Arthurian Cultivation

"Why exactly are you hiding that you are Gwendolyn's son?" The question hung in the air between us. Only years of experience of grillings by the Harkleys kept my shock from showing on my face.

My first instinct was to deflect, to push her aside with a question like 'Who do you refer to?'. It was not like I could lie and claim ignorance. My fae-cursed tongue would've bound, but beyond that my honour would never permit it. My sense of honour might've been a small twisted thing, I had no qualms about poisons, deceptions, things that would've grated across the soul of a knight. The one exception was my connection to my mother. That alone I considered sacred.

I remained silent, meeting her eyes and taking a step back. Providing a bit of distance between us in the small, stuffy room. Trying to argue or divert her attention was pointless. She knew. I didn't imagine the Knights had told her, nor did I think Pel was going about sharing my personal history casually. How did she know?

I looked different, spoke in different tones, and while there was some overlap in our skills, it was not like Regus was known for bardic skill. He was known for being a parfumeur, displaying alchemical knowledge and skills, but that alone should not have been enough. Then I thought to how she had watched the actions I had taken, the little parts of my mother's teaching that still showed in the foundations of my craft.

"This wasn't the test I was expecting it to be."

"She always made sure there was more light before. She also never cared for grinding things more than was necessary, plus the way you cleaned out the cauldron itself was exactly the same. That last tap."

"To chase out the last drop." Just like my mother taught me. Cursed perceptive cultivators.

"So, back to my question. Why are you hiding it?"

I sighed. What did I say? What even was the answer? Remembering my chats with Sephy, and her pushing me to speak more, I decided to go with the truth.

"I don't know. There are plenty of good reasons, not least that I don't want the Harkleys' attention upon me, but at the core of it I'm just not sure."

"So you let your mother's line end like that! Her legacy deserves better! Are you not proud of your mother?"

"Never say that again, never! She gave everything so I could be free. If she had a choice between my safety and her legacy, I have no doubt which she would choose." I snapped, my control over my emotions slipping. Who was she to ask me such foul questions? I didn't care that she was a Steel, I could not let such comments go unanswered.

"Hmmm, that temper is unlike her. You must've got that from your father." Rowena's look made my skin itch. I could feel her aura buzzing, the power within bound but struggling at its chains. She must still assume I had Harkley blood.

"I owe you no explanations, but I will tell you I am no Harkley. My mother found her own freedom for a time and I am the result. And while I know nothing of the man, I suspect that my temper comes not from him, but from being held hostage in a household of monsters wearing human skin. Or perhaps years of being left to rot by a family who cast my mother aside has left me a touch irritable."

"You should not insult your family so casually." Rowena's aura rolled over me. Her words were quiet and low and yet made my chest shudder, each word shaking me like a great peal of thunder.

"I am Taliesin, son of Gwendolyn. Do not seek to claim me. I escaped one family who demanded my allegiance with threats far worse than you can ever offer." I rolled my shoulders and tried to turn away, only for the woman's aura to clamp down on me. The pressure of an evil-eye-like technique immobilising me.

"You should apologise. Then I will answer your questions. There are things you should know, things I can tell you about your mother." She didn't smile, she had a stern look, like a disappointed teacher.

Her power pushed down on me but I resisted it. She was a Steel and I but a lowly Iron, but at Bronze I had held out against the power of Miss Peaches, and Rowena was no Elder Witch. Her aura might've left my whole body feeling as if I was standing at the edge of some grand tempest, the air tasting of invisible lightning, and my body shuddering with silent thunder, but it wasn't the worst experience. I took a step back.

"Release your hold over me." Fighting through her control, I took pleasure in seeing her brows knit. "I will offer you no apologies, you are the one who has given insult. So I don't care, I will not offer some fake apology to someone who seeks to use the memory of my mother to gain control over me."

"You must trust in your elders, you arrogant—"

"Me, arrogant? Compared to your hubris! Even Pellinore offered his apologies, admitting the family's failings. Are you greater than the patriarch? You certainly seem to believe you can attack his guests. Why should I offer you any trust?" I shouted, cutting her off. The aura increased and I felt my own rising up to fight back.

"Gwen would tell you to trust me. I had no part in your mother's fate. I even argued against that unseelie marriage," she cursed.

"And yet she is dead, and I had to escape under my own power. Now you demand my understanding? You have done nothing for me. I owe you nothing. You dare use my mother's memory against me like a weapon." Rage pushed me on, helped me fight the overwhelming aura. Despite the pressure of her technique I began to move. My every movement was difficult, my muscles clenched and twisted, and bones shook with the bass rumble of her power.

"This is all going wrong. You can't leave yet." Her aura lunged at me, this attack felt more raw. I saw sparks forming on bits of metal in the room, the instruments on the walls and table began to vibrate as if the room had become the inside of a drum. Before it could reach me a new pressure slammed into it, washing it from the room.

The Steel fell to her knees with a cry of pain. The release was so unexpected that I stumbled, only to be caught by a familiar frame.

"Tell me, Rowena, how exactly did you expect this ambush to go?" Pel said as he helped me stand. I could not tell how he had arrived. The door was still shut, the wind undisturbed. It was just one moment he wasn't there and the next he was.

"Patriarch, what are you—"

"What am I doing here? Well, I tend to listen out for my name being called, and what do I find? My adjunct who I trusted with a delicate task threatening one of those under her care." Pel's voice remained quiet and soft, and yet there was a weight to it that made my hair stand on end. All the kindness and warmth were gone, the quiet words a threat all of their own.

A Mythril didn't need to be loud, not when the world would silence itself to make him heard.

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Maeve had told me of his theatrical rage from their first encounter, of the shouting and threats. The utter absence of emotion on a face that had up until now always been full of life was more terrifying than any scowl or scornful stare. I wasn't even the target of his ire and I felt my body respond. Even my skin felt like it was trying to crawl away, to get further from him.

Before this moment I knew that Pellinore was the patriarch, a being of immense power and one of the most powerful cultivators in all of Euross, in the same way I knew the names of heroes in my songs and tales. I had heard stories about how he was willing to fight entire Houses corrupted by the Divine Cultivators to retrieve his lost kin.

I had seen his power, his command over the fae Mercury. I had heard he was the peer of monsters like the Mother Chox, and I had felt the power of his aura first hand when his control slipped as I told him of my mother's passing.

That was all set-dressing, the opening aria, to the crescendo that was playing out before me. The world felt like it was distorting, the light faded and I was left feeling like I was alone on a stage, watched by a thousand expectant eyes. My limbs felt unbearably heavy, and yet I could not move an inch. My ears began to pound, my breathing and heartbeat the only sounds I could hear. My eyes shut.

I woke up with Marek pushing a warm cup of honey and lemon into my hands. I was in a room I didn't recognise, sat at a table. If I had to guess, it was some manner of office for Marek. There were books on the shelf behind him, a long work table, and a small cauldron set up in the corner. The walls were white stone, and looking out the window confirmed that we were in the main building.

"Drink up." Marek waited until I did so, my limbs mercifully free, yet shaking with exhaustion.

"What just happened?"

"Pellinore dropped you off with me. He apologises for getting angry, and for being unable to protect you from the full effects. He also would like to speak to you before your team leaves to properly apologise. Unfortunately, duty calls and he had to return to his work."

"That was with him trying to protect me?"

"Pellinore feels strongly about some things. All Mythrils do. There is little that sparks him into a rage more than infighting within his family." Marek gave me a weak smile. I felt myself shrink back. I didn't need another person starting on about my heritage right now.

"Why do you say that?" I managed to say, sipping the drink which was pleasant and warm on the tongue. I felt some of the tension unwind within me. I raised an eyebrow as I sensed glamour in the simple brew. Just enough to help calm and soothe.

"Look, I don't know your exact situation, but it is obvious to anyone who knows the Artoss that you are one through and through. The fact you are with me and not Rowena makes me suspect she may have asked some unwanted questions of you, and it wouldn't be the first time she has been impatient when it comes to family matters."

"So you've not been told who I am?"

"No. Pellinore said such discussions were up to you. Doesn't mean I can't infer a lot from your situation. Particularly the way Lady Maeve and Lady Persephone both focus on you. I can think of only one individual who has reason to hold both their favour." Marek grinned as I choked on my drink.

"Is that not in line with the rakish reputation of bards?"

"You believe that either of them would tolerate impropriety?" Marek seemed to sense my worry. "Do not worry overly, doubt most would come to the same conclusions I have. I would never have suspected it if not for some comments your allies have made, and the Patriarch's defensiveness of you."

"It's a good reminder I could do more to hide it. Well then, let me reintroduce myself. I am Taliesin, son of Gwendolyn. I may have once had the name Regus forced upon me, as the man who held it before was under the false impression I was his son." I explained, making sure to include I was clean of Harkley blood, a statement which I saw draw forth an uncharacteristic smile on Marek's face.

"I appreciate you sharing that with me. I never met your mother, but I have read her notes and heard stories of her. She was clearly a woman of savage intellect."

"Do you know why Rowena was so focused on me? And if it's not an imposition, could you explain?"

"Yes, but only because Pellinore bid me to provide you some context. I try and avoid the politics and challenges of the household." Marek sighed. "First, you should know that Lady Rowena is your great-great-grandmother, and second, you should know she is perhaps one of the most martial of the Artoss. To her, family name and pride is everything. She serves the Patriarch, and under the last Patriarch did many regrettable things. Though even that was not enough to spare her exile in the last decade or two of his rule."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're telling me." Maybe I would've understood what he was saying more if I didn't feel a burning resentment towards the woman. It was difficult to focus on the explanation.

"I'm not certain how deeply Lady Rowena cared for your mother, or the other men and women who the old Patriarch sold off to appease those foul cultists. But it was enough for him to fear betrayal from a woman who had been, up until that point, his most loyal servant."

"She seemed angry at me, like I was disrespecting my mother. The Artoss in general."

"I don't know her well enough to speak to her exact motivations, but I hope you are aware that despite Pellinore's efforts, not many of your kin have been brought back. And the children of those unions have often been poisoned by the cult. Turned against us, or hurt in ways that make trusting the Artoss difficult. Fixing such things is slow going."

"I didn't know."

"The Patriarch has been very good at quietly letting people find their place. Others seem to have expected some manner of spectacle to be made of them, a parade of those reclaimed to display Artossian power. They would've lifted up a champion to prove that spending time and resources retrieving these souls is the right thing to do." Marek looked at me, and I could hear the unspoken words. Rowena was among those who expected some manner of performance. She wanted a champion.

I sighed. I was many things, but a champion wasn't among them. I had not won a single duel since I had reached Iron. I existed to support others, let their power shine, not lord my skills over them.

"So what now?"

"Rowena will be reprimanded if she stepped out of line. However, she will likely remain connected to your enterprise. The Artoss Steels are spread thin, and I don't believe the Patriarch has anyone else he can trust with this kind of endeavour."

"So I will have an angry Steel looking over my shoulder the entire time?" I grumbled, standing and stretching. Even with the herbal drink I could still feel a tightness in my muscles that lingered from fighting Rowena's aura.

"She is loyal to the family and understands the chain of command. If I had to guess, she'll have been given much tighter orders which she won't dare ignore." Marek paused, clearly debating saying something.

"Marek, you've been a good teacher, and I trust your point of view. I would like your advice if you're willing to give it."

"Firstly, take nothing I say as counsel for forgiveness, you are the only one who can decide such a thing. I do, however, suggest you require some context. The former Patriarch's cowardly actions mar the Artoss like a poorly healed wound. I don't think a single one of the senior cultivators is not scarred by what they chose to do, or by the knowledge of what their actions led to. None remain who do not seek to make amends, to ease that ache."

"So I should let them try and demand—" I seethed, my words cut off only when Marek held up a hand.

"I say this as you are a young man who has, until recently, been surrounded by a group of monsters who can only be counted as family due to their blood relation. The Artoss are an actually caring family, and while it may at first not seem it, the motivation behind their behaviour is to see you succeed, to see you thrive. The issue comes in the intense emotions, the memories of failure linked to these urges, and that they each have their own view of what success looks like. Does that help?"

"A little. Though I will say the sense of being pinned down under someone's aura doesn't change because they have good intentions behind it." I muttered. I wasn't certain that I could overlook the way Rowena tried to extort me via withholding knowledge of my mother, but framing her insistence on respect to the family, and 'hiding' my heritage made far more sense now. Marek's face fell at that line, a dark cast settling on his normally even brow.

"No, it is churlish behaviour that is below her and the honour she claims to represent. All I suggest is that you factor it into your future engagements with her. Now, let us put such dark discussions behind us and talk about something else."

"That would be nice." I agreed.

"How are your control exercises going? I trust you've been keeping up with them over the last few days?" The teacher's eyes locked on to mine, and I cursed my inability to lie.