The peace that formerly reigned in Terra Nova has eroded, now little more than a memory. War ravages the continent. Disputes divide kingdoms; ideals divide families. The quest for power consumes absolutely and indiscriminately. None are immune to its allure.
Who will rise and who will fall? Only time—and ambition—will tell.
UPDATES
05.26.2023
2 month character creation hold for all existing members begins 6/5/2023. Ended 8/5/2023.
10.29.2023
Change in how times flows. Was 4 IC seasons, now only 2 IC seasons per 1 OOC year.
5 whole years of Heir Apparent goodness! When I started the site, I knew I was hunkering down for the long haul, but I never could have predicted the numerous twists and turns this roleplay site has seen. Hundreds of plots, characters, and members have come and gone, all leaving marks on the site. I am so very thankful for those who have invested. Because you keep coming back, keep getting on, and keep writing, Heir Apparent has the legacy it does today. Three cheers to us!
The training practices that he had tested out with a smaller group had been successful enough. He'd attempted it once or twice more, with input from some of the others, and found it a sufficient method of training. He'd have to thank Regan and Bex for the idea when he saw them again, but in the mean time, this day would be the start of the soldiers regular swimming practices.
He had made sure to include it on their schedule, and all of them had been made aware of where and how they were to show up. A spare set of clothes. A warm towel or blanket. A set of swimming clothes. This group was a little larger than his test group - fifteen instead of ten, and everyone under his care would begin having these lessons once a week. One of his drill instructors had come along with him, so that he was sure they would understand how to run the exercise, and as always they would have a medic on site.
Warren stood out on the beach, already prepared for the swim. He wore a pair of swimming shorts and his military jacket, for warmth until they began their warm ups, but his socks, boots, pants, and undershirt had already been removed. As usual, Mrs. Beth sat on the bench. His new assistant had not come along this time, and that was just as well. With his arms crossed, he stood in the sand, waiting for the soldiers to arrive. Once they began to trickle in, he would usher them to stand in line in front of him.
When Ber had first heard about Woodwick’s newest form of torture, which was by having it show up without warning on his training schedule, his first thought was that there had been some sort of miscommunication. There had to have been one, because who the fuck went swimming, in freezing cold ocean water, in the middle of Hiems. And what kind of utter bastard not only subjected himself but also everybody else to such misery.
He should have known. Everything had quieted down after Whitby, and with the influx of new faces in the military wing, not to mention the war looming on the horizon, the lieutenant had – thankfully – seemed to forget all about Ber’s existence. He should have known the man was just biding his time and figuring out some other way of making everyone’s lives a nightmare. Honestly, who in their right mind decided that it would be a good idea to strip down and go diving into the ocean when the wind alone was cold enough to freeze his balls off? Ber wasn’t even in the navy! Why did he need to go swimming? He was a foot soldier, who was perfectly capable of using his feet to either walk or find an alternative route across any river he may stumble upon. He didn’t need to go swimming, and he certainly didn’t need to go swimming in the middle of Hiems. Like a complete maniac.
Without the walls of the castle to block the wind that blew in from the ocean, the docks were cold, and though he had only just arrived, Ber was already ready to leave. Along with the rest of the poor souls who had this cruel and unusual punishment on their schedule for today, he had brought everything he was supposed to and found Woodwick waiting, looking as if he would be joining them in the water. At least the lieutenant would have to suffer as well, though any satisfaction from that observation was largely tempered by the fact that this was all his idea to begin with. What a bastard. Maybe he would drown. Lining up with the rest of the soldiers, Ber made an attempt at schooling his expression into something less than a glower as he stared at a point beyond the lieutenant himself and waited for the stragglers to arrive.
"As you all have been briefed," Warren began as soon as all of the soldiers were present, "we have a new training exercise. Before any of you ask, this has nothing to do with the navy. None of you will be transferred to the navy, and this is not a drill meant to see if you could qualify for the navy." Many of the soldiers who had started the exercises earlier in the week had asked, and he was already getting tired of repeating himself.
"Swimming is an exercise that requires not only use of the entire body without putting strain on the joints, but also requires you to be aware of your physical and mental state at all times. For this reason, we are adapting it into the regular routine that you will all be part of once a week." He eyed each of the men and women in front of him, making sure that they were in their swimsuits and had come prepared. It appeared as if all of them had, so he continued.
He gestured over to the bench where the older woman sat with her heavy, black bag in her lap. She smiled and waved as the soldiers turned to look at her. "Mrs. Beth is an experienced medic who will be joining us today in the event that anyone needs her aid, but there should be no issues. Go place your spare clothes on or around the bench next to her, and then spread out and do fifty jumping jacks. Then we'll pair up for the swim."
He walked with the soldiers as they put their clothes in the designated location, removing his jacket while he did so. Just before everyone began doing their jumping jacks, though, he stopped them. "Oh, is there anyone who doesn't know how to swim?"
Woodwick opened his mouth, and, unsurprisingly, nothing that came out of it made Ber any happier about this entire affair. He didn’t care about the lieutenant’s reasoning for this apparently weekly torment, and it was irrelevant anyway. If Woodwick asked right now, the soldier was perfectly capable of providing him with a summary of both his physical and mental state, no ice-cold water necessary: half-frozen and pissed off. Even Mrs. Beth’s smile and wave, which reminded him of Temperance, did little to improve his darkening mood.
With the rest of the soldiers, Ber trudged over to the medic and found a spot on the ground not far from the bench to deposit his own belongings. Then he stepped away from the group, slipping somewhat from irritation into grim resignation as he prepared to begin the jumping jacks, before the lieutenant, with unerring accuracy, brought him up short with a sudden question that struck the true, unacknowledged problem with this entire idea.
He hadn’t been thinking about it, preferring the comforting familiarity of anger to cold apprehension, but now the latter was impossible to ignore.
Logically, Woodwick’s question was a reasonable one to ask. They came from all sorts of backgrounds, so it was very likely that some of them didn’t know how to swim, even if the activity itself had been implied to be a fairly basic one that everyone ought to know how to do. Surely, for one reason or another, some of them hadn’t had an opportunity to develop such a skill, yet as Ber glanced surreptitiously around, all he saw were confirmations that they all had the prerequisite knowledge. He could feel an embarrassed heat creeping up the back of his neck. A better, wiser man than him might have swallowed his pride and stepped forward, lest he end up, quite literally, in over his head and swallowing ocean water instead.
But Berengar Stormcrest had never claimed to be good or wise. He did not make a habit of confessing to much of anything, let alone his own inadequacies, particularly when doing so required him to stand in front of all his peers and inform a man he loathed that he could not do something that was apparently so incredibly fundamental that everyone else already knew how to do it.
As they began their warm-up jumping jacks, Ber gritted his teeth and shoved aside the trepidation that had started to pool in his gut. Surely swimming wasn’t that hard. He had seen people do it before - long, steady strokes with their arms and kicking with their legs - so he had some idea of what it entailed. It would be fine. Ber would manage, just like he always did.
None of the soldiers stepped forward to admit that they could not swim. Considering Nevermere's closeness to the coast, Warren had assumed that most could swim but there was always the chance that some couldn't. If that had been true, he would have pulled them aside to teach them, but luckily, he wouldn't have to do that today.
As they all lined back up and got started on their jumping jacks, Warren joined them. When they finished, he motioned to the calm water behind them. If they looked out, they could see two posts bobbing in the water. Between them was strung a rope. It was about twenty-five meters from the shore. "I'd like all of you to pair up. You'll line up along the shore. The first of you will swim to the rope and back. Once safely back to shore, your partner will then make the swim. You are to keep your eyes on your partner at all times. If your partner at any time shows signs of struggle, you are to alert me or my partner to provide aid."
He looked among them for who he thought might be the strongest swimmer. His eyes fell on Stormcrest, looking him over. While he would have usually chosen a soldier he was more familiar with, Berengar was on the smaller side of the soldiers on the group. One of the other soldiers was a little taller than the rest. "Mr. Kim, are you a strong swimmer?"
"Yes, sir," the soldier confirmed. Warren nodded.
"Good, you're with me," he motioned for the soldier to walk forward. That left everyone else in even numbers to choose their own partners. "Alright, everyone else choose someone to partner up with, line up at the water, and ready yourselves. In the future we will not spend as much time in preparation, so remember the routine well."
Having completed the jumping jacks, Ber looked out across the steady waves to see the indicated rope and buoys floating a significant distance away, and once more, tendrils of apprehension began coiling insidiously through his gut. That was pretty— No, it was fine. He could do it. After Woodwick finished his instructions and they had all paired up, Ber found himself rubbing his arms to keep them warm while watching his partner wade into the ocean.
For no reason other than because he was a gentleman, he had let her go first.
The witch in question, a slightly older soldier whose name he didn’t know, was clearly as familiar with the water as Ber was not. Digging his toes into the black sand, he studied what she did as she dived into the waves then emerged further away. Though he could see her, the growing distance made it harder to follow her actions from that point on, but he was fairly sure she performed the stroke he remembered, where the swimmer was on their stomach, reaching forward with alternating arms, and kicking with both legs. Not that he could really glean anything particularly useful from his vantage point on the shore. And soon enough, it was his turn.
As he walked into the frigid water, Ber drew in a breath and muttered several curses under his breath, sounding very much like the sailor he was not. The water reached his waist - the furthest he had ever ventured into the ocean - and then his shoulders and then a wave was rolling toward him— The soldier struck out with his arms and pushed off the bottom with his legs, breaths coming short and quick and shallow now for a reason other than the cold. But he was staying afloat, drifting over the peak of the wave and able to reach down with one leg to briefly find solid ground again after it had passed. That wasn’t too bad. He could do this - he was doing this.
Ber pushed off the bottom again. This time, he leaned forward and struck out with an arm like he’d seen his partner do, kicking his legs behind him so that they could propel him forward. It was… significantly harder to keep his face out of the water this way, but at least he was making some - admittedly very slow - progress toward the rope.
And then his foot cramped.
Staying afloat in his best approximation of swimming was precarious enough without the sudden jolt of pain as his right foot curled in protest of the frigid ocean. Very quickly, Ber went from some sort of abbreviated freestyle doggy paddle to attempting to tread water, and the suddenness of it all combined with another rolling wave had his head ducking unexpectedly under the surface. He inhaled water instead of air. Nose burning, he resurfaced gasping and coughing. With one hand, he tried to wipe the water from his face, but the loss of one of his arms, which were keeping him mostly upright, had him plunging again. Though Ber held his breath, he still managed to inhale some ocean water as he broke the surface once more.
The rope was forgotten as a visceral panic began to take hold. He was out in open water. He could barely see. His foot still refused to uncurl. He was breathing in water alongside air. And no matter how hard he instinctively tried to reach the bottom, he could not find solid ground.
Of the two of them, Warren would take the first swim. He waded into the frigid water and once there was enough room under him, he dove in. Like the last couple of times, the initial shock was more like a shot of adrenaline. He began swimming toward the rope alongside the other soldiers of the pairs who had gone first. For the most part, it seemed like everyone was keeping up. They might not be enjoying it, but they were keeping up.
The swim back was easier. The more he did it, the more he enjoyed it. Bex had spoke of taking warming potions. Mrs. Beth had them available for those soldiers who might need them, but he thought that once everyone trained their bodies and minds to it, they wouldn't need them as much.
He made it back somewhere in between the others. A little before some, a little after some. Once his feet were planted in the sand, his partner jumped in and began his swim. As he wiped his face over, he turned to watch after the other soldiers who were jumping in.
It was the splashing that caught his eye, just a few moments before the woman paired with Stormcrest shouted. "Lieutenant, my partner! He's--" Warren was already running to the water and diving in. He was glad it was a calm day. Few waves, and the current wasn't too strong. He was able to keep an eye on the soldier as he swam to his location, Ber's head occasionally bobbing up and then back down for far too long. When he finally reached him, he grabbed Ber under the arms and lifted him just enough that he could catch his breath, if he was still conscious. Keeping Ber above the surface with his left arm, he rolled onto his back and swam toward the shore as quickly as he could.
Once they got close, a couple of other soldiers were there to take Ber and pull him to the safely of the sand. If he was coughing and responsive, they'd leave him there to expel the water and catch his breath. If he wasn't, they would lie him on his back. Mrs. Beth was already at the ready, and if she was needed, she would immediately jump into doing CPR. Warren sat in the sand on his knees, rubbing the salt water out of his eyes. Either way, when the kid finally took a dry breath, he'd sigh and rub his face. "You can't fucking swim, Stormcrest?" He asked in a rare, candid show of frustration as he caught his breath.
As he grew increasingly tired, he found it harder and harder to keep himself afloat long enough to take in enough air. A primal fear had gripped him now, constantly fueled by the way he kept choking on water, and it turned the more coordinated strokes of his arms and legs into ineffective flailing. He was bobbing up and down in the waves, slowly sinking and unable to rescue himself.
And then suddenly something solid was there, under his arms and around his torso. He was lifted to the surface where he caught just enough air to turn and blindly latch onto the thing - the person? - who was keeping him afloat: something solid and stable and safe in a stolid sea. Hands fell onto whatever he could - shoulders, perhaps, or neck, or head - to push himself further out of the water, to keep himself afloat, even at the other person’s expense. He held on tight as he used the newfound leverage to continue to force himself to the surface so that he could take gasping, coughing breaths of sweet relief.
In his panic, he would not realize of his own accord that the object he was using as a makeshift raft was the very person who was trying to help him. As a result, returning to shore would not be so simple.
Well, we all learn by making mistakes. Generally, though, it's preferred they're not the kind that come with the possibility of death.
He obviously hadn't expected the kid to latch onto him and use him as his own personal flotation device. Ber's arms, hands, and feet were flailing everywhere and because of the way he was bobbing under and above the water, Warren didn't have time to call out and speak sense into him. Instead, Warren himself was pushed under unexpectantly, and he received more than a couple of kicks and knees to the torso. The only saving grace he had was his ability to keep his cool. He held his breath as the kid flailed, waiting for the opportunity to come up. They struggled for what felt like ever before he was finally able to emerge long enough to take another breath.
When he went back under again, he drew his legs up into a tight ball, got them between himself and the kid, and pushed as hard as he could. As soon as he no longer felt the soldiers grip, he resurfaced and gasped for much needed air. His nose and throat burned with salt water, but for the moment, he was free.
Ber, on the other hand, was still drowning. But the soldiers on shore seemed to have noticed this. One must have searched the area nearby (or plucked it from the dock), because he was running toward the water with a wooden plank in hand. He waded into the water and flung the wood toward the lieutenant. It landed close and he grabbed it, swimming it back out to where Ber was.
He'd learned his lesson. If Ber was still actively struggling, he'd slide the board close in front of him, within his reach. If he had begun to sink, though, Warren would dive down to grab him by the arm and drag him back up and drape him over the board.
Maintaining his balance to keep his head above the surface was tricky, but he was managing it pretty well - until a solid kick to his side sent him sputtering sideways. Adrift once more, he found himself suddenly flailing in open water again, alarm spiking as he realized the object he’d been using to stay afloat was nowhere to be found. He needed it because the adrenaline had run its course, and his arms were tired. He was tired. Even with his head tipped back as he gasped for air, he spent longer and longer having to hold what little breath he had while he repeatedly sank beneath the surface then fought to rise again. He was a fighter, but fighting was becoming impossible when—
Something grabbed one of his outstretched arms and yanked him back up to the surface. Gasping and coughing, he was thrown over something solid that dunked somewhat under the water with his weight. Despite the initial instability, however, the buoyant object was steady and stable and, more importantly, something to which he could cling to keep himself upright. Curling his fingers around the edge lest his safety drift away again, he had to work to find a position that would keep him balanced and upright, but when he did, when he had cleared out the bulk of the water in his airway, Berengar Stormcrest simply hung on and breathed.
Alongside the respite, fatigue followed in full force. Coming down from the panic that had gripped him for a lifetime, Ber loosened one hand from the wooden plank and wiped the water away from his face before quickly replacing the hold when the shifting of his weight had him nearly toppling over. With the heaviness in his bones and the air in his lungs, he felt like he could simply close his eyes and breathe and cling to the piece of wood forever. Vaguely, he was aware of Woodwick treading water nearby, but at the moment, he could not summon words or annoyance or gratitude or anything other than utter exhaustion.
With Ber finally calming thanks to the piece of wooden plank that had been provided, Warren was finally able to get near him again. He said nothing, only grabbed the piece of wood in a spot where Ber didn't have a hold of it and and began pulling it toward shore. Now that he'd had to fight for his own life, thanks to Ber's panic, he was a little more tired and trailing the weight of the boy in front of or behind him was a lot harder than it would have been otherwise. Luckily, the soldier that had paired with Warren at the beginning of the exercise had swam out to help.
As they got back to where their feet could touch the sand, two more soldiers waded out to grab Ber by the arms and pulled him further up onto the safety of the beach. Warren crawled his way up as well, spitting the more salt water out of his mouth and pushed his hair out of his face. He sat in the sand near Ber, wiping his face and catching his breath. Mrs. Beth hurried over to them, checking to make sure each of them was okay. She'd offer each of them a potion of warming. Warren turned his down with a shake of his head. "Everyone take five, keep warm. Get out of our faces." He barked at them, since they were all just standing around, staring at the two.
"Are you alright, Stormcrest?" He asked with a gruff irritation, but also concern. "Besides almost drowning, I mean."
When Woodwick grabbed hold of the board and began to head back to shore, the motion threatened to unbalance Ber. With a jolt of alarm, he tightened his grip on the plank tighter and kicked a little to keep himself properly upright. He attempted a few kicks as well, intending to try to help them get back to shore, but between the post-panic fatigue crashing down on him and the general lack of stability, he very quickly decided that the better idea would be to simply let himself get dragged into shore.
Only when a soldier came out to aid them did he remember their audience. Embarrassment started to pool in his gut, and it only grew as the two other soldiers came out to help him reach the shore. After what felt like a lifetime adrift in the open water, the security and stability of solid ground brought him more comfort and relief than he could even voice. He could have kissed it merely for existing, but instead, he rested there on hands and knees and finished emptying his lungs of water. That was horrible, Ber decided as he pushed himself upright to sit in the sand, and he would never go swimming again.
Doing his best to ignore the others but painfully aware of their attention all the same, the soldier let Mrs. Beth check him over and took the offered warming potion. Whether from the cold or the adrenaline rush, he had started shivering a little, and though all he really wanted to do was go to sleep and pretend this day had never started, he settled for letting his arms rest in his lap, loosely wrapped around himself, and staring blankly at the dark sand in front of him. A continued awareness of the soldiers milling about, whom he still refused to acknowledge, had a heat that could not be solely attributed to the warming potion rising to his face and the back of his neck.
Woodwick’s order came as a relief. The weight of their gazes disappeared as their audience filed off to do whatever - Ber didn’t care enough to look - and with trepidation beginning to wind through him, he looked over at the lieutenant when he heard the question. It was times like these that the soldier wished Woodwick’s face was easier to read. After a moment of trying, Ber gave up and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, sir.” A pause, then, awkward but genuine as his gaze slid away again: “Thanks - Thanks for that.”
He rested his elbows on his knees, eyes looking out over the water that had almost, for a moment there, sucked them both in. He had to take slow, deep breaths. Not because he was still struggling with the water in his lungs - he hadn't been nearly as bad off as Ber, and he'd expelled that by now. But because he needed to calm his anger.
"I would prefer to hear an explanation in lieu of gratitude, Mr. Stormcrest," Warren said, though he was still looking out toward the water and not directly at the boy near him. "It is obvious you cannot swim. I gave you a chance to tell me you could not and yet you did not speak up. Had you suddenly learned and succeeded at your task, I might have applauded your guts but instead your foolishness nearly got us both killed. After our discussion in the tavern on the day we tracked down Whitby, I would have presumed you at least wanted to make it to the battlefield. Instead it seems like you simply had a death wish, which you attempted to fulfill today."
That trepidation only grew as the lieutenant spoke. Something in his tone made Ber wonder if it would be better if the man was shouting instead because then he’d at least be able to better judge how angry he was. Instead, keenly aware of a Woodwick-shaped blob in his peripherals, Ber was left to stare at the dark sands as if they held the answer he sought.
To stare and to think, which was the most painful part of all.
In a way, his bone deep exhaustion both helped and hindered his efforts. Formulating coherent thoughts took more effort, but once he made it past the haze of fatigue that had settled over his mind, he was too tired to attempt to put up any fronts. For now, at least, the pride that had gotten him into this mess had been thoroughly washed away, leaving behind an unpleasant shame. As uncomfortable as it was to consider, it wasn’t lost on him what his decision and actions could have cost both of them, and while it had all made sense at the time, in retrospect, any justification he might try to offer felt wholly inadequate.
“Everyone else can swim, sir,” He offered finally, insides shriveling up. “It didn’t look that hard, and I’d been in the water before.” A pause. “I thought I could figure it out.” Clearly he’d been wrong.
Both of Warren's hands came up to scrub at his face, rub his eyes again, run his hand through his hair and try to squeeze some of the water out of it. At least he'd been honest about the explanation. Had he attempted some half-witted lie or excuse, Warren's anger would only have swelled. But even he couldn't help but deflate somewhat at the sound of the man's words. Warren could relate. He'd been that age once. Pressured to try things he shouldn't just because others were doing it. It was a natural part of the human condition, to want to fit in, to want to prove to yourself and others that you can be just as good as them, be better.
But they didn't have time for all that now. "A man who won't acknowledge his own weaknesses will die in battle before anyone else," he shot back with what was left of his anger. "This was a stupid mistake. You put your pride aside from now on. There's no room for it. Do you understand that?" He shook his head, and gave it a little more time. His own mind was racing. This was partially his failure, too.
"Mistakes are made. While what you did was foolish, I was clear unprepared to aid a drowning soldier, which is equally as unacceptable. We've both learned a lesson today." He pushed himself up from the sand and wiped his hands off, clapping them together first and then rubbing what was left on his swimming shorts. Then he offered Ber his hand to lift the clearly exhausted boy to his feet. "You'll sit out the rest of the training on the bench with Mrs. Beth. I'll figure something out for your continued training. You won't be excused from it, but you obviously must learn to swim before you can continue."
With that said, Warren walked away and returned to the group of soldiers who had been waiting. He ordered them to do fifty more jumping jacks, return to their pairs, and began making the swim again. His former partner joined with Ber's former partner, and Warren sat out the rest of the exercise, choosing instead to keep an eye on the soldiers as they made their relays.