OracleQuill

"Please, Mr. Priam!" Cynthia piped up, her pigtails flouncing as she eagerly rocked on her heels and her eyes shining hopefully at him. "We'll work hard! Right?!" She glanced to Owain and Kjelle.

"Oh glorious one whose blood basks an ancient radiance!" Owain said loudly. "The one who carries your force of life through the canals in his very flesh has parted with us the tales and songs--OUCH!"

Kjelle elbowed Owain hard in his ribs, making him wince as she silenced him with an even harder stare. "He means that Morgan's told us about your spars together at dinner and we want in." Kjelle looked toward Morgan. "Morgan tells us them every night at the mess hall table."

"Does he now?" Priam drawled, smiling at his son and his apparent inheritance in loving to tell stories to those within earshot (regardless if they wanted to or not). Morgan frowned and he pouted at Kjelle, who responded with silence and a cheeky smile all her own. "Very well. Come on."

Owain, Cynthia and Kjelle exchanged confused looks.

"We'll start training right now," said Priam as he set Ragnell back from the leather scabbard hiding under his torn cape. "and you four can have something to talk about at dinner."

Cynthia clapped her hands excitedly as she rushed to get her lance, fumbling over her own feet but her energy allowed her to remain upright. Owain let out a whoop of cheer and he, too, dashed off to collect his sword, Missletainn from his belongings in his tent. Kjelle shook her head, her eyes rolling in good nature, for she had her own lance in hand. Morgan had come prepared as well, and he let his hand rest on his Ragnell's hilt.

Priam lead the way to the camp training ground, he cleared away the training logs and wooden swords so there was more room for them all to maneuver. Cynthia and Owain returned after a few minutes, the small pegasus knight holding a silver lance and the myrmidon tightening his fingers on the dark gray blade's handle.

"Alright," Priam was gentle when he pushed Cynthia to move and stand beside Kjelle. "You go here." He came in front of Owain, making him trade to Morgan's opposite side. "You, here, and Morgan, stand to Kjelle's right."

"You lined us up shortest to tallest," Morgan said, looking from Cynthia to Owain.

"You have your mother's eye," Priam nodded. "This is a test to judge how well you four are going to work together. Your objective is to charge and try and disarm me," He held out the wooden sword for them to see. "of this. Begin."

Cynthia rushed at Priam first as he sidestepped her strike, causing her to roll forward and land on her face. Owain dashed in after her, and he fell in a similar manner, but only due to Priam grasping the myrmidon's sword hand and effortlessly tossing him as though he were a scarecrow to be put out to pasture.

This went on for several minutes, and all four children were out of breath, though Priam just expelled a slow sigh as he wiped at his temple. Owain groaned, giving a shaking thumbs up to Morgan, who had his weight supported on his sword. Cynthia pouted and then grinned widely as she cried, "NOW!"

The children all sprung into action, leaping at the Radiant Hero. Morgan clung to his father's left arm and Kjelle held fast to Priam's right, the one holding the wooden sword. Owain hugged Priam around the middle and Cynthia hung on his back. Priam yelped and he then began laughing at their successful ambush. On, he continued to laugh, barely able to move and his smile drew wider.

"This is how you're all going to play, is it?" His grin showed his teeth as his eyes flashed in amusement. "Fine. Don't say I did not warn you."

Morgan yelled in warning for Kjelle to run, and despite her first protest, she promptly hurried away. Priam set Owain into a headlock, his balled fist ruffling his hair. Cynthia, while still holding on to Priam's neck, and she laughed as well and Morgan tackled his father around his middle, three on one hardly seemed like a fair fight, but it was a fun battle nonetheless.

--

Priam limped toward his tent, still laughing from his play-fight with the children. His entire body was sore from the true training session and the false one that followed. He stretched his arms, hissing as his joints popped when he rolled his shoulders. The tent flap opened and in walked Robin, her left arm folded around a package.

"Had a good training session with the kids?" she asked. "I overheard Owain telling the story to Lucina. Something about how, 'Sir Priam threw him like a javelin pole'."

"I will take blame for even agreeing to train the children," Priam said, still chuckling to himself.

"Mmhm," Robin smiled, helping undo the buckles to his armor plating. "You're going to do it again."

"Of course," Priam answered promptly. "I may go for a new record in the distance how far I can throw Lissa's son."

Robin giggled, shaking her head at her husband. "I'm glad this arrived today, as I wanted it to be a surprise. For you." She then passed him the wrapped parcel and nodded when he pointed at the paper and corded string.

Priam pulled at the thread and tore apart the parchment. Something soft met his fingers and he tugged it free. Deep red fabric met his eyes and the entire thing reached just short of his ankles. He was stunned at the sight of the new cape, which Robin helped fasten around his shoulders with the black metal pin.

"Robin, this is beautiful." Priam let their noses brush together as he let his temple lean in close to hers. "I love it. Thank you."