Narrator:
Richard leaves the tent, walking outwards towards the edge of the camp. Climbing a small ridgeline, he sits and gazes up at the sky. His father dead, his uncle dead. Titus dead, one of the few people living with whom Richard could be totally at ease. Here he is, sitting in the midst of an entire duchy filled with people angry with him, angry over a misunderstanding, weeks away from Ariana and his mute daughter who may grow up to be insane. Even if she avoids insanity, it will be hard for her to marry, and anyone she did marry might be doomed to an early grave. How will he explain that to Ariana? How will he explain as well that it is now his duty to step down as Baron, ceding Arundel to his young nephew, the next Duke of Chesterton? His favorite sister tried to sneak away because she couldn't face him. Reg behaving like a religious fanatic, Taby's life a hell on earth. And Evaine... no, Blackbird now, disavowing her name. Another fight, more harsh words piled onto a relationship already burdened by too much. His cousin, Harold, now Grand Duke, married to a woman with the power to change thoughts, a woman who may be the only hope for his beautiful little girl. Almost idly, he wonders if moat monsters are immune to curses.
Alone on the hill, Baron Sir Richard Henry Edward Stanley, Paladin of the Realm, Knight Commander of the Order of the Helm, lowers his head, concealing his face from the sky in shadows. In the background, Blackbird's song drifts up from the tent below.
Lost in his own thoughts, the Baron doesn't even notice the rustling in the bush nearest him. He only marginally hears the loud, wet belch exitting that same bush, but is oblivious once again to the small figure that wobbles out of the bush.
Luther: [half drunk, stops up short, looking at Richard]
[unsaid]
Whoa! That wasn't here when I came through.
Was it?
No, definitely not.
Narrator:
Silently, Luther looks at Richard. Here sits the Baron of Arundel, Knight Commander of the Helm, caught in a moment of being human. A unique event, at least from Luther's point of view. Clouded though his reasoning is, even Luther can see that Richard isn't precisely out here for his health and isn't precisely the world's happiest fellow just at the moment. It doesn't take psi to figure this one out.
With all the grace of an intoxicated hippo, Luther plops himself down on the spot of turf next to Richard and taps him on the shoulder. Richard turns quickly, but before he can comment...
Luther: [offerring 2/3 full bottle of liquor]
Here. You look like you need this more than I do.
Narrator:
Richard stares at the bottle and its owner for a moment, then accepts it without word. In the dark, Luther can't be certain what expression Richard is wearing, but the sigh that follows a long pull is at least as expressive. As Luther accepts the bottle back, he notices it is not quite entirely devoid of fluid.
Sir Richard:
Thanks.
Luther:
You might not be thanking me in the morning [a bit of distaste showing] this brew packs an *evil* hangover.
Richard:
Look, we didn't exactly get off on the right foot today. I still think your mouth is going to get you into trouble, but I didn't realize you and Hesketh knew one another. Ahhh... anyway, I'm sorry about what happened.
Luther:
Eh? Not your fault.
Anyway, you're right. I get into trouble all the time that way. But, hey, a guy's got to have a hobby. Right?
Richard: [snorts, continues.....]
Seems like apologizing for things I have no control over has become a fulltime job of late. The world seems pretty screwed up right now, you know?
Luther: [nodding]
I know whatcha mean. Say, what's all the hubub about? I thought the party'd still be going on.
Sir Richard: [pauses]
The party broke up when Tabytha, Elisabeth, Glorianna, and I left. The Anchor brought the news that my uncle Albert, my father, and Tabytha's aunt Diane have all died since we left on this damned trip.
Luther: [taken aback]
Whoa.
Yeah, that would ruin your evenning alright.
[stirs uncomfortably]
So, what's this make you Duke now? 'don't think I've ever talked to a Duke before.
Sir Richard:
No, my brother Andrew is Duke. I won't even be a Baron once I get back and abdicate in favor of Andrew's son. Nothing to do but wander around places where I'm not welcome looking for ways to get into trouble by doing good deeds, chase after relatives who are trying to avoid me, and raise brain-damaged children. Great way to spend time, don't you think?
Luther: [takes a shot, offers the remainder]
Oh, I don't know. Sounds an awful lot like knighthood to me.
'cept the part about the kids. Sir Robin ain't gonna be havin' no kids no time soon. Don't 'spect it's a problem *I'm* about to be a havin'.
Richard: [shrugs]
Make no bets. The beautiful young woman who nearly got killed earlier today keeps company with a *real* dwarf, one with four arms to boot. In fact, if you take it a little more seriously, you might even make a good knight. Might even find that a lot of the world would treat you like a person if you didn't hunt for ways to insult them first. But you were right earlier. I've got to go talk to my cousin and sisters, no time to wallow in self-pity. Thanks for the... whatever it was. Drop by some time and I'll give you some real stuff.
Luther:
You know, when I'm really feeling small I always like to go beat up on something. You know, just get really pissed off and really worked up and just trash something. It's..uh...ther..ahhh..putic. Yeah, that's the word.
I been doing my therapy lately down at the Cinder Breath, in town. Yeah, I know, that usually gets me in trouble, too. That's how I became a knight.
Cinder Breath is a little far, but, I know a place over where with the Royals where the guys have a real attitude. Just the sort of place a fellow could get into some trouble. If you'd like to give it a whirl.
Narrator:
What follows is educational. Expressions chase one another across Richard's face, and it dawns on Luther that Richard is seriously considering the idea. Just as Luther decides that prudence will win over frustration, he has another idea.
Luther:
Or, maybe, if you'd like to give it a shot, there's a practice field just over thataway. [points] We could go over and have a couple of rounds around the field. You know, just to get our heads screwed on straight.
Richard:
Considering that I have assaulted a guard, browbeaten a sergeant, and threatened a peer today, that might not be at all a bad idea. But what would we use for practice equipment?
Luther: [brightening]
s'not a problem, the Royals keep a tent of practice stuff by their field. You could just ask, I'm sure the watch will agree.
Narrator:
A few moments later, an incredulous guard is watching Luther and Richard spar in the dark field. The dubious lighting of a couple of torches make fencing a challenge, and the obvious mismatch in height doesn't help. Luther thinks he's seen better swordsmen, but he doesn't think he's ever fought one before... particularly one so large, strong, fast, and tough. But no matter. As with everything else, whatever Luther cannot match in physique he attempts to tough out on courage and determination. He delivers a shin blow and steps in for a thrust to the gut, only to find that rather than hopping on one foot, Richard is pulling the force of a cross-chest cut that might otherwise have knocked him into the morning. Luther leaps back with the force of the blow and comes right back in, breathing painfully and growling low in his throat. Besides the reach advantage, Richard's left-handed stance is giving him fits. In the poor lighting, feints are murderously effective, and both do a good job of bruising one another up. Richard stops the bout finally with a salute, and they turn to see that they have accumulated a small audience of guards and wanderers.
Sir Richard:
Thanks for the exercise, Sir Luther. I must return to my cousin's tent now, however, to plan for the morning.
Luther: [unspoken]
Just as well. A few more roundhouse swings and I'm not sure I could get up again. He does have style, though.
[spoken]
Sure thing, Baron. Anytime you want some more, you know where to find me.
Narrator:
Richard chuckles and salutes again before departing. Maybe it's Luther's imagination, but doesn't Richard have a little limp in his left leg?
Luther: [unpsoken]
Hah! It was worth it, then.
[rubbing his chest]
I think.