BOYS WILL BE BOYS | Louis' Perspective

[Jihnyny 5233]

 

Spoiler

OOC:

Do not metagame the names, if you weren't there, you dont know. However, rumours can spread since this was a large fight in the middle of Númendil.

GGs, it was funny. cant wait to see where this conflict will continue

 

 

 

 

 

ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀ 222 ꜱ.ᴀ…
 

ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ

–✹–
 

The day was warm, no harsh winds overtook Númendil that day. Louis de Savoie entered the city in search of a steed; strong and swift for a rider with purpose. The air in the city was easy to breathe, yet still thick with the scent of ale and roasted meat, the streets alive with the laughter of men and women who had long since drowned their envy in drink. 

 

He lingered outside the bustling tavern, watching them dance and sing. But Louis was too tired for the company of drunkards and women lost in their cups. Instead, he sought a quiter conversation, and found it with a pair of cousins. His eyes were sharp with curiosity, yet it broke with a voice from behind; it was familiar, despite the racket, Owyn Hector. His own cousin. 

 

ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ

–✹–

As the de Savois’ greeted eachother, 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. Louis leaned toward Owyn, 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 Louis and offered her hand. 

 

“Shake it.” Owyn said.

 

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. Louis however, barely heard her. His mind drifted.

 

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 Louis would take kind note of. His loyalty was to another; one whose name had kept Owyn sleepless in the past. 

 

Louis raised a brow, 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. 

 

They insulted him, and his king. They accused them of cowardice, and Ser Jon then said;

 

“Afterall, they are Savoyards.”

 

Louis felt his gut tighten, instincts sharpening. 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. Louis didn’t hesitate, his voice cut through the tension.

 

“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?” 

 

Louis met his gaze. He exhaled and reached for his belt, unbuckling the leather and winding it tight around his sheathed sword. 

 

“How about we make this fair?”

 

The words had barely left his lips before Jacque swung. A fist, steel plated and heavy, came for his jaw. Louis moved; too slow. Pain burst across his lip, blood tasted on his tongue. But he did not fall, instead, he answered. His fist cracked against Jacques’ helm, knuckles meeting steel with a satisfying clang. The Hedge-Knight reeled, and the brawl began.

 

ᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴀᴡʟ 

–✹–

Owyn lunged for Jacque, and the two crashed into a mess of fists. Louis barely had time to register it before two of the enforcers turned on him. He struck first; fast and sharp, but the return blow came quicker, knocking air from his lungs. Then something caught him from behind. A pair of arms wrapped around his torso, dragging him back; a Númendillian Guard, setting him like a lam for slaughter. 

 

Ser Jon and Hughes wasted no time, their fists coming hard and fast. One caught his jaw, another his ribs, but the rest Louis wrestled away from. He fought against the guards’ grip, claiming freedom. 

 

The Guard lunged again, this time aiming to drive Louis into the dirt. But Louis leapt, sending the poor man colliding straight into Ser Jon. They hit with the force of a joust, armour scraping against armour, curses flying.
 

Louis laughed aloud, but he was interrupted by a rough hand yanking him down. He twisted mid air, and landed with a slam. Ser Jon’s fist rattling his teeth. He charged, tackling down Hughes. His knuckles met his nose with a sickening crunch, Blood sprayed across the brawl.

 

Jacque interrupted, crashing into him from the left. Louis struck the dirt again. He cursed, vision impaired. He blinked it away, catching the sight of the women of Númendil spectating from the crowd, their faces unreadable. 

 

He grinned, half dazed, he thought he could make an impression; but before he could say a word, Jacque fell upon him like a felled tree. Each strike made the women look more like angels. 

 

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

 

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

 

Louis’ words were cut short as Ser Jon swung a boot aimed for his ribs, but slamming into Jacque instead. The Númendillian guard was on his feet again, now grasping the Hedge-Knight Jacque. Louis didnt wait to see what he’d do next. He rolled clear, head aching, he sprang up to meet Ser Jon now behind him. He didn’t think, merely kicked; mistake. 

 

Ser Jon caught his foot with ease and yanked, sending him toward the Knight. Louis lifted his knee, trying to bring it down into the Knight’s ribs; another mistake. Ser Jon twisted, finding Louis now behind him.  

 

An elderly lady, from God knows where, suddenly rained blows down on them both. Louis dodged, slipping away from each strike. With a sharp pivot, Louis locked his arms around Ser Jons’ throat. The Knight thrashed, headbutting him in the cheek   “How do you fare, Cousin?!” Called out Louis.

 

“Fine! i'm getting rid of someone's manhood!”
Barked back Owyn. 

 

Hughes tried to intervene, but his punches were sluggish, like a man swinging through water. Louis ignored him, tightening his grip and cutting Ser Jon from air. He groaned and struggled. Then, stillness. 

 

Louis stepped back and rejoined with Owyn.

 

“Owyn, Owyn, enough- we have beaten them!” 

 

The hiss of a blade then interrupted Louis. Hughes’ sword gleaming in the direction of his throat. Owyn thrusted him to the side and the Númendillian guards grasped the sword away from him. The enforcers of the Reubens’ took leave, cowardly dispersing away from the guards. 

 

“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

–✹–

[Navigator 4260]

Owyn grinned triumphantly, "Blood for Ashford, coz. Blood for damned Ashford."

[xDisarray 553]

Once Aurellius and the two Savoyards made their way back to Balian. He would sit down with the two in the Tavern and get their recollection of what happened. "I know you won't need it, but if ever you need an escort to another nation, do let me know..." The young Savoyards would wave off his comment, knowing damn well after what just went down they don't need any protection.

[Based1Salmon 758]

As Peter di Salvo, the Lord of Oakenwald reads the missive he chuckles, looking at the bloody handkerchief in the heap on the ground with his surcoat and gambesson, yet to be taken to the wash by the pages. "He's a good lad, and he put up a good fight. Ave Savoy, may peace favor them" the lord says to noone in particular, looking to his side. Suddenly feeling the impact of having no son of his own to bring him pride.

[OP bandamont 901]

Spoiler

count ur days jihnyny, count yo days