cursed knight 02
Feb. 24th, 2008 11:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrjust for fun. after this, I'll probably keep them back until I'm further along -- mostly b/c the pace of this story is killing me. Heck, I don't think the knight and dragon even enter the picture until the end of part one or the start of part two -_- so, obviously, not beta'ed. As I still have to go back and forth changing crap, beta'ing interests me not at all atm.
Chapter Two
Raban laughed again as he sat with his back against the tree, shaking his head as he watched the village in the distance.
They'd dragged them to the edge of the Red Forest with an admonition not to show their faces there again for an extremely long time. As in, preferably never again.
It made him laugh all over again. All his travels, all his years, and he'd never been thrown out of a village. Not even on the rare occasion he found himself in a scrape.
All things considered, it was vastly entertaining. What a lark! He'd never have managed such a thing by himself.
His new friend certainly had quite the temper.
Raban laughed all over again thinking upon it. He'd woken up on the floor of the tavern, shoved up against a wall – to chaos. Pure chaos and a rampaging Clovis. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said earlier in the night that his mouth and his pride got him into a great deal of trouble.
Near as he could tell, Clovis was at least more than capable of putting his fist where his mouth took him. He was only reasonably skilled with his sword, but the way he used his fists was an art all its own.
At least a kindly villager had seen to it their belongings and some food was left. Likely that wench from the tavern, she'd given Clovis looks whenever she knew he wasn't looking.
Laughter finally calming to a wide smile, Raban forced himself to move, gathering up his belongings, making everything was accounted for and properly stowed, packing away most of the food.
Finally he moved to his new friend, unable to resist another soft chuckle as he took him in. Obviously as native born as himself, with the same dark brown hair so common – but with a curl to it, and a bit thicker. His skin was tanned dark, and to judge from the muscles and the way he'd used his fists, someone peasant-born if not necessarily a peasant now.
Bruises covered his face, an amazing collection of black and blue marks, a few that were merely green and yellow. They went quite well, Raban thought, with the split lip. At least he had not broken his nose this time, though from the slight-squashed look of it he had in the past. Probably more than once.
Smiling, shaking his head, he reached out and firmly shook Clovis' shoulder. When that failed to gain a response, he lightly slapped Clovis' cheek.
Eyes fluttered open slowly, a bit muddled, a darker shade than his own brown eyes. A second later they cleared. "You're all right."
"Quite," Raban said, sitting back with a smile, bracing his hands out behind him, leaning back in the grass. "You, my friend, are quite the brawler."
Clovis flushed, shame flickering across his face. "I was never very good with a sword, I began my instruction too late."
Raban frowned. "I meant no insult, quite the opposite. More than once I've seen men brag about their swords, only to act like spoiled maidens when they are punched squarely in the jaw. It was quite the sight you made, beating back the better part of a village with just your fists."
"They tend to keep my alive despite the efforts of my suicidal mouth," Clovis said with a grimace. He looked around them, at the village in the distance. "Why are we all the way out here? Did you drag me all this way?"
"No, a farmer carried you on his horse. I am afraid that we are no longer welcome here, at least not until enough time has passed they forget what we look like." Raban laughed, wondering idly if he'd taken a harder knock to the head than he suspected, for he could remember ever laughing so much or so easily. "All my travels, friend, I've never gotten banded from a village. It is a fine tale to add to my collection."
Clovis groaned and buried his face in his hand – then swore as the motion caused him to hit several of his bruises. "It would have been fine if he hadn't struck you like that. Behind your back and when you were only try to diffuse the situation!" He swore again. "It will be a miracle, I think, if I only mange to get myself banned from one village. You might want to cry off this friendship while the getting is good."
Raban grinned. "Oh, no. I look forward to seeing what adventures may come. I myself am a very boring man."
Rolling his eyes, Clovis slowly stood, groaning loudly. "Perhaps all these aches and pains will keep my mouth in check for at least a few days. Or I could finally get myself killed. That is still a pleasant enough option to my mind." Stumbling about, he finally reached his pack and set all to rights, stowing the remaining food. Shrugging it onto his shoulders with a grimace of pain, he looked at Raban. "All right, rogue. Where are we and where should we go?"
"You don't know where we are?"
"This is the farthest I've ever been. The only reason I stopped in that village at all is that it's the only remaining familiar sight to me. From here on, I have no idea what I'm doing except heading towards that." He pointed to the Shining Mountain in the distance, so called because the trees upon it were so pale that they almost seemed to shine in the sunlight, and glow beneath the moon.
Shouldering his own pack, making certain it was well-settled, Raban gestured with his head. "Then through the Red Forest we go, my friend. A month should see us at the base of the Shining Mountain." He winked. "Give or take a week, depending on what manner of trouble might find us."
"You mean what trouble I might invite?" Clovis asked, but with a rueful smile. "Very well. Let's walk."
Walk they did, Raban whistling one tune after another, collected from his travels to a dozen countries, large and small, more still picked up from sailors and nomads. He finally broke off when he began to tire. "Holding up well?" he asked. "You did take quite the beating."
Clovis shrugged. "I've woken up in worse condition. At least all that fighting prevented my waking up with a nasty headache."
Raban laughed. "Didn't want to get so horribly drunk after all?" he asked.
Another shrug. "I agreed to the quest, I shall see it through."
"Hmm," Raban murmured thoughtfully. "How exactly did you get into this? Why did At—the Princess demand a quest? Especially as it's clear you like her no more than anyone else I've ever encountered."
Clovis sighed. "I don't know, honestly. To be honest, I don't recall much of the matter anymore. She was off on one of her tirades again. I'd just come back from working in the stables for the millionth time and naturally my temper was easy to spark." He sighed again. "Fives minutes later, we were just back to rehashing ever argument we've ever had. She likes to maintain I'm a worthless peasant, I insist upon calling her a spoiled, shrieking nitwit, and from there it's just childish insults. You would think we'd both grow up, and I always vow to finally stop…but ten minutes later it's right back to shouting."
"I'm amazed the King doesn't have you locked up," Raban said, ignoring the pang that came at his own words. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how his father was doing, but it was not something an aimless rogue would ask.
"He has witnessed our debacles before," Clovis replied. "She refuses to let anyone else deal with me."
Raban's brows went up. "Then why doesn't she lock you u?"
Clovis made a face. "She thinks it vastly more entertaining to make me muck out the damned stables. Probably trying to put me back in my peasant place."
"So…you have a higher position in the palace, normally?"
"I'm just a foot soldier, and the popular laughingstock," Clovis answered. "My real duties entail city patrol, spelling the watch on the wall three times a month. Lately, though, all I've done is muck out stables. Every time I finish, I wind up in another shouting match." He sighed, the sound a long, sad, weary one. "Maybe all this nonsense will finally knock sense into my head."
Raban doubted it, and to judge from his expression Clovis shared the doubt. "So I still do not see how this led to your questing for her hand in marriage. That seems quite the offer from a woman who hates you."
Clovis shook his head. "I think we finally reached a breaking point. I was tired from the stables, I still don't know why she was so mad – she's not usually that bad – and everything just…snapped. She declared peasants worthless mongrels who did nothing but abuse the good nature and generosity of her father. I said she was a spoiled brat who did the very same and therefore had no room to talk. She said I was a fine one to talk of worthless when I could amount to nothing better than an adeptness at shoveling the refuse of horses. I said I was the equal of anyone. She told me to prove it. I demanded she set the qualification, since she would of course be setting herself as judge. She set the quest up the Shining Mountain. I demanded to know what I would get in return for proving myself so. That's when someone broke in and said it sounded an awful lot like one of the old quests, and would I be marrying the Princess as per tradition.
"Of course, after that she had no choice, and I could hardly declare I'd soon slit my own throat than marry her. What sort of idiot refuses the chance to become a prince?" Clovis grimaced and shook his head. "So she lifted her chin in that damned way of hers and said that should I prove myself the equal of any, then of course I would be made the equal of any. So, complete the quest and I get the Princess."
Never had he head a man sound so unhappy about being married to royalty. It was a vastly amusing story, not least of all for the put-out tone in which it had been told. Raban wisely kept a few opinions to himself.
It made him more homesick than ever. He wished…but after fifteen years, what right did he have to return? Who really missed him or needed him? Did his father? Even after so many years, thinking of his father hurt. How did you say 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' when your last words were angry and more than a little final?
After fifteen years of traveling the world, he still had not found an answer to that question. He wasn't even certain why he had come back to Gortage. Whatever had first driven him away seemed at last to be drawing him back, though he couldn't see it ending well.
Thankfully, the unhappy reunion he sensed in his future was stalled by this strange quest. Rarely had he ever traveled with other people; much easier to keep to himself. He couldn't help but be drawn to Clovis, though. From the moment he'd beckoned in the tavern, Raban had sensed something. Kinship, maybe. Clovis obviously was as alone as he. Raban's mouth quirked. Alone and just as lousy at expressing how he felt to those who mattered.
He hoped the quest proved successful, if only to see what sort of spectacle the wedding would become.
Shaking his head at himself, he resumed whistling. A few minutes later, Clovis' voice joined his, singing the tunes he knew, humming the ones he did not. Grinning briefly, Raban whistled with renewed enthusiasm.
Traveling with a companion was proving to be not so bad an idea, after all.
It was well into midday when they finally halted, but the long hours of travel also took them out of the Red Forest. This far west, the Red Forest thinned out considerably. If they'd continued further west, instead of going north through the forest, it would have eventually faded out altogether, giving over eventually to scrub and beach.
Sitting down with a groan, Clovis rooted around his bag for the food he'd earlier packed away, diving up the bread and cheese and salted meat. "How did you come by the food? I wouldn't think they'd give you a chance for that sort of thing."
"Someone left it," Raban said mildly, not giving in to an urge to tease Clovis about the wench. "I'm sure they felt a bit guilty that the mayor's son was the one to put the majority of those bruises on your face, after he struck me from behind."
Clovis grunted. "They're lucky they banned me—"
"I'd imagine that's why they did it," Raban replied dryly. "Certainly if I were those men, I'd feel a bit foolish that half a dozen men could not completely cow one."
Snorting, Clovis dug into his food, eating as though he feared it would run off if he did not consume it quickly. Raban wondered how he'd grown up, that Clovis ate so possessively. He at his own food more slowly.
"It's a fine day for travel," he said eventually. "If we push hard, we could be halfway to the next village. The moon is full tonight, so we could even keep traveling after a bit of rest, and be in the village – Toller, if memory serves – by midafternoon tomorrow."
Clovis groaned. "I hope after that you do not mind that my legs will likely fall off." He frowned suddenly. "If you travel so much, surely it would make more sense for you to possess a horse?"
Raban shrugged. "Horses are expensive, and require food and such. Some of the places I went, I could scarcely find food for myself, never mind a horse. Besides, I think you tend to appreciate things more when you do all the work yourself." He smiled faintly.
"Yes," Clovis agreed quietly. "I wish more people would see that."
"Like most of the palace?" Raban asked lightly.
Clovis only shrugged.
Standing up, Raban brushed off his hands and shouldered his pack once more. "Well, that's a rest. Let's get back to ensuring our legs want to fall off by this time tomorrow."
Groaning, Clovis nevertheless stood and they were once again on their way.
"So do you want to improve your swordsmanship?" Raban asked cautiously. He did not want to offend or something. "I have become rather skilled with my own, over the years. I would gladly trade lessons for learning some of your impressive brawling techniques."
Clovis laughed shortly. "There is no technique. When you're a kid whose only options are to get beat up, or fight back, you learn to start swinging. If you live long enough, you get better at it. That's not technique."
Raban begged to differ. He'd seen men across the world who prided themselves on using nothing but their limbs in combat. There's been one country where he'd seen a small man drop three with just a series of kicks, and all three of those men had wielded blades. Clovis wasn't as polished or elegant, but he had technique and his own rough grace.
"Well, I'd like to learn it all the same. Sometimes, drawing one's sword is a dead give away to violent intent."
Clovis laughed. "That is certainly true. People always seemed so surprised when I punch them – and more surprised still that it hurts as much as it does." He smirked briefly. "I think my size throws them off."
"It's true a lack of stature tends to make people assume an overall lack," Raban said. "Myself, I learned better at a young age. I prefer to anger tall men. Short men fight dirty." He grinned when Clovis doubled over laughing.
"Oh, I suspect you have cheated a time or two in your life," Clovis finally managed.
Raban grinned. "Never in a brawl, only in barter."
"Well, that's hardly the same thing," Clovis said with a sniff, spoiling the effect with a brief grin.
"Tell that to the merchants who were irate that I managed to out-cheat them," Raban replied. "Bartering can swiftly turn to brawling if one does not make a quick escape with his cheaply-bought wares."
Clovis laughed again. "Obviously I should leave all such things to you during our journey. If we find the Forgotten King, I shall let you bargain with him to get the best heart's desire we possibly can."
"I have never fleeced a myth before," Raban said thoughtfully. "That should prove interesting."
They laughed together, and lapsed into a companionable silence as they continued walking.
An hour or so must have passed, the sun slowly getting lower in the sky, when they both saw the cart not far off in the distance. To judge from the awkward way it was tilted…
"Looks as though there's been a mishap," Clovis said, pace quickening. Raban followed suit.
When they finally reached the cart, they saw that it had become stuck in a deep rut in the poor road. An old man struggled to lift it, feebly helped by a girl who could not be more than sixteen summers, if that, while a much young girl stood watching anxiously.
Clovis immediately shrugged off his pack and moved closer. "Would you like some assistance?" he asked.
Raban took in the situation even as the old man rumbled an affirmative in a thick valley accent that most people in the city would never be able to comprehend. If Clovis struggled with it, he gave no sign.
"I say we empty the cart," Raban said at last. "That will make it lighter, and between the three of us we can probably lift it out of that."
"We should pack dirt into it afterward," Clovis said, nodding and promptly moving to begin moving the boxes and bundles from the cart, carefully carrying everything to the side of the road, setting it down gently in the grass. He moved easily, as though everything he lifted had all the weight of a feather pillow.
Raban moved to help, but though his own strength was not insignificant – he felt positively inadequate alongside Clovis.
Finally the cart was empty, and with much grunting and swearing and encouragement from the young girls they at last succeeded in lifting the wheel from the rut in which it had been firmly lodged.
Kneeling, Raban examined the wheel thoroughly. "You'll likely need to replace it soon, but it should hold for a bit more so long as you don't hit anymore ruts like this one." Standing, he wiped his hands on his pants, realizing that it didn't particularly help much.
Then suddenly a damp kerchief was in front of him. He smiled at the young girl, the one who was nearly a woman proper, and thanked her. Turning away to hide his chuckle at the way she flushed, he looked to Clovis. "Shall we fill it in?" Wiping his hands and forehead, he handed the kerchief back to the girl with another smile and thanks.
Some time later, they at last had the deep rut reasonably repaired with stone and dirt.
He wondered what in the hells was going on that no one had checked this road recently enough to be aware. His father ensured a good portion of the taxes went to maintaining the roads, so why was this one in such disrepair?
Perhaps father was no longer up to his duties…
Turning away from the thought with a rough sound he turned into a cough, Raban stood and clapped his hands together to get rid of the worst of the dirt. "My kingdom for a bath," he said. "Perhaps we should camp near a stream tonight, Clovis."
"We cannot express our gratitude enough," the old man said. "I feared I would be forced to abandon the cart to go fetch help from the village." He shuddered at the thought.
Raban didn’t blame him. If he'd left the cart, he would have found it empty upon his return. If he'd been foolish enough to by himself and leave the girls to guard the cart, likely the bandits would have taken them as well as the goods. "I am happy we were in time to help you."
"I cannot give much in thanks," the old man said. "However, our home is just south of the village, and if we push on we will reach it a little after dark. There, I can offer you a bath and a meal, though it is hardly thanks enough."
Clovis grunted and moved to start returning the goods to the cart, waving back the old man as he tried to help. "The simplest things bring the greatest pleasure. A good bath would be wonderful, and a good meal better still."
"Agreed," Raban said with a smile.
"I just made apple pies yesterday," the young woman said shyly. "Bread yesterday, it should still be fresh. I'm sure there must be a hare or two in the traps."
Raban grinned. "That sounds wonderful," he said, meaning it. If there was one thing he had learned to well and truly appreciate since leaving home, it was a good meal.
In short order, the cart was once more ready to go. The girls clambered up beside the old man – their father? More likely a grandfather? Other relative? Well, none of his business. He and Clovis sat amongst the goods, each sitting on a box, feet braced to keep them from tumbling during the bumpy ride.
He yawned and allowed himself to relax, sharing a smile with Clovis as they listened to the girls chatter, answering the occasional question that slipped out before the girls were reprimanded for being nosey.
Tula was the young woman, Kay the girl, and the old man was their Uncle Rasp.
"We were in Pette," Tula explained. "Uncle traded for a lot of stuff, all kinds of things for cooking and fixing the cabin and to barter with in the village. Pette is so pretty! And so much bigger than our little village." She flushed suddenly. "Though I'm sure Pette is very tiny to rogues."
"Tula," Rasp said sharply.
"Sorry," Tula said.
Raban laughed to ease the tension, patting her hand. "I am a rogue, I take no offense at being called thus."
She nodded, but did not look up.
"So did you see anything interesting while in Pette?"
"We heard about dragons!" Kay burst out suddenly, having barely spoken more than three words to anyone but her sister until then. "A giant blue dragon."
Clovis looked briefly at Raban, amusement in his eyes. There was no such thing as blue dragons. Even abroad, he'd never seen such a color.
"That's interesting," he said at last. "Did you see it?"
"No," Kay said with a pout. "I've seen stupid brown and green dragons. I wanted to see the blue one, but they said it already ran away into the mountains."
"I'm sure it did," Clovis murmured. More loudly he said, "That's too bad."
Kay nodded, eyes brightening as she found an ally. "Have you ever seen a dragon?"
Clovis nodded. "I ki—got into a fight with a green dragon when I was boy."
The girl's eyes went wide, and she started to all but vibrate in her seat. "You did? Was it big or small? Did it try to take you back to it's lair?"
"Kay!" Rasp said sharply, and Raban could see he was trying not to groan.
Raban laughed. "You had quite the childhood, I can see. Do tell us about your encounter with the dragon."
Giving him a look, Clovis obediently turned to face the girls properly and began to recount the tale of going into the woods on a dare, and getting far more than he bargained for.
Chapter Two
Raban laughed again as he sat with his back against the tree, shaking his head as he watched the village in the distance.
They'd dragged them to the edge of the Red Forest with an admonition not to show their faces there again for an extremely long time. As in, preferably never again.
It made him laugh all over again. All his travels, all his years, and he'd never been thrown out of a village. Not even on the rare occasion he found himself in a scrape.
All things considered, it was vastly entertaining. What a lark! He'd never have managed such a thing by himself.
His new friend certainly had quite the temper.
Raban laughed all over again thinking upon it. He'd woken up on the floor of the tavern, shoved up against a wall – to chaos. Pure chaos and a rampaging Clovis. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said earlier in the night that his mouth and his pride got him into a great deal of trouble.
Near as he could tell, Clovis was at least more than capable of putting his fist where his mouth took him. He was only reasonably skilled with his sword, but the way he used his fists was an art all its own.
At least a kindly villager had seen to it their belongings and some food was left. Likely that wench from the tavern, she'd given Clovis looks whenever she knew he wasn't looking.
Laughter finally calming to a wide smile, Raban forced himself to move, gathering up his belongings, making everything was accounted for and properly stowed, packing away most of the food.
Finally he moved to his new friend, unable to resist another soft chuckle as he took him in. Obviously as native born as himself, with the same dark brown hair so common – but with a curl to it, and a bit thicker. His skin was tanned dark, and to judge from the muscles and the way he'd used his fists, someone peasant-born if not necessarily a peasant now.
Bruises covered his face, an amazing collection of black and blue marks, a few that were merely green and yellow. They went quite well, Raban thought, with the split lip. At least he had not broken his nose this time, though from the slight-squashed look of it he had in the past. Probably more than once.
Smiling, shaking his head, he reached out and firmly shook Clovis' shoulder. When that failed to gain a response, he lightly slapped Clovis' cheek.
Eyes fluttered open slowly, a bit muddled, a darker shade than his own brown eyes. A second later they cleared. "You're all right."
"Quite," Raban said, sitting back with a smile, bracing his hands out behind him, leaning back in the grass. "You, my friend, are quite the brawler."
Clovis flushed, shame flickering across his face. "I was never very good with a sword, I began my instruction too late."
Raban frowned. "I meant no insult, quite the opposite. More than once I've seen men brag about their swords, only to act like spoiled maidens when they are punched squarely in the jaw. It was quite the sight you made, beating back the better part of a village with just your fists."
"They tend to keep my alive despite the efforts of my suicidal mouth," Clovis said with a grimace. He looked around them, at the village in the distance. "Why are we all the way out here? Did you drag me all this way?"
"No, a farmer carried you on his horse. I am afraid that we are no longer welcome here, at least not until enough time has passed they forget what we look like." Raban laughed, wondering idly if he'd taken a harder knock to the head than he suspected, for he could remember ever laughing so much or so easily. "All my travels, friend, I've never gotten banded from a village. It is a fine tale to add to my collection."
Clovis groaned and buried his face in his hand – then swore as the motion caused him to hit several of his bruises. "It would have been fine if he hadn't struck you like that. Behind your back and when you were only try to diffuse the situation!" He swore again. "It will be a miracle, I think, if I only mange to get myself banned from one village. You might want to cry off this friendship while the getting is good."
Raban grinned. "Oh, no. I look forward to seeing what adventures may come. I myself am a very boring man."
Rolling his eyes, Clovis slowly stood, groaning loudly. "Perhaps all these aches and pains will keep my mouth in check for at least a few days. Or I could finally get myself killed. That is still a pleasant enough option to my mind." Stumbling about, he finally reached his pack and set all to rights, stowing the remaining food. Shrugging it onto his shoulders with a grimace of pain, he looked at Raban. "All right, rogue. Where are we and where should we go?"
"You don't know where we are?"
"This is the farthest I've ever been. The only reason I stopped in that village at all is that it's the only remaining familiar sight to me. From here on, I have no idea what I'm doing except heading towards that." He pointed to the Shining Mountain in the distance, so called because the trees upon it were so pale that they almost seemed to shine in the sunlight, and glow beneath the moon.
Shouldering his own pack, making certain it was well-settled, Raban gestured with his head. "Then through the Red Forest we go, my friend. A month should see us at the base of the Shining Mountain." He winked. "Give or take a week, depending on what manner of trouble might find us."
"You mean what trouble I might invite?" Clovis asked, but with a rueful smile. "Very well. Let's walk."
Walk they did, Raban whistling one tune after another, collected from his travels to a dozen countries, large and small, more still picked up from sailors and nomads. He finally broke off when he began to tire. "Holding up well?" he asked. "You did take quite the beating."
Clovis shrugged. "I've woken up in worse condition. At least all that fighting prevented my waking up with a nasty headache."
Raban laughed. "Didn't want to get so horribly drunk after all?" he asked.
Another shrug. "I agreed to the quest, I shall see it through."
"Hmm," Raban murmured thoughtfully. "How exactly did you get into this? Why did At—the Princess demand a quest? Especially as it's clear you like her no more than anyone else I've ever encountered."
Clovis sighed. "I don't know, honestly. To be honest, I don't recall much of the matter anymore. She was off on one of her tirades again. I'd just come back from working in the stables for the millionth time and naturally my temper was easy to spark." He sighed again. "Fives minutes later, we were just back to rehashing ever argument we've ever had. She likes to maintain I'm a worthless peasant, I insist upon calling her a spoiled, shrieking nitwit, and from there it's just childish insults. You would think we'd both grow up, and I always vow to finally stop…but ten minutes later it's right back to shouting."
"I'm amazed the King doesn't have you locked up," Raban said, ignoring the pang that came at his own words. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how his father was doing, but it was not something an aimless rogue would ask.
"He has witnessed our debacles before," Clovis replied. "She refuses to let anyone else deal with me."
Raban's brows went up. "Then why doesn't she lock you u?"
Clovis made a face. "She thinks it vastly more entertaining to make me muck out the damned stables. Probably trying to put me back in my peasant place."
"So…you have a higher position in the palace, normally?"
"I'm just a foot soldier, and the popular laughingstock," Clovis answered. "My real duties entail city patrol, spelling the watch on the wall three times a month. Lately, though, all I've done is muck out stables. Every time I finish, I wind up in another shouting match." He sighed, the sound a long, sad, weary one. "Maybe all this nonsense will finally knock sense into my head."
Raban doubted it, and to judge from his expression Clovis shared the doubt. "So I still do not see how this led to your questing for her hand in marriage. That seems quite the offer from a woman who hates you."
Clovis shook his head. "I think we finally reached a breaking point. I was tired from the stables, I still don't know why she was so mad – she's not usually that bad – and everything just…snapped. She declared peasants worthless mongrels who did nothing but abuse the good nature and generosity of her father. I said she was a spoiled brat who did the very same and therefore had no room to talk. She said I was a fine one to talk of worthless when I could amount to nothing better than an adeptness at shoveling the refuse of horses. I said I was the equal of anyone. She told me to prove it. I demanded she set the qualification, since she would of course be setting herself as judge. She set the quest up the Shining Mountain. I demanded to know what I would get in return for proving myself so. That's when someone broke in and said it sounded an awful lot like one of the old quests, and would I be marrying the Princess as per tradition.
"Of course, after that she had no choice, and I could hardly declare I'd soon slit my own throat than marry her. What sort of idiot refuses the chance to become a prince?" Clovis grimaced and shook his head. "So she lifted her chin in that damned way of hers and said that should I prove myself the equal of any, then of course I would be made the equal of any. So, complete the quest and I get the Princess."
Never had he head a man sound so unhappy about being married to royalty. It was a vastly amusing story, not least of all for the put-out tone in which it had been told. Raban wisely kept a few opinions to himself.
It made him more homesick than ever. He wished…but after fifteen years, what right did he have to return? Who really missed him or needed him? Did his father? Even after so many years, thinking of his father hurt. How did you say 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' when your last words were angry and more than a little final?
After fifteen years of traveling the world, he still had not found an answer to that question. He wasn't even certain why he had come back to Gortage. Whatever had first driven him away seemed at last to be drawing him back, though he couldn't see it ending well.
Thankfully, the unhappy reunion he sensed in his future was stalled by this strange quest. Rarely had he ever traveled with other people; much easier to keep to himself. He couldn't help but be drawn to Clovis, though. From the moment he'd beckoned in the tavern, Raban had sensed something. Kinship, maybe. Clovis obviously was as alone as he. Raban's mouth quirked. Alone and just as lousy at expressing how he felt to those who mattered.
He hoped the quest proved successful, if only to see what sort of spectacle the wedding would become.
Shaking his head at himself, he resumed whistling. A few minutes later, Clovis' voice joined his, singing the tunes he knew, humming the ones he did not. Grinning briefly, Raban whistled with renewed enthusiasm.
Traveling with a companion was proving to be not so bad an idea, after all.
It was well into midday when they finally halted, but the long hours of travel also took them out of the Red Forest. This far west, the Red Forest thinned out considerably. If they'd continued further west, instead of going north through the forest, it would have eventually faded out altogether, giving over eventually to scrub and beach.
Sitting down with a groan, Clovis rooted around his bag for the food he'd earlier packed away, diving up the bread and cheese and salted meat. "How did you come by the food? I wouldn't think they'd give you a chance for that sort of thing."
"Someone left it," Raban said mildly, not giving in to an urge to tease Clovis about the wench. "I'm sure they felt a bit guilty that the mayor's son was the one to put the majority of those bruises on your face, after he struck me from behind."
Clovis grunted. "They're lucky they banned me—"
"I'd imagine that's why they did it," Raban replied dryly. "Certainly if I were those men, I'd feel a bit foolish that half a dozen men could not completely cow one."
Snorting, Clovis dug into his food, eating as though he feared it would run off if he did not consume it quickly. Raban wondered how he'd grown up, that Clovis ate so possessively. He at his own food more slowly.
"It's a fine day for travel," he said eventually. "If we push hard, we could be halfway to the next village. The moon is full tonight, so we could even keep traveling after a bit of rest, and be in the village – Toller, if memory serves – by midafternoon tomorrow."
Clovis groaned. "I hope after that you do not mind that my legs will likely fall off." He frowned suddenly. "If you travel so much, surely it would make more sense for you to possess a horse?"
Raban shrugged. "Horses are expensive, and require food and such. Some of the places I went, I could scarcely find food for myself, never mind a horse. Besides, I think you tend to appreciate things more when you do all the work yourself." He smiled faintly.
"Yes," Clovis agreed quietly. "I wish more people would see that."
"Like most of the palace?" Raban asked lightly.
Clovis only shrugged.
Standing up, Raban brushed off his hands and shouldered his pack once more. "Well, that's a rest. Let's get back to ensuring our legs want to fall off by this time tomorrow."
Groaning, Clovis nevertheless stood and they were once again on their way.
"So do you want to improve your swordsmanship?" Raban asked cautiously. He did not want to offend or something. "I have become rather skilled with my own, over the years. I would gladly trade lessons for learning some of your impressive brawling techniques."
Clovis laughed shortly. "There is no technique. When you're a kid whose only options are to get beat up, or fight back, you learn to start swinging. If you live long enough, you get better at it. That's not technique."
Raban begged to differ. He'd seen men across the world who prided themselves on using nothing but their limbs in combat. There's been one country where he'd seen a small man drop three with just a series of kicks, and all three of those men had wielded blades. Clovis wasn't as polished or elegant, but he had technique and his own rough grace.
"Well, I'd like to learn it all the same. Sometimes, drawing one's sword is a dead give away to violent intent."
Clovis laughed. "That is certainly true. People always seemed so surprised when I punch them – and more surprised still that it hurts as much as it does." He smirked briefly. "I think my size throws them off."
"It's true a lack of stature tends to make people assume an overall lack," Raban said. "Myself, I learned better at a young age. I prefer to anger tall men. Short men fight dirty." He grinned when Clovis doubled over laughing.
"Oh, I suspect you have cheated a time or two in your life," Clovis finally managed.
Raban grinned. "Never in a brawl, only in barter."
"Well, that's hardly the same thing," Clovis said with a sniff, spoiling the effect with a brief grin.
"Tell that to the merchants who were irate that I managed to out-cheat them," Raban replied. "Bartering can swiftly turn to brawling if one does not make a quick escape with his cheaply-bought wares."
Clovis laughed again. "Obviously I should leave all such things to you during our journey. If we find the Forgotten King, I shall let you bargain with him to get the best heart's desire we possibly can."
"I have never fleeced a myth before," Raban said thoughtfully. "That should prove interesting."
They laughed together, and lapsed into a companionable silence as they continued walking.
An hour or so must have passed, the sun slowly getting lower in the sky, when they both saw the cart not far off in the distance. To judge from the awkward way it was tilted…
"Looks as though there's been a mishap," Clovis said, pace quickening. Raban followed suit.
When they finally reached the cart, they saw that it had become stuck in a deep rut in the poor road. An old man struggled to lift it, feebly helped by a girl who could not be more than sixteen summers, if that, while a much young girl stood watching anxiously.
Clovis immediately shrugged off his pack and moved closer. "Would you like some assistance?" he asked.
Raban took in the situation even as the old man rumbled an affirmative in a thick valley accent that most people in the city would never be able to comprehend. If Clovis struggled with it, he gave no sign.
"I say we empty the cart," Raban said at last. "That will make it lighter, and between the three of us we can probably lift it out of that."
"We should pack dirt into it afterward," Clovis said, nodding and promptly moving to begin moving the boxes and bundles from the cart, carefully carrying everything to the side of the road, setting it down gently in the grass. He moved easily, as though everything he lifted had all the weight of a feather pillow.
Raban moved to help, but though his own strength was not insignificant – he felt positively inadequate alongside Clovis.
Finally the cart was empty, and with much grunting and swearing and encouragement from the young girls they at last succeeded in lifting the wheel from the rut in which it had been firmly lodged.
Kneeling, Raban examined the wheel thoroughly. "You'll likely need to replace it soon, but it should hold for a bit more so long as you don't hit anymore ruts like this one." Standing, he wiped his hands on his pants, realizing that it didn't particularly help much.
Then suddenly a damp kerchief was in front of him. He smiled at the young girl, the one who was nearly a woman proper, and thanked her. Turning away to hide his chuckle at the way she flushed, he looked to Clovis. "Shall we fill it in?" Wiping his hands and forehead, he handed the kerchief back to the girl with another smile and thanks.
Some time later, they at last had the deep rut reasonably repaired with stone and dirt.
He wondered what in the hells was going on that no one had checked this road recently enough to be aware. His father ensured a good portion of the taxes went to maintaining the roads, so why was this one in such disrepair?
Perhaps father was no longer up to his duties…
Turning away from the thought with a rough sound he turned into a cough, Raban stood and clapped his hands together to get rid of the worst of the dirt. "My kingdom for a bath," he said. "Perhaps we should camp near a stream tonight, Clovis."
"We cannot express our gratitude enough," the old man said. "I feared I would be forced to abandon the cart to go fetch help from the village." He shuddered at the thought.
Raban didn’t blame him. If he'd left the cart, he would have found it empty upon his return. If he'd been foolish enough to by himself and leave the girls to guard the cart, likely the bandits would have taken them as well as the goods. "I am happy we were in time to help you."
"I cannot give much in thanks," the old man said. "However, our home is just south of the village, and if we push on we will reach it a little after dark. There, I can offer you a bath and a meal, though it is hardly thanks enough."
Clovis grunted and moved to start returning the goods to the cart, waving back the old man as he tried to help. "The simplest things bring the greatest pleasure. A good bath would be wonderful, and a good meal better still."
"Agreed," Raban said with a smile.
"I just made apple pies yesterday," the young woman said shyly. "Bread yesterday, it should still be fresh. I'm sure there must be a hare or two in the traps."
Raban grinned. "That sounds wonderful," he said, meaning it. If there was one thing he had learned to well and truly appreciate since leaving home, it was a good meal.
In short order, the cart was once more ready to go. The girls clambered up beside the old man – their father? More likely a grandfather? Other relative? Well, none of his business. He and Clovis sat amongst the goods, each sitting on a box, feet braced to keep them from tumbling during the bumpy ride.
He yawned and allowed himself to relax, sharing a smile with Clovis as they listened to the girls chatter, answering the occasional question that slipped out before the girls were reprimanded for being nosey.
Tula was the young woman, Kay the girl, and the old man was their Uncle Rasp.
"We were in Pette," Tula explained. "Uncle traded for a lot of stuff, all kinds of things for cooking and fixing the cabin and to barter with in the village. Pette is so pretty! And so much bigger than our little village." She flushed suddenly. "Though I'm sure Pette is very tiny to rogues."
"Tula," Rasp said sharply.
"Sorry," Tula said.
Raban laughed to ease the tension, patting her hand. "I am a rogue, I take no offense at being called thus."
She nodded, but did not look up.
"So did you see anything interesting while in Pette?"
"We heard about dragons!" Kay burst out suddenly, having barely spoken more than three words to anyone but her sister until then. "A giant blue dragon."
Clovis looked briefly at Raban, amusement in his eyes. There was no such thing as blue dragons. Even abroad, he'd never seen such a color.
"That's interesting," he said at last. "Did you see it?"
"No," Kay said with a pout. "I've seen stupid brown and green dragons. I wanted to see the blue one, but they said it already ran away into the mountains."
"I'm sure it did," Clovis murmured. More loudly he said, "That's too bad."
Kay nodded, eyes brightening as she found an ally. "Have you ever seen a dragon?"
Clovis nodded. "I ki—got into a fight with a green dragon when I was boy."
The girl's eyes went wide, and she started to all but vibrate in her seat. "You did? Was it big or small? Did it try to take you back to it's lair?"
"Kay!" Rasp said sharply, and Raban could see he was trying not to groan.
Raban laughed. "You had quite the childhood, I can see. Do tell us about your encounter with the dragon."
Giving him a look, Clovis obediently turned to face the girls properly and began to recount the tale of going into the woods on a dare, and getting far more than he bargained for.
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Date: 2008-02-24 04:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-24 05:18 pm (UTC)Is bad when I want him to say kissed? *wiggles eyebrow*
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Date: 2008-02-24 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-24 06:52 pm (UTC)Clovis wasn't the only one who did. XD
This story is really - I have terrible urge to say "sweet" - entertaining. The easy camaraderie between Raban and Clovis would make anyone smile. =D And I like your sense of humor, too.
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Date: 2008-02-24 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-24 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 04:58 am (UTC)Clovis and Raban are so cute together. Is Raban is real name, btw? Since he's not just a rogue but a rogue prince, I doubt it. ^_^
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Date: 2008-02-25 05:04 am (UTC)A very fun and engaging tale!
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Date: 2008-02-25 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-25 05:49 pm (UTC)1) Clovis is adorable. *snickers* I love how he's short and wiry, but makes up for it in sheer willpower and determination. And I LOVE the way he confounds Raban at times with what he can do. Heehee! He's the perfect questor-type even if he had no desire to quest in the first place.
2) Squee!!! Raban is the Princess's brother. XD Haha! That slayed me. And made me sad for him too, at the same time, because he very obviously wants to go home and be welcomed, but has no idea how to make the reunion a peaceful one and doesn't want to be where he isn't wanted. <33 I want to snuggle hug him to death.
3) MORE! *________* Pretty please? *puppy eyes* I LOVE this! *bounces* ^____________^ And I so want to get to the scene where they meet the blue dragon and realize it's not just a rumor. XD
4) You rock. <3
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Date: 2008-02-25 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-26 02:34 am (UTC)::dies of giggles:: This story is all kinds of awesome. ^____^ I love Clovis and Raban and their adventures and how easy they are together. ^___^ It's lovely to see how easily they get along with each other and how much strong their vibe of friendship is. ^___^ Like friend soul-mates sort of, and I can totally see their relationship developing further (with a romantic vibe!) or just ending up with them being, uh, BFF and going to the same retirement home. ... heh.
Other bits that were kind of awesome -- that they automatically helped Rasp and his girls out of the rut; that Raban could not stop laughing about being banned from the town; the Clovis kicks so much ass and without being an awesome swordsmith; that Clovis is questing for the princess's hand in marriage just to prove a point (I would die of laughter at the pair they would make if they did end up marrying. Though I have my doubts that one or both of them would reach their first anniversary intact); there are dragons! *___* Dragons, yessss; Clovis the storyteller!
And yes, pretty much everything. ^____^ I am utterly besotted with this story - it's a feel good, kick-ass-and-take-names story and I love it. ^___^ Plus, magic! Fantasy! I was doomed before I read the first word. ^___^
interesting!
Date: 2008-02-26 11:30 am (UTC)love this! there may be lots of spelling errors at the moment but you are getting this story just right. the pace is alright and the descriptions are spot on. thank you for sharing this. ^_^