Precious
See disclaimer in 01
It was his first social lesson as a knight of the Kingdom, and he never forgot it.
It had been the very peak of summer, and all of Paltina had turned out for the tournament, an annual exhibition of the skills of the realm's finest knights. Durant was young to be competing, but out of his age group, he'd always trained the hardest, been the most disciplined. Hence, his knight-masters had decided that he be allowed to try his mettle a year early.
For a boy of nineteen who had always trained in solitude or in the group drills of his classes, the sheer number of people and the noise they made was bewildering. The stands were filled with chattering, cheering civilians, waving the flags of their fiefdoms as knights walked their horses around the sand pit, strutting and joking and watching the squires running to clear away droppings and set up the lance games.
Up at the northern end of the arena, sitting much higher than the commoners and even the gentry, sat the royal family, the brightly shining king and queen and their little daughter, the twelve-year-old princess. For some reason, the image was particularly striking to Durant then—the king and queen were conversing back and forth, both smiling, looking like any other middle-aged couple relaxing and enjoying the day, and their daughter was tugging on her father's sleeve, pointing down at the knights and waving at them, clearly excited. Durant would later learn that this was Princess Yggdra's first tournament, as well; her parents had wanted to keep her away from even this toned-down version of violence when she was younger.
Because he was young and inexperienced, Durant was allowed to sit out of most of the lance games—he was here, after all, to see and learn and understand how these things were done. He watched with the others who'd chosen to rest and cheered as his masters and older friends chased tiny, light targets with their swords and lances, and were rewarded for their successes by applause and flowers thrown down by the queen's ladies.
Eventually, because the older knights were giving him a good ribbing for standing slack-jawed like some yellow-bellied lackwit instead of going and trying the lance that still smelled like sap, Durant ventured out onto the field himself for the last challenge. To say that he was nervous would have been a gross understatement; inside his gauntlets his hands went cold and sweaty, and all he heard was the pounding of his heart and the roar of the crowd. All the same, he gently coaxed his charger, a sweet black gelding with a blond blaze down his face and flecks of the same color on his hocks, to the line of knights, and waited his turn.
When it came and he urged his mount forward, he was so rushed in getting his lance down that he missed the first target completely, then was shaking so much in fear and humiliation that he missed the second as well. But he claimed the last three, the small ribbon-adorned rings of wood sliding down to the broad base of his lance.
Breathing deeply and trying to still his pounding heart and the slight quiver of his lance as his arm shook, Durant moved his horse at a light walk towards the end of the stands to collect his favors. It wasn't so bad, then, he tried to convince himself. Look here; it was the same as practice, and nervous or not, he'd gotten three. It wasn't so bad, truly.
Still, as the squires slid the rings off his lance and he reached out to catch the three flowers the ladies of status tossed down to him, Durant quaked like a leaf.
Quickly, he glanced around to see what the other knights were doing with their favors. Some were tossing them to pretty girls in the stands (Durant frowned a little at their wantonness; knights were supposed to treat women with chivalry, not constantly advertise for a roll in the hay); others were handing them off to squires. Durant put the first two flowers in one of the minute gaps in the leather of his horse's saddle, and was about to slot the third beside them when he saw a poor family sitting in the front of the stands. One of the children, a girl who couldn't even have been six, was looking at him out of incredibly solemn blue eyes; feeling charmed and a little compelled, he gently edged his horse to the crowd and held it out to her. She giggled and clapped and accepted it, showing it off to her parents, who both laughed a little. Feeling foolish but as though he'd done a good thing, Durant returned to the lines of knights beginning to gather before the royal couple.
At first Durant didn't understand quite what they were doing, but a knight near him who he didn't know but obviously knew he was new elbowed him slightly and pointed up to the king and queen unobtrusively.
"It's custom at this time in the tournament for the royal champion to be chosen," he explained in a half-whisper. "Since it's the Princess' first tournament, it seems Their Majesties are letting her pick. It's a ceremonial position, and traditionally whoever's chosen has to fight the real King's Champion. It's an honor, but one I don't envy whoever they choose."
Durant nodded a little and thanked the man, understanding completely. The King's Champion was proud, skilled, and heavy-handed even in practice.
He watched as King Ordene gravely and quietly explained to Princess Yggdra what she was expected to do, and as the young girl nodded solemnly as he finished each sentence. Her mother passed her a length of cloth trimmed with lace and printed in what Durant thought was a floral pattern; he was too far away to accurately see.
Finally, the king gestured out to Durant and the other knights, obviously indicating that she should make her pick. Princess Yggdra looked out at all of them with very young eyes, then shyly pointed and whispered to her father, who smiled and beckoned the herald over, speaking to him for a moment. The herald nodded, then walked over to speak to the marshal, who said something very brief. Now having whatever information it was that he needed, the herald headed back out to where he'd been standing.
"Sir Durant, step forward."
Durant gawked.
In the next moment, he flinched and realized how rude he must seem, and looked around to the other knights pleadingly. They were all staring at him with upraised, expectant eyebrows.
Durant stared back at them helplessly, then hesitantly nudged his horse forward into an obedient—and altogether too sprightly—walk. Within a few heartbeats, they were standing right at the start of the stands, and Durant was giving the herald that same uncertain stare.
"Offer your lance, Sir Durant," the herald prompted, looking amused. Durant growled a little inwardly, and hefted his weapon, noting that its tip just reached the railing surrounding the royal section.
The king and princess stood, father quietly instructing his daughter all the way. Princess Yggdra very carefully wrapped her length of cloth around Durant's lance tip and tied it, then stepped back. Durant didn't need to be told now; he stepped back and lowered his lance as the simple royal favor slid down to its base. As a squire came running across the packed sand bearing the padded coromanel tip that would be fitted to Durant's lance, he undid its tie and refastened it behind the rounded grip of the weapon, wrapping it tightly just above his hand.
"You and the Champion will make jousting passes at each other until one or the other of you is unhorsed," the squire said in a businesslike manner as he put the padded tip on. "At that time, you will continue the battle afoot, choosing whichever weapons you please. Combat will continue until one of you is knocked down and does not stand by the count of fifteen. Good luck." With his job done, he retreated back to the stands; Durant saw that the fencing had been set out for the joust.
As he walked his horse forward, Durant glanced over his shoulder. The other knights had also taken up positions to watch and were talking and laughing back and forth; the king had taken his seat again, but Princess Yggdra was still standing at the railing, watching curiously and eagerly. When she saw him looking, she waved at him, smiling brightly.
Durant felt his face go scarlet, but hefted his lance in a tiny, shy salute that made her laugh.
What am I doing? he wondered desperately, and took his place.
He and the King's Champion saluted each other and readied their lances, then leveled them at each other. At the herald's trumpet fanfare, both their horses thundered forward.
Durant barely had the time to brace himself before the impact, and was left gasping with it, shoved up against the high back of his tilting saddle, his shield side nearly numb with agony and his lance arm aching. Already the Champion was turning back around; Durant kneed his mount back into place, but knew with an awful feeling of dread that he was hopelessly outclassed—there was no way he was going to win this. Over the course of the second charge, he gritted his teeth and tried to slide his lance down under the Champion's shield to try to pop him anyway, only to have the wood break into several pieces. By the time he reached the end of the fence, Durant was reeling in the saddle, listing along his shield, even as squires rushed to replace his lance, even retying the Princess' favor at the base.
Durant shook out his arms and took a deep breath and then his place, and they thundered forward along the third pass.
This time, he felt the flip as the Champion's lance hit home, and only had the time to think a curse before he was airborne, still holding his lance, his shield arm twisting until he heard a crackle and knew that his bones had taken some serious damage. The next second, he twisted so he could take the fall properly and somersaulted along the sand. Dizzy with the pain and helmless—he'd lost it in the drop, he was fairly sure—he carefully removed his shield and shoved his lance tip-first into the sand, shaking it out of his chestnut hair and casting about for the squires with the weapons.
As the Champion started to dismount, Durant made it over to them, and bypassed swords of several sizes, a halberd, an axe, and a morning star for a slim spear. Like all the weapons, its edges were blunted, since this was exhibition combat, but it felt right in his hands, which he shifted along the shaft, trying not to favor his shield arm too obviously as the fencing was carried off and the Champion prowled forward with a mace and chain.
Durant thought a brief prayer, then ran forward.
The King's Champion didn't have the pretty title for nothing. He swept in low, aiming straight for Durant's injured arm, and Durant had to take an ungainly two-step back to avoid having those heavy iron balls wrap around his weapon. As he did so, the Champion rushed in again and dealt him a vicious blow, punching straight past his spear to the belly, sending Durant flat onto his back in the sand.
"Stay down," the Champion advised as the crowd gave a unified gasp of horror and delight. Somewhere distant, the herald began his count.
Durant just lay there gasping, dizzy, unable to do any more than struggle vainly for breath. He was in an unbelievable amount of pain, and to make things worse, the impact of the fall had done the rest of the work on his arm. It wasn't a bad break by any means, but it was definitely broken, and if he moved it at all it would be so much worse. Adrenaline was taking care of it for now, but by the time he got to the healers he'd probably be screaming.
Maybe it was best to just do as the Champion said. There wasn't any hope of victory, not with him like this. He should just spare himself the humiliation, and—
"Get up!"
At the desperate cry, Durant and all the spectators turned, wide-eyed. Princess Yggdra was still standing at the rail, and she was clutching it tightly, her deep blue eyes huge with fear and belief.
"Get up! You can do it, I know you can! Please…!"
It was Durant's duty to obey the commands of his sovereign, but it wasn't duty that had him forcing himself back to his feet with a hoarse yell, leveling his spear and running hard for the Champion's turned back. He wouldn't know for a long time what it was, but he did know in that moment that her voice had given him the strength to completely ignore any pain he felt. He would fight. He would win. And he would do it for her.
His first strike caught the Champion in the waist; his second thrust through the man's grip, entangling the weapon enough to pull it from those heavy mailed hands. And as he wouldn't be able to shake it away in time to counter his opponent's next strike, he cast the spear aside entirely and put all the strength he had left into one solid punch that put the Champion on the ground, unconscious.
The next moment everyone was cheering. Durant became aware that he could feel where splintered bone was pushing through his skin under the brace on his arm, but that it didn't seem to hurt. The world went green, then blue, and he dropped hard to his knees, blood running down his arm and staining the sand. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the Princess' face, shining with victory and worry.
---
It was five years and three months to that impossible victory when the princess and her knight stood in the fields on the border of Orlando, facing away from the camp their party had made.
Yggdra's attendants were busying themselves teasing Milanor's thieves into learning how to do laundry correctly, while their rough-natured commander was talking tactics to the only two knights in Durant's cavalry who had survived the Imperial assault. The horses were roaming nearby, content to linger near their humans as they cropped wild grass.
Yggdra herself was staring towards their destination, Embellia—the home of their Undine allies—with very distant eyes. She'd grown, and it wasn't just the years, but the deaths of her parents that had done it, Durant knew. She stood and watched the border with sad, heavy eyes, her father's sword in her hand, and Durant watched her. She was more beautiful than any girl he had ever known, and more unattainable than the moon and stars.
He knew his place. She was his sovereign, and he her subject. It couldn't, wouldn't be, as all his comrades had reminded him uselessly through the years. He knew it. It didn't change how he felt about fighting for her, or winning for her. It was more than a duty, and that would never change.
"…Durant…" she said quietly, gravely. "I have a feeling that… the road ahead of us will be a difficult one. I don't know how, or why, but I can't help worrying. There's still so much I don't know."
And it frustrated her, he observed to himself. Princess Yggdra preferred understanding the way things worked, and why.
"It's a lot to ask of you, I know, but there are so few I can ask." She sighed unhappily. "And I wish that it weren't so, but… Durant, please, I need you to teach me everything you know. About tactics, about war, about strategy. We cannot afford to lose this battle, and if my people are to believe that we can win, I must fight. I must avenge my parents' deaths myself."
She didn't know what she was asking, but she knew the weight of it. Durant looked at her and knew that whether she still believed herself to be or not, she was an innocent yet, and that his teaching her to kill would destroy that. It would be so hard to take away what was hers by right, but—Durant knew he couldn't send her into the battlefield unknowing, because it would mean her death.
So in response, he bowed to her from the waist. "My lady. You have only to ask; my life and my service are yours. When you need to know about the nuances of battle, I shall instruct you. I am your loyal servant, always."
When he straightened up, he saw that Yggdra was smiling sadly at him.
"…Yes, that's true," she said very softly, and before he could stop her with reminders of propriety, she reached towards him and laid her hand to the faded, bloodstained circle of linen, satin, and lace tied around his upper arm, then her head to his breastplate. "That's one thing that I doubt will ever change."
Durant didn't know what to say, so he just rested a hand on her shoulder and closed his eyes, wishing he could forget what he knew and just cherish this moment for what it was.
But because of what he was, he couldn't.
:owari:
