Sir Johnathan walked into the arena that was erected to accommodate the tournament for the protector of Lady Cassandra. In his hands he carried a flag showing the metallic rose blooming upon a background of ocean blue waves. The symbol of his order. Upon his hip was the thin long rod that would be a replica of his favored thin blade used for more elegant sword fighting that those of the other competitors here on the field. Upon his breast was the thick leather armor with its flexible joints and wooden sole boots to give him grip upon the dirt of the ground so that he might do his best in combat. Draped across his shoulders was the half cape that bore the Mercurial Rose shining in all its glory.
The stands sat in four tiers high, those at the lowest pressed directly against a fence to keep onlookers from interfering with the bouts that would take place. A thick layer of sawdust spread across the grounds that was already thick with spilled mead and mud making it less likely for competitors to slip in the midst of battle. Hundreds of people sat and chatted animatedly with one another about who they thought would win these fights. So many were known to be highly experienced tournament fighters that had done nothing but cross blades all their lives. The air was abuzz with the energy of the crowd.
The competitors all entered the arena one by one behind Sir Johnathan. All of them bore the symbols of their order and upon their hips and backs were rough replicas of the weapons they chose to wield for these fights. No steel was allowed upon the field for their lives were seen as important for the kingdom as a whole. These were all men that Sir Johnathan would have to defeat in order to win the honor of protecting the princess. However he did not stare or try to intimidate his opponents and merely nodded at them with recognition and a quick salute of the false blade he would wield in the fights to come.
In a grand box like portion of the seats sat the booth for the royal family. Upon a large throne sat the king with a great leg of bird clutched in his hands as he took great juicy bites out of it and laughed at the jesters that were entertaining the crowd with their false fights and blood made of long strings of handkerchiefs. His other hand rested upon the hand of Lady Cassandra protectively for it was known he cherished his daughter.
She was like a dream made manifest. A beauty like no other known in the world. Her hair was silken gold as if spun from the precious metal itself. It sat bundled in great buns that showed off the nape of her neck and her pale silk soft skin. No blemishes lay on her face or neck. Her eyes were two sapphires shining like the sea on a sunny day. Her lips were not overly full and were not adorned with the recently developed powder to make skin even paler than it could be. She wore an elegant purple dress the color of ripe berries hanging upon the branches of a bush, ready to be plucked and enjoyed on a summer day in the woods. Looking upon her people would swear they heard the very birds of nature sing her praises and wish for her beauty. Yet the promise of her becoming more beautiful as she matured further into womanhood was what most of those seeking her hand in marriage truly enjoyed wondering about.
In her hands, which were adorned with rings beset with gems of all sizes and colors was clutched a goblet, finely wrought from princely metal and engraved with depictions of those that founded this great land and elevated it from a collection of meager duchies to that of a kingdom generations ago. The man that would win this tournament would swear his duty to protect her for as long as he lived and drink from the cup to seal his word forever in the eyes of the king. The light danced off it now almost supernaturally drawing one’s eyes to it.
The princes of the land sat around their father and the booth, each of them adorned in their own colors as they had been gifted lands by their father and given a tale that he whose lands prospered most when the king approached his deathbed would inherit the throne to leave it in the most prosperous hands blessed by Sondet. The king loved his lands and disregarded the old ways of handing it to his oldest son. For he had seen his own elder brother almost destroy Fontia by dragging it to war when the people had not been ready. It was a tale of a heroic challenge to the death that was said to last a day of intense back and forth between the two ranging all about the castle. The knights knew that story to be greatly exaggerated as no warrior could ever hope to fight for that long without being laid low by his own stamina.
The king stood after finishing his roasted bird and tossed the bone still covered with meat to his dog that laid at his feet and his servants wiped his hands free of the grease. The crowd fell silent to listen to the king’s words. “Dear people of Fontia, I, King Herald the VIII, have seen it fit for my daughter to be protected by the land’s greatest knight. I have reached out to every order that swears loyalty to me and gathered their finest knights here to compete for the honor of protecting my daughter with their lives.” The crowd erupted in cheers and calls to glory at the words of the king. “We have held many competitions so far, horseback riding, tests of stamina, jousting skills, but now we test how these men handle a blade in defense of another. So I have a special challenge for them all.”
The king opened his arms and ladies of the courts slowly came down from their higher seatings and one each went to stand behind a knight of their choice. The crowd whispered what this could mean. Was he trying to marry all the knights into his court and have them sworn to him even more directly?
“If you are to fight to defend my daughter I must know that you can do so. Before you fight one another it will be each of you against a small group of ne’er do wells. Now these are men of my court and I wish them not to be injured too heavily during this test. They are tasked with tearing the lady free of their knight this day. Should they succeed then the knight will be dismissed and shall no longer be able to participate in the bouts.” The king clapped his hands once and a stream of men with clubs and false comically sized masks charged out into the arena.
As many of the men gathered and pushed their charged behind them wielding their false blades to fight off the ‘bandits’ Sir Johnathan swept the lady he was charged with off her feet and over his shoulder, ignoring her dignity for a brief moment and sprinted to one of the many horses that seemed to be strung up. He had wondered why they might be there and noticed the clever ploy made by the king to see how these men would respond.
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“Do you know how to ride, fair maiden?” Sir Johnathan asked as he sprinted to the nearest horse.
Her words were jarred from the bumping and the embarrassment in her voice was plain at being handled so. “No, I was instructed I must be as helpless as possible for this.”
Sir Johnathan placed the fair maiden on the horse and sprung up to hold onto her from the side. Already he could hear the galloping of other men on horses. The gates to the arena were closed before he could escape and instead he chose to wield the very horse against the men. In one hand he held the reins, in the other his false sword while the lady of the court clung to him to stay safe upon the hose. Sir Johnathan was able to make the horse dance across the ground smacking the heads and wrists of the men that had flooded the arena. A few of his other competitors pulled back, placing their charges against the fence while they held them safely behind them.
Sir Johnathan charged groups of men around his competitors for he desired greatly to cross blades with them. He could not be everywhere though as everyone fought tooth and nail to keep the impromptu test managed. In the end the men that had been told to capture the women held two of the ten that were put into the arena and the two older knights that had been guarding them were unable to keep up with the demand of their protection.
Many of the men stood their chests heaving with exertion after the ‘bandits’ retreated knowing when they were beaten and the women of the court made their way back to the seats much to the clapping of the crowd of onlookers having seen quite a sight. Ten of the best soldiers in the lands had faced off well against an overwhelming number of others that planned to steal their charges from them. Many were toasting and making new bets now that they saw their fighters fight off the untrained men. Water was brought to the knights that were about to compete and they drank greedily and sated the sudden thirst that battle brought.
Given a brief rest the men were arranged into a bracket to see who would fight each other one on one until yielding or defeat. It was time for the true test of skill against one another to begin. Now that they had been tested in fleeing, chase, battle against other knights upon horseback, and now if they could defend their charges against a group of bandits it was time to see how they would fare against other more skilled opponents.
Sir Johnathan held his blade up in one hand and kept his other out and behind him to assist in balance. His opponent, Sir Benethane wielded the customary longsword and they clashed blades ferociously. The offense put out by Benethane was intense and skillful. His sweeping sword a blur to the untrained eye as he tried to lock the blades together in a bind so that he may use his size and power against his opponent.
With footwork Johnathan kept on his toes sliding back and forward, dashing sideways to attack at an angle. Every blow was swept aside in parries but the sheer amount of blows that needed to be stopped made it difficult to counter attack his opponent. Benethane did not lose his footing easily whether pressed backwards or baited into a lunge; he was steady as a mountain, his shuffling back and forth making furrows in the ground. The crowd listened to the light clacking of wood gliding against one another in the expert parries and grew still at the sight of such skilled fighters.
A moment of decisiveness came though after a particular flurry of blows were exchanged. Benethane stepped back, his face red from exertion and Johnathan noticed his exhale was heavy. With the pouncing of a hunting cat he sprung forward against his resting opponent and this time he took the offensive. A thousand stabbing motions pushed against Benethane’s defense. He had no time to breath as he blocked and parried the furious assault by Johnathan. Blow after blow was narrowly avoided as he backpedaled trying to get some space to recover his breath for he hadn’t been able to catch it in the moment of rest.
Then Benethane’s heel got caught in one of the many furrows he had made and the stumble came. In his unbalance Johnathan struck the blade from his hand and pressed the fake wooden rapier against the gorget of Benethane.
Huffing air in mightily, Benethane raised one hand in defense, “I yield.” The look of exhaustion was evident on his face as he collapsed upon his back. After a moment he was pulled to his feet by his squire and the two warriors clasped hands separating.
“Sir Johnathan has won his bout against Sir Benethane!” Screamed the crier to announce the match.
The other three battles were just as intense and ranged all over the ground of the tournament. Men pressed each other all the way against the fencing. Sir Johnathan watched like a hawk watching its prey nibble on the grass. The knights all seemed to fight linearly and didn’t take side steps and strafing often. Footwork was not the elegant dance that he employed but the heavy footsteps of those prepared to fight in formations and pressed to the side of another warrior.
Sir Johnathan clashed once more with another knight and it was over much more quickly. The man was more tired from his bout than he had prepared for and was already out of breath moments into the battle. Sweat poured down his forehead, getting into his eyes with a stinging burn. Shaking his head in the distraction his wrist was struck so hard it made his hand numb but he did not yield. He dove for his blade but the boot of Sir Johnathan pinned it to the earth and the wooden stick rang the bell of his helmet so hard his opponent went limp.
His next opponent Sir Terrance though did not choose to wield a sword in his duel and instead grabbed a mace and shield to truly test Sir Johnathan. Knowing he could not win with just his single blade he procured the use of a parrying dagger to be wielded in his backhand. They faced each other in the final bout as tension rose in the crowd like a wave about to crash upon the shore of the land.
Instantly they sprang at one another, the shield knocking aside the first thrust of Sir Johnathan as if it was nothing more than an annoying bee trying to sting a bear. The mace came whistling down through the air. The parrying dagger helped glance it aside as Sir Johnathan made the more brutish move he had made yet and slammed his shoulder against the shield, shoving the man off balance. The blade snaked low to try and catch the ankle of the Sir Terrance but it glanced off the grieves of his shin causing no damage.
Sir Terrance shoved back knocking the much lighter man nearly off his feet. Sir Johnathan’s footwork kept him from tipping over and landing in the now muddy sawdust. Terrance was upon him raining blows down with the mace in great overhand strikes. With a mistimed parry the audible crack of the mace shattering Sir Johnathan’s fingers on his backhand echoed through the arena. Sir Johnathan showed no signs of the pain and instead used the momentary distraction of success and slid the blade over the shield and with a powerful thrust using his whole body slammed the tip of his false blade into the chin of Sir Terrance.
The tournament grounds stilled as Sir Terrance was pushed back, his legs going limp as he slid to his knees and crumpled. His head clearly knocked silly by the powerful thrust. Cradling his broken hand against his chest Sir Johnathan raised his blade in triumph as the crowd cheered for the decisive moment that had sealed the tournament. Healers rushed the ground and tended to both the battered warriors and saw to their injuries.
So began the long relationship between Sir Johnathan and Lady Cassandra. One of honor and duty, and unrequited love.