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Lords of the Fallen: Lords and Ladies
Chapter 3: Harkyn
Harkyn hated fancy parties because there was never no sense to them: no kegs, no plain speaking, no fights to liven things up some.
"Sir Harkyn, how splendid to see you."
"Sir Harkyn, would you have time to meet my squire?"
"Sir Harkyn, are you free the next moon? My daughter's flower has started to blossom and-"
"Sir Harkyn!"
"Sir Harkyn!"
"Harkyn?"
"Sir Harkyn?"
Gaaaaaaah!
The entire night had been like that – a mix of elderly men and women congratulating him, a mix of men and women his age sizing up to him, and a few young men and women as well, the former of whom looked up to him, the latter of whom he looked down towards in a most un-knightly fashion.
"Sir Harkyn!"
Looked down at a particular area of their bodies, he reflected. Leaning against the wall of the ballroom, trying as best he could to look inconspicuous, his eyes nonetheless veered over towards the Lady Elizabeth, currently engaged in discourse with Lady Lafitte. What they were talking about he couldn't quite hear over the din of voices and instruments, but-
"Harkyn!"
But he had no time for such things anyway. Because Sir Lowell was making his way up to him.
"Do your ears not alert you to my presence?" the knight asked. He stumbled up against the wall.
Piss off.
"Well? I must protest this treatment, fellow knight, for-"
"Go away," Harkyn said, meeting Lowell's bloodshot eyes with his weary own. "You're drunk."
The knight did a strange combination of laughing and belching. The stench of wine was on his breath.
"So tell me…Harkyn…" Lowell slurred, drawing out a waterskin and drinking what Harkyn suspected was anything but water." He hiccupped. "Ain't yar thing arnt it?"
Harkyn winced. He wanted to move away, but doing so would only take him back into the throng of people he'd spent all night avoiding. Lowell let out another belch that drew a look from Elizabeth and Lafitte.
Like a rock and a hard place. Or a sword and axe.
Harkyn sighed. Swords and axes. He'd been caught between plenty of them over his years of service. He wished he was caught between them now. At least then he could fight his way out of his predicament.
"Aren't ya meant to be north?" Lowell asked, now engaged in an epic struggle of trying to put cork to waterskin. "Y'know…snow…stuff?"
"The Lands of Prayer?" Harkyn asked. "Yes. I would be. I would like to be there right now."
"Ah, ya glory hog you!"
Not glory, Harkyn told himself. Necessity. Belief. Some preached the return of the Fallen God, the Creator and Destroyer of Worlds. The belief that His body was up in the north. Harkyn wanted to go. But without sanction, he'd be a rogue knight. No better than Lowell in his own way.
"Y'know what I think?" Lowell asked, having finally got cork to waterskin. "Yur a coward."
God help me.
"Coward…" he slurred, putting a hand on Harkyn's shoulder. "Yur here cause ya wanna be!"
Harkyn took his fellow knight's hand off his shoulder. Then he met his fellow knight's gaze. "Don't say that," he said.
"What?" he asked. "Coward?"
"There's that word again."
"Coward!" Lowell slurred, far louder than Harkyn cared for. "Coward coward cow-"
He never got the last "coward" out of his mouth. Harkyn delivered a fist to it before he could.
Someone screamed. Others gasped. Harkyn couldn't see who – all his attention was focussed on Lowell.
"Don't. Call. Me. Cow-"
The word was cut short as Lowell kicked him in the stomach, sending him sprawling. His head spinning, Harkyn looked up and saw his fellow knight get to his feet and move towards him. For someone whose breath reeked of the devil's drink, he could move surprisingly fast. Fast enough to jump down onto him and begin punching.
"Truly a battle for the ages!" Lowell cried. "Today, honour will be-"
Harkyn grabbed his fist and shoved it back into the knight's face. Grabbing his neck, he slammed it against the wooden floor.
"Enough!" he heard someone cry. "This is-"
Harkyn ignored them as the two knights began rolling across the floor, forcing anyone near them to scamper out of the way as fast as their fancy dresses would allow. Dresses of similar embroidery to the ones the knights were wearing.
"Coward!"
It wasn't so bad, Harkyn supposed. Had he been wearing his armour, he wouldn't have been able to be so agile. Thought were he wearing a gauntlet, his fist wouldn't hurt so much as he punched Lowell in his ugly mug. Regardless, he was able to pull Lowell up and slam him against one of the stain-glass windows.
"Coward…" Lowell slurred. "Coward…"
Harkyn sighed. "Is this what you wanted, Lowell? he whispered. "Another fight? For old time's sake?"
The knight belched. And Harkyn gave a sad smile of resignation. Of course it was, he told himself. Lowell had given him what he wanted. Course he had to deal with the fact that he'd brawled in front of every person of note in the land. And as he glanced back at them, he saw the Lady Elizabeth walking up to him.
"I think…you should drop him," she said. "Lest you do something you may regret."
So young. Yet the only one with enough guts to-
Lowell grabbed him by the shoulders. He fell back. And both knights went tumbling out the window.
Damn you!
Both knights rolled across the roof, out into the snow. Both knights tumbled off. Both knights fell onto the ground with a loud 'thud.'
Damn you Lowell…I swear, when I…
Harkyn's thoughts trailed off. After tonight, he'd be lucky to do anything again. And come to think of it, he had pined for a fight earlier on. Only in his imagination, it didn't end with his posterior being on the cold ground.
"Are you alright, good sir?"
He looked up and saw a guard and an elderly man looking down on him, the latter bearing the sign of the Five Fingers of the Fallen God. Likely a preacher.
"It is good timing, if I may say so myself," the man said. "I was giving a sermon of the Fallen God. Are you here for it?"
"Sermon my arse," the guard muttered.
Harkyn sighed and rested his head back on the cold ground. "That's right," he groaned, feeling a sudden urge for wine. "That's exactly what I'm here for."
Lowell belched.
A/N
This was actually the first chapter of this story that I wrote, but it got put at the end. It was based on the intro of "John hated fancy parties because there was never no sense to them: no kegs, no plain speaking, no fights to liven things up some."
Anyway, that's this story finished. Don't have any other Lords of the Fallen stories on my 'to write' list right now. Currently working on a StarCraft story titled Downfall for what it's worth.
