Taitenschild

3-1 || All that is Eternal is Might (Part I)

The arena was abuzz with excitement. The entire clan had packed themselves into the elevated rings that surrounded the fighting pit, save for the younglings and the Clan Mothers responsible for them. Pressed shoulder to shoulder, they bantered, gossiped and argued, betting on which initiates would pass their trials – and on how Aramir Regischild would fare during his Rite.

Alas, disagreements between Seren usually ended in brawls. But there was neither the space nor patience for personal altercations during the Initiations. Gold-armoured Titans in full warpaint patrolled the spectator rows, making sure that fights between overzealous members of the crowd were put to swift and violent ends.

It was a day of celebration, after all.

Eliah chewed on her lower lip as she watched a group of ragged helots drag a trio of unconscious spectators to the nearest exit. Roars of praise for the Titan responsible reverberated through the crowd. She swallowed, pulling at the collar of her tunic. Maybe it was because she'd stayed awake all night on vigil, or perhaps it was just her nerves, but for some reason, the sound of cheers made the very air feel stifling.

She kept close to Regis as he navigated the rows in search of an open space. Craning heads, whispers and jeers followed in his wake, but he paid them no mind. They were words he'd heard before. Words that he heard all the time. He was a coward. A weakling. A disappointment to his Tyrant father and the Clan. A failure of a father for not raising Taitenschild to be worthy of her name.

Fortunately, only the Tyrants ever spoke of that last tidbit, and when they did so, it was within the privacy of the Chamber of Counsel. As far as the rest of the Clan was concerned, Eliah was a Regischild – one that had been unfortunate enough to inherit whatever genes made Regis himself a weakling.

'Can't blame the mother for not wanting anything to do with the girl,' said a woman nearby. 'It was only honourable. Why, if that were my child, I'd – '

Eliah blushed, instinctively reaching for the back of Regis's shirt.

He patted her head reassuringly with one hand and treated the offending woman to a rude sign with the other. The gossip flushed a furious red. Raising her fists, she started towards him – and quickly halted when a nearby Titan shot her a look.

Regis sighed and shook his head as the woman turned back to her friends and resumed her tirade in an even louder voice. It wasn't as if birth mothers had anything to do with raising their children anyway. Most just dumped their newborn babes at the Clan Mothers' doors a week or two after birth and only came to take the children back when they were old enough to begin their warrior training – assuming that they even bothered to take them back at all.

The fathers were even worse. Half of them didn't even know who their children were – which, to be fair, wasn't entirely their fault. Mothers only knew which child were theirs if they'd personally handed the child over and a Clan Mother was able to tell them, and Seren warriors didn't stay with one partner for very long, if at all.

But even if the men did know, or thought they knew, which child was theirs, many still chose not to claim them as their own until they saw how they fared in training.

If a child turned out to be exceptional, like Aramir had, then the quarrels between the men over who the real father was – or the real mother, for those whose mothers were unknown – were decided with a series of violent duels. No soldier or shieldmaiden, and especially no Titan, wanted to be known for bearing weaklings instead of warriors, particularly when the weaklings seemed to be more likely to be born with magic.

A light, male voice called out from behind. 'Regis Thearrischild, you look like you're lost.'

Regis grinned. 'I am,' he said, and turned around. 'Don't suppose you know a good place to stand, Hal?'