Enough Part I

[maderr]

Ugh. Meant to be in bed a loooooooong time ago >_o The world did not want me to finish my editing tonight, I swear. Well, fuck the world. I finished it.

Unfortunately, this means I'm exhausted. I do not trust myself to wak up in time to post this before I leave for work. So you get it now.

In two parts.

Enough

Kodey bit into his apple and wished miserably he were a lass.

His plans were not coming to fruition at all the way he had decided they should. They were coming to naught but a great big mess. In a month's time he would turn eighteen summers, and according to his carefully made plans Brice should be madly in love with him and ready to proclaim thus loudly.

Gingerly he touched fingers to his cheek, wincing as they met with the bruise forming there. Perhaps it was a tiresome line the bards sung, about those with red hair possessing fierce tempers, but tiresome and untrue were not the same thing by half.

He took another bit of his apple and again pondered how much simpler life would be if he were a lass. If such were his lot, likely he would have been betrothed to Brice since childhood. Even now he would be preparing for his wedding day, listening to the gossip and advice of his sisters and aunts…

Never mind he had no such thing; he could not even remember his mother's face, except that it had been thin and sickly and strained before she succumbed to illness.

Instead, he was not a lass and that meant Brice continued to elude him in addition to confounding him. He wished his plan simply to stop loving Brice had come to pass, but alas that plan had gone much the way of all his plans – horribly wrong.

'Twas not fair. Sir Chastaine and Sir Lyon were in love, and made it look so easy. They did not say foolish things to one another and throw punches when their tempers consumed them and pitch one another into the moat every few days…

His plan had been to win Brice's affections afore his eighteenth year. It was a plan he had been contriving since his twelfth summer, and he had constantly improved upon it and diligently followed it…except for the month or two when he had rewritten his plans to firmly stop loving Brice, who was a fool of the highest order…but not loving Brice had proved to be too painful and so he'd returned to the original plan.

Except all had gone awry, and Brice could barely stand him, never mind love him, and Kodey no longer knew what to do.

He supposed he could follow Sir Chastaine's advice and confess his feelings to Brice…but that plan was full of errors. Namely, what if Brice simply laughed at him? Brice was always laughing at him. There was also the possibility that Brice would declare he did not feel the same, which was proving to be the most likely outcome. That meant Kodey would have to concede defeat, and he was not ready to do that. Nay, that was a defeat he refused ever to face.

How, then, was he to win Brice's affections in a month's time?

Taking another bite of his apple, Kodey weighed his options.

They were depressingly few. He could go the way Sir Chastaine suggested, a route he had already rejected, or he could do away with everyone that stood in his way. Far too many people clustered about for Brice's attention.

He could not fault them, of course, for Brice was most beautiful indeed. Tall and elegant and noble, he ever looked both at home and wholly strange when he was covered in the leavings that came from spending his days in the kitchen. Better still was Brice a field, practicing his archery or assisting the hunters. He was not unlike the bow which he used with such mastery.

Unfortunately, Kodey all too often managed to make of himself an unhappy target.

Finishing his apple, he tossed the core to the ground and looked out over the fields. The castle was to the west, nearly an hour away by foot. Enough distance that he was left in peace to contrive a new plan to make of himself a more pleasing manner of target for Brice.

He shifted his gaze to the west – and then dropped from the tree in which he sat, mounting his horse in one fluid movement. How had he missed it before? Stupid, if he was going to neglect the work to be done at the keep, the very least he could do was keep an eye upon the lands.

A caravan was under attack. From a distance he could not well see the banners which would proclaim the persons traveling, but it was hardly necessary. What was clear was that they had been set upon by no small number of brigands, for the lesser brigands were easily distinguishable from the grander knights. As he drew closer the sounds of battle reached his ears, awful and more familiar than he liked, and Kodey fought the fear that coiled in his gut from the last time he had been involved in true battle.

When he arrived the stench of blood was thick upon the air. Kodey wasted no time but raced toward the nearest of the brigands. Steel flashed in the sunlight high overhead as he cut the brigand down, and he immediately shifted his attention to the next, fighting his way through the melee to where the main carriages were still under assault.

Too many.

A terrified cry cut through the mayhem, and Kodey immediately sought the source. His eyes landed upon a boy not more than eight summers, clutching at a wound to his arm. Swearing loudly, Kodey dismounted and hauled the boy up, tossing him upon the saddle and lashing him swiftly in place. "Striker, home." Smacking the horse's rump, he left the beast to return to the castle as he had been trained.

Dodging away from a charging rider, he bolted for the carriages which were now smoking rather fiercely. As he approached he was met with steel, and barely lifted his own sword in time to block the assault. "Peace!" he bellowed, seeing the man was no brigand but to judge by his blood-smeared finery a man of breeding.

"Peace," the man replied, and slid his sword away to attack a bandit upon approach.

From the third carriage came a roaring battle cry, and a man of gray hair and long beard cut down another of the brigands.

Of which their seemed an innumerable amount, and there had been no reports of such in the area. At the very first hint, Chastaine and Lyon disposed of them with ruthless efficiency. The Seneschals of Castle Triad tolerated no black mark upon their lands.

He let out a cry of his own as he met the attack of a man who abruptly charged him, gutting him, and he grimaced as he shoved the man back off his sword

A cry of alarm came from behind him and Kodey turned, lifting his sword even as he knew it was too late—

Then just as suddenly the men dropped. An arrow with gray fletching was lodged in the center of each of their foreheads. Heart beating rapidly, Kodey cut down two more brigands as around him arrows flew with a deadly accuracy that was nearly a thing of beauty.

When the chaos at last seemed conquered, Kodey turned.

Brice truly was beautiful, far stronger than his whipcord build belied, red hair blazing in the sunlight. He sat in the saddle as though born to it, longbow gripped with a casual mien as deceptive as his appearance and build. Brice was pleasing to look upon, pleasing to hear speak…pleasing in all things, to Kodey's mind, but it never went well to forget his bow had a draw weight of a hundred and fifty pounds – and never had he missed.

He rushed over as Brice dismounted. "You arrived quickly."

"Yes," Brice said, looking around the ravaged caravan. "I was bound for the village when I saw your horse."

Kodey turned at the sound of movement, and saw it was the man from the carriage who had nearly cut him down. "How fair you, good sir?"

Beside him, Brice snorted – and then startled Kodey by dropping to one knee and bowing his head. "Your Grace, I beg pardon you were so crudely treated upon the lands of Castle Triad."

"Um—" Kodey blinked, then awkwardly mimicked Brice's manner, feeling stupid that he had not realized the carriage under attack belonged to someone of such high importance. He should have recognized the blazon and colors.

He had always reluctantly conceded that perhaps his lack of Brice's expanse of knowledge was one reason Brice did not yet love him. Always he worked to repair that flaw, but ever did he seem to be three paces behind.

"No apologies are necessary, noble rescuers," the man replied. "The brigands were not of your lands, but have sought me the entirety of my journey. Rise, please. You have saved my life and others this day, I would not have you kneel before me."

Brice stood slowly, and Kodey followed suit, risking a glance at the man they had rescued.

Now that he had the time to look, he realized the man must be about Brice's age, surely not much more than that. He had dark blonde hair and light brown eyes, with sharp, handsome features.

Before anyone could resume speaking, they were joined by the man with the beard.

"Your Grace," the man said. "I fear we two and the boy are the only survivors. The brigands knew their business well, alas"

'Yes," the younger man agreed, mouth twisting. "If not for our rescuers here, I fear they would have taken my head as they desired."

Brice shook his head. "The battle was turned to your favor by Kodey; I came in only at the last. Reserve your thanks for him, your Grace, and save them for later for I see you are wounded. It requires dressing. Come, let us—" He broke off at the sound of horses, and the group turned as one to see roughly thirty men or so appear over the rise. At their head were the Seneschals of Castle Triad.

Kodey grinned and waved his arm, then bolted for the riders as they drew close, stopping just short of Chastaine as he dismounted. "You have made it."

"Too late, it would seem," Chastaine said grimly.

"Aye," Lyon agreed, frowning. "These men wear clothes from the northern province." He shifted his gaze to the two unknown men, and Kodey fought a laugh to see that men who had bravely faced so brutal and unfair a battle shifted nervously before Lyon's famous glare. "You are Sir Yvain Thierry, the Duke of Lons."

The Duke of Lons sketched a bow, smiling briefly. "Aye, I am he."

Chastaine's brows went up. "How come you to be so far from home, your Grace?"

"Questions can wait," Lyon cut in.

"Aye," Chastaine conceded, and immediately returned to his horse. Mounting, he signaled out half the men, who promptly followed him off into the woods.

Even as he did that, Lyon took the remaining half and began to work on the ruined caravan, sorting out the dead and salvaging what he could from the mess.

Watching them hurt, because in all things Lyon and Chastaine never needed to talk to one another. They simply acted, and trusted the other to act…and Lady Winifred and Lord Shad often acted much the same…and if that was evidence of love, then he was probably never going to gain Brice's affections, for he never could guess the nature of Brice's thoughts, and Brice always misunderstood him. Inevitably one or the other wound up in the moat.

He turned away from the unhappy thoughts, refusing to consider the possibility that he would not someday have Brice to call his own, and focused on assisting with the clean up.

"You are quite skilled," the Duke said, coming to stand beside him as Chastaine finished moving a trunk which had somehow survived the brutal attack. "So young and yet you fight like a knight well-blooded."

Kodey flushed at the compliment, the earnestness of the Duke's expression. "My skills are paltry alongside those of a true knight, your Grace."

"I would be most honored to know your name," the Duke replied. "You are very much the reason I am alive, and it is a great failing that I lack a name to put to my rescuer."

Such pretty speech; only Lady Winifred ever insisted upon speaking so with regularity – and never did anyone speak so to him. "Ah—" Kodey licked his lips, feeling suddenly anxious but confounded as to why. "I am Kodey Delacroix of Castle Triad, squire to Sir Chastaine Delacroix."

"I thought he looked like a Delacroix," the Duke said thoughtfully. "That other is a de Sauveterre or my mother is a milkmaid."

"A—aye, your Grace. He is Sir Lyon de Sauveterre, and commands Castle Triad with Sir Chastaine as joint Seneschals by the will of the Lady Winifred."

The Duke laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Aye, the good Queen speaks often of the Lady Winifred." He sobered abruptly. "Would that I had passed through here without such unhappy tidings, for I would have enjoyed meeting the famous Lady under brighter auspices." He lightly touched the arm which had only just been bandaged by one of the soldiers.

"We are honored regardless of the circumstances, your Grace," Lyon said as he drew close. "It is shameful indeed that such as this struck you upon Triad lands."

"Nay," the Duke replied. "As I said before, 'twas I who brought the misfortune with me. I thought I had left them well behind, but it would seem I erred most tragically with that belief." He looked sadly over the carnage Lyon's men had nearly finished clearing away.

Kodey wished he could think of something to say, but he had always failed abhorrently in matters of etiquette. He reached out to rest his hand awkwardly on the Duke's shoulder. "Come to the castle and rest, and we will see your men are buried with full honor."

The Duke smiled and covered Kodey's hand with his own. "You are not even eighteen summers, I would wager, yet you have the eyes of one much older. I am fortunate in many ways to have met you, I think."

"Come," Lyon spoke before Kodey could puzzle out the appropriate reply to the Duke's words. "Lady Winifred by now will have prepared food enough for three armies, and her poor husband will be suffering the brunt of her anxious temper."

Kodey grimaced in agreement.

Beside him the Duke laughed – then abruptly slung an arm across Kodey's shoulders, walking him toward where their horses had been brought by a soldier and stood waiting. He started to speak, when Chastaine and his men returned, crashing through the trees and brush.

Pure habit drove Kodey to seek out Brice, and he started to call out when an all too familiar icy anger overtook Brice's face. "Brice—"

Brice turned away, guiding his horse toward Lyon, speaking in low tones with him and Lord Chastaine, obviously discussing the remaining brigands Chastaine and his men had chased after.

Kodey swallowed around the lump in his throat. What had he done wrong now? How could he have done something wrong? He had helped save the caravan, then Brice had saved him…ah, that was very likely it. Now that the fight was well and truly over, no doubt Brice was angered by the fact Kodey had required saving.

He watched enviously the way Lyon and Chastaine spoke, the brief way they touched hands before breaking apart to lead the men back home. They made it look so easy, and he wanted so badly for Brice to look upon him the way Lyon looked upon Chastaine…

Yet he sensed perhaps that in a month's time he would have nothing but his ruined plans to keep him company, if Brice still found him so lacking. He had done his best in the fight, but 'twould seem his best was not enough.

"Now, my fine rescuer," the Duke said with a faint smile, "you should not look so distraught as I. That will not do at all. Tell me how you came about such fine skill."

Kodey smiled, unable to resist a chance to relate to fresh ears the tale of how he had come to be squired by Sir Chastaine, stubbornly ignoring the icy glares he could feel at his back all the way home to Castle Triad.

Two hours later, the Duke recounted the full of his tale to them over the grand meal Lady Winifred had, indeed, seen prepared for their return. She sat with Shad at the head of the table, Chastaine and Lyon to her right, the Duke to the left.

At the Duke's insistence, Kodey sat beside him, and while he was excited at being so honored…well, it was perhaps just as well. Brice continued to cast occasional glares upon him, and the cold anger was easier to bear from afar.

"I cannot believe it," Lady Winifred said with a shake of her head as he completed the tale.

Indeed, Kodey could scarce believe it himself, that one noble should be so angered by another he would lower himself to such base recourse as hiring brigands to slaughter the object of his wrath. "Surely this Duke de Capre will be made to pay for his transgressions?"

"If I can locate proof 'twas he who ordered this deed done," the Duke replied. "Alas, he is wise enough to make certain his name is kept well away from the affair. Mayhap I will have more luck in five weeks time." He grimaced as he tested his arm. "Though I fear the reality is that now I shall be naught but a spectator."

Chastaine looked down the table. "So you were headed for tourney, your Grace?"

"Aye," the Duke replied. "A guest of honor, rather than a competitor proper, of course, but…" He suddenly paused, and turned to regard Kodey thoughtfully. "I have come upon a grand idea, my fine rescuer. What say you to taking my place in the tourney?"

Kodey choked on the sweetbread he had been swallowing. "Beg pardon, your Grace?"

The Duke threw an arm around his shoulders, a gesture he was making with increasing frequency. "Yes, that is a grand idea indeed, my fine lad. You are a most splendid combatant indeed, I can see Lord Chastaine knew you would take quite well to knightly ways and drilled you thoroughly. Have you ever been to tourney? Of course not, you turn eighteen for not a month yet, you said before. This will be most splendid. I will insert you as my replacement, and a much more fitting participant you will make. This is a tourney for young men such as you, anyway."

A tourney? Him? That was…

"I am not so certain…" Chastaine said with a frown. "He has scarcely been preparing for such a thing, and a fortnight is not near enough time. Never mind he has not the equipment, nor the proper blazons and clothing readied…"

Lyon snorted. "Nor is he a knight," he said firmly.

Oh.

Kodey had not realized until Lyon dashed them that his hopes had risen. Tourney! He likely would not show himself as well as others, who did such thing regularly, but to attend a tourney for even a day…as a true combatant, even, not simply a peasant spectator.

"Nonsense," the Duke said firmly, arm still around Kodey's shoulders, holding him close. "He is my replacement, and he is close enough to knighthood that if he proves himself enough in tourney I have no doubt the Grand Duke will award him spurs in the name of the King."

Spurs. He could be a knight – a real knight, like Chastaine and Lyon. Surely Brice would find no flaw with him then. He looked eagerly at Chastaine.

Chastaine looked at him and sighed. "Kodey, though the tourney may be for young men, those newly knighted, they…" He trailed off, looking briefly at Lyon, then sat back with another sigh. "As you wish, then. We will see that you are properly outfitted before you leave."

"Truly?" Kodey asked, and when Chastaine nodded he let out a shout of excitement, grinning at the Duke, who embraced him briefly. He looked down the table at Brice, eager to see –

That Brice had gone.

Kodey struggled to keep his smile in place, hiding the brief faltering of it behind his heavy wine goblet

So Brice was mad at him. He would not stay so; Brice never did. It mattered not. Kodey would return with full honor from tourney, and spurs that declared him a true knight of the realm, and then Brice would not be able to help but fall madly in love with him.

Yes. It was a perfect plan.


*~*~*


He had known it would happen, but he somehow had fooled himself into thinking it was yet some years away. Eight years, he supposed, left too much time to grow foolishly complacent. It should not have blindsided him so, yet it had, and that only made his ire all the greater.

Ire. Brice grimaced at himself and notched an arrow, firing it off with barely a glance at the target, wishing furiously it was a certain Duke's head and not mere straw. 'Twas not ire he felt and he knew it. He was filled to the brim with naught but pure jealousy.

He notched another arrow and fired. A perfect hit, even in the darkness. His vision was excellent day or night.

Except when he looked upon Kodey. Then everything went horribly wrong. From the very moment of their first meeting the boy had confounded. Boy. Fie on that. Kodey was a boy no longer, but well and truly into manhood, which meant his boyhood adoration was at last fading away.

He had reminded himself innumerous times that Kodey would eventually cease to look so at him. Biting back an angry curse, Brice let fly three arrows in rapid succession, the hard thunk as they struck the target nowhere near satisfying enough.

It was to be expected. He had, indeed, anticipated that matters would conclude thus. Kodey was neither the first nor last to be taken with Brice's appearance. It was all too easy for one such as Kodey to take to a pretty face that was also constant and familiar after the rough way he had lived until taken in by Chastaine.

Still…

Kodey drove him mad with his antics, and his strange desire to contrive plans for every last thing. His pranks and strange sense of humor, and he swore that Kodey constantly contrived ways to anger him…

Never had that prevented him from thinking too fondly of the young boy who gazed at him with such blatant regard. It had only grown worse when the boy had grown old enough to be secretly lusted after. Now that Kodey was so very close to being properly considered an adult….

He was riding off to tourney with a handsome, flirtatious Duke whom Brice wished had gone the way of his bloody entourage instead of surviving to steal away the smiles that ever had been his.

This time he did not bite back the curse as he let his arrows fly, striking one target after another, going until his arrows were exhausted and his arms burned with the strain.

He sat down hard on the ground, bow across his lap to keep it from the wet grass, and buried his face in one hand. Ever had he known Kodey's feelings were impermanent. It was the very reason he had strived constantly to keep Kodey at a distance, that when the adoration inevitably faded it would be less painful for the both of them. He had carried some vague hope that at the end of it all they might remain friends. Someday, after all, they would take over the ruling of the keep and…

Perhaps now Kodey would choose to go somewhere else. Strange that amongst all the thoughts plaguing him, he had not once considered the possibility that Kodey would leave Castle Triad.

The way he looked upon the Duke, however, all smiles and eagerness, the occasional flustering that belied his youth, Brice could all too painfully see Kodey becoming enamored of the thrice-damned fool.

He vaguely recalled Duke Lons, though they had seldom crossed paths back when Brice had lived in the royal palace as a messenger for the King. There had been nothing about the Duke he had particularly liked or disliked, though he had noted that the Duke was at ease in the life of a noble – an ease that even then Brice had known he himself would never possess.

Nay, he was at ease only with his kitchens and his arrows.

His fingers moved of their own volition to the small bundle of cloth still tucked into his belt. He had risen early that morning to get ahead in his chores just so he might have the hours to spare to journey to the village to fetch the gift he had commissioned some months ago.

Nothing like what a fancy Duke could afford, of course. The thought was a bitter one, settling unpleasantly in his stomach. A stronger, wiser man would accept the situation for what it was – Kodey finally coming of age and realizing there was much more to the world than one castle and a single red-haired cook.

It was perhaps fortunate that the events of the day had passed, for they brought the reality of the situation to the fore much more rapidly than it might have otherwise come. This way, no terrible mistakes had been made.

He closed his fist over his paltry gift and pondered tossing it into the well. Tempting, but he knew he would never be able to bring himself to do it. His only regret now was the inscription; it had been an impulse he would have done better to resist. At the time it had seemed so fitting, and he realized now perhaps more wistfulness had gone into it than he cared to admit.

Though knowing Kodey, it would matter not. He would not notice the inscription lest someone else pointed it out to him.

Tucking the bundle of cloth away, he lifted his bow and stood, turning to go back inside.

He paused as he saw Lyon striding toward him, cloak flapping in the cool night breeze.

"If you have worked out the better part of your temper now," Lyon said, "we must talk."

The tone was a serious one, and he did not need light to know that Lyon would be glaring something fierce – but the discontent was not directed at him, or he would have already been cuffed hard for his offense. "What is the matter?"

Lyon irritably shoved back the hood which the wind had blown up. "What do you recall of the squabbling which has always existed between the Houses of Lons and de Capre?"

"They have disliked one another since the dawn of creation," Brice replied. "I recall vaguely the way the late Dukes were always insulting and challenging one another. Ever were their matches called to a halt for fear one would kill the other."

"When have you ever known them to go to such lengths as this?"

Brice shook his head. "Never, yet surely it comes as no surprise? Such matters always climax before coming to an end bloody or peaceful."

"We do not like it," Lyon said, referring to himself and Chastaine. "Nor does Lady Winifred. Her godfather was of the de Capre, and so this affair troubles her. She does not believe any of that line would act in so cruel a fashion without cause most just and certain."

"I see," Brice said with a frown. "What do you suspect the truth to be?"

"We know not," Lyon replied. "Perhaps it is true that de Capre has resorted to these vulgar methods to extract revenge for an insult delivered by his Grace."

Brice grimaced. "More likely, some vital piece of the story is missing."

Lyon nodded. "Aye."

Brice frowned in thought, turning over the Duke's story in his mind, focusing on that now rather than the infuriating way in which his Grace had flirted with Kodey.

Two months ago the Dukes had faced one another in a challenge put forth by de Capre. The match had been brought to a halt by the spectators, who had declared honor satisfied on both sides. Duke Lons, in his recounting, stated calmly that he likely would have taken the bought if it had been permitted to carry to a proper end – something rarely permitted in challenges.

This, apparently, had angered de Capre beyond all reckoning. Lons had been anticipated trouble, but not on the scale of the recent attack and so it had take his caravan by surprise.

Yet Lons did not seem inclined to lodge formal protest, nor even take revenge.

Lyon was right – it made no sense. So hideous an affair should be brought before the throne, and it was in no small way strange that the throne appeared not to notice such brutality was being inflicted upon one of the Kingdom's most powerful families.

"You want me to make further inquiries," he said at last.

"Aye," Lyon said.

Brice nodded in agreement, for there was no way he could refuse. "What of Kodey?" he asked, voicing the only fear he held in this matter.

"He should be safe enough," Lyon said, "else I would never have told Chastaine to let him attend the tourney." He glared at things unseen. "He is no small part of the reason we choose to involve ourselves in this affair, for if something takes a more terrible turn he will be close enough to his Grace to face some risk."

"Yet you say he should be safe enough," Brice said, struggling to ignore the sudden tightening in his chest from fear of what might happen to Kodey for his closeness to the Duke on top of all the injuries he could incur attending the tourney. Why had they permitted him to go? 'Twas foolishness. Kodey should remain at Castle Triad and celebrate his coming of age—

He cut his thoughts of with a silent curse.

"Very likely we worry for naught," Lyon replied, "though of course we are sending several of our own men to discreetly safeguard him. Would that we could go ourselves, but neither Chastaine nor I like to leave the keep so long when there is chance we have been dragged into an affair which may prove dire indeed. Journey to the capital and investigate the full of the matter, Brice. Do so with all haste but do not sacrifice thoroughness."

"Aye, Sir Lyon," Brice said, bowing his head, clasping Lyon's arm tightly as they shook.

"Be careful," Lyon said, not releasing his grip. "Chastaine is reluctant to send Kodey off simply from the worry any true father would feel for his son. In much the same manner it gives me no joy to send you off to discern the truth of a matter which could prove to be quite dangerous. Do not be reckless, Brice."

Brice nodded, and did not attempt to speak for fear of sounding unsteady. "Aye, Sir Lyon," he finally managed.

Lyon released his arm and grasped the back of his head, tugging Brice sharply forward, holding him in a brief embrace before releasing him just as suddenly to turn and stride back into the keep.

Kodey would be protected. Likely the matter would come to naught. Lyon trusted him to discern the truth of the matter. If Duke Lons proved to be a liar, no one would take it amiss if he put an arrow through the man's heart.

After he cut off that confounded arm which the Duke could not seem to help draping across Kodey's shoulders with such crass boldness.

Hefting his bow, Brice returned to the keep to pack his things that he might depart come the dawn.

Inside, braziers still burned in the main hall, though it appeared at first glance to be deserted.

Then he saw a goblet and a platter of sweetmeats…a better look revealed Kodey kneeling before the fireplace, carefully placing various piles neatly into a trunk. Another stood nearby, and Brice knew that when Kodey departed for the tourney both his trunks would be filled with at least half the keep.

"You are so eager to depart?" he asked, striving to sound casual but painfully aware of the bitterness that tainted his voice. He could not help it, especially when Kodey startled and turned to look at him.

Kodey would never be mistaken for possessing noble breeding, though he very likely had been sired by a knight who had forced his attentions upon Kodey's mother – the little Kodey had recalled of his past seemed to indicate such. Far from noble, but he was easily as handsome as any. Extensive hours in the sun had put a burnished gold tone to his brown hair, which in turn drew out a similar gold in his brown eyes. Small as boy, he had grown into the manner of build that knights strove their entire lives to obtain and keep.

Brice wanted nothing so badly as to cross the room and kiss him, to push him against the wall and indulge one wicked fancy after another, bind Kodey to him and keep all others way.

He would not, could not, do such a thing. Kodey stood on the edge between boy and man, and such a position was all too easily manipulated by feelings he had not yet learned to master.

For boyish infatuation and youthful lust were not the same thing as love, and Kodey would not know the difference until irrevocable damage had been wrought. Brice would rather have nothing than see the adoration in those eyes turn into vehement dislike. Better to let the infatuation fade away as it would and hope that someday they might be genuine friends.

"Brice," Kodey said, as happy as ever to see him though there was some hesitation in his manner. "So you did hear I am going to tourney. How do you think I will fair?"

He would show himself honorably. Kodey should be a knight; he had all the inherent ability of Chastaine and Lyon. The tourney in question was intended for young knights; men who had only just won their spurs. They all would have been extensively trained and tested, but precious few of them would have been blooded. All the drilling in the world did not make up for true combat, and Kodey had been thrust into his first true battle at the age of fifteen, and too old for his age already from a life on the streets before Chastaine had found him.

So already he did possess strong advantage over many of his opponents, and because Chastaine and Lyon were never less than thorough, he was well trained in the more traditional aspects of knighthood. Though he likely would not be named a champion, Kodey would flourish.

"I suppose it depends on whether or not you can keep from gawking and stumbling about like a child at his first banquet," he said coolly, hating himself but the words came anyway and he wanted so badly to kiss away the pain he had put on Kodey's face, but that want only made him push forward with his harsh words. "You are not used to the ways of nobles; certainly you are not used to the ways of courtly ladies. Simply remember to do as you are instructed and do not give in to your childish impulses. If you manage that, I suppose you may survive it."

Kodey stared at him, and though there was much anger there it did not hide the hurt he struggled to repress. "Fie on you, then!" He picked up the platter of sweetmeats and pitched then at Brice, then turned and fled sharply from the hall.

Brice did not bother to dodge the sloppily thrown platter, merely brushed off the smeared bits and scattered crumbs, then set the platter back upon one of the long tables.

He set his longbow on the table opposite, then wandered down the aisle between the two long tables, sitting down at the very edge of one of the long benches, resting his chin on his folded hands, closing his eyes against the turmoil turning his stomach sour. The fire had long since been put out, but he thought that if it roared it still would not banish the cold sunk all the way to his marrow.

At last he stirred, reminding himself that there was much he must do ere the dawn arrived.

Moving from the bench, he knelt before Kodey's trunk, examining the contents thoughtfully. Finally he removed the cloth-wrapped bundle from his belt, and tucked it away beneath a neatly folded tunic.

Likely when Kodey found it, he would believe it a gift from Chastaine or Lady Winifred. If he noticed the inscription, he would know the truth immediately…but Kodey was Kodey, and Brice knew he would not notice.

Sighing softly, he stood and retrieved his bow, then made his way to his room to pack.


*~*~*


Kodey wanted to do everything.

After two hours of nerve-racking debate over whether or not he should be allowed to enter the tourney, he was at last here and with full permission and Yvain had even said that it sounded as though he already had the tentative favor of two of those who would be judging.

It made him want to scream or run or something equally absurd.

Absurd was no doubt precisely how Brice would have described his behavior.

His levity died as he recalled his last meeting with Brice, how cold and derisive he had been. Never before had he thought Brice might hold his breeding against him, for was not Brice himself of less than perfectly noble birth? Yet his father had been a noble proper, and when taken in by his uncle Brice had been well and fully instructed in the ways of the nobility. Had he not chosen to remain at Castle Triad, likely would he be a proper Beauclerc with a fine manor and pretty wife.

Brice would not be overwhelmed by all this, and no doubt he would regard the banquet with bored resignation rather than anxious excitement.

Kodey was used to the festivities regularly hosted by Castle Triad. The pavilion was always filled with people then, all manner of food and entertainment, and one of Kodey's fondest memories was of the day he had managed to coax Brice into playing Blind Man's Bluff with a group of them for well into three hours.

Since that night, which had been a Spring Festival, Brice had refused to play any such games.

Shoving away thoughts of Brice, except perhaps to think upon how nice it would be to take a mace to the bastard's head, Kodey crossed the room which had been declared his for the next two days

He paused briefly to admire his shield, made by Chastaine and Lyon. It was divided into quarters with the first and fourth bearing the wolf of Lons, the second and third quarters bearing the three-ring crest of Castle Triad. Lady Winifred and the other women had made a like banner for him to fly when he fought, as well as matching tunics he could not wait to wear. He was truly at tourney.

If only Brice could see him…

Except Brice had not even bothered to say farewell. Merely told him that miserable night to do as he was told and not behave like a child and he might survive. The next morning when Kodey had risen, it was to learn that Brice had been sent off by Lyon on some errand.

Kodey scowled and threw open the lid of the nearer of his two trunks. Seeing it was the one he sought, he began to rifle through it for the tunic he required.

It seemed, however, that Lady Winifred had seen to it that half the keep was packed into his trunks. By the time he reached the tunic he required, he wondered how he was possibly going to fit everything back inside. How had Lady Winifred managed it?

He pulled the tunic out and shook it open – and saw something go flying across the room. Frowning, he hunted down the mysterious object until he at last found a small bundle of velvet beneath the bed.

What could it possibly be? Slowly he unwound the scrap of velvet, utterly perplexed as to what Lady Winifred might have included that would appear thus.

He nearly dropped the object that fell into his hand, so astonished by it was he.

A ring. The band was wide, made of gold, and set with the Triad crest, each ring made of precious jewels. Beautiful, and he had never owned or expected to own such finery. Lady Winifred wore jewels. Chastaine and Lyon had their few jewels, as did Lord Shad… he had seen Brice wear his few upon occasion.

He was not them, however.

Still unable to believe it was truly his – perhaps it had gotten into his trunk by mistake, and he should not wear it but how could he possibly put it back now? – Kodey slid it onto his right middle finger. He moved to the brazier that he could better admire it.

The jewels flashed, seemed to glow. Kodey stared, unable to tear his eyes away. Was it a gift from Chastaine? A good luck token from Lady Winifred? Maybe…

He laughed sadly at the thought which tried to lodge in his mind. 'Twas a product of his imagination for a certainty. Why would Brice bestow so fine a gift upon him? Brice had called him childish, and admonished him to behave. He had thought Kodey might survive the tourney, but had not actually believed he would show himself honorably.

He would show that idiot, and then after Brice fell in love with him, Kodey would make him suffer for a bit before declaring that the feeling was entirely mutual. See who called him childish then.

Giving his ring one last admiring look, hoping it truly was his and not come to his possession by some mistake, he retrieved his tunic and shook it out, draping it over his cot while he fetched the rest of his garb. Hose, his better pair of boots, the good linen to go beneath his tunic – black, and the floor-length tunic red, embroidered with the Triad crest in black, gold, and silver.

Dressing with all due haste, he fetched a comb from the messy pile to which his belongings had been reduced, tidied his hair as best he could, then took a deep breath. Then another. He wished Yvain were about, but he had been stolen away to discuss matters beyond Kodey's understanding. He was only here to joust. The matters of true nobles such as Yvain eluded him, though he knew Lady Winifred and the others dealt with such affairs.

Shaking his head at himself, Kodey finally forced his feet to move. Striding to the door, he jerked it open and all but threw himself into the hallway, tamping down on his nervousness because no one else would be nervous and he refused to look the child Brice believed him to be because if he behaved so poorly then Brice would never return his affections and Kodey did not believe a crueler fate was poss—

He let out a startled cry as he turned the corner and something heavy crashed into him. Something heavy and generously soaked in perfume. Sneezing hard, eyes watering as much from the scent as being knocked to the floor, he attempted to see what had just occurred.

A woman had fallen upon him.

Barely restraining an oath, he scrambled to get from beneath her even as laughter filled the hallway. Kodey cringed as he regained his feet and assisted the lady who had toppled him. "M-my lady—"

"Oh, do not apologize," said the same voice from which the laughter had come.

Kodey looked to his right to see a man about his own age, with curly brown hair and green eyes, built like any knight, wearing a dark green velvet tunic trimmed in gold that bespoke great wealth indeed, and spurs of gold and emerald upon his boots. Kodey frowned, confused, and turned back to the woman. She was just as young, but her hair was pale blonde, eyes dark brown, and though she was not as pretty as Lady Winifred he supposed she was still quite lovely. Next to Brice, she could not compare, but no doubt others favored her. "Truly I offer my most humble apologies, my lady. Such crass behavior—"

"Is completely typical, good sir," the man interrupted again, grinning all the more when the woman shot him a dirty look and flicked one of her floor-length sleeves at him. The fabric was a rich blue, trimmed in silver embroidery. Whoever these two were…it was the greatest of fortune they seemed more amused than angered. The man moved closer, tugging lightly at one of the girl's pale strands of hair. "She was the one who knocked you about, my good sir, and I assure you she knocks over at least one person a day."

"All the same, 'twas most unseemly—"

The woman laughed. "No, I am afraid he speaks only the truth. I was walking backwards, more intent upon he than my path, and did not see you afore I knocked you upon the floor. So 'tis I, good sir," she dropped into an elegant curtsy and looked up at him through long lashes, "who offers to you my most sincere and humble apologies."

Kodey blinked, but before he could think of what to say, the man clapped him hard on the shoulder, laughter filling the hall. "I think 'tis fortunate women do not participate in tourney. This one would unhorse every one of us for a certainty."

"You are being rude to your lady wife before strangers," the woman said tartly.

"Aye, but at least I do not knock them down ere the horn sounds the start of tourney," the man said lazily. That would be an intolerable rudeness. Insulting one's wife, that is only a minor thing."

"You!" the woman exclaimed, again batting him with her long sleeve, tossing her head, making the jewels in her beaded headdress sparkle in the torchlight. "Do not make me declare to all and sundry that 'twas your brother I should have married."

"Now, sweet," the man said with a laugh, winking at Kodey, "we all know my brother would not take so well to the way you persist in being a better man than I. Nor does he love you truly. He loves naught but gold…so at that I suppose he would love you quite truly."

The woman sniffed, unimpressed by his words, and rounded on Kodey. "Mayhap I will shock my parents by abandoning you to take up with this handsome fellow. Good sir, I do apologize again for my unseemly behavior, as well as my husband's lack of manners."

"Yes, do forgive us," the man said, sliding his hand from Kodey's shoulder to take the hand his wife held out. "We are newly married, and my mother said that tends to make people quite unbearable for a length of time." He kissed the back of his wife's hand, smiling fondly. "Though we ever have been unbearable, save to each other."

Oh. Kodey suddenly found it hard to breathe. These two were no different than Chastaine and Lyon, or Lord Shad and Lady Winifred…except they were noisy and loud and clumsy and bickered like children. He had thought that was why he and Brice never did get along, that they were so rowdy when put together for more than a moment. If it was possible to be as rowdy as these two and in love…then perhaps he stood a better chance at winning Brice's affections than he had dared to hope.

"Oh," the woman said, frowning. "I fear we have indeed upset you, good sir."

"Nay," Kodey said, forcing a smile. "Twas only envy for your happy union. I fear when last we spoke, the object of my affection was less than happy with me."

The man smiled. "Then we shall not make ourselves more obnoxious to your sight by continuing to behave in such unseemly fashion. Mayhap proper introductions will recover some part of our tarnished image in your eyes. I am Ademar Osgood, and I present to you my most lovely wife Isemay Osgood. You we do not recognize, good sir, but—"

Isemay rolled her eyes and elbowed Ademar in his side. "You do not recognize him, fool husband mine, but I do in fact recognize that crest embroidered upon your robe. That is the mark of Castle Triad, and the heralds do speak of that keep joining the tourney under the patronage of the House Lons. Your name, however, I have not been able to obtain."

Kodey smiled, utterly taken by these two strangers who were not at all what he had expected – dreaded – from high nobility. "I am Kodey Delacroix, squire to Sir Chastaine Delacroix, who serves as a Seneschal of Castle Triad."

"La, the rumors are true!" Isemay said gleefully, clapping her hands. "I do remember the way my sisters fawned over Sir Chastaine. Alas, I was too much a girl to appreciate him ere he vanished forever, sworn to protect the Princess." She clasped her hands and sighed. "Husband, you had best prove yourself the equal of that fine knight lest you find yourself with a bed and wife most cold."

Ademar rolled his eyes. "I will not dignify that with the response it deserves as we are before strangers, wife."

Isemay laughed and flapped her long sleeves at him again. She stepped forward and laced her arm through Kodey's. "Well, come handsome squire, and find a seat alongside us, that we might move you from stranger to friend. In what parts of the tourney will you be participating? My noble husband was most distraught this tourney does not include a proper melee, but I think perhaps 'tis for the best."

"Aye," Ademar said from her other side, rolling his eyes. "My lady wife fears I would be captured for ransom, and I fear she would not pay it."

"Naturally not," Isemay said with a laugh, but smiled gently at him as they turned the last corner and spilled into the grand hall itself.

Kodey wanted to retreat to his room, but Isemay still had a firm grip upon his arm and he refused to look completely foolish by playing the coward.

Ademar sighed. "I do hope we will not be forced to sit alongside that oaf Turstin. When last I was forced into his company, still his breath was the rankest stench ever to be inflicted upon creation." He looked at Isemay. "Nor do I like how many times a night his eyes drop to admire your bosom."

"You admire it at least as often."

"Aye," Ademar agreed, "but it has belonged to me since we were fourteen and betrothed."

She swatted him and admonished silence on the matter of her bosom.

Kodey hoped his face was not as red as he suspected. Even Lady Winifred did not say such things, not that he had ever heard, and he had heard her utter coarse words indeed when her temper was provoked.

Then he was being tugged across the room, scarcely aloud to bow and murmur a greeting to Lons before Isemay and Ademar dragged him off to one of the four tables arranged in a great hall that seemed nearly as large as the entirety of Castle Triad.

He missed home. The journey to the tourney grounds had taken a week, and they had put off his birthday celebration until he returned home. All around him were strange faces; even the Triad guards who had accompanied him did not seem to be in attendance here. He wished for Chastaine or Lady Winifred, or even Lyon who hated such affairs. Better still would be Brice…

Kodey shook his head in frustration, and vowed not to think any longer of the bastard.

"My wife never did give you a chance to say what parts of the tourney you will be attempting," Ademar said, breaking into his thoughts. He took a deep swallow of his wine, the speared a bit of meat. "Myself, I am most looking forward to the jousting. The grander tourneys usually do not bother, but put all their focus upon the melee."

"Aye, the joust I should like to try," Kodey said, but with a grimace. "I think I shall not show myself well, but I would be the worse for not attempting. 'Tis the sword and mace duels which hold the greater portion of my interest."

Ademar winced. "Mace, aye, there is one I shall happily leave to others. Mayhap we shall cross swords. That, daggers, and the joust compose my trials in tourney."

Chastaine had admonished him to select daggers, but Kodey had decided upon mace anyway. He would hardly impress Brice by selecting those trials which came more easily to him.

"Well, I shall wish you the best of luck in your trials," Isemay said, patting his arm. "Unless, of course, you face Ademar in swords, in which case I will sadly be compelled to wish you the worst of luck."

"Of course, my lady," Kodey said gravely, bowing as low as he could while seated, grinning as he rose again and picked up his wine.

Isemay laughed. "La, I am glad I fell on you. Now, you spoke of one who holds your affections. Did this person not come to observe you in tourney?"

"Nay," Kodey replied, stifling a sigh. "He was sent on errand, and I do not think he would have come were he able."

"I see," Isemay said, and Kodey rather thought she did see. She motioned to the head table, where Yvain spoke with several others, glancing at them briefly with a smile. "You are sponsored by the Duke of Lons. However did you meet him, if you will forgive my boldness in asking?"

Ademar snorted, but at a look from his wife patted her hand and continued eating.

Truly it was painful to watch them, and yet Kodey could not tear his eyes away. If he managed to win his spurs at this tourney, would that someday soon be he and Brice?

He scowled, renewing his vow not to think upon the bastard, and haltingly told the tale of how he had come to be at tourney.

As he came to the end of the tale some time later, he realized far more than Isemay and Ademar were listening. Flushing, he hastily concluded and fumbled for his wine. So many strange pairs of eyes upon him…'twas more than a little unsettling.

"You have seen true battle?" asked a young man a little further down the bench from where Kodey sat, his black hair short and reminiscent of a cat's fur when it had been rubbed the wrong way.

"Aye," Kodey said cautiously. "Twice."

"Oh," said another man, and it was so strange to see men his own age looking at him in a manner he suspected was how he had ever looked upon Chastaine and Lyon and Lord Shad. "However were you so fortunate?"

Kodey stared at him. "Fortunate? My first real battle came late at night, with naught but a sliver of moon in the sky and a chill of coming snow in the air. We were journeying home from attending the royal market to sell our ales, and were attacked by brigands upon an isolated stretch of road. They cut down a third of our men before we could gather enough to route them. I was but fifteen, and gutted a man after he slew the guard ordered to protect me. I killed two more before the battle was finished, and lost my dinner to a mulberry bush. I could keep naught but thin tea on my stomach for the next two days. I do not doubt my behavior was disgraceful, though Sir Chastaine assured me 'twas not." He shrugged. "I would not describe the experience as fortunate."

"Indeed," Yvain called down from the high table, and Kodey felt his face grow hot as he realized more than just his table now listened to him. "No man should ever be forced to take the life of another, young Kodey. 'Tis a burden we must bear as knights, for privilege always comes with a price. If you understand 'tis no fortunate thing, then you are well ahead of your peers and will make a fine knight indeed."

"Quite so," said the old man sitting beside him, dressed in blue and gray finery which bore a crest Kodey suspected he should know. "I can see Sir Chastaine has raised you well, my fine fellow. Tomorrow should prove most interesting."

His words seemed to end the discussion, and slowly the various conversations resumed, and Kodey eventually found himself left in peace.

Isemay laughed and patted his arm. "I apologize for causing you such discomfort, though you are wholly to blame for being pleasant both to listen to and look upon."

Kodey flushed. "I am hardly either, my lady, though I thank you for the compliments." He smiled faintly. "I suspect you are attempting to persuade me to your favor, that I will not inflict too much harm upon your husband come tomorrow."

"La, everyone will inflict much harm upon him. My husband should have been a monk, he so favors his precious books."

Ademar took up her hand and kissed the back of it. "Nay, I would have made a poor monk, for I would have most sorely neglected certain of the vows which holy men are required to make."

Kodey laughed and took up his wine to be refilled as a server passed by, easing as the conversations continued around him, leaving him out of them. Enjoying the wine and food, he sat back to watch as the entertainers began to appear – jugglers and acrobats, minstrels and jesters.

'Twas a cacophony of sight and sound, near to overwhelming. Kodey thought 'twould all make a wondrous story for many of the tenants of Castle Triad…yet he would much rather be sitting in his own small hall, enjoying Chastaine's ale and Brice's cold baked tarts, engaging in mock duels and listening to the songs of Lady Winifred's hand maids.

"Tell me more of this man who holds your affections, and why he is not here," Isemay said as a minstrel concluded his song.

Ademar snorted inelegantly beside her. "Do not indulge her. Isemay is positively terrible about such things. She feels she must know everything about everyone or expire from ignorance."

"You will be silent, husband," Isemay said, then put her back to him to focus on Kodey. "Is your man handsome?"

Kodey hesitated, but Isemay only smiled kindly, hand still upon his arm, and it was sort of…nice, to be able to speak of Brice without fear of what might become of his head. "He is beautiful, lady. I oft feared another would steal him away or kill him for his beauty. Of his hair the ladies were always most envious, for 'tis the color of fire and jewels."

"Oh," Isemay replied. "I always wanted such hair. If I meet this man of yours, mayhap I will take his hair myself." She winked and patted his arm. "Gave he no favor for you to wear during your trials?"

"Nay, my lady," Kodey said sadly, glancing briefly at his ring and wishing… "I am afraid my affections are not returned, though I ever try to gain them."

She beamed and squeezed his arm before finally letting it go. "Well, you are at tourney, and certain to show yourself honorably. I have not a doubt that will garner his interest."

Kodey brightened, smiling in relief and excitement. "Aye, my lady, 'twas my hope."

Isemay lifted her goblet, and elbowed her husband to do the same. "Then we drink to you, and hope you show yourself well enough to win the object of your affection." Setting her goblet down, she unfastened a bracelet from her wrist and held it out. "For you, a token to bring good luck. No man should go to tourney without such, and already I feel you are a friend. So accept it in friendship, and know we hope you get what you have come to find at tourney."

Ademar rolled his eyes, but they were warm and fond as he looked at Isemay. "Hopeless, wife, and I should probably be jealous but that would require calling for a duel and I would rather continue to enjoy the wine."

"You are absurd as ever, husband," Isemay retorted, but patted his cheek and smiled.

Kodey swallowed, and managed a thank you, humbled by the gesture. He examined the bracelet. It was gold, interspersed with tiny pearls and chips of rubies. Beautiful. "Lady, I would fear losing so costly and beautiful an item."

"Nay, good sir," she said, waving her hand. "You will not, and my husband would only be too happy to obtain me another."

Ademar rolled his eyes and did not reply.

Kodey looked again at the bracelet, wondering what he was to do with it.

"Wear it," Isemay said, making him startle. She laughed as he looked up. "You can wear it 'round your wrist, or attach it to a portion of your clothing. Loop it through your sword belt.' She motioned to the room. "All here wear some manner of token, be it jewels or kerchiefs or flowers."

He took a good look around the room and saw she spoke the truth. Nearly every man present wore some manner of frippery upon his person. Nodding, he fastened the bracelet around his own wrist. It only just fit without impeding, and he felt more than a trifle silly wearing it. He smiled all the same, however, for it was a good luck token from someone who had agreed that his show at tourney would be enough to win him Brice.