Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

From Peasant to Hero (MaliciousLullaby and DudeMeister)

Elarinya’s exterior softened a little bit and she nodded her head, turning her gaze from the rude knight to the kind noble, bowing her head slightly. A soft smile appeared on her face and she had to bite down on her lower lip to stifle the laughter that bubbled up in her throat from the nobleman’s comic jest towards the knight. So when she looked at the knight and he seemed far from amused, it only added to further her amusement. Thankfully, she didn’t burst in her laughter but it was clear she was trying very hard to hold it back, considering the bright smile on her face. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance my lord. I’ll send word to my father, though why you’re trust knights and men can’t carry your luggage is beyond me. I’d simply offer you a ride on my trusty steed Shadow.”

Her gaze shifted to Sir Errol Vestor and he nearly snarled, to which Elarinya simply grinned. Sometimes she really loved being the daughter of a Duke. “I’ll leave my good friend Ulric in your company in the mean time and please, no harm or foul is to come to him. If any of your…” She paused to size up the knight in question with her own form of disgust—having caught his look of disgust towards Ulric and definitely not okay with it—before continuing. “…subjects disrespect him, or even you, I will not be pleased one bit and will maintain to make sure your stay here for all of you is an unpleasant one. After all, it’s not a treat to incur the wrath of the lady of the house.” She bowed her head once more, her last sentence her own light statement in jest before she turned Shadow and rode back to the estate.

Her father was walking along the grounds with a few accomplices when she turned up on foot, having checked Shadow into his stable, she taking her riding gloves off now. “Father.” She bowed to him, a full bow.

“Daughter.” He nodded his head to her and easily dismissed his accomplices for now. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“A Lord Harold Hawkwood has arrived, asking to send for your escort. It has come to an unfortunate stance that his carriage’s back wheel has broken off and he is left on the side of the estate with his carry-ons. Oh and his luggage as well.” She smiled a mischievous smile, to which ‘carry-ons’ was in reference of.
The Duke simply grinned, finding his daughter’s sense of humor refreshing. “Very well. Will you accompany me then? And his Ulric in presence?”
“Yes, and yes, he is Father. I left him in the good lord’s grace. With some strings attached.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I simply stated that if he or his men were to insult my dear friend Ulric, I would be very displeased and that it is not wise to incur the wrath of the lady of the house.”
“Spoken like a true and fine lady of the house. Come, we’ll saddle up and bring the good lord to his accommodations.”

They set about, he taking his own horse out and Elarinya once more taking out Shadow. They rode to the side of the estate where they were all congregated and her father climbed off of his horse with easy grace and acknowledged the Lord. “My Lord Hawkwood, it is a pleasure. I extend my deepest apologies about your carriage. But if you would, please ride along with my daughter. Her horse, my horse and Ulric’s horse will easily take the burden of your luggage as well. Aside from your carriage’s failure, your trip was well? You, my good Lord are well?” Ever the hospitable host. Elarinya simply smiled. She cast a glance to Ulric and winked slightly. It was clear she favored him. But she made sure it showed only as a platonic friendship. Even if deep down, her feelings were not platonic, not platonic one bit.
 
Ulric really wished that Elarinya hadn't probed Sir Vestor the way she did before riding off the get her father. As she rode off he could feel the gazes of many of the knights seizing him up…Sir Vestor in particular. Living in the castle for all his life, he occasionally overheard talk of the Joer Vestor, who was the master-at-arms at the Mulberry Estate, who often beat Ulric for watching him train squires and knights in the yard, his dream of holding three feet of steel in his hands far beyond what his station of stableboy would allow. Joer Vestor was a rough and cruel man, but he was a veteran of the 40 years war…a war between the Kingdom of Nogara and the barbaric raiders from the north. He was valiant and skilled in battle, and was in armed service through most of it, until it ended about 6 years ago. It was than that he settled down and began training the next generation of knights to do battle whenever the need will arise again. However he had a younger brother.

Sir Errol was about 10 years younger that Joer, and throughout his 20 years of service in the 40 year war was known to be infinitely more violent than his older brother. Where Joer killed only in battle, Sir Errol butcher men, women, and children with equal malice: he killed for the sake of killing. Whoever commanded him felt cursed their luck, on the battle field he would go berserk, heeding no strategy. Although Ulric himself had said nothing to him, he could feel Sir Errol's murderous gaze upon him as the other knights looked at him in distaste with all the pride and prejudice their higher class brought them.

However when Elarinya and Lord Mulberry arrived, he finally breathed a sigh of relief. Other than helping Lord Hawkwood load some of his luggage on his horse, not a word was spoken, and the uncomfortable silence almost became unbearable. He returned Elarinya's smile when it was given to him, wondering what her playful wink even meant.

"My lord Mulberry, it has been too long" Harold Hawkwood said gallantly as he closed in to embrace his host.

"My journey was as pleasant as it could be…although my company could be better" he added. Before long the both the lords, Elarinya, Ulric, and the host of 30 knights made their way to Lord Mulberry's castle. Ulric shifted through the throng as best he could, hoping to find respite from Lord Vestor's gaze and rejoin the lady.
 
It hadn’t occurred to her that she might have unintentionally made matters worse for Ulric but considering that she was indeed the Lady of the estate and she gave specific orders not to trifle with him, she doubted they would cause anything, especially Lord Hawkwood.

Once both men were well acquainted—her father and Lord Hawkwood—they proceeded to ride to the estate. Her father rode on his horse which had some of the Lord’s luggage saddled to it, as did Ulric and as did she, with the Lord himself behind her. It was a quiet ride and once at the estate, their servants came out to greet the men, taking Lord Hawkwood’s things and taking it to the room that had been set up for him. It wasn’t on the same floor as Elarinya’s, but on the same floor as her father’s. He had it so that the women were on the third floor and the men on the second floor and the servants and staff on the first floor.

Her father was tending to Lord Hawkwood while Elarinya was out at the stables, combing and brushing Shadow’s fur. She fed him a few carrots and some sugar cubes, doting on him left and right and he seemed to adore it. She was purposely avoiding her father and the Lord because something felt…well something didn’t seem right. She felt like her father was up to something and she didn’t know how she felt about it.

Duke Mulberry sat down in his office, motioning for Lord Hawkwood to sit down in the chair in front of his desk, a lavish expense that was comfortable to the tush. He looked at him and sighed softly. “So really now my Lord Hawkwood, to what did I owe this pleasure when you asked to come to the estate? It all seems so…suspect.” He teased, grinning.
 
Lord Hawkwood thanked Mulberry and sat in the seat across from him. Sitting back and weaving his fingers together, he smirked at his hosts query. Of course Lord Mulberry knew why he was here. Elarinya had just turned fourteen after all. She was the right age to become a bride.

"Now now, there is no need to be coy with me. You know very well why I'm here. I'm pleasantly surprised at what a fine young lady your daughter grew up to be. She is very charming and witty. You must be very proud" he responded, his lips curling into a mischievous smile.

As both lords went up to the office to discuss business, Sir Errol lead his knights to the stables. Once there horses were unsaddled and fed, they all were lead by servants to the rooms that were prepared for them. They passed by the training yard, as the elder Vestor was training his sons with the longsword. Ulric was unsaddling his red courser as the other knights herded towards their quarters. Gazing at them from afar he saw them greet each other with a grunt and a mild nod. There was no warm brotherly embrace, only the mutual expression of distrust between the two siblings as the squires clumsily went at each other with blunted steel.

"That knight frightens me m'lady" he confided in Elarinya as she doted upon her new horse.
 
The Duke grinned at his acquaintance and he shrugged. “Yes she has. She reminds me very much of her other every single day. She’s taken well to her responsibility as the Lady of the Estate, and while she is only fourteen, I suppose setting up a suitable match wouldn’t go terribly.” He was still being coy but that’s how he was. Coy and he was damn proud of it. “I am proud. But perhaps I need swaying. She is my only child and contrary to how other fathers treat their daughters, I do love her very much and I need to make sure she is in the right hands.” He leaned forward. “I was on very good standing with your father my Lord Hawkwood, I have seen and hear of your brilliance and how you’ve grown to be the man that you are today. But surely you can understand my hesitancy.”

Elarinya put the brush down and she kissed Shadow right beside his eyes and pet the top of his head. Being this way with Shadow made her miss Clover plenty and terribly but she adored her new horse. A wild steed turned tame, but only for her and Ulric. She kind of made it that way on purpose and glad to considering their estate’s currently new inhabitants. Looking to Ulric, she grinned and shook her head. “Funny, I didn’t take you for someone who frightened easily.” She teased him, but all in good and innocent jest. “You shouldn’t let him frighten you though. You’re more than he’ll ever be. He’s a bitter brute who believes he has every right to look down upon the likes of you without even knowing you. That I do not approve of.” She said simply. “Besides, I meant what I said before we rode here. You are my good friend, high in my favor and if they bother you, it will displease me. You and I both know that it is unwise to upset the Lady of the Estate.” She grinned.

Oh yes, it was certainly times like these she loved being the daughter of a duke.
“Unless of course it bothers you that a female stood up for you, came to your defense when usually and normally it’s the male that comes to the female’s defense.” She pursed her lips, all trace of humor gone as she looked at him. “I-If that embarrassed you or made it worse, I do apologize. That wasn’t my intention. You’re…” She wanted to choose her words carefully considering what her actual emotions were in regards to him. “You’re very dear to me.”
 
"Well my lord Mulberry, it would seem that you haven't been keeping up with current events" Lord Hawkwood said as he got up from his cushioned seat and paced towards a smaller table with a pair of flagons and a bottle of red wine. Uncorking it he lifted the neck of the bottle to his nose to smell it's aroma.

"But I suppose it can't be helped, and I guess I'll have to fill you in as best I can. Raiders have been spotted along our western borders, and there have been many skirmishes. Now you might ask: 'What's so special about that? Raiders always have attempted to cross our borders. Isn't it the Warden of the West's duty to repel them?'. Well I'm afraid things get more complicated. These are no mere barbarians that breeched our borders. They were well trained horseman from the steppes, mean and cruel, and they take no prisoners." he continued as he paced back to his host and handed him a flagon of wine.

"These men previously were of no threat to Nogara. They satisfied themselves by infighting. However a rather sizable host breeched our borders, and I'm sure you know our Western Warden William Meyer very well. He's the type of commander to charge in and lead his forces as opposed to leading them from behind enemy lines. Well as it so happens he took grievous injuries in the battle, the brave and foolish oaf. After more than two decades of service without taking a scratch, he upped and got his ribs and arm smashed by a mace. Thankfully his lords banner men came in with his reserve, and the barbarians were forced to retreat. The size of the host can tell us that many tribes and war bands have decided to join forces. What is more troubling is that Relasch pikemen were seen with them. Those mercenaries swayed somehow. In short war is brewing wether King Andres likes it or not." he said, drinking down his wine in one gulp.

"Now that brings us to what that has to do with your daughter. As you know both our houses forces are considerable, but not united. Should war break out, many factions might band together in defense of the king, but who knows who will look out for their own interests and decide to join our invaders? I have come here to suggest a union of our houses to prevent further schism" he said, putting down the flagon and smirking at Lord Mulberry.

"You have my proposal…shall I give you some time to mull it over?" he asked

(Elsewhere)

Ulric blushed when he heard Ela tell him that he was dear to her. Clearing his throat he tossed his saddle aside.

"It's fine my lady. It doesn't bother me that you came to my aide. It's just that I've heard stories about Sir Vestor…the younger one not the older one. Both of them are scary, but did you see the look in Errol's eyes?" he asked her
 
The Duke sat back and watched with interest as Lord Hawkwood stalked over to his refreshments and easily helped himself. He didn’t mind. He was more curious as to why this man was interested in his daughter. A man of his age and stature after all, what could he possibly have to do with his daughter who was yet turned fifteen?

Actually, he had been quite filled in about the raiders but he thought it was contained or at least a threat that was on the mend or constantly on the watch, what possible threat could there be? So imagine the surprise on his face when he learned that William Meyer, the esteemed Western Warden was actually injured and out of commission. Even if his men did come to the rescue as it was, it wouldn’t be long before both sides grew in numbers. There had to be a sense of loyalty. Before Lord Hawkwood had finished, the Duke had an idea at where this was going. A marriage of convenience, banding together two households through a sacred bond, forever cementing the loyalty between them. He’d have no choice if and when the time came.

He took the flagon offered to him and took a hearty sip, letting the wine soak on his tongue before swallowing. He sat back in his chair and looked up at Lord Hawkwood, a smile on his face, light but also inviting. “Hmm. I believe no time is needed.” He said softly. He stood up and put down his own flagon and offered his hand in a cordial shake to the young man. “I believe my daughter would be well suited to be your wife and it’d be an honor to finally welcome you to the family. After all, because of my closeness to your father, it is as if you always have been.” He said with a soft smile.

Although he gathered that breaking this news to Elarinya might be a little bit painful.

-----

“Oh yes, absolute menace and terror in those bugger of eyes.” She sighed softly. “I do not fear him and I am of higher rank than him so naturally, it’s a bit of fun for him to have to bite his tongue of any displeasures he might want to vex my way or in the way of anyone to my favor.” She smiled at him. “Come now, my dear Ulric.” She laughed softly. “Don’t be so afraid. He’s not here right now. You’re here with me, Shadow and our dear horses.” She worried though that there might be something brewing. She heard her father talking to his colleagues one day, of course when she wasn’t supposed to.

She didn’t know much but she knew when a land was in unrest. She’d seen many men in arms lately, as if the kingdom was on the verge of a war, or some kind of unrest that could leave its people in a wide set of disarray. It scared her. It scared her more than the dark look in Errol’s eyes. But she was afraid to voice that in front of Ulric, or anyone for that matter. She wanted to appear brave and strong, especially after everything with Clover and Ulric almost dying. She didn’t want to be weak again. She was a Lady. Not a little girl anymore.
 
"It is a relief that you are as sensible a man as my late father made you out to be my lord" Hawkwood said, raising his glass in a toast.

"To your health, and to the matrimony between your daughter and I" he said, before drinking down the wine.

(Elsewhere)

Ulric heard Ela's words and finally nodded. It was foolish of him to be so afraid of Sir Vestor…all he had to do was avoid him and he'd do fine. The rest of the day he spent with his lady, until she was called upon by her father.

The next morning Ulric arose early as was his custom. He had the horses to tend too, both the ones that belonged to the estate, and those that belonged to their guests. As he was shuffling hay with a pitchfork, the clangs of steel against steel echoed in the practice yard. The knights rose early to take their practice. Ulric had been warned not to watch them practice swordsmanship…but against his better judgement he dropped everything and went out to see them.

Peering from around the corner of the forge, Ulric gazed on in a mixture of wonder and horror. Sir Errol faced off against a youthful knight with short, blond hair. The youth couldn't have been more than 18, no doubt one who had just earned his spurs…but Errol's ferocity knew no bounds. The two swordsmen faced each other with wooden swords in a duel of practice…yet whereas the youth followed the rules of engagement that were sensible to mock fighting, Errol assaulted him as if they were on the battlefield. His attack was feral and ferocious…not the manner of fighting that one would associate with a chivalrous knight, but rather a beast. After a few exchanges Errol smashed the younger knight's hand with a horizontal blow, than after kicking him to the ground preceded to smash at the younger man's face with his wooden sword. The youth was knocked unconscious, as a pool of blood from his broken nose spilled onto the cobblestones.

Only when Sir Vestor was finally satisfied with his dubious victory did he stop, and two other knights picked up the unconscious body of the youth. He was alive…but only barely. All his life Ulric looked up to knights as heroes, he longed to learn how to wield steel…yet see the likes of Errol made him sick. He gasped at the brutality, and ended up tripping over a few wooden crates. The commotion it caused brought all the knights away from the practice circle, and he was discovered.

"I thought I told you not to watch us when we are fighting!" the older Vestor, Joer screamed, picking him up and shoving him against the wall.

It all went silent when Errol made his approach. His mouth that was savaged by the scar twitched into a sickening smile

"It seems that my brother is too kind, to allow a little shit like yourself to keep coming back. But that is his weakness…" he said in a raspy voice as he drew his longsword.

"…I tend to put down those who don't listen" he said, pointing his blade at Ulric

Joer let the stableboy go.

"Errol, this is madness! He is just a boy!" Joer said, standing in the way of his brother

"You are right, he is only a boy. Perhaps we should give him a fighting chance…" Errol rasped as he shoved his older brother aside effortlessly. Snatching a wooden training sword from one of his subordinates, he tossed it at Ulric's feet with the clack of wood against stone.

"So you like to watch knights eh? Do you think you could ever become one? Hah!!!" Errol said as he laughed, pacing towards the frightened stableboy.

"Foolish bastard…well you could die on your knees, or with a sword in your hand…your choice" Errol said, resting his blade against his shoulder menacingly. There were many other knights around them, yet none would oppose Errol…they all feared him to much. Ulric looked at the man with tears in his eyes as he grasped the wooden sword with a shaking hand. He was going to die.
 
She’d regretted leaving Ulric’s side the moment her father called upon her. The new she was given was something she wouldn’t have been able to be so ready for. It took her by a massive surprise and she was sure that her Lord Hawkwood saw just how stunned she was, how surprised she was and how it all left her so speechless. Naturally, she had no choice but to say yes. It wasn’t a question. It was more like she was being told what to do. She wasn’t but fifteen yet and she was already being told that she was to be betrothed to Lord Hawkwood. That when she came of age in about three years, she’d be made his wife and that this betrothal, this alliance would further prove a greatness to combine their houses, their titles and their powers. She had a sinking feeling why.

They wanted to celebrate but she made the excuse that she had suddenly been feeling ill and begged to be released so she could go and lie down, rest. Her father instantly gave in although Lord Hawkwood seemed skeptical, after all she was suddenly turning skittish around him when she was practically being a little bit flirty and rather loquacious earlier on upon his arrival. Right now, she felt like she could be sick. She was fourteen, the man she was to marry was already of age, and then some. And she had the foolish idea of something else, someone else. That maybe…

Elarinya hardly slept that night, her mind was officially boggled and she kept thinking of someone else other than her official betrothed. She kept thinking of Ulric. It was bad. Really bad. He was supposed to just be her friend, a subject, their stable boy. But in a short time already since the accident, he’d become more than that to her. He became the pedestal to which she held all men accordingly. No one went passed him, not even Lord Hawkwood. Ulric set the standard. Just one problem. He was only a stable boy.

That next morning, she felt exhausted. She hardly slept a wink and when her first maid came in to fetch for her, she begged for today to just be canceled and begged even harder to simply lie in bed. If her father had a problem with it, he could speak with her but she honestly didn’t feel so good. Her head was hurting, her body ached for some reason—all because she didn’t get a good rest. Her mind was troubled. They left her though and let her relax, allowing her to sleep a little bit on and off. It was restless. Lord Hawkwood came into her room at some point. It stunned her because she wasn’t exactly decent underneath the covers but she kept herself balled up. He talked to her, addressed her concerns and put her at ease about their arrangement. Honestly, it made her feel a little bit better. He seemed like a good man, and even if he wasn’t her first pick, he seemed like someone who would take good care of her, be a good husband to her which would in turn allow her to be a good wife to him and they could lead a good life, a happy life. Be each other’s good friends, confidants. After all, if not love, they say that’s the ticket to a really wonderful marriage.

It was enough to get her out of bed, of course after he left, get dressed and start tackling what remained of her day. Some of her studies, constantly being eager to go down to the stables to see Ulric but refraining so she could first finish her work and then have more time to spend with him, but eventually she did. It was tiresome. Since she still felt so tired but she was pushing through since she never did waste a day in bed unless she was actually ill with some sort of ailment of virus.

Elarinya made her way down to the stables but to her dismay, didn’t find Ulric. She frowned and she paid Shadow some loving before she went about to find her favorite stable boy. She wanted to tell him what happened. About the betrothal. Or maybe she shouldn’t? She heard a bit of commotion near by and she hurried to it, horrified to see the scene unfolding out before her. Ulric was spotted in watching them again. The older Vestor simply yelled but Errol…oh there was an evil menace in that man’s eyes, the kind that came from long years at war where it tore away your humanity and soul and simply left a reaper in its wake. He was like walking death and he knew it, fed on it. And Ulric was his prey and this frightened her to no end. She saw around her in a frantic search, actual swords. She was a little bit rusty with one, having not been properly trained. Mostly from what she and Ulric might do, him teaching her from what he saw and she wanting to learn simply from fun. They couldn’t always ride their horses.

In a hasty decision, she picked one up, it was a heavy thing to hold but she squared her shoulders and ran out, one hand holding the store, the other holding up the hem of her dress a little bit. The moment the blade touched Ulric’s shoulder, her blade countered with Errol’s, as if to push it off and she narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought I said that if any maltreatment of my subjects at my home where you are nothing but a guest, an honor you should be soaking up and not ruining by your temper and malicious intent, I would have you thrown off the property. You along with all your men, easy to carry on with your tails tucked between your legs.” She moved, angling her body to shield Ulric a little bit. That maybe before an actual fight, she could use the power she had as Lady of the Estate to simmer this down. That’s all she was doing. Not looking for an actual fight. But who went into such a fight unarmored? That would be foolish beyond measure.

”I will not condone murder. Ever.” She hissed.
 
The clang of steel against steel opened Ulric's eyes the moment he expected to be cut down like a dog. To his surprise he saw Ela standing between, having parried the blow from the towering knight that had it in for him. He saw the knight's eyes gape in surprise, but than the split corner of his lips curled up into a sickening smirk.

"Well well…the noble tart fancies herself as a hero as well. Didn't your father tell you that the sword is a man's weapon?" he spat, batting her sword out of her grasp with the smallest of efforts. Once the girl was disarmed and defenseless, he lowered the point to threaten her face.

"Stand aside whelp. Let me show this peasant the proper order of things before I cleave him in half" he added, glaring at her with a demented menace in his eyes.

Perhaps it was the fact of Ulric's inevitable death that urged the stableboy to stand and grip the wooden sword that he clutched, his knees buckling from fear, his bladder threatening to empty right there and then. Perhaps it was rage from all the years of oppression that he suffered at the hands of his superiors, especially knights. Perhaps it was a desire to protect Elarinya, the only one who saw him as a person and not a living, breathing piece of shit. Whatever it was, Ulric gritted his teeth, grasping the three feet of wood awkwardly.

"Leave her alone. What sort of knight are you, threatening a woman? Let's get this over with, craven" Ulric spat hatefully, an angry glare in his eyes. Although he decided to stand up for the both of them and put on a brave face, tears slowly pooled at the corner of his eyes out of fear. He was going to die, but at least he'd die fighting.

Errol looked at him in shock, but than smirked again as he brought his sword up to rest against his shoulder.

"Grown a pair of balls have you? It doesn't matter…DIE!!!" the knight yelled before charging him.

The brutish assault unbalanced Ulric instantly as he brought his sword up to barrier the slash. The blade caught in the wood, but soon Ulric felt the knight's boot drive into his gut, kicking him away. Falling to his feet, he scrambled to get up, but by then the Errol was upon him. Diagonal slashes came down at both sides, each time Ulric lifted to parry the powerful blows he felt his arms scream with the torque of accepting the more experienced man's power. The wooden blade that he brandished clumsily threatened to be wrenched from his grasp, but finally Ulric returned with a slash of his own. The aged battler fanned Ulric's clumsy blow downward with a deflection that brought the point down to the ground, before he circled the point up and slashed at Ulric's right shoulder with a diagonal cut. Fire seemed to envelope his shoulder as Ulric screamed, reflexively covering the bleeding wound as he staggered back in pain, but soon he felt the first two knuckles of the knight's fist slam into his face, sending him flying away. The practice sword escaped from his fingers as he hit the ground hard, Errol cackling afterward.

"Look at this little shit! He thinks there is honor in fighting to his last breath!!!" Errol said as he laughed, pointing at him with his real blade. The older man was toying with him, everybody knew. He wanted to make the stableboy suffer.

Feeling a dull pain in the side of his face mixed in with the ringing in his ears, Ulric groaned as he reached for the wooden sword. Grasping it, he used it to get up to his feet, his legs feeling like jelly.

"I'd suggest that you say your prayers…you'll be burning in hell pretty soon" Errol said before he growled and charged at him. The live steel flashed before him as it was brought down to Ulric's head…

The clack of wood ran loudly against the pavement, and yet Ulric's head was still attached to his neck. The force from a powerful downward arc brought his point down against the cobblestones, and a blood-curdling scream echoed over the courtyard a moment afterward. The hand that Errol used to grip his blade was mangled from a direct hit from the wooden sword, every finger and bone in his hand breaking as he languished in pain, his steel blade dropping to the ground. Nobody could believe it…most of all Ulric. His eyes gaped wide in shock for a moment, but the heat of the moment took over. There was no skill or elegance in the attack that preceded…it was barbarity and rage. Over and over did Ulric rain down powerful blows upon the brute, his cruelty reversed against him as he was beaten to the ground. Soon Ulric began grunting in a mixture of both fear and fury as he bashed and bashed into him, continuing even after the twitching stopped.

The knights who surrounded them finally pulled Ulric away from the bloodied and mashed corpse. How a stable boy could vanquished a highly trained warrior was beyond them, but in a frenzy they pulled him off, restraining him.
 
Her eyes narrowed with malice and hate, like she actually thought she could have a chance. She knew she didn’t and it’s not like neither her or Ulric were properly trained in how to wield a sword, let alone defend themselves with one but it was all about faking it. That perhaps her status at the Lady of this Estate was more than enough to make the cruel knight remember his place and low his blade. No suck luck. He dared to threaten her and she felt a bead of fear mutate into something more, like a tree of fear growing inside of her, she was scared but not even her hand she used to hold the sword like she knew how to, shook. No, she was calm and centered as one could be while being threatened with an actual sword by a malicious knight who clearly knew no bounds. “How dare you!” She hissed, not at all stepping back. “How dare you speak to me in this—“ She began in a loud yell when he bat her sword away. The moment the point touched her cheek, her hands came up and she breathed deeply through her nose, her gaze locking onto his, hateful but also fearful. He wouldn’t dare…

Just then, Ulric stepped up and defended her honor, defended his honor and it all seemed like a blur, a really painful blur that she couldn’t take her eyes away from. For when Ulric began to be beaten down, Elarinya stepped forward to intervene but was pulled back Errol’s older brother. “My Lady…” He whispered but her eyes watered up as she watched one of her most favorite persons being beaten, hurt and grasping wounds and looking like he might die. No, she didn’t doubt his ability one bit but she couldn’t just stand there and watch this happen. She tore away from the arms pulling her back, hiking up the skirt of her dress a bit and she ran as fast as she could to get her father. She knew not else of what to do. She wasn’t even fifteen and whatever power she did have clearly was so laughable.

Elarinya burst through the doors of her father’s office, finding him deep in discussion with many men, among them even Lord Hawkwood. She dashed at her eyes furiously and sniffled and he rose from his seat and went to her. “Sweetheart—“
”You have to come quick. Errol, he’s gone mad. He’s going to kill him!” She was nearly hysterical. Her father wanted to ask more questions but she grabbed his hand and pulled him along. Some of the men he was talking to rose but none left, only from them, Lord Hawkwood stood and he followed after the Duke and Elarinya.
She brought them quickly to the scene that had unfolded but by the time she brought them, Errol was lying motionless, Ulric was pulled off of him. What had just happened?

The Duke stepped forward and he walked over to survey the scene. Errol, dead, Ulric panting like a mad man who was clearly guilty and his daughter coming to him hysterically. “What is the meaning of this?!” He barked, looking around but none wanted to speak up. He narrowed his eyes and he walked to the many faces. “Someone better step forward and explain exactly what had happened. Why is there a dead knight on my property? Why is my most trusted stable boy being held back? Why did my daughter run to me in tears?!” He threw his hands up. “Can anyone tell me or shall I be as worse of a nightmare as Sir Errol?” He barked.

A boy stepped forward, just when Elarinya did as well but he cleared his throat, pulling his hat off. He looked small, frail, a boy in training to become a knight just like the rest of them but one of the most weakest ones, frail and nearly having taken the full brunt of Sir Errol’s menace. “Your grace,” he bowed, looking at the Duke and then averting his gaze, as if ashamed. But too much mental turmoil, too much pain, too much of not standing up for himself or being stood up for. A cry for help from a lowly peasant who lived scared every day.
“Ulric was simply watching when Vestor Senior berated him once more for watching without his permission. But Sir Errol had just beaten another severely and demanded to show Ulric his own personal form of punishment. The Lady Mulberry stepped forward to defend Ulric when Sir Errol threatened her, to which Ulric stood up for her. Your grace, Sir Errol would have killed Ulric if he hadn’t stepped forward.”

Elarinya went to her father’s side. “Please, father’s it’s true.” Her eyes darted from her father to then the sight of Ulric, as if pleadingly. The Duke actually looked torn. Ulric was his favorite, a loyal servant who certainly didn’t deserve his current fate but rules were rules and a knight was killed by a lowly servant boy on his property. Measures had to be taken.
“Vestor, see to it your brother’s mangled corpse is taken care of.” He ordered and the Older Vestor carried off to that duty, in silent mourning over his crazed brother. “The rest of you, back to your duties. You two, bring Ulric to the medic inside so he can be properly tended to.”
”Father—“
”My Lord Hawkwood, I would like a word with you in my private study, please.”
“Father—“
The Duke turned away from his daughter and he walked along with Lord Hawkwood to his private study. He sat down at his desk and lifted a tumbler filled with a strong dark red wine, pouring himself a large glass. He took big sips and the sighed coolly as it burned down his throat. “What am I to make of this? One of your men, dead on my estate? Threatened my best worker, threatened my daughter for crying out loud! Explain this to me!” He barked, furious.

Elarinya wiped her eyes and she sniffled. Ulric was taken inside to the medic and healer for his wounds to be properly tended to and that’s where she went, walking inside the house but waiting outside the door until they were finished with him.
The doors opened a little while later and she was granted access to see him, alone. Stepping inside, she turned to shut the door and then sat down by his side. Her eyes were red, wet and a little puffy from the crying but she leaned forward and took his hand. “Ulric?” Her voice so soft, almost a faint whisper.
 
It all happened in a blur by the time he realized that Ela had brought back help. As the page testified to the scene that unfolded before Ulric leapt at Errol like a man possessed, he ceased to feel the cold steel of the gauntleted hands that restrained him, only a feeling of weakness. Peering down to the wound at his shoulder, the blood stained his ratty tunic a dark red, the searing pain replaced by sickening numbness. His pale skin was coated in sweat, and soon he felt his head spin. Having lost a great deal of blood, his body was sent into shock as his heart seemed to pump his life out of his shoulder, and before long he felt his legs buckle. Through blurry eyes he felt his heels scrape against the cobblestones as he was dragged to the infirmary. Then everything went black.

-----

Of all things to happen, that mad oaf had to threaten a nobleman's daughter and slake his thirst upon a lowly peasant boy. Lord Hawkwood wasn't sure what to feel. Apologetic for failing to control his underling, or shamed that one of the most skilled and vicious fighters in his army was bested by a lowly stable boy. He had always figured that when another war broke out that Errol would be slain by a man that was mightier, more cunning, or even more ferocious than him…but who knew that his end would come at the hands of a peasant wielding three feet of wood?!? Lord Mulberry moved quickly for a man his age, and Hawkwood had to jog to keep up with him as before the reached his study. Seeing his host pour himself a stout red wine he cleared his throat. His silver tongue would do him no good. This would no doubt put a strain on their proposed alliance. Damn Errol for being such a violent ape, and damn the stableboy who got lucky enough to reduce his skull to mush. No doubt when word gets out about this, jesters and bards alike will sing bawdy songs about how what's-his-face bested Errol.

"I can only offer my sincerest apologies about what had just happened. Sir Vestor was always a hard one to control. He felt more at home on a battlefield than anywhere else, so when the war was over he kept fighting. Still, I never expected him to threaten your daughter. His madness must have consumed him…however the tasks remains upon you to dispense justice on the boy. It's a tragedy that his life must end, but he did kill a knight after all. If he goes unpunished I'll consider it a slight upon my honor" Hawkwood responded.

----

The medics did a decent job of cleaning and stitching up Ulric's shoulder. Had Errol's blade open up his flesh any deeper, the whole arm would have to be done away with, but Ulric still had some measure of fortune. Still, nobody could believe what he'd done. Sure in battle it was not uncommon for a rat pack of peasants to gang up on a knight and thrust a dagger through his visor once he was prone upon the ground, but nobody had even heard of a lowly peasant besting a knight one on one. Ulric slipped into unconsciousness once he was lowered upon the bed, but was roused when he heard the door open and close. His eyes blinked open to see Ela, and heard her whisper his name.

"I'm sorry…if only I didn't spy on them training none of this would've happened" he said weakly
 
Honestly, Lord Mulberry didn’t know what to do. He was honestly torn. The marriage between his daughter and Lord Hawkwood was such a good and valiant one, bringing a steady alliance for the future of things to come. But he couldn’t condone a marriage to a man who held the company of knights who had the audacity to threaten his daughter, even try to harm her. It was also a disgrace upon himself that the stupid Errol had the audacity to threaten his daughter, and Lord Mulberry took it an extension of insult upon himself, his stature and title.

He took a large sip of his wine, drinking the goblet empty before slamming the glass down. He stood and paced, running a hand through his white hair and putting his fist to the wall next to the window, looking out of it. And then came another dilemma. Ulric was a favorite of his, sure a stable boy but a boy who showed so much promise to be something more as he grew. A boy who could easily break out of his lowly status and become something he might never have thought possible and Lord Mulberry always wanted to see to it, be the one to make that happen by decree of the King. Now, he wasn’t sure what he could do. Errol dared to threaten his daughter first and Ulric stepped forward and defended her. No one anticipated that he could have killed Errol but in blind rage, anything was possible.

“He saved my daughter’s life.” He said simply. “For that, no execution is upon him. Errol was mad and demented enough to question a noblewoman who was simply doing her duty as Lady of the Estate and to which I commend my daughter for that. But he was employed under your charge and for that, if I were to condone this marriage, I would be justifying that it is okay for a man like Errol to threaten my daughter, to insult her and by extension, insult me.” Turning, he bowed his head a little bit. “My sincerest apologies My Lord Hawkwood. I must ask that you and your remaining men leave my estate immediately. I thank you for the warning about the impending war that could come to pass but any other further alliance is out of the question right now. I hope you don’t see it as any slight on you. I simply cannot condone any of this and I hope you will look to me as a possible ally for your side when things turn rough and not an enemy.” He was calm, civil and cordial, respectful. He didn’t want to do this but Lord Mulberry was a very prideful man. And right now, his pride and the pride for his daughter was wounded.

-----

She hurried to his side and she took his good hand gently, shaking her head. “N-No…He didn’t need to threaten you like that, he didn’t need to make an example of you in that way. No, the elder Vestor could have simply done away with you the way he usually did but Errol didn’t need to start it the way he did. It’s his fault and good riddance, for no man like that could be considered a human being, should still be among the living.” And then she placed a soft kiss to his hand and moved her other hand around his cheek. “You saved my life Ulric. He…He threatened me. But you saved me.” And the look in her eyes was that of love, doting.

Elarinya didn’t know what lay in store for Ulric after this but what she did know was if something were to happen, if he had to pay some kind of consequence for what he had done, after all he did kill a knight, she wanted him to know the truth now. Now rather than never and so he’d always know that his stature never meant anything to her, she’d always feel the same. Ela was pretty sure and pretty confident about how she felt. She loved him. Leaning forward, the pad of her thumb stroked along the corner of his mouth gently and she closed the gap by softly pressing her lips to his. Not a kiss of thank you, but a kiss of someone who was confessing her feelings, confessing her love. And despite how disoriented he might be, maybe he’d understand and figure it out. Even if he didn’t feel the same, she wanted him to know.
 
"This is an outrage my lord!" Lord Hawkwood bellowed. It was a vile thing that Errol did, and Lord Hawkwood expected ramifications, but to back out of a betrothal like that was a slight upon his honor. Even worse, that stable boy would go free. His host's order to vacate the premises only added salt to his wounds.

"I care not that you and my father were friends when he was still alive. You will live to regret this decision Mulberry, mark my words. When war comes you can expect to help from me." he spat before he turned to leave. He couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. Not without throwing another barb.

"You know I've noticed that your daughter and that stableboy seem to spend a lot of time together. Too much to simply be friends. Perhaps the late Sir Vestor hadn't insulted a lady after all." he said in parting

----

Having been given to milk of the poppy to dull the pain from his wound, Ulric's head was spinning as heard Ela's voice, seeing her come into focus only when she knelt by his bedside. So many questions were going through his head. What will happen to him? Will Ela ever see him the same way again? Will he live? As these questions flooded his mind he noticed his already blurring vision tunnel and fade into darkness. The last thing he remembered before his breathing became shallow as he slipped into unconsciousness was a soft and warm caress that fluttered against his lips. What was that?
 
It all had left his household and estate as well as his noble power in a sort of state of unease. With Lord Hawkwood storming out as he did and leaving him with an implication he hadn’t wanted to think of but was forced to consider, Lord Mulberry was ever torn. Ulric was a favorite of his, a hard working young lad who showed much promise for someday more than peasantry and maybe the life of a knight, an avid fighter with strength that he had one day wanted to take an investment into of his own, to get the boy proper training. He was like a son to him in that way. Then there was the matter of his daughter who everyday reminded him of his beautiful deceased wife in her grace, beauty and headstrong stubborn personality which is what made him love his wife so much in the first place. But even her headstrong stubborn personality could lead to foolishness on her part. He realized this now. Elarinya was very close to Ulric, too close than a lady should be to a common stable boy peasant. As much as he thought very fondly and highly of Ulric, he was still very beneath him, very beneath his daughter and as he thought about the fact that his daughter was having inappropriate relations so underage and with a boy so far beneath her social standing, he was left in an outrage.

After Lord Hawkwood’s departure, Lord Mulberry left his office as well and was informed that his daughter was in one of the peasant quarters where Ulric had been tended to and was known to be currently resting in. He stormed through and entered right in as he saw his daughter’s lips pressed to a sleeping Ulric’s. She had turned sharply and suddenly and never saw her father so angry.

It was all like a blur to her. Her father yelled at her, berated her and deduced that she was to never be free of the estate, she was to forget Ulric and once the lad was healed, he would be sent away. Lord Mulberry was ever more torn, wanting to still provide for the boy but unable to forgive him for corrupting his precious daughter, Lord Hawkwood tainting the Duke’s mind with false implications between the two. He believed it nonetheless, enough to decide on banishing Ulric and practically imprisoning his own daughter while he figured out what he was to do with her.

Years passed by. Not a day went by that Elarinya didn’t think of Ulric. After he was banished, her father settled to send her away to a nunnery where she would learn about the divine spirit, religion and never be allowed near a male again until the time of her wedding. In that time, her father had acquired an alliance with a worthy noble for the impending war that did break out across the kingdom, securing the alliance by promising his now twenty-two year old daughter to the noble’s son, a handsome man in early thirties with a secure title of a duke with quite a handsome pension and even more handsome estate. Elarinya never met her betrothed, her father wanting to keep them separated until the time of their actual wedding day. But she knew of her betrothal when she turned sixteen. For five years during her stay at the nunnery, she had been engaged.

It was only until three months after she turned twenty-two, she had received a letter from her father, stating of an illness he contracted and that he was now bedridden. Elarinya left the nunnery at once and returned home after seven years. The estate looked so different upon her arrival. It was still well kept but seemed so empty, so quiet. Her carriage pulled up outside of the grand oak doors of her home and she was garbed in a dark red dress with gold trimming. Her long hair, so silken, a chestnut brown color, was tied into two braids down her back with a head scarf made of red lace tying it back, loose tendrils escaping from it and framing around her face elegantly. She’d grown even more beautiful in the past seven years and the light that had once brightened her eyes had faded drastically so. She carried herself with the air of grace, high standing and looked to be an exact replica of her mother. Her father would be so proud.

And he was. As she entered his bed chambers, Elarinya looked upon the man who was once so strong and capable with a threatening allure that made a lot back down from him. Now, he looked so pale, so weak, shriveled even and seemed to have aged greatly in just the short span of seven years, conjuring an illness that was making him slowly wither away. His hair was complete white, almost gone and he looked no more than skin and bones. “Father.” Her voice was so soft, shaken and her eyes watered at the very sight of him. Seven years of not seeing him and here she was again now, only to see him in this very state.

His eyes opened and he looked upon whom he thought to be his beautiful wife. “Illiana?” He rasped her mother’s name in his slight daze and small bit of dementia. Elarinya rushed to his side and sat down on the ground beside him on her knees, taking his hand immediately into hers. “Oh Father…” She sobbed lightly and pressed her cheek to his hand. “Is that my beautiful Elarinya?” He whispered, his voice so weak. She lifted her head, her cheeks stained with wet tears and she sniffled, nodding her head. “Yes.”
”If it is possible, you look even more beautiful and more like your mother than you did seven years ago.”
“I’m so sorry Father, for ever disobeying you, for displeasing you, for not making you proud.”
“You have made me so proud my dear, you always have. I am sorry for keeping you so far for so long. But I do not call you back home with good news.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you haven’t noticed, I do not have much time. But I am apart of a council that is congregating in the royal capital, to watch over the diplomatic matters of the council in this war. I cannot make it. I must appoint an heir, send you in my place.”
”Father…” She gasped.
”You must go. You will go.” He coughed, using his free hand to cover his mouth with a handkerchief and when he stopped and pulled it back, blotches of blood stained the white cloth. “The Duke of Derbyshire will greet you there.”
“My betrothed.”
“Yes. I wanted for you to meet him on your wedding day but certain circumstances have made it so you must meet him now. He is a good man. He is a kind man. He will take good care of you. But you must go in my place.” He took her hand now and squeezed it gently. “You are a duchess now.”

Elarinya left a couple of days later and upon her arrival in the royal capital, she received the news of her father’s death. She was greeted by the Duke of Derbyshire, a man named Brandon Cleeves. He was even more handsome than his portrait portrayed and he offered her sweet and kind comfort in the days that led up to the first council meeting in the wake of her father’s death. She was thankful for him but she felt nothing for him in that sort of way. Nothing but kindness and healthy regard for him but not enough. At the moment, that was not her worry. She was here to carry out her father’s final request and wish. Upon the first council meeting, she was met with great reprimand and mockery. A woman in the place of a high ranking noble such as her father, it was laughable. But very quickly, she shot down their snide remarks and proved her worth by the grace of god and grace of her dignity that so mirrored and resembled her mother. A couple of the noblemen knew of her family, knew of the tenacity and ferocity her mother once displayed in her youth before her untimely demise and they quickly respected Elarinya. Some, not so much but they kept their mouths shut. It’s not as if she was a sounding board but she had a place among them all enough to be a force to reckon with, a voice on her own without the reputation of her father looming over her.

She retired to her chambers in the King’s court with Brandon not being too far from her. That next day, even in the wake of all the disastrous war plaguing the lands of unease, there was still a birthday to be had; His Royal Highness, the King. He was to be turning fifty-five and in his honor, many tributes were gathered to enter into a fierce tournament for his entertainment and great honor and power as a reward. Elarinya was present for the start of it and although it was nothing more to her than a grueling blood bath for men to garner amusement and entertainment from, she knew her presence was to be noted and she would do her father and the king a great dishonor and disgrace if she were not to be there. She sat silently beside some ladies and lords when she noticed Brandon was nowhere to be found. She found only later that he was among the many tributes who volunteered himself out of his own stubborn pride. She couldn’t help but to roll her eyes at learning this information.

It came to her as no shock and probably left her seeming heartless when he was easily disposed of. Considering it hadn’t even been a week since her father died, and considering she had found no attachment to the Duke or anything he stood for regardless of how comforting he had been—she’d been left quite a bit heartless not to feel anything after Ulric’s banishment and her own banishment to the nunnery—it hardly seemed to fazed her. She wasn’t heartless. She’d been numb for seven years. Then her father died and that numbness broke a little bit only solidified and became a stronger force in her very recently. Brandon dying was neither a hit or a miss. It was just…nothing to her. And quite frankly, she looked incredibly bored but tried to stay interested, praying for a bit of excitement, something, anything, to make her feel.
 
It was a slow morning for Lord Meyer. Having traveled from his castle all the way to the west of the kingdom, the man pushing 50 was exhausted from his journey. Roused from his slumber he slowly sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes as he slowly got up. He remembered his glory days as a knight, full of prowess and energy, how he was Warden of the West for 20 years. But his days of battle was long gone. The pain and stiffness in his sword arm a momento of that fateful day over seven years ago. If it wasn't for his need to appeal to his king for more men he wouldn't of made the trip in the first place. Well, that was only half the truth. The success of his plan was hitched upon the performance of his 'son'. From the fanfare outside he realized that the tournament already began, and rushed to pull on his raiment: a black doublet with the White Hawk of his house, breeches, and a sword and dirk at his belt. He wasn't one to have servants dress him, nor to dress gaudily.

Hurrying down to the tourney grounds, he shuffled past many lords and ladies sitting on the dais overlooking the lists. After finally reaching his assigned chair, he turned to the lady beside him. She seemed familiar. She looked a great deal like Lilliana Mulberry…but that was impossible?She died years ago. Perhaps it was her daughter? His musings were interrupted when he heard the gallop of hooves churning the dirt as a knight rode into the lists. He was very gallant indeed, wearing a full suit of armor filagreed in gold and crimson. Lord Meyer recognized him immediately: Sir Rowan Vestor. His father was the master of arms of the Mulberry estate for years, but upon his father's death he joined Lord Hawkwood, and was given his spurs immediately. Too soon. The boy had never been tested in battle, and already he was proud as a peacock as he rode his brown destrier, a highborn lady swooning to grant him a green silken handkerchief as a favor. The boy certainly looked the part of a gallant knight as he graciously accepted the favor on the tip of his lance and tied it around his arm as the crowds cheered his name. The highborn lords and ladies certainly adored a knight in shining armor. However in Meyer's experience a knight in shining armor was simply a man who never had his mettle tested. The young Sir Vestor took his position at one side of the list, awaiting his challenger.

The second knight didn't charge in. No, quite the opposite. The squire who announced the combatants was at a loss for words at the sight of the knight as he trotted his horse in ominously. His armor was well made, but black from helm to spur, without sign of any sigil upon him. His steed was a black courser in black barding, smaller than the brown destrier his opponent rode, but a lot quicker. The cheers and applause from the crowd died at this black specter of death. There were no ladies handing him favors, no fanfare signaling his approach. There was nothing but the sound of his steed pawing at the ground with its hoof, the slight audible breaths fuming out it's flared nostrils. No one sitting in the raised platforms could venture a guess as to who he was, the visor of his armet concealing his face. All, accept Lord Meyer. Sir Vestor lowered his visor and saluted his opponent with a raise of his lance, a gesture that was returned by the black knight. Soon the two combatants rode towards one another, each combatant leveling his lance towards the other's grand guard.

'And so it begins. This will not be the first Vestor he bests" Meyer thought.

The black knight became a swift blurring shadow as his horse was spurred into a full gallop. The crack of wood and the clash of metal followed after. Sir Vestor was unhorsed with a single lance, the black knight tossing the splintered remnants of his weapon to the side. The crowds gasped at the swiftness of the tilt…the tournament favorite bested by an anonymous knight. All eyes gaped in shock, all except Lord Meyer, who's proud smirk erupted into boisterous laughter. Rowan grunted in pain as his two squires rushed to his aide. A stretcher was pulled out to haul the injured knight from the lists as he groaned. Both his harness and steed were forfeit at his loss.
 
Elarinya watched the Lord Meyer take his seat beside her and she smiled kindly. She knew of him only by name and reputation but it was easy to pinpoint who he was based on his choice of attire. He was known for being eloquent and modest in his attire, nothing flashy. Nothing like the man who now made his entrance onto the field, gold and crimson, oh so flashy and particularly gaudy to her eyes. What really drew her attention was as the cheer and applause of the audience died down, she saw what the reason was; a black knight. Literally. His armor was completely black and it was like an ominous spell was cast over the entire arena. It made shivers run up her spine as well and she squared and rolled her shoulders to relieve that weird sensation that made her so uncomfortable in that moment.

The defeat was easy. Something about the Vestors just end up being so cocky that they no longer could really do much anything. Errol Vestor had been defeated so easily by Ulric, the very memory of that washed up into her mind immediately as she watched this joust. It was as if she was transported back to that time, seven years ago and watching Ulric bash in his skull with a practice sword. She swallowed hard and breathed deeply, her hands in her lap holding on tightly to each other, nails digging into her palms. It was like a boom in her head as the scene was brought back to the current. The Vestor was defeated and the black knight was victor.

And it kept on going. She couldn’t watch anymore because of this really strange feeling she kept having. It was making her head hurt, she was sure she was almost going to be making her hands bleed if she kept digging her nails into them any deeper and it started to feel like she couldn’t breathe. Seven years was an awful long time but it couldn’t be. Not at all. Just because a Vestor was defeated again, didn’t mean that it was him. It couldn’t be. It really probably wasn’t. “Excuse me.” She stood and gathered a bit of her dress to lift so she didn’t trip and she moved along to get out of there, to get away and find some fresh air. It was too congested here, too suffocating and she didn’t like the sounds of all the grunts, groans, jousts clashing together and all the sounds of men in serious pain and injury.
 
The sounds of hooves churning the dirt, the clash of steel, and the pained exclamations of the combatants brought William Meyer back to his era. He was a veteran of the 40 Years War, having tasted battle at the the tender age of 14 as his master's squire. Three years later his master would die in a battle against mercenaries from the Black Hills. Despite that he claimed the heads of 3 captains in the battle, and was knighted a year later. The Great War raged on for another 22 years which torn the kingdom apart, but at the end of it all the peace was over the land…except for a man like him. Where other lords laid down there arms and lived a life of luxury, his king appointed him Warden of the West, having him man the fortress at the border. It was a dark and dreary place, and a man at his age shouldn't of had to keep fighting to keep the kingdom safe, but in truth William could of kissed the king for that. A laid down weapon was likely to rust and fall into ruin, and that was what he was. And so he kept up the fight for his crown, until that fateful day 8 years ago. He longed grip steel in his hands, and to ride a stout charger to face some foe…he wished he was young again, and unbroken.

The black knight performed quick work on his opponents, always unhorsing them within three lances. The stables would be crowded indeed with all the new steeds he kept winning. He advanced through to the finals, and was to face last year's champion. Marveling at the matches before him he noticed a shifting beside him and turned his head in time to see the woman from before get up to leave the dais. Perhaps it wasn't his business…but there was some time before the combatants would enter the lists for the last tilt. He rose from his seat and followed her. Once he was free of the dais he saw her standing away from the field, with an expression of disgust on her face. Tentatively walking to her he cleared his throat.

"Is my lady well?" he asked, looking her over now that he could have a better look. She looked so much like Lilliana. So graceful and elegant, and alluring beautiful. Yet there was a sadness in her eyes.
 
Thoughts were running rampant and chaotic in her mind. It couldn’t be, could it? She didn’t know why she thought it could be so. He’d been banished just as she sort of had been. Her father granted him mercy. Instead of having him executed for killing a man in higher ranking than him, he sent him away to fend for his own life, all with the impending war looming over them. All because while he did kill a man in higher ranking than him, he also saved defended her honor when the menacing Vestor wielded his blade at her, threateningly. Everything came back, not that it was so difficult. These thoughts about him were always in her mind. Something about this black knight…

Her thoughts were thankfully interrupted when she heard a voice of someone addressing her. Turning, Elarinya looked at Lord Meyer and she managed a meek smile, bowing her head in respect. “Oh I am…I am fine. Yes, thank you. I guess I do not quite care for these kinds of matches but appearance counts for more than anything, especially in these times.” She spoke softly, her voice gentle, like silk but with the promise of authoritative demand and power. “Oh, forgive me my lord. Where are my manners?” She cleared her throat. “I am Duchess Mulberry, Elarinya if you please.” She bowed, a formal grace.

“And you are Lord Meyer. My father used to tell me great stories. You are truly a legend and it is a pleasure to be in your presence.” She may not know that much about war, neither did she quite care for it but she could respect those who so bravely sacrificed their lives, those who also lived to tell the tales.
 
Lord Meyer regarded her as she composed herself. His eyes took in every subtle gesture, every nuance of her body language. She certainly carried herself like a lady. He smiled as she introduced herself, realizing that his earlier suspicions were true. The woman before him bore more than a hereditary resemblance to her mother. Like her, Elarinya was the type of woman whom you'd meet and have trouble forgetting. As Meyer returned her bow, he was surprised that she recognized him.

"I'm honored to know that I am remembered so fondly my lady" he said, kissing her hand gently, his bristly beard brushing against her slender fingers.

"Retired battlers like myself are of an age to boast about long gone triumphs and lost prowess. It's good to know that some tales are told of me…even if they are a bit embellished. I don't blame you for not taking interest in the tourney. A tourney knight and a knight who has seen battle are two very different things." he said

"The final of the jousts is about to start however. Don't you want to see who will earn first place?" he asked her
 
“Of course my lord.” She smiled, the kind that wasn’t so meek and actually taking not too much effort to attempt at. Thankfully and besides, Lord Meyer was being very kind to her. He was acting as if he knew her or knew of her family but she didn’t want to ask about that. There wasn’t much she could ask. She knew her father her entire life until he sent her away to the convent to finish her education and becoming a lady. She knew he was never the same when her mother died when she was so young. It wasn’t her time to go but she was taken. Ela had been so angry at God for that and never truly forgave him for it. She could appear to be a believer but even in the past few years at the convent, her faith never truly restored. And if anything, considering all that’s happened, it probably never would but that was something she didn’t make public knowledge.

She could always Lord Meyer if he knew her mother. If he could tell her anything about her so she had more than the few memories she did have of her mother because she was so young when she died. Everyday she missed her. Iliana, her mother, was so kind, so caring, a truly wonderful woman who had a mind of her own and the love of everyone. She was headstrong, stubborn, beautiful and spoke her mind always but always with such a grace and elegance that no one could ever be mad at her. Her father could never be mad at her. She was truly the perfect woman and the day she became sick and the days that led up to her death were the worst. And it felt like the days she met Ulric were somehow remedying that, especially when they got closer. The day he left felt like the day her mother died all over again. The day she was sent away felt like her father just didn’t know what to do with her anymore or was so angry, it was easier to send her away than to look at her and see how easily she was ruining the image of her mother. She was told she looked just like her. But she was different from her and she, by far, was not perfect like her mother.

Snapping out of it all though, she really needed to stop letting her mind go places, especially when she was with company, Elarinya looked at Lord Meyer and she smiled. “Embellished or not, they were inspiring and I can say what a real pleasure it is to finally meet you.” She said softly, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Yes, there is a big difference. You know the real life. This, what’s happening right now is all for pure entertainment. I highly doubt war is for entertainment and if it is, it’s a cruel and sick joke.” She said with a bit of jest in her tone and a bigger smile.

“But yes, let us. I’m curious to know who this black knight is.” She said softly. “And perhaps, if he does come out as the victor, he might take his helmet off and I can lay my eyes on the brave knight.” She needed to get her curiosity taken care of and needed to know if it was possible or if she was just simply wishing for something that was impossible. Because there was just absolutely no way.
 
"I don't doubt that the mystery knight will be crowned the victor of the tourney. He has seen battle, that is so obvious. He facing green lads who barely know how to couch a lance. I would be honored to escort you back to your seat however, m'lady" he said, smiling softly as he offered her his arm. The two made their way to the seats as the last two combatants faced each other in the lists. The black knight's warhorse pawed at the ground, eager to charge at the man opposite him. Sir Arthur Neville was the champion of the King's Tourney last year and the year before that…yet his own steed paced nervously. The flag was dropped, and thousands of pounds of horse and steel charged towards each other, their thunderous galloping followed by a sickening crack, and the deafening sound of metal as Arthur Neville became the 20th man the Black Knight unhorsed that day.

"See…what did I tell you?" Lord Meyer whispered to Elarinya

As soon as the lists were cleared of the carnage, all the highborn lords and ladies emptied the stands for the awards ceremony. Lord Meyer helped Elarinya down from her seat the King himself got off of his cushioned seat to bestow upon him the prize: a mounted knight wrought it gold.

"You have ridden valiantly Sir Knight, and yet there is not a coat of arms upon your shield, nor a surcoat that can identify you. As your king and sovereign, I request that you remove your helm and tell me your name" the king stated, holding the golden statue in his hands

There was a moment of silence, than the subtle metallic creak of plate and chain slowly rumbling into motion as the black knight raised his arms, unfastened a bolt at the base of his armet, and slowly removed his helm. Although Ulric had aged 7 years, his face was unmistakeable. His brown hair was messed up from being under his helmet, but he wore it shorter so that it wouldn't impede his vision. His jaw was covered by a rough stubble. He bore the same blue eyes in a sharply angled face…yet there was a steely look in them. The look you'd expect of a man who had seen things that would shatter the psyche of lesser men.

"I am Sir Anton Meyer, your grace" the black knight spoke in icy courtesy, kneeling before his king

The crowd began stirring amongst themselves. He bore the Meyer name, yet nobody had heard of him. At this, Lord Meyer joined his side, smiling at the king.

"Your Grace…allow me to introduce to you my son" he said.
 
She smiled and nodded her head. Taking his arm, Elarinya walked back to the stands with him and sat down to watch the final match. She saw that the opponent against the black knight had been the victor for the past few years. Now he was going against the black knight and she had this big feeling that he wasn’t going to stand a chance considering how quickly and swiftly the black knight was taking out his opponents. Her fiancé hadn’t stood a chance and she didn’t even bat an eyelash. That’s just how emotionally devoid she was but right now, after years of keeping everything she felt under wraps, it was all starting to come back. She had this feeling of who this black knight was but it couldn’t be true. She’d only find out though if he won and once he took his helmet off. If he did.

And of course, he did win. He toppled his opponent like he was nothing. Hearing Lord Meyer in her ear, she turned her face to him and grinned. “I had no doubts. He has been defeating his opponents like they were flies.” Turning her attention back, she watched the knight stand off to the side as the remaining carnage was swept away and she soon stood and left her seat with Lord Meyer. The time had come. Time to see who this knight was.

She stood beside Lord Meyer as the knight was congratulated and presented his prize by the king. When asked to remove his helm, she held her breath and waited. He looked just like he did seven years ago, only older. It was him. It was him, completely and even though she decided to hold her breath, because she did and she was in complete shock, it was suddenly difficult to breathe. She didn’t want to cause a scene though but she feared it could happen because never in her life did she think she’d see him again. She was insanely silent but her eyes were so wide, she couldn’t take them off of him but then she was brought back into reality when he said his name.

Wait…
She was suddenly able to breathe again because it wasn’t Ulric. This man’s name was Anton Meyer, Lord Meyer’s son. They just happened to look alike but it didn’t mean it was him. It wasn’t. It was another man whom she thought…she’d been stupid, childish and everything went away just as quickly as it all came back. Her father was right. She needed to let go of childish wonders and grow up. She was never going to see Ulric again and the sooner she accepted that, the easier life would be. She had responsibilities now. She was the only surviving Mulberry that she knew of, had the title of Duchess passed on to her and she had to start being responsible. There would be no more free cards or free passes if she messed up. This was real life.

Yet, here she stood, standing a little bit away from the three of them in all their victory, feeling incredibly disappointed and wishing...
 
Under his cold and stoic demeanor, the one who was Ulric spotted Elarinya amongst the throngs of noblemen, ladies in waiting, and sycophants. Anton's breathing hitched momentarily, his chest tightening slightly under the burden of mail and plate. She hadn't changed a bit. She had the same eyes, the same lovely face, yet she was mature and had filled in. In their seven years apart from one another, she had grown into the most graceful and lovely creature he had set eyes on. His face betrayed nothing however, and after rising from his knee once dismissed by the king, the lords and ladies of his court filed in behind him. Anton grasped the reigns of his black warhorse and began to lead it back to his tent, before his lord father addressed him

"Fine riding lad, although I'd wager you'd have more of a challenge tilting against the quintain. I would like to present to you Lady Elarinya Mullberry, heiress to the estate of the same name" Meyer said

Handing the reigns to a squire he placed his armet underneath his arm and dutifully took Ela's offered hand and kissed her fingers gently.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I'm sorry to here about the passing of your lord father, and of Lord Cleeve's demise. Perhaps it is of some consolation that I have just unhorsed the man who caused his death" Anton said in cold courtesy. He wanted nothing more than to tell her who he really was, to excitedly embrace her and renew the friendship he cherished so much from so long ago. Yet, he could not, not without reveling his low station that was consequence to his birth and be stripped of his knighthood that he paid for dearly through blood, sweat, and tears. They came to the capital for a purpose, not to live in the past.

Give them an able leader to follow.. The words his 'father' spoke to him echoed through his head. He had to be strong and stay true to their cause for the good of the realm
 
At this point, Elarinya was convinced that he was not the same man. He couldn’t be, not if he was going by a different name and it didn’t once occur to her that he was simply going by a different name, and that he was still Ulric. Whatever hopeful feeling she had was dashed away immediately and it hurt a lot. It was the first time she really allowed herself to feel what she felt when she was just a young lady, a young teen who adored and valued her friendship with Ulric. She loved him then and she still loved him now. The day he was banished and the day she was sent into nunnery exile destroyed her and the only way to cope was to shut everything down. Like she was doing right now in this very moment.

She followed alongside Lord Meyer as his son rode back to the tent with his procession. Once there, she walked inside as well and watched the exchange between both men before she was being introduced. She bowed a small curtsy, nodding her head and a small, tight but pleasant smile crossed her feature. As he took her hand to kiss the back of it, she had to ignore the feeling she got from him. Something said otherwise to what was so obvious. He was Anton Meyer. Not Ulric. But he reminded her so much of her childhood friend, it was nearly driving her mad with pain and emotions she was trying so hard to keep under wraps.

“Likewise.” She said softly and could only really shrug when he offered his condolences. “My father lived a full life and I believe he finally found peace in his death. I know his life was never the same after my mother passed. As for Lord Cleeves…well I did not know him well enough to form enough care for his death but I imagine he’ll feel avenged now that his killer is vanquished as well, so thank you.” She spoke softly with the grace her mother afforded to her but without a single emotion to back her words. “You rode admirably Sir Anton. Congratulations on your victory. I’m sure you’ll prove a far better victor than the previous man.”

A messenger boy stopped by the tent to deliver a letter addressed to Elarinya. She took it and read it and then sighed softly. The timing couldn’t possibly be more perfect as it gave her an excuse to leave and recuperate on her own. “My apologies, but I believe I am being called elsewhere. It was a pleasure to meet you Sir Anton and Lord Meyer, a pleasure and honor.” She bowed a curtsy before taking her leave. Once she was in a carriage to take her back to where she was staying, the wall she built up for herself crumbled. By the time she got back to her room to prepare for where she was needed, she let herself enjoy a good cry for all the disappointment and everything over these past seven years. It helped a lot and when she was done, she was able to attend another meeting to discuss the latest happenings now that the match was done and a new victor was awarded and appointed. It also just meant that Lord Meyer and Sir Anton would be needed to sit in on this meeting.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom