The cold was deep and cutting. The air, thin and barely breathable. If he hadn't worn appropriate clothing then he would have surely died from the frost. But with the grace of God, he remembered to bring with him a cloak. His steps were slow and heavy, his boot leaving a trail on the snowy road. His eyes scanned the road and the adjacent forest. One could never be too careful regarding wolves or the dimwitted bandit. While he was alone, he was confident that his skills and God's protection would see him through any obstacle. It would take a dragon to beat him.
His name was Godrey. A knight of the Holy Order of Saint John the Hospitaller or to simply put, the Knights Hospitaller. He was on the road to deliver a message to the ruling French monarch. Normally such missives were done by novices or servants but he had volunteered for the mission as it allowed him to visit his sister and nephews who had taken residence in Paris after the death of his brother-in-law. He had missed his remaining family members dearly. The most he missed was his nephew, Little Jon, The little rascal was a precocious child that vision to be a Knight like his uncle. And that Godfrey humored. Besides, it allowed him to move and stretch his muscles.
Perhaps it was simply wanderlust. He did not enjoy the long hours of being cooped in their castle-headquarters. While it was large and had many interesting places, he believed that the best place that their Order could fulfill their duties was at the field and among the peasantry. Not in some castle. They were Knights for heaven's sake! Not some petty-princes ruling petty-kingdoms!
He shook his mind off his thoughts. He needed to focus on his road after all.
Along the road, he had met two different knights of two different orders.
Reynard, A Knight Templar and Sibrand, A knight of the Teutonic Order.
Reynard was a...interesting figure. The Templars were known for their...zeal and the Templar he met was no exception. But compared to other Templars that he met, he saw that he was certainly a reasonable figure. It wasn't that his faith was lacking, it was more of a difference in practice. His own Prior had encouraged silent faith. Jesus himself had preached that faith must be silent for God himself can see through the penitent soul. He would of course not mention that in the Templars' presence. That is if he wanted to return home with a face still intact.
Sibrand was the opposite of his Templar friend. While Reynard was a loudmouth, Sibrand was silent. If he did speak, if he ever spoke at all, it was after a long meditative silent. Sometimes, he wondered how the two became friends.
As they traveled together, he had lost them in the snowy road. He had tried backtracking but he found no track of them. So he continued on his journey, offering his new found friends silent prayers.
It was then that he heard a loud piercing cry coming from the distance.
He dropped to his knees and listened. From the distance came shouts of men and the clashing of steel. Two voices he recognized.
Reynard! Sibrand!
Rushing to his feet, he slung over his kite shield and unsheathed his longsword. He gave a prayer to the Blessed Virgin to grant him speed before rushing off to find his friends.
Reynard grunted as he deflected a downward swipe with his shield. His opponent, barely his height, was skilled. That he could see. He pulled back, and seeing the opportunity, brought his sword straight into the man's throat.
Yes he was skilled. But not as skilled as him.
Looking around him, he could see that he and Sibrand were surrounded by strange foemen. But to him it was good. It meant they could fight at all sides.
Sibrand's thoughts were different. He cursed the high heavens that he ever met the Templar. He had done his best to keep his distance but for some reason, the Templar would find him and immediately rant and rave about different topics. He swore that the man was going to be death of him someday.
Both men were travelling the road, having recently lost sight of a Hospitaller that they met a few moons back when they met a surprising and confusing sight.
A troop of men wearing armour reminiscent of Roman troops had appeared and demanded them to stop. Even more surprising when he saw that their leader was a woman. He had wanted to talk, to negotiate. But Reynard had to step in and ruin such notions. First, he went and insulted the troop, calling them "cheap mummers" and he went and threw profanities at the woman.
Then the rest was history.
For now, they were holding their ground. But he knew not how long they would last until they would succumb to exhaustion. They needed help. Reincforcements.
And it came from somewhere unsuspected.
Foemen were tossed and cut as a black shadow pierced through them. As it came closer towards them, he saw that it was the Hospitaller, Godfrey!
"I see that you have stirred a nest!" remarked Godfrey. The men had huddled closer to each other, their backs against one another, their shields raised and weapons ready. More of their foes had arrived and they soon formed a circle around the three men.
"About time, Hospitaller!" roared Reynard
"What happened? Who are we fighting!?" demanded Godfrey.
As Sibrand was about to speak, Reynard beat him to it.
"It matters little on who we fight! What matters is that they dare to attack Soldiers of Chirst! Come my brethren! Let us show these filth the power of Christ! DEUS VULT!"
Sibrand reached to stop him but the Templar had already attacked.
And so, the battle began in skirmish.
Reynard was like a whirlwind. His longsword cutting down foes left and right, he preferred a more offensive stance and delivered powerful blows. Sibrand was the opposite, preferring defense over offence. With his towering height and shield, he proved quite the warrior. As soon as opportunity presented itself, he would swoop in and crack skulls with his hard mace. Godfrey was a mix of both worlds. Attacking when he could, defending if need be.
The battle dragged on until fourteen men lay dead or dying at their feet. With heavy huffs, the three men raised a cheer, the loudest being Reynard.
But victory proved far, as more and more soldiers rushed in. They were more heavily armoured and had brought archers. The knights, preparing for another battle, raised their weapons.
"Drop your weapons!" shouted an authoritative voice.
The three men turned to the side and saw a man on a horse. He was old but still carried the aura of a dangerous and skilled man. A respectable figure to be sure.
"I will not repeat myself again! Drop your weapons!"
"Over my dead body!" retorted Reynard. Sibrand almost wanted to hit himself for the Templars' stupidity.
"You ask for battle that you cannot win." intoned the man. The sound of string being pulled resonated through the air.
Godfrey weighed his options. He had no idea on who they were fighting but he could guess that it was due to the over zealousness of his Templar friend. He could go and fight but that meant certain death. And so, with a heavy sigh, he dropped his sword and shield on the ground.
"Godfrey, what in god's name are you doing!?" screamed the Templar. Sibrand, seeing that the Hospitaller had taken initiative, followed his example.
Reynard, seeing that he stood little chance of survival, groaned and reluctantly lowered his arms.
As soon as they dropped their weapons, the soldiers rushed forward and began binding the men in cuffs.
The last thing Godfrey saw was the struggling Templar and the stoic Teuton being taken away before something knocked him unconscious.
AN: Taken from my SB account. This is another fic idea. Our three favorite knightly orders in a world of magic and dragons.
If ya'll see any historical errors, do please inform me. And for the sake of the fic, not everything is going to be historical m'kay?