Knight of Wessex (A Written World Quest)

0~0~0

When one has an opportunity to ask questions, they should reach out and grab it with both hands. Asking questions broadens wisdom, such is the way of things.

With that in mind, it should be no surprise that Audrey had plentiful questions to ask.

Taking a moment to clear her throat, Audrey lifts her head and asks, "Is there any advice you wish you were given when you were a Squire?"

"That," a sharp snort underlines Reinald's answer as a soft smile graces his weathered lips, "is a very good question." Taking a moment to compose himself as Audrey preens under the praise, he taps a finger against his chin and says, "If I had to give an answer, it would be to keep my head on straight and pay better attention to my surroundings."

Audrey narrows her eyes, but leaves the matter alone. There's a story there, that much is certain, but most stories of such nature are best left unsaid until the time is right. That time will surely come swiftly, but silence is a loyal companion in times such as this.

Regardless, Audrey has plenty of other questions that need answering. Given that she has found herself far away from home, the chances of the local threats all being the same are slim indeed.

"What are the local threats? What manner of beasts prowl these parts?"

"Most common are bandits of the broad Germanic variety," from how he says this, it's clear that he does not consider himself or other Frenchmen to be 'Germanic', "Anglo-Saxon and Norsemen. Rarely are these any serious dangers, merely preying upon wayfarers and vagabonds, as well as the occasional caravan. As for beasts," he clicks his tongue against his teeth, head tilting at a slight angle, "we seem to be seeing a number of Norse monsters hopping the border. Your studies here will educate you on them."

"I see," Audrey says as her lips twist into a purse. "If, by some ill twist of fate, I do encounter a Viking in battle, what should I do?"

"A wise question," Vieux nods his head as Audrey breaks out into smiles, "with a simple answer. Hit him before he hits you, and put your back into it. Norsemen are capable of withstanding greater wounds than you or I, but their bodies are often only as durable as a mortal. Keep in mind it takes more to kill a Norseman than you expect, so make sure to lop off at least one limb while you're at it."

Audrey frowns, "Surely you jest. No man is tough enough to withstand losing his head."

Reinald fixes her with a stare so cold it could freeze fire, "I have taken a Norseman's head clean off and had him continue trying to kill me for a full five minutes."

Audrey's frown sticks, but the arrival of another question dulls her pride, "If I am responsible for my own development in Hama, what should I keep in mind?"

Reinald sighs as he spies an approaching messenger-boy, "Though I've read the scholarly articles on the matter, lacking any Hama of my own means the theory is beyond me. However, what I have gleaned implies that you should primarily focus your efforts on extending the length of time you can manage to keep your Hama manifested."

The youthful messenger, huffing and puffing as he doubles over with hands on knees, waits as Reinald reads the letter over. A grumble leaves his throat as he folds the paper up and slides it into his belt-pocket, "It seems the Ealdorman has need of my presence." Directing his full attention on Audrey, he says, "I expect you to familiarise yourself with the burh in my absence. And stay out of trouble, neither I, the Ealdorman, or the king would be pleased by a foolish Squire meeting their end so soon."

With that, he takes the reins of his horse and trots off, leaving Audrey alone with her ire.

However, while it did leave her rankled, she was no fool. While her time as Page was most successful, there was a world of difference between life as a student and life as a Knightly Squire. The threats and dangers would not be curated for her and she would be no good to anyone if she were to encounter a threat beyond her ability.

It was good advice, practical and sensible in equal measure. So, with one of the local servants to guide her to her chambers, she had much to think over.

It would surely be too soon to attempt to adapt the techniques of her family's Hard-Fall style to the revelations she had earned—though, until she finished growing, it may be of some minor advantage. Most bandits would be grown men, and the arts of the Giant-Killer were for those who sought to challenge larger foes.

Not only would most bandits be larger than her, but so too would the Viki-

A faceful of cloth cuts off that train of thought as Audrey stumbles back. Fury fills her heart as she rounds on whoever was so foolish as to bump into…

…Into a Bishop. There was no mistaking the great mitre and crooked staff for anything but.

"I beg your pardon, Your Excellency!" Audrey dropped to a knee, her head bowed but her eyes looking up, as the kindly-featured Bishop of Warwickshire turned his gaze from the assistant at his side to assess her. The questing eyes seemed to pierce her deepest spirit, searching for some hidden malediction in her soul.

After a long, drawn out moment, a gentle smile graced his face as he gestured in a light benediction. "There is nothing to forgive, child. You would be Audrey Eotenslaga, then, yes?" He chuckles, the joke one only he understood, "We've been expecting you."

He knows her name?! And he's been expecting her?!

After a moment's thought, embarrassment floods Audrey as she ducks her red-cheeked head. Of course the Bishop knows her name, how could he not? It can only be expected that the shepherd of such a critical burh would keep tabs on rising stars like herself. To think anything less would be an insult of the highest degree!

Ah, yes, she still needs to answer.

"Yes, your Excellency," Audrey is quick to pick up her slack, "My vessel only just arrived, and I was in the midst of being shown to my chambers when I, well…"

"When you ran into me?" He answers with a pleasant laugh and a tilt of the head. "Fear no reprisal from I, dear child. You have enough worries on your plate as it is, for much is expected of you and your fellows." The clearing of a nearby throat pulls the smile from his face, the tapping of a finger on a stack of papers the punctuation at the end of the unspoken sentence. "Ah, but I'm afraid our conversation shall be cut short. Go with God, young one," a gentle wave sees Audrey off as, before he turns to leave, he smiles and says, "I do look forward to seeing you in mass."

His dismissal clear, Audrey steps back to allow him to pass—as is only proper. It is fortunate indeed that the Bishop seems to be in good spirits, or there might have been problems of a dire sort. Sure, she had no way of knowing the Bishop of Warwickshire would be passing by at exactly that moment…

Head on a swivel, right, that went beyond just simply watching what people did… She'd have to work on those skills in the future, else fall below the expected strength. Not once did Audrey fail to break the assessments over her knee and she wouldn't begin now!

Come to think of it… Head on a swivel? The important part was knowing where something was coming from, right? If that is the case, then perhaps there is some way of utilising her Hama for it?

From there, the remaining trip was short enough. A hallway here, a turn there—even Audrey's sparse architect's eye could pick out how the twisting, winding halls would leave invaders confused and bewildered—and a final door swung open to reveal where she would be resting her head.

The lodgings were… Humble would be a kind word for it. Still, however, even with such spartan furnishings the room is a step up from the large shared room she slept in during her tenure as Page.

The room looked to be something akin to a repurposed monastic cell. There was little space for more than a bed, a squat chest within which she could store her belongings, and a modest desk to study scripture or for any other purpose she might conjure up.

It was small, yes, but it was hers. Besides…

She frowned, the memories of time long past washing over her, of two elder brothers both promising young Knights in their own right. Both…

A swallow and a deep breath pulls her from her momentary lapse, her iron-mind swiftly reasserting her will over her thoughts. It had been a long time since then, since she had older brothers to look up to.

They fought and died for Wessex.

This was a step towards taking up that mantle herself, towards righting wrongs long since lingering.

She would not be found wanting.

Taking a deep breath, Audrey turns her attention on the matters at hand. Namely, making contact with the other Squires of the burh.

Hopefully, it will all go swimmingly.

0~0~0

It was not, in fact, going swimmingly at all.

Oh sure, it was a lovely burh, a fortified sanctum that could stand against the heathen tide as long as it was well handled. The sun was out as she strolled through the courtyard, nothing but a handful of clouds to obscure the light of the brilliant sun, but…

A whisper on the wind sends the hair on the back of her neck standing stiff. Muscles tense as instincts scream, church bells ringing alarm in her head. Someone's watching her, but from where?

Roving eyes scan the courtyard, zeroing in on the glint of a gaze from the shadows of a lone tree. There, her voyeur in the flesh.

Her eyes narrow as her soul's might rouses from its rest. If she just called out or walked near, the watcher would easily be able to slip away—likely by clambering up the tree or via some other feat of trickery. That would not do, not at all.

Fervour flows as she vanishes from view. The dirt bears the imprint of her shoe as she explodes into motion, tracing the line of attention back to its source.

This time, she would not be caught unawares, not by some low-born stalker!

Dirt sprays as she slides to a halt, rounding the tree with fury in her gaze and Fervour-filled fist cocked and ready. The stalker twists on the spot, fear clouding his gaze as he holds… his hands up…

Oh.

The owner of the eyes is a small thing with a set of big eyes and a quivering lip. He waves his hands before him as if trying to dispel Audrey's presence with motions alone.

"P-please don't hit me!" He manages to squeeze out despite the blubbering of his lips.

"I won't hit you," the boy's eyes light up only to dull with Audrey's next words, "if, and only if, you can give me a good reason for your lurking."

"I…" He seems to find his pride for a moment as he stands up to his full height, "I wanted to see if you were nice or not before approaching! You are very impressive and I thought it smart to get your measure first!"

His words held the ring of truth, and thus, Audrey relaxed, smiling as she offered her hand to help him up. "Hah, I am a little impressive, am I not? No offence taken! It would be stranger if you simply took me at face value without looking in! Though you should be a little more assertive going forward! It's just good manners to introduce yourself first, you know?"

"Right, right…" He winced at that. "My apologies, truly." He accepts the hand, and rises back to his feet.

"I am Gilbert of Loxdale" He introduces himself. "One of your peers for the foreseeable future, if I'm not mistaken." He gives a polite bow then. "You would be Miss Eotenslaga then?"

Audrey nodded there. "Ah, you've been doing your homework!" She smiles, then returns the bow. "Audrey Eotenslaga, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, and truly, no offense is taken."

Especially since she still felt the sting of attention on the back of her neck. She glanced up, catching only a flicker of motion from the ramparts, the flash of narrowed eyes fading away with the attention.

"Especially since it seems you weren't the one staring a hole in the back of my head." She concluded with a frown. "Have you gotten that impression?"

"From time to time." Gilbert wilted slightly. "We're something of a novelty here, and… Well, I'm hardly the finest example of a stalwart champion." He gives himself a somewhat self-deprecating pat on the chest. "It will probably pass?"

"Hrm, I hope so, it's a distraction that I could certainly do without." Audrey relaxes then, and lets her attention return to her peer. "So, I've got Sir Vieux, who's your Master?"

"Ah… That… Err…" That seems to put Gilbert on the spot for a moment, as he seems to find his tongue-tied. "That would be…"

"Oi! Gilbert!" Another voice calls out from a distance, and Audrey can sense another three arcs of attention latching on. "You're not getting bullied again, are you?"

"N.. No! Not at all!" He begs off, turning to face the newcomers. Three boys, also dressed in the simple outfits of newly minted Squires. One a lanky, somehow squirrely looking lad, next to a hulking giant of a young man who seemed like he was carved from a small hill and decided to go walkabout, arms crossed as he looked you over with an assessing gaze–and you feel a sense of approval from it too. Finally, a third young man who was well dressed, well groomed, and seemingly at ease with the whole situation.

"Bah, you're too easy to bully sometimes!" The lanky lad grins. "You can't let them walk all over you! Sure, the Good Father Birde might just smile and nod and move along, he's a seasoned veteran! He can get away with taking the high road and all that! You've got to push back! Especially with those girlish eyes of yours!" His attention flicks to Audrey, who's gaze narrowed at the insinuation that her own features weren't the epitome of feminine grace. "Seriously, look! There's a gaze that'll snap a man's will in half!" He says, meeting her glare with a cocky smirk. "That's what you're going to need if you'll do well in these parts!"

"I don't believe we were introduced?" Audrey asks, and the lanky boy finally properly looks to her with a smirk. "Right, right, Sawyer of Glintwell! Squire of Wesley Waltone, at your service." He gesticulates broadly, narrowly avoiding smacking his much bulkier companion by what can only be described as divine providence. "Muckraker, rumourmonger, and general busybody extraordinaire. You'd be the fine lady who'll be joining us?"

He at least knew better than to try and ask to kiss her hand or something, Audrey crossed her arms and reined in her temper. "I would be Audrey Eotenslaga, yes."

"Heard about them." The towering youth mumbled. "Father says they know their business."

Sawyer's gaze flickered to the side. "Going to say anything more?"

The young giant loomed, gazing back.

Sawyer rolled his eyes then, and leaned conspiratorially towards Audrey. "The big lad's Chad Howlande, son of Brock Howlande, rumors about him being a rock that followed his father home and copied his appearance have not been substantiated as of yet, but I'm sure he'll turn to a boulder under a full moon one of these days."

Chad seemed to pretend not to notice the teasing, though Audrey's temper started to melt away at Sawyer turning his attention to another. Admittedly, it was pretty funny now that she thought about it. That was… Four of the Knights present here that had a Squire accounted for.

Then the last would be… She looked to the third boy of the group, who met her gaze then gave a quick bow of acknowledgement. "Royce Reids, squire of Slade Eldred, a pleasure to meet you."

She… Didn't sense any insincerity with his greeting, or any hint of mockery at all.

Yet this was the Squire of the Knight that her Master told her to be wary of? Was there something more to it?

She'd need to keep an ear open.

"So then! Now that we're all together here…" Sawyer clapped his hands together and grinned wider. "How about we get to the business of swapping stories until the feast? I'm sure we've all got our own little antics to share, and there's no better way of breaking the ice among colleagues, is there?"

This was a good start–Audrey thought.

But the shadow of eyes on the back of her head still lingered, even if the gaze had departed…

0~0~0

The great hall of the Waerings is a place of plenty. Fierce fires flicker in the T-shaped hearth as they send sly shadows dancing all across the lengthy space. Servants dart to and fro, carrying platters laden with apple-gagged, slow-roasted swine and piles of honey-slathered bird-legs. Froth-topped beer swishes from mugs and cups alike as they cascade into open mouths creased with good cheer.

If one were able to peer through the haze of wood-smoke slowly trickling through the roof-borne smoke-holes, they would be able to see a rather curious sight. Knights and Thanes, supping together under the watchful eye of an Ealdorman fully empowered by the grace of a Great King.

At the head of the T, atop a platform raised from the ground, sits the Ealdorman and those of great honour. A table of strong hardwood polished to a shine and graced with soft silken cloth rests before the Bishop, Knights, and a dozen honoured Thanes alike. Behind the table, stretching from wall to wall, is a tapestry of many colours and wondrous shapes. It tells the story of the founding of the Waerings, of how they battled foe after foe and fought hard in the service of Mercia.

On either side of the T's tail are a pair of identical tables stretching from the raised platform to almost reaching the outer limits of the far wall. But, despite the symmetry of woodwork on display, the chairs-filled are far from equal.

The sword-hand's table sees the presence of five souls—Squires all—while the shield-hand side bears a crowd of twenty-two young Waering Thanes, all seemingly unsure of how to handle themselves. Most seem to have decided that keeping to themselves is the better option here and try to make conversation amongst their kinsmen.

Audrey narrows her eyes at the Thanes avoiding her slash-marked gaze, her fingers slowly balling into a fist. What gives them the right to treat her with such disrespect? To ignore her like some kind of sick dog? A spark of bitter annoyance threatens to boil over as her pride suffers sting after sting.

The sharp eye-flick of her mentor, the subtle shift of Reinald's outwardly-relaxed posture, puts a stop to the building fury rising deep within.

With a deep breath and eyes fluttering shut, Audrey takes hold of her anger and directs it out and away from her core. The inhale draws in wood-smoke, the exhale releases her anger. Twice more does she repeat this process, twice more does anger build and anger shrink. Warmth steadily flows free as her choler returns to its standard hue.

Anger, like all tools, has its place. When her path forward is barred and all other options would see her waylaid, there is no other choice but to unleash her wrath and demolish all that would hold her back. Until such opportunity arrives, however, it is best to keep one's anger locked away.

Lashes flick open and anger once discarded surges with renewed strength. Audrey's breath catches in her throat, her slash-marked eyes dilating to pinpricks as realisation strikes. Fingernails scratch shallow grooves in the table wood as her heart beat skyrockets to an ear-rattling, thunder drum.

There, across the smoke and hearthfire, are a pair of oh-so-familiar eyes. A deep, yellow hue found often in the gaze of the Waerings, the owner—a Thaneling no older than she—stares across the way in a manner most infuriating. He sits relaxed with crooked finger on his chin and elbow on armrest, eyelids half-cracked as if mocking her, and with lips curled back in the barest hint of a smug, sulphuric smirk.

In any other set of circumstances, there would be blood. In any other place, at any other time, Audrey would have already leapt to her feet, drawn her iron, and shown her fury for all to bear witness.

But this was not any other place, and this was not any other time.

She is Audrey Eotenslaga, heiress of the slayers of giants. She will not be brought low by this smirking, smug, low-born son of a flea-bitten bitch!

As if punctuating the strength of will required in keeping her hands curled tight into fists and nowhere near the sword at her side, the honoured voice of nobility itself echoes throughout the great hall. It booms like a thunderclap, the noise enough to draw all attention to its maker. Like candles snuffed by a priest, the great hall's clamour silences in an instant.

Clearing his throat with a handkerchief-concealed cough, the Ealderman of Warwickshire lifts to his feet. Streaks of light grey dart across the sides of his head like jagged bolts of lightning, his brow bearing extensive trenchwork as the caterpillar-pair furrow deep together. His skin sags like empty bags, but his eyes glimmer with untold cunning and his hands are no less sure for his senior age.

"Friends, kinsmen, guests of honour," Ealderman Rothulf Waering stands tall and proud as, with a handful of small words, all present twist in their seats to see him, "I bid you welcome to my hearth-light hall. Good tides have brought all us here, for it is by the will of our great king that we make merry on this fine evening."

"However," that one word twists the warm pride into spiralling tension, "there are those among you who feel slighted by our good king's will. No matter your thoughts on the matter, none among you will sabotage our good king's great efforts."

With that, the Ealderman returns to his seat.

(Gained "Head on a Swivel" Hama Training Hint)

0~0~0

Audrey has an opportunity to make small talk, which is half the fun of being in a proper feast, which Squire happened to be seated next to her, and thus didn't need to be shouted over?

[ ] Gilbert of Loxdale
[ ] Sawyer of Glintwell
[ ] Chad Howlande
[ ] Royce Reids

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AN: With that, we begin our tale.

On that note, Knight of Wessex will be aiming for Two Updates per Week, on Monday and Friday. From time to time, we may do shorter, faster ones during events, but this is the expected default pacing that we intend to go with.