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Hey guys,

Today I submit the daily artwork a bit late, but I still hope you can appretiate! The topic flowed very well with me today so it left me with plenty of time to mess around with some rendering to make sure the light looks interesting :)

The thane on his throne!

Accompanied by yet another short story by Aksan. I hope you enjoy the art and the read <3 They go together best :)

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Pale morning light cast The Thane’s throne in crisp shadows, matched in their harshness by the cold air as the doors of the grand hall swung briefly open. From the bright, snowy world beyond his daughter emerged, bearing with her the latest of her work. The tower blade was awkward on Jonina’s shoulders, taller than her and in a sheath never built to be carried by a single human. Without the crowds of court her exerted groans echoed through the chamber.

The Thane’s gaze meandered around the hall, drifting from the smith to the few others in the room and the vast banners adorning the cavernous chamber. Soon they were to be raised upon new strongholds, declaring his power in the northern basins. Imposing his will over the people he’d liberated four years ago. Once more subjecting them to the rule of dragons.

Worries twisted in his mind and he barely noticed Jonina taking a knee before the throne. This afternoon Stephanie would be presenting a report from the rangers, Lucas had summarised it already this morning: More raids, little good news. His plans, the Queen’s plans, seemed to meet all the resistance they could short of outright war.

Peacefully Jonina waited, studying his troubled face. Stephanie would be intense this afternoon; vindicated, in her mind, by this unrest. Arming and hardening the hold was never going to be painless. Could they in the end bring more peace than it cost them? He could only hope.

Finally, his focus turned to the sword, and Jonina seemed to take it as a nudge to action. With an ease indicative of the immense strength the dragonborn held, she presented the sword to be drawn. Wordlessly, it was taken and with no flourish the shining blade met the light. Deeply familiar to its master of so many centuries, it was briefly inspected, and laid across the dragon’s legs.

“It didn’t take you much hassle, I do hope,” he said turning his intense purple eyes to her, “Thank you for addressing it so swifty.”

“There was nothing to address, my lord,” she stated calmly, “The blade picked up no blunting, deflection or deviation that I could measure. I cleaned it thoroughly, but I’ll confess I dare not try to sharpen it for fear my crude attempts would dull such an edge.”

Drawing a stifled gasp from the smith the dragon stood the blade upon its tip before him. Slowly he turned it by the parapet hilt and considered. “For a smith that has barely made a dozen weapons, Eij utterly outdid herself with this blade. I’ve only ever known obsidian itself to turn the edge.”

“Then it is a truly incredible weapon, my lord,” Jonina said softly, “An honour to have handled it.”

“Do you think it truly can do good?” The Thane murmured, as much to himself as the human, who knelt, still holding the scabbard, before him.

It took a while for the smith to formulate a reply to such a philosophical question and the pair passed it in silence, their eyes meeting in the reflective shine of the blade’s edge. “As much as any sword can do good, I think this one can do so as an exemplar, my lord.”

“And how much would that be?” he asked, turning to look at her directly with an arched brow.

“Force is the only defence against force,” she quoted with a clear and practised air.

“Valinar,” her lord attributed. “At least it was he who phrased it so succinctly.” Patient and eager, the pale face encouraged him to continue. “We used to spend a lot of time discussing moral philosophy, and practising it.” His eyes drifted over the grand banners once more. “If you will not wield force you are subject to the first that will, you shall find words mean little to your new masters, and so the strong take their place above the weak,” he voiced, once more invoking the clarity and cadence of a quote.

“I don’t think I can place that, my lord.”

“Unsurprisingly, little one,” he said, staring still into the middle distance, “It was my brother Sancthor who codified a lot of consequentialism, and rarely just in theory.”

Jonina’s eyes turned from the white stone of the throne to the flagstones at her feet, hoping as she did that her braid remained as pristine as she had made it that morning.

“I was sent here to hold this range, by my blade or those I might command. I am to keep the Federation free from the tyranny of the Inigne. It seems that to do this I must subject us to great violence, and deprive many of the peace they once had.”

“I know I cannot speak for all your subjects, my lord,” she began, lifting her head with a nobility she was slowly discovering, “But I would rather live, fighting for my freedom, than accept peace behind the veil of dogma and subjugation.”

“The trouble is, little one,” he said calmly, surely aware of the strange tension the familiarity brought upon her, “That those who oppose us are of much the same mind.”

“Under our rule they would face violence for preaching their hate, in theirs I would face it for the nature of my birth and of my love,” the smith stated. Her tone was calm and level as her knuckles whitened to keep it so. “I reject a comparison between denying my existence and denying their faith!” Her voice by now dominated the chamber as she showed the strength of her lungs. As the final echoes faded her manners caught up with her, “My lord.”

“You do not need to convince me, Jonina,” he said with a subtle smile, “Did you fight in the last war?”

“No, my lord,” she admitted and shrank, “I did what I felt I could, but I did not fight.”

“Do you know how?”

“No, my lord,” she said and swallowed heavily, “I was raised during the occupation and my kind was not granted such things.”

“You speak of your kind,” he said, softening noticeably now, “How well known is your parentage?”

“Well, well enough, my lord,” she said, stumbling over the words in shock, “Though of course I would never expect any, um, acknowledgement, nor special treatment for it, because of . . .”

“Your mother is Edyta then?” he asked, to a confused shake of the smith’s head.

“Wait, yes, yes she is . . . My lord,” Jonina floundered, “I expected you to be asking if, yeah, about if I knew . . .” She bit her tongue.

“That I am your father?” he looked to the high, arched ceiling for a moment before returning his gaze to her, “I am aware it would not traditionally be acknowledged, but very little in my familial life is traditional any more. As such I don’t see why I have to endure things that bother me for tradition's sake.” The warmth of the rising sun was matched easily now by his smile, eliminating any menace from his draconic countenance. “In any case, you are no mere daughter of mine.”

“Third generation, my lord,” she stated proudly.

It was The Thane’s turn now to bite his tongue. “And you’re no doubt aware of the gifts that come with that?”

“I believe I am, my lord,” she mumbled, looking up to him and back down to the floor repeatedly.

“Perhaps not to their extents,” he said, distracted, seemingly, by a movement outside. Adding to himself, “If any are.” Wearily for so early in the day, he returned his gaze to the sword and rested his head upon his hand. “Then let us see them put to good use and that injustice put right.”

Jonina looked to him with a defeated confusion, her mind was already reeling from the way he was treating her and had no will to seek the thrust of his words.

“I would see you receive martial training. Both to avoid the squandering of one who would surely be as fine a fighter as any Knight of the Federation. And to see you able to have the defence of force against those who would subjugate . . . ‘Your kind’.”

“You would have me enlist?” she asked, shocked.

“No, not at all, little one,” he said, seemingly to his blade, “This castle still has great need for a smith, and I have perhaps some want for a daughter.”

Were she not already resting on one knee she would have surely fallen, reaching, as it was, down with a hand to steady herself.

“At the very least, I think I might take some more interest in your education, though it has already produced a fine young woman.”

“I’m 23, my lord,” she said with a doubtful tone, “My education is surely past?”

“Have you no desire to learn more?” he asked with a smirk, “I’m fairly certain that Valinar wouldn’t have been on the syllabus under Inigne rule.”

“It isn’t that, my lord,” she said with a sigh, “But I do not consider continued learning to be part of my education. I simply seek knowledge on subjects I wish to learn more of.”

“And draconic history is of interest to you because . . . Ah!” He smiled down upon his daughter. “Well then, perhaps this framing might appeal: If I am to acknowledge you as my daughter and grant you the elevation that surely comes with that, then I would expect you to be educated in subjects that I would not expect of even the most talented of castle smiths. Am I understood?”

Shakily, she nodded, still bracing on the floor to steady herself.

“In that case we will take up this topic at another time. For now, I thank you greatly for the work you have put into my sword.” He rose, looming over her as he took the sheath, finally and returned his sword to it. “Even if little was needed in the end. And I will dismiss you. Court soon approaches.”

“Of course, my lord,” she said. She shuffled her free hand in confusion now the artefact had steadied was taken from her. “Thank you, my lord.” Struggling, she managed a shallow nod of her head before rising and jogging the length of the hall and away out of her father’s sight.

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Anonymous

Eep, sorry for the typos in this one everybody, but I hope the stunning art makes up for it. Frankly amazing of Lana to tackle something like this and I really adore it.