Author's Note: And we continue with Clint's adventure at the Ren fair. I had way too much fun writing this, if you can't tell.
Special thanks to my beta, CraftyLady51, who has worked so hard on this with me. And thank you to everyone who commented, followed and favorited me. It really makes me feel encouraged because I am stepping out of my comfort zone a little with this story. There is a lot more world building and character development then I have tackled before. Thank you for your support. Enjoy!
Chapter 6 – Same but Different
Clint joined the bustle of archers milling around in front of the field as the organizers tried to bring order to the chaos. The wizard was back, squeaky voice and all, as he read numbers off a clipboard. Because of the much larger crowd of contestants and the level of skill, things were a little different this time. With the kids, helpers collected arrows and kept score. However, the adults collected their own arrows and reported their score to judges who followed them into the field. There were ten targets instead of five and the targets were very different too. In the spirit of the festival, there were straw men set up with targets over vital points. Highest points were perfect heart, head, or gut shots, which lesser points in concentric rings around those points. Bonus points were awarded if anyone hit all three bullseyes. Clint heard a couple people muttering about things being unorthodox, but he thought it was awesome. They would shoot two sets, or ends, of 12 to determine who would be in the finals. The wizard promised a challenge for those who made it that far.
Clint took his place behind Wendy and Thomas with a grin that was sadly short lived. "Well, well, well. Is this the amateur you told us about, Tommy?" said a young man that Clint had noticed with Thomas earlier. Beside him, Wendy rolled her eyes.
"That he is, Tim," the jerk agreed easily. "Honestly, I'm not sure how he can even aim with a stance like that."
"Interesting," the third brother said. He held out a hand. "Good luck. I'm looking forward to watching you shoot."
As he took the man's hand, Clint forced himself to smile, the kind of smile that made his cheeks hurt if he had to hold it very long. "Thanks, good luck to you too."
"Oh, don't worry about us," the other man said, not releasing Clint's hand. He was squeezing a little hard, but not enough to hurt. Clint wasn't sure if that was what he was going for. "We've been doing this for years. In fact, we'll be trying out for the Olympics next year. So don't feel bad if you can't keep up."
"I'll keep that in mind," Clint said, keeping his face bland.
Finally, after a final squeeze, the guy let go and the three of them moved off a little to talk amongst themselves.
"Geeze," Wendy hissed softly. "What's with those jerks?"
"I don't know, but I can't wait to mop the floor with them."
"Yeah? I'll be lucky to make the finals. I'm better with an axe," Wendy said with a shrug dismissing the Wilcoxes as not worth her time.
"Why an axe?" Clint asked as he double checked his bow. He needn't bother, Princess was perfect, but he liked the feel of her under his hands.
"My dad's a lumberjack and he made all of us practice. We're only in Colorado for the summer while he does work for the Forest Service. I'm really from Oregon," She explained with a grin. "Mum's the word, k? I'm trying to blend in." She mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key.
Clint copied her but it was a little harder with the huge grin on his face. "I'm really from Iowa, we're just passing through," he whispered and they giggled at the shared secret. Then they were called up to shoot.
He had fun with it. He made sure to get the bonus points, but then made it a game to make the rest of his shots seem random yet still have good points. At a judge's prompting, he ran to get his arrows and count up his points along with all the others in his group. He and Wendy shared a high-five on their way back to the line. Then they had to wait again for the last round, both of them trying to keep away from the dork-butt (Wendy's name) brothers.
The second round went faster because everyone knew what to do. Clint played the same game again, this time watching the other archers in his peripheral. The jerks looked like cookie cut outs; they stood so still with the same stance. Clint agreed that it was nothing like his, but then Buck had cared about results not form; not to mention the unorthodox shooting Clint had to do for the act anyway. He'd like to see those jerks try hitting the target while riding a horse or hanging upside down. He bit his cheek to keep from laughing because that would screw up his shot. He planted a last arrow in the target's groin for the fun of it and waited for the signal to collect his arrows.
"Your form really is deplorable," one of brothers said, Clint didn't see which one. "Have you had any training at all?"
Clint clenched his free hand, willing himself not to punch the jerk in the face. "Deplorable" is a word they used to say at the group home; he didn't think normal people really used it. "My teacher was a little unconventional," he said instead.
"Well, we can see that," said the other brother, Tim. "Theo, doesn't he look like a joke? I mean, honestly the kid's a mess."
The signal came and they all started walking down, but the brothers didn't quit. "I've seen better shooting from a man with one arm," Thomas helpfully pointed out, grinning at his brothers.
Clint was getting angry and was just about to snap at them when Wendy spoke up. She had walked faster than all of them and was looking at Clint's target. "Well, that one armed man must have been a crack shot, since I think Francis has the highest score of any of us," she threw out cheerfully. "I like your groin shot. Was that on purpose?"
"Um, yeah," Clint said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he blushed. "I was just kinda having fun."
"Nice," she said before sauntering off to collect her own arrows.
After a lame comment about a wasted shot, the brothers shut up, although they glared plenty. Clint was just ready for it to be over.
After the scores were all turned in and tallied the wizard stood up to announce the rankings. The top 15 archers would advance to the next round. Unfortunately, but not surprising, the three brothers made it. So did Wendy, though she was only 12, which had her groaning. Clint got second, by three points. He'd have to be more careful next round and not mess around. He did score better than any of the brothers; but he was mature about it and didn't stick his tongue out at them. He let Wendy do it for them. Then they all split until the next round, which was pushed back to 2 o'clock. Clint waved bye to Wendy and went to find Logan.
It took a minute to find the mutant, though Clint did notice the creepy pirate again. He edged around the man, who seemed to be studying the crowd as it flowed around him, and spotted his guardian by the fence. He was holding two huge roasted turkey legs.
"Here," Logan said without preamble as Clint jogged up, his bow slung over his back. "Figured you be hungry again."
"Thanks," Clint said. He groaned with delight as he ate the greasy drumstick. "You know, I think this is the most fun I've had in my life!" he expounded between bites.
"Good for you kid," Logan laughed. He picked up a bag from between his feet. "Check to see if this fits. If it doesn't we'll need to get it resized."
"What?" Clint squeaked, peering into the bag carefully, trying not to drip turkey grease inside. With his clean hand he pulled out a purple leather vest with a pale purple linen shirt for underneath. "Aw, Logan, you shouldn't keep buying me stuff. I already owe you so much."
Logan waved him off and took the drumstick back to hold while Clint pulled the shirt on over his t-shirt. It was loose but not too much. The vest was a close fit, made perfect by adjusting the laces in the back. "Thought we'd complete the look," Logan said approvingly. "Good, now you look like a plum."
Clint rolled his eyes and smacked the man's shoulder before reclaiming his turkey to finish eating. "Never have too much purple," Clint argued with his mouth full.
"A responsible adult would tell you not to talk with your mouth full," Logan pointed out helpfully, his eyes twinkling.
"Good thing I got you then," Clint shot back after taking a big bite.
They kept up the banter as they returned to checking out the stalls they hadn't seen yet. They both enjoyed the swordsmith booth. Apparently Logan was an experienced swordsman, though he preferred his "natural" weaponry. Clint thought about getting one for himself, since he couldn't practice was Jacques' anymore, but decided it was too expensive. Logan promised to look into another option. After a couple more shops and a ride on the elephant, which Clint loved but Logan stayed downwind from, they made their way back to the archery range. Clint really didn't want to be late and he was bouncing with pent up energy. Then he saw the pirate again. The man's one eye was staring straight at them and when a woman jostled his coat, Clint swore he saw a weapon bulge.
Suddenly, the sun, which had seemed pleasant all day, was too warm and Clint could feel sweat break out on the back of his neck. "Um, Logan?"
Logan hmmed, apparently not paying attention, but Clint knew better. He saw how Logan's eyes narrowed slightly and scanned the area and how his hands flexed, ready to send out those lethal claws.
"That guy over there, the one with the eye patch? I've seen him a couple times and now he's staring at us," Clint said softly, turning his head so the guy couldn't see him speak. His hands, clenched around his bow started to sweat.
Logan carefully looked in the direction Clint indicated with a flick of his eyes. Then he barked out a laugh. "Well, let's go talk to the pirate, shall we? Don't want to seem rude, ignoring him an' all," he suggested mischievously.
The reaction caught Clint off guard, so he just followed in Logan's wake as the short man plowed through the crowd. When they were close enough to talk to the stranger, who looked quite annoyed, Logan swept an arm behind Clint to bring him between the two men. For a second, Clint felt terrified, certain that Logan and/or the pirate were going to hurt him but Logan let go immediately, taking a half step back to give enough space so Clint didn't feel trapped but not too much for him to feel abandoned. Clint could breathe again.
"Kiddo, meet Nick Fury, director of SHIELD," Logan said, pitching his voice so he wouldn't be overheard in the crowd.
Clint did a double take. "Wait, what?" he asked, confused as all get out. "I thought we were hiding from SHIELD." He tried really, really hard not to feel betrayed.
"I said I knew someone who could get them off our backs, and that's Nick," Logan explained, straight faced but his tone dripping with amusement.
"Why are you after me anyway?" Clint demanded, turning on the one-eyed secret agent. At least his look made sense now, sort of. He kind of stood out like a sore thumb, even in the Ren Fest crowd.
"I didn't know we were until Logan called," Nick said, radiating authority. Clint waited for him to continue. The man narrowed his eye menacingly but Clint didn't back down. "I don't know why you were targeted, but I have some theories. We'll be discussing them at length, but I believe you were on your way back to your competition? I look forward to seeing what you can do, Hawkeye."
Clint didn't like how he said that. It sounded as if Clint was auditioning for something, and he wasn't sure he wanted to show his cards until he knew what the game was. He glanced at Logan, nervously, keeping Nick Fury in the corner of his vision.
"You go ahead and win, Clint," Logan encouraged gently. "We'll talk afterward. I promised I wouldn't lie, right? No secrets."
Clint had an unnatural urge to demand a pinky promise. Instead, he nodded to the two men and strode off, keeping his back straight as he swaggered back to the archery table. He felt the back of his neck prickle, and his ears burned, but he didn't look back once.
Wendy was waiting for him, apparently eager to continue. "I've been watching the set up," she explained. "They set up rudimentary moving targets. This will be a hoot!"
"That does sound awesome," Clint agreed, putting the spy/pirate out of his mind. "How are they doing it?"
"See those guys on the sides, behind the wood barriers? They've been running ropes and pulleys across the field attached to targets. Some are in the grass, but you can see the ones in the air. The targets look pretty small too. It's going to be extra hard," she exclaimed giddily, clutching his arm as she pointed out different things. "Some of them are even meant to pop up, though I don't know how they managed that; some kind of spring or something."
"This whole thing is a joke," one of the ass-hat brothers (Clint's name) said as the three of them walked up. "It's all so amateurish and primitive. They should have just kept to a basic target instead of investing in this farce."
Clint couldn't understand why the three bastards were so persistent on bothering him and Wendy. The other 10 archers were spread out around them, checking their equipment and talking amongst themselves, but the jerks made a beeline to Clint and Wendy. "I think it's pretty interesting," he offered politely when they looked like they expected an answer from him.
"Tsk, shows how much of a country bumpkin you are," Thomas sneered. "I bet you've never even competed before."
Clint winced, and the older brother, Tim, latched on to the perceived weakness. "You haven't?" he acted surprised. "Well, no wonder this all seems so 'interesting' to you. You're just a novice. You've just been lucky so far."
Clint bristled and opened his mouth to retort angrily, but the wizard called for their attention. For the moment he had dropped his squeaky tone. "All of you, gather around. We don't have much time, because we're running behind, so I'll be brief. You will go one at a time. You will be given a quiver with two dozen arrows. You have to shoot all 24 in the time we give you, but you determine your targets. The main target is the straw dummy from before but there will also be moving targets. If you hit a moving target, you will get points based on the accuracy of your shot and the difficulty of the target. The moving targets are worth more, but you will receive no points if you miss so use your best judgement. To keep things fair, archers who have not taken their turn will wait in the tent so they won't know where the moving targets are beforehand. It will keep things interesting. Any questions?"
After a few short clarifications and a drawing to determine the order, the Wizard sent the first archer to the line and led the rest of them back to a tent set up off to the side. The old prospector who had signed out the bows would watch them to make sure no one peeked.
Clint was a little disappointed to be almost the last to shoot, unlucky number 13, since he couldn't watch the others, especially Wendy. It also meant that he couldn't gauge how many points he'd need to win. He'd have to do his best, to be sure. It made him anxious. The atmosphere in the tent was tense, and it only thickened as people left. No one spoke and even the jerks kept their mouths shut, probably because the bow-maker was watching them all so close. When it was Wendy's turn he wished her luck and went to stand by the old man.
"Looks like you're still in it, boy," the man said with a grin. "How's she handling for you?"
"She's the best I've ever used," Clint answered honestly. "She's like a dream."
"I'm glad you're taken with her, makes it easier to let her go," he said softly.
"You'll keep your word, right?" Clint pressed. "If I win, you'll give her to me?"
"Sure thing, son," the man agreed easily. "Make sure you stop by my stall before you leave, and I'll sell you an oil for her that will keep her shine. Maybe an extra bowstring or two as well."
"Definitely," Clint promised.
They waited in silence, and Clint felt a lot better as he stroked the beautiful grain of his bow. He'd be perfect just for his bow, never mind the contest. Still, that cash prize of $700 would be nice.
"Number 13," the blue and orange jester called in.
"Jason, care to spell me?" the old man asked. "I want to watch this one."
"Of course," Jason nodded eagerly, the bells on his hat bouncing around.
"Come on, son," the bow-maker said, pushing Clint out of the tent. "Let's see what you can do."
Clint walked up to the starting point in a little of a haze. He was used to performing in front of an audience and he knew he wouldn't miss, but he still felt nervous. He accepted his quiver with numb fingers that could barely get the belt around his waist. He scanned the crowd nervously and spotted Logan standing next to Nick Fury. Logan saw him looking and tipped his cowboy hat gravely and Clint felt his gut relax. He could do this. He'd prove he was worthy of Logan's attention and pride. He took a deep breath and looked to the wizard for the start.
"You have five minutes, so don't dally," the man explained. He held up a hand and dropped it fast. "Begin!"
Clint nocked an arrow and let fly before he was even consciously aware of what he was aiming at. The stuffed rabbit that was slipping through the grass was pinned. His world narrowed to the targets in front of him. He shot the stuffed bird that sped over the top of the straw dummy. He noticed a rustle of movement and nailed the wooden target that popped up several yards past the dummy before putting an arrow in the dummy's heart. Another target popped up and he nailed it twice before it fell. He scanned the area for his next target, alert for the slightest rustle of grass. He got another rabbit when they tried to slip it past and a red painted bird that swung across from a flag pole. Then he started shooting more arrows into the dummy, hitting all the vital points at least twice as close together as possible. Then one of the helpers on the side stuck out a painted target for him to hit, at the same time a target down the field popped up. He hit both of them with ease. This continued until he ran out of arrows, each time hitting his target dead on, regardless of where it appeared. He was alone with his bow and the targets, nothing else mattered and he was shocked when the wizard called "Time!"
He came out of his focus with a sigh. "Well?" he asked with a smirk. He clenched his hands to hide how they were starting to shake a little.
"Great job, kid," the wizard applauded. "Go over there to join the rest while we tally your score."
Clint nodded and nearly stumbled as he made his way over to a row of chairs where the other archers were waiting. It looked like Wendy saved him a seat between her and a tall woman with brown hair piled on her head with a complicated braid. The old man came up beside him.
"That was amazing shooting, son," the man laughed, clapping Clint on the back. "I've been doing this fair for years and I've never seen anything like it. I'm honored to have you using one of my bows."
"Really?" Clint asked amazed. "But I haven't won, yet."
"Don't you worry about it, boy. I'd say you won. You know, usually people can't hit every one of the moving targets and they had more of them this year. I'm sure you just blew the record out of the water."
Clint blushed and stammered and the man took pity on him and let him retreat to his seat. Though it wasn't much of a retreat as the woman and Wendy gushed over him.
Wendy punched his shoulder, which actually hurt a little. "You've been holding back, you bum," she accused.
"Aw, Wendy," he whined but when she glared at him he admitted, "Maybe a little? I just didn't want to show my hand too early, you know?"
She huffed, which made the woman beside Clint laugh. "Fine," the red-head said. "I forgive you, only because you're awesome."
Clint was sure he was the color of her hair as he hid his face in his hands.
After everyone finished, all that was left was to wait for the results. It took a while, since there were apparently a couple of ties. Clint's stomach was doing acrobatics, despite Wendy's assurance that he had done great and was sure to win. The two of them stayed near the tall woman, who introduced herself as Jan, because the older woman had taking a liking to them and glared until the terrible trio took their vitriol somewhere else. Clint liked her a lot since she reminded him of the bearded lady, though he didn't tell her that. They passed the time pleasantly talking about archery. Jan apparently taught archery at her local community college and she was a fountain of information about the history of the sport. That had never interested Trickshot, so Clint felt like an idiot as the women discussed the origins of the recurve bow, but he was happy to just listen. Maybe Logan would help him find some books on the subject, later.
Finally, the results were in. The wizard stepped forward holding his staff and a clipboard. On one side of him stood the two "nobles" from the juniors contest along with a new pair, all of them fully decked out in medieval gowns and suits including some really goofy looking puffy pants. The women's hair was piled high on their heads with faux jewels for decoration. Clint wondered if that hurt their necks. On the other side, the jester and the bow-maker stood holding ribbons for the runners-up.
The wizard started at the bottom. A heavy-set man with a cheerful face graciously accepted 15th, setting the pace of accepting the ribbon then bowing respectfully to the royals before moving aside for the next contestant. Wendy took 13th which she shrugged at, disappointed but proud she made it this far. Thomas took 12th, which made Clint snarl. Jan took 10th and Wendy and Clint cheered and whistled for her. The jerk's brother, Tim, took 6th. He didn't even bother to bow before stalking angrily to his brother.
At last, they started to announce the winners. "In third place, this will have the honor of demonstrating thine skill before their majesties, the King and Queen, in the Grand Tournament and the prize of $100, Theodor Wilcox the fourth."
The last of the brothers stepped forward. He received his envelope and red ribbon with a bright, fake smile on his face. He bowed theatrically to the royals before striding back to his brothers.
The wizard watched the young man with just a hint of exasperation before checking his list again and lifting his staff. "It is my honor to award second place, with the esteemed prize of $200 to Richard Law. Three cheers!" He led the crows in three cheers of "hail" and a big man with a respectable blond beard, but no hair on his crown, stepped forward to collect his prize. He kissed the ladies hands and bowed deeply before the lords, extending his leg elegantly.
This seemed to lift the wizard's spirits and he grinned as he waved his staff around and nearly smacked the jester in the head. "And our Grand Champion, with the respectable prize of $700, Francis Summers!"
As the wizard lead the crowd in a succession of "hurrahs", Clint walked up to claim his prize. He felt like he was stepping on clouds in his new leather moccasins as he approached the "royals". The lord from before stepped forward to clap him on the back and congratulate him while the lady gave him a hug and kissed his cheek, making him blush. They handed him a pewter goblet with "Kingdom's Champion Archer" stamped on the side with glass jewels embedded in the base. Inside were his envelope of prize money and a new leather wrist guard of tooled leather.
"That was Jim's idea," the other gentleman said when Clint picked out the gauntlet. "He said that you needed a new one, but you better go to him to buy new a new finger guard. Congratulations, son. You have performed beyond any expectations."
Clint rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. "I just tried my best," he admitted quietly.
"Then your best is better than we've ever seen," the new lady laughed. She was younger than the first but her costume looked finer in a pretty blue with silver edging. "Well done, Francis. Now let's get some pictures, shall we? Then you can enjoy the fair for a while before you have to perform for their Majesties." She winked at him as she spun him around for the photographers.
There was a series of flashes and a rush of further congratulations before Clint finally broke way to find Logan again. His mind was spinning and he felt a little dizzy from all the attention. The whole feel was different than he was used to. In the circus, he was praised and fawned over by fans but it was expected of him to be perfect. No one asked for his autograph, like at the circus, but everyone he talked to praised his skill, telling him over and over again how exceptional he was. Several women said that his parents must be so proud of him and he must have worked hard to get so good. That last threw him the most. No one at the circus mentioned the hours and hours he spent practicing until he never missed. It was expected, insisted upon and if he failed to hold up those standards he was punished. He thought back to how the other archers reacted when they missed. Some cursed, some laughed but most seemed to shrug it off as no big deal. Trickshot had never been so forgiving.