Chapter 7: Surprises
She rose before the dawn.
Maegan slipped out of her tent while many of the lords and their servants remained sleeping. She slid out of her tent, and immediately began the day's activities, mainly seeing to her horses, and getting herself mentally ready for the day's tilts.
What she had heard from Lord Percival last night still stuck in her mind. She did not regret stepping to stop the Crowned Mabari, though only a fool would not acknowledge that she had made an enemy last night. An enemy that she would likely have to face soon…
Let him come, she thought to herself, if Vickon wanted to try his blade against hers he would find her not so easy an opponent.
Her warhorse whickered as she brushed his mane. A cool breeze had come up during the night, and continued to blow. The air smelled of rain.
The tourney grounds will be muddy today, she thought to herself, some of those pretty young war chargers the nobles brought won't be used to the mud and the slick ground, which could be an advantage.
She smiled to herself.
She had no fear or worry of her own mount. Crusader had seen her grandfather through many tourneys and battles. He was a veteran of war and weather, and he would not falter. He knew how to do his part.
She glanced around quickly; the grounds were, mostly silent, except for a few guards that continued to patrol for thieves. She saw no one in Crowned Mabari colors which was good. Lord Percival had offered both her and Ser Oswald guards for the night, just in case Vickon sent people to make trouble. Both of them had declined. Ser Oz seemed confident in his abilities if attacked, of course that might have been just the wine talking. Meg refused because she did not wish to appear fearful before her fellow knights, she had trust in her abilities, and if they failed, she was a guest of the Redboar, his guards would break up any trouble before it got too bad, she was sure of that.
As for those guards this morning, they ignored her for the most part, as one of the winners she would be expected to compete today, and would likely have to defend herself against any challengers.
She was ready for that, let them come, she thought, I will send them all down into the mud.
Once her horses and armor had been tended to, she slipped away from the camp and into a small wooded patch not far from her camp. There was a small pond not far away, and she still felt sticky from the night before.
The thought of a nice cool soak, made her grin. It was just what she needed right now.
The pond was just far enough back that no one would see her, the nobles had their own tubs and concerns. Yet, she did not wish to take any chances. Her grandfather's warnings still held. She had no desire to reveal that Ser Eagan was actually Ser Maegan.
Once the tourney was done, perhaps, she thought, once she had proven her skill and valor, perhaps then she would reveal who she truly was. Let them know her first as a champion, then as a woman,
She wanted no special treatment, and asked for none.
She sighed as she came upon the pool, the smell of water lilies called to her, that and the gentle croak of frogs and the chirp of insects.
She quickly stripped off her tunic and leggings.
The water would feel good, but it would be best not to linger.
Dawn was coming.
IOI
Tristan Merry rolled his eyes as he listened to the lordling in the bushes. He had been taking his turn on watch when Oz had emerged from his tent and ran to the tree line. The wine that their young knight had imbibed the night before had finally decided to come up.
The outlaw shook his head.
Ah, the wonders of serving the will of the king.
"You okay in there?" he called out.
Oz replied with a loud retching sound in the bushes, clearing the contents of his stomach.
Tristan rolled his eyes.
Maker's breath, he thought.
What have I gotten myself into?
Unlike the rest of their little group, he had not needed to be told hold dangerous the Crowned Mabari was. He knew them well. He had been born in Orlais, though no one would guess by hearing him speak. He had lost his accent very early on, thanks to his mother. She had known the truth of it, and made sure that he did as well. Having an Orlesian accent in Ferelden was dangerous, almost as dangerous as involving oneself in the business of Maric the Younger and his sons.
Almost.
The ambitions of the Crowned Mabari were well known to him, and how far they were willing to go to get what they wanted. Had he known that they were mixed up in this, he would have told the elf 'no' on the road and went back to chasing purses.
It is too late now, his conscience chided, you are in it now.
He sighed.
Now you must finish the game.
He did not like it, but there it was.
When a mouse was caught in a trap, the only thing he could do was eat the cheese.
After they had left Lord Pine's pavilion the elf had slipped off somewhere, what he was doing Tristan did not know. Yet, they all agreed it wise to set up a watch schedule, just in case the Crowned Mabari decided to send anyone to show their lord's displeasure. Oz had somehow managed to take his turn without throwing up, amazing that was. Alim had returned sometimes after, did his turn at watch, and then it had been Tristan's turn, and now…here they were.
I came here to dig up dirt for the Hero of Ferelden, he thought, not babysit some drunken lord's boy.
The thought made him frown as soon as he had it.
Oz was only a few years younger than he, about the age that Tristan had been when he had set off to become a gentleman of the road. He had seen how the lordling had managed to hold his sword when he faced Vickon, and while being more than a little drunk too.
He wondered just how good the boy would be when sober.
Perhaps he would get a chance to find out before all was said and done.
Oz groaned and rose from the bushes, wiping his mouth and looking absolutely miserable. Tristan offered him a wine skin.
The lordling shook his head no.
"To rinse your mouth out," he told his ally, "take a sip, swish and spit it out."
Oz grudgingly took it and did as the outlaw bid, just as Tristan had done more than a few times after a long night in a tavern. The Bann's son handed him his wine skin back with slight nod.
Tristan accepted it with a hint of grin.
"You're welcome," he murmured.
The sound of a breaking branch stopped them both cold.
Tristan drew his blade.
Oz might have as well, but he had been in such a hurry to see the wine out of his stomach he had left his sword back in his pavilion. Tristan might have sent him away, but the lordling surprised him by drawing a curved dagger from his boot.
The outlaw nodded approvingly.
Perhaps Ser Oswald was not as hopeless as he seemed.
Tristan raised his hand, silencing his ally. Both men hunkered down behind some bushes; whoever was out there would not likely see them that way.
In the dim light of pre-dawn, they saw Ser Eagan the Cat moving with purpose through the trees.
The outlaw's brow furrowed.
Now where in Andraste's name is he going?
The elf had told them to keep an eye out for anything suspicious, a knight slipping away from camp in the wee hours of the morning certainly counted as suspicious.
They would need to check it out.
He glanced over at Ser Oswald, despite being blurry eyes, the lordling seemed to be fully alert, his hangover probably hurt like Andraste's pyre, but he seemed functional.
He put a finger to his lips, and mouthed the word "follow."
Oz nodded.
With all that was going on, their friend from last night heading off into the woods, away from the tourney was a little bit suspicious.
Tristan was determined to figure out was going on.
He moved silently through the woods, such a skill was necessary in his line of work. He was surprised that Oz could keep up with him and with a reasonable amount of silence too. They caught a glimpse of the Cat slipping next to a small pond; the call of birds behind them caused the hedge knight to glance around, causing the two men to stop, ducking behind a large thorn bush.
By now they were a good distance from the tourney grounds, why would the hedge knight go all the way out here, Tristan wondered. Was he meeting someone? Was he…
A gentle splash in the pond revealed the knight's purpose.
Tristan sighed.
So much for his suspicions he thought. A knight sneaking away for a bath, that was treason for sure wasn't it?
He was about to head back the way they came when Oz poked his head up over the thorn bush. Tristan heard more splashing from the pond. He was about to tell Oz to come on, there was nothing to see here. The lordling stiffened, his mouth fell open.
Tristan's eyes narrowed.
Come on, he mouthed.
Oz did not respond, his eyes stayed pinned on the pond.
The outlaw rolled his eyes.
What now, he wanted to growl, what was so…
He turned and peeked over the thorn bush himself.
Any angry retort died unsaid.
Tristan blinked.
He…he…
Wow!
The Cat had emerged from the pond, stretched, and searched for a cloak to dry...
The outlaw smiled.
Okay...maybe the journey out here was worth it.
Now he knew why the knight had chosen such a place to bathe, he thought with a smirk, there were one or two things that any man would have noticed if the knight had chosen to do so close to camp.
Well, he thought, isn't this surprising?
"He," Oz murmured pointing, "He…um...he…he is a she."
Tristan almost laughed.
Real master of the understatement Oz was.
The Cat was indeed a girl, a pretty one too. Even with her hair cut short like a boy, the girl had an amazing figure, toned and lithe. She had long shapely legs and a curvy figure. Her arms were toned more than most young girls, but that was to be expected of a proud Ferelden born warrior. Her breasts were small, but pert and perfect. They jutted out proudly as she arched her back, pausing to enjoy the cool dawn breeze.
Tristan's mouth had gone dry, and he felt a bit of a tightness in his leggings. He had seen women naked before, but none had the quiet power and grace that The Cat had. She reminded him of something, something he had almost forgotten. He had seen a jungle cat in a circus in Orlais once, long sleek and powerful, yet beautiful too, untamed. All words could be used to describe the vision of beauty before them, and make no mistake, the little hedge knight was a beauty.
He licked his lips.
Well, hello pretty Kitty, he thought.
He wondered what it might take to make her purr.
He glanced over at his ally, Oz looked dumbfounded. The expression on the lordling's face made the outlaw almost chuckled.
He wondered if this was the first time the boy had seen a girl in such a state. If so, he could not blame him for being struck almost speechless. It was a grand sight indeed.
The Cat was humming quietly to herself as she dried herself off, completely relaxed, at peace, even in her state of undress. She reached down to pick up her shirt.
A flock of birds took over to their right; the knight looked up, momentarily distracted.
Tristan dragged Oz away before she could notice them, it had not been easy to pull the boy away, not that the Outlaw blamed him. Oz seemed to have forgotten all about his hangover; once again Tristan did not blame him.
He had a few things on his mind as well, and they had nothing to do with what was happening at the tourney.
Tristan Merry smiled to himself.
Here Kitty, Kitty, he thought to himself.
Such a pretty little kitty, indeed.
IOI
They returned to find Alim in their little camp, doing duties that were expected of an elven servant or squire. The disguised warden barely noticed them as he finished brushing out Oz's horse's mane, before turning to a small pot of oats cooking over a small open flame.
The elf's ears twitched as he looked up at them.
"Everything okay?" he asked, "You are both blushing."
Tristan wiped his cheeks, a guilty expression on his face. Yet, he remained silent; there was no need to…
"The Cat is a girl," Oz blurted out, "we saw her naked."
Tristan rolled his eyes.
"Thanks Milord," he said resisting the urge to swat the boy.
Thanks so bloody much!
IOI
Alim said nothing, he simply stirred the oats; making sure they did not burn.
He sighed.
Not too long ago, his reaction to seeing such a thing might not have been that different, than Ogre's Bait's still that did not mean that he had forgotten what he had promised the Cat, no, he would hold true to that promise…and make sure that these two did as well.
"She does not want anyone to know," the elf informed them, "So keep it to yourselves; we owe her that much for her help last night."
Tristan gave him a surprised look.
"You knew?"
The elf smirked.
"I live with a woman who was once and Orlesian bard," he said, "I've learned a thing or two about seeing through deceptions."
Oz shook his head, no doubt the image of the girl still swimming through his teenaged mind.
"I don't get it," he said, "There are women who are knights, why would she choose to hide who she is?"
Alim chuckled.
"Do you see any women competing here today, Ogre's bait?" he asked, "I don't."
Tristan nodded.
"Lim is right, Oz. Lot of lords see tourneys as pissing contests," he said, "The thought of being shown up by some girl, especially some low born girl that sleeps in the hedges…a lot of them would find that insulting, insulting to the point of executions."
The outlaw shook his head.
"I'm certain you both remember the tale of Aveline the Brave?"
IOI
Oz winced. He had heard that tale growing up. It had not ended well for Ser Aveline.
Was it any surprise that the Cat would choose secrecy, still…still…?
He blinked at the memory of the girl standing beside the pond.
Maker's breath, he thought.
That is one image that I will not be forgetting any time soon.
IOI
Alim looked at them both, a sly smile on his face.
"I would not mention this little incident to the Cat either," he said, "Someone might start asking why you are both missing all your teeth."
Tristan chuckled.
"No worries on that point," he said, "I would rather not be rode down by a pissed off woman in armor, especially one that knows how to wield a sword."
The outlaw laughed.
"She might decide to cut off something, something that I might one to use one day."
The warden laughed lightly.
"Wise of you," he said, "Very wise."
He nodded again.
"Good," the warden said, "What about you Oz?"
The noble was silent.
The elf gave him a harsh look.
"Oz?" he said grimly.
Tristan nudged him hard in the ribs.
"Ow," he cried out, "I… I…swear alright. I swear on Andraste's pyre."
The elf nodded.
"Good," he said taking up two bowls of cooked oats, he spooned them out for his two allies. Tristan took his gratefully, but Oz still looked a little green, finally remembering his hangover.
"Might as well eat," he advised.
"Today promises to be an interesting day."
IOI
Lance once again met shield and exploded.
Rain still threatened, but the tourney went on as planned. The Cat found herself called out in the tenth tilt of the day.
She was determined not to faltered.
The blow from the lance nearly unseated her. Maegan was rocked in her saddle, yet she still managed to hold onto Crusader's reins. She was staggered, but did not fall, the blow had struck hard, high on her shield, but she had not faltered. She turned Crusader, and took another lance from a boy standing at the edge of a tilt.
Through the eye slit of her cat's head helmet she could see her opponent was still in the saddle as well.
Good, she thought.
He will fall on this next pass.
Two lances had been broken already; she did not intend to make it four.
Her opponent today was Ser Borros, a rider in the service of their host, The Redboar. The man was good and strong, she had to admit, but she had not fallen yet, nor intended to.
This gray day had begun badly for yesterday's champions. Ser Alden Callaway had left some time in the night, no missive, and no one knew why. The man had been a favorite to be grand champion, and he slunk away like some robber knight afraid to pay his debt. Three other winners had fallen as well. Of those that had competed in the first day, only Ser Percival, the Flame of the West, and she remained.
She did not count Vickon the vicious among them. The man's victory had been tainted by blood, and no knight had challenged him since the jousting resumed. Now the Vicious one sat in a chair beside his tent, sipping wine, and getting his shoulders rubbed by one his three women.
He nodded and raised his wine horn as the Cat rode by, a contented smile on his face.
She glared at him.
His time would come.
Think not of him now, little Meg, she could almost hear her grandfather's words. It is Ser Borros that matters now, and only Ser Borros.
The Vicious one is the future, Ser Borros is the now.
When the master of games gave her the signal to ride on, she gave her battle cry and charged down the list, her, lance aimed at the Redboar sigil on her opponent's shield. Crusader did not shy away; he met the challenge with the competency of the veteran that he was. He…
Lance met shield again, but this time, it was the Cat who was unseated…
She came down hard in the mud.
No, she thought her head still spinning from the fall.
No!
She somehow managed to find her feet, not willing to lose her sword, horse, and armor. Her plate stained brown with sticky mud. The crowd cheered as she managed to find her feet, but Ser Borros had already dismounted as well. The big man came at her. He wielded a morning star instead of a blade.
He advanced on her twirling the weapon faster and faster. Her head was still ringing from the impact, but somehow she had managed to get her sword free; she shook her head to clear the cobwebs, and dropped into a fighting stance.
The Redboar man charged.
Meg raised her shield.
The impact almost broke her arm.
Again and again the man hammered her. He rained down blows upon her head and torso, her shield becoming more and more dented with each strike. She tried to shove him back, but he sidestepped and she almost took a good hard strike on her shoulder. That might have ended things right there, such blow might have broken her collar bone, but Ser Borros sidestepped yet again, choosing not to take the blow, and once again struck down hard on shield, trying to strike at her head.
The move surprised her.
All he needs is me to yield, she thought. He could have won by hurting me, yet, he fights on, fights on as if to kill. Why?
The Redboar man struck again, and again, his blows becoming harder, more desperate somehow. She charged in with her shield, trying to strike at his arm and disarm him.
For the briefest of moments, the two locked eyes, she saw the contempt in the Redboar man's gaze, that and a bit of fear.
He hid that fear with a chuckle, and murmured just loud enough for her to hear over their struggles.
"Prince Vickon says hello little one."
The words made her freeze,
It was all the Redboar's man needed, he released his morning star and with a quickness she would not have expected from such a big man, he had a knife in his hand a knife he shoved between her belt and breast plate. The blade bit deep.
She cried out more in surprise than pain.
A Redboar man she thought, fighting for the Crowned Mabari! Why? How?
She heard Ser Borros laugh. Yet in her mind she saw Vickon, he and his three blank faced women.
Fury flashed in her eyes.
Something in her snapped.
She yowled her battle cry, a mix of pain and anger.
For Maegan the Cat, the world turned red.
Then it faded to black.
