From the Annals of the Fellowship of the Black Rose

How the Marquis won his March

Or

A Tale Of Two Blades.

Prologue

"Fuckin people" Ben swore. He was stood in the square of scholars in front of the Grand Imperial Academy of Nuln and Stirland. He was also thoroughly pissed off. Ever since he had first heard of this daft idea to send him to college he had known it was a plot by his Father's wife. Unfortunatley he had been in so much of a temper over the whole thing that rather than argue the toss he had packed up and left. Wishing them all the best in his own very best ironical voice.

His father, Marquis Cromwell of the Vaastmark was one of the most powerful people in service to the Elector of Ostermark. A man who had fought his way through winter war and uncounted warriors to win the largest March in the country. He had been the first knight of the land, a man nobody would cross out of fear and respect. But that had all changed. Ben's father married for politics, and he married the daughter of his neighbour, a marcher lord like himslef. The marriage had been fruitful if unhappy. Ben had grown up as far from the house as he could manage, away for months at a time serving with the Marquis's orc hunting bands. Like his parents he was stubborn and prideful. Unlike them he had this beaten out of him by his 'tutors', the various sheriffs who oversaw his 'education' and the orcs that he fought.

It had been a hard life but one the boy was well suited to. That had all changed with the death of his mother. The stories were that she had died out of spite, rather than provide her husband with another heir she had willed herself to death. Whatever the reason it meant little to Ben's fatehr, until that is he met Abomove. Lady Abomove was a delicate flower, a westerner more used to silk than sabres and palaces to palisades. She had captured Marquis Cromwell's heart in a stampede of lace. It was then that things changed.

Lady Abomove had no use for the plain fare of the household, immediately importing a chef. She hated being woken early, so the marquis' morning training was cancelled. But most of all she hated Ben. He was the biggest thorn in her side that she could ever imagine. He argued with her in front of her husband, belittled her, and scorned her attempts to civilise him. He was wild and blunt. Even so all this she could have forgiven if the boy had just gone and done what his brothers had done, that is get themselves killed in these foolish skirmishes with the orcs. But he didn't and so she hated him.

You see Lady Cromwell, nee Abomove wanted one thing, and that was a dukedom. She wanted strawberry leaves above her mantel and she wanted them now. Her new husband, pliable as he was, was a step in the right direction. But she needed more, and that meant advancement. That in turn required an heir she could sculpt. Not just any heir though, her heir. The young Ben just would not do. So she got rid of him by sending him to the very place he would least fit in, The Aristocratic haven of the Grand Imperial Academy.

"Fuckin' people" Ben repeated in his thick accented Osterspiel. He had never seen as many people outside a warhost, and even then maybe not. And they were all being pointless, chatting, flapping and warbbleing like painted pigeons. He shoved his way through with traditional severity, only to find the popinjays actually trying to reprimand him. Admittedly one glare later they were all deciding not to bother him further but it was still astounding that such wet blankets would dare to raise their voice to a man.

It was little wonder they were scared however, at this moment Ben Cromwell looked very dangerous indeed. Despite his young age he was already pushing six feet, and built large with it. His chain Hauberk was plain and obviously functional, as were the heavy sword and broad knife that were belted at his waist. His short dark hair was cut, rather than in the latest fashion, as short as he could manage and his face already bore a collection of small scars. His face, even without the scowl, was hardly handsome, his jaw perhaps a little too square, his bone structure perhaps a little too clear, but when combined with his dark eyes and wild ruggedness it did hold more than a little charm. If his build was a little on the heavy side it could easily be put down to bloodline. Nobody this generation had accused the Cromwells of having 'mixed' blood, but it wasn't so long ago that such accusations were more commonplace. Ben's father fixed that with the sharp end of a broadsword.

"Fuck it" he cursed, forcing himself to step into the porch of the academy. "Ain't like I've got anywhere else to go."

And on such auspicious beghinnings began one of the greatest love stories the empire will ever know.

o

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o

Chapter One

" And if you ever so much as breathe my name again I'll tear out your heart and squash it beneath my heel!" Ben threatened, his voice barely above a whisper. The target of his ire had no trouble hearing however, being as how the young heir had all of his attention. A feat he had achieved by lifting the boy off his feet by the lacy frills of his shirt and firmly planting him into the wall. The simple fact that he had decked two of the other boy's friends on the way to him sort of helped as well. "Now do you understand me, puke?" Ben demanded in his still heavily accented Reik. The 'puke' in question nodded as fast as he could, anything to make the nutter barbarian put him down.

From behind came a brief clap. Ben whirled, discarding the young noble as he went. In front of him he found a black clad man of middle years. His face was adorned with a stylish goatee and his waist with a very servicable looking rapier.

"Well done young man" the black clad guy added, "I particularly admired the finish."

"What are you talking about?" Ben demanded.

"You have an obvious eye for combat, and some significant skill in its pursuance," the man continued as if Ben hadn't been rude. "You may go far."
"What?" Ben said, unused to anything so much as resembling a compliment from these city-folk.

"Of course here in the city its more normal to challenge the man rather than make him loose bodily control, but your way works too," the stranger commented, with a smile.

"Okay who are you" Ben Demanded, his temper flaring.

"My name is DeVir, Jacques DeVir," the man replied, "and I am tiring of your rudeness."

"Forgive me" replied the chastened Ben, lessons learnt at the end of a tutors baton kicking in. This man was obviously a fighter and had yet to do anything to deserve his brusqueness. "I am out of sorts today" he added, somewhat understating the problem.

"Indeed" the man replied, moving to leave, before suddenly stopping, "learn some more about duelling and perhaps we will talk again," and with that he left.

"Nutter" Ben swore in Ost, before he too turned and left the scene. It was only then that the three boys on the floor dared to get up and scamper away.

The Academy had not been kind to Ben. He had rapidly found out that the meagre funds that his father had provided for his education were far from the norm and that without the extra pulchritude he was always going to be on the outside. Even affording the rent had been an effort and with each passing week more and more of his finery was finding its way into the grubby hands of pawnbrokers. As his means diminished so his detractors became more obnoxious. Even those who had initially taken to the honest spoken youngster were now avoiding him, especially after his flat refusal to take their proffered loans.

Which had led to the scene in the corridor, one noble nonce with more money than brains had opened his mouth a little too blatantly and Ben's enforced reserve had cracked along with the boy in question's nose. But this was not a long term solution. Soon the last of his family adornments would be gone and then he would be forced to leave. something he had promised not to do till his father called for him. He needed a plan.

o

o

A week later he was standing in the entrance to the DeVir Hall of scars, a flash name for the man's fencing school. He was watching as the fencing master was practising a complex combination, using the wall mirror to aide him. He had been waiting there some time.

"You have something to say?" demanded the fencing master, obviously frustrated with his own performance.

"You told me to seek you out when I had learnt more," Ben replied, "I am and I have."

"Indeed?" remarked DeVir, mopping his brow with a towel, "and what is it you expect from me?"

"I am hoping for a lesson" Ben replied confidently.

"You aren't the only one who has been learning" DeVir replied. "I too have looked, and it seems that you may not have the means to afford such a thing."

"Indeed" replied Ben, with a rapidly suppressed grimace, "However I soon will."

"Explain" DeVir demanded.

"Next month the grand tourney comes to Nuln," Ben began, "I am going to win it, hence money." DeVir smiled.

"You are going to win?" he said, "Just like that?"

"Just like that. I am a superb fighter, I have yet to meet a man who could best me in the foot lists" Ben replied, before tilting his head and offering a small curl on his lip, . "Of course the joust will be fairly tough but I have managed to borrow the gear."

"Borrow?" DeVir asked, "the information I received said that you didn't"

"That's different" Ben replied, "They want me to borrow on the name of my fatehr, and that I cannot do."

"It's fairly normal," DeVir argued.

"Not where I'm from" Ben replied. "So how about it?"

"The lessons?" DeVir replied, "that depends on what you want them for." Ben raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of the implied question.

"I am going to have to sell the last of my good gear to get ready for the tourney" he provided slowly, watching the older man's reactions, "that will cause...ill-feeling, which in turn will cause ill-thought words, which will demand satisfaction."

"So what you are saying is that you wnat to learn the rapier in two weeks so you can defend your honour from people slandering you for dressing like a pauper," DeVir asked.

"Something like that"

"even though they have a point and that you will be bringing their Academy into disrepute by attending while looking like that."

"Even so" Ben agreed through gritted teeth.

"Fine" replied DeVir after a pause. He walked to the rack, selected a foil and threw it to the young Cromwell. "Let's see what you've got." It was patently obvious that the boy had very little indeed. In fact at a guess DeVir would have said the boy had never held a fencing sword before. he would have been nearly right. "Boy" DeVir called, "I have no time for coddling children."

"You won't need to" Ben replied, studying the master carefully before shifting his grip to the right manner, "I learn very fast." The session that followed saw Ben brutally stabbed in his doublet by the master's blunted blade more times than he could count. It also saw the master thoroughly amazed at how fast the boy picked up techniques. By the time DeVir kicked him out Ben had already learnt more than any other student had managed inside three moths of training.

Come back tomorrow afternoon" DeVir called as Ben moved to leave, and the boy's face lit up, he had done it. Now all he needed to do was find someone to teach him how to joust.

o

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Chapter 2

The afternoon was hot and muggy, by the time Ben reached the Hall of Scars he was already sweating. The fact that he had run the entire way did not help, nor that he had hardly been idle during the morning. as the noonday bells finished chiming he let himself in as he had the day before, and seeing nobody using the hall, dressed in the training gear and began practising. Half an hour later DeVir came down from his home above the hall.

"Ben?" he asked.

"Yes Master DeVir" Ben replied, throwing a quick salute.

"Aren't you a little early?" the master queried.

"You only said the afternoon" Ben replied, "I didn't enter the hall till the bells stopped..."

"Ben, Ben, Ben" DeVir said shaking his head. "What am I going to do with you."

"I was hoping that we might do the parry-passe-gauche today" Ben replied, pretending to miss the meaning, but giving himself away with the cheeky smile. DeVir just shook his head again and began putting his own jacket on.

"If you have only been here for that much time why are you so tired?" DeVir asked as he began his stretches.

"I spent the morning in the training lists" Ben replied, "getting knocked on my ass" he added resentfully.

"You turn up to my session tired and sore?" DeVir demanded, his temper flaring, "How do you expect to learn anything like that?"

"I need to be slower!" Ben replied, raising his own voice to match, "Otherwise my footwork will never improve! yesterday I was compensating for lack of skill by using old methods, I need to learn the right ones, or there ain't much point!"

"Indeed" replied DeVir defused, his sharp mind again marvelling at his new student's grasp of the situation, "A convenient excuse. But this time it washes. Very well En Garde!"

The session that followed stretched DeVir more than he could have ever possibly expected from a new student. Time and time again he was forced to up the ante and pull out new moves, only to find them repeated back to him. The culmination came when he suddenly found himself disarmed. With a neat flick and twist Ben curled the master's blade out of his hand and across the room.

"Where the hell did you learn that!" DeVir demanded, pulling his helmet off and starting to suspect that the boy was playing him for a fool.

"You were practising it when I came on yesterday," Ben explained after pulling his own helm free, "I worked it out last night."

"You worked it out?" DeVir replied, suddenly more amazed than angry, "That move is a Master's trick!"

"So?" Ben replied, "I just learnt it a little early" he offered cheekily. DeVir returned the good natured smile and pulled his helmet back on.

"Very well, oh Master-in-training, Have at you!" he called and began the assault once more. Once more he marvelled at the boy's learning curve, as he first learnt and then mastered moves that should have taken him weeks to even be able to follow. His smile was only matched by that of his student. Even when they were forced to take breaks by sheer exhaustion they spent the time talking through moves and counters for them. This was what he always dreamed of, a student he could teach to excel.

Needless to say the two of them lost track of time. They hardly even noticed the light dimming other than to add it to the variables of the contests. But as all good things must the session was once more brought to an end.

"Father dinner is getting cold" scolded a voice. The two fencers turned and for the first time in his life Ben was smitten. Standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the DeVir residence was a vision of earth;y beauty. She was dressed in a pale summer gown, clinched high at the, somewhat revealing, bust in accordance with fashion. Her braided hair was dark brunette, almost dark enough to be black but at the same time light enough to shine in the evening glow. Her skin was not pale as the Haute Couture demanded by rather slightly tanned and beautifully accented by natural colour in her cheeks. Her smile was nothing short of radiant, but what really caught his attention were her eyes, framed in those dark eyelashes they were a brilliant blue-grey, as if some divinity had captured a storm sky and placed i there as the ultimate jewellery.

"Ben!" barked DeVir, suddenly bringing him back to his senses. "We must finish for the day" he added, sternly but with an obvious hint of regret. "I will see you tomorrow"

"Yes mater DeVir" Ben replied, bowing perfunctorily and grabbing his gear. He cast one look back at the descended goddess only to find her face averted and reddened in a blush. In an instant he was ashamed. All the way home he was all but literally kicking himself. The girl was clearly DeVir's daughter, and therefore a city-girl. He didn't need another lesson as to what that sort of girl thought of him. "I didn't even ask her name!"

A/N

this is set in a gamers version of the warhammer roleplay world. The characters are my own.

The fellowship of the black rose are cavaliers dedicated to the principles of courtly love and its highest ideals. They regularly help maidens escape unwanted mariiages, lovers unite across boders, tht sort of thing. (sorry nothing to do with Kodachi at all)