his liege pt 1

He was from the poorest village in the empire and had done nothing more toward fighting than stabbing bales and wrestling with his animals. So when he heard of the roust, he took some time to think before he struck out for the event. His family needed the money, and that alone was worth the effort. Even if he shamed himself. He had to try.
He saw her from far away. He had never seen his queen before.
The roust began.
He fought his way toward her. Fighting with her weakest champions first, then running thru the medium-ranked fighters and finally reaching the best of the best. He was allowed a break between each round, but by the top round he was getting tired. He needed a second wind. A motivation.
So he looked at her. Her majesty, his queen.
She was a stunning beauty. Very Celtic in looks and the jade gown she wore made her look so regal. When most women her age wore pastels, she wore jewel tones and metal colours. She was lithe, except for her womanly parts. A body made for rutting. Her eyes flashed around the fairgrounds and he knew she had a quicker wit than most said of her. He heard her laugh and knew he would spend the rest of his life trying to hear that sound, because he had said or done something funny. It was so cute.
So he gathered himself for the next fight and faced his next to last foe. He had noticed that they all seemed to be stumped by his raw fighting style. It was similar to a master at chess, meeting a newb over the board who was brilliant, but untrained in the game. Sometimes energy, passion and a quick head won the day. There was such a thing as being over-trained. You get so caught up in the rules, you lose the sense of game and strategy. So stuck in the protocol that you lose the flow, the dance, the rhythm. Imagination often won out over intelligence. But the trained call it beginner’s luck. When it might actually be them getting rigid.
So instead of picking up or mirroring their moves, he flourished his own further. On that day, he overheard many of his foes walking away, shaking their heads, and saying “What was that??” He was more a dervish than a fighter.
But this opponent and the next were the best. The commanders of the forces of her knights. They trained the others. No one had beat them before and they had no intention of letting anyone beat them any time soon.
And now he finally had her majesty’s attention. She was watching the fight. Both fighters brilliant in their own way. One raw and wild, one finished and well trained. Raw won. The crowd actually booed him? Well there was nothing he could do about that. He had to win for his family.
His queen smiled at him and frowned at her champion. “Perhaps you need some further training, sire?” He said “Yes, my lady” and walked away with his head down. His first loss ever! And by a rube no less!
Finally the master of the guards, the chief of the knights was before him.
The crowd had all gathered when they heard of the second’s loss.
While the master stretched a bit, he took a drink of water and watched the queen out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to see that smile again. It was so beautiful! Any man would love such a smile laid on him.
The master allowed him the first move as the guest.
Blow met blow. It took a long time for either to think beyond the game. Both wanted the conquest. One tired from fighting all day against technique he had no clue about. One tired from training his men and himself. His pride was on the line. None of his men had stood before this farmer for heaven’s sake! So he had to!! For the glory of the realm! For his queen!

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