ROLEPLAY HQ - a-clash-of-clubs

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Archive 20 / a-clash-of-clubs

NSFW | Including but not limited to, wholesome romance, political discussions, Violence, Death, Gore, Sexual content including but not limited to BDSM, Bondage, Power Play, Non-Consensual Interactions, etc...

Trigger Warning: Including but not limited to, wholesome romance, political discussions, Violence, Death, Gore, Sexual content including but not limited to BDSM, Bondage, Power Play, Non-Consensual Interactions, etc... Part of the inspiration for this Roleplay came from an event that happened in an OOC NSFW Chat in October 2022, but in no way reflects the people that were playing along with it. All Characters here are Fictional and Not based on any individuals.

“If I can’t shave my face using your helmet as a fucking mirror, it isn’t polished enough!! You’re not out there slogging in the mud anymore, gentlemen; the King’s guard has an image to maintain!! Maintain it, or you’ll find your asses out of the castle walls faster than you can blink!!” The gruff voice of the sergeant sounded throughout the room, and each of the young men within went to work with oiled rags on their armor. They each outranked him technically, sporting the mark of the kingdom on their chest with their lieutenant insignia freshly emblazoned on them. However, only a foolish young man would remind the grizzled veteran nearly twice their age of such a fact. He had earned their respect in the years prior, showing each of them what it meant to be one of the kingdom’s finest men-at-arms and holding his own on the battlefield. He had been tasked with escorting these promising young men from the front lines in the south to the interior, where they could be of further use as Kingsguards. He had performed that duty, and now, he was just having some final bits of fun razzing the young men until their new superiors showed up. Many of them were the sons of different nobles who had fulfilled their preordained three years of service as man-at-arms before receiving their promised promotion to knighthood. They had been sent along with the troops levied from their fathers’ serfs to the war with their southeastern neighbor, the Kingdom of Diamonds. -

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However, some in attendance were not the chosen son of a noble that wished to elevate their status on the backs of those they deemed below them. One young man, his brown hair tied back in a short ponytail, had his eyebrows stitched together in concentration as he wiped his rag around the golden emblem of the Kingdom of Clubs. His held some unique flair to it with red wisps of flame traveling through the body of the rank and the club itself, but each of the men in the room had had the luxury of slightly altering their emblem to help them be recognizable when fully armored. Some had opted for engravings from their regions of the kingdom, while others had chosen some other colors that were subtle enough to maintain the overall aesthetic of the armor. They were allowed some individuality but still needed to be recognized as members of the Kingsguard. The sergeant, scanning for imperfection in any of the ten young men, settled his eyes on the brown-haired man and smirked before stepping forward. Seeing the man’s attention on his breastplate rather than the helmet he had referenced before as a mirror, the sergeant took it upon himself to make the helmet an issue. A horrible sound could be heard as the sergeant snorted before spitting a disgusting clod of mucus and dried blood on the visor of the brunette’s helmet. His hand paused with the rag over the club, and the sergeant chuckled, saying gruffly, “Would you look at that? It seems I finally got the farmer’s attention. Welcome back to the land of the living, Alaric; you seem to have missed a spot.” -

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Alaric’s amber eyes shifted from where they had been glancing over the black and gold armor harness to the helmet. Narrowing his eyes as he watched the disgusting mix slide down the face of his visor, he released a short, rumbling growl deep within his throat. Looking up at the sergeant, he relaxed the anger in his features and spoke in a low, calm tone, “It’s a good thing you pointed that out, sergeant; I would have hated to walk before our king with that on my face.” Reaching out to grab the back of his helmet, Alaric allowed his gaze to harden into a glare that matched the intensity of the man standing over him. Unlike the nobility in the room, Alaric had not been sent forth with hopes of grandeur or promotion. His selection and conscription had not even included any hopes as feeble as survival. The son of two peasant farmers, Alaric had been conscripted and forced into the ranks of the general infantry with nothing more than a spear, a basic helmet, and a padded gambeson to protect his vitals and keep him warm. His only goal had been to survive until his services had concluded and he was allowed to return to the farm where he worked as a serf of a northern lord. Moving to lift the helmet that he had earned through exploits of strength and talent on the battlefield, Alaric felt his lip curl into a snarl when the sergeant’s booted foot was placed on the crown to hold it in place. Sneering down at the young man, the sergeant shook his head before lowering his voice as he leaned forward to growl, “Learn your place, boy. You might have new armor and a new rank, but your station remains the same in my eyes. You’re still just a peasant farmer; you’ll do well to remember that here. Don’t look your superiors in the eyes.” -

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Alaric’s fingers released the back of his helmet as his hand lifted towards the sergeant’s ankle. Gripping his leg fiercely, he squeezed the metal-clad leather and felt his fingers dig into the softer tissue there. He was balling his right hand into a fist and shifting up from his knees when he felt a hand grab the back of his neck and jerk him back quickly. “Now, now, I don’t think you want to be doing anything that hasty, do you, Lieutenant?” Alaric’s fingers around the sergeant’s ankle released immediately upon recognizing the voice that spilled out from behind him. “Sergeant Wilks, I expect you to clean Lieutenant Alaric’s helmet of the mess that you have created. Am I understood?” “Yes sir,” Wilks answered quickly, the anger in his gaze towards Alaric still smoldering as he knelt down to pick up the helmet and the rag that the young man had been using. Alaric’s amber shot up and met the brown gaze of the ebony-skinned man that stood behind him. Standing as tall and confident as he had the day that he had welcomed Alaric to the southern front, the man chuckled softly before shifting his hand from the young man’s neck and instead to his back. It was a simple command that Alaric followed without question, standing and turning to face the man with his hands down by his sides. Holding his mouth shut, his jaw set, and his gaze leveled at the man’s broad nose, Alaric waited for the dressing down that he knew was coming. “So, you think this is some kind of fight club? Some sort of backwoods brawling pit? A place where a couple pissed off peasants can argue over who gets to fuck the local whore? No! This is the fucking castle of the Kingdom of Clubs, and I expect you to remember that. You have all been given an opportunity many would kill for, and you want to waste it because a bastard spat on your helmet? I ought to have you kicked out now for wasting my time up till now. Tell me why I shouldn’t!!” -

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Swallowing thickly as he was keenly aware of the other eyes on him from the other freshly promoted lieutenants, Alaric nodded slowly before speaking in a low, smooth voice, “Captain Wallace, sir, it will never happen again. I acted out of turn, and I regret my actions. I will nev-” Alaric’s words were drowned out by a deep, echoing laugh as Wallace leaned back and looked up at the stone ceiling with rolling laughter coming through his armored chest. Shaking his head and raising a hand to silence Alaric, he laughed for several more moments before his mouth closed into a tight line. The humored expression instantly melted away to reveal a cold, calculating glare as he leaned in close to Alaric’s face. Their forehead’s pressed together as Wallace snarled, his eyes narrowing before he shouted into Alaric’s face, “Quit your lying, boy!! That aggression is why you are here in the first place! I don’t want you to get rid of it, or else I have no use for your ass. Harness it, control it, and use it appropriately!!” Stepping forward and pushing Alaric’s head back with his, Wallace chuckled when the slightly shorter man stepped back before moving back against him. The two held their ground for several moments before Wallace put his hands on Alaric’s shoulders and stepped back. Looking at each of the other young men, he nodded slowly before speaking in a much calmer tone, “You are all here because you showed promise to somebody. Prove it. Get your armor on and be outside in five minutes. I’ve got some people you ought to meet.” -

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There was no time for any enthusiastic “yes sirs” as each man looked down at their disassembled harnesses where they were polishing them. They had known they would be meeting nobility soon and would need to look the part, but none of them had been prepared to don the armor quickly. Alaric turned to his armor and grabbed the stool he had been resting his longsword against. The scabbard was wrapped in fine black leather and had a golden club emblem just below the crossguard of his sword. He laid it on the floor beside the stool as he sat down and started to attach his armor to his breeches and boots. His clothes were pure black to hide the natural gaps in his armor’s protection, though his underarms and groin had large swaths of chain mail sewn into them to protect the gaps further. Black plates of hardened steel with golden borders were strapped to his shins, over his boots, and around his knees. Similar plates were strapped around his forearms and elbows before he pulled on and tightened his gauntlets. He stood with ease, the added weight of the armor negligible to his trained and conditioned physique. Even the thicker, heavier plates that he now strapped to his thighs were of no consequence due to how well-balanced they were. The weight was spread over him evenly through his belt, keeping him mobile and not trapped under a mountain of steel. His hands finally came to his chest armor. Lifting it up and clamping it over his torso, he fastened the clasps on the sides before messing with the pauldrons and making sure they laid correctly over his upper arms. Made of articulating steel, they would allow him a full range of movement while still giving maximum protection. -

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His left pauldron was larger than his right, rising up slightly higher to protect his neck. This was by design to help increase his defensive posture when holding a guarding position with his sword and a possible shield. There were small, decorative golden spikes inlaid on the pauldron as well as his gauntlets and boots. His helmet bore similar spikes upon the crown, and as he cast his eyes to where it had been waiting for him, he saw the boots of Sergeant Wilks. Rather than the relaxed stance they had been in before, he noticed they were held together at the heels in a very professional manner. Alaric slowly lifted his gaze, taking in the silence of the sergeant as he waited to be recognized by the knight standing before him. Sitting in his shirt and breeches, it was easy to see Alaric as the young man he had once been: a peasant polishing a suit of armor that belonged to a man above his station. However, standing in all the armor of the Kingsguard, save his helmet, Wilks could not deny what he saw standing before him. The sergeant lowered his head in a slow nod before stepping forward and lifting the freshly polished helmet. Alaric leaned forward so that Wilks could adjust his padded coif and slide his helmet onto his head for him. The older man strapped it in place in silence before moving to check each of the other straps on Alaric’s armor. Finding them all correct and sorted, he set his fist over the club emblem on Alaric’s chest before speaking, “You’ve earned this. You should be proud.” -

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Alaric nodded slowly, the helmet’s visor hiding the small smile that played at the edges of his lips. He knew Wilks had meant no true harm in his earlier statements, and seeing this change was confirmation of that. Leaning over to grab his sword from the ground, he slipped the scabbard into the frog on his belt and adjusted the straps to hold it tightly in place. The final adornment was the black tabard that draped across his chest and back before being captured by his belt. -

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Gold-trimmed and flowing, the tabard reached to his knees but was held by a pin on his chest to show his rank insignia on the club emblem over his heart. Tightening his belt and adjusting the scabbard of his dagger on the small of his back, Alaric turned to look at the other knights, that were all nearly identically dressed. As one, they each turned to the door that Captain Wallace had left through. Stepping through one after the other, all ten of them stood at attention before his waiting gaze. He wore similar armor, though his helmet, rather than having only the small golden studs, had a trio of black and fold feathers that denoted his rank. Silence filled the courtyard as each of the armored men stood still, the only sign that this wasn’t a portrait coming from the gentle sways of their tabards and Wallace’s feathers in the gentle breeze. Slowly, his head turned to the right and then to the left as he surveyed each of the knights standing in front of him. Alaric felt the breeze slipping between the plates of his harness, wicking the nervous sweat from his body as the captain’s helmet drifted over and past him quickly. The inspection was done in silence, and the knights only knew it was finished when Captain Wallace nodded and turned to start walking towards one of the interior doors of the courtyard. The men all stood in place as he walked, though something pulled at Alaric to follow the older man. Stepping out of formation, he fell in behind the older knight. He stopped quickly, however, when the older man halted before turning to stare directly at him. Alaric swallowed and closed his eyes briefly, chastising himself mentally for stepping out of line. This was needless. Wallace chuckled softly before looking to the other knights and barking out his next order, “Are you going to stand there with your thumbs in your asses? Get in formation!!” -

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Steel plates clanking against each other could be heard as the knights moved quickly to get in line behind Alaric, jostling for position to not be last and seem the least worthy of being here. Alaric smirked slightly under the privacy of his visor, but the way Wallace’s helmet snapped to stare directly at him, he felt as though he had forgotten to lower his visor in place. Fighting the temptation to reach up and make sure that it was clasped in place, Alaric recognized the soft bounce in the man before him to know that he was chuckling softly in the privacy of his own armor. This realization came with a warmth of reassurance that spread through his chest before Wallace turned to guide them through the doorway and into the halls of the castle. They had been shown a diagram of the castle’s various courtyards and baileys that would be used in the defense if it came under attack. This was the first time that Alaric had been within the walls of the interior of the keep, and he was not prepared. Elegant tapestries of black, gold, and white adorned the walls between statues of the king and his bloodline. The craftsmanship was flawless, and the decorations were clean, with no sign of aging or dust. The sounds of each of their metal-clad footsteps echoed along the marble flooring, filling the halls with the presence of their arrival. However, despite the majesty of the items around him, Alaric kept his helmet oriented forward. He would not give his fellow knights in their nobility the pleasure of seeing him again as a clueless peasant in an area that he had never seen before. The accent he spoke with was enough of a giveaway, and he had not been successful in dropping it. He would not give any visual cues to the castle staff that they passed that he was in awe at the beauty of his new surroundings. -

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A pair of ornate double doors stood before them, their wooden surfaces decorated with scenes of the king’s conquests against foes of the kingdom and fantasy alike. Inlaid with gold and gems, Alaric smiled as he looked it over and nodded slowly in respect of the man’s accomplishments. He had heard of his excellency on the field of battle while fighting in the South, and he had been looking forward to meeting the man and being in the presence of their king. He had been told stories as a child, but he wanted desperately to see the man for himself to form his own opinions and judgments. Two knights stood on either side of the doors, their armor similar to his, except that their helmets were adorned with five golden and red feathers. They each looked to Captain Wallace and nodded to him in turn before stepping to the joint of the doors. They produced golden knobs from beneath their tabards and pushed them into corresponding openings on the door. That was when Alaric noticed that the doors were missing any way of being opened until now. The door guards turned the handles, and the sounds of several locks within the thick doors could be heard turning and unlatching. As the last locks quieted, the doors were suddenly pulled inwards to reveal a group of six knights on the inside, pulling them open together. Nearly a foot thick of solid wood and steel, Alaric could not help his reaction as his head tilted back, impressed by the strength of the doors. Once the doors were fully opened, Captain Wallace lead the lieutenants forward across the threshold. -

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The stone walls were adorned by yet more of the black and gold tapestries from the halls, though these seemed to be of even more exceptional quality. Hanging between each of them were shields emblazoned with the golden club of the kingdom as well as the red dragon head of the Blackfyre dynasty. Looking through his peripheral at each of them as they approached the raised dais that held the two stone thrones, Alaric stopped when he noticed that Wallace had halted. Looking over his shoulder, he saw two stone thrones before them. One was slightly smaller and held a black vase with a single white rose within it. He recognized that instantly as the late Queen Blackfyre’s throne. He remembered the rumors on the front that this entire war had started due to some assassin from the Kingdom of Diamonds poisoning the queen, but there was only so much you could believe when in the field. Seeing the vase, he was very much aware that there was some validity to the tale. Slow movement behind the other throne, however, caught his attention. The silhouette of the king. As one, Alaric and the others shifted into two ranks of five, with Alaric at the center of the first row. They then lowered themselves to one knee and cast their gaze on the black carpet beneath their feet. A low, rolling laugh could be heard as steel scraped against stone. Against his better judgment, Alaric shifted his gaze up and saw King Blackfyre seated on his throne. A middle-aged man with tan, weathered skin from years on the war campaign, his hair and beard were a graying blonde that betrayed his advancing years. He was dressed in his ceremonial, jousting armor with massive pauldrons that each extended nearly as high as his cheekbones. His eyes were moving over each of the kneeling knights, a smile on his lips as he seemed to be enjoying the display of obedience. -

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The smile, however, stilled when his eyes landed on Alaric. The young man immediately lowered his gaze and helmet, but the deed was already done. Blackfyre stood quickly and pointed a black and red gauntleted hand at Alaric before speaking, “Do not hide your curiosity, my son. Do you want to see the man that you have sworn to protect? Please, step forward and greet me properly.” Alaric lifted his gaze slowly, swallowing as he pushed up from his kneeling position to step towards the dais. He stopped at the base of the stairs, but the king beckoned him further. He looked to Wallace, who shrugged slightly before nodding towards the king, indicating that he was to follow his command. Nodding, Alaric continued up the stairs until he stood before the king. They were nearly the same height, with the ridge in Alaric’s helmet being the only reason he appeared taller. He stood silently for a moment before speaking, “My King. I am than-.” “No. Stop. Remove your helmet if you feel equal enough to look upon me when kneeling.” Alaric could hear the thinly veiled sarcasm in the king’s words, but he knew he had already gone too far to now defy him. Lifting his hands, he unclasped his helmet’s straps and then the visor’s clasps before lifting it from his head. His hair tie came undone in the motion, and his ponytail fell forward to show jaw-length brown hair. His face was cleanly shaven, and his eyes immediately dropped to Blackfyre’s chest as he continued in a thicker accent, “My King, I am thankful to be here. This is an opportunity I would never have dreamed of being blessed with. Thank you.” @Fiory

“Are you listening to me?” The sound of the wood of the carriage had been a quiet creak to her ears. The way the gilded wheels of black and blue rolled over the dirt and cobbled roads bounced the passengers gently in a hypnotizing lull. The transport delivering the pair of nobles was enclosed with curtained windows and plush bench seats inside. It was comfortable and warm, despite the chill of the conversation in the air. The pair of bay horses rhythmically trotting in front pulling the buggy along was distracting to listen to while one was staring out one of the clear pane windows at the countryside of the Club faction territory. “Yes sir.” The words were as cold as ice coming from the young woman across from the man that had been talking to her nonstop since they had left the estate. Her gaze never left the mountainous edge of the realm and the pastures outside the window. To the distant forests and the snow that lay further north in her home. A home she was leaving to fulfill her duties. One she had been taught all her life. One she was raised to be. One she was bred for. She didn’t need the reminders that her companion in the carriage gave to her, though she knew why exactly he insisted on the refresher of them. Her hands quietly remained upon her lap, one over the other with a grace that showed the manners that had been drilled into her head. Despite her fingertips lightly fidgeting with themselves as he continued on his lecture to her. “You will only speak when you are spoken to. And you will hold yourself with the dignity and poise of your station when in the presence of his majesty.” His voice continued, the sound of parchment shuffling in his hands. He wore a well fitted jacket and slacks, black boots with the sigil of his home on his breast over his heart. A white three leafed club encased in an ornate crystal. It was an old family crest of one of the provincial noble lords in the northern kingdom of clubs. Distinguished but grown small over the last

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few generations. As the countryside became more and more barren under fluctuating wars and indecisive royalty, so too did the statuses of the nobility suffer. His dark hair was peppered with white and grey streaks showing his age, the sharp nose on his face turned down as he went over the paperwork and declarations that were needed to be completed upon their arrival in the capital.

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“I know sir.” The woman across from him said in a quietly dejected voice. The whole trip there she had said very little, knowing her place was not to speak. Not to defy the words of the provincial lord across from her. The groan that he made at her minimal statements didn’t even make her flinch. It was a sound she heard all too often and had come to expect from this man in particular. “Rosemarian Marie Del Marco…” The name caught her attention and she pulled her gaze away from the freedom she sought just out of her reach through that window. “I expect a level of perfection from you. Don’t let me down.” “Perfection is what I am. You raised me to be nothing less Father.” The woman replied with a coldness in her otherwise alluring voice. Her fingers continued to fidget quietly, a slight nervousness running through her. A quiet cold in the carriage slowly began to steal the warmth that had been there for the entire ride, her breath coming out as a quiet wisp into the air. She noticed it a second after her father had, the man reaching forward immediately and grasping her hands tight over her lap. The grip he had was not gentle or kind or soft. It was painful, holding tight to her fingers to still their movements and pinching her skin. She couldn’t help the quiet whine that pulled from her throat slightly at the feeling of his hand clamping down on hers. The cold in the carriage began to thaw and the warmth returned. Her breath no longer a fog that huffed lightly out of her nostrils. Only when it seemed that the chill had indeed made way for the normal warmth that the carriage was previously, did the man release her hands in a rough shove. “And for goodness sakes Rosemarian. Don’t you dare show that abomination of yours. It’s a horrible embarrassment to have my daughter cursed with such an atrociously barbaric craft and I won’t have you dishonoring me while we are in the king’s presence. Do you understand me?” The man’s voice was as cold as the ice that she had in

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advertently been conjuring on her fingertips. The frost disappearing as she curled her fingers into her palms to protect them from further snatching.

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“Yes Father.. I understand.” Her voice was quiet, a defiance and a stubborn determination lacing the quiet and demure words she spoke. The sharp gaze of hers moved back out to stare at the lands beyond her reach, her heart wishing for nothing more than to steal one of the steeds pulling the carriage and ride off and away into the freedom she could just see over the horizon. The carriage felt like her last ride, on her way to the court of the king where she would become a Lady of the Kingdom of Clubs. And if her father had his way, she would become the next queen. Not that Rose had any intention of belonging to the far older monarch to replace his previous deceased wife. There was a fire behind those ice cold blue eyes that reflected the snow capped glaciers of the northern mountains. A cold determination that she held close to her heart and would be damned to break. *If I am to be Queen, it will surely not be with His Majesty… * For the majority of the trip, the woman who had been addressed by her full name remained silent. Staring out the window like a caged bird unable to fly. This was how it always was for her. It was always this way. She had to be and act accordingly. She had to show the poise and grandeur that she was deserved, even if her status as a noble lady was not as high as others. The Del Marco family owned a good stretch of land, even if it had dwindled over the years and their fortune was still vast in comparison to the rabble and peasants who worked on or around the estate. It was old money though, and it was surely running out. The hope of Lord Del Marco was to have his daughter chosen by the king as the next Queen of the kingdom. It would solidify the funds he required to continue living his lavish lifestyle and it would remove his embarrassment of a daughter and her atrocity that he considered her arcane abilities to be from his sight. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his daughter, he certainly had love for her. It was more a necessity of her s

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tation. She was old enough now to be looked at for proposals and being well versed in the political games of chess that court would employ, it was only natural to try and marry her off now. And who better to take her hand, then the King?

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Rosemary, as she preferred to be called despite her father’s insistence to use her full given name, merely kept to herself. She hadn’t asked to be born a high born lady or to have been cursed with the arcane ability to create and manipulate ice. Cursed was the word that had been used for it since her birth. As a child she would make snowflakes in the summertime and dance under her own private flurries until the servants would scold her to stop. Her education had been to prepare her for life in court. To be dignified with etiquette and manners, to be well versed in the affairs of state and the kingdom’s political adversaries as well as their allies. It was her mother’s intellect that Rosemary had been granted. She had been a beautifully smart woman, kind and compassionate even to the servants that cared for her because of her condition. After Rosemary’s birth, her mother had fallen horribly ill and lost the ability to walk. It had been difficult for her, stuck in a chair and wheeled around the grounds when her bedroom suite felt too cramped and too stuffy to stay in. Rose often would accompany her mother in the gardens and the woman would encourage her young daughter to continue to practice the ice that danced on her fingertips. An abomination to her father. A blessing to her mother. At twenty three years old, it had been thirteen years since her mother’s unfortunate passing. Rosemary missed the sound of her voice and the secret snowball fights she’d had with her in the middle of particularly hot summers. Which were not often recorded in the north. Rosemary barely remembered her mother’s voice any more, and her face was just a blurry memory. As she had grown up without her mother’s kindness, Rosemary had grown stoic and cold. Traits that she got from her father that only seemed to increase the intensity of the ice living in her veins. It didn’t help that her father would regularly take women to his bed even before his wife passed. Her parents had been arranged t

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ogether, so it wasn’t lost on her that they didn’t love one another. That they didn’t want to be together. She did however come to the conclusion after witnessing the adultery that just became more present after her mother’s passing. Rosemary wanted to marry for love. If she married at all. She wanted a man who would look at her and no one else. Who would stop breathing if she were to leave the room and would exist only for her. She wanted the devotion and admiration of a singular soul to reciprocate with. Witnessing the lack of care or love between her parents at a young age had solidified to her that being forced into something she didn’t want or believe in was not for her. So being arranged for the King was not in her deck of cards to play.

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As the castle slowly came into view and the road became more paved due to the heavier traffic that traversed it of carriages, carts and horses, Rosemary just sighed gently. It was glorious, beautifully pillared with white stone walls and banners that showed the dragon’s head crest of the king. She could see the gleam of precious metals and crystals used to make the castle sparkle in the sunlight and give the palace beyond the gates more beauty and nobility. It was beautiful, how the grounds opened in gardens of flora as the carriage passed. The leaves and flowers budding and blossoming in chaotic arrays along the road and the path the carriage took made Rosemary’s lips curl into a soft frown. She was expected to exemplify perfection, something she strived herself to do and yet there were things on the palace grounds that were not considered perfect to her. The place was beautiful, grand and awe inspiring, that was not disputable. However, the plant beds had weeds if you looked hard enough, the banners that hung on the walls were not straight, and a few even had edges that were starting to fray. The stone walls had chips likely from a battle long ago that never had been repaired completely or had been overlooked entirely. It was little things here and there that her sharp eyes noticed, trained to notice them that told her details about the palace that she already had suspicions of. The king was old, and he was losing his edge. At the very least he was losing his edge to keep the palace in order and the surrounding grounds. If he couldn’t manage something like that without his Queen, then he certainly wasn’t someone that Rosemary wanted anything to do with. This was supposed to be the pillar of royalty in the Kingdom of Clubs, and while an outsider would never notice the small inconsistencies that Rosemary did, she forever could not look away from them now.

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The deep chocolate bay horses pulled the ebony carriage further in until they stopped at the steps of the palace. Lord Del Marco looked up from his paperwork momentarily to peer out at the gathering of servants rushing forward to greet and escort the expected nobles from their transport. The stony gaze of him crossed to his daughter who hadn’t even attempted to look his way. “I mean it Rosemary. Behave yourself.” As if she needed constant telling. This was just how her father was. He hated her ice arcane, and saw it as a blemish to the family she had been born into. Every day she was told to hide it away. To conceal the frost that threatened her fingertips. Even chastised if her hands were a little colder than normal because of it. None of this Rosemary could help, but with the way her father behaved, it would make it seem like she did it on purpose. There was no answer she would give, merely waiting for the door to open and for her father to first take his leave of her. He was always the first out of the carriage when they traveled. Delicately, Rosemary followed, extending her hand to the footman who had presented his own to help her out of her transportation. The black silk and chiffon of her dress complimented the azure blue of her bodice. The skirt was long and ornate, with silver accent pieces in sharp triangular designs. Her long sheer sleeves were decorated with lace over her wrists and rolled elegantly up her arms to cover the fair skin beneath. Her bodice of blue shone in the sunlight, a royal color that made the young woman stand out. The poise of her stance was graceful and dignified. Every bit the lady that she had been hand crafted to be. Her long ebony hair fell in waves around her face and down her back, cascading over her shoulders on one side to give Rosemary an enchanting and alluring appearance. Her ices like a crystal glacier peered around her as the pair of them were escorted into the palace.

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Every step she took felt like she was moving closer and closer to the gallows. Closer and closer to her end, and she couldn’t help feeling powerless in the melancholy of it. The palace halls were barely noticed as she made her way in silence towards the throne room where she was expected to be with the other ladies who had been summoned for inspection by his majesty. The tapestries she glanced at but never let her head move or her demeanor waiver. There was a solid coldness about Rosemary that she had to keep at all times, if not to appear as dignified as she could but because she felt it was the best way to protect herself. If you didn’t draw attention, then you didn’t cause trouble. You didn’t create trouble. As the pair of them neared the throne room, an echoing of whispered feminine voices could be heard waiting for their audience with his majesty. Lord Del Marco merely waved his daughter to join the half dozen women that had been summoned in their absolute best dresses. The other five women that stood giggling in their girlish excitement were beneath Rosemary. At least as far as she was concerned. Clad in gowns of pastel pinks, yellows and greens, Rosemary was the only one who had the confidence to wear the striking black of her country and the rich blue of her house. The other women also looked a little younger too, with hair done up in sweet braids or draped in elegantly coifed buns. Not Rosemary. She kept her hair down and wavy, using her raven black hair like a banner, a statement of her own confidence. “Now ladies!” A female attendant was saying, trying to quiet the noble women who had been summoned along with Rosemary. “You are not to speak to his majesty. He’s inspecting his new royal guard and will only direct questions to you if he feels the need to hear from you. Consider yourselves honored in his presence and keep yourselves decent if you’d like to make a good impression on him.” Rosemary just rolled her eyes. She had no desire to make a good

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impression on his majesty, hoping to be overlooked and uninteresting in comparison to the gaggle of girls who seemed all to eager at the idea of being queen beside a fossil. The women soon entered the throne room from a side entrance, not the main that normal dignitaries and the like would enter. It was used as a way to let multiple groups in at the same time, though Rosemary found the real reason that her and the rest of the women were shown through a side entrance was likely because they were women. They didn’t deserve the grandeur and respect that the men of the kingdom would. If I were queen, that would change. She thought, following behind the women of her group in silence.

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It was as they were entering the room that she took stock of the throne room itself. Of the tapestries that hung and the sigils that accompanied them. The black and the white and the gold. It was radiant being in there, intimidating and awe inspiring. Even if Rosemary was quietly picking apart the slight inconsistencies and imperfections she noticed. Her gaze moved away from being obsessed with the decor of the place, to the men that were kneeling on the black carpet before the throne. Her line of women were halted to the side, waiting their turn to be addressed and granted further audience with his majesty. They had come in on the Queen’s side of the throne room, and Rosemary couldn’t help let her eyes linger on the white rose that sat alone in it’s ebony vase. Had he loved her? Or was she just a means to an end? She wondered, letting her gaze turn back to the kneeling knights when a slight movement caught her attention. One of them had foolishly lifted his head. The only reason that she and the rest of the noble ladies had not bowed low were because their station was above those of the knights on their knees. They had not been addressed or acknowledged yet by the king, and would have to wait to really be allowed audience to show their respects appropriately. However Rosemary couldn’t help shake her head a little at the foolish knight who’d dared look up from the floor to cast his eyes on the king. ”Do not hide your curiosity, my son. Do you want to see the man that you have sworn to protect? Please, step forward and greet me properly.” The commanding tone was there in the words the king spoke, and obediently the knight made his way towards the king at his request. Rosemary watched with interest, having never seen disciplinary action given and wondering just how strong the king actually was. How diligent and strict were his policies. It was a curiosity for her too, watching the knight in question step forward in quiet defiance. He had begun to talk and

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Rosemary tilted her head ever so slightly trying to hear the words he’d said. There was an accent there that she couldn’t quite place, but it was far too muffled behind the knight’s helmet. Which it appeared that the king thought the same, quickly demanding the helmet be removed and the knight to try again.

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Her piercing blue eyes caught the light as his helmet was removed and she got her first glimpse of the man beneath it. He had dark brown hair, tied back in a ponytail that was long enough to tickle his jawline. He was clean shaved, with eyes that were determined and defiant in their amber color. The accent was easier to place as he spoke, his voice was deep and clear despite the inflection in it. A few of the other women began to giggle quietly amongst themselves, fanning their faces and smiling girlishly at him. Not Rosemary. She kept herself as cold as the ice she had in her veins. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself and giggling at the handsome knight who’d made a fool of himself in front of the king wasn’t exactly keeping a low profile. It was also undignified and Rosemary wasn’t one to be uncouth or swayed so easily by girlish hormones. Instead she remained silent, watching with interest to hear what kind of punishment this knight might have garnered for himself. What kind of dressing down would he receive for daring to peak at what he shouldn’t. The only thing Rosemary regretted that she kept close to her chest and as quiet as she could, was that she wasn’t closer to get a better look at the man that stood before the king.

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@Himbo Tie

Alaric was aware of the giggling of women behind him, but he knew better than to let his curiosity continue to rear its ugly head. He stood before the king because his curiosity dictated his actions. He was staring at the chest of the chief disciplinarian in his life because he had let his curiosity dictate his actions. No, he would not steal a peek over his shoulders to see the source of the feminine giggling behind him. No hormonal urges would bring him to a position where he could suffer worse punishments. Clamping his molars together as he became more and more aware of the silence that seemed to be surrounding him, Alaric allowed his eyes to lose focus slightly. Not staring so intently at the details of King Blackfyre’s armor allowed his peripheral vision to be of more use to him. He was able to see the other knights to his left still in the position that they had adopted as soon as they had entered the room. None of them had been foolish enough to look upon the king when he had sat on his throne. In their noble pasts, each had seen some majesty of differing levels and could resist any need to look upon the man before them. The same could not be said for the peasant standing on the dais in the armor of a noble. Alaric was out of his league, and he was becoming increasingly aware of that as he stood before the scrutinizing gaze of his king. He could see tiny movements as Blackfyre looked over him, seemingly judging every inch of his features and the armor that he could see. Alaric felt the need to step back and defend himself, but he would not give in to such weakness. He would continue his defiant display of not being silently subservient, even to the king of the lands he called home and swore to protect. -

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“My King, I would like to return to my position with the others.” Alaric’s words came as a low roll, his eyes darting to the position he had left vacant in their ranks. The response came as a slowly growing chuckle before a gauntleted hand struck him across the face in a fierce backhand. Stumbling to the side towards his comrades, Alaric raised his right hand to cup his face. The metal edges of the king’s gauntlet had split his right cheek just beneath the eye, and he could feel rivulets of blood beginning to run down his cheek and onto his neck already. Furrowing his brows as he stared at the ground in slight shock, Alaric felt a burning rage growing within him as he slowly turned his gaze to meet Blackfyre’s. Captain Wallace’s voice filled his mind as the memory of his knighting ceremony came over him. He had first been given a complete set of plate armor and, after donning it, had stood before his ebony friend. Brief words of encouragement were given before Wallace struck him across the face with a glove, stating the phrase, ‘Let this be the last blow you receive unanswered.’ Alaric’s ears grew increasingly red as his eyes bore into the king’s, earning a raised eyebrow and a soft chuckle from the older man. Blackfyre looked from the young knight to the kneeling form of Captain Wallace before speaking, “So, the whelp has some fight in him? Where did you get this one, Captain? The frontiers? If half of my knights had this much fire in them, we wouldn’t be sitting here. I’d have had this meeting in the throne room of those Diamond cunts.” The king chuckled and extended his right hand out to grab the collar of Alaric’s tabard and pull him forward and into a more standing position. -

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Alaric glanced down at the hand before allowing it to move him. He lowered his right hand from his face and held his palm against the outside of his thigh, making no effort to hide the blood that now streaked down the side of his face. He could see the king’s eyes glance to the stream before their gaze met once again. He felt he should break the contest of wills, and despite his desire to make the man before him bleed as he was, Alaric exhaled slowly before lowering his eyes to look at Blackfyre’s chest again. He was vaguely aware of the smirk that came over the edges of the king’s lips, but he knew better than to remark on it. Alaric held his breath for a few moments, willing his temper to lower until the king simply gestured toward his previous spot. Taking the silent command to move, Alaric nodded slowly and took a step back from the king. He brought his right hand in a fist up to his own chest and bowed slightly towards the monarch while holding his helmet with his left hand. “My apologies, Your Highness.” It was a very shallow bow, nothing like he had been commanded or taught to do, but he also did not expect to bleed for his king in this way. Bringing his right hand up to wipe the blood away from his cheek, Alaric wiped the blood off onto the leg portion of his tabard before turning to face the women that entered the room. Bringing his fist up again and offering them a bow as well, he spoke in a soft voice, “My apologies, Ladies of the Court.” Alaric allowed his eyes to linger for slightly longer than they should on the ladies before him, his amber hues particularly pausing on the black and blue dress of one of the women. She held herself remarkably poised, and he could not help the curiosity that such a difference piqued within him. She did not giggle and hide her face like the ladies that stood next to her when he faced them. -

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Matching her icy blue glare with his amber orbs for a moment, he nodded to her individually before stepping down off of the dais. His left hand lifted his helmet with practiced ease and slipped it back into place with the coif within the helmet. Settling his visor so that it was locked in place, he was kneeling down and strapping his helmet under his chin when he saw the slight movement from Captain Wallace. A small shake of the head could speak volumes. It could be an order to wait for now is not the time, or it could be a move of humorous disbelief. This motion held no such lightheartedness. It was a motion of disappointment, and it hit Alaric harder than anything the king could have thrown at him. As he finished strapping his helmet in place and took up his assigned position between the other knights, Alaric was aware of Wallace standing and stepping forward to turn and face the king. “Your Majesty, I apologize for the deficiency within this young recruit. With your permission, I will have this defiance worked out of him.” Captain Wallace glanced over his shoulder and pointed at the floor in front of Alaric before growling out deeply, “Fall on your face, now. Don’t stop until I say.” Without complaint, Alaric nodded and fell forward to catch himself with his hands at shoulder width. Extending his legs as he walked his hands forward so as to not disturb the rest of the formation, he started to do push-ups. King Blackfyre, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched the fresh knight working through the push-ups, looked to Wallace and nodded slowly. He held a thoughtful expression and brought his left hand up to hold his right elbow. Tapping his chin with his index finger, he stopped and pointed at the Captain before speaking, “I think a display of martial skill is needed, Captain. Send two of your knights and have them retrieve five practice swords from the armory. Let’s see how well-trained the whelp is, if he can’t mind his manners.” -

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Waiting to see two of the knights on the rear rank stand and turn to follow the directions, the king nodded and turned his attention to the women that were standing to the side. He had noticed their entrance, but he had not allowed himself the luxury of looking over them. Such a luxury was now afforded to him. His eyes moved slowly, lingering over certain features of the pastel dresses and the accentuation that they drew on the bodies beneath. Their giggling nature from before had been slightly annoying in such a serious moment, but he could not deny that such…liveliness was intriguing. A small smile played on his lips as he noticed that some of their giggles renewed under his direct attention, and he did not make any effort to keep his eyes from reflecting his interest in them as well. However, there was one that seemed immune to the giggling of her comrades. She drew his attention finally, and with it he allowed his smile to fall into a more relaxed expression. He respected her composure and would honor her with his own. Stepping toward the woman in black and blue with silver accents, he brought his left hand up to his right forearm. Unclasping the gauntlet he wore, he slipped it off to expose his barehand before offering his right hand to her. He held it in an expectant manner, as though she ought to know to take his hand and kiss it. His words came in a smooth tone, carrying the confidence of a man in control, “My my, aren’t you beautiful. Please, do tell me your name, Lady…?” @Fiory

CRACK The sound of the gauntlet connecting with bare skin echoed in the throne room. The giggling and fanning ceased and a quiet collected gasp rose through the pastel ladies of the court. Shocked into stillness and silence at the King’s sudden outburst towards one of his own knights. The only one who barely seemed to flinch was Rosemary. A slap in the face was certainly not what she had expected and her icy stare at the interaction had faltered for a moment witnessing it. What was worse, was the draw of blood that she could see gleaming on the man’s cheek in the dim light of the throne room. Serves him right I suppose…perhaps now he won’t be so… Rose was in mid thought when she saw how the knight in question almost seemed to contain himself from striking back. It was entrancing to witness. While the other ladies pulled their gazes away, fiddling with their dresses and their jewelry, glancing at the floor or whispering in near silent hushed voices to one another, Rosemary couldn’t take her eyes away from the inner turmoil and fight that this particular knight was exhibiting. Her keen eye for detail could tell that he was fighting within himself not to retaliate, to stand down and accept the punishment of the king. And before long, he overcame the clear desire to strike back, allowing a calm and collected stance to replace the anger and frustration. The king’s voice spoke out, chastising and disrespectful of the knight that wished to return to the ranks he had been dragged from. Rosemary barely listened, too enraptured by the knight that now made his way away. Apologizing to the king, and then turning towards herself and the other ladies of the court. ”My apologies, Ladies of the Court.”

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Those ice blue eyes connected with the fierce amber that the knight held, his voice rippling through her in a way she didn’t recognize. Rosemary stood as stoically as she could, letting her eyes wander over the foolish knight who had granted himself the ire of his majesty on his first day. The wet blood on his cheek that was smeared against his skin, the way his accent was thick and rough like the mountains, how he bowed to the ladies who refused it seemed to give him the time of day. All except for Rosemary. She felt a strange pull to hold that gaze as long as she could with him. Even the quiet subtly of the nod to her individually hadn’t gone unnoticed. Not wanting to draw attention by moving more than what would be expected of her, Rosemary bent her neck and let her face dip a fraction of an inch in a return nod to him. Recognition of his acknowledgement of her, before she pulled her gaze away and back to the man in the room who required her undivided attention. The men were soon talking, continuing to humiliate the knight who had clearly seemed to learn his lesson. Now however he was forced to the floor, doing push ups until he was told to stop. Unnecessary…What is the point in exhausting such a new recruit that he leaves the guard? Rosemary thought, watching out of the corner of her eye as the knight rose and fell in sequence, steady and deliberate on the floor. As if that wasn’t enough, then he was surely to be subjected to the martial skill that was mentioned, glancing at the retreating two knights who would gather whatever sparring weapons were needed in order to show their brute strength. What exactly are you trying to prove now? That your personal guard is strong and ready for battle? Clearly they would not be in your employ if they were not… Rosemary continued her inner thoughts as the King made his way towards the ladies.

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She dare not move, watching as the other ladies in their flowery pastel colors righted themselves and finally stood with some semblance of decorum in the king’s presence. But it was Rosemary herself that had caught his eye, as much as she had not wished for it. As much as she had wanted for the other ladies in their pinks and yellows and greens to be the sparkle in his eye for attention, Rosemary had unfortunately caught it instead. She would watch carefully as his left hand came to unbuckle and remove the gauntlet of his right, sliding the metal armor off and expectantly holding his hand out for her. ”My my, aren’t you beautiful. Please, do tell me your name, Lady…?” “Lady Rosemary Del Marco, your majesty.” Her words were cold, but eloquent and gently said. She did not immediately reach for his outstretched hand, but instead took one step backwards. Her delicate hands went to the sides of her gown to pinch at the fabric and quietly hold her dress out in all its splendor. Her curtsie was practiced to perfection, her long raven locks falling softly as she bowed her head low and kept her gaze at the king’s feet in front of her. “You honor and flatter me, sire.” Rosemary dare not lift her head, keeping herself still and quiet. An obedient woman that wanted nothing more than to flee the room and find the freedom she craved so badly. The hand he had held out snaked its way under her chin and with reluctance, Rosemary allowed her face to be lifted so she could look up at his majesty at his direction. She had to will her face to remain relaxed and reverent, even though there was the chilling dismissal she couldn’t change in her eyes. It wasn’t that Rosemary was arrogant enough to think herself better than the king, it was more that she wanted nothing to do with him. Not his money, his station or his attention.

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“The honor is mine, Lady Rosemary.” A chill ran down her spine. It was decided then and there as the words oozed from the king’s lips. Rosemary hated him saying her name. He made it sound repulsive and vile, though she could not show how disgusted she was. Instead a sweet smile as fake as it was spread over her supple red lips. Though dangerous and cold, her eyes flashed and glittered like gemstones when she purposefully fluttered them. There was a quiet seduction Rosemary had, and unfortunately for her it was something she had to employ now to keep her station. “Come ladies, while the knights prepare to show that whelp exactly what he is in for, perhaps the extra bloodshed is too fragile for flowers such as yourselves.” The ladies beside Rosemary giggled and nodded, taking turns with their own little bows and gentle curtsies. The older woman, an attendant from earlier began to usher the young women away, but Rosemary just glanced away from the king towards the knight on the floor, completing his sixtieth push up of however many he would be forced to complete. Barbaric…I owe him nothing. It was his own fault.. Quietly Rosemary stood, recognizing the pull from his majesty lessening as the other ladies were ushered closer to the dais to view in the spectacle that would begin. “Have you ever seen such disrespect, Lady Rosemary?” The king suddenly asked, clearly meaning the knight on the ground as he offered her his arm to take. She was reluctant and quietly let her hands take his arm sweetly. Hoping at least that her hands weren’t cold that he would be able to tell. As old as he was and as battle worn, she wondered if perhaps his circulation might not be good anyway and might not be able to tell. While the attendant escorted the other ladies ahead of her, she was being personally escorted by the king to the side of the Queen’s throne for a better view at the next punishment for the poor knight.

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“This is the first time I’ve seen such defiance your excellency.” Rosemary answered, glancing at the knight as he continued his public punishment. She was subtle in her actions, a quiet squeeze of her fingers against his skin like she was trying to keep balanced against him while also allowing the man to think that she required his presence for it. In reality, she was just trying to keep the attention she didn’t want. If the king was the goal, she would play her part as best as she could. “You are generous in your punishment of him. He should consider himself grateful for the acknowledgement.” “Oh? And how do you mean my lady?” The king responded, peering down and letting his gaze drink Rosemary in. She pretended not to notice, forced herself to allow it, even though she wanted nothing more than to freeze his arm off and smash it to pieces. “I mean your grace, that for being so defiant with you… you are benevolent to give him your undivided attention. It’s quite noble of you, to want to teach and train the young man the manners and decorum that he is expected to show…what better instructor than the king himself?” The words were flattering in their quiet deception. Rosemary felt no need to protect the knight on the ground, except that she couldn’t get his amber gaze out of her head. He had drawn blood from the knight already, publicly humiliated him in front of not only his comrades and captain, but of a group of giggling gaggling high ladies of the court. So Rosemary suggested that perhaps the king was being too generous in wanting to single out this individual knight and it perhaps was showing favor to the defiant man instead of ire. It would either work and the knight would be granted a reprieve or it wouldn’t and the knight would be forced to show his skills. Either way, Rosemary was playing her cards to gain favor in the court above the other ladies there. If she was going to be forced to play, then she was certainly going to play to win. That and part of

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her felt a soft ache at the idea of the knight being hurt more than he already was.

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@Himbo Tie

As the number of push-ups performed neared the triple-digit mark, Alaric could not ignore the steady burn that was beginning to spread through his arms. He was well-conditioned from his years working in the field and then on the field of battle, but even then, he had been given opportunities to rest. Lowering his head so that his visor pressed against the black rug underneath him on his following down motion, he paused briefly as he listened to the king and his new lady of choice speaking. Alaric quickly resumed his previous tempo, his eyes squeezing closed to keep the sweat from running into them. There was no helping the fact that the padded leather armor under the heavy steel harness was causing him to heat up faster, and he craved the cooling air of the northern winds at this time. However, he would not receive a break, and his arms would not slow down again. One hundred twenty push-ups passed through his arms, and Alaric paid close attention to the words he could hear from the dais. Was this Lady Rosemary trying to get him a reprieve, or was she thinking him weak? Did she believe the peasant boy was too weak to take the punishment being prepared for him? The constant grinding of his steel armor and the soft huffs of his breathing made it next to impossible to hear the fine details of the conversation between the nobles, but Alaric had already made his mind up. He would no longer be looked down upon, and if the king wanted a show of skill, he would deliver. Captain Wallace noticed the change in the man on the ground first. His arms seemed to be pumping with more speed and determination than before, and the soft counting he could hear from one of the nearby knights confirmed his suspicions. Alaric had sped up. His movements were nearly twice as fast as before, and the sound of sliding steel was becoming a constant ring rather than disjointed with each movement. -

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Glancing quickly at the king where he stood on the dais, Wallace stepped forward, knelt next to Alaric, and lowered his right hand to the young man’s shoulder. Trying to arrest his movements so that he could speak to him, he heard nothing but a dissatisfied grunt as Alaric pushed past his brief contact and continued his push-ups. Standing, he stepped towards the dais and spoke in a concerned tone, “Your Highness, I’m sure you would agree that the young man has received punishment enough, would you not? He is nearing two hundred push-ups, sire. Many more, and he won’t be able to swing a sword, much less wield it with any efficacy.” King Blackfyre glanced between his captain and the lady on his arm, his smile falling into a sadistic smirk. Shaking his head and turning his gaze to the knight that was lowering himself, he extended a hand and spoke loudly and quickly to be heard over the sound of his armor, “Listen now and listen well, knight. Your strength of will and stamina is being called into question, but I am not so foolish to believe they do not mean well. Stop these antics and catch your breath, for you are still going to be needed when the swords arrive.” Looking from Rosemary to Wallace as if he had delivered a rousing speech about peace and sensibility, Blackfyre chuckled softly before stepping towards his throne. He kept his hold on Rosemary and drew her with him so that she could stand between his and his late wife’s thrones. Sitting down while keeping his hand raised, he transitioned the hand that was holding to her forearms so that his right could rest on his knee. Squeezing the aching joint with a slight grimace, he made his best effort to hide his expression of discomfort while watching the knights before him. -

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Alaric lowered himself to his chest and groaned softly as he let his head fall forward. His visor collided with the black rug before he turned his head to the side so that he could lie more comfortably. His eyes searched and found Wallace’s form as he let his arms slowly collapse backward so that his hands extended down to his waist. Narrowing his eyes once his gaze found Wallace, Alaric grumbled softly to himself, “I’ll put your face in the dirt for each of these fucking push-ups. Just wait, old man.” He lay like that for a moment, his heavy breathing easily seen as his backplate lifted off from the ground with every deep inhale. However, as the inside of his visor grew more and more stuffy with every deep breath, Alaric grew more uncomfortable. Pushing over his right shoulder to lie on his back and stare up at the vaulted ceiling, he brought his hands up and unclipped his visor clasps. Swiveling the visor upwards so that he could breathe easily and see more clearly, he glanced up towards the dais again. The king was too infatuated with the black and blue lady beside him, but Alaric did not care. He was not the target of his staring. Looking at the woman in her sleek dress, Alaric relaxed his head back and allowed his visor to ride down slightly. The move would hide his gaze from almost anyone that would be looking at him, but it would allow him a place of relative privacy to view from. She was strikingly beautiful, that much Alaric could not ignore. However, every moment he looked at her and heard what he thought to be her voice, he was disgusted by the high-borne nature of her words. Of course, she didn’t care how badly these training exercises would hurt him. She was not speaking out of some concern for this knight she barely knew. She was speaking out of concern for her own growing boredom. If this Lady Rosemary was concerned that she would be bored by the sparring, Alaric would just have to prove to her how wrong she was. -

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Alaric rolled over from his back and towards his right as if he were going to assume the push-up position again. However, this time he brought his hands up and stayed in a kneeling position. Removing his helmet and setting it on the ground, he next moved to unclasp his gauntlets and let them join the helmet on the ground. Bringing his bare hands up to either side of his head, he threaded his fingers into his hair and pulled it back away from where it had fallen out of its ponytail. Catching the strip of leather with his left hand, he dropped it on his left thigh and continued to comb his hair back with his hands. They were gentle movements to right his hair and dry them with a small amount of warmth that exuded from his palms and fingertips. There was no visual cue aside from someone close being able to see his damp hair growing dry, but it brought with it a refreshing comfort. Baring his teeth in a challenging smirk as he glanced over at Captain Wallace, he tied his hair in a tight ponytail before letting the hanging strands dangle along the back of his head. Alaric lowered his hands and retrieved his gauntlets; his fingers moved with expertise to tighten them as they were before. Grabbing his helmet with both hands as he stood, Alaric was aware of the way that the king glanced from his side project of oggling Rosemary and the other women to look at him. Matching the king’s eyes with his own for a challenging moment, Alaric felt a glow of warmth when he saw the king’s eyebrows furrow for a slight moment. He turned his gaze to Rosemary as well, his amber orbs carrying a special heat to them as if he were challenging her to doubt his capabilities verbally again. -

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Leaning his head forward as he pulled his helmet on and lowered the visor, Alaric was keenly aware of the sounds of approaching feet and recognized them as the sounds of the two knights that had been sent to get the practice implements. Turning his head to watch them as they delivered the weapons to Captain Wallace, Alaric nodded and stepped toward the older man. Extending a hand and taking the blunted blade of one of the practice swords, he brought his right hand forward and gripped the hilt tightly. Wheeling the blade around him as he stepped away to acquaint himself with the weight and balance, Alaric chuckled softly when he heard two of the other knights stepping towards Wallace and offering to square up against him. He recognized them as Rob and Dieter, two young nobles that had been watching Alaric’s ascent up the ranks with jealous eyes and pits of discomfort in their stomachs. They did not like the spectacle presented by a commoner and peasant climbing from a simple footsoldier to being a man-at-arms and eventually a knight beside them. They received their swords and nodded confidently to each other before standing shoulder-to-shoulder across from Alaric. The other knights left their kneeling positions and stepped back, giving the trio more than enough room to carry out the ordeals of their spar. All three men held their blades readied and at a forward angle. Every helmeted head was turned towards King Blackfyre, awaiting his order to commence. Blackfyre tightened his hold on Rosemary’s forearm slightly, a smile of bloodlust on his lips as he stood and raised his right hand. Pointing to each of the knights, he spoke in a confident tone, “I want a good fight, gentlemen. You are the future of the guard, even if some of you require further lessons in manners. You may proceed.” -

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Alaric drew back his sword into a high guard position as he stepped forward, knowing that he needed to act with measured aggression to not lose too much advantage. He did not have a very defensive fighting style, and this would only force him to defend himself if he did not attack. Catching a downward swing from Rob on his blade and deflecting it to his left with a push of his crossguard, Alaric stepped back quickly to avoid a thrust from Dieter. He favored holding his sword in one hand and working with a shield in his other due to the lack of protectiveness of his previous armor, so he was still getting used to the high defense of the plate armor. Keeping both hands on his hilt, he swung an upward cut from his left across Rob’s chest, forcing the other man to catch his blade with a hurried block. Pressing his advantage forward, Alaric dropped his left hand and grabbed the crossguard of Rob’s sword before pushing him to the right. Causing the man to bump into Dieter as he wound up a slice that would strike Alaric in the back, he continued with the momentum to get out of Dieter’s reach with steps to the left. Pulling down on his sword to relieve it of the bind with Rob’s, Alaric brought his left hand around and slammed his knuckles into the side of the knight’s head. Staggering the man with two more repeated blows, Alaric continued to the left to keep the increasingly stunned Rob between himself and Dieter. Turning Rob and grabbing hold of the back of his collar with his left hand, Alaric swung his sword around the man to clash blades with Dieter. Trying to find some opening in the man’s defense, he was aware of Rob’s elbows coming back to catch him in the breastplate. Expelling breath in a surprised grunt, Alaric stepped forward and kicked the man in the back of the left knee. -

18:57

Collapsing Rob’s leg beneath him, Alaric swung once more with a feint at Dieter to cause the man to block the attack. Having bought himself some time, he brought his hand back as if to prepare another swing but instead slammed the pommel of his sword into the side of Rob’s helmet. Hearing a gasp from some of the women on the dais, Alaric repeated the strike a few more times until he heard the sword in Rob’s hand clatter to the ground. Dropping the unconscious man so that he slumped over to the side, Alaric released a challenging roar as he stepped over the man toward Dieter. Seeing Dieter’s helmet dip towards Rob as he looked at his unconscious friend, Alaric chuckled softly before pressing onwards. Bringing both hands to the hilt again to power the quick succession of blows that forced Dieter on the defensive, Alaric could see the other man’s will breaking as his blocks got slower and slower. Finally, rather than switching around to test Dieter’s reactions to new blows, Alaric stuck with the same hammering overhead blows. Forcing Dieter to his knees as he tried to block the blows, he watched as the man slipped a hand off his hilt to grip the middle of the blade for more support. Growling as he slammed down once more, Alaric reached down and seized the other man’s blade with his left hand before dragging him forward and to his feet. Still holding his sword in his right hand, he brought his gauntleted fist forward in two swift strikes to Dieter’s helmeted face before releasing his hold on the blade. Alaric watched the man stand for a moment before staggering and falling backward as well. He lowered his guard and strode back toward where he had been doing the push-ups. Ignoring the sounds of the other knights moving up to check on their fallen comrades, Alaric dropped to one knee and held the sword before him with the point digging into the black rug. His hands each held one end of the crossguard as he pressed his forehead against the pommel. -

18:58

“Your Majesty. Ladies of the Court.” Alaric lifted his head away from the pommel and stood quickly, his hands resting still on the crossguard of the blunted longsword. He breathed deeply to try and calm his heartbeat down, and he kept his gaze on the stares of the dais rather than repeating the issue that cause all of this. King Blackfyre nodded slowly, a smile spreading across his lips as he moved to stand back up. After the fight began, he had sat down on his throne again, his hand idly resting against Rosemary’s hip as he watched the ordeal in front of them. As more blows were struck, his hand had left Rosemary’s being entirely so that they could rub together in an excited fashion. He loved the art of combat, and this display held a certain brutality to it that he had not realized he had been missing. Standing and pointing down at Alaric, he laughed heartily before speaking in a booming voice, “You might have attitudes you need to work on in the court, but you know how to handle yourself, dear boy. Keep this up, and you will feel the weight of your rank lifted with more and more growth. Captain Wallace, where did you get this bastard?” Blackfyre failed to notice the tightening in Alaric’s fists around the hilt of the sword at that comment, his eyes plastered on the ebony-skinned captain as if he expected some answer other than the fields of the north. @Fiory

Uncivilized, and cruel… * The two words were the only things that crossed Rosemary’s mind as the knight continued his torturous punishment in front of his betters, his fellow knights and the ladies of the court. It seemed that her ploy to try and grant the knight some kind of reprieve had worked in some small way, as at least he was told he no longer had to continue doing the exercise in front of them. For that, Rosemary was at least grateful for. The grinding sounds of his armor sliding against itself every time he went down and came back up had started to pain her ears. While the other young ladies were lead off to the side of the small stage where the thrones were housed, Rosemary was led to stand beside the king between them. Not that she wanted to be there at all. Her heels lightly clicked on the marble floor and fell silent on the carpet once she had taken the steps up. The king held her arm almost possessively which only made the woman nervous. *Don’t let it get to you. Think of nothing. She willed herself to remain steady, already feeling her fingers begin to freeze in her own anxiety of the situation. She wanted nothing more than to pull her hands away from his arm, to stand as far away from his majesty as she could. Hell, to even leave the room steal a horse and ride away into freedom. Instead she was a caged bird, shiny and beautiful and now standing between the king and the memory of his late queen. Because this isn’t the most awkward place to be right now… She thought, glancing to the vase and the singular rose that lay within it. The white petals had slowly opened, catching the light of the room and nearly glowing in silent reverence to the memorial. The late queen had been all but silent in her role; She had been someone seen in court and would command the respect of the room. However, she didn’t always give the best advice to the king, and would often allow the man to do what he wished whenever he wished it. For Rosemary, the late queen was

18:58

a failure as a queen but beloved as a woman. Her kindness and grace had been unmatched by any other, so it had troubled and thrown the kingdom into despair at her passing.

18:59

Soon the king was giving some rousing words to the knight who had been told finally that he could stop with the ridiculous punishment he had been forced to endure. Finally… the sound was so painful to my ears.. Rosemary thought, grateful that the sound of his armor echoing and scraping against itself would soon dissipate from the room. To shield her disdain for the continued torture of the man, Rosemary merely nodded in acknowledgement of the King’s words, keeping herself demure and respectable without a word to him until he had sat down. Rosemary dare not sit, and she would not kneel. Kneeling had always felt subservient, something that she had been raised not to do. “Queens kneel to no one, and you are a future Queen my love.” Her mother’s words echoed in her head, solidifying the sentiment. So Rosemary just stood quietly beside his majesty’s throne, leaning herself down to his ear to whisper gently. “Beautifully spoken sire.” She knew the man was expecting some kind of compliment for the minimal words he had said. Every man expected some kind of praise for saying the bare minimum of words as if every little thing they did was a monumental accomplishment. Rosemary honestly couldn’t have cared about the small words the king had said. Her attention was drawn to the knight on the ground, catching his breath on the ground. The way the king clung to his knee had her pause for a moment, considering the age of the man and the physical complications that he certainly was experiencing. She would say nothing, and pretend that she saw nothing of the weakness the king portrayed, as making mention of it would surely cost her her head. Instead Rosemary turned her gaze to the knight on the ground, watching as he righted himself and lay there on the carpet. The king was her target, she was supposed to be paying attention to what he was saying and what he was doing but Rosemary found herself intrigued by the peasant knight who had spoken and acted out of turn. His accent

18:59

she recognized now as one from the far north, more so than her home had been. It was thick and savage even if it did have a pleasant baritone note to it. As practiced as she was, she made small talk with the king, answering his little questions of her and agreeing with most everything he said. Nothing that came from her was of consequence, nothing really noteworthy or requiring that much intelligence to say.

18:59

In a word, the small talk waiting for the knight to prepare himself for his sparring battle was boring. She would have given anything to be anywhere else. So instead she allowed herself a break from his majesty to watch the knight in question rise to his knees. His helmet removed, his hair re-tied. Watching him right himself and prepare for battle Rosemary felt a quiet tingle rush over her face, one that threatened to color her cheeks a soft rouge. He was handsome she could admit, and the idea that he was strong enough to be punished there before the court and be ready to battle as if he wasn’t deterred was commendable. He’s still just a peasant… and I doubt this will be a fair fight. That she was sure of. And as the sparring session prepared to start, the King declaring he wanted a good fight, it was clear it wouldn’t be just a straight one on one duel. Two knights had stepped up to challenge the man in question, and as much as she wanted to focus on the sparring itself, Rosemary found herself willing her body to remain still and not immediately send a cold front throughout the throne room. As the clashing of practice swords and armor rang out in the throne room, a hand that did not belong to her slid around her waist from her forearm and held her in at the hip. As if he was trying to be sneaky about it. As if he was trying to be suave. Rosemary held her tongue, willing herself to pay attention to the sparring session, even though she could feel his fingers against her hip squeeze and play at the fabric there. Begging it seemed to feel the flesh beneath it. Don’t react. Don’t react Rose. Just ignore it. He’ll grow bored of you soon enough The thoughts ran through her head forcing her ice blue eyes to pay attention to the fight instead of the lecherous hand at her hip. Thankfully as the fight continued the king grew hungry watching the violence, bringing his hands together in anticipation of the display. It made it so much easier to relax a little while sh

18:59

e stood there, her hands quietly falling in front of her and giving the woman in black and blue a truly regal appearance. It was like she was born for this role, molded by her life to be up there on that dais and her rightful place was where that vase and rose were currently nestled. Whether that was beside the man sitting in the throne currently or if a different one should sit there instead, was yet to really be known.

19:00

Finally able to focus now that she wasn’t being groped by his majesty, Rosemary could see the skill and power that the knight who had spoken out of turn was anything but mild. He worked with a ferocity that she had never witnessed before. A hunger and a desire to win and to prove himself was clear with each blow and parry and attack he gave. The primal way that he roared and struck fear into his fellow knights sparring with him was savage and the fight ended as brutally as it began. ”Your Majesty. Ladies of the Court.” There was light applause, polite and demure from the gallery of women in pastels. Rosemary herself even lifted her hands to join in, quietly showing her respect and admiration for the display that the knight had shown. It was impressive the amount of pain this man could take. How well he had done and moved with finesse as well as a fighting spirit. There was surely room for improvement but he had done well in the face of adversity. That was something to be commended, and Rosemary could at least respect the resolve he had. Not that she felt obligated to show that with more than her gentle clapping. ”Captain Wallace, where did you get this bastard?” Do you really have to ask? Rosemary thought quietly, her gaze as cold as ice moving from the impressive knight to the king who had asked where he was from. It was clear to her that he had come from the north, possibly even near the border with how thick his accent was. Only those who were close to the mountains and the ice spoke in that way. She would hold her tongue though, as she hadn’t been addressed. There was a standing rule that she had promised her father she would adhere to. Speak only when spoken to. Not that she wanted to. She wanted to point out how inept a king he was if he couldn’t recognize the dialects of his citizens in the kingdom. Instead, she just waited for whatever answer Captain Wallace would give, letting her blue gaze return to the knight who seemed very determined to s

19:00

tare down the steps in front of her. At least he learned his lesson not to look at what he shouldn’t… She thought, taking a moment to commit the knight to memory. Something she couldn’t explain told her to keep an eye on this particular man; there was something about him that was interesting to say the least.

19:01

“What say you my dear?” She suddenly had been addressed, the king turning to Rosemary with a beaming grin as if he was expecting further praise from the woman. Rosemary hadn’t been listening to the conversation between the Captain and the King, so instead of admitting this outwardly, she merely tilted her head and let her raven locks slide against her bare shoulder, waiting for the king to elaborate. When he didn’t, she took it upon herself to assess the situation she now found herself in. The Captain and King had been chatting, asking about the knight and his heritage, where he came from specifically. She hadn’t heard exactly the answer, but it was safe to surmise that the topic of discussion was still on this particular subject. The way the knight’s fists seemed tighter around the hilt of his sword suggested to the sharp eyed beauty that it wasn’t a conversation that he necessarily appreciated, not that she cared one way or the other about his comfort. “Your Majesty?” She inquired coolly, asking for him to elaborate while also asking if it was his wish for her to give an opinion on the matter. It was her being submissive to the man, even though she’d never truly bend the knee to him. “This man has done well don’t you agree? Certainly he has gained your favor and would be due the recognition for his performance for you and the other ladies of the court.” Ah, so that had been the question that the king had asked. It was rude and disrespectful, expecting Rosemary now to show her respects to the knight that had performed so well in his combat simulation before the king. Though she really couldn’t deny the request from his majesty.

19:01

“You are right as always your excellency.” Rosemary responded, taking a step forward unaccompanied by the king and purposefully stepping down one of the steps of the little stage she had been standing on. She had seen his gaze and where it had landed, knowing that if it remained where it was he would now have no choice but to stare at her shoes. It was customary as a lady of the court to acknowledge acts of strength and chivalry after they had been performed if the performance was worth the praise. Clearly the king expected Rosemary to speak on behalf of the other ladies of the court who were whispering and giggling off to the side in girlish antics. “On behalf of the ladies of the court and with his majesty’s blessing, I would like to extend a word of praise for the display you’ve shown for us today…” Rosemary began, a quiet curl coming to her lips and a distinctly sly gleam shining in those lovely blue eyes. “However, without knowing your name it is impossible to give such praise to you. What shall I call you, Knight of the North?” She wouldn’t call him a bastard, as that would be uncouth of a word to slip from a ladies lips. However, giving him the title of ‘Knight of the North’ was no better, an empty title that meant he was from the far reaches of the kingdom where the rabble and poor were prominent and the lack of class was well known. Rosemary had no desire to be cruel to the man, but she couldn’t exactly be overtly kind to him either lest she lose the status she held within court.

19:01

@Himbo Tie

The clapping from the women on the stage was an unexpected sound in Alaric’s ears, but he was not going to push away such a kind display of appreciation. He had fought hard to prove his worth to the king and his captain, but most importantly, he wanted to prove it to himself. I’m not some weak peasant that these bastards can talk down to. Every insult will be met with injury if I have my way. Holding his gaze down to the stairs and breathing deeply, he did steal an opportunity to glance up and see the woman in black and blue standing between the thrones. Her hands were adding to the applause from the other women, but there was something about her that stuck out to him like a blade in a haystack. She was applauding him, but her face carried a degree of boredom and lack of interest that rubbed at him like a sheet of sandpaper over a skinned knee. Narrowing his eyes, Alaric tightened his grip on his sword before breathing out slowly. Not impressed are we, Lady of the Court? Why don’t you try your hand at it? Or better yet, send your champion down here, and I’ll put him on the ground as well. Chuckling softly within the confines of his helmet, Alaric was careful to make sure his shoulders did not betray him with any movements suggesting laughter. It would not do well for him to be punished for something as brash as laughing at the nobility before him. Despite the cost of his arms and armor and the promise of land at the end of his service, he was clearly aware of the fact that his claim to nobility held a heavy asterisk beside it. He was a knight and therefore deserved the title and respect of nobility, but having no family heritage to claim truly reduced the impact of such a title. He didn’t have a father lording over an estate to call to if he needed additional funding or support to back up his words. Every action he made had to be backed up by the strength of his back, and even he had his limits. -

01:10

Resolving instead to simply staying silent and proving them wrong with his actions, Alaric lowered his gaze from the lady and settled his sight back on the black rug in front of him. While looking at her, he had felt the obvious warmth of frustration prickling at his scalp, but he could not ignore the warmth that had crept up onto his cheeks as well. This Lady Rosemary, as he had heard her called, was without a doubt an incredibly attractive woman to look at. Her face carried a regal stillness with it that caused him to want to hear what she had to say, but he also could not get past the need to silence her doubts about him. Her silent expression spoke volumes, and every time she looked at him, Alaric wanted to show her why doubting him was a bad decision. Closing his eyes to focus on the events of the fight and starting to replay them in his head, Alaric was vaguely aware of the king’s words to him. He ignored the comments about needing to work on his attitude, having already made up his mind that he would not simply sit quietly and take the name-calling and disrespect that others expected him to take. Chastising and insults from his immediate superiors were one thing because they held the energy of wanting to improve him so that he could be the best version of himself. The insults from those above him that simply saw him as lesser, however, carried nothing but the self-serving energy of someone wanting to elevate themselves on the backs of others. Alaric promised himself that he would be no such stepping stool. The promise of promotion was a sweet sound to the young man, though. As someone who had been trying to improve his station from his youth, this was truly enticing. Soon, being a peasant turned knight would not be enough for Alaric, and he could already see the feathers extending from his helmet that denoted his elevated rank. Smiling as ambitions started to blossom within him, Alaric was not ready for the insulting nature of the king’s final words. -

01:10

Narrowing his eyes and feeling his lip curl up in a vicious snarl, Alaric tightened his grip on his longsword and lifted his head slowly. Seeing the king’s feet coming into view as he lifted his gaze, Alaric shifted his hold on the hilt of the weapon so that he was holding it in his right hand. However, before he could lift the blade or elevate his vision completely, he felt a firm gauntleted hand grip the back of his neck before clapping him on the shoulder. Glancing over to see the metal-clad boots of Captain Wallace where he had stepped forward, Alaric lowered his head enough that his face seemed to be staring at the stairs again. His eyes betrayed such an illusion, glaring up at an angle to see from the knees down on the king and the lady that stood beside him. Shifting his hands on the hilt of his blunted longsword, Alaric rested his left hand in a loose grip over the pommel itself while his right gripped the handle and let his fingers drape past the crossguard onto the flat of the blade. Having briefly contained the fiery temper of his subordinate, Wallace stepped further forward so that he was just beyond Alaric and a step closer to the king. Lowering his helmet in a bow as his right hand crossed over his stomach, he cleared his throat before leaning forward into a shallow bow. Straightening up and reaching his right hand up, Wallace unclasped his visor and slid it up along his helmet before speaking, “Your Majesty, this knight is one of few in our ranks that does not hail from a name of any reputation. In fact, he was a levy from a northern farm that took it upon himself to elevate his station within the ranks. Through the trials and tribulations of combat, he went from a simple footsoldier to a man-at-arms and eventually, as he is now, a knight.” -

01:11

King Blackfyre nodded slowly, his right hand moving up to rub his face and comb down his beard as he tried and failed to suppress a growing chuckle. Leaning forward and shaking his head, he glanced at Rosemary and then at the other ladies before speaking, “My God, Captain, it is almost as if you are trying to champion this young knight. Are you his personal sponsor or something?” Captain Wallace swallowed thickly, allowing the monarch to get a few more laughs out before he responded in a confident yet measured tone, “As it would seem, your Highness, I am his sponsor. The other knights standing in the room today have been elevated and outfitted by their family reputations. They have each proven themselves on the field of battle, but they all started their service to the kingdom at the esteemed position of men-at-arms.” Narrowing his eyes as his mocking statement was politely pushed aside, Blackfyre nodded again before lowering his gaze to the way Alaric held his sword. He noticed the relaxed grip and smirked before speaking again, “So, if you have sponsored him, I trust that you have taken it upon yourself to train him and make sure that he is performing. Excellent. So, he will have the energy left for another bout after he introduces himself. What do you think, Lady Rosemary? A short introduction from the knight in question and then another bout of martial skill? Perhaps even a short display of gratitude and recognition from you and the other ladies for the bravery exhibited.” King Blackfyre looked up with a smirk towards Rosemary before looking back to Captain Wallace, a clear air of self-confidence exuding from him. If this peasant wanted to walk amongst his fine knights and take the position that another noble could have filled, he was going to have to prove it. Hearing no immediate response from Rosemary though, Blackfyre looked back up to her with a beaming grin, “What say you, my dear?” -

01:11

Alaric stole an opportunity to glance up towards the dais when the king was forced to repeat himself. There was a part of him that wanted to see this Lady of the Court punished for her absentmindedness that allowed her to effectively ignore the king. However, when his eyes lifted enough to see her raven locks cascading over her shoulder as she turned her head, Alaric could not harbor any further ill will towards her. There was an air of attractiveness about her in such a simple gesture that threatened to steal his breath, so Alaric forced himself to lower his gaze back down to where it ought to be. He had practiced many hours to avoid being disarmed in combat, but it seemed this was a style of disarming that he was not prepared for. Hearing King Blackfyre repeat his directions to Lady Rosemary, Alaric swallowed thickly and lowered his gaze further when he noticed that the woman was starting to move towards him. He had no idea what she might be expected to do, but he wanted to prepare himself for anything. Steeling himself within his mind to anticipate being struck or yelled at, Alaric, tightened his left hand around the pommel of his sword. He needed to be ready to take anything without reacting, so he would make sure he was not relaxed in such a way that he would stumble. Expecting some physical punishment or challenge, Alaric was in no way ready for the words that flowed from the lady’s lips. Lifting his head slowly so that his visor made it as though his gaze was focused on her abdomen, he glanced up at the edges of the eyeslits to see the slight curl of the woman’s lips and the gleam in her eyes. Nodding slowly in recognition of the praise offered to him, Alaric smirked beneath his visor when he heard the continued words that came from the noble woman. The name she gave him would have been insulting by nature if she had left it at that, but she added an interest in learning his name. -

01:11

Knight of the North was an empty title that he had been avoiding like a plague since he had been granted this new promotion. Not only did it symbolize him as simply a man of the far reaches, but it also held with it the connotation that he held no true loyalty to the crown or claim to his position. Having no reputed surname, there had been doubts voiced already that he would quickly fall from the ranks of the Kingsguard to become a mercenary or sword-for-hire. Captain Wallace had refused to let these claims take hold, putting his own reputation on the line by swearing to watch after this new knight. In an essence, Wallace’s continued prosperity was tied directly to the success of his new charge. Lowering his left hand so that it gripped the blade of the longsword just above the crossguard, Alaric turned his right hand over to take hold of the hilt properly. Flourishing the blade and turning it in a clockwise circle, he placed the point against the ground again and rested his right hand on the pommel. Resting his left hand on top of his right, he nodded slowly to lower his gaze down to Lady Rosemary’s feet before speaking in his heavily accented voice, “Lady of the Court, I go by the name of Knight Alaric. I lack a surname like my compatriots, but I intend to have my name recognized across the lands. With luck and good fortune, Alaric will be a name remembered for many years to come.” Hearing soft grumbling from behind him, Alaric lowered his left hand to hold the blade of his sword again. Lifting it so that the crossguard was directly in front of him like a cross, Alaric bowed his head towards the sword before lowering his hand and holding his sword by his left hip. Looking over his shoulder towards the knights behind him, he spoke in a low, challenging tone, “If you want to stop that, do more than mumble amongst yourselves. The king requested further displays of skill, and I’m not done yet.” -

01:11

Turning with his back to the raven-haired lady, Alaric lowered the hilt of his sword down by his right hip in a plow guard with his left foot forward. His right hand rested just above the pommel and he flexed his fingers slowly as he watched three of his fellow knights stepping forward towards him. Watching their mannerisms and recognizing them as the trio of western nobles, Alaric nodded slowly towards each of them as they gathered their blunted swords and took up various guards. Marco adopted a similar plow guard and stood across from him while Jon and Niel each held their swords pointed out towards him with their arms outstretched. King Blackfyre narrowed his eyes as he watched the display. He turned his gaze to Captain Wallace who simply stepped back from the new sparring area and lowered his visor back into place. Nodding and laughing softly, he clapped his hands together and stood from the throne with a soft groan under his breath. The scowl that threatened to overtake his face showed that he did not like the fiery attitude or its results, but he had to act as though he was still in control. Raising his hands and holding them out as he overlooked the four men, he smiled and clapped his hands together suddenly while speaking, “Fair fights, gentlemen. You are still sworn to the same side, so this is simply friendly contest. You may begin.” Marco lunged forward as the king was finishing his statement, the point of his sword coming in a fierce thrust that was aimed at Alaric’s face. Having little room to step back and avoid the thrust, he was forced to use his blade to deflect and redirect the attack. Swatting the point of his blade to the side to smack his edge against Marco’s flat, he pushed the thrust to the side before stepping forward and lifting his sword’s handle. Alaric turned to the left by stepping forward with his right foot and caught the edge of Marco’s blade on his crossguard. -

01:12

He continued forward while wheeling his blade around in a quick sideways strike from his right side against the side of Marco’s head. His strike, however, was intercepted as Niel brought his sword down in an upperhanded strike to block his blow and crash through it to hit Alaric in the shoulder. Alaric grunted as he dropped his right shoulder to lessen the impact of the blow. Jon was moving from his left and he could see Marco gathering himself for a counterattack. Narrowing his eyes, Alaric side-stepped right to force Niel’s sword to drag up the side of his helmet as he stepped in under his guard. Slamming his right elbow forward twice to catch Niel in the stomach, he caused the other man to stumble back before Alaric lowered himself to roll forward on his right shoulder. The space behind him was quickly filled with Marco and Jon’s swords as they tried to swing at his exposed left side, but he had dodged them perfectly. Staying low to the ground as he came up on his knees, Alaric swung his sword in a powerful sweep with his right hand towards the back of Niel’s legs. There was no plate armor there, and the mail protecting him would do nothing to stop the blunt impact of the sword in his hands. Hearing a shout of pain from the man as his legs started to give out on him, Alaric pushed off the ground with his feet and his left hand. He slammed his right shoulder into Niel’s hip and threw him off balance and towards the ground. Alaric continued forward, his left arm moving to wrap around the other man’s waist and roll with him away from Jon and Marco. Coming up on his knees with his weight pressing down on Niel’s chest, Alaric delivered two fierce pommel strikes to the man’s helmeted forehead before rolling to his right. He pushed up and felt his left foot on the bottom stair up to the dais while holding his sword in both hands. He pointed the blade at both men before breathing in deeply and charging forward. -

01:12

Swinging his sword in wide sweeps as he stepped over Niel and pressed forward, Alaric forced Marco and Jon both to step back as they moved to parry his wide swings. Counting on them to passively step back, Alaric nodded and brought his sword back while gripping his left hand halfway up the blade. Half-swording the blunted longsword, Alaric stepped toward Jon and caught an upper swing from his right with the reinforced defenses of the sword. He could see Marco beginning to circle from his left and stepped to his own right to create some distance between them. For a few moments, Alaric focused on blocking and parrying Jon’s blows, pushing them back and letting the other man exhaust himself with his swings. Alaric could not deny the fact that his arms were beginning to fatigue as well, and as Marco charged forward to strike at his exposed back, he knew that he needed to end this quickly. Ducking down and lunging back so that his left leg was between Marco’s, Alaric pivoted suddenly and slammed the tip of his sword against Marco’s breastplate. He was rewarded with hearing the man’s breath knocked from his lungs, but he continued to push his assault. Dropping the tip of his sword and jamming it up between Marco’s thighs, Alaric dropped to his right knee while lifting with his arms and rolling forward. Marco was lifted by the wedging position of the blunted blade against his groin before being thrown forward across Alaric’s shoulders. -

01:13

Alaric deposited Marco in a heap in front of Jon with enough speed that the other man had to stumble backwards to avoid being knocked over as well. Pushing to his left knee and throwing his right foot between Marco’s thighs, Alaric dropped his sword and brought his gauntleted hands together to create a large bludgeon. Slamming it down on Marco’s chest twice, he scrambled forward and grabbed Marco’s visor with his left hand. Turning the man’s head to the side slightly, Alaric slammed his right fist into the side of his head twice. He went for a third swing but was caught when Jon stepped forward and caught him in the underside of his arm and his face with the edge of his own sword. Falling back and scrambling back, Alaric looked around for his sword as Jon continued forward. Having to lift his left arm and catch blows on his armored forearm, Alaric groaned as the impacts became more and more painful. Thankfully, however, his right hand hit the flat of one of the blunted swords and he instantly wrapped his fingers around it. Swinging it around and up to block the next swing, he was not aware until too late that he had grabbed it with the handle end swinging towards Jon. The pommel slammed into the back of Jon’s left hand, and the man released a howl of pain as the steel dented inwards. Seeing his opening, Alaric pushed up with his left hand while bringing the sword back. Kneeling in front of the other man who lifted his sword for another strike, Alaric brought his sword around in another fast wheeling blow. This time, however, the point of impact was not Jon’s hand. The pommel connected with the side of Jon’s helmet and the room was filled with the vicious sound of steel on steel contact. Instantly, the knight’s knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground, his hand releasing its hold on the sword. -

01:13

Lowering his sword and arms to his side, Alaric fell backwards to his rear. His breath came in labored panting gasps as he looked to the three men that surround him on the ground. Niel and Marco were beginning to stir, but two others rushed forward to pull Jon’s helmet off to check on the man. Pushing up to try and stand, Alaric’s feet failed to find purchase on the throneroom floor and he simply stumbled and fell down hard on his left side. The position gave him a clear view of the dais where his fuzzy, exhausted vision would let him see Lady Rosemary and King Blackfyre. His eyes skimmed over the lady for a moment before focusing on the king who leaned forward with his hands held together in tight fists. He could see the white knuckle grip he had on his temper from here, and Alaric breathed out slowly as he rolled over to his back. Blackfyre stood slowly from his throne, his eyes narrowed as he glared from the knight on his back to the one that was being tended to by two of his comrades. There had already been reports given that the man was breathing, but this combat had quickly gotten out of hand. The pastel ladies had gone silent, their eyes widened in horror as they saw firsthand only a taste of the horrors of the battlefield. The king shifted his vision to Captain Wallace and shook his head slowly before speaking, “Get. Out. All of you, except Knight Alaric and Captain Wallace, are dismissed. Take them to the infirmary if they need it, but get out.” -

01:13

Captain Wallace nodded before collecting the blunted longswords and handing them to one of the knights that had not been involved in any of the sparring. Quick directions were given for him to deliver the weapons back to the armory while the others collected the shaken up knights and prepared them to leave. Glances were given to Alaric as he pushed up from the ground and settled on his knees, his hands forward and placed on the ground as he caught his breath. There were little words given as they understood none of this was in bad blood, but that did not stop them from keeping a wide berth from the man as they moved to leave the room. King Blackfyre turned to the pastel ladies and spoke in a firm tone as the knights filed out, “Please, make your way back to your quarters. You will be called upon as you are needed, but please be ready for dinner. I hear that it will be quite the ordeal.” The women each nodded and gave polite bows before filing out as well. Blackfyre nodded and held his hands behind his back as he stepped to the edge of the dais. He glared down at Alaric before holding his left hand out to the side. An expectant glance back made it clear to Lady Rosemary just what he wanted from her. Once her hand was in his, he breathed in slowly before setting his glare back on the man on his knees. “Remove your helmet, Knight Alaric.” Alaric’s hands slowly moved to follow the issued command, but there was no air of disobedience from the man. Exhaustion dripped from his every move as his helmet was lifted off and held between his hands on top of his thighs. Keeping his eyes cast at the base of the stairs, he was thankful for the permission to remove his helmet. Alaric did his best to stay composed, but he breathed in deeply and appreciated the explosion of oxygen that he was able to bring in without the obstructing helmet. -

01:15

Captain Wallace stepped forward to speak, sensing that he needed to defend his charge, but he was silenced quickly by King Blackfyre’s right hand coming up in a fist. Clearing his throat as he began stepping down the stairs with Lady Rosemary accompanying him, Blackfyre turned his gaze to the helmetless knight before speaking, “You fight like a savage, Knight Alaric. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were one of the Men of the Mists. Your armor can protect you, but it can also fail you. Clean up your act, fight with a modicum of respect for yourself and your station, and control your anger and you might just be worth a damn amongst my knights. As you are now, I cannot trust that you won’t become some savage and turn on your brothers.” Blackfyre noticed the way Alaric’s hands tightened around his helmet and laughed heartily. Pointing down at the man, he looked to Rosemary with a smile before turning his attention back to Alaric, “Look at you!! Captain Wallace has risked everything for you, and you act like an animal even now. Prove to me that you are under control of yourself and that you truly show promise. Escort Lady Rosemary to her quarters. That should be easy enough for you, Savage Knight.” Alaric clenched his jaw as he saw from his peripheral that the king pressed his lips to Rosemary’s knuckles before releasing her hand and turning towards the dais. Captain Wallace was motioned forward after the monarch, but Alaric made no move to stop him or act against the insults. Instead, he pushed slowly to a standing position and replaced his helmet on his head. Looking finally to Lady Rosemary with his visor in place, he nodded before speaking, “Lead the way, Lady Rosemary. If you have any luggage, I can find a servant to carry it for you.” @Fiory

There was a quiet silence after she had addressed the man in front of her. Her back held straight and the poise she had walked in with was unmatched. The younger women didn’t have this grace that Rosemary held, the decorum and dignity that she exuded with every breath and fiber of her being. She had no desire to be cruel to the knight who had fought with such vigor and determination to prove himself. It was more that she just couldn’t care for the unnecessary violence. The punishment for him had been enough, and yet he had been forced to spar not one but two adversaries at the same time. It was clear that he was a capable fighter, and just to ensure that it was mentioned, Rosemary inwardly told herself to thaw her frozen words in the King’s ear later on. It wasn’t because she cared for the knight, that wasn’t it. It was more that the additional displays were unnecessary and she’d much rather just be shown to her quarters where she could hide out and let herself finally relax after arriving in the palace. ”Lady of the Court, I go by the name of Knight Alaric…” No surname? Interesting. Rosemary thought quietly when he finally did introduce himself. Much it seemed to his dismay. The flourish he’d performed of his blade was watched quietly, and with interest. The blade itself was dulled, but Rosemary could help the thought that this particularly wild knight might attempt to lop her head off with it. If she were to say or do the wrong thing. The only thought that was somewhat comforting with that line of thinking, was that at least it would be quick and easy. She wouldn’t have to stay with the King. She wouldn’t have to impress those better than her nor would she have to intimidate those of lower station. She would be free, in the most final way possible. Still that particular freedom wouldn’t come, at least not today as he declared that his name would be remembered for years to come, despite being such a new recruit and obviously to the disdain of his fellow knig

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hts behind him. The challenging tone he had given was not lost on her either, though she wasn’t going to show weakness of her own by stepping away from the fight. Instead remaining on those steps between the pair of them to watch with albeit a front row seat. She wouldn’t get involved in another petty squabble between the knights of the kingdom. Barbaric. There is nothing to gain from continuing to fight like this. You’ve already proven yourself a capable fighter. When is enough enough? She thought, even shaking her head slightly as she turned away from Alaric. Alaric.. The name she committed to memory. Whether that was because he was a fool and she wanted to steer clear of him, or because the man intrigued her more than anything else, Rosemary wasn’t sure. All she did know was that while he wanted to have his name go down in history, it certainly would be a name that she would remember. Even as the fight began and Alaric bravely and valiantly began to parry and counter against his assailants, Rosemary stood firm. Her hands quietly rested in front of her, her fingers fidgeting a little with the nerves she dare not show. She wanted to leave the throne room. Wanted to go somewhere that she could hide from all of this. Violence was never something she approved of, even though she knew it to be a necessary evil at times.

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As the fight began and sound of clashing swords hit armor and Rosemary kept her eyes on Alaric as he attacked, parried and dodged out of the way of additional strikes. She couldn’t keep her ice blue eyes off the action that was taking place in front of her. Each move that was made was fluid and well practiced. It was incredible to watch the training continue. Even when Alaric stepped up the dais steps, Rosemary did not move, standing there and looking over at him with interest and zero fear with the fighting men so close to her. The way Alaric held his sword in both of his hands, was actually a little intimidating, even for Rosemary. She could feel her fingers chill a little, hoping that where she stood wasn’t going to be in the way as she certainly didn’t want to do that. She also didn’t want to appear like the other women either, the ones who were gasping and hiding their eyes as the fight continued between the men in front of them. She was thankful when he moved and the fight continued a little further away. Slowly, Rose took a step back up to the main area of the throne stage, though just so she could ensure that she was indeed out of the way of the squabbling. As it went on, she watched as Alaric seemed to slow, and she could even hear a little more of him groan in pain as the blows continued against him. This isn’t a fair fight…Not at all… She thought, keeping herself as poised as she could while trying to do ber best not to turn away from the different blows and hits that Alaric would take as well as dish out to his opponents. Though… war.. Isn’t necessarily fair… He does seem to carry himself well and is able to hold his own.. It was a quiet admittance, only thought of but never said. She was quiet otherwise through the whole ordeal. The women behind Rosemary gasped out and cried quietly, whispering and muttering to themselves of the clear pain and savagery that the fight devolved into. Rosemary remained as silent as she could, until finally when

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she thought that the men could go no further, Alaric even stumbled and fell to the floor himself. Please, let it be done… She thought, having a difficult time continuing to watch the heavy handed blows and the destruction that they were trying to inflict on each other. Rosemary watched in silence as Alaric rolled onto his back. She couldn’t tell exactly where he was looking, though she could see the visor move to look towards the dais and towards herself as well as the King. Rosemary hadn’t noticed how angry the king had become, having stood with him at her back the entire time during the fight. She was aware of his movement as he got up from his throne and there was the palpable silence from the other ladies of the court that were off to the side, but Rosemary was more or less in shock, looking on at the carnage in silence. ”Get. Out. All of you…” The sharp tone of Blackfyre made Rosemary visibly flinch, though she recovered quickly to try and keep her composure. It wouldn’t have been a good idea for her to look as squeamish as the other ladies who were shocked into silence off to the side. They were thankfully dismissed and the older woman attendant was quick to take the other ladies off and away. She thought perhaps she would be dismissed as well, but when her name hadn’t been called and the look from the King confirmed that she was not to leave, Rosemary just remained still and silent. What she wouldn’t give to be one of those flouncy women in a pastel gown allowed to leave and not have to remain for the dressing down to continue of the knight from the king. The expectant hand that came out for hers was clear as well for her that she wasn’t allowed to leave with the other women.

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Quietly, she lifted her hand and allowed it to lay delicately in the king’s, letting him lead her wherever he wanted her to go, despite the fact that she would rather just leave to her quarters as well. ”Remove your helmet, Knight Alaric.” Those ice blue eyes kept at the floor, keeping herself demure and quiet. Just as a lady should be. Just as she was taught for the entirety of her life. Even though she detested every moment of it. It wasn’t until she heard the shifting in front of her that she raised her gaze and took in Alaric’s face after his helmet was removed. She could hear how deeply he breathed, understanding how exhausted he was. Not that it was any of her business and not that she really wanted to give more attention to the barbaric practice that was demonstrated in front of her. Rosemary remained still and silent, listening as the king chastised the captain and the knight in front of them. She at least agreed at this point with the king’s sentiments. Alaric did fight like a savage. He was very much like the men north of the border past the mountains where there were talks of how dire and horrific they lived. Uncivilized, barbaric, cruel. ”Escort Lady Rosemary to her quarters. That should be easy enough for you, Savage Knight.” Excuse. Me? Rose’s eyes widened a little, glancing at the knight and catching how his jaw clenched at the idea of escorting her. It wouldn’t exactly be something that she was looking forward to either. The way that his majesty lifted her hand and kissed at her knuckles, forced a quiet smile to pull at her lips just to save face for him. “That’s very kind of you to look after my wellbeing, your excellency.” The words were forced through her teeth, wanting nothing more than to yank her hand away and keep it away, far away from the king and his halitosis filled mouth. Slowly she turned to Alaric, taking the man in and letting her gaze fall down to his feet and then back up to the amber eyes he had. She got to pierce

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them with her own glacier blue before he put that helmet back onto his head and covered his face. It wasn’t that she really cared how he decided to escort her, though being able to see his face would have been preferred. At least then she would see his facial expressions and could gauge exactly what he was saying and how he said them without the cover of his visor to shield him. A deep sigh escaped her lips and she held out her hand just as expectantly as the king had done to her.

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“Of course, Savage Knight Alaric…” She said coolly, waiting for his arm to come up so she could place hers atop it. It was just until they could leave the area. Leave the throne room proper and make her way towards one of the corridors that would lead them away. She moved slow and steady, her back straight and her gaze forward to keep as much dignity and resolve held within her. It felt like it took forever, before they were finally out of sight and away from the King and the Captain. “You fought well… albeit like a barbarian.” She commented, removing her arm as it had just been there for show and not for any real purpose. Most of the court was a pageantry, a show of the elite and how to best the others in decorum and mannerisms. It was boring at times, and this was one of them. The pomp and circumstance, just to prove that one house or elite was superior to the other. It was a torture to Rosemary, and even though she certainly didn’t want to break with etiquette by speaking without being spoken to, with Alaric she felt that her station was greater than his was, so speaking was on her terms whether he liked it or not. “My luggage should have been brought in already from my coach. I’ll have you fetch it if I so need you to.” She replied quietly to him. The walk down the hallway would take a small while and for the most part there was silence between them. As they had removed themselves from the company of the King, and as much as Rosemary wanted to relax further, she wasn’t sure if this particular company was one she wanted to keep. He was a little taller than her, rugged from what she saw when his helmet was removed, and had a robust and aggressive way of fighting. Savage Knight was a good and proper title for him at this point, one that Rosemary thought suited Alaric best. “Remove your helm please.” She said after a few moments of silence other than the clanging of his armor at her side. “I detest being unable to see the face of the person I’m speaking to.

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It gives too much to the imagination of them disrespecting me while I am unawares.” If he did remove his helmet she actually would give a quiet small smile to him, satisfied that he could follow and order from one of higher station than he was. If he refused for whatever reason, Rosemary would just roll her eyes irritably, continuing on towards where her suite was supposed to be for her. “Why did you do that anyway? Don’t you know better?” It was something that had been on her mind for a while, and the the incredulous way she asked it showed that she honestly couldn’t understand. “Looking at the King that way. You were not given permission to do so, nor does your rank allow for it. What were you thinking?”

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@Himbo Tie

The purpose of a helmet’s visor was to protect the wearer from any blows to the face, but at this moment, its most significant value was the modicum of privacy that it offered Alaric. With how his helmet sat, his eyes were lost in the darkness within the armor, and he was granted the ability to look wherever he pleased so long as the eye slits would allow. Glancing down through the breathing holes that perforated the lower portions of the visor, Alaric glanced at his hands and willed them to loosen their tight hold on themselves. Nothing good would come from him displaying his anger or frustrations at the monarch and nobility before him, and he needed to have his hands available if they were required. He wanted nothing more than to grip the hilt of his properly sharpened longsword on his hip, but Alaric knew there would be no going back from such a course of action. He was here to advance his station, not die pointlessly. He let his eyes trail upwards slowly, taking in Lady Rosemary’s haughty features before they settled on the glacial blues that glared back at him. A small smirk played at his lips as he whispered within the confines of his helmet, “Well, doesn’t someone think they are important?” The nature of his armor muffled his whisper to make it sound like nothing more than a forceful sigh, and Alaric raised his head and straightened his shoulders to give the appearance of an obedient knight and guard. He was here to protect those above and below his station and would play the part. However, that part was made more difficult as he glanced down at the expectant hand held out to him. Alaric raised an eyebrow as his head lowered slightly, making it very apparent that his eyes had trailed down to the hand held aloft for him. A slight snarl played at his upper lip as he held his gaze on the hand, half-expecting it to sprout some plant or other purpose for being held so expectantly. -

23:42

This noblewoman certainly didn’t expect him to take her hand and guide her through the halls, did she? Shaking his head slightly before lifting his helmet and gaze to meet Rosemary’s, Alaric narrowed his eyes and sighed heavily before stepping forward. There was no attempt to hide the sound of the air rushing out through the holes in the armor nor any attempt to conceal his discontent at being reduced to this task. He was a trained knight, a talented man-at-arms that belonged on the battlefield, and he was being delegated to the simple task of escorting dignitaries through a secure castle. Narrowing his eyes at the disrespectful name being echoed by the noblewoman beside him, Alaric lifted his left arm slowly to let her hand rest on his. His head turned slowly, making it apparent that he intended to look her directly in the eyes as he spoke in a low, cool tone, “Knight Alaric, or nothing else.” Alaric turned his head back to its original orientation before starting towards the large double doors of the throne room. His right hand stayed down by his side, moving only minutely to allow a more natural gait. He had to move slower than usual to keep pace with the woman on his arm, but he paid her no additional mind as he moved. Alaric nodded slightly to the knights that guarded the doors, silently acknowledging them and asking them to open them. They had observed the fights earlier, and a few gave more noticeable nods to the young knight in recognition of his previous efforts. There was no fear, and Alaric did not want that. He only wished to be respected by his compatriots, so such recognition brought a confident smile to his lips beneath his visor. For a moment, he could forget the weight on his arm and the duty that had been issued to him. He could envision himself as a knight worthy of title and reputation and could not deny the warmth this brought to his chest. -

23:42

Feeling Rosemary’s hand lifting from his arm as the large doors closed and locked behind them, Alaric pulled his arm away with a low grunt and a glance toward her. His right hand came up to brush at his forearm as if to wipe away her touch, but as he touched the armor there, he was quickly made aware of the heavy denting from Jon’s savage blows on his arm. Grunting softly as he felt the ache permeating through him now that the adrenaline from the fight had truly exhausted itself, Alaric lowered his arm and flexed his hand slowly. The motion was not meant to be aggressive or intimidating, and he made no move toward her as her words poured over him. Shaking his head, Alaric smirked as he responded to the backhanded compliment, “Thank you, Lady Rosemary. I had no way of knowing you were experienced in the ways of fighting or the lifestyle of barbarians. I’ll know where to direct my questions the next time I have concerns over dubious animal husbandry.” Lowering his head and stretching his shoulders back, Alaric closed his eyes as he realized the depth that his insult had fallen. If he wanted to survive in these halls, he would need to make do and start to play nicely with the other nobility. Implying that they fuck animals was not the way to do that. He lifted his head and turned it towards Rosemary, his mouth opening slowly to speak and apologize before he exhaled deeply and simply turned his head forward again. There would be time to apologize if need be, but he needed to remember the chief lesson taught to him by Captain Wallace and Sergeant Wilks: he was at the bottom of the noble pecking order and ladder. He was expected to hold his tongue and his opinions to himself until his voice was requested, and then he was only expected to speak kindly. His was not a position that was permitted to express their opinions outside of combat situations. -

23:43

“Of course, Lady Rosemary.” His response came equally as quietly when he was instructed to gather her belongings if necessary. He wanted to quip back that he was not some lowly servant she could just order around, but he knew better than to express that. He was a junior member of the Kingsguard, and it was his responsibility to ensure life proceeded smoothly within the castle walls. More responsibilities might be given or explained as time permitted and allowed, but for now, the operating procedure he was basing his decisions on listed him as one of many that kept things running as they should. If a threat came at them, his responsibilities would shift quickly, but for now, he was at the mercy of the noblewoman beside him. Alaric appreciated the silence between them as they strode through the castle halls. It allowed him time to focus on the events of the fight and critique his movements within the safety of hindsight and repetition. He was proud of good exchanges: blocking blows with ease and controlling his opponents' weapons before they could use them against him, as well as using the versatility of his weapon as an anti-armor tool. These were skills that he was practicing and making good use of, clearly, but there were also times that he had been unforgivably lazy or careless. King Blackfyre had been correct to chastise him for putting too much trust and faith in his armor. While it was designed to protect him from such injuries, it was best not to rely on this when he could have avoided being struck at all. His footwork had been decent, and he had largely controlled the engagements and positioned his enemies where he needed them. And yet, there were still aches on his back and shoulders that evidenced times that he had not controlled them. -

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Groaning softly as he felt a numbing sensation spreading through his left hand and forearm, Alaric moved his right hand slowly to massage the limb gently. There was not much relief that he could receive due to the nature of the encompassing armor, but the thought seemed to be placebo enough. He would not show the weakness of nursing his wounds for very long. Alaric was quick to bring his hands back where they ought to be: by his sides and prepared to handle any issue that might present itself. There shouldn’t be any threats within the castle walls, but there was never any time when one could become too comfortable. It would not do well to present himself as damaged goods or incompetent in front of the noblewoman walking beside him. She clearly had the king’s ear if his insistent attention today meant anything, so he needed to ensure he gave her no cause to doubt or report poorly on him. His survival within these courtly games depended on it. Upon hearing the request that he remove his helmet, Alaric breathed in deeply as he bit back his retort that he was not hers to command. Not only that, but removing his armor would put him at a disadvantage if an assailant appeared from the shadows. Additionally, removing his helmet would ruin the imagery of anonymity between him and the other guards in the castle. Their strength was in their ability to meld and hide in plain sight, so giving away his identity in such an open area would only harm that strength. Yet, as these thoughts of refusal coursed through his mind, Alaric could not ignore how his hands lifted slowly to start unclasping his strap and removing his helmet. Rosemary’s reasoning was sound and not without merit. On multiple occasions during this walk, Alaric had rolled his eyes, glared at her, and mimicked her by mockingly moving his lips. There had been apparent disrespect for the noblewoman beside him, and she had been none the wiser. -

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Lowering the helmet and holding it with his left hand against his left hip, Alaric glanced down at the armor held between them and then raised his gaze to meet Rosemary’s. Her smile was disarming, and Alaric could not maintain the cold glare in his eyes for much longer. A small smile played at the left corner of his lips as he turned his head forward to look in the direction they were walking. There was no harm in removing his helmet, and if an assailant were to appear, he could quickly replace the helmet and defend both of them. He could not deny the ease of breathing that the helmet offered, and while he would not say so aloud, he was thankful for the opportunity to breathe unobstructed. He had calmed down and was no longer gasping for breath as he had been before, but there was still some scratch in his chest that seemed to want to feel even more air within him. Continuing through the halls and allowing Rosemary to guide them toward her suite, Alaric had not been prepared for the questions voiced beside him. Glancing over suddenly with his brows furrowed in slight surprise, he sighed softly before turning his gaze back forward. He lifted his right hand and patted his palm against the hair on the side of his head that was pulled back into the ponytail. A slow shrug could be seen on his shoulders before his words came with a slight bite at them, “Is he not a man like I am? Living, breathing, and possibly prone to err? I have sworn to protect this nation and its people, so I wanted to see the man that would direct my sword in future engagements. I wanted to see the man that put me in the position to be here at all. This war is by his command. I thought I could at least look at my commander to determine the respect he truly deserves.” -

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Shaking his head and bringing his helmet forward, Alaric turned it over so that he was looking down at the visor. His eyes focused on the eye slits before shifting down to the small club-shaped holes that had been punched into the visor for him to breathe through. Sighing as he shifted the helmet to his right hip, he glanced toward Rosemary before continuing, “I would die for my country and king. I just wanted to see if the man was worth the sacrifice. Can you blame me?” @Fiory

”Knight Alaric, or nothing else.” “As you wish.” Was the only thing that Rosemary mentioned to him after his assertion of the name she ought to utilize for him. Savage Knight Alaric was a bit of a mouthful, so she thought perhaps since he had informed her of his name, that she could oblige him. It was his choice to inform her after all, so she might as well use it to her advantage. Moves and counter moves. The court was full of chess players and Rosemary was beginning to feel like she was up against someone who barely knew checkers let alone chess. Game on then…just know I play to win and will not go easy on you. The snide remark he made regarding the concerns of the court and who or more specifically what they lay with made her face flush a slight red color. Did he just…How Dare You was her immediate thought, glad to no longer be holding the man’s arm and allowing a slight bit of space to come between them. The curl of her lips and the slight shake of her head indicated quite clearly the distaste that she had for the man’s comment. It was disrespectful and certainly not something that he should ever say to a lady. Much less a lady like her. Rosemary was not one to enjoy being belittled or talked down to by men. She dealt with having to please them every waking moment of the day which grated on her and made the woman want to freeze every one of their genitalia to the sharpest knives she could find. However, she just let the comment go for now. Remarking coldly, but quietly back in her own snide and spitfire tone that was laced with grace and poise. Spoken like a true noble whose lineage could not be disregarded nor could it be questioned. The comment she made in return was said quietly, more like a whisper than anything else and surely something he may not have caught at all considering the helmet he wore would have muffled her voice. The most he’d see was her mouth moving if he cared to pay attention to it, and might hear a muffled sound that resembled he

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r voice while not being clear of what she said. It would do him no good to ask for her to repeat it. Rosemary certainly would not.

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Instead she just nodded curtly to him after she’d told the man what to expect regarding her luggage, and allowed the silence to stretch on between them. It was after he took his helmet off and allowed for further conversation to happen between the two that Rosemary allowed herself to quietly glance in his direction any chance she noticed he wasn’t looking in hers. He was intriguing to say the least, a powerful man in his own right. The fighting with the other knights had surely shown that, as well as the dents and damage he had clearly displayed in his armor. Her ice blue gaze would quietly peek at him when he moved, just because she didn’t trust that he wouldn’t disobey the king and bring her harm. So far he had chosen to remain civil in physical form only, but his words the only thing that came out as disrespectful and rude to her more than anything else. It wasn’t like she wanted the escort either. If Rosemary had had agency over herself, she would have left and made her way to her designated suite in the palace on her own without the guard or without an uncivilized barbaric savage knight as her escort. It had only taken her a small while before the silence between them had been too much. She was silent all the time, forced to be quiet in the presence of men and told to stand and be beautiful like a doll on display. Rosemary knew she could be so much more than just a thing for men to desire and dream of. The life she held as a noble was one in chains that were made of fine jewelry and beaded gowns. Her voice was stolen so she couldn’t even cry for help in her imprisonment with it, and every day she was reminded to be good. To not show the arcana she held within her veins. To be respectful, polite and above all else, only speak when spoken to. That stops now. So her questions came forth, and she expected that Alaric would answer her whether he wanted to or not. Rosemary was of higher station than he was, so it would not do him any favors to get on her bad

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side by not doing as she requested of him. Though the words he said actually surprised her a little. She had expected him to retort back, to give her an answer that she was just a woman and that she should know better herself than to question what a knight was or wasn’t allowed to do, even though she was well versed in the politics and procedures of the palace and court. His words actually sounded thoughtful, like he believed them with his entire being.

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There was merit in them, and she could respect that even though she would never outwardly admit it. Wanting to know what your commander looked like, as you were charged with spilling your own blood for his safety was something she could at least understand the concept of, if not the actual act itself. Rosemary would never be in that kind of peril, at least not to her knowledge anyway, to need to know what her monarch looked like before riding off to die in battle for them. “Of course he is, but do you think you would not have been granted the opportunity to gaze at him, with his permission?” She asked as a follow up to her questions before. “There is a time and place for everything, and that is something you should learn quickly if you are to survive at all on these palace grounds. There are more than just battles with swords and daggers that are fought, Nothing Else.” A sly grin spread across her face, her cold blue eyes staring forward with a slightly playful gleam in her eyes. He had told her to refer to him as Knight Alaric or Nothing Else after all, so she chose one of his preferred names knowing full well exactly what he had meant and disregarding it. It was the kind of thing he needed to be aware of and was keenly ignorant of at the moment. A sword and dagger hurt physically. A pen and a silver tongue hurt politically and professionally. It hurt your reputation and it damaged your credibility. Words were powerful things and when used in the proper way, could have devastating consequences. In a similar way that a battlefield littered with bodies of the fallen had their own unique consequences. “I can not blame you though, Nothing Else…” She continued, that hinted grin on her face quietly continuing to spread. He had not been careful with his words, and now he would only be referred to as “Nothing Else” in her mind. It was a tease, and a testament to how careful he should have been. One small word, one simple phrase, and your reputation that hung by a th

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read was easily snipped. “It is honorable in a way to die for your country and for your king. I recognize that this kind of sacrifice is something that knights like yourself hold very dear. However..” She paused as the pair of them rounded the corner and continued up a small flight of stairs towards one of the towers on the northern side of the palace. “It should be noted, that living is far more courageous. It is easy to die and there are so many different ways in which to do so. But to live on despite the easy way out is truly noble and should be honored far more than those who lose their lives fighting on behalf of another.” She hadn’t meant it to be there, but there was a slight sadness in Rosemary’s chilled voice. While still cold as ice, it had a quiet softness about it like fallen snow or a delicate snow flake dancing in a breeze.

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“But what do I know… I am merely a lady of the court and expert in barbarian fighting tactics.” It was a trap, set there for him to take as bait. For him to agree that she knew not what she was talking about would surely open him up to further ridicule from her and potentially the rest of the court if she felt so inclined. It wasn’t new to her that the king favored the icy woman, despite her wishing it wasn’t true. It would be all too easy for Rosemary to begin telling of Alaric’s ineptitude within the court. Passing around secrets and ill gotten facts about the man to ruin what little reputation he had if any at all. This would surely result in his career path halting, as no one wants a knight with track record of being unworthy of the title knight due to his actions or words. It was probably lucky then, that Rosemary had no intention of doing such a thing. She didn’t care for the man really, though he hadn’t harmed her and he wasn’t a horrible fighter from what she could witness of him. He escorted her, although begrudgingly to her suite and kept her secured on the walk there. And perhaps it was out of boredom of her station, the tedium of the court but she preferred to keep her secrets well hidden until they could be used in a move or counter move that best benefitted her. Court was a game of chess, and Rosemary detested losing.

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@Himbo Tie

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