Lord Sued, ever the observer, watched from a distance with a curious smile.
Seeing no progress with the old knight, Arion turned to approach another—only to be hoisted up once again and deposited into the arms of a flustered maid. The woman, pale with alarm, apologized profusely for having let her charge out of sight. But Arion had already begun to squirm, his small face flushed with frustration and insult. Again, he made for another knight.
Again, Marius intervened.
"What is this nonsense?" Arion thought bitterly. "He ignores my words, rejects my gestures, and denies me even the chance to ask another!"
And there, watching his father chuckle at the spectacle, the sting of humiliation grew unbearable. Was this mockery? Betrayal? Arion seethed.
"They laugh at me," he fumed. "They think me weak. A child. A fool."
He considered throwing a tantrum, as children often do. But pride stayed his hand.
Instead, he stood very still. And then... he acted.
As Marius turned to glance at Lord Sued, a swift and most unfortunate pain bloomed in his groin. The old knight staggered, his breath escaping in a strangled wheeze. Gasps rose from the onlookers. One knight dropped his training sword in horror.
Even Lord Sued winced.
And the old knight, mighty Marius—slayer of bandits, tamer of squadrons, breaker of sieges—was laid low by a single act of childhood vengeance.
The child, with the cheek of a trickster and the grace of a squirrel, leapt back into the maid's arms and stared down his adversary with the proud, defiant eyes of a tiny tyrant. His message was clear.
"You can't catch me now," his eyes seemed to say. "Not without witnesses."
For a moment, all stood frozen.
Then Marius laughed. A long, deep laugh—half pain, half wonder.
"By the saints," he said, clutching his side, "the boy's got iron in his blood and devilry in his bones."
Even Lord Sued laughed then, and the knights followed, shaking their heads and chuckling.
Marius approached and placed a hand on Arion's head. Arion flinched, expecting retribution. But the old man merely patted him gently.
"Seems the pup bites," he said.
"Seems I'm in luck," he thought with quiet relief. "The old goat has a soft side after all." A faint smile tugged at Arion's lips.
But then—
"Oh, what delightful dimples you have, young master!"
A moment later, Arion howled in agony as Marius delivered a pinch of legendary cruelty to both cheeks, an act of such mischievous revenge that tears leapt to Arion's eyes like startled mice.
Lord Sued's mirth faltered. He stepped forward, half in jest, half in paternal concern.
Yet even as his face reddened, even as curses in a remarkable variety of tongues left his young mouth, Arion stood tall. He rubbed his cheeks, glared at the knight, and with solemn authority declared:
"You… old… enemy."
A hush fell over the yard. And then—chaos. Laughter, applause, even a salute from one of the younger knights. Arion had not been humiliated. He had been baptized. A boy among men no longer—but a tiny force to be reckoned with.
And so it was, on that cold and fateful morning, that Arion made his first enemy—and perhaps, in time, his greatest ally.