Noble Airs
Twenty-Eighth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
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There was an overwhelming accord of silence in the contestant cell halfway between a barracks that the group disarmed in. Denys couldn't force his head up from the ground, he was so shamefaced.
Dashing out of pungent clouds of arcane gas, his blade of ancient bronze shining balefully and lending an extra ounce of surety to the blow.
Criston finished tending to his equipment, scowling fiercely though not all at him, more the need for maintenance even despite the acquisition of hardened steel. He thudded past, pausing abruptly before the young man. The flat of his hand pressed into the sweat-soaked scalp, ruffling it heart-achingly like his father might have, despite himself Denys had trouble remembering the last time his father had even spoken to him much less held him.
He was dead and Criston was alive, Denys thought,
yet still I weight and measure love freely given. The words echoed through his skull like a great horn blast.
Lifting the glowing barrow blade, the whites of her eyes all he could see, encompassing a moment, an infinite timeless breathless moment of triumph and surprise, joyous terror and exhilaration felt on both sides.
"You deserved that," was all he said, seeming more amused than anything else.
Denys just nodded, and without another word, off Criston tromped.
Eyes blazing with resentment and pique as she almost gently touched him with a spell that had saved his skin on more than one occasion.
Ceria was less restrained in expressing her feelings on the loss, stepping past him lightly and halting much less like an after-thought and more like she was trying very, very hard not to say more. "I'm not angry," she spoke after a quiet breath. "I'm just...
disappointed." She walked on, irked, obviously, but trying not to show it. For all the world she meant it as a gentle admonishment, it still came as a physical blow.
Ting's hand landed on his shoulder and the man nodded at her back. "Let this be a lesson you take to heart, but not for the expectations of others." Denys looked up at that.
"What do you mean?" He couldn't quite fathom how this wasn't a failure by any person's measure, he had let notions about honor and knightly virtue cloud his judgement for a pivotal moment, when he should have been treating his counterpart out in the sands as the worthy opponent they were, and they all paid the price for it. Sure, they weren't staking their lives on victory, but it wasn't like they were all safe fighting out there. It was still pain and toil and blood and sweat shed for a chance at glory and honor.
Ting merely chuckled, "Can you not still hear the roaring of the crowd?" And he did... distantly, like the bellow of a great beast, and he had been buffeted by their cheers with the others so hard they all took a bow before leaving the proverbial stage. He even thought the King had smiled to see it.
Still, the embarrassment wouldn't leave.
"Do you regret not seizing victory above your own conscience?" Ting questioned then, and reflexively Denys shook his head.
No, Denys thought, w
hile I wish I had managed to win, I still think it a poor thing to hit a woman and an ally beside. He realized dimly that such compunctions could lead to him and his friends dying if they should ever come across an unkindly foe of beauteous mien or an ingenue disguised as a fiend or something of that nature, but at least he didn't regret not cutting down the King's Inquisitor for gold and accolades of all things, or what kind of Knight would he be? If only I were a Knight, he thought acerbically then. Putting on airs I have no right to. It's not as if he underestimated any of the women they faced in the field today, he certainly did not underestimate Ceria.
"Follow your heart, but heed your instincts," Ting advised him. "And use your mind. It is by far your greatest weapon." With that he bowed and left.
He didn't know how long he waited in the silence of that locker-lined room, but the flapping of wings jarred him from his fugue.
"
You are moping," the dragon-kin spoke into his mind, vastly amused, "
For the loss?"
"Not exactly," Denys said, bowing his head low before the King's companion in respect. "I just wish I hadn't made such an arse out of myself in front of thousands."
A sense of good humor drifted along the link as she settled on his shoulder, "
I believe they would beg to differ. You have much to be proud of, though you do yourself and her little credit by wallowing in your own failings." She titled her little head toward the door. "
There are ways to make it better, however... recompense that can be offered."
"Where..?" Denys wondered, while Varys ducked her head oddly and took to the wing.
"
Follow me."
Denys followed his instincts.
