Altena remembers, fondly, the first time her father--her adoptive father--ever challenged her to a spar. She was young. She'd only been training with a lance for a short time but she and her brother--her adoptive brother--were told to work together to take him down. They'd lost horribly and walked away covered in scrapes and bruises but they were determined to keep training and working together to one day win.
He'd been so proud the day they finally did. Loudly proclaimed how proud Njörun and Dáinn would be to see their scions finally join together again. Altena was proud too.
She wonders now, having been matched against her birth father in a tournament, if he would have challenged her and Leif similarly. Would they have laughed together as he bested them time and time again? Would she and Leif have grown closer because of it? Become friends?
It's pointless to continue wondering such things. Pondering on what ifs or contemplating simpler and happier times will do nothing to help her prepare for her fight.
She approaches her father, the man whose blood she shares, with eyes narrowed in determination. "I will cut you down. Do not hold anything back." Her honor as a proud Thracian is at stake and she does not intend on losing.
He hails his heritage in pride, despite manning the flag of another crusader for this event. But first, comes the deeply frown set in his expression, over the arrangement that fixed Njörun and Dáinn against each other. And again, when his own team was forced into the arena with his own daughter's. Could the scions have been watching? Ordaining his resurrection an unsanctioned one? Whatever it was, he was struck with the overwhelming desire to protect his daughter, with his life. To even draw a blade against her was out of the question.
But the way she hardened her tone nearly disrupted his warm gaze, if he wasn't primed with an answer at the tip of his tongue. "You must enjoy dueling, just like your father, hm?" He smirks without vanity, hearty and true. "I will choose my battles wisely, even in a duel with you, Altena."
It's non-partial, that answer of his. Neither a yes or no—for her sake, all for her sake. He most certainly would not cut his daughter down, not when all his paternal affection prioritized her safety over even his own. But, he was not going to patronize her either, especially when she struck out of line to make her competitive streak known. "I've heard you've grown into a formidable warrior. I know you mean to rouse me, but understand my position. I will not go out of my way to hurt you."
His heart is still. Steady. With his head tall, shoulders straight, and the call of Njörun beating like a banner over his head. There's a spark within him that makes his question feel like thunder. "If you do, then do as you will."
"I will be proud of you, either way." And finally, a smile. So it goes, softer this time. He's hardly smiled as much as he has in quite a long time. Strange.
There's a tinge of amusement in his voice.
"And before you get upset, know: I do honor a good spar. I'll try to make it worth your while."
