WHEN ALL ELSE FAILS | Owyn's Perspective.

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ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ 222 ꜱ.ᴀ…
 

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ

–✹–

It was a nice day. One far too nice to be spent behind locked gates in Portoregne. Riding to Númenost the Fair, Owyn de Savoie would soon find himself with his jaw slightly agape at the beauty of the White City. Riding through the gates, the Savoyard youth would find the taverns alight with the celebration of matrimony, but before he could be taken by his curiosity and driven inside to the folly, a familiar sight set itself before him.

 

“Coz!” Called the Young Owyn upon spotting his cousin, Louis de Savoie, engaged in conversation with three of the fair ladies of Númendil. Approaching, the cousins shared a handshake and playful nudges at each other. Through the greetings and partial conversations with the ladies, soon enough another would come, out from within the tavern.

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ

–✹–

As the de Savoies’ greeted each other, more figures drew close; the kin to the pair of girls ahead, by their likeness. Their eyes lingered on the two boys; judgemental, yet not without curiosity. Owyn leaned toward Louis, voice low beneath the roaring sounds of the tavern. They whispered between themselves, trading jests, though both could feel the unspoken weight in the air. Then she appeared.

 

A woman, older but not yet wrinkled. She stepped through the gathered crowd without so much as a glance, each step demanding attention. With introduction, she stood before the pair of Savoyard youths, and offered her hand. 

 

“Shake it.” Owyn uttered to his cousin beside him, nudging him with an elbow.

 

Owyn watched as Louis did so, clasping her hand with an upper-class courtesy; light and polite. It was not enough. Her mouth twisted, disappointment written all on her face. 

 

The woman explained herself. Owyn listened. Of course he did; ever the historian. She was kin, in some distant, faded thread of the past, still clinging to the present. Owyn noted as Louis paid little attention; ever the little rascal, the reminder of ‘brains and brawn’ truer than ever.

 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ

–✹–

 

Then came a man in armour. He moved to Owyns’ flank, heavy boots dragging against the dirt, plate shifting with a quiet groan. A Knight, sworn not to Númendil, nor to any cause Owyn would take kind note of. His loyalty was to another; one whose name had kept Owyn sleepless in the past. 

 

Owyn held his ground. He debated, words measured, the weight of diplomacy and the tension of the air drew Louis to listen; but without much care. One knight was nothing to worry over. Then four more arrived. 

 

Owyn felt his entire world crumble as, slowly but surely, tabards were recognised, and men revealed their identities and intentions. His instincts sharpened. His fingers flexed at his sides and his knuckles paled upon an insult thrown by a Ser Jon. Then came Jacque. A Hedge-Knight. His hand clamped down on Owyn’s shoulder, fingers curling into his garb. Owyn’s cousin didn’t hesitate, his voice cut through the tension, Louis’ tone firm.

 

“Let go of my cousin…Now”

Jacque didn’t. Instead, Ser Jon smirked and said; 

 

“And if he doesn’t? What will you do about it?” 

 

Owyn froze. It was going to happen. He watched as Louis exhaled and reached for his belt, unbuckling the leather and winding it tight around his sheathed sword. 

 

“How about we make this fair?”
 

Owyn watched in hatred and rage as Jacque’s fist flew for Louis’ face before the Savoyard had barely gotten the words out. Before Owyn could protest the beginning of a brawl, Louis returned the favor, the sound of knuckles rocking steel ringing satisfyingly in the air. Owyn saw blood burst from his cousin’s lower lip. It was pointless to speak now. The brawl began.

 

ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴀᴡʟ 

–✹–

Owyn lunged for Jacque, and the two crashed into a mess of fists. Bringing the Hedge-Knight, the man in service of Robert of Ulmsbottom, crashing down onto the ground. Owyn reeled a fist and it crashed against Jacque’s helmet, but unlike his cousin, Owyn would learn the price of punching a helmet without preparation. He reeled in pain, only to have his midsection punched into by the Hedge-Knight Adrenaline began to rush, then.. 

 

Another of the men - one Ratibor - would attempt to tackle Owyn from behind. Such a shameful, honorless attempt would be diverted by the adrenaline-ridden Owyn Hector, who effortlessly watched the man throw himself into the mud. Retaliation followed, a kick to Ratibor’s jaw that connected beautifully. Before Owyn could even register his small victory, Jacque was back on to him. 

 

Owyn tasted blood for the first time as Jacque’s helmet flew at his face, a thundering headbutt that made Owyn’s entire world spin and ring. He felt his nose shatter under the strike, and he felt blood pour out. He licked his lips, the metallic taste of his own blood filling his senses. “IT’S GETTING FUN!” roared the Savoie youth, a kick thundering against Jacque’s midsection, sending him away. The kick did not come from Owyn.
 

Soon enough, Owyn’s distraction on Jacque the Hedge Knight would prove to be foolish. From behind, one Ser Kieran, ranger of Númendil, grabbed him, and the rat Ratibor used this opportunity to place Owyn in a headlock. “GET HIM OFF ME!” Owyn roared to Kieran, but the man did not.. Owyn would taste blood for the second time, as Jacque used the immobilized Owyn’s vulnerability to crash a punch against his face, his lower lip cut.

 

Somehow, Owyn found a way to weasel himself out of the pinch he’d found himself in. A backwards elbow sent the Knight reeling back, while a knee to the gut made Ratibor fall back into the mud where he belonged. Before he could refocus, another came into his vision; Hughes Ashes, the first stranger to appear before the cousins. Owyn threw himself against the man, bringing him to the ground into a grappling match. 

 

“LET GO OF ME, YOU RAT!”

He heard the Snivelling Hughes shout.

 

Owyn cackled wickedly, and instead of doing as the man wished, Owyn sent a punch thundering to the man’s temple, and he felt the sweet taste of triumph as it connected, watching the man’s head reel back and hit the mud underneath them hard. Then, he would hear a bark, a call from a familiar voice. 

 

“Little help cousin!” Louis shouted, spitting blood. 

 

“In the middle of something, Louis!” Owyn barked back whilst in his grappling match with Hughes. 

 

Owyn’s senses were knocked out of him, then, by a returning Ser Kieran. He’d feel a kick against his knee, an armored kick, and the Savoyard yelped in pain. Opportunist, the wicked Ser Jon who donned the Tabard of Lewes grabbed Owyn’s leg and twisted it. The youth once more yelped in pain. Hatred, adrenaline and pain filled the young man. 

 

Ser Jon caught Owyn’s flying foot with his face, the man reeling back, clutching a broken nose. Owyn was able to bring himself back up to his feet, avoiding another attempted tackle by the foolish, disoriented Ratibor. Owyn pushed Ser Kieran away, and made his way out of the fight. Verily, he’d find himself roped right back into it.  

 

A disoriented Jacque would find himself with his back against the wall. Owyn did not lose the opportunity. He crashed against the man, throwing him against the wall and bringing a heavy knee against the man’s groin. Owyn grinned wickedly, spitting blood at the Hedge Knight’s helmet.   “How do you fare, Cousin?!” He heard Louis call.

 

“Fine! I'm ridding this one of his manhood!”
Barked back Owyn. 

 

Jacque fought back, however. Cursing at Owyn’s low move, the man sent a thundering punch at the boy’s jaw, and then a headbutt that landed square on Owyn’s forehead. Owyn cackled in a mixture of thrill and extreme pain. He could feel the light slipping, unconsciousness begging to take him to the depths. Owyn spat blood to the side, awakening himself with a slap on his own thigh. Stillness followed, a semblance of peace. Louis kicked his aggressors off him. Guards seized the others.. 

 

Owyn turned his head to the cousin. The flash of steel nearly blinded the young Savoyard...

 

“HE IS DRAWING STEEL!” 

Owyn roared as Hughes dared to draw his sword.

 

Before the hiss of the blade being fully drawn from its scabbard rang out, the young Owyn burst into action. He rushed towards Hughes Ashes, and he felt his foot connecting against the treacherous man’s jaw, a satisfying crack following the boy’s roaring kick against the man. He watched the man reel back, and Owyn bent, collecting Louis and dragging him away. The Savoie Boys watched as the Rouen Enforcers cowardly dispersed. 

 

“Blood for Ashford!”

Called out Owyn and Louis in victor, 

 

Ser Jon then croaked out something bitter, half insult and half groan of pain, and others muttered curses. All in disbelief that the party of fifteen year old de Savoies, bested them.

 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ

–✹–

 

 

Spoiler

This is a retelling of a very fun CRP brawl that happened in the streets of Númendil. It is NOT PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE unless you were apart of said brawl or got told about it IC. @Jihnyny has his own perspective posted as well!

 

[xDisarray 553]

Aurellius Greye, whom was there at the tail end of the brawl. Showed up at the gates of Numendil and would spot the two young Savoyards. Once he found out what had happened from the two, he'd laugh. "I'd never show my face again if I lost to two kids!"

[OP bandamont 901]

Spoiler

5 times my name was mentioned, count your days lil...