Cinderfall

The Beginning Part 2

A flop of dark hair covered one his eyes as he bent to bite his nail. His knee bounced in a very un-princely fashion, but he found that he could not bring himself to stop. He was barely paying attention to what the captain was saying. 

Why in the hells was that man touching Ashford?

Prince Sable fumed. He couldn't see them well, but that giant of a bastard, Sir Byron was unmistakable. Though he was a knight, he reveled too much in the violence his position allowed him. Byron was merciless on the battlefield, but he was also merciless wherever he went, stopping just short of killing all but the king's enemies. He was a butcher. He was a rake. Yet there he was, whispering secrets in Ashford's ear like they were the best of friends.

How could Ashford sit there so composed and let such a man be near him? in his place, Sable would've stabbed the man the moment he had to smell that disgusting breath. He couldn't make out Ashford's face from where he sat, but Sable couldn't imagine that it was a happy one.

He brushed his hair back as he watched Ashford take the stage yet again, and was awestruck.  it did not seem possible for a regular man to embody such grace, but yet again, when had Ashford ever been regular. In the light, his blonde curls seemed to glow as a makeshift halo upon his head.  he was dazzling.

Sable shook his head slightly, embarrassed with the way his thoughts were already heading.  It had been years since he last spoke with the man, not since Ashford's mother had died. He hadn't expected the man would still have such an effect over him. 

He had to remind himself that he was not a confused child anymore. It was much different then, Ashford was especially different then. Much shorter, with a mop of white blonde curls that had gone to his waist and tied at the nape of his neck. Back then the boy had slender, awkward limbs and a slender frame almost like that of a girl's.

The Ashford that stood in the arena was a completely different person. A hard-worn looking man nearly reaching Sable's height, with purposeful arms and a short crop of curls sitting firmly on his head. He watched as Ashford disarmed yet another opponent with a quick twist of his sword. He couldn't imagine the old Ashford being able to fight like that. He had never liked to even shoot a bow, much less participate in a duel. He didn't know how a person could change so much.

And yet that tickling feeling was the same.

The match was called, Ashford the victor. To Sable's astonishment, Ashford was going to move on to the final round of today's tournament. So very far from the little boy that had near clung to Sable when they were kids. Far from even where Ashford had been when he had entered as a substitute for his father the year before. 

Sable had not been in the country for that year's tournament but had heard a detailed report of the results. Ashford had managed to win two rounds, but had gone no farther. No one had expected him to even go that far though. Ashford had rarely attended the tournaments after his mother died, and had only participated last year because his father had fallen ill. It had been honorable to take his father's place, but no one had expected Ashford to participate again, especially after his father's death.

Sunlight started to fade from the area, painting the crowd with warm orange hues. The crowd was tired, but fuller than he had expected for this late in the tournament. Whether they were waiting to make an offer to the victor, or simply just invested in the games he knew not. Regardless, the crowd would soon be sated. There was only one fight left for the evening. Lord Ashford Cinderfall against Sir Byron Emberblack, the very knight who had been sitting so comfortably with Ashford earlier in the day.

Sable chewed the thumb of his clenched fist as he watched the two ready themselves in their respective corners. Ashford had been wearing basically the same odd leather garb as he had been throughout the day. The only real change was what looked to be an iron headband pulling back his curls and hiding his temples. It didn't look particularly useful.