Lord Tael Duschane was the only one still fighting, all the other knights had thrown down their weapons and yielded. Louen had not planned on Tael having a pegasus, that meant that he had an escape route.
"Give up while you still can!" Louen approached the winged horse. "I promise that you will receive good care and a fair trial!" Tael paused for only a brief moment to look around him. Tael knew that the only options he had now were to surrender or die fighting. But he rode a pegasus, which gave him a third option.
"You'll be in the ground before I ever surrender to the likes of you!" Tael snorted, kicking the side of his mount. The winged horse spread its wings and flapped them, preparing for lift-off.
"TAEL!" Baudouin roared from the battlements. The man on the walls his greatsword aside and took a running leap at the horse. Baudouin and Tael collided, falling to the stone ground. They rolled around, each desperate to be on top. Baudouin gained upper hand and drove his fist into the older man's face.
"You traitor!" Blow after blow was struck, each hit from his armoured hand bloodying and bruising Tael's face. Louen's brother drew a dagger from his belt to kill him.
"No!" Louen grunted, grabbing his brother's arms. They wrestled over the knife and it was sent flying. The tiny blade scathed the pegasus' leg, causing her to cry in pain. She would have bolted, had someone not restrained it. "Our orders were to bring him back alive!"
"Father wants him dead!" Baudouin retorted, snapping at his brother.
"Oui, but the Fay demands that he be brought back alive." The Fay Enchantress was the head of the Bretonnian church. Though she was not the Royarch, she had just as much influence as them. The Fay even had a seat on the Royarch's table in court! Baudouin grunted, getting of the man.
"Throw him in the dungeon then!" Baudouin ordered, climbing the walls to retrieve his weapon.
"Men," General Moreau barked. "The day is ours, we have won!"
Louen awoke in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar castle. His leg ached from the night before. Getting up and dressing, Louen walked out through to the courtyard.
"Good morning, m'lord." General Moreau greeted him. "Was your respite restful?"
"It was," Louen answered, watching soldiers tear down banners belonging to House Duschane and replacing them with banners of House Leoncoeur. "How goes the reoccupation?"
"Almost all the fires have been contained. The walls and gates still need to be repaired, as well as the damaged houses and shops."
"And Tael's men?"
"They either converted to join our ranks or were put to the sword."
"Excellent," Louen smiled. "When shall we return to the capital?"
"The Royarch has ordered me to stay here," Moreau answered. "Only you and Baudouin shall return to Couronne." Louen would have enquired further, but knew better not to. Orders were meant to be followed, not questioned. Louen decided to walk the streets, among the people. Not many left their homes, still frightened by recent conflicts. Those who did dare to venture out seemed wary, but content. They knew that House Leoncoeur had liberated them from the invaders, and order restored. No doubt they would elect their own governor until the Royarch sent his own to govern the populace. The gates and walls had been obliterated by the trebuchet and battering rams, It would take days just to clear the wreckage. But Bretonnian men were tough, and would work from dawn till dusk to complete their objectives. After wondering the streets, he returned to the keep.
"Hurry up, brother!" Baudouin slapped his sibling on the back. The crowned prince had donned his armour and waited for the squires to bring out his steed.
Like General Moreau had been instructed, the bulk of the army remained at Castle Artois. Through the duke and fiefdom did the remaining convoy march towards Couronne, the capital of Bretonnia. At the head of the line Baudouin rode proudly, holding the tether that wrapped tightly around the bedraggled and chained Tael Duschane. Louen walked beside a great cage on wheels that rumbled down the road slowly.
"Never seen one before?" The driver asked, nodding at the cargo. The cargo in question whinnied, trying to spread her wings in the cramped bar prison.
"No, I have seen a pegasus many-a-time before." Louden answered. "I feel sorry for the beast, is all."
"We must keep her locked up, m'lord. Otherwise she would escape! But she is a fine mare, she is!"
"You are a royal poacher, correct?"
"That I am!" The old man smiled, slapping the seat beside him. Louen clambered aboard and seated himself with the hunter. "Been doing this job for over forty years. You name the creature: bear, pegasus, or even a whale! I'll wrangle it and have it in a cage."
"What about a demigryph?" Louen asked, eager to hear the man's stories. "Have you ever caught a griffin?" Griffins were creatures as old as the world itself. Few and far between, only the wealthiest and most honoured knights and lords could afford a griffin. The demigryph is a creature that only surfaced in the last few generations. The fusion of a lion and a griffin, they are rare, and incredibly hard to breed in captivity. But the cost in battle was worth it, one demigryph was worth ten horses in battle. Royarch Charlemagne had spent years working with the Maesters, royal poachers and pegasi breeders to try to cultivate a continuous production of the beasts.
"That I have, your grace! Lost my finger to a griffin two years ago!" A mutilated hand with only four digits was held up for all to see, the man bearing the wound like a trophy.
"You certainly must have stories to tell," Louen grimaced. "I have never one of the poachers before."
"Aye, well ours is a dying occupation. Y'see, since your father was a lad, the knights of the realm started seeing the challenge of catching and taming their own griffins and demigryphs themselves as a test of honour."
"Has the Royarch done anything to prevent the extinction of your work?" The knights and soldiers that marched alongside and behind the wagon observed Louen with interest. It was common knowledge that the highborn of Bretonnia saw the lowborn as subhuman, yet here was the prince of the realm, of all people, to sit beside an old man and hear his stories. In Louen's eyes, the backbone of a strong nation wasn't the size of its army, but the prosperity of the people. Why was House Lannister one the most powerful Houses? Because of their wealth, most of the gold in Westeros was mined in Lannister territory.
"What region do you hail from?" Louen asked.
"The south!" The trapper answered, spurring the horses on with a flick of the reins. "From Bourguile."
"Bourguile! My favourite wine comes from that area."
"Bit young to be drinking," the trapper smiled. "What would your mother say?"
"She..." Louen mumbled. "She died when I was a child. Have you not heard of the Tragedy of Orléans?" Orléans was once a small city on the coast. A prosperous trading city and stop in the road connecting the north to the south. Only sporting a small garrison and no navy, it was a prime target for raiders. Louen and Baudouin's mother was raised there, and often returned home to visit her parents. On one such visit ten years ago, House Greyjoy launched a massive assault, swamping the garrison with their numbers. The Greyjoys slaughtered all inhabitants and took the city for themselves. In the following battle to reclaim the city for Bretonnia, Royarch Charlemagne fed every one of the surviving Greyjoy invaders to the demigryphs.
"Oh, I apologise!" the man bowed his head, almost slamming his head against the bench. "I had no idea that the queen was there that day!"
"Think nothing of it," Louen shrugged. "You did not know."
"Louen," Baudouin approached his younger brother. "Why do you sit here with the royal poacher? Come ride at the front of the procession, where you belong!"
"I have no horse to ride upon," Louen answered simply.
"Take someone else's!" The trek had been long and hard on the men. Surely they would give up their steed if ordered to, though resent that fact. Surely this would be a test of virtue and charity. To demand a horse would be cruel, but to do nothing would be a sign of weakness…
"I shall walk!" Louen announced, jumping from the cart and jogging to the front of the convoy. "Let the men know that I shall keep the pace!"
It was late afternoon by the time Couronne's white walls slithered over the horizon. The sight of home made every man and beast quicken their pace, eager to arrive at their journey's end. In the fields around the city were meter tall palisades made from sturdy rock. What lay inside was not only farmland for grazing, but also the training grounds for Bretonnian cavalry. Louen climbed once more onto the carriage, desperate to try to see the mystical creatures that lay within. The grass rumbled as a squadron of knights mounted on demigryphs thundered past. The massive warbeasts were ferocious and powerfully built, standing larger than any horse. Their lust for bloodshed in the heat of battle was renowned, attacking their enemies with murderous assaults that no other creature could compare to. Each of the demigryphs were covered in a thick layer of armoured plates that overlapped their powerful sinews of muscular claws. Each of the beasts boasted a sharp beak so powerful that it could dismember a fully armoured knight in two as if a man were breaking a stick.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" the poacher hummed. The squadron of demigryph knights charged head on towards a huge bonfire, the riders bracing for impact. Most of the demigryphs used their huge, muscular legs to leap over the flames. Others simply just barged through, sending flaming debris in all directions.
"They are a sight to behold!" Louen agreed. The beasts and men of Bretonnia wore cloaks and garments coloured wine red and royal blue, the colours of House Leoncoeur, yet these knights wore armoured silver and gold.
"They are the king's personal guard! To see them train is a gift from the Lady!" the poacher smiled. "Wonder how many of them are riding demigryphs I caught?" A demigryph was reserved for only the mightiest and loyal of Bretonnian knights. To be given the honour of taming one yourself, or paying a fortune to buy one, was one that few had.
"Lord Louen," a knight approached them. "Prince Baudouin requests your presence at the front of the precession as we enter Couronne."
"It has been an pleasure," Louen offered his hand to the old man, smiling genuinely. The poacher gawked, for a lowborn to shake the hand of highborn was unheard of!
"The pleasure has been all mine!" the poacher took the hand and shook it with a prideful grin on his wrinkled face.
"Should I need a steed, I shall see you again!" Louen jumped of the cart and waved one final goodbye before joining his sibling.
The capitol city of the country of Bretonnia is Couronne. The hold that it occupied was encircled by a mighty stone wall that was several meters thick, and even more so high. Behind the mighty walls lay miles and miles of pastures and fields, with small farming towns dotting the roads and rivers. It was in the Outer Ring that the military centralised all of their operations. The field where the demigryphs were training was just one of many such fields that were used for training purposes. Then there was the Middle Ring, where plebs and civilians of all race and wealth lived and worked. Long before they had arrived at the gates of the Middle Ring did the trumpets begin to blare. As the band of soldiers made their way to the stone wall, the huge metal gates were thrown open. The streets were lined with civilians waiting them, cheering the brave soldiers home. The Leoncoeur brothers held their heads high, relishing in their welcoming.
"What a nice greeting this is!" Baudouin joked, waving to the masses.
"We've only just entered the southern gates. You think this'll keep up to the palace?"
"We shall see!" Baudouin laughed, tugging the rope that kept Tael Duschane walking. The exact size of Couronne's Middle and Inner Rings was larger than Kings Landing in Westeros, and near double the population. Built around a great bay on the western edge, the capitol of Bretonnia was one of the most prosperous cities on the continent, possibly the world. Each district had a specific purpose to keep order and efficiency, though there was the occasional shop, temple, or brothel that did not belong in the correct area. The southern gate where they had just entered was home to the market and tailor's districts. In the west lay the harbour and the artisan's districts. To the east lay the residential and temple complexes. In the northern parts of the city were a conglomerate of shops, temples, whorehouses and houses.
"Hail the Leoncoeur brothers!" a civilian shouted.
"The Lady smiles upon Baudouin and Louen!" another cheered. It was not long before the crowds thinned and the convoy arrived at the final wall, the Inner Ring. The gates had been opened for the troops long before they were near. As soon as they entered, it the change was evident. The air was fresher, the streets immaculate. Instead of cobblestone roads, tiles and marble were what people walked on. Where houses were once crammed together, all the homes and buildings in the final Ring were spaced apart, with large gardens and decorative fountains filling the space. The Inner Ring was home to the most wealthy and respected of Bretonnians. It was here that the immortal Lady lived, safe inside her holy cathedral. Sitting at the centre of Couronne, the Inner Ring was where the Royarch ruled. In the centre of the Ring was the Holy Cathedral of the Lady, where it is said that she first stepped onto this land. In the north-eastern corner of the huge Inner Ring lay a park of trees and gardens. Standing tall above its surroundings lay a shining white castle, Château Sommet. When they arrived at the tall iron gates, the party was welcomed home by the army of staff and nobles of the court. Baudouin dismounted his horse as they finally arrived home. Among the group awaiting them at the entrance of the castle was an older man, wearing regal robes and a crown upon his head.
"Father!" Baudouin bowed before the man, as did Louen when he caught up.
"Rise," the man instructed, both the brothers obeyed. A smile eventually grew on the man's face, and he threw his arms around the pair. "My sons have returned! You are unscathed, I trust?"
"I dislocated my leg," Louen answered, only to be shrugged away.
"You shall be alright, I'm sure. Tell me, Baudouin, how did the battle fare?"
"I present you with gifts from the battle." Baudouin gestured. The covered cage was brought before the king, and the covers thrown off. "Lord Tael Duschane's pegasus!" Royarch Charlemagne's eyes widened, approaching the beast. Having spent his life on the backs of pegasi and griffins, he had an eye for them.
"A fine mare! She will make for good breeding material." It was then that Louen brought forward the traitor, Tael.
"Your majesty, here is the traitor, Tael Duschane!" Louen pushed the man to his knees, making him kneel before the Royarch. Charlemagne stared at the man with disdain, scowling at the man he once thought of as a friend.
"Throw him into the dungeon," Charlemagne grunted. "His trial will be held within the week." The guards hauled him away, leaving the king and soldiers to go on their way. Louen decided that before he changed into regular clothes, he would walk the gardens. Plants from all across the kingdom were collected and cultivated, making it a rich and beautiful ecosystem. Many of the Damsels, the women who served the Lady, could be found there. They were good conversation and company. Louen often visited them, day or night. The sound of a tiny whinny and trotting behind him diverted his attention from the beautiful flowers and maidens.
"Hm?" A few foot behind him was a tiny pegasus, almost the size of a dog. Louen, like many other people, would immediately assume it was a stray from the stables and either return it, or sell it for a fortune. What stayed his hand from doing the former was that upon closer inspection, the pegasus' mane had been braided, and a bow was tied around the neck. "I know who you belong to!" Louen clicked his tongue, bending down and extending his hand to the foal. The Damsels that were around had been watching this for a long time, giggling quietly. For the most part Louen ignored them, only focusing on the foal that was sniffing his hand.
"What are you doing?" A voice asked, right at his ear. Louen almost squealed and jumped out of his skin, falling on his rump. The tiny pegasus skipped away, flapping the tiny wings it bore.
"Madame Leila!" Louen smiled up at the Damsel. "How nice to see you again. I trust you are well?"
"Very," Leila answered, giving him a wry grin. "Playing with the foals? Is that not a child's activity?"
"That foal belongs to my sister," Louen replied, getting to his feet. "I would return it to her." Madame Leila went to a table where a tea set lay, and took a few cubes of pasted sugar cane. Approaching the scrub that the foal was hiding in, she dropped to her knees. "Ne crains pas, petite cheval." she cooed, speaking in the traditional Bretonnian language. "Tout est bien. Tu es en sûr." A tiny white snout poked from the bush, sniffing the hand gingerly. The lips of the snout snuffled up the sugar cube, obsessed with the sweet taste. The snout turned into a head, and then a neck. Soon the entire foal was following the hand with the sweets. "Tu es si belle. Très très belle." The other Damsels, who had been playing croquet, observed with interest. The winged horse was clear of the scrub, and allowed Leila to even pick her up.
"Incroyble," Louen muttered, watching the beautiful lady walk proudly to him. "Truly I am blessed by the Lady to have witnessed such a sight."
"I thank you," Leila blushed lightly, handing the winged baby over to him. "I am glad to have helped you, my prince." Louen would have stayed longer, but his task was set. On afternoons like these, the Maester would be teaching in the gardens that had the stream run through it. 'The sound of water unlocks the potential of the mind!'. they said on numerous occasions. Sure enough, that is where he was.
"And what is the motto of House Lannister?" the old man asked, pointing the quill to a map of Westeros and Bretonnia. Maester Lupine wore a faded blue gown and a chain, the uniform of many Maesters across Westeros.
"A Lannister always pays his debts?" the young girl sitting next to him guessed.
"No, that is the common saying, not the official one. The correct answer is-"
"Hear me roar!" Louen roared, causing the old man to jump in fright.
"LOUEN!" the small girl squealed, sprinting full pelt towards him. The prince barely had enough time to drop a knee before the girl barrelled into him, sending man, child, and foal tumbling on the tiles.
"Oh, how I missed you, Estella!" Louen smiled, hugging the child close.
"I missed you too!" the child beamed, grabbing the baby pegasus and cuddling it.
"And you found Tiptoe!"
"Tiptoe?" Louen snorted, ruffling Estella's hair. "You are a wordsmith when it comes to names."
"How fared the battle, my lord?" Maester Lupine asked, approaching the prince.
"Well, though there were more losses than predicted." Louen answered. "How are the lessons?"
"Estella here seems to think that learning about the world is unnecessary."
"Well it isn't!" the young girl pipped up, clinging to her brother's cape like it were a stuffed bear. "Why do I need to worry about the rest of the world when I'm gonna live in Bretonnia my whole life?" Louen couldn't help but chuckle. On one side, she was right, but she was highborn. It was her duty to be educated, and who knew where the road would lead her?
"My dear sister," Louen grinned. "You never know where your destiny lies. Who knows, you might marry the son of Robert Baratheon and rekindle relations between Bretonnia and Westeros!" The thought of such a thing made the girl almost heave.
"Ew! I don't wanna marry! I'm going to become like the Lady when she came to Bretonnia!"
"So you'll become a Damsel then?" Estella nodded, taking her pet and trotting away.
"Lady Estella, you have not finished your lesson yet!" The Maester cried, following her. Louen left them to retire to his quarters. Passing through the halls and walkways with a steady pace, Louen knew this castle like the back of his hand. As he entered one of the several ballrooms, he stopped. Louen spied the shadow of a man who stood at the entranceway. A spy? Was it someone taking a break? Or could it be…
"Assassin," Louen hissed. Surely not, who would try to kill him? The Greyjoys? House Duschane? The Lannisters? Either way, this threat had to be eliminated. Having no armour, and only a knife to defend himself, he was in poor shape to fight. The walls of the ballroom were adorned with decorative weaponry. Any of those would be better then a mere dagger. Louen took a deep breath, praying to the Lady for luck before sprinting for the room. As he approached, he could hear the assassin's blade being drawn. To simply run out would be suicide, best to catch them off guard! Louen let his legs fold in, allowing him to slide on his arse through the door. The assassin was caught by surprise, his blade aimed for a standing target. Louen rolled onto his side and threw the knife. It missed the man by only a few inches, wobbling in the wooden doorframe it planted itself into.
"You missed," the 'assassin' said.
"And you are a fool, for acting like a man sent to kill me!" The man wore a heavy brown jacket, lined with protective metal rings and an assortment of pockets. Upon his head sat a capotain of hardened leather, decorated tufts of fur and exotic feathers. "Suppose that knife would have hit you, then what?"
"Then I would have nothing left to teach you!" the man shrugged, hoisting the prince up. Victor Saltzpyre was the Grandmaster, the leader, of the Order of the Witch Hunters. The Witch Hunters were a group of agents that answered only to the king. They were spies, scouts, infiltrators, inventors and assassins. Unless ordered by the Royarch to act on something, a Witch Hunters main job was to maintain order and squash any heresy, destroy any influence that the Church of the Seven or the Lord of Light had in Bretonnia. Victor had spent the time of Louen's youth in the capitol, teaching the boy to fight.
"Pray that day shall never happen!" Louen smiled, pacing the ballroom with the man. "Is it not you who is renowned as the greatest Water Dancer in the world?" Victor had spent his youth in the Free City of Bravos, learning the art of Water Dancing. There he escalated the ranks of the military to become Second Sword. Were he Bravosi and not Bretonnian, he would have been named First Sword.
"Yet it is Syrio Forel who was First Sword," Victor remarked, his student hanging on his every word. "Though yes, on almost every occasion I did defeat him!"
"And what of the time you did not?"
"I was drunk and had my other blade sheathed in a whore!" Louen almost laughed at the thought: Water Dancing whilst- "Now my boy, enough about me. I see that you have returned from your first battle alive and well!"
"Not completely," Louen admitted. "I dislocated my leg when my horse fell on it." Victor practically pushed the boy into a chair. Most people would face a death sentence rough handling any member of the royal family in such a way, but there were some people who were exempt from that. The Maester who taught you everything you knew, the man who you spent most hours and hours of every day training with, and maid who changed your pants every time you shit as a babe.
"Which leg?" Victor asked, rolling up the pantaloons the prince wore. Part of every Witch Hunter's training was to learn the medicinal arts. What a Maester could do, a Witch Hunter could do better, and more. They were willing to do what the Maesters called 'unethical' and 'evil'. This was the reason they were such great healers. They knew everything about the body, and what would and wouldn't work to fix it.
"Left," Louen answered, ignoring the looks that the scullery maids and servants gave as they went about their work.
"Any difficulty walking, or discomfort?" Victor inspected the joints closely, looking to see that they moved well.
"It gets stiff after running for too long, and when I got up the next morning."
"As expected. It looks as if the was set correctly." Victor rummaged through his pockets and his belt, sifting through the many pouches and vials. "I shall have one of my men bring you some crushed herbs to settle the discomfort."
"Thank you, doctor!" Louen said in a teasing tone, fixing his pants and standing.
"Now, for the last eight years we have trained, let today be no different!" Victor went to where he had been planning to ambush the prince and acquired a pair of wooden swords. The Witch Hunter threw one at Louen, who caught it by the grip.
"First we arm ourselves," Louen formed up in a side stance, keeping one arm behind his back.
"And then, the Dance begins!" Victor finished, the tips of the blades touching. And the Water Dance began… . . The pair circled each other slowly, waiting for the other to move. Victor had taught Louen all things when it came to swordplay: How to move, how to strike where it was not expected, how to move like a cat. Victor drove his blade forward, lunging for his throat. Louen spun away from the strike and retorted with a swipe across Victor's face. But the Witch Hunter had foreseen the attack, and easily parried it. The blades clapped in quick succession, both men trying to find an opening in the other's guard. Louen lunged, twisting his wrist at the last moment. Victor had anticipated the lunge for the throat, but the twist sent the blade to his kidney. Victor spun away, striking for the back of Louen's head. The prince twisted around, blocking the strike.
"Good," Victor smiled, giving the Prince time to retreat and reform his guard. The process began again. Feint. Parry. Riposte. Dodge. Strike. Lunge. Louen was at home when he was Water Dancing. The finest sword art there was. Though not great in a fight against a knight, donned in thick plate armour, it had many things a broadsword-man lacked. Grace. Speed. Manoeuvrability. Fluidity. These were the advantages of the Water Dancer. Victor rolled past Louen, aiming to strike his exposed knees. Louen pranced over the blade and struck for the capotain that sat on Victor's head. The Witch Hunter caught the blade with his of hand and wrenched it from Louen's grip. Instead of letting go, Louen went with it, vaulting over the man. Victor still held Louen's sword tightly, and instead of trying to free it, he went with the next tug, making a lunge. However it seemed that Victor Saltzpyre was expecting this, and aimed to take his opponent's head. Louen felt the blade skim past his face as he rolled away. A blow of that magnitude would have knocked him out cold, and that was if he was lucky. Louen rolled away and got back to his feet. "Sloppy," Victor tutted, using his sword to rise himself.
"I thought the prince of the Bretonnians was better than this!" Louen knew that Victor was testing him, trying to make him angry, a classic method of psychological warfare. Louen only grinned and shrugged.
"A man is only as good as his teacher. If I am bad, what does that make you?" Victor seemed to take the bait, and advanced. The pair whirled across the room; swiping, slashing and thrusting. Victor gave Louen a backhanded slap across the face, spinning into the strike. The slap stunned the prince, who barely had time to react to the following attack. Louen put all his weight into the balls of his feet and knees, letting his body collapse back. The sword went clear over his head, leaving Victor's guard open. Louen let his hands take the weight of this position. Kicking his legs back, the prince landed them into the Witch Hunter's torso, sending him flying. The air in Victor's lungs went gushing out as he thudded onto the stone floor. Before he had time to react, Louen had his sword at his throat.
"Dead," Louen smirked. Victor's capotain rolled away from him, revealing his greying hair. A smile grew on the man's face, and he soon nodded.
"The master has finally been bested by the apprentice," he exclaimed. "A momentous occasion indeed." It was a sad day, in Victor's mind, but a proud one, nonetheless. "Louen, my boy. I have taught you all I can. Where I was once the greatest Water Dancer, I can say that you have stripped my of that title!" While the prince seemed happy, there was something in his eyes, something that held back the true joy. "What troubles you? Come, let me hear your thoughts." Louen did not answer, sitting himself down by the window.
"You know what happened yesterday, on the morning of the battle?" The prince asked. Outside he saw his little sister and Madame Leila playing with Tiptoe, baiting the foal with a ribbon.
"Aye, yesterday was your day of birth. You turned fourteen!" Victor answered.
"And you know what's happening tomorrow, right?"
"I do. You are to be knighted before the Lady." Louen turned to him, his eyes almost tearing up.
"Master, I'm afraid. I don't want to be a knight! I don't want to go into battle! I almost died in my first one!"
"Oh my dear boy," Victor sat beside the prince. "Your father never expected you to fight yesterday! What he had hoped was that you would simply observe the fight from afar!" Louen looked at him, aghast. Had he risked his life for nothing? That was irrelevant now, for it was in the past.
"I have other concerns." Louen admitted. "You know how important tomorrow is."
"The day when a boy becomes a man!" As true was that statement was about Bretonnian culture, very few men became knights. Only the nobles and rich were knighted. It was rare that a man of the lower classes was seen as worthy. "Are you ready for the tests?"
"No," Louen admitted. "And I am afraid that I should fail!"
"What have I taught you about fear, Louen?" Victor picked up his hat and sat it upon his head.
"Fear is the body daring us to leap forward. Fear is the first step of greatness."
"And that is what I know you will do, Louen. I've watched you grow up since you were a young boy. At the age of 7 I was teaching you how to run, roll, and jump. By eight you were swinging a sword. By thirteen you charged headfirst you're your first battle! Imagine what you will do once you are a knight and serving the realm!" Louen looked up to his master and into those tired eyes he knew.
"You really think I can do something that great?"
"You already have, and who knows what you will do? You could crush the Greyjoys, or restore relations with the Baratheons and the Starks! You have a determination and a mind that, if you put them to the test, could even take the Iron Throne if they wanted!"
"I have no wish to be king, or royarch!" Louen laughed, his fears subsiding. "Thank you, master."
"Run off to bed now, little prince. Say your prayers to the Lady, and awake at dawn!"
"S'il vous plaît," Louen mumbled, kneeling before a portrait of the Lady. "Bien-aimé Dame. Accorde-moi calme." The language the prince was speaking would have seemed foreign to most people, except those from his homeland. Bretonnian was a language that was not widely spoken, much like the native language of any area. Louen was fluent in both Bretonnian and Westerosi, though he had little use for the latter. "Je demande que vous regarde moi digne de votre faveur." A knock came on the great oaken door of Louen's bedroom. Before he could answer, a group of servants entered the room, carrying bundles of clothes. Louen rose and they stripped him naked. As they undressed him, a bath was run and heated. Before he could step in, they pulled him away, taking out several razors and bars of soap. "What are you doing?" Louen asked as they began to lather his body in the suds. They did not answer, as if their tongues had been cut. The reason was part of the initiation of a knight: no one was allowed to talk to them before the ceremony, so that they remain pure-minded during the proceedings. They began to shave his body, taking all the hairs on him but the ones atop his head. The razors cut deep, severing the hairs on all extremities and his torso. This was part of the process into manhood. Let the judged be as bare and as naked as possible under their armour, to show how truly innocent they were in childhood. After being shorn like a sheep, they set a meagre plate of food at his table, not taking their eyes off of him. Traditionally, the man who was being judged was to starve for several days beforehand, but for royalty they made the exemption, so long as they did not gorge. Before Louen had taken his fifth bite of the food it was taken away. Louen was bathed again and put into fine cloth. From there the servants and squires dressed the prince in his armour. The armour was heavy on him, both chainmail and plates sealing him in their metal embrace. Each of his fingers was adorned in rings containing both religious and regal value. Finally, upon his head was placed a golden band, like a crown. Louen, now dressed, made his way through the halls towards the courtyard. Baudouin walked the other way, and his brother's face lit up. As per tradition, Baudouin took no notice of Louen. As they passed, the older brother seemed to deliberately bump into his sibling. Louen could feel him fiddling with his belt. Inspecting it, Louen saw that his brother had slipped a strip of paper in. His brother hid it, only taking it out once he had boarded the carriage.
The great cathedral doors opened slowly, and in walked a lone Louen. The smell of the incense that burnt and the near deafening singing of the choir almost knocked the young lord onto his arse. His armour clinked and rattled as he slowly walked down the central isle. People from all of the three Rings stood and watched him. The plebs from the Outer Ring were put at the back, the inhabitants of the Middle Ring ahead of them, and the nobles, knights and citizens of the Inner Ring at the front. Standing near the grand altar was Louen's father and brother, who waited for him. Louen was sweating underneath his metal suit, his body shaking from the nerves. Baudouin gave his brother a subtle nod as they passed. 'When you approach the altar, draw your sword, present it, and bend your knee.' Baudouin note instructed. 'Whatever you do, do NOT look at the Lady's face. Only the chosen few may.' For a Bretonnian noble, the day that they are knighted is the most important day in their life. All the training and studying they had spent the years of their youth enduring was at an end. Should he be knighted, a Bretonnian would serve his Royarch by joining a one of the knightly Orders to serve the realm. Few were lucky enough to be knighted by the Lady herself, most were knighted by a Damsel, her representatives and priests across the land. 'But fear not, little brother! You shall pass the test. Remember this day as the day you become a man!' Louen drew his sword, dropping his knee and bowing his head. The crowd took their seats in the pews, and the ceremony began. The choir hushed as a woman covered completely in white entered from a side door. People murmured in awe. It was the Lady Herself! The one who was said to be born from moon rock who once served the Old Gods. In her travels across the land, she found Bretonnia, a barren and desolate place. The Lady poured water from her Grail onto the soil, and Bretonnia came to life. The Old Gods granted her immortality for her great deeds. Louen, against all advice, tried his best to catch a glance. His attempt was in vain, as a thick veil covered her head. Light footsteps paced down the velvet carpet, approaching the altar from the depths of the cathedral.
"Louen, of House Leoncoeur." The woman addressed. The woman who stood before him was the Fey Enchantress. The Fey was the head of the Church of the Lady, and the most influential person in Bretonnia, after the king. "You kneel before us on this day. Having turned 14, you are now able to serve your country. Do you understand this?"
"I do," Louen answered. The Fey Enchantress was a woman in her late sixties, with a stern brow and drained face. She had spent her entire life in service to the Lady, and had earned the right to lead Her flock.
"You will state the Seven Commandments that a knight lives by,"
"A knight will serve the Lady of the Moon," Louen answered. "A knight will defend the domains entrusted to him. A knight will protect the weak and fight for the right. A knight will always fight the enemies of virtue and order. A knight will never give up until the foe is defeated. A knight will never break faith with friend or ally. A knight will always display honour and courtesy." The cathedral was quiet, some of the knights murmuring in approval.
"Prince Louen," the Fey Enchantress rested her hand on his forehead. "States the rules of honour that all Bretonnian knights live and die by," Louen gulped nervously. He had spent hours, if not days rehearsing and memorising the Knight's Code and the Laws of Chivalry. Yet, the words were stuck in his throat.
"A knight may only fight hand to hand, with sword or lance but never a missile weapon." the prince eventually croaked. "A knight shall always accept a challenge towards personal combat. A knight shall not draw sword against his fellow Bretonnian knight, except in trial by combat or within a tournament. A knight shall not allow himself to be captured alive. A knight shall not flee from the enemy, not retreat without proper tactical cause." The Fey Enchantress said nothing. Louen looked up at her, the fear shining through his eyes. For any noble to not be knighted brought great dishonour on their family. If anyone of the royal family were not worthy of the Lady's approval and blessing, that would be enough to start the fires of a coup, or civil war. The Fey gave Louen a small smile, nodding in approval. Louen had passed the first test. Memory was one thing, but the second test was where almost all aspiring men failed to become a knight.
"Prince Louen Leoncoeur," the Fey Enchantress continued. "To know the Laws and Codes is one thing, but you must be worthy of serving the Lady and your king. By what right do you think you are worthy?" Every man who wanted to be a knight had to give a reason as to why they thought they were worthy.
"By..." Louen started. What reason did he have? "By right of birth!" This answer seemed to surprise the Fey. The nobles and knights who had been watching talked amongst themselves, hissing whispers to and fro. No one had ever declared that they had the right by birth, a knight must have had experience and a worthy reason. "Not only am I the son of the Royarch, but I will pass on his line, should there ever be an incident with my brother."
"And if there is not?" the Fey retorted.
"Then..." Louen mumbled. At this time it was obvious that he was only digging his own grave. He had no reason to become a knight. "Then I will serve as his loyal servant until my dying breath!" An outburst declaring such unwavering support for the royal family or the Church of the Lady was something to be smiled upon.
"And now we turn to you," the Fey addressed the crowd. "Prince Louen Leoncoeur has declared that he is worthy of knighthood by right of birth. The rules of this land dictate that not only the Church of the Lady can decide whether or not this man shall be knighted, but also the people. Stand! Let those who think this man is worthy declare it so!" The next few minutes would be the most tense Louen would experience for many years to come. Should no one speak, Louen would fail the test. If people spoke and the Lady still did not think the man was worthy, those people would be shamed. It was a great risk to make a declaration. If no one spoke for a minute, the Lady would pass her judgment. Louen, who still knelt facing the altar and the Lady, looked over his shoulder. Would no one speak?
"I make a declaration!" A voice announced. Louen saw his brother stand before the Fey. "I, Baudouin Leoncoeur, declare that Louen Leoncoeur is worthy by right of courage!"
"Speak your reason." The Fey nodded. It was not unusual for family to declare that their relatives were worthy.
"Louen was only thirteen years old when he saw his first battle, far younger than anyone else!" The people murmured in agreement. "Despite his youth and inexperience, Louen did not cower! No, he led the men! When he was injured and all looked bleak, he rallied the troops and pushed for victory!" People from all of the three Rings chorused their approval for Louen's acceptance.
"Who else shall speak?" The Fey Enchantress asked, still unconvinced by the testament from the older Leoncoeur brother.
"I-I would like to speak," an old man wearing a blue robe hobbled to the Fey from his spot near the front of the crowd.
"I recognise you, Maestro Lupine," the Fey nodded. The Maestro was the Bretonnian translation for the title of Maester. Even across the Blue Mountains, the Maesters were still an important part of the community. "By what right do you state that Louen Leoncoeur has to be a knight?"
"By right of knowledge, my lady." The old man tried his best to bow before the Lady, but his old joints allowed only a strange squat. "I have taught many men and women the knowledge of the world, yet none have a mind quite like young Louen. With a brain like his, and the silver tongue he was born with, I believe that he would make a fine addition to the court and serve the realm to her greatest interest." After a coughing fit took over, a Damsel took him to a seat where he could be watched and attended to.
"I have something to say," a man approached.
"I am afraid that I do not know you, stranger," the Fey Enchantress said. "State your name for us!"
"Victor Saltzpyre, rank of Grandmaster of the Order of the Witch Hunters. I've trained this lad in swordsmanship since he was a boy. With a broadsword he is deadly, and with a rapier, never have I seen a finer Water Dancer!" Louen couldn't help but smile, he had fond memories of spending hours clashing blades with Victor. "I once had the reputation of being the best Water Dancer in Westeros, now Louen has stolen that honour. I'd say the boy is the finest swordsman in the world! I declare by right of skill, he is worthy!" Many were wary of the Witch Hunters and did not trust them. For the leader of that very organisation to praise the prince so brought a mix of responses. Some were unbelieving, not listening to the assassin. Others were encouraging, adding their own words to the statement.
"Louen has the right by kindness!" Estella pipped up, making the crowd chuckle. Louen suppressed a laugh at his sister's outburst. "He's the bestest brother in the world! When I'm not allowed any sweets he gives me his!"
"Thank you, young princess." The Fey Enchantress smiled. Even an old and hard lady such as her couldn't hide her amusement from the sheer innocence of a child. "We will certainly remember that Louen is kind."
"No more sweets for Louen then," Baudouin snickered, much to Victor's amusement.
"By right of chivalric conduct!" A citizen from the Middle Ring called from the pews. "Not once 'as the prince broken the laws. 'is majesty upholds them and treats all as equals!"
"Yeah!" Another voice cried. "One time I was getting assaulted in the marketplace and he detained the attackers!" Soon the normally ordered and calm examination turned into an uproar. People shouted their names and reasons for their outcry. Louen couldn't help but turn around, watching people of all walks of life support him. Had he really had this much of an impact of the kingdom? In his eyes, he was only a spoiled prince. The people ignored the Fey Enchantress' attempts to calm the populace. The Lady, still hidden behind the veil and sitting above all, the Lady daintily put up her hand. The cut of chatter was so sharp it cut the air, and all instantly seated themselves. They were not wrong to fear the Lady, one of the first humans to walk the land beneath their feet. To defy her or even say something wrong about Her in Bretonnia was a death sentence, if not by the hands of your peers, then the Witch Hunters would find you. The Fey Enchantress knelt before the immortal woman, waiting for her decision. Before the Lady lay a ceremonial dagger and the Grail. The Grail was the most important and valuable object in all of Bretonnia. It is the waters from that cup that turned a desolate and barren wasteland into the beautiful country. However since no one had ever used its power since the Lady first did, no one can confirm the legitimacy of such claims. The dagger was a gift to the knight. Is the knight were to receive it, it meant that whomever was judging them did not find them worthy. They were to go on a quest to gain the honour they lacked. Should they fail, the dagger would be the weapon they would use to end their life. Only once had a member of the royal family received the dagger. That was the start of rebellion that overthrew the monarchy and placed House Leoncoeur in power. Louen prayed to the Old Gods and the Lady that he would not be the reason for another coup. The prince screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the verdict. When the Fey Enchantress picked up the object the Lady had chosen, there was an uproar. Louen's eyes shot up to look at the Fey standing before him. In her hands, was the Grail.