?” Eyan said nothing, breathing heavily and looking down at his father. “You mean to challenge me, is that it?” Again, no reply. Richard looked around, at his guards, his retinue, his advisors. All looked at him expectantly. The meaning was clear. The lord’s eyes flared with desperation and rage.

He flew out of his seat with a rattling of scale mail under his formal robes and began to yell, “You dare? You DARE! Oh, you have indeed become bold.” he laughed madly, “I will teach you respect!” Richard reached for the belt of one of his guards and drew the sword. This has gone on long enough. The boy will learn to submit again. He thought as anger began to cloud his mind. “If we are to do this, let us get it over with.”

Eyan jumped down from the table and kicked behind him, sending it flying down the steps. The people seated next to the lord jumped from their seats and ran to safety behind the guards as they pulled away the throne and formed a semicircle around the father and the son.

Eyan drew his sword and tossed the broken shield aside. He took an offensive stance with his sword in both hands. Richard stretched his limbs and matched. Eyan’s vision was entirely focused in on his father. The world around him practically did not exist, and time slowed just a little bit. Richard saw red, a fire had taken his vision, only his upstart son remained distinguishable.

Swords clashed as both combatants struck out with full force. The quickness of the son was balanced by the experience of the father. When one made an advance, the other adeptly countered. They danced back and forth, putting each other’s backs to the semicircle of guards several times. No banter or taunts were exchanged, only frustrated yells and grunts as the evenly matched fighters struggled to land any blows. Onlookers watched in suspense, gathering at the bottom of the stairs..

Eyan spent his attention divided between making attacks, and defending his exposed torso. After the fight with the dragon, the only armor he had left was a gambeson along with his greaves and gauntlets. One overextended thrust would open him to a potentially fatal attack.

Richard was surprised by his son again. They hadn’t trained together for many years, and Eyan had come a long way. The quickness and ferocity of his attacks was almost equal to his own at that age. In a half-lucid thought that broke through his otherwise blinding rage, he admitted that he might not have even made it this far if it weren’t for his son’s missing armor and exhaustion.

Eyan went to parry an attack to his right, but Richard feinted and hit him with his pommel. Eyan’s legs, tired and used from his journey, gave in. He lost his footing and stumbled to the ground, belly up. Richard laughed and stood over him, sword at his son’s exposed chest.

“Do you yield?”

On his back, Eyan looked to his side again. Thea was there, in the crowd. Every lord and lady around her had their faces contorted in various shades of shock, amusement, and wonder. Thea held her composure. Her face was calm, unworried. She raised an eyebrow at Eyan and gave him a look that said, You know what to do.

Eyan looked back up, sword at his chest. With the last of his strength, he made his legs lightning, cracking them outward into his father’s calves. Richard attempted to make a fatal swipe at Eyan, piercing his gambeson and drawing the tip of his blade diagonally across his chest. It was a solid strike, but hampered by the fall he now took as his legs were pushed wider than they had ever gone.

A being a pure adrenaline, Eyan scrambled to his feet in the time it took for his father to recover some semblance of a combat stance. He clutched one sword in his right hand, pointing it at Eyan, and another in his left, groaning in pain.

Eyan wasted no more time, he batted his father’s sword away like it was held by a child. The lord attempted to mount some kind of defense, but to no avail. He weakly moaned, “I will not yield, you petulant child!” With a final push, he thrust his sword into the chest of Richard Formar. Metal scales cracked and he could feel the flesh separate around his blade. Eyan looked up at his father’s face. No more was it flushed with anger, no more did it taunt him. As the body toppled to the floor, Eyan followed, landing on top of it. The face of the father and son were mere inches apart, Eyan could feel the last breaths growing fainter and fainter.

He scowled and said low, “For Frederick. You bastard.”