𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑎𝑤𝑛 | 𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐎𝐍

25 ⋆☾⋆ Abide

The next morning, as soon as the young female had closed the door to Sir Mordaith's chamber behind her, the old man burst into laughter. He clutched his stomach, then had to hold onto the railing of his bed to keep from falling. She sighed deeply.

"Stop it."

The only reaction she got was a shake of his head, signaling that he would in fact not stop. It really was her own fault, for walking out of the ballroom.

"I look," she paused dramatically, "like a goat," her finger pointed to the sad monstrosity of a hat on her head. Two wide templers were protruding  from which a pendant white veil curtained the back of the head. Across the woman's features, misery was predominantly present.

"Oh, but you're a very pretty goat." he said with the most malicious grin spread across his lips.

Her eyes narrowed at her grandfather. "Shut it, old man."

"You wound me," Sir Mordaith held a hand to his heart, as if an arrow had pierced it, while he got to his feet and accepted the young lady's hand.

She kept grumbling vile insults as they made their way to the tournament. After the large feast the night before, the first tournaments would commence that counted down the days until the wedding. All the preparations had been made, the stands and arena had been put up in the fields before the castle, taking up more space than any market the young female Ranger had ever seen. On her missions she had never seen a real-life organized battle like this, besides the battle on the Utah plain, but that didn't quite count in her opinion. She pinched her grandfather's arm nervously as they drifted along in the flowing mass of people crossing the castle to the tournament.

"I'm still alive, if that's what you're trying to check," the man irritably mentioned when he'd had enough of being a human stress-relief toy to his anxious granddaughter.

"Hm?" the girl was busy standing on her toes to see if any knights had already begun battling and especially if hers was not yet laying dead in a puddle of  dark red blood. She pinched again.

Needless to say the retired knight was glad when they had finally reached their comfortable place in the stands. Their seats were covered in dark green velvet pillows and servant stood nearby if they were ever in need of refreshments, which would inevitably happen, as the jousting would take all day. No sooner had the old man been handed the scroll, had it also been snatched from his fingers by the girl whose eyes flew over the paper, searching for that one name.

"It's blank." She breathed.

Old bushy brows rose at her comment, then fell down into a frown when it was confirmed that the young Davidson boy's opponent was not yet known. "That is very odd."

Down at the tents surrounding the battling grounds, a tall man had been given the same news. The day had not started great, as he had left later than he was supposed to and now had to rush into his armor. While the Baron and his former swords master layered the steel plates on his thick padded black gambeson, already covered in chain mail.

"How am I supposed to fight, when I don't even know who I'm fighting against?" Gilan's voice was full of disbelief as he stared at his father, who shrugged.

"It's what they wanted, you have to fight by the Scoti's war rituals now," Sir David waved a finger in front of his son's nose, "it was the only way they'd still agree to the engagement when you disappeared with that harlot of yours once again."

Gilan flinched at the insult his father called his girl, anger fizzled in his chest. He clenched his hand and balled it into a fist until his knuckles were white. A hand on his shoulder from the baron made him slip out of his own head.