Bedecked with Rings, Bound with Strong Purpose

Prologue: Before the Battle

The rain fell down in sheets, the seemingly deafening sound of the rain hitting the tanned leather coverings of their tent like a constant drone. Outside, the darkness was oppressive, held at bay only by the pools of torchlight and firelight that dotted the military camp.

The tent itself, warm and dry for now, was lit with the orange glow of the firelight in the central firepit, the smoke floating out the open tent flaps. A pair of knights sat flanking the firepit, still kitted out in their black as night plate armour, marking them as distinguished members of the knightly order dedicated to the safety of the kingdom. The armour itself was dented and worn, the signs of well-use and several knocks on the battlefield.

One of the pair had divested himself of his helm, dark brown hair slicked down thanks to sweat and exertion, held flat by his coif. Even in the firelight his blue eyes were bright, tired but cheered. A good day, ultimately. The helm was placed down behind him with a twist of his torso, safe on the layers of fur that insulated his bedroll from the hard ground.

"Get your kit off, Alexei," the blue-eyed man admonished to the other as he tugged off his own gauntlets.

The other man was sat as still as a statue, contemplating the fire, but with a grunt, Alexei followed suit, arms moving sluggishly to lift his helm off his head.

The blue-eyed man huffed a laugh, pulling off his gorget and putting it alongside his helm, before he started untying the leather straps that held his pauldrons, vambraces, cuirass, plackart, culet, and faulds properly in place. It was a whole event, getting this kit off on their own, but calling in a squire felt like too much effort, with the both of them dead on their feet.

The black plates were shed bit by bit, placed carefully aside so they would not be lying in the dirt, both aware of how to treat their armour.

"Maxim," Alexei complained, wincing as he tried and failed to reach behind him to loosen his own straps.

The blue-eyed man, Maxim, huffed out a soft, "Yeah, I'll give you a hand," and rose, having shed his coif and gambeson, leaving him in a sweat stained linen tunic and the armour covering his legs.

Moving with the ease of someone well used to being encased in armour, he maneuvered through the tent to come up behind Alexei, nimble fingers loosening the knots and carefully lifting the plates off.

But he did not remain silent. "Did you get a knock, today?"

"Yes, my arm. It'll be fine with rest."

"If you say so, Your Highness."

The title was delivered with more sarcasm than reverence, but the other man simply huffed a laugh before he spoke. "I can have you put in the stocks, Max."

"You wouldn't," said Max, confident and carefree as he freed Alexei's arm. "But you should make sure you go to the surgeon, make sure it's not worse than it looks."

"Tomorrow," came the promise. A doubtful noise in return as Max went back to his side of the tent, sitting to unfasten his greaves and cuisse, getting his sabatons off.

The silence lingered between them, not uncomfortable, but thoughtful. At least for Alexei. For Max's part, he was fully out of his armour and organising his kit for the next morning. Then he'd have a squire, a luxury he'd never get over, but admittedly it was Alexei's squire with Max reaping the benefits for being bosom buddies.

"Max." His name broke the silence, but it was said with neither reproach or humour, simply... exhaustion. It had been a long time at war, both of them carrying the marks of a seemingly never ending conflict.

"Alexei," came the cautious reply.

"Tomorrow..."

"Spit it out, man."

"It's promising to be the biggest battle so far, I'm not confident of our odds." The words hung heavy between them, the meaning taking its toll on Alexei himself. A crown prince protecting his kingdom, but feeling helpless against the onslaught.

"We're fielding the entire Lycaean Order, the standing army, countless conscripts, mercenaries." The last was said with emphasis, although not derisive. "The council is pushing us into bankruptcy, we better fucking have good odds." His tone was harsh, direct.

Alexei did not respond with temper, but gave Max a sharp look at his comment directed at the council. "We're stretched to the limit, they seem endless."

"What brought this on?"

"Just- I might not survive, Max. You know- I'll be the last one, father-" The words were choked off, Alexei looking away, expression angry.

"The King's dying, I know," he said softly, settling down onto his seat, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. "Did- I heard the council were talking about peace. Do you know?"

A silent nod, lips pressing together and thin. Alexei didn't look like the news pleased him, even if Max knew the both of them longed for this all to end.

"And?"

"They... their strategy is an arranged marriage," Alexei admitted and Max winced. He was on the common end of noble, even if he supposedly had a title somewhere, and an arranged marriage would never be in his future. For a crown prince, however... Alexei had always known it might come to that.

"It's that or mutually assured destruction, I imagine." Bright side. Marriage or death.

Alexei fixed the man with a dour look, but the man just shrugged.

"I fear what might happen if I don't survive this. No one can take my place, what other bargaining chip do we have that wont cripple the kingdom?"

"You worry too much," Max said softly, cocking his head to the side and giving a small smile to his old friend. "If you do die, which you won't, the council will figure it out. Right? It's right up their alley as slimy politicians."

An annoyed huff. "I wish you wouldn't-"

"I call it how I see it, Alexei. Leave it. We'll be fine."

"If only I could have a fraction of your confidence, I could level the entire enemy army. How do you do it?"

"I need something to hold up my massive ego." A barked laugh. "Sort yourself out, Alexei. Early day tomorrow."