Private Tales Aspirations & Ale

[Marek]

Marek watched Anja balloon up like a startled pigeon mid-coo.

He held it together for a solid three seconds. Then he turned his head sharply to the side and lost it. A snort escaped first. Then a bark of laughter. Then full-on cackling, shoulders shaking, one hand clapped over his mouth as if that might somehow hide it.

He cleared his throat, dragged a hand down his face, and straightened, doing his absolute best to look like a responsible adult again.

How did I end up with this, he thought dimly. Is dealing with this girl a test? This is a test. Sam did this on purpose.

He glanced over his shoulder toward the fence.

…Sam wasn’t even watching.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “Fantastic. Love this for me.”

Marek turned back to Anja, who had just announced that she was not ready. He froze immediately, boots planted, reins slack, not daring to move an inch.

“Right. Yes. Not moving,” he said to her. “Statue. I’m a statue now.”

Then, completely unprompted, he added, conversationally, after she made no progress, “So. Uh. Those books you’re always reading.”

He tilted his head up at her, pretending to be nonchalant, but actually curious. “What’re they even about? Because they can’t be that interesting, seeing as you manage to eavesdrop on every conversation within twenty feet while reading them.”

 

[Anja Traue]

Anja was far too busy losing her wits to notice any of his amusement or laughter. How could she bother to even see or hear such a thing when she was sitting aback this horrible beast of burden?! Said beast of burden was watching Marek closely, small ears pricked toward him as he laughed but otherwise not moving a muscle.

Standing still was perfectly fine for her.

Heave. Heave. Heeee-

...books...

Heard that.

She ground to a halt mid lung-full and blinked at him in alarm.

"Whatdoyoumean-" Anja sucked in the remaining air as she spoke before stuttering an exhale. Her face was now taking on an odd shade of orange.

"Can't everyone read and listen at the same time?"

 

[Marek]

Marek opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Do not comment on her face changing colors. Do not comment on her face changing colors. You will die.

"Can't everyone read and listen at the same time?"

He scowled up at her, brows knitting, deeply offended by the very premise of the privileged question. “No,” he blurted out. “Absolutely not. Most people can’t even read, let alone read and listen at the same time.”

That came out more heated than intended.

“Anyway,” he said quickly, waving a hand as if he could bat the moment away, “that’s not the point.”

He squinted up at her, suspicious now. “You didn’t answer my question.” He paused.

“What are you reading about?”

 

[Anja Traue]

"Oh-" she blinked, looking momentarily confused to learn that not only could most people not read and listen at the same time, but that they couldn't read at all, "I did not know that..."

Of course her experience of the world thus far had been her rearing within the noble household of Oban and then the Knights of Vel Castere, all of whom were capable of reading as it was required for fulfilling their duties. The very idea of a lot of illiterate people was something of a fantasy or tall tale. Like happening upon a unicorn after only ever hearing of them in stories.

Certainly it wasn't actually true.

But apparently it was?

"History of the tournament in one..." she had to think about the others, which was good as it meant she presently forgot all about the horse beneath her, "Famous Knights of the Allirian Lists in another. And one of the Journals of Ser Herron Blare."

 

[Marek]

"Oh-" she blinked, looking momentarily confused to learn that not only could most people not read and listen at the same time, but that they couldn't read at all, "I did not know that..."

Marek opened his mouth, fully prepared to fire back something sharp. But he paused. Because she wasn’t being clever. Or smug. Or even mildly annoying about it.

She was just… genuinely surprised.

Then she mentioned the books.

His face lit up.

“No way,” he blurted, disbelief punching straight through his earlier edge. “You’ve got one of the actual journals?” He shook his head, half laughing. “I’ve only ever heard about them. People talk about Blare like he’s half myth. Can’t imagine what the journals have written..”

He squinted up at her, curiosity bubbling over. “Alright, favorite knight, then. From the Allirian lists. You have to have one.”

As he spoke, his eyes flicked down without thinking, clocking the way she wasn’t sitting quite so rigid anymore. Still tense, but no longer braced like the horse might vanish out from under her.

Without calling attention to it, Marek started to walk again with slow, backward steps, reins loose, eyes still on her as he kept talking like nothing had changed.

“I’m partial to Sir Calder Vane,” he added. “Put down that orc uprising out by the Northway Pass. Didn’t win pretty, didn’t win fast, but just kept going till there was nothin’ left to stand against him.”

His signature grin tugged at his mouth. “They’ve got songs about him. Real loud ones. Mostly about how he refused to die out of spite.”

He tipped his head, still walking, still watching her. “So, who’s yours?”

 

[Anja Traue]

“No way,” he blurted, disbelief punching straight through his earlier edge. “You’ve got one of the actual journals?” He shook his head, half laughing. “I’ve only ever heard about them. People talk about Blare like he’s half myth. Can’t imagine what the journals have written..”

"I found it in the Great Library," in the back, layered among old books and scrolls and tomes that had not been touched in what looked like years. Something that struck her as odd - she could hardly fathom having a book and not making use of it. "Sam has a collection of them..."

As for Knights, she really couldn't say. These books have never been the sort allowed on her list of literature back in Oban. No she'd been instructed in the history of Oban, the royal house, the great houses, the Lords and their heraldry. Alliria had practically been a footnote in her education; no more than a speck on a map of what lay beyond her home city.

But, she supposed, with what she had read so far... "I like Ser Orfen Gaines."

Not a Knight of any great renown and he certainly had never gained fame in the lists, though he had competed from time to time. No, what he was best known for was his skill in music. Many said he'd have made a better Bard than a Knight, but he had saved a Princess once against great odds and foes, earning him his Knighthood.

 

[Marek]

Marek scrunched up his face the moment the name left her mouth.

“Ser Orfen… Gaines?” He drew the words out, rolling them around like they might ring a bell if handled just right. He snapped his fingers once. “Oh! That man. Right. The-” he winced, searching, then brightened. “The singing knight. The one who could cut a man down and still keep rhythm.” Clearly, the poorer districts remembered him more fondly. He was a well-loved knight of the people.

He kept walking backward, boots crunching softly in the sand, and without warning broke into a low, half-sung verse, more tavern-hum than performance:

“Steel in his hand and a tune in his throat,
Cut through the dark while the cowards all broke,
Blade sang sharp and the chorus rang true,
If Orfen rode in, you knew what to do… ”​

He let the song trail off with a huff and a grin. “See? That’s how I know ‘em. Songs. Stories. Somebody talking too loud by a fire.” His shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “Never books. Those are for the well-off. The polished. Folks in Alliria who had time to sit still long enough to learn their letters.”

There was something quieter under the words, a quiet resentment, but it never sharpened toward her. Just… stated. Accepted.

Then the grin came back like the shadow hadn’t lingered long enough to matter.

He glanced to the side, then back. “Well,” He stopped at last, reins still loose in his hand, and tipped his head up at her. “Want a hand getting down, m’lady?” His grin widened, “Seeing as how we’ve made a full loop on your horse.”

 

[Anja Traue]

There were songs sung about Ser Orphen Gaines?

Blue eyes widened even more as he began to belt out the words in tune, curiously well-managed for a boy of the lists. Then again, if Ser Gaines could sing and play music, why couldn't others? Perhaps it was simply a new breed of Knight altogether. Bardic Knights!

She liked the sound of-

Anja blinked at his next words, having mentally trailed off there for a bit, and looked down in shock. She'd completely forgotten she was even sitting on the horse at all!

"I-" oh gods. She was on a horse. When had this happened? "I-"

"She can stay put," came Sam's voice from behind as she lead the palomino gelding in to the ring, "needs a bit more practice than simply a loop."

Though the Lieutenant's smile was easy and even a touch curious at how well Anja had managed that single loop around the ring under Marek's watch. "Well done," Sam nodded to them both and handed the reins of the gelding to Marek, "This is Blaze. He'll be your horse. Hop on up there and give him a whirl."

 

[Marek]

Marek’s wide, triumphant grin slipped the instant Sam announced Anja would be staying put.

Then he saw his horse. His mood flipped instantly.

“Is that a real smile I see, Lieutenant?" He quipped to Sam.

He snatched the reins from her before she could decide whether to keep smiling or glare at him, pivoted on his heel, and shuffled away at record speed. “Lovely meetin’ you, Blaze,” he said, "We're going to be best buds."

Over his shoulder, he called out to Anja, cheerful and confident, “Hey! We’ll take them both around a few times, yeah? Strength in numbers. Moral support and all.”

He glanced back at her as he spoke, entirely focused on her reaction, right up until he stuck his foot in the stirrup. He expected Blaze to be just like the mare - calm and patient.

Blaze, apparently deciding this was close enough to “up,” took a step forward. Marek made a surprised noise somewhere between a yelp and a cough as the stirrup yanked his leg upward while the rest of him… did not follow.

“Whoa-no-hang on-”

The horse kept walking. Marek toppled backward in a spectacular, undignified sprawl, one foot still firmly caught in the stirrup as he flailed for balance, arms windmilling while Blaze ambled on with the calm indifference.