What my father told me

Atreides stared at the older male with intense interest. Valentine had called him in and explained that he was to fight this Vereux to test his entrance into the pack. Vereux wasn't exactly a common name, and to combine that with the slate-blue common to his bloodline left it a distinct possibility that this was that Vereux, the Armada, the Vereux who had styled himself King of the Armadas before Atreides' own parents had taken back control of the family pack. A faint grin hovered over Atreides' muzzle, a fire in his stance that had largely been absent in him for quite some time. With most of his family dead or missing - even Kyarst and Lysis, the aunt and uncle who'd immediately put his hackles up - he'd been feeling distinctly without purpose in his life. This was a call to action, a wakeup, and he sent a silent 'thank you' to his father. "Hello, Vereux," he hummed as he stepped up towards his opponent, seeking to leave a good ten feet between them. His grin widening, he added, "I'm Atreides Armada." A faint, but distinct emphasis on 'Armada'. "I'll be sparring you today. Since it's your test, why don't you take the first move? Age before beauty, and all that." A faint laugh, and a wink. "Good luck."