The gentle breeze was being enjoyed by all after days of stagnant, muggy air. Almost all, that is. Some of the merchants who were in the fort to sell their wares were getting tired of having to secure their lighter goods so they wouldn't get tangled and tossed. Pretty ribbons, in particular were fluttering dangerously. It was the beginning of the merchants' day.
As the day wore on, the gentle breeze became stronger, requiring more merchants to tie down their goods. Now those selling heavier cloth were being affected. Soon the strong breeze became a wind and within a matter of minutes the wind blew hard, turning into a gale. Dust kicked up from the ground, causing much eye irritation among the sellers and customers. Dirt particles were lifted and tossed about, causing much stinging against peoples' skin.
As the gale strengthened, cloaks and capes were blown off of the merchants' tables and racks. The merchants gathered what was still at hand and threw them to the ground in the hope that the gale would blow over them and leave them undisturbed. Then they scattered, trying to retrieve those articles which had already been caught up and were being blown around.
As Tristran turned the corner of the tavern's outer wall, he was struck by a cloak that had been carried up into the air and blown around with some force. It wrapped itself around his head and upper body. Tristran was a mighty warrior but it appeared to onlookers that the blowing, twisting cloak was getting the better of him. For the gale was blowing even stronger, making it more difficult still for Tris to keep his footing and to remove the cloak.
His arms were tangled up and it was very difficult for him to get his hands free. The mighty warrior fought bravely; finally, with tremendous effort, he freed himself from the enemy cloak. As he dashed it to the ground, he put his foot on it to keep it subdued until he could find a weapon with which to pin it to the ground. He bent down, removed a dagger from his boot, and stabbed the cloak, rendering it helpless to attack him again.
Tristran straighten up and was leaning into the gale to steady his footing when the next enemy attacked. A linen blouse now covered his head, momentarily blinding him, and he fell back under its powerful force. The strength of the gale, his struggle against the earlier opponent and the one currently engulfing him- all these factors sapped Tris's ability to fight. Finally, with all the effort that he could muster, he freed himself once again. There was disorientation as all sorts of merchandise blew around him and he threw himself against the wall, inching his way back around the corner from where he had emerged into this maelstrom. He took refuge there, checking himself for wounds and injuries. Other than his clothing being a bit askew and his hair being … somewhat more … disarranged than usual, he determined that he was whole and well.
He would wait, then, until the gale abated and he could continue on his mission. He hoped it wouldn't be long before he could gain entrance to his rooms, and once there, to reflect on the attacks and his struggles with the enemies he had met and defeated that day. Well … now that he was protected from the gale by the tavern wall, he rethought his assessment of just what the enemies were and actually felt a bit sheepish about his battle with, after all, a cloak and a blouse.
"I was fortunate that no one was around to witness my struggles. It would not be well for others to see what happened. They might lose confidence in my ability to protect them from real enemies," thought a chagrinned Tristran.
Little did Tristran know just how many people had witnessed his struggles that day.
The gale that had blown in was dying down and retreating to its previous states as strong wind, then wind, and finally back to breeze. But at the precise moment when Tristran thought it was safe to turn the corner again, there was a sudden, final burst of wind. He came out into the unexpected force of it, and the last of the indignities befell him.
A comb decorated with brightly colored ribbons blew into his hair and lodged itself there. For a moment, the people who were cleaning up the damage beheld a startling sight. For Tristran had a tangle of hair with ribbons streaming behind him. He had a hair decoration, one most girls would have loved to have had in their own hair.
Completely frustrated now, he snatched the comb, disentangled it from his hair, threw it to the ground and stomped on it, breaking the comb and muddying the ribbons. He ignored the hoots and whistles he heard from the people who had seen those lovely ribbons in his hair.
He made his way back to his rooms, and decided that the next time a strong wind came blowing in, he would remember this day of battles with inanimate objects and stay as far away from the merchants and their wares as possible.
The next day he went to visit Ba'atar in the stable. He couldn't believe what he saw. Entwined in Ba'atar's mane was a bright ribbon.
"How long it will take for these people to forget about the ribbons that got tangled in my hair. It had better be soon as I will not tolerate abuse of my horse, or of myself for that matter," a furious Tristran muttered.
As Tristran was disentangling the ribbon in Ba'atar's mane, Arthur strode in to the stable and ordered Tristran to ride immediately to the village nearby. There were rumors of bandits being spotted and Arthur needed to know if it was true. Tris had no choice but to ride through the fort and out the gate with the pretty ribbon fluttering in his horse's draft. He could see a few people pointing at him and snickering as he passed by.
Tristran spent the time it took to get to the village planning his revenge.
"Although," he thought, "the best revenge may be no actual act but only the hint of its possibility. They are nervous enough around me when there is no reason. Now, however, they will be nervously wondering what I will do and when I will do it." He smiled to himself as he approached the village.
Some events become legendary. Tristran's pretty ribbons was one of them.