BLOOD, SWEAT & TEARS -- FREYA

[Joshua Donovan Dale]

He did not like to hang around the training grounds--not often, at least. Joshua preferred to conduct his military training in the company of trusted friends, hidden away from the sights of others. He liked to develop his own fighting style and technique, rather than conforming to that of a group. However, orders were orders, and by his father's insistent request, he had spent the better part of the day touching up on his sword skill.

"I hope he realises that this won't change my weaponry preferences," he sighed to a fellow archer as he sheathed the blade. He had taken a break to shower and wash the sweat from his hair; appearance had always been important to him, he didn't like to look like a battered mercenary. He was a prince, such things came with reputation. People respected him--some people, anyway--and he didn't want to mar that respect by lounging about covered in bruises and bloodstains. Or, in the case of a mere training session, sweat. Besides, it was disgusting whether you were of royal blood or not.

"Why does he want you to excel in swordplay so badly?" his companion questioned, seeming confused.

Josh merely rolled his gray optics slightly. "How would I know? I'm not inside of his head." He sighed, and they dropped that subject there. Though he was friends with a great deal of the archers under his own command, they were still careful about enraging him, or trespassing onto touchy subjects. The prince was known to have a bit of a temper. "I acquired a new bow recently," he mused conversationally. "She's beautiful--strong wood and sturdy string. A nightmare to wield for someone that doesn't know what they're doing, but I'm well trained in the practice of archery, so..." He trailed off with a hint of a smirk. His ego wasn't incredibly vast, but it was notable.

He realised that he was thirsty, and wordlessly dismissed himself from their small group to get a drink. When he returned, then were shooting targets again, and Joshua decided against joining them. Instead, he lounged under the shade of a tree, watching with dull interest. I should probably get back to the palace, he thought off-handedly, but didn't move. It had been a long day, he was feeling a bit lazy.

[Freya Morrígan Casadavade]

“I want you to work on guarding,” Freya said, the edge of her sword resting lightly against her soldier’s neck. He glared at her, sword in his limp arm. A mage who usually preferred magic, he didn’t know how to handle a sword well, and she hadn’t gone easy on him because of this fact. “You’re dead. Dead men can’t fight.”

The last part was stating the obvious, but she meant to point out how worthless he would be on a battlefield. Right now, they were standing in the enclosed training grounds of the Imperial homes, where Freya liked to train her army. And here, they didn’t have to worry about her cutting their throats. She lowered her sword, and dismissed the mage while sheathing her sword. She took a step back and looked around her. Clear day, relatively warm. Perfect day for sparring, and she’d barely broken into perspiration with her soldier. And she enjoyed the sweat, it made her feel successful.

Traveling across the open space of the “field” she looked around to find the place rather deserted. She scowled. Why didn’t people spend more time honing their skills? What were they doing, sipping tea and studying the clouds from their windows? If she found any of her shoulders slacking off like that, it would be ten laps around the palace. After walking for a bit, Freya made out a young man leaning against a tree and grinned. He was a cousin of hers, but more importantly, he was Prince Joshua. She approached, boots crushing grass.

“Taking a break are we, boy?” Freya's voice was gruff and she frowned deeply, bringing out her angular features. He was in the training grounds. He should be training, goddammit. She unsheathed her sword once more, the tip not even a centimeter away from his nose. “This is a place for training not cloud gazing. You will become feeble as an old man if you shirk like this!”

The last part came out as more of a growl and her eyes narrowed. This was her idea of a friendly spar, harassing the young man out of the blue. But this was nothing unusual. Fighting was a hobby of hers, and she did not consider Joshua an enemy. She’d slit her stomach open before betraying him. And even though she spoke to him as if he were of a lower station with her sword trained on his face, she'd just as easily turn a slip that sword between an enemy's ribs for him.

“Now en garde!”

[Joshua Donovan Dale]

Seeing Freya here was not a surprise. Joshua was well aware that she commanded the military. And they were related by blood, and so he was certainly not one to cringe at the sight of the woman striding toward him. What he did not expect was for said woman to draw her sword and point it at him, the tip of the blade so close to his face that the young prince swore he could smell the metal in the air. He narrowed his gray eyes at her, a little offended by the accusation.

"I have been training, all day in fact!" Joshua insisted, colour flushing into his pale cheeks. Though his words were sharp, he was not necessarily angry with the woman herself, just the implication that he was slacking off.

The prince was actually far from a slacker--he went above and beyond what his parents expected of him, for the most part. He was expected to be knowledgeable in the land and it's people, but he knew much more than that. Literature was his first love, and if you were looking for him, the library would probably be the best place to start. He was expected to set an example, and he tried his best to do just that. He was also expected to know how to fight, and as one of the most diligent archers in Sanguine, this said everything for itself.

But that was just the thing. He was an archer, not a swordsman. He didn't like close combat, he preferred to lurk in shadow and snipe his enemies from afar.

All the same, he was certainly quick to draw his sword with a flourish. "As you wish, Freya," he said curtly, ducking away from the tip of her blade and then flicking his own against it, the clash of steel a sound that seemed to ignite the adrenaline in his blood. Sparring was so much more fun than actually training, there was something different about it somehow.

He gave a bit of a wicked grin. "It's been some time," he said, with no desire to hold a spar through icy silence. "You've been up to your same tricks, I take it?" Of course, it hadn't been that long, but he'd been busy. He hadn't been given the time to just relax and talk to what relatives he had. Especially not with the heretics causing problems.

[Freya Morrígan Casadavade]

Her prince denied that he hadn’t been lazing around and Freya clicked her tongue. Joshua was a skilled archer, she knew that because he was her best. Freya was well practiced in the weapon. Most weapons, actually, after years of discipline by both her mother and uncle, and then herself alone. But the sword became her favorite weapon rather quickly for its sleek elegance and the power it demonstrated. But Joshua came off as more the studious type.

“All day, hmm?” Her eyes turned to slits as she inspected him from head to toe. Dry as the desert. “I see no evidence of that.”

Of course, she was just egging him on, drawing out a fight. And it worked. He drew out his sword and she almost rolled her blue eyes at his flourish. The clang of metal on metal made her smirk. She quickly recovered and brought her arms to the front to guard her flank. Not much could be done in sparring with swords for the continuous wear on a sword could be quite damaging. Sword fighting was not at all as it was present in the cinema, unless with sabers. If two people continuously banged their swords against each other, not only would it wear on their arms and cause them to grow fatigued quickly, but it would chip their blades. She’s studied every aspect of battle to know these things.

With a swipe to the side, she felt the tingling in her bones from the thrill of combat, her red hair whipping at her face. She lived for this, the second between attacks when all was in the air and everything on the line. She knew how to hold back, though, the sort of combat acceptable for sparring and the kind where she had every intent to kill her opponent. This was to see if Joshua was truly disciplining himself as he should be, both in his studies and in his combat.

“Tricks? There’s nothing tricky about it.” Leave it to the young prince to be distracting during a fight. But she allowed herself to answer for the fact that he was her relative and it had indeed been some time since they’d spoken. Her busy with duties as commander, and Joshua occupied with princely matters, it did not leave time for them to bond as family. “If war should ever present itself, I want my dear prince to be ready. Imperials who sit on their asses all day are of no assistance to Sanguine. I hope for your sake that you truly are keeping up your practice, lest I need to keep a closer eye on you.”

[Joshua Donovan Dale]

He scowled at the red-haired woman as he parried a blow, many different things flashing through his mind. Part of him was focused on the battle, on the exchange of blows, but he was also focused on what she'd said to him. "That's because I own a luxurious object called a bath, Freya," the dark-haired boy retorted, his tone sharp. "I can't go around soaked and smelling of sweat, it does not put off a good image." And he'd always been careful about image. Don't let the people see your weak spots, don't let them see exhaustion, humanity, nothing of the sort. If you were a member of the royal family, you were treated with respect, but there was a price to pay. You couldn't be yourself in the public eye, lest you be judged for your normalities or quirks and cast aside by those you governed.

Damn it, how he much preferred fighting with a bow! Joshua did not delight in the fast exchange of blows and the clashing of blades as his cousin clearly did--he could see in in her face as her red hair danced around her face. "Since when have I ever shirked my duties as prince?" he challenged with a frown. "I am not fond of swords, as you well know." And he could feel the strain of holding his block, but he did not relent. He hadn't trained perilously for no reason. "But war is a part of life, and I am ready to defend Sanguine, should the time come."

His parents were a little more of the imperials that would prefer to sit around and have others do their work for them. It wasn't that Donovan could not fight, he just chose to allow the army to do most of the work unless a war was present. And as soon as Joshua was old enough to accept duties, he'd been expected to carry some of the responsibility. It wasn't the sort of thing most parents pushed on their children, but he bore his burden surprisingly well. He was a strong individual, and he knew he couldn't allow responsibility to crush him.

"The last thing I need is you 'keeping an eye on me'," the prince scathed, but he was grinning slightly, suggesting that the retort was not ill-meant. "There are precise reasons I fight outside of the general command of the military, and that is definitely one of them." Joshua was a strategist in his own right--he liked to make plans and carry them out. He was a natural leader, not a follower. So he kept out of the way of the military, for the most part. He would fight if the time came, but under his own orders. His father had questioned this at first, but it seemed he'd given up. Sometimes, there was just no reasoning with Joshua.