Squire's Secret (Benny and Gunner)

[BennyQ]

Despite the fact that these same Knights, all born from the same locality in their distant pocket of Swadia, were soon to be pitted and matched against one another in desperate competition would not seem apparent. Everyone took their training and preparations on their own, with no one trying to interfere or assist with the other. But there was a comradery. Friderick sat amongst his fellow knights and received the evening fare of bread, stew, and the wine flagon. He supped modestly and drank only water, while others discussed their placing in the qualifying melees tomorrow. The winners would go on to participate in the joust, where the real money and repute was to be won.

“Lot eight for me.” Sir Baugulf stated, holding the small parchment with his name and number so neatly written by some priestly cleric. They had just been mocking how effeminate the art of writing was. “You, Baron of Alnerwick? Are you in the same to give me my much long awaited rematch?”

Friderick used the last of his bread to mop up the stew dregs from his bowl. With a full mouth, he shook his head and answered. “No, it is lot four for me.”

“They want a distinction between the landed knights and the rest, the hedge knights, the wanderers, the retainers.” Sir Wilfred pointed out.

“I am in lot four as well.” Sir Hermannus said with a smile. There was a ripple of astonishment. Friderick eyed the other knight but smiled and shook his head, saying nothing. Well, it was an eventuality they would have to compete against one another.

“The spectators are at a loss. It’s like having the finals right at the beginning.” Sir Baugulf chuckled.

Overheard by the squires, Fabien immediately turned to Jacques and gave him a hard shove in the shoulder. “Looks like training is all you’re going to be doing. You’ll just trip over yourself in the sand.” He mocked Jacques in a quiet, sly voice. He thought his knight would be the Baron and eliminate them all together. A waste of a trip. They might as well start heading home now.

“Lancaster!” Friderick said as he shot to his feet. “We train. Bring your lordly behind over.” He called out as he marched back past the row of tents. At least some of the squires wished her good luck with sympathetic faces. It was a good session to say the least and Friderick could note several improvements, with concealed pride, in his squire’s movement and awareness. Jacques wasn’t such an easy target, unless dulled and slowed by exhaustion. But he was learning and showing tenacity. Friderick only called an end to the sparring session simply because he judged Jacques at his limits or way beyond it. At least tomorrow would be much easier in terms of activity, as he only had to carry and hold Friderick’s gear and banner. It would give time for Jacques’ budding muscles to rest. With a sudden disarming technique, Friderick lowered his sword and shield.

“Pick it up. Let’s call an end to the day.” He said, clapping Jacques on the back. “Tomorrow will be a day of bustle but for me instead of you. Use that time to rest and keep your eyes and ears open. Now go to sleep and I don’t want to hear any ruckus. I catch you sneaking off to see a Lady-friend or even hear of it, I’ll string you up by your feet from that tree and leave you there all day. Got it, lad?” And with that, it was farewell for the night.

Tomorrow was a day of flourish, trumpets, mirth, and colours. A small army seemed to have descended on Archmouth as knights and competitors rushed about to their appointed lots, squared out arenas all about the town where the culling would occur and only the suitable would advance. In the morning, Friderick had awakened Jacques early and got them armoured and gear. It might be intimate, as he walked Jacques through the ins and outs of armour, having him dress Friderick’s strong body with the chain mail and various pieces of plate armour on his forearms, shoulders and calves.

But before anything else, they went on a brisk two mile trot before the Baron assented to them breaking their fast. Then they were to be off. Ser Hermannus and Esquire Fabien weren’t at camp when they returned, the one hour warning bell being sounded in the town before the first match. All Jacques had to take was the banner and personal standard of Alnerwick. Friderick wondered if Lady Auriane might come to lot four to observe his match. There were dozens of knights around the squared off patch of sand, measured out by lengths of rope and stakes. A judge sat on a high chair with a tablet, marking off the competitors present. All the shields and fluttering banners displayed some new symbol, some old and tried and ancient, while others were new and strange and foreign.

Friderick was nervous of course. This tournament was not to the death but injuries were common. It was a bunch of heavily armed knights, with blunted swords, who would proceed to clobber one another into submission until one remained. Some just hammered and swung, others used cunning and guile. Each and every opponent brought their own unique blend of skills. He eyed them down. Some brought wives, who kissed them good luck. Others swung their swords in practice or fidgeted with their own nervousness. A few prayed on one knee with their own personal priest or bishop. Friderick flashed his eyes about and landed them on Jacques beside them, as they waited for the match to begin.

Soon his name was called and Friderick gestured Jacques to follow. He presented his name and his identity was confirmed, however that was done among these clerics. Then he was handed a sword in a basic sheath. Friderick merely quirked his eyebrow at the cleric, then glanced at Jacques. Hold on to it. The cleric saw that and basically shoved it in the squire’s arms, not caring if Jacques had to juggle it with the banner he would be holding. No one gave a shit about squires. The knights were the real golden gooses of the day. Confirmed for now, they could return to the side, as the same had to be done of the others. They would be starting in a few.

“You ever seen one of these before?” He inquired of the boy with a soft smile. “This is only small time. The royal events are the real cash cows. One day though, you’ll be going through these yourself, with some little fancy pants lad to carry your standard.” He shrugged. “Or not. You’ll be a Duke, rich enough to host your own tournaments every year. Then you can have this entire group of knuckleheads hammering each other down for your enjoyment. Your way of sticking it to mean old Baron of Alnerwick.” He taunted, glancing back down at Jacques to see how he took it. More indignant behavior or maybe he grew some balls and knew how to joke like a man?

“I don’t believe you seen a real sword fight huh? Not the prissy dance you got into with Fabien. Or our own practices. I’m talking real warriors fighting real warriors for…well, with realness and intent to harm. Please do not cry out like a lady in fright though.” He said with another pointed, challenging look at Jacques, as if to refer to his previous outburst the previous day.

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline was beyond grateful to have the training called to a halt. Her muscles burned and ached. Friderick was a tough master at the best of times. With the unfortunate meeting of Lady Auraine it was far worse. Still, it was a sweet sort of aches. Deep to the bones. She knew she was growing a little stronger, able to hold the shield higher and longer. Of course she longed to leave the shield behind. Heavy and unwieldy she fared much better without one. Of course, for the time being, she said nothing on the matter. Odds were strong Friderick would brook no debate on the matter. Red eyebrows raised at Friderick's comments. She couldn't be sure if it was dry humor or serious in nature. "No call to fear on that," she muttered some as she picked up their equipment. "Sleep well sir," she said before they departed for the night.

In the past she had trouble sleeping before a tournament day. Of course this day was entirely different. She would be on the field, sort of, assisting in the fights and battles rather than propped onto a cushion, forced to remain silent. The commoners screamed and cheered. For them the winner didn't matter, some did still cheer their liege lord if he were in attendance. Most simply cheered for the more famous names. A lady did not cheer. A lady gave a favor and watch in quiet interest. How boring for a lady. Even having to remained stoic and silent she delighted to see a tournament. Yet that eve she found herself asleep before managing to pull her blankets up.

Soft snores and perhaps a little dried drool was how Friderick might find his sleepy squire. Yet she scrambled to her feet in an instant. Praise God she had the presence of mind to always sleep in her clothing. Strange as it seemed to some it was put aside as being prudish. Such a fancy little lord was too shy. She had no qualms with allow the fires of that gossip to spread and even fan the flames herself on some occasion. Jacqueline scrambled out to follow Friderick to armor him up. Even if her muscles screamed for mercy, to just lay still for a time, she hauled the heavy armor up to gear Friderick. Of course it meant a good deal of leaning over the man, wrapping arms around him. On more than one occasion she felt her stomach clench and her ears burn. Lord give her the fortitude to not have a feinting fit.

She was a little disappointed that he wished a bit of a run about before a meal. With all the training and work she found herself in a constant state of gnawing hunger. No wonder some of the much older knights grew so fat. The hunger must never cease and yet the food stay with them. Finally a quick meal then off to the fields.

Everything was resplendent, as it always was for a tournament. Jacqueline held tightly to Friderick's banner as she followed him about, the fabric ruffling lightly in the breeze. The city seemed to have exploded with activity. More people than she could ever remember seeing in one place. Her head whipped around every way it could. What she wouldn't give for another set of eyes. Hell, two sets! Even still she managed to keep pace with Friderick as he headed to the clerics. After a confirmation of the man the cleric passed over a blunted sword. More like suddenly shoved. "Agh!" Jacqueline juggled both sword and banner for a moment before steadying all. With a huffing snort she tucked the sheathed sword under an arm just as they moved to a place at the side of the fields.

Jacqueline planted Friderick's standard, able to free up her hands to hold the sword properly. Friderick's sudden question and chatty attitude brought another raised of an eyebrow. "Of course I have seen a tournament before. Not one in such a town though," she said with a small tilt of her head. "Certainly never a royal one. Too far to travel, father competed a time or two in his youth. So he says." All around the placed buzzed with activities. Various ways the men prepared for the coming fights. She had never seen anyone die at tourney but knew it happened. Mostly just in the joust though, not archery or ground combat. She snorted some and shook her head. "I shall not cry out like a lady in fright. Fighting does not frighten me...but a lovesick head-case charging on a horse...truly terrifying." That's right. Lady Auraine. Jacqueline began scanning the crowd. Perhaps she would not come to the sword fights. Just preliminary fights to judge those who would move on to the joust.

Ah yes, there she was. High and mighty on her feathered pillow. Seated beside, as she had said, the host of the tournament. Close to anyways, the right hand honor went to the man's wife. Right beside her sat her foppish Count. Resplendent in fine silks, his hair coiffed to perfection. Jacqueline wondered if Friderick would notice. More so if her presence would distract him from the fights ahead. Her jaw hurt. Strange. It took a moment to realize she was grinding her teeth and had to consciously stop herself. She needed a distraction. "It seems strange to me they force each man to use sword. Do not some of them prefer other weapons? Hammers, axes, spears? Does that not give advantage to the ones who only know the sword and disadvantage those who choose a wider array of weaponry?" She needed to distract herself and, possibly, Friderick.

It seemed they just arrived when a great fanfare was blown. The crowd erupted into cheers as the master of the list arrived onto the field. "Welcome....welcome one and all!" His voice carried from end to end. A great, booming voice like the deepest tolls of a church bell. The crowd hushed, all eyes fixed on the man. "As you know, many a knight has traveled from distant regions, distant lands. This day then shall we dedicated to trials of the sword. In which these knights shall compete for the right of mounted combat. I bid you lend these knights your strength, your voice!" Cheers erupted from the crowd, polite applause from the dais. Jacqueline's heart suddenly doubled in pace. This was it. Friderick would hardly need her that day save for perhaps a few errands and for water. Far less to attend for just ground combat alone.

 

[BennyQ]

Very slowly, Friderick turned and cast his sharp eyes upon Jacques when he made that reference. The boy had a lot of nerve. He knew exactly what she was inferring, about him and his attraction for Lady Auriane. The young fool just hasn’t had his own opportunity to become smitten yet. Still, he was both impressed and irritated by the audacity of Jacques to criticize him for his attractions as well as protest the form of training he had inflicted upon her. As if he was actually ruled by an emotional response originating because of what Lady Auriane did. Well…the boy was right though, in a way. And because he was right, Friderick decided the boy had no manners.

So, looking forward again, he just reached over and clonked the back of Jacques’ helm in a light blow. A silent message he ought to just shut up now.

It was even worse too that his eyes immediately set off in search of Lady Auriane, if she came to this particular qualifying melee to watch him. And lo and behold, she had! A small smile grew on his lips and he felt his gauntlet covered hands twitch in anticipation. He was going to put on the best show and swordfight she had ever seen. For her. Never mind that idiot Count beside her. His wealth wouldn’t mean for much when Lady Auriane saw what he could do with his sword. He would prove himself brave, valorous, and talented, things that money could not buy. He was still smiling when Jacques voiced a thought about weapon use.

“The sword is the main weapon of the knight. Tell me, do you think wielding a hammer from horseback is going to be practical? The momentum of one’s swing would probably rip them off the saddle as well. Axes? More practical on horseback but…well, with axes, it just isn’t a civilized weapon. It’s messy and wild. And spears…well again, that is a weapon for horseback. Try using a spear in a single combat and see how good you do, when they grab the shaft and cut off the spearhead and leave you with a stick to shove up your ass.” Friderick explained to the boy. “A mace would be best but this is not a real fight. A mace can break bones even through armour. No gold is worth possibly being maimed for the rest of one’s life. Well, at least a higher chance of it.” He said with a shrug. People still got injured in these, especially during the jousting.

It was time to begin the match though.

The Master of the Lists came forward and pronounced welcome to the crowd, as well declaring the start of the match. Without missing a beat, Friderick reached over and drew his sword out of the scabbard that he had Jacques hold. The blunted blade however still shone brightly in the lights, as well as the blades of all the other competitors, who strode onto the sands. Friderick didn’t say a word to Jacques but his eyes darted to Lady Auriane many times. And she in turn…clapped for him, calling out “Baron Friderick!” It thrilled his heart and his arm twitched in want of wanting to wave back to her.

But then the bell rang and all hell broke loose. Friderick had mere seconds to backpedal and duck as the nearest knight attempted to slap his face directly with the flat of his blade. A half-dozen private combats broke out, the clang of metal and iron mingling with the cheers of applause of the audience. Yet the entire ordeal took less than ten minutes to resolve. One knight stumbled out of the sands with blood leaking from the slits in his helm, yielding his spot. A few more were knocked out cold, one by Friderick’s hands as he dropped his blade to grip his opponent and headbutt them flatly. But it disorientated his vision and he was caught off-guard as another clocked him in the back with strong strokes of his own blade. His armour took it, dented in the meanwhile, and one blow slipped off his shoulder paudron and hit him in the side of his head.

Friderick tasted blood as he hit the sands hard. “Yield!” The other knight yelled at him. But Friderick rolled aside and then trapped the blade under him again when it struck the sands. He then kicked the other knight in the knee, dropping him lower to the ground, where his iron fist connected with the knight’s helm. Friderick rose, using his sword and held it to the knight’s neck, for which the Master disqualified the knight as it was a clear “kill” on Friderick’s part. He had a moment to recover and recompose as the remaining two fought one another, until one victor emerged. Then he and Friderick faced off with swords, a short two minute dance of blocking, parrying, and missed strokes, until Friderick got an opening and simply plummeted the other down into the sands until he yielded.

“I hereby declare the victor…Ser Friderick, the Baron of Alnerwick!” The Master exclaimed and all cheered, as Friderick stood in the center, panting and nearly stumbling. He summoned Jacques with a curl of his finger and together they went to kneel before the dais, where the Master granted them a token of qualification for the jousts. And just like that, their day was done.

“Let’s get that drink now.” Friderick said, taking off his helm to reveal a bloody cheek and a terrible bruise on the side of his head. He would need treating. He handed his blade back to Jacques to sheath and walked with the squire to the nearest tavern. His winning announced, they quickly were given a table among the crowds and the first round of drinks was free. Friderick picked up his mug and put it to his bruise, sighing as the coolness met the burning throb of pain. “Fetch some wet towels. No painkillers or anything. That dulls a man’s senses. I’ll live with the pain. Just make sure the blood doesn’t start leaking into my eyes.” He instructed Jacques.

 

[LilGunner]

The distraction worked for only the briefest of moments. Jacqueline nodded blithely as Friderick explained the merits of each weapon. Her eyebrows rose a little at his graphic explanation of the dangers of using a spear. She was quite decent with a spear on and off the horse, better with a sword but hardly anything compared to the seasoned knights. The other weapons she mentioned were often too heavy for her anyways. There was hardly time for any agreement or rebuttal. Friderick drew his sword and marched out to the sands with the other knights. The din of the crowd rose to a wild cacophony as the bell to begin sang out.

This was not Jacqueline's first tournament. Though it was her first being so much closer to the action. Chaos. The only word to describe the melee battling. The shriek of metal on metal, the gongs of armor as men toppled over. All around the crowd was driven into a mad, bloodthirsty frenzy. Jacqueline could pick out one word in twenty from the ensemble. "Kill...gut...stab..." Mostly from the more lowborn of the stands of course. The gentry sat in mostly composed frames, watching on as if this were no more than a bard show. Jacqueline's knuckles turned white as she gripped the banner and scabbard. Even in the chaos of the battle it was easy enough to recognize Friderick, having seen him in armor time a plenty.

"Come on Sir Friderick..." she said quietly to herself. "Oh look out!" She hissed as one man caught him unawares and disoriented from slamming his head into another. He was down. Her knuckles grew stiff and ached but she was hardly aware. With a well timed roll he disarmed the opponent and dropped him. A mad scramble and Friderick arose victorious. Just one more fight. Two men left. The chaos of battle ebbed and turned to a morbid, deadly dance as the two exchanged blows. Jacqueline could almost hear the music such a waltz might be set two as the pair fought. The frenzy of the crowd reached a crescendo. with a well timed block and opening Friderick made his move to the screeching cheers of the assembly. "Yes!" Jacqueline cheered along with the crowd, her hands painfully cramped but managing an awkward applause.

Her head jerked back at the summons but she was quick to trot out to sir Friderick. Jacqueline basked in the roaring crowd, all eyes on them. Well on Friderick, she was barely decoration. Even still it was intoxicating. Surrounded by raucous cheering, hoots, whistles. She glanced to the dais as they both knelt. Even the great, resplendent, feather-head Lady Auraine was applauding. "Well done Friderick!" She cheered for him. Jacqueline felt a scoff rumbled in her throat. Oh yes, surely now she would remember his name properly. Cow. The qualifying token was awarded and they were dismissed. Even before they could stand stewards of the lists were out and cleaning up for the next rounds. The defeated, unconscious knights were carried off, others assisted along by the squires.

Jacqueline looked up at Friderick with a partial grin at his offer. Of course the grin turned to mild shock when he pulled off his helm. His cheek bloody and a brilliant bruise developing on the side of his head. Lord have mercy why was her heart beating with such haste? Worry of course, that was all. He was injured. Yes, injured. He would need treating and quickly. "That sounds a delight," she managed as he handed the sword over for her to carry. The nearest pub was already lively both with defeated knights and those who preferred beer over battle. Jacqueline rolled up the banner to lean against the wall behind their table along with the sword as Friderick sat and was already handed his drink.

"Mmm? Yes of course," Jacqueline said with a sharp nod. Quick as a bunny she trotted off to find a tavern maid and collect the requested items. "Be happy to supply more if needed. Can't have that handsome face marked up over much," the woman said with a wink. Jacqueline laughed awkwardly before trotting back to Friderick. Damp towels in hand she suddenly halted, frozen for a moment. Did he...want to do it himself? Should she do it? The sudden indecision left her motions jerking and awkward. Enough so she gave the burgeoning bruise a decent thwap before she managed to rest the cool cloths against it. Cleaning up the blood a fair bit more gentle, dabbing the wound until it managed to stop bleeding.

"I was surprised at how f-" Jacqueline began but was cut off by one of the bar maids arriving. First to refill Friderick's tankard, Jacqueline hadn't even touched the other yet. She grinned at Friderick with a coy, mischievous smile before producing a length of fine green silk. "A woman outside hailed us down, couldn't be seen in such a place, and inquired of you were here Sir Friderick. Seems she wished to give you this." She held the length of fine silk to the knights. "Lovely woman, hair like a raven wing...said her name was...Auraine? Of Bertillon? Does this strike a cord sir? Wished for you to have it tomorrow. For luck she said."

A struck cord indeed. A peculiar meld of fire and ice dripped down Jacqueline's back accompanied by a hard thud in her guts. The woman could hardly give Friderick a moment yesterday but now that he was victorious...of course. The new talk of the town as it were. First victor for the melee. Jacqueline felt her eye twitch some as she looked away. God above spare her.

 

[BennyQ]

Of course, Ser Friderick should have corrected for Jacques but the lad was already bounding off to do as he requested. Well, he couldn’t win at everything and discipline for his squire would come slowly and painstakingly. He was still holding the cold mug of ale to his throbbing forehead when Jacques returned, though his annoyance soon beat out his pain when the squire seemed to stutter about for a moment. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He snapped at the squire. Could he even dab a bleeding wound properly? But then again, for the future Duke in waiting, he probably wasn’t even supposed to dirty his hands with such labour.

Well too bad for him and his finer senses then.

As Jacques worked, he finally drank from his mug, long and deeply, and relished the tingling sensation as it came into his stomach. What a fight and nothing felt more deserved than a cold beverage. He didn’t plan to get drunk though. In fact he was chiding himself for his own sloppiness during the fight. It had been months since the last and he had been as awkward and unready as Jacques was with the wash cloth. Hopefully this match got the blood flowing to his brain more properly and he was lucky to have gotten by, working off the mistakes of others rather than creating his own fortune. That would have to change though.

His squire was about to express a thought when the barmaid came about and began to speak of a woman to him. At first he figured it would be some other admirer but when the barmaid described the woman, Friderick finally perked up, brushing Jacques aside with his cloth and reaching forward to accept the green silk. Without shame, he immediately put it to his nose and took a deep sniff, eyes fluttering as if studded with pleasure at the wonderful fragrance. It most definitely was from Lady Auriane! He felt his heart beat. She saw his performance and presented him her favour. Good. Now if he could win the tournament, he could make a suitable request for her hand in marriage, uplifted by his victory and the promise of a championship coin purse.

He smiled as he brought the cloth away, running his hands over the silk. Even as a Baron, he was not privy to such luxury as silk. He nodded his thanks to the barmaid and then looked to his squire. “Lad, go and see if she is still about on the street. Give her my thanks. Run along now, quick as can be. She might be gone but have a look. Then hurry back. Your drink is getting warm and I hope you aren’t trying to jinx me by having me drink alone in my victory. Go, go.” He ushered the boy, taking the cloth from his hands and wiping his own brow. He hoped Jacques could find Lady Auriane in time to give his gratitude. And hopefully the lad would use some fitting words.

Personally, he find himself unable to give a proper message of his own. He wondered if that was what love was. He felt as if such romances should have all the answers present and easily reached. It didn’t matter though.

Ser Friderick kept much of his attention on the silk cloth, running his thumb over his softness, wondering if at the same time this particular garment had the luxury of having touched the milky smooth skin of Lady Auriane. He put it to his nose a few more times, smelling its magnificent scent and when Jacques returned, he would be doing so even then. He would tie this to the end of his lance before tomorrow’s jousts, after the preliminary ceremony where the roster would be set with all today’s winners. “Well?” He demanded of the boy. “You find her? What she say. What did you say?” He asked intently, sharp eyes watching the young boy.

He tried to recall if Jacques had cheered for him during the match. Too shy perhaps? All he heard was the cheering of women mostly. Then again, Jacques was half a girl himself, not having quite matured even at his age. But Friderick was aware of late bloomers in life. “You were saying you were surprised earlier? What was so surprising about ten men clobbering each other into the deep slumber of a coma?”

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline found a spot on a distant wall suddenly quite interesting. Only vaguely did she notice Friderick's reactions to the scrap bit of silk. Push away and aside so casually for a length of cloth. Count to ten, just count. How filthy the wall was. Did they never bother to clean it? Years of customer grime which could, quite truly, be of anything if she judged the common populace well. It would take a scouring stone to clean off the layers of filth.

Suddenly jarred from her reverie of filthy walls Jacqueline looked to Friderick. Thank God it was not very bright in the tavern. Her face felt drained of blood. Likely a pale, wrinkled prune of a face with tight, thin lips and narrowed eyes. His order couldn't be denied of course. Give the woman his thanks. Jacquline managed a short, sharp nod to the knight. "Right away," she said tightly before turning and leaving. Reaching the door she chanced a glance back at Friderick who was fondling and, God above, sniffing the cloth. With a churning rumble in her throat and a headache inducing roll of her eyes she headed out to the streets.

Bodies everywhere. Folk passing by and milling about. Astounding that more were not watching the tournament. Half-heartedly she glanced about. No fancy horse or copse of retainers. A pox on the woman. Did she have a spare piece just laying about that she wanted to toss anyways? Might as well grant favor to such a victor. What harm could it do? Jacqueline needed to get a hold of her mind. She was being irrational and silly. Ridiculous really. Getting wound tighter than a rusted wagon wheel. Still there was no lady present. Of course she was barely even bothering to look.

"Ah and here must be my little messenger bird," a soft, sweet voice cooed. Ice splashed over Jacqueline's head and to her toes. She spun about and there she stood. The Lady Aurainne. Her retinue of servants behind her. Astoundingly she was on foot. Perhaps not even lady fancy chemise could bend the rule of horses traveling about on such a day. For a moment both women regarded each other. The Lady Aurainne amused and yet wistful. Jacqueline, meanwhile, a strange blend of bemusement and, dare she even say, anger. "Well little bird?"Aurainne coaxed with a gentle, amused giggle.

"Ah...yes..." Jacqueline stumbled over her words a moment. "My lord Friderick is...he is...delighted for the gift..." More than a moment really.

Aurainne gave a small giggle once more. "The squire is as eloquent as the knight. My my, poor thing. A Lancaster at that, I should think you were taught better."

Jacqueline's eye twitched at the quiet insult. A long, slow breath steadied her. Just deliver a nice message. "My lord is flattered by your gift. He thanks you from the depths of his heart. With such a favor bestowed he is certain of his victory and would dedicate it to you, my Lady."

"Ohhh how sweet of him," Aurainne tittered. "I shall look forward to it then. You may go young lord," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand before turning and leaving with her herd of prattling hens. Jacqueline watched the woman go, furious with herself for such kind words to the feather headed coin grabber. With another slow, calming breath she turned to head back inside.

Of course it barely took a moment for Friderick to see her and demand to know what exchange was had. Jacqueline wanted to fib. To say she hadn't seen the lady. Well that would hardly even make sense. Why lie? Of course she would omit any of the bumbling bits and the small jab. Of course only in that moment did she realize it hadn't just been a jab at her. "I told her you are flattered by the git and thanked her from the depths of your heart and the victory you are certain of shall be dedicated to her. She said 'oohhhh how sweet'" Jacqueline's little pantomime of the vapid woman likely wouldn't be appreciated as she clapped her hands to her cheeks with a dopey, wistful look. "'I shall look forward to it.' Then she left. That was all." Jacqueline wished the woman would have gotten trampled by a horse on her way.

Finally Jacqueline sat down across from Friderick. He had demanded she drink with him. Ale wasn't much to her taste though but she tried a little anyways. "I was just surprised it went as quickly as it did. When my father hosted tournaments the joust and melee would be separate competitions so I never really watched much in the way of melee, certainly not in such groups. So it was just...surprising..." She gave a small shrug with another sip of the quickly warming ale. "Exciting though. I did my best not to shriek like a woman," she added with a small laugh.

 

[BennyQ]

The question was really a redundant one, asking what Jacques had said to Lady Auriane in his stead. Unless he himself had been the one to say it, there was no way Friderick would be fully impressed by what had been said. How could this young boy convey his true emotions and feelings for Auriane? While Jacques’ response seemed diplomatic enough, Friderick felt it could have been more. No, it should have been more. His brow was furrowed into disapproval but then again it should have been his fault, sending Jacques who was quite unsteady with women to do the talking. That was a mistake he shouldn’t make again in the future.

The napkin in question was resting on the table under his free hand, while his other held his cup. A finger was still tracing its soft surface, imagining it to be Auriane’s skin.

On the other hand, he couldn’t blame Jacques either. He was inexperienced. Well, maybe he would learn from this and court the women of his future much better. His eyebrows were quirked in amusement when Jacques gave a little display of how Lady Auriane reacted, voice and facial expression and everything. He chuckled, but not with Jacques. “You mimic it so well. You missed your calling in life, boy. You should have been a girl with that voice and soft face.” He flashed a smile, before lifting his drink. Jacques should have learned to take a joke by now, or at least fire them back. One needed a thick skin in this life, for more than just handling the edge of a blade.

He listened to his squire’s thoughts on the competition. “And so you did.” Friderick at least granted to Jacques despite his previous joke. He hadn’t screamed like a woman or a stuck pig. “You can’t put a timetable on a fight, unless you really know your opponent and are advantaged against them. In a fair contest, it could go in any possibility. You got a myriad of thoughts, experiences, skillsets, so many factors involved that makes it all unpredictable. With enough stamina, these matches could last all day. There are probably some going on still as we talk and drink.” Friderick pointed out, glancing around the room. This tavern would be way fuller if it weren’t so.

Speaking of drinks…

“And drink like a man too!” He said to Jacques, changing the topic, when he next saw her take a drink. He put his finger under the cup and tipped it more, forcing Jacques to gulp a greater content or to spill a little over his jaw. Nothing out of the ordinary. Most drunken men drank in such sloppy methods, their beards dripping with ale sometimes. No one would judge Jacques for spilling a little. “You’ve never been drunk before huh lad? Mother never let you? Well you’re free to try now. And you should. It takes practice to be a good drunk. You don’t want to be making a fool out of yourself back at the castle when you get a return feast for graduating to knighthood now do you? Drink!” Friderick said and to encourage the lad, drained his own cup to the bottom and signaled for another refill.

“Burns doesn’t it?” He remarked, tapping his throat to indicate. “It’s like that at the beginning but you get used to it.” Friderick smirked, feeling the alcohol pool in his own gut, causing a fuzzy sensation to spread through his body and limbs. Everything felt for a moment…keen. But he knew that was just a trick. There was nothing about alcohol that made one keen. Picking up the wet cloth, he dabbed some of his skin where he had been bleeding, examining the cloth to see just how much blood was there.

“So,” Friderick began slowly again, looking at Jacques, “you saw Lady Auriane on the street. What she look like? Was that tomfool with her, that…Count whatever his name was?” Friderick inquired intently of Jacques, leaning closer to the boy as if what they were discussing was a deep conspiracy or something.

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline gave a pause. Should have been a lady. It fell back to that once again. She needed to stop doing things like that. Even if Friderick was only jesting it was far, far too close to the truth. She gave him a strained grin which looked more like a grimace and a small, very forced laugh. Though she was set more at ease as he agreed she didn't shriek like a woman. In fact she had barely cheered at all. Just at the end when his victory was made clear. She gave a slow, understanding nod as he explained about fights then vaguely wondered how long fights like those have lasted before. Shorter or longer? They would have to eventually end but she wondered how long the longest one had endured.

Lost in thought she jumped some at his command. Drink more? With a raised eyebrow she tipped her mug back to another small drink. Of its own accord the mug tilted further. Ale went everywhere: down her throat, across her chin and cheeks, even up her nose. She lurched forward with a mighty coughing fit, eyes watering and nose streaming. Her face turned as red as her hair as she hacked. God but the ale burned her throat. The lung rupturing cough didn't help much either. "No," she wheezed at his question, patting her chest to try and dislodge the burning liquid. Through the pained hacking she realized what had happened. No malign spirit did this. Friderick had tipped the mug. Why on God's good earth would he want her drunk? Even his reasoning seemed foolish.

Jacqueline reached up and wiped her eyes then nose on her sleeve, drying her cheeks and chin as well. "Yes...it burns fiercely...Though moreover it is the bitterness. I never had much of a taste for ale," she admitted. Finally her nostrils were free to breath and she could settle back again. Despite the discomfort of inhaling half the pint a pleasantly warm sensation did indeed spread. Of course she was familiar with drinking but wine was the drink of choice for ladies.

Then, of course, the conversation jumped right back to Lady Featherhead. Jacqueline gave a small, huffing snort that could be mistaken for clearing more ale out of her nose all the while leaning away from Friderick. "Shorter..." she said with thin lips. For a moment she simply let that hang in the air. "She walked with her herd of hens. Her hair is still long and black, skin still pale. The Count was not present this time. It seems she came alone. As alone as a woman could be with her hoard of ladies in waiting." Though spoken through a smile there was still a bitter grimace and not just from his diverting back to Lady Emptyskull. Jacqueline thought back to her own small herd of ladies. Idly chittering and clucking like locusts. Sewing their little finery or gently sipping tea. They were nice enough but she couldn't help but hate their presence. It was always good fun to try and slip away from them.

"Strange isn't it? Women always have groups of other women tailing them. Daft if you ask me..." she said with a grumble followed by a short laugh. For a moment she just stared into the half full mug of ale. With a sharp breath she tilted it back and drained it in a few hearty but forcible gulps. A heavy exhale she slammed the mug back onto the table. "There...but if I'm a bad drunk consider it your doing." She laughed some before leaning back into the chair. "I...I mean I remember my sister always had a gaggle of them. Following, always there. She hated it. The mindless chatter. Ten thousand words a day and nothing ever really said." A small nasally laugh followed the comment as she looked up at the ceiling. "You scolded me before but I'll chance to ask again. Why the Lady Auraine? What qualities does she possess besides her looks that you find so enthralling?"

 

[BennyQ]

Friderick gave another chuckle at the boy’s reaction to the ale and his description of the taste. “Too used to your fancy wines, I warrant. Sipping watered down vintages for breakfast too even. How nice it must be to be that rich.” Friderick mused with a grin towards Jacques. The Lancasters were certainly rich enough to enjoy wine in any sort of use or quantity. For the Baron of Alnerwick, like most peasants and commoners, it was a luxury only rarely enjoyed and consumed. Ale was a lot cheaper and therefore more logical to Friderick. And the difficulties of obtaining good wine was also a positive. After all, one can enjoy drink, but one shouldn’t get too fond or addicted to it.

He didn’t know what Jacques meant by the term shorter when he asked about Lady Auriane. “I meant what she was wearing- never mind, actually.” He found himself huffing, when Jacques when into a description of the Lady. He already knew how she looked! And what color her hair was. It was pleasant news to him to hear Count Theodore was not at her side. Maybe she finally saw it was more preferable to attach herself to a strong, fighting knight rather than some politicking courtier with effeminate ways. Friderick would happily give up all his tournament winnings just to fight the Count in single combat and prove his own superiority. Maybe he should issue a challenge.

“Not daft at all.” Friderick told Jacques when he called women following other women strange, sweeping his arm out to indicate…well, them. “Do you not see us, groups of men, congregated into our own little circles? What of the squires who follow at their knight’s heels? It is how things are done, lad. You learn from the leader, boys from men, girls from women. Men learn how to fight, women learn how to talk. Diplomatically, not aimlessly, mind you. Well, the smart ones succeed. And the dumb ones fall into redundancy. That’s how it always has been.” Friderick said, before quirking his eyebrow when Jacques broke into a fit of laughter. Almost…girlish like giggling. For some reason it reminded him of Lady Auriane and Jacques seemed to read his mind by taking the conversation there.

He fell silent a moment, raising his face up to the ceiling, his strong neck craned, as he pondered the inquiry. It was definitely a loaded question. “We’ve known each other since we were children.” He told Jacques, though still keep his piercing icy blue eyes to the roof of the tavern. His voice sounded as if it was far off, for he was deep in his own memory. “It’s just…well, I know her. I know her quality. I know she isn’t an evil or vindictive person. A little wayward at times but we all have our flaws and faults. It’s just…there really isn’t anyone else for me.” She just happened to be the first woman he became aware of, when he himself started to change from boyhood to manhood. She was beautiful, with her head in the clouds. He didn’t seem to recall or even consider that Auriane wasn’t aware of him as he was of her. He was a bit blind in that regard. Perhaps it was just some leftover boyish infatuation that stuck to him through all the long years since. Some naivety, unable to be conquered, since he was always concerned with the future and not the present in which he currently was existing.

And there was always the fact too that her family was rich.

The Baron brought his head down to gaze into his cup, his image reflected somewhat in the dark surface of the ale, before he lifted it to finish off. His second, down the hatch. He then pressed the empty cup to his bruised forehead, sighing as the cool exterior soothed back some of the throbbing pain. “And you, little Jacques Lancaster? Have you ever saw a girl you thought was pretty or smart, that you wanted to get to know?” Friderick asked in return, though he doubted the answer. The boy seemed to have no interest in women, let alone understanding them. Given his history with them so far in the time Friderick had known him, he seemed to still be in some boyish reality where girls were the enemy. Has this boy’s balls not dropped yet then? He was supposed to be a lad of sixteen. Friderick remembered when he was that age that women were the only thing he could consistently think about.

“Another ale. And a meal please. Two beef stews.” He gestured to the waitress, for himself and for Jacques. “And eat up. We get back to training this afternoon, since there will probably be a feast this evening to announce the winners of the melee and those who qualified for the joust. I need a sharper edge, of my mind. So we’ll practice in two hours. This drink can be your last. The food will set you straight.” Friderick then issued in a series of firm commands.

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline’s eyebrows rose in amused disbelief at Friderick’s reasoning of women circles. She glanced around at the groups of men congregated in the tavern. Well on that account he was correct at least. Men grouped themselves just as much, some with squires. Though it was painfully clear he hadn’t a singular notion of how women and their nattering hens operated. Diplomatically speaking. Jacqueline couldn’t expect much more from him though. She wondered exactly how far reaching his knowledge on how women operated went. Clearly not far if he was under the assumptions the gaggle of nattering chickens equated to diplomatic speaking. While Jacqueline would happily argue with him and tell him exactly what women circle comprised of she kept her mouth shut however much it pained her. “As you say,” she said quietly unable to fully hold in her desire to set him straight.

Delving right back to the lady Aurainne Jacqueline listened with halfhearted nods. The lancing annoyance regarding his lack of understanding towards women only doubled. In her opinion he gave no real reason for the inane infatuation with the lady. Oh yes, quality indeed. Well thank God she wasn’t evil and vindictive. Though his final comment about her being the only one for him struck a chord in her. Part of her wanted to think it sweet he was so adamantly amorous about a single woman. The other part thought him a fool. There were scores of women all about. Oh but he knew of her quality. Her stupid pretty face and her family name. Jacqueline didn’t school her face well, eyes narrowing and lips forming a thin line. The quality of a woman: pretty, good name, rich family, stupid enough to fall for stupider men. Quality.

Jacqueline’s head tilted at the question. The daft strangeness of it relaxing her face to a grin. Of course no woman had caught her eye. He couldn’t know that, however. As far as Friderick understood he was talking to a boy of sixteen. Her face scrunched a little as she pondered an answer to the question. She’d have to be careful, dance around facts and outright lies. As she pondered Friderick called for stew and more ale. Even as the ale and stew were brought by she was still quiet, formulating and organizing her thoughts.

“There are plenty of pretty women everywhere,” she said slowly and took a sip of the ale. “I don’t imagine I will have the luxury of choice. Father already has prospects in mind so perhaps there might be but the candidate pool strictly limited. I don’t see much point in getting to know anyone, set any hopes for the future in another’s hands, when my future is decently well set already. Surely pretty would be nice but I should like someone intelligent and wise, kind but firm with the household and small folk. Someone to enjoy life with and not just make the occasional try for children yet otherwise be utter strangers. Of course that’s quite unlikely. Most courtiers are obsequious, scheming, dullards. An intelligent warrior would be ideal.” She stopped for a bite of stew but hesitated with a sudden, hard thump of her heart. “But a woman warrior! Hah such a laugh.” Her laugh forced and awkward before inhaling a couple bites of the stew.

“Of course…” she slowed a bit, simply curious. “My sister…she wanted to be a warrior. Mother says it is her fault she turned grey so early in life. Leaving dancing and music lessons to beg fighting lessons. Steal William and terrorize the countryside. Racing through pastures and jumping every fence and bramble she could find. She was…well is very, very different from your Aurainne. Day and night really, mouse and lion. Not your sort of woman I should think.” She added with another shrug and a couple more bites of stew. Perhaps slightly dangerous territory but Jacqueline could barely help herself. It shouldn’t matter. She was there, in disguise, to learn to be a knight. Even still her curiousity on what Friderick might think of such a woman. Though, if she were honest with herself, what he might think of her. Though the ale wasn’t entirely helping keep her tongue still. Strangely it was tasting better with the second pint. Perhaps the stew helped the flavor somehow.

 

[BennyQ]

The way Jacques seemed to ponder Friderick’s question made the Baron think that there was a girl in the boy’s life. The delay only proved it, especially with that foolish smile on his young face, as if he was recalling some earlier encounter. Was he embarrassed or picking the right words? Hopefully the latter, to show that Jacques had a brain and didn’t do things impulsively but who knows. He was surely around that age when women would become desirable to him. He must have seen someone. Another noblewoman? A peasant girl perhaps that helped around the castle? He knew Jacques was a virgin. That was something he would have to rectify before he graduated the boy to Knighthood.

Jacques gave a surprisingly aware answer to his inquiry. He knew he would be lined up for an arranged match. It was quite noble of the boy not to get involved as it would only lead to broken hearts. For a moment he contrasted this with the behavior Jacques had shown on their first day together with the tavern wench back in Rutherglen. He had high hopes for his future match, someone competent and to be trusted. Well with arranged matches that was more of a lottery, which is why Friderick refrained from doing so himself. Courting was more difficult with the competition but it gave one their chance.

He quirked a strong eyebrow when Jacques mentioned a warrior wife would be ideal. Was he drunk or had very idealistic dreams? But the boy caught his mistake and laughed it off, with Friderick sharing the grin before raising his own cup. Yes, that would be quite a dream. “It is what it is here.” He simply said, spoken with a grave tone that showed he had experienced it quite fully himself with the arrangements and dullness of some women. But not my Lady Aurianne.

Or one could move off to savage Asoya and flirt with the women there, who used the eyes of dead men as beads in their necklaces they said.

“This sister of yours sounds like a remarkable woman. Shame you couldn’t be more like her.” Friderick said after hearing about her, flashing Jacques a teasing smirk. He recalled something that Jacques was a twin. He wondered if he was missing his sister then, who was probably very close in mind set to him due to their closeness in being twins. “You’d be surprised at what type of woman you’re really into. Men say they want a docile wife at home but a spitfire bride to light a fire under your ass would be good for your health. They keep you on your toes, you know? Whoever your sister is matched up with would be a lucky Lord indeed if he appreciated her right. She might even marry a Prince one day, if she can reconcile her hobbies with what’s expected of her. Your sister has some balls I’ll give her that.” Friderick said as he raised his cup again and drank to that.

He didn’t even know what her name was, though it wasn’t his business. He’d never meet her. He was stuck with the brother here. “You should be more like her. A real fighter, ready to test new limits. Your looks are against you I’m afraid but we’ll toughen you up in time. Get some hair on your jaw and maybe a scar too. Then you won’t look like such a girl when you got that flush in your cheeks.” Friderick teased Jacques. “Don’t look so red. Look, you should follow your sister’s example. Your life is in your own hands. I know it seems like you don’t but you do have a voice and some backbone. We just have to teach you how to use it. Like this. Don’t let people walk all over you. You’ll be a Duke one day, essentially a King in your own little lands. You might look like a girl but learn how to use a sword and people will fear you all the same. Got it, boy?”

“Now let’s finish up and head back to camp. I want to see how the others fared.” Friderick said and picked up his soup bowl and began to drink the broth straight from it, with the rest of his ale to follow.

They were soon walking back through the streets of Archmouth, crowded and bustling with all sorts of folk for the tourney. Twenty years ago one could not get Swadians, Franks, Nords, anyone in the same town without them trying to kill one another. As they walked, Friderick paused to clap Jacques on the back. “One other thing we’re going to work on is your….conduct with women. No I don’t mean speaking to them. I mean…playing.” He winked and chuckled, feeling the ale himself now. Jacques was a good lad he deserved some rewards. “When we get to some cleaner Swadian cities, I’ll take you to a proper brothel. Someone will take care of you properly for your first time. My treat.” He offered the boy. “And yes, it’s a lot more terrifying the first time then any battle you’ll ever be in.”

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline's eyebrows shot up, spoon still in her mouth. Remarkable? A gong struck in her guts. At least the surprise could be read more towards Friderick's quip rather than her shock at such a response. Remarkable. Given his infatuation with such a vapid, courtly woman she couldn't believe he would find such a different woman, one like her. Suddenly the stew was difficult to swallow. Her cheek burned to hide the grin threatening to light up the tavern. At least Friderick launched into another one of his lectures, giving her flaming ears a chance to cool down before even attempting any sort of response. Of course his constant praise of a strong, fighting woman didn't help matters. Her mind turned to a scattered array of delighted confusion. She should care. Why'd he fancy Aurainne so if she were not a warrior? Women warriors didn't really exist. The irony of his words were lost on Jacqueline in her state of bubbling giddiness.

Just barely she managed to pin down her inane excitement. A cringing, almost shy grin was easy enough to pass off as annoyance at the ribbing in Friderick's speech. Be a boy. Be a boy. Boys hated being told girls were stronger. Jacqueline turned her face away some with a little snort. "I am a fighter too," she managed to say while Friderick finished his stew and ale. "And I do not look like a girl!" Growing stubble would prove rather difficult though. Not for the first time she wondered just how long she could pull off the charade of being her brother. For one thing she needed to keep away from alcohol, it was loosening her mind and her tongue far too much for comfort. Part of her wondered if Friderick was even a little suspicious, given how often he commented on her girlish face.

With the bill settle Jacqueline gathered up sword and banner before following Friderick out of the tavern. Green eyes squinted in the sudden bright sunlight, pupils wide from the darkness of the tavern. The streets still busy and lively. Shouts could be distantly heard. More melee, possibly even archery, couldn't be sure. Jacqueline still mulled over their conversation, the reasonable voice worrying loud enough to shout down the elated one. Had to be careful. The sudden clap on her back sent her stumbling forward two steps before regaining her feet. Red brows raised once more. "Playing...?" She asked slowly as he winked and chuckled at her. Before she could even ask what he meant he clarified. Boots skittered in the mud. "A...a w-what?" Of course she know what a brothel was and of course she had never been to one. Such a prospect should delight a boy. Be delighted. "Ohh...y-yeah, sounds good." Perfect. "Scared? Why would you be scared?" Though the high tone of her voice belied the attempt at confidence.

Feet stopped again as a sharp, sudden blade of ice rushed her stomach. "Wait...have you...Is that-is that normal? But why then..." She stopped herself, sinking teeth through her bottom lip. Honestly, could there not be a damn built between mind and mouth? "Never mind...ah...yes training. How the others fared. Would you prefer to face them in the joust or not?" Change the subject. Quick and smooth like a chipped blade.

Back at camp only half of their company had returned. Most already well into their drink either in mourning for their pride or celebration. Jacqueline was suddenly very quick to attend anything else and avoid Friderick as long as possible. Put up sword and banner, check on the horses. Her mind danced and reeled around the conversation. A brothel. Why did it surprise her? Well women were expected to be virgins up until marriage, pure. Not expected of men. Part of her didn't even assume nobility went to such establishments. They weren't prone to such base desires right? It didn't matter, shouldn't matter. Why would her mind not just cooperate and stay calm, maintain the illusion? Of course she couldn't avoid Friderick forever given the whole being his squire thing. She would have to attend when called.

 

[BennyQ]

“You’ll find out.” Friderick simply said in a vague, mysterious tone. Making love to a woman for the first time was a combination of terror and pleasure. But it would be the type of confidence booster that a boy like Jacque could use. It was a cheap ploy but a woman crying one’s name in lust could have quite an effect on a man. He was sure Jacque would enjoy it, though hopefully the boy wasn’t too sweet and naïve to do something stupid. Friderick could tell the boy was a one-woman only type of individual but if Friderick played his cards right, that one woman would be a very lucky person to have Jacque and his attentions.

He paused and turned to look at Jacque when he seemed surprised by the whole offer. Was it normal? The fact they were going to go only once was abnormal in fact. But turning an Esquire into a Knight was more than just teaching them to fight. It involved turning the young boy into a man. And making love to a woman was a part of that, though not the entire ordeal. At least that’s how Friderick saw it. Others thought differently. He figured he had touched the boy’s noble sensibilities with such an offer. Oh, Jacque was such a softie. Shame he needed to kill that aspect about him but it was a cruel, tough world out there and there was no place for such vulnerability.

He let the matter slide for now.

“What I prefer doesn’t matter. You don’t get to pick your battles on preference. Only if you’re lucky and prepared, which is rather impossible in this sort of competition. You face whatever comes at you.” Friderick explained, before giving a shrug. “Facing one of our companions would be easier though. Better to fight the devils you know and not the ones you don’t right.” He said, arriving at their campsite. It was now afternoon, with the sun reaching its zenith in the sky, and it was becoming hot. Jacque seemed to know his duties so Friderick left him to it, while he undressed a little and redressed his wounds on his head. It throbbed still and he hoped it wouldn’t affect his sleep or concentration tomorrow. Hopefully the wound stayed closed as well and not bleed into his eye too.

The others filtered back in during the day. They had mostly lost in the qualifying melees. All except Ser Hermmanus, accompanied by his grinning esquire, Fabien. He was quick to regale the other squires about Ser Hermmanus’ victory in the ring, a duel lasting nearly an hour. He gave quite a commentary on it, enthralling some of the squires. Fabien loved being the center of attention for them. Some of the knights were going to try and attempt a hunting party, since evening time would see all the taverns and inns full of people, with all the shops and markets cleaned of their goods except for the low quality foodstuff no one wanted. It was then though they were approached by a well-dressed herald, bearing the symbol and flag of Count Liudhard, their host.

“My Lord the Count of Archmouth bids you all to attend him at the Keep for a celebratory feast, especially those among you who have qualified. Err…Ser Hermannus of the Snow and the Baron of Alnerwick, Ser Friderick. What answer may I return?” The herald requested of them.

“We’ll come.” Ser Hermannus said, gesturing to Fabien to get his gear together. The other knights were pleased to attend as well, the thought of hot food and a decent roof over their heads being quite appealing.

“I cannot.” Friderick said. “My compliments to the generous Count Liudhard but I’m afraid rest and slumber beckons. My wound bothers me. I shall remain behind and hold the fort down.” He nodded to the other knights. The herald bowed and went on his way to find other noble guests. The knights began to prepare to head over to the Keep, all except Friderick. And that meant Jacque as well had to remain behind.

Fabien snickered and made sure to shoulder bump Jacque. “Be like your Baron.” He sneered at Jacque. “Know when you’ve lost and pack it in. Don’t waste anyone’s time because you ain’t going to be anyone.” He taunted and got a few snickers from the other squires. They all went off, leaving Friderick and Jacque behind.

“Are you done with your chores?” Friderick said over to Jacque. “Build the fire up. Here.” He suddenly tossed Jacque his helm. The boy better catch it. “Wash it out with clean water then bring it back, filled. You need to wash and dress my wound again. I can’t see my own forehead.” He instructed the boy and sat by the dying embers of their campfire, waiting. Why couldn’t he do any of that stuff, like building up the fire himself? Well then what would be the point of having a squire?

“Are you sad you don’t get to go to the feast?” He asked Jacque when the boy returned with what Friderick wanted.

 

[LilGunner]

As Jacqueline went about some chores she pondered the implications with the brothel. More just piled into her already chaotic mind. For a common, lowborn type perhaps it was more frequent. For highborn though, were they not held to a higher standard of behavior? It seemed to her that frequent brothel visits was unseemly. More to the point, did women visit brothels? The answer seemed a simple no. Chastity and loyalty were paramount for a woman. Virginal until marriage then faithful to said husband until death. Did men visit brothels after marriage? For a moment she wondered if her father had but shook her head, not wanting to think of that. Gross. Then she wondered how often Friderick had visited them. Not that it mattered. Of course it didn't matter. The true terror was going at all. It would become very clear, very quickly, that she was parading about as a boy. Would the whores tell? Maybe she would have to pay them extra and very well for their silence.

With chores completed Jacqueline went to sit amongst the squires. She had a couple friends among the lads and just as many enemies. Fabien was irritating as usual. Sir Hermannus being the only other of their group to qualify for the joust. While she managed a little happiness for the knight her eyes rolled near to the point of pain with Fabien's recalling of the story. Jacqueline yawned, bored with the other squrie's fat head. He was positively beaming as the other squires, especially his lackeys, listed with rapt attention. One would think this was their first time ever seeing a fight.

Praise God the herald arrive, silencing Fabien's fat mouth. Jacqueline's eyebrows raised at the invitation. All of their camp invited to the feast but Sir Hermannus and Friderick's names were called out in particular. She glanced to Friderick, a little hopeful for a feast. If nothing else she did enjoy a good meal. A darn good thing she enjoyed fighting so much otherwise she might go to fat like many noble folk. Friderick declined. Jacqueline found that strange and a little disappointing. Just a little and only for the sake of a really good meal. Then again the beef stew and ale had been quite filling. Though she did wonder if the Count's chefs made lemon cakes. No use wondering.

With the preparations to go Jacqueline stood aside, chiefly alone as the squires filtered away to attend their knights in preparations. Suddenly her shoulder jarred. She didn't even need to look or hear Fabien's voice to know who hit her. His comment and the snickers made her chuckle darkly right back. She snatched up a stick to lob at the idiot's head but stopped at Friderick's voice. Her head whipped around just in time to catch the tossed helm, dropping the robust stick in the process. Fetch and build. A squire was just a servant with titles. "Aye," she said with a nod and headed off first to take care of the helm.

It wasn't far to the river, flowing sweet and clean. She waded in ankle deep to get to cleaner, silt-free water. A couple rinses to get the blood, sweat, and grit out before filling with cool, clear water. Gone only a few minutes Jacqueline returned with haste. Wash and dress the wound. Easy enough. She gently wedged the helm between some logs before going to breathe life back into the dwindling fire. It was good the rains had held off. The wood nice and dry to feed hungry flames. Just a few twigs, thin sticks and the fire came back to life, greedily lapping at larger sticks then logs she fed to it.

Friderick's question snapped her head up a little. Her lips pursed in thought a moment before giving a shrug. "I'll just miss the food," she said with a grin. "Especially if they serve lemon cakes. Those have always been my favorite." Her home sat a decent distance south even in her home country. Lemons weren't what one might call abundant but certainly not as much of a rarity as they might be if one ventured further north. "Otherwise no. I'm not overly fond of feasts and balls and the like."

Jacqueline prepped some bindings, rags, and salve to tend to the cut on Friderick's head. Her head blessedly steady as she dipped a clean rag into the water to wash the cut once again. Low, easy breath. Calm. She tried hard not to stare at the rugged, handsome planes of his face no the thick, lightly curling hair. A difficult task seeing as how the cut was on his head. Just focus on the cut. Easy enough. "I am surprised you declined, won't your lady love be attending? She is certain to miss your presence." Jacqueline mentally patted herself on the back. Even with such a question that set a little flame in her guts she managed to keep her voice steady. "Perhaps it would have been wiser to attend should that....flamboyant creature dogging her steps make an appearance."

Small fingers gentle and blissfully steady. Cleaning around the wound then carefully dabbing salve to the cut to help it heal. The work required, a time or two, to push back the delightfully thick and silky locks. Jacqueline's ears warmed at the action even as she bound and tied the bandages. Praise God she was finishing up. Though it was only then she was truly struck by their difference in height. Even though he was sitting they were still nearly at eye level. Folk in her country, despite being prosperous, were notoriously smaller than most others. Her mother in particular had been a very tiny woman and her father, while taller than mother, would still be dwarfed by Friderick.

 

[BennyQ]

The sun was beginning to set on that day and to Friderick it seemed the melee had been weeks ago instead of only that morning. He hoped this skewed sense of time was simply from the boredom of enforced rest rather than any serious head wound. While Jacque was away to fetch water, Friderick took care to remove his surcoat and pieces of his armour. Shoulder pardons, gauntlets, greaves, and his belt, setting them aside and then pulling his coat of mail over his head, remaining only in a tunic and his trousers. The fire that Jacque soon built after helped to keep him warm as the cool night airs settled slowly around them.

“Lemon cakes.” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. Such a delicacy had never been seen in Alnerwick, his home. For a boy from a high noble family it was probably a normalcy to have such luxurious treats on the regular. “Stay away from desserts. It’s not good for a warrior’s diet. Stick to meats, greens, and plain bread.” He sat there on the log that served as a bench for the knights, elbows resting on his knees and bent over somewhat, allowing Jacque to begin cleaning and washing his head. The cut wasn’t as bad as it had been earlier but it still looked ugly. He just wanted it clean and wrapped up, though he intended to remove the bandages tomorrow so that it wouldn’t discomfort his helm, which could lead to serious injury.

He controlled his hisses of pain when his squire began to touch it. “You’re right, I should have.” He answered Jacque, when he suggested that he should have went just to see Lady Aurianne if anything. Friderick knew she would be there, probably in the presence of other women and even a few courtiers. But he shouldn’t have to worry, for she had given him his favor. That meant something didn’t it? A promise, a wish, a longing to be together. He had to trust that she would. “But then I would be made to drink and eat those…lemon cakes. I’ve had more than enough liquor for one day or else it might affect me tomorrow. It might make me a prude, but I’d rather be on top of my senses for the joust.”

And then Lady Aurianne would see how prepared and determined he was when he won the tourney. For her.

Jacque worked diligently on his wound, almost as if he had some experience with it. That was quite surprising for a boy to know, given that healing was often considered the work of women. Friderick had thought he would have to coach Jacque through the cleaning process but the boy knew. Had he dealt with many wounds before? He mentioned having a sister that was quite rowdy, perhaps he was used to it through that. Friderick recalled when he had been a young, energetic lad, he had always been tumbling and getting scrapes and bruises. It was just a part of that life. Still, a wisewoman or nursemaid would clean him up after, not another male. A strange combination then in Jacque, to have to make him into a sturdy warrior while also seeing him good with healing.

And moreover, after a long day of toil and labour, without having bathed, there ought to be a odour. A strong male musk, from each of them. What he smelled off of Jacque was different. Did the boy dab himself with perfume when Friderick wasn’t looking? Or did he just naturally secrete such a strange smelling aroma? It was quite…appealing, more profound the closer Jacque stood to him. This was a strange lad indeed.

When Jacque had finished, Friderick raised his hand and gingerly touched the bandaged area. It felt tight and effective. “Thank you.” He said, rising to his feet, making his height over Jacque more emphasized. He clapped the boy on his shoulder in gratitude as well, his large hand engulfing that shoulder, which he was pleased to note was becoming firm with muscle. “There won’t be any sparring tonight but you can use this moment to wash my gear now. Become acquainted with the pieces. When you return home after all this, you should have your own made.” He said, referring to the shoulder pardons, gauntlets, and greaves. They would smell of his musk, not entirely disgusting, but they were men and they ought to be used to each other and desensitized to such things. Not all could be lucky with a fine natural aroma like Jacque. He smelled like a girl I would think.

“Make sure the horses are watered and fed too. I’ll need Wingfoot tomorrow and I don’t want him fussy because he’s hungry. And then the night is yours. I’m going to rest. No curfew tonight, until the others return, but I would remind you to stay aware of the time. No sparring tonight but we will have a warm up tomorrow morning. Understood?” Friderick said, reaching to peel his tunic over his head, exposing his muscular torso, his taut abdomen and wrought arms, to sight and touch of wind. He tossed it into his tent and followed after it, mumbling a “Goodnight” as he crawled onto his cot. Laying on his stomach, now his toned back was on display, tendons dancing under his tight flesh with any little movement.

Yet still it was difficult to sleep, given the anxiety of the competition tomorrow, and he drifted in and out until the sun began to rise the following day. He was first to awake and stood in the crisp morning air, stretching and cracking his limbs before getting dressed. He awoke Jacque by simply kicking the boy’s foot. “You got five minutes to eat, piss, and get dressed. Then we sparring.” He told him and they were the only ones out of the group of six knights and six squires who seemed to do so that early in the morning. Everyone else got to sleep in, to take it easy, to enjoy the celebration. But Friderick insisted that they work.

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline was in no way surprised Friderick had comments about lemon cakes. All she could do was smirk a little in response. She did her best to listen to him, after all he had been at this for a while and she was there to learn from him. When it came to lemon cakes though all of that would dissipate faster than puddles from late summer showers. His disdain for desserts didn't linger as thoughts drifted to his vapid lady love. He didn't speak much about her though, just addressing more disdain for lemon cakes. This time it made her give a small, amused snort. Friderick truly seemed to hate finer things. Expect anything having to do with his featherbrained love. They often said love was blind. Friderick was an exemplary example.

They fell into an easy quiet as tiny, deft fingers worked gently and diligently. So near in proximity Jacqueline could hardly fail to notice both of them were starting to smell a bit ripe. It had been quite a while since they were able to bathe. Even a wash in a stream let alone a proper bath. Praise God short hair was part of the ruse. She couldn't imagine trying to care for her curtain of thick, wavy hair in such places. With as much free time as Friderick promised perhaps it was a good opportunity for a bit of a wash. Jacqueline didn't rush the cleaning and salving, content to take her time. Silly really. Should have just gone through it quickly and been done. Of course one could only take so much time for a minor injury. She wrapped the wound and tied off the bandage.

Jacqueline took a small step back when done, wiping excess salve on her britches. "Of course," she said absently at his thanks. Suddenly he rose up. Still fairly close she had to tilt her head back to look up at the mountain of a man. Standing she barely stood as high as his chest. His massive paw suddenly landing on her shoulder, swallowing the joint whole. Briefly Jacqueline prayed she might gain a couple more inches. Few would believe her to be a man if she remained so small. Friderick rattled off a couple of instructions. No sparring this night but wash gear and tend to horses. Easy enough and left plenty of time to do as she pleased. Mostly a quick bath in the cold river. "Understood," she said with a sharp nod.

Everything came to a shuddering halt in her mind. Without care or word Friderick peeled off his shirt as if it were the simplest, most natural thing to do. Jacqueline's green eyes widened as she unabashedly stared. Less unabashedly and more completely unable to look away. Every inch of skin pulled taught over rippling cords of muscle. God have mercy. He didn't even seem to notice his red faced squire simply staring as he crawled into his tent and laid down to sleep. Some snapped and Jacqueline shook her head, lightly tapping the side of her skull. Move away, clean gear. Focus. She definitely needed to say some prayers and do some repenting. With a slow, jerking start she managed to gather up his gear and carry it down to the river along with a clean pair of britches, shirt, and fresh roll of bindings.

Jacqueline found a section of river, quite downstream, overgrown with holly and rushes. A perfect spot to bathe in privacy. First she tended to the armor. She was careful to scrub and dry it well. No need for rust to develop. His gear held a similarly strong scent to it. Metal, dust, leather, horse, and of course the strong but not entirely unpleasant masculine scent of Friderick. Sure, Jacqueline did enjoy the smell of old books and even of flowers. The smell of the armor though there was something so much more to it. It was strength and determination, a primal sort of smell. Almost a shame to wash it out. Of course no amount of dunking and scrubbing made the smell completely disappear. She laid out the pieces on the dry banks of the shallow river, the sun and warm air would dry them quick enough.

In the peace of the late afternoon, with all the other knights and squires gone, Jacqueline felt safe enough to disrobe, well tucked into the growth of holly and reeds. She washed her clothes as best as possibly and hung them to dry. Then she spent a decent amount of time scrubbing herself, dunking her short hair into the river and giving it a decent wash. It felt incredible to clean off the dust and grit even if the river raised goos prickles all over her body. Once clean enough she dried off and set to binding down her breasts once more, pulling the cloth as tight a possible. Such a task would be far easier with assistance. Once dressed again she gathered everything up and headed back to camp. Wingfoot and William were fed and brushed, water buckets were refilled. Finally, as the sun disappeared, she crawled into bed. Fully dressed as always.

Her sleep was deep, untroubled by strange dreams. Dreams at all for the matter. She felt she had barely laid down where her foot was suddenly kicked. A side sleeper she gave a small groan and lolled her head back, looking up at Friderick. Five minutes. With a wide yawn Jacqueline ragged herself up, ruffling her hair. The good thing about sleeping in one's clothing meant not having to dress. Slow to wake she ambled off to take care of her business before returning to have a quick bite before grabbing gear to spar. It only took a few good whacks to fully wake her up. The day should have been an exhilaration. It was the day of the joust. She should have been far more excited yet, somehow, even while rooting for Friderick she found she didn't entirely care. Strange as that seemed. Even still, once their morning was over, she was quick about chores. Assisting in arming Friderick up and putting trappings on Wingfoot. The closer the time came the more awake and excited she managed to grow.

 

[BennyQ]

Their sparring lasted shorter than the usual hour but that because there was much bustle to occur that day. Friderick made sure Jacque was fully awake by pressing the boy firmly, while encouraging him to lead and attempt to attack his own guard. Afterwards, they could eat and settle down for the coming joust. He was quite contented with the efforts Jacque put in cleaning and maintaining his gear as Friderick adorned it that morning. The others were rousing as well, though most would be just spectating. Breakfast was a warm stew, mostly of vegetable, and with Wingfoot prepped by his dutiful Esquire, they could be off to the jousting grounds.

It was a narrow patch of grass and sands, with a thick wooden raising between that neither competitor could cross. Bleachers and benches were arranged all about, with the middle seats reserved for the high nobility, such as Count Liudhard and his wife. Lady Aurianne was there, as well as Count Theodore, and many others. As guests filed in, the sixteen competitors who had qualified for the joust were to gather in the rear, where the clerks assigned them their position on the board. One had to win four matches to become the final winner. And everyone there looked quite formidable and determined.

Some of the knights didn’t have squires in the traditional manner but grown men assisting them, trusting in their experience and maturity rather than that of an idiot boy. A draw was made and slowly names were picked and assigned onto the board. Friderick, the Baron of Alnerwick, was set to face one particular Ser Amator of Crowfalls in the third round. Ser Hermannus was jousting in the eighth round. With the positions decided, it was time to joust. Silver trumpets summoned all to the main jousting grounds now. The sixteen knights and their Esquires and banner-bearers lined up across the field, given applause and acclamation for a short moment before another blow of the trumpets silenced them all.

In that moment, it was probably the quietest the town had been since the tournament had been decreed. It was time to begin. First, a religious ceremony conducted by a trio of priests in black and white cloth gave thanksgiving to God, followed by a short speech from Count Liudhard on the merits of fair play and honour. Friderick meanwhile tied Lady Aurianne’s favor about the hilt of his lance, his hand coming around it. He would win. For her. God-willing.

He looked up during the Count’s speech and saw his Lady Aurianne quite cozied up to Count Theodore again, practically hip to hip. Or was it because he had a servant there with a platter of rare finger-foods and appetizers for her to enjoy?

Count Liudhard finished his speech and swung his arm. The applause rose up again to a thunderous roar. The joust may begin! They moved off the track so that the first two competitors could go at it, Ser Helisacher of Clayhorn versus Ser Chararic of Basinbay. Two broken spears later, Ser Charaic lay in the sand. Next was Ser Theoto Arbogastes versus Ser Siclandus of Shaderun. On the first tilt, Ser Theoto Arbogastes laid out the larger Ser Siclandus. People cheered. Wine and ale was drank. And the sun rose higher into the air. It was Friderick’s match next, against Ser Amator of Crowfalls. He didn’t say a word, though he expected Jacque to be nearby with replacement lances should he break his during the tilt.

“You’ll be back on the benches soon.” Fabien mocked Jacque. “It’ll be good, they won’t hear your girlish voice among the other ladies.” He laughed.

The two knights lined up at either side of the track, with the railing between them. Count Liudhard gave his signal to begin and both men urged their horses on. Wingfoot in a haughty display rose up on his hindlegs a moment before speeding forth like an arrow shot from a bow. Friderick gritted his jaw and balanced his joust under his shoulder, keeping it level for the other knight, who was doing the same. At the last moment though, he leaned back as Ser Amator struck, letting his point glance over his shoulder padron, while Friderick slammed into Ser Amator’s ribs. Ser Amator’s lance point however glided all along his shoulder and glanced off the side of his head, causing his head and wound to throb all over again. But both men remained seated, with a point scored each.

His lance was still good so he didn’t need another one. He raised it up vertically as Wingfoot came back around, the two knights nodding to one another in respect as they resumed their original position. Pressing his covered face a moment to the hilt of his lance, where Lady Aurianne’s silk hankerchief was tied, he lowered it and was ready. The two charged one another again and in an explosive clash, both men struck each other again. Only this time…Ser Amator lost his balance and fell off the side of his horse, while Friderick squeezed with all the might in his thighs to stay ahorse. He had won his first round.

There were five more opening matches to go. Ten knights rode up to joust and only five moved up victorious, alongside Friderick, Ser Theotos Arbogastes, and Ser Helisachar. Ser Hermannus had succeeded as well, much to Fabien’s jubliations and haughty sneers thrown towards Jacque. So far, there had been no injuries. No broken splinters wedging into flesh and no broken limbs from fall or strike. Friderick remained atop his horse and watched silently as the others jousted, measuring his opponents up. His head was starting to throb again and he felt he should look at it but kept thinking it was nothing. Yet as the second round began with the remaining eight, the quarter finals, he decided he couldn’t leave it to chance.

Drawing Jacque aside, he took off his helm and revealed half his face soaked with thin trickles of blood pouring from his wound. “Clean it.” He urged Jacque, to fetch water and cloth if it could be found. Ser Theotos Arbogastes and Ser Helisachar were up next. “Let’s hope it’s a quick one.”

“That Theotos must be a cheater.” Ser Hermannus who was nearby commented to Friderick and Jacque.

“Or he is just that good.” Friderick mumbled. The two knights were lining up and he was still bleeding gently, having to blink to clear it when it got in his eye. He could not use his gauntlet or sleeve to wipe it, as pressing metal to a wound might only exasperate it. Hopefully Jacque made it back in time.

 

[LilGunner]

Arriving at the grounds was entirely different suddenly. The air was rife with excitement. The crowd a loud yet low drone of voices. Jacqueline's head whipped around at the sight. Honestly it was the exact same and yet, somehow, still so different. She kept sharp and quick pace with Friderick, decently uncertain of where to be but tried to seem competent at least. First it was to the back corner where the order was assigned. Friderick's would be quick up, but not too quick. She would get a chance to see other squires helping their knights first so she would get a decent idea. With a call of trumpets she followed alongside of Friderick once again with the roaring cheers of the crowd. The energy at the arena was intoxicating, it had always been but to be on the field, surrounded by the din of revelers was something entirely different. By then Jacqueline was nearly quivering with excitement.

Another trumpet call and silence fell. Priests in their robes appeared for prayers. Jacqueline bowed her head and closed her eyes. Along with them she prayed for the safety of the knights and a victory for Friderick. Even if it meant he would be dedicating a victory to Lady Featherface she wanted him to win. Despite his odd, blind tendency towards vapid women and the occasional masculine bumbling she believe Friderick a good, worthy man of God's graces. With Amens said the count ambled into a speech. Honestly Jacqueline would rather hear the chanting prayers of the priests again rather than the count babble on. More importantly not have to watch Friderick's lady love so cozied up to the ponce again, nibbling on finger foods proffered by him. Jacqueline glanced to Friderick, quite certain he was seeing it too. How many times had these so similar scenes played out? If nothing else he was determined. A dog with a favorite bone.

With a wave of his arms and thunderous applause the tournament began. They were quick to leave the field for the first pair of knights. Jacqueline's eyes danced between knights and squires, getting a good idea of her duties. Funny she had been to tournaments before and had hardly noticed the squires. The invisible heroes of the field, always at the ready to assist and no accolades. Someday the lads would receive their rewards, once they too were knighted. The sun climbed higher and time passed swiftly. Before she knew it the thrid round was upon them. Jacqueline was quick to assist. Holding Wingfoot steady as Friderick mounted and passed him shield and lance. As he approached the list she stood back, taking up another lance at the ready. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the long, wooden pole. Off to the side she heard the snide comments of Fabien. Her lips curled into a sneer but she didn't even grace the comment with a look over at Fabien.

The first hits were solid but no lances broke. Jacqueline was careful not to cheer too loudly, having been called out several times for her high voice. Her lips pressed to a thin line was he passed the dais, giving his salute and showing off the silk rag. Wingfoot moved with ease under his master, calm and confident. Another tilt, a splinter of wood dug into Jacqueline's thumb as she held the spare lance tightly. A mighty clatter of metal. Ser Amator wobbled, his plate too heavy to keep balanced, and he tumbled to the ground. "Yes!" Jacqueline wouldn't help a celebratory whoop, punching the air. She set the lance aside and trotted over to Friderick and Wingfoot to help hold the horse steady as they waited. Easier to remain mounted rather than struggle up again.

Time was passing somehow slowly and yet with haste. Jacqueline held Wingfoot, who was still somehow so calm and steady, her eyes glued to the lists. No major injuries thus far. That was good. Last thing they wanted was ladies feinting in their seats from the sight of blood. She didn't realized Friderick was trying to get her attention at first. With a start she turned and looked up at him as he removed his helm, his face streaked with blood. Her eyes went suddenly wide at the site. "Water, yes," she said in an almost high chirp before dashing off. "Water, water, water," she mumbled to herself. There had to be somewhere to get water and cloth of any sort. After some searching she found herself outside of the tavern once more. Thank God it was open. Few patrons were inside, a couple were defeated knights, drowning their loss in ale.

"Miss! Miss, water please," she waved the woman over. "And cloth if you have it." The woman looked momentarily perplexed but then realization dawned on her. Hard to forget the mountain of a man and his tiny, red haired squire. She gave Jacqueline a mug of cool, clear, water and some rags. "Thank you, I shall return the mug!" Jacquline called as she dashed out the door, mud flying off her boots as she bolted back to the arena, praying she would make it in time.

Praise God she made it. Ducking and dodging around others she pulled up beside Friderick. She dragged a mounting block over and hopped up. Seated on Wingfoot and being so tall Friderick was a giant in the saddle. Even on the mounting block Jacqueline had to stand on her toes and coax Friderick to lean as far over as he could without falling. In a hurry she was a little less gentle than when she had cleaned the cut previously. "If only we had sap," she muttered to herself as she tore bits of the rag off to tuck under the bandage to try and stop the flow of blood. It wouldn't hold for too long especially given the need to keep the bandaging thin so his helm would fit properly.

Jacqueline cleaned and worked right up to when it came time for his second round. "Please hold," she prayed as she jumped off the block and trotted to grab up lance and shield for him once more. Just a little longer, the bandaging needed to hold just a little longer. At least Friderick's face was cleaned up and the extra bits of linen might sop up some of the blood as the wound continued to ooze.

 

[BennyQ]

“Took you long enough to get the water. Where’d you go for it, Asoya?” Friderick commented when Jacque finally came rushing back. He didn’t dismount or even lower himself, staying mounted and at the ready, for who knew when the next round might be called. And sometimes the noble hosts would get impatient and disqualify even over a moment’s delay. Still the boy managed to do his job quite efficiently, even managing to get a bandage to hold. But his helm was made to his exact specifications. The small band that the bandage formed around his brow was enough to make his helm fit uneasily. The edges dug into his skin. And right next to his brain, it was quite profound.

But he wasn’t called up next. The nobles who dictated and watched the tournament, with little consideration for the actual competitors, decided they would flip the ordering and go back up the lists, rather than starting at the top. That meant that the last competitors, the 7th and 8th match winners, were up next, with barely any time to rest. Ser Hermannus and another knight were up next, their horses still sweating a little from the previous exertion. It wasn’t fair but the two knights competed with all their energy and vigour.

Ser Hermannus was unhorsed. Fabien’s face dropped with the sting of defeat and humiliation, and Friderick looked uneasy. Another one of their company knocked out. It was just him left to represent their little geographical block. He supposed that saved him from having to tilt against a friend too.

The Baron competed in the third out of the fourth match in the quarter-finals, up against Ser Helisachar. The side of his head was throbbing again, like drum beats inside his skull. A smart man would have rested and refrained from physical activity but how could he during a time such as this? Friderick had to bare it and he knew it was no small task to do. He didn’t take the lance from Jacque when offered, instead pressing at the exterior of his helm above his wound, trying to keep it tight and firm. Blood was flowing, soaking the bandages. It was thin enough already. It would not hold it forever. The crowd cheered and applauded. Horns were blown with flourish and a drum was beaten somewhere, building up momentum. The two knights took up their position.

He felt a very profound droplet trickled down his cheek, tickling his skin as it went. Inside the stuffy tightness of his helm, he could feel its movement very emphasized.

Count Liudhard gave the signal to begin. Ser Helisachar shouted and so did Friderick, urging their mounts forward. Wingfoot, sensing his master’s unease, gave a rumbling neigh before picking up his pace, a sign of uncertainty that might not bode well. The first tilt went well however. Friderick managed to deflect his opponent’s blow with his shield, though his lance missed completely. It still counted as a point for Ser Helisachar and a subtraction for Friderick for missing. The second tilt was terrible however. Though it was Ser Helisachar who missed his blow that time, Friderick didn’t, but he misjudged the timing and the recoil from the blow nearly tipped him off his own horse. He retained, much to the thrill of the crowd who all edged to the tip of their seats in anticipation of a fall. Friderick couldn’t help it. His wound was pounding now, interrupting even his thoughts as if someone was yelling in his ear the entire time.

He kept pressing at his head, trying to squeeze the wound shut or something, even wipe at it if he could have gotten his fingers within. There was no time to remove his helm and strap. Count Liudhard, drunk and no doubt enthusiastic from the great showing he was getting for his tournament, was waiting for them to resume their positions so they could try again. And they did. Third tilt. If there was no clear winner, Ser Helisachar would win by points.

Friderick had to blink rapidly to keep his eye free of blood that was pooling around his upper eye lash. It irritated his eye greatly yet on the outside portrayed himself as in control as if unaffected. Did anyone even know? He could feel his loss was coming on. He needed to focus. The third tilt. Friderick gritted his teeth as he watched the Count’s arm, ready to fall. It did and both men shouted, sending their horses onwards.

He tried a most risky strategy, giving all or nothing. Dropping his shield halfway, he grasped his lance with his free arm and added to his thrusting power. Both men struck each other with a tremendous crash, both lances breaking in a shower of splinters. Friderick was struck hard on the shoulder and nearly lurched out of his saddle, at least knocked clean backwards so that his back was upon Wingfoot’s rear. But Ser Helisachar took his hit dead on the chest. He fell flat on the sands, while Friderick managed to swing himself forward and survive. He raised his arm and the crowd cheered his victory. He was going to the semi-finals. Just one more and he could win this.

Returning to Jacque, he was already undoing his helm strap. “Water. Cloth.” He ordered, breathing hard. The blow had hurt, his head wound was throbbing, and lots of blood was now flowing, caking one side of his face. The next opponents were already up and much to Friderick’s misfortune, it ended on the first tilt. That meant the ordering was flipped. And Friderick was up first…against Ser Theotos Arbogastes. “Leave it.” Was all he could say to Jacque. He adorned his helm and went back to the sands. He was virtually blinded in one eye. Blood had dripped right in, stinging him greatly. He had one eye and not the eye closest to his opponent. Opposite to his lance arm, he would need expert timing or he would lose. The blood was warm at first, then it would go cold, giving him shivers, when he especially needed a firm grip. But no one wanted to hear excuses. And he didn’t give any.

Whatever it was, for some reason too Wingfoot veered to the side when he came closer to the horse of Ser Theotos. Friderick’s wayward aiming was made far worse. And Ser Theotos was dead on, as if he expected the veering to occur and had planned for it. Friderick went down and Ser Theotos rode on, to the adoration of the crowd.

The Baron of Alnerwick was eliminated. His frustration invoked itself when he ripped his helm off and then with a fierce kick, sent it flying into a corner of the yard. Some of the crowd…laughed in mockery at his outrage. Poor sport! Sore loser! A wise man did notice the blood and nodded gravely to a fellow spectator but their sympathy wouldn’t overturn the results. Leaving Jacque to recover his helm, Friderick took his horse and began to stomp off the grounds, uncaring for the tournament finish.

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline worked as quick as possible, trying to ignore Friderick's annoyed quip. Though she had a few choice words on her tongue for him she kept them at bay. He was just stressed and likely in pain. She let out a slow, soothing breath as she finished up the bandaging, trying to keep it as minimal as possible but knew it wouldn't hold well. As luck would have it he wasn't called for the next tilt. Jacqueline glanced over as Ser Hermanus was called to the field. While she didn't wish failure on the man she was quite pleased to see Fabien's face fall when Ser Harmanus was defeated. Who would be seated on the benches now? Mending the wound and cleaning the blood was done in time for Friderick to be called. She hopped down from the block and rushed to grab lance and shield for him.

As the rounds progressed Friderick's victory seemed almost certain. There were moments of worry where he might nearly become unseated. Jacqueline's fingers gripped spare lances like life lines. The moment of failure for the other knights brought a quiet shout of victory. Yet the matches came faster and faster. There was no time to tend to the wound. Despite how calm he seemed she noticed him pressing his gauntlet to his helm repeatedly. Likely the bandages were already soaked through and leaking into his eye again. They needed time to clean it up again and bandage as best as possible.

His tilt with Ser Helisachar wasn't going well. Her hands once again clutched a spare lance, always ready to offer it up if needed. Three tilts was all. If Friderick couldn't manage to unseat the man it would be over. "Come on..." she muttered quietly to herself. One more tilt. Her heart stopped as Friderick tossed down his shield. What on earth was he doing?! He was going to get himself killed! All for what? To impress Lady Dunderhead? Men! Stupid, stupid creatures. Eyes wide she watched as he gripped the lance with both hands. Madman. Yet somehow it worked. Throwing his full weight and strength into the point he drove Ser Helisachar off his horse. Just a moment, Friderick was knocked back and splayed across Wingfoots flanks. He managed to right himself and stay seated. "Yes!" She cheered and applauded, her high shout drowned out by the roar of the crowds. Dropping the spare lance she ran out to fetch his dropped shield and bring it back.

They arrived at the end at the same moment and she hear his shout for water and cloth. "Right away," she called back. Jacqueline got barely three steps away before the next tilt was called. They were flipping the order around again. Jacqueline frowned. This was hardly fair. Who were they to change the order up so? She growled a little and ran back to pass up shield and lance. Behind the helm she couldn't see his face but imagined half of it covered in fresh, bright blood. They needed a moment. This was utter horse droppings! Jacqueline stood by with a spare lance as usual as Friderick headed to the lists. He would do fine. He had been combatting the blood this whole time. Low, slow, calming breaths. They dashed forward. Uncharacteristically Wingfoot suddenly veered, sending Jacqueline heart and breath to still again. Ser Theotos drove his lance home. Time slowed as Friderick tumbled back off of wingfoot. The roar of the crowd bellowed like a might beast before time returned again. Jacqueline shook her head and dropped the lance, running out to the field. Before she could try and recover wingfoot or help Friderick to his feet he had already stood, ripped off his helm and kicked it clear across the arena. The mocking laughter burned her ears as she turned and ran to recover the helm.

By the time she got retrieved the gritty, bloody helm Friderick was already stomping away from the grounds, Wingfoot in hand. Jacqueline bit her lip. What had happened? Wingfoot shied from nothing. If anything he was a big bully. Sighing she trotted to catch up, collecting his shield along the way. She said nothing as she finally caught up to Friderick's side. She could think of nothing to say. He would likely rebuff any soothing words and he was clearly far too angry to speak of Wingfoot's oddity. So she walked quietly by his side, occasionally glancing up to his face, streaking with both fresh and drying blood.

When they returned to camp Jacqueline took Wingfoot from him and led the horse away to remove his saddle and trappings. William whinnied a welcome. Jacqueline ran about, fetching water for the horse and putting up his gear. She would worry about a brush after tending to Friderick. Once Wingfoot was decently settled she trotted back to Friderick to assist in removing the armor. Gritty and bloody, she would need to clean it again. Still she didn't say anything about the match, not yet, not while it was fresh. She set the pieces of armor aside to take to the river later for a good cleaning and oiling. The tournament was over and the metal would need to be oiled for storage until its next use. Finally time to clean the cut again. Luckily bandaging was plentiful. "This might be better after a wash," she suggested with a mild grin as she tried to mop up both fresh and dried blood. The bandage wouldn't do so well with the sweat and grit in his thick, dark hair.

 

[BennyQ]

His eye was still irritated, half blinking in the sun as he led his horse away. Friderick cursed himself mentally over and over again. Just his luck to sustain a wound just above his eyebrow, to have it reopen during the match and half blind him during his tilt. A small pouty, whiny voice wanted to exclaim it wasn’t fair. But it was, in fact more so than it might be on a battlefield. He had been knocked out of the tournament though and there was no changing things. No appeals. Sympathy would be vain and useless to garner. And Lady Aurianne. He had failed and disappointed her. How was he to face her? How could he wear her favor now with pride?

He heard Jacque trailing behind him as they walked to camp. Furious at all and everything, Friderick’s mind didn’t spare the boy either. What did he expect with a fresh faced inexperienced Esquire? He couldn’t clean his wound properly. He couldn’t bandage it. But that was cruel and undeserved thinking. It had also been Friderick’s choice to take on the boy as his Esquire, because of rank and the payment offered by the Duke. If he wanted a more experienced helper to win, he should have got one. It wasn’t Jacque’s fault. In fact it was supposed to be about him. His first tournament. Handing off Wingfoot to Jacque to tether, Friderick plopped down on the log near the ashen firepit and sighed, moving only limply as Jacque went about removing his armour.

So routine and efficient now, without having to be barked at by Friderick. But he oh so wanted to bark at someone now.

“Maybe better than the last few times.” He ended up sneering. What good was cleaning it now? Of course to prevent infection and disease. “Blood dripped into my eye and I flinched at the most inopportune time. It was out of my control.” Friderick said aloud, having to voice this unfortunate circumstance to someone. It felt good at least to just say it. It wasn’t my fault. But then who’s fault was it then, eh? His opponent, who’s job it was to make it their fault that he lost? With the adrenaline of the tilts passing, Friderick was becoming aware of many other sore spots on his body, especially where he had been struck by his competitor’s lances. They would leave ugly bruises, purplish and black, that would linger for days and weeks. They would ache and look terrible. He tugged at his tunic just to peer at one on his side. His flesh looked mottled and damaged. It would change to a worse colour before it got better.

At least no wooden splinters lodged into flesh, sneaking in through the chinks and gaps in armour sometimes. Or worse, wooden splinters getting into eyeballs. Or men getting knocked off their mounts, caught on their own stirrups, being dragged half to death. “I need to bathe. We will be attending the victory feast after.” He told Jacque. Friderick needed to talk to Lady Aurianne, to let her know why he lost and how it won’t ever happen again. “How was your first tournament as a Esquire then? What did you learn of jousting?” He asked the boy instead. “In the bigger cities, they have a melee tournament just for squires. We’ll enter you in one.” He suggested. Those events were often hell for the competitors and utterly amusing to those spectating. A bunch of green boys, fresh faced and never having been a fight, about twenty or thirty thrown into a sand pit to hammer, whack, and beat each other until one was left standing. The only prize those squires got were bloody noses, busted lips, black eyes, and maybe a loose tooth or two. But it gave them their first pseudo-hint of how combat is.

He didn’t seem to know about Wingfoot veering off at the last moment. He might have survived and won if his steed hadn’t, scoring a hit somehow. His instincts never failed him. And with those, sometimes you didn’t need to see or to see very long to know where to aim and hit.

Once Jacque finished with his cleaning, Friderick got up and went down to the nearby river to bathe. He had Jacque come as well, to hold and guard his finer clothing. Fine only in that it had no rips, tears, or patches, unlike most peasant clothing. Stealing his clothes would be quite a prize to a would-be thief. Garments could pass down for generations if maintained properly and Friderick liked his. It also gave Jacque a magnificent view as Friderick strode into the cold waters butt naked. He wouldn’t see his manhood but his muscular back and strong thighs, as well as the various bruised spots where he had been struck by lances, were all visible. His bathing would be brisk and brief though, as there were some others washing as well. One of them had something interesting to say.

“Did you hear?” A naked, not so fine looking man called out to Friderick. “Come here early in the morning, you can see some red headed nymphs!”

“I didn’t know that.” Friderick simply answered. Nor do I want to.

“Yeah.” The man went on. “Sort of like that ginger cunt you got there. Prettier than my daughters.” He snickered and laughed. Friderick didn’t deign to answer that or respond to such filth, though he shot the man a furious glare. Jacque could stand up for himself. Though, Friderick hoped he wouldn’t, since he had a feeling that man could probably kick his squire’s untrained ass. And Friderick didn’t feel like wadding out of the water naked with his cock in hand to save the boy. It was despicable behavior to spy on women bathing in the river yet it wasn’t their job to police even scene of scum and villainy in the world.

“Don’t worry, you must be a late bloomer.” Friderick said to Jacque as he came out of the water, drying himself with a towel, unashamed of his nakedness. Most men were, at least in front of other men. What was their to see that they couldn’t see on themselves? “I don’t know what the fashion is in Lancaster with facial hair but by God, do grow out your moustache if you can.” Friderick informed Jacque. “I hope it wasn’t who you saw this unfortunate girl bathing by herself and decided to tell everyone. You were out here this morning weren’t you? You should bathe at night in any case. It’s a noble privilege to bathe in the morning so you can look nice for your guests or whoever. But we’re knights. Fighting men. We work and sweat and we toil. Bathing in the morning is useless for us. Bathe at night from now on.” He said, which of course should limit Jacque from encountering any bathing females at that time. He knew the boy had a good heart but the last thing he needed too was getting a repute of being a pervert or tomboy. It was more despicable of nobles who caught girls bathing by the riverside and then stole their clothing. Or worse.

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline was taken back by the sneering comment. Did he blame her for the loss? Well that was hardly fair. She had done her best to keep the wound clean and blood out of his eyes. For a brief moment she looked a little wounded at the comment. Just a moment before a fierce, thin-lipped expression took over followed by a stony silence. He continued to speak but she just kept quiet. He was angry at the loss, that much was clear, and looking for something to blame it on. What he should really blame it on was Wingfoot's off behavior. Did he not know? How could he have not felt Wingfoot veer off like he did? Jacqueline finished mopping up blood as best as she could. His proclamation of needing a bath for the victory feast brought a short, sharp nod. She would wait until he washed to apply new salve and bandages.

"It wasn't much different than watching. I just had more reason to cheer on a specific knight," she said with a mild shrug. The Squire melee tournaments sounded interesting at least. "I would like that...I think..." she said with a small tilt of her head. She didn't know squires got to fight on occasion. Though she did wonder what the point was. More entertainment? Watch a bunch of dumb boys beat the snot out of one another. Glancing over towards where Fabien usually stayed she smirked. Oh how she would love to beat him silly.

Jacqueline walked along with Friderick to the river, carrying his finer clothing in hand. It didn't quite dawn on her yet. They got to the river and her feet skittered to a halt. There were other men already there and bathing. Immediately her ears turned to flame. Friderick was no strange to shamelessness and stripped down. God in heaven. She could hardly help but stare as he unabashedly strode into the water. Every muscle hard and moving beneath bruised skin. Lord forgive her. Very suddenly she found the canopy of the trees rather fascinating. Find a bird, find a flower, something to keep her mind off of it. Though her attempts at distraction were all for naught as the other man called out. Her head whipped around, ice running down her spine and pooling in her guts. Red headed nymphs? No, that was silly. Just foolish thing men spoke of. She was certain no one had seen her bathing.

At least Friderick didn't seem amused by the comments. Lewd as they were. Honestly, men were pigs. Luckily for Friderick Jacqueline had nothing to say to the man and his comments. Friderick's comments caught her attention and she turned only to find him naked as a babe. Holy spirts. Jacqueline clenched her teeth tightly as Friderick dried off as though this were normal and they could have a casual conversation. "I...will try..." she said through tight teeth, finding the canopy very interesting again. Of course growing facial hair would be rather difficult for her. His sudden accusations, however, forced her eyes down, taken aback by his words which, as usual, became a lecture. "But I...I didn't see..." She tried to argue back. At first she was merely surprised at being accused of such which turned to mild anger as he lectured. "I would never do that to an...a woman! Yes I was out here but just to fetch water, I bathed last night. And I don't appreciate being accused of being some...some...lecherous pervert." Jacqueline face was a little flush from embarrassment and outrage. "Oh, and for your information, Wingfoot veered when you got struck. The blood didn't help, I'm sure, but he darted away helping unseat you." Of course she hadn't a clue why Wingfoot shied as he did. If nothing else the horse was a big bully.

Jacqueline help out Fridericks finer garments towards him. "Hurry and change, you don't want to be late and your wound still need salve and bandaging. You'll look like some hero of songs with your head bandaged for your Lady Aurainne." She did her best to keep venom off her tongue at the mention of the lady's name. Maybe now that he lost he would be able to see the lady's true colors.

 

[BennyQ]

Friderick thought it was foolish that Jacque would like something without even trying it first. Did an unruly melee between several inexperienced squires sound so fun indeed? The boy must either be overeager to please and be agreeable to Friderick or he was certainly well assured of his own prowess in combat. He had seen Jacque’s brief showmanship against Fabien and could acknowledge there was plenty potential. But it was still untried and untested. If Jacque thought he could be the stuff of melee victor then Friderick would make him one. The boy when it was finally his time to be Duke wouldn’t find the time to ever compete in such contests ever. Best give him an opportunity before he got too old or too important.

Other than the lewd comments on women bathing, there was little else that was eventful. He only smiled lightly when Jacque so vigorously defended his credibility in not spying on women at bath. It didn’t help the boy’s case that apart of his first impression with the Baron was to knock over a tavern wench. Hopefully it was only haughty noble sensibilities at being touched and not any actual hatred towards women, which Jacque’s outburst just proved. “Good.” He merely answered with a small smile. Friderick didn’t know what he would do if he found himself tutoring a spoiled, entitled little brat.

All his thinking was paused when Jacque then burst out this ludicrous theory that Wingfoot had veered during the tilt. He had been so busy distracted and dealing with a eye blinded by dripping blood that he hadn’t even noticed or taken stock of that. He said nothing, taking his clothes when offered and beginning to dress. “A hero of songs usually walks out unscathed and having won the battle and claimed the prize. I don’t have that, in case you’ve forgotten.” He drily responded to Jacque’s attempt to be encouraging. He did feel some anxiety though. What would Lady Aurianne think of his loss? Would she believe his reason for messing up that final tilt? He had left the tournament grounds so fast he had forgotten to at least look as to what Lady Aurianne might be thinking or feeling. Idiot. Now he had to go to her blind of her emotions towards it. But she did give him her favor, still tied to the hilt of a lance back at camp, which counted for something right?

Dried and dressed, they could trudge back to their camp. They still had some time. The tournament was still ongoing or in the final stages of wrapping up. Not many people were on the streets or in the surrounding countryside where all the visitors had their tents and camps pitched. He sat and allowed Jacque to deal with his head wound again. “You think Wingfoot veered huh. And what makes you think that? He isn’t the sort to get spooked by his own shadow. And when you tethered him earlier, did you notice any discomfort with his hooves? Did you even bother to check? Go check now. If there isn’t, then you have no reason or excuse to regard my horse as a coward who shies from battle.” Friderick challenged Jacque in turn. Besides, what did it matter? It wouldn’t change the outcome. Friderick had lost. Whether a blinded eye or an unruly horse, it didn’t matter. He had lost.

“You’re coming to the feast too, you know. In fact you have more reason to be there, little Lord. As the future Duke of Lancaster, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people who want to meet you. Or have met you, or your father. You're probably quite proficient in court etiquette already but it's still apart of the lessons I'm supposed to imbibe in you.” Friderick also pointed to Jacque, reminding him he needed to get dressed too. There was no rush though, as Friderick was in no hurry to get to the castle. He lost and in his bitterness he didn’t quite care for who actually won now. The only real reason to rush was for his Lady. But as for Jacque, the possibly of encountering someone who knew him or his father might be dangerous, as they might recognize him…or her.

 

[LilGunner]

Jacqueline was notably taken aback by Friderick's simple reply of 'good.' That small smile didn't help with her surprise and already red hot ears. Heavens above why could he not dress faster? On that note Jacqueline was a little surprised to find the clothing he had chosen was so very plain. Just the cleanest, unmended clothing he possessed. One would think he might be able to get something a little finer. Then again, perhaps not. At least considering his clothing made her hot ears simmer to a mild warmth rather than a blazing inferno. If he didn't so often pick at her family's wealth she would offer to help him get something a little more suitable. Then again she shouldn't really care. Plus if he looked wealthier that might make Aurainne actually remember his name. Perhaps a little cruel but she would prefer he wear rags compared to that. What in God's name was she thinking? Foolish thoughts.

Her mental track changed again, as they headed back to camp, when he demanded more on Wingfoot. Feet skittered briefly in the mud as the sudden nearly furious, accusatory tone. "But I..." she mumbled as he launched into a tirade about accusing his horse of cowardice. Then accused her of the horse possibly being injured. He wasn't limping, she was sure there was nothing physically wrong with him. All horses spooked on occasion. Her face pinched in aggravation. Maybe he should get finer clothes and let Aurainne run his already tiny coffers dry. Her teeth clenched together to keep from saying anything painfully foolish as her own anger lashed white hot in her guts. He was being rude and petulant. Probably because of that stupid Aurainne woman.

"Very well," she groused and moved to check the horses once more. Her boots slid to a halt when he spoke again. Ice trickled up her spine, sending a painful shiver through her body. Go to the feast as well? Why? She was just a squire. Squires shouldn't need to go. Some good food would be appreciated but there would be other nobility there too. The ice didn't leave her limbs as she gave a curt nod and headed to the horses. This would be painfully dangerous. No, she was being silly. If she could live amongst a bunch of men and keep her secret she would be able to deal with nobles. These backwater people had probably heard of Lancaster but likely none may know her, well, her brother. She pondered all the possibilities as she gave the horses a decent brushing, picked their hooves, and tossed down more hay for their supper. Nothing seemed amiss with Wingfoot. His shying was very odd and for the life of her she couldn't figure out why he acted the way he did. Horses. In the in they were silly creatures.

Finished with the horses she trotted back to camp to change, having to take odd positions in her small tent. With the front closed she could hear the boys laughing. Her desire to change in private was quite the joke. Noble sensibilities and all. Hiding scrawny arms. If they knew the real reason that would be quite the laugh. Courtly apparel for men was blessedly easier to get into then all the layers and corset of womens' clothing. Fine black leggings, well shined knee high boots, a woolen doublet of forest green with the rampant badger of her house across her heart, etched in snowy thread. She longed for a polished mirror to see how like her brother she looked. For the time being she could only assume.

Dressed and ready Jacqueline went back to Friderick to head up to the keep, more than ready for an ribbing he might give her. She could hardly help that her brother dressed well and she had taken his clothing. This wasn't even his finest set of clothing if truth be told. That was reserved for if they had to attend a ball. She prayed with all her heart that they wouldn't.

The short march to the keep was relatively uneventful. Folk were about, high and low born alike. A dazzling array of fine and demur clothing ranged about them. Some women, men too, were as resplendent as if they were attending a King's ball. Others simply wore their least dismal looking attire. It was a strange sight to see to say the least about it. "Ohhh...peacock lord..." Jacqueline commented, gesturing to a man dressed in frilly greens and purples and, of course, peacock feathers. "And the lady ewe," she commented again with a gesture to a woman who's creamy silver dress seemed decorated in puffs of unshorn wool. Some of those choices of attire made her feel wildly better about her brother's finery.

Inside the keep thunderous conversation and lively music filled the stoney halls. No one danced but it seemed some were already far enough into their cups they just might try to. Hundreds of conversations rang against the walls, tapestries doing nothing to dampen the noise. Jacqueline cringed at the sound, sight, and smell of so many people. She hated events. Though near the end of the hall, where they had entered, she spied something that made the event worth every bit of suffering. There were no lemon cakes but the table was a sweets lover's dream. She wondered if she could sneak away from Friderick long enough to snag a small cake. Luckily there were enough people about it might be easy enough to blend into the crowd.

 

[BennyQ]

In truth, Friderick the Baron of Alnerwick had no inkling or clue if there might be nobles there that would be familiar to the Lancasters. He could only hope and prayed for it, as it could distract the outspoken little Esquire while he took the moment to speak to Lady Aurianne alone about his defeat. He was too caught up in thought about what he would actually say to take notice of Jacque’s attire. It looked richer and more qualitative than anything he owned. He dressed more like a knight at rest, with breeches and a long sleeve tunic of fine fabric, with his checkered surcoat of black and white atop it all, tied at the waistline with a golden buckled belt. Nothing too fancy. He had no rings, no necklaces, not even ear rings. His sheath was plain, his sword hilt of engraved iron, with Aurianne’s favor tied about it, but that was all.

All he had was his reputation as a former champion and vigorous warrior. And unknowingly, his rugged, handsome countenance.

Each step built up the growing dread of Lady Aurianne and her reaction. He had no answer for it, which made the uncertainty loom large. Nothing to predict or foresee. He was walking in blind. “Always someone trying to be radical.” He commented on the peacock lord and lady ewe. So flamboyant and…radical. Anything to get attention. “I hope you don’t find such ridiculousness to be fashionable. Go off to Asoya if you want to dress in animal furs and feathers and dance around a fire.” Friderick noted under his own breath. Off to any wild lands.

The keep and hall of Count Liudhard was evident of his wealth. Sitting astride a major trade route, by sea and land, he received generous revenues from taxation. And with that taxation, he squandered it on social events like tournaments and balls, thinking he could pass himself off as a much wealthier and prestigious Duke or even a minor Prince. Friderick would bet Wingfoot himself that Jacque Lancaster rated among the top five nobles in attendance who held such high rank and birthright. They were announced by a Herald who called their names aloud as they entered. Well, it should have just been Friderick alone, as no one gave two shits about squires. But Friderick told the Herald to announce Jacque Lancaster as well. The boy deserved it out of respect to his surname. And when the eyes turned towards them, they were more for Jacque.

At least some thought the catering more than adequate than Jacque did. Some ladies and maidens eyed him up. What a marvelous catch to have in this very hall. But contrary to his hopes, no one said a thing to Jacque. Or approached him. “If you want to go eat, you can go eat something. You won’t get fine food like this for days once we hit the road again.” Friderick told Jacque, patting his back, while his eyes still searched the crowd. Then he saw her. He heard her first rather, her musical giggle ringing out, picked up by his ears out of the multitude of sounds. Lady Aurianne! And she was there with…Count Theodore. And a small circle of other admirers. She was glowing from the attentions. But should Friderick be worried? He was a tourney fighter. None of those men were.

“Go and fetch me a cup of wine actually.” He said to Jacque, never breaking his eyes off Lady Aurianne, hoping that she would catch his eye somehow miraculously. They would meet and together they would drift towards each other in the midst of the hall and be…united. None such happened, at least on her end. Friderick found his own footsteps heading in that direction. Not even when he was just outside the small circle did she take notice of him. All these jesters and clowns were blocking her attentions! Taking a deep breath, he spoke. “Lady Aurianne.” He said in a modest voice, with some boom behind it. It was enough to draw all of their attentions.

Lady Aurianne was clearly drunk. “Lord Fredegar!” She exclaimed.

“Baron Fredegar.” Count Theodore said, as if to emphasis their higher rank over Friderick.

“It’s Friderick, Baron of Alnerwick.” He corrected them, never taking his eyes off of Lady Aurianne. “And-“

“Where is Alnerwick even?” One of the other courtiers asked and the rest chuckled. Where was Alnerwick? In the midst of a bog and marsh in the northeast corner of Swadia, near the border of Frankia. Nowhere near the more populous regions of the south. Lady Aurianne didn’t correct them, though she hailed from a place not far from Alnerwick.

Friderick ignored the question. “Lady Aurianne, I’d like to speak to you.” He said. “In private.”

“Oh Friderick, there is surely no need for conspiracies! We are all friends here. All very agreeable, I might add.” Lady Aurianne slurred, casting a beaming smile around, and all returned her smile and acknowledged her words. They were all suck ups for her attentions so obviously they’d agree with her. And she didn’t know better. And worst of all, Friderick didn’t know any better either.

“Very well, Lady.” Friderick said, sighing. The anxiety was booming in his heart. “I just thought I owed you an explanation for my loss today. I had been wounded yesterday during the melee, just above my eye as you can see here. It reopened during the tilt and blood blinded my eye, making my aim skewed. But I want you to know that I will try twice as hard in the next to earn your favor.” He explained, pulling his sheathed sword ahead of him a little to show he still possessed the napkin she had given him.

“Didn’t you get that this morning from that pestering old codger who begged your hand in marriage?” Count Theodore whispered to Lady Aurianne.

“Oh Friderick, you worry too much!” She said to him with a gleeful smile, waving off Friderick’s concern. “I’m sure you’ll do better when you next play with your sticks and shields. It was all very loud and messy I must say and I hardly paid attention. But you will be at the next tournament in Duke Tancred’s city? How very wonderful! Count Theodore has a home there and you must come and see it!” She said with her customary giggle.

“Yes, come and see.” Theodore said begrudgingly. He already made plans to have excuses ready if Friderick did come calling so that he wouldn’t even get to see Lady Aurianne.

As for Friderick, this was not what he expected. He had worried and fretted so much over the answer and what he got was…neither good nor bad it seemed. It was nothing. And despite not being bad, it didn’t raise his spirits or lift the burden off his shoulders. He felt…he didn’t know how he felt. Just ugly, deep inside. She doesn’t even know, or care. A new conversation sprang up and their mirth continued, while he stood there, slightly apart and aloof from it. He stared down, just at a loss for words. Where was Jacque with that wine?