A Princess, a Knight, and an Assassin Walk Into a Tavern...

Beau

King Estevan was aware he had many troops under his royal command. He wasn't really aware of how some of those troops got to be there, but, that didn't really concern him now did it? But Duhningham knew. Knew because she had recruited near all of them. And she knew how to get even the roudiest most un-commited to the cause of the king.
During war, efforts of recruitment are taken to every corner of the scale of humanity. That also meant the dregs of society. And Duhningham was known to get them in line. So, from one absurd idea that a colnel had blurted out, they soon set up a local brawl tornement. Soldiers against peasants, nobles against thieves. The only rule was, if you lost to the soldier, you were enrolled and made into one, noble, peasant, or otherwise. Basically it was just a huge betting game of luck and strength that was played with fists.
She had enough intel of Echo Isles to know that not many knights there 'keeping the peace' would be behind her in her command. Sticky-business Noble's had a tendency to pay whoever they needed any amount to get the most incompetent knights sent to Echo Isles. Often lazy sons who never bothered taking advantage of the education their family's money held. And sadly, money outranked them all, so she really couldn't do anything about the deployment requests to Echo Isles that come to her desk besides obey. But she knew they would need men the moment they got information of where prince Reik was held.
Gathering what few contacts and scouts she had, the moment they were off the ship and had separated ways with her companions, she briefed them on the plan.
"Find me a brawling pit. Find me healing salves, and water. Lots of water. Report back and keep close eye, make sure nobody has any knives at the place. I'm going in myself, I don't want any unneeded injuries." She gave a curt nod as each one decided their task and went out. One scout gave a snake-ish grin, or maybe that was just how he smiled.
Sidling up by her he curled his fingers for her to bend down so he could speak in her ear, "I know a place. You'll get what you want. But, uh, Commander this isn't the kind of place you should be recruitin' in the first place." He drew back while saying his last sentence.
She nodded, "Oh I know, and trust me I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important."
He smirked, "Ghost sent a flyer this way, came by dawn, I know. Oh yeah and, uh, Commander? Get rid of the breastplate. You want to fight 'em, not scare 'em off."


Beau had seen all walks of life. That was her job, her duty. She was raised for a good portion of her life among soldiers, and they weren't really the kind you invited to royal court, to put it gently. But it had been a long time since Beau had really been in the MIDDLE of it all. The place her scout, Ghost's scout, lead them to the large warehouse looking establishment, she knew exactly what it was.
They entered doors, people were screaming and wailing, calling bets, all towards the multiple pits and stages set up haphazardly. Some pits didn't even have walls or barricades, just a wall of humans making up the boundaries of the fight. The floor was just dirt, a good majority damp or muddy from what, that is, Beau couldn't really think about it. The smell of sweat, ale, and unspeakable fluids filled their lungs and one of those with her cringed. The others cringed when in the current fight that was getting the most attention a man spun around from the force of the blow he'd been given.
She had her work cut out for her.
The mousy-haired scout braided through the crowd to get to her, signaling for her ear again.
"Big guy, on the right? Black hair. Merc Captain. Gots a big bit o' men behind him. You beat him, you got your raid. But he's the right here local RENOWN brawler, so he's a bit of a biter, killed a few just last week. I saw one, er- Because I was, er, scoutin' o' course – faced crushed right through. He gets excited, y'know?"
"Oh," She mused flatly, "Delightful."
They shuffled to a corner so Beau could get her bearings together and prepare. One of the escorts, and soft looking woman who looked to be more of a healer than a scout or knight, handed her bandages for her knuckles with a bit of a blush, smiling delicately at her, looking up to her through dark lashes. Beau realized that this woman probably found her attractive and was acting upon it. Which wasn't very unusual, things like this often happened to her, and she decided to be nice and grace the girl with a smile. The young woman beamed at her and gave a slight curtsy before focusing back to their task.
As she wrapped her hands securely, she mentally mused that the knowledge of who she REALLY was didn't often leave the courts or higher ranked knights, but in recent years that was often her only audience and nearly forgotten that mistakes like that were made constantly in her youth. Some of the women in court still played with the idea that she was a man, and was often asked to balls just to get the women sighing and a few bolder ladies would actually ask her to dance. She would oblige, as it was often why she was invited in the first place, and spin them around the room the way she was taught in her etiquettes training years ago.
Her etiquette training wasn't needed in this instance, though. Rolling her shoulders and setting her jaw, she stepped onto the stand in place of one who had fallen and stood patiently. The noise had deafened into a hum around her as other fight wore on and more cheered the current victor. No one had yet noticed the blond giant who stood amoung them.
"Hah! Thass' wha' ye get ye puny bastard!" A rather intoxicated WALL of a man sputtered and slurred, a good cut over his brow bleeding into his eye and mixing into his sweat, drool and blood flying from his mouth. He had an amount of hair that she had previously mistaken as a shirt, he had as much fat as muscle. "Who'll have me, ah? Who'll take a dance with Equardo, see how they like his steps, ah?" He laughed and smacked the mediator next him on the shoulder, taking the squirly man down immedietly, which caused more ugly laughing to scrape out of him.
That's when people saw her. Equardo noticed the gazes turning, and turned himself, the smug look dropping from his face. He eyed her up, a grin like black oil curled and we stepped towards her. She didn't waste time, she took a step forward and gave only a polite gaze back, before closing the distance and standing so his chest was flush against her stomach. "Let's make a bargain." He laughed once then raised a brow for the rest of it, "I loose, you beat the living shite out of me and we part ways, you'll never see me again. I win, you work for me for the entirety of this day and the next. Deal?"
He obviously thought he was going to win, so he agreed with a quick shake of their hands between them, she didn't think about what it was that wiped off on her hand from his. And things went as planned.
"Alright, you know 'ou two louts know 'ow this goes. No wicked business. It's a clean fight, no knives, no chains, an' a string o' metal buttons IS a chain. No killin' blows either, you two." The referee added the last part sternly, eyeing both of them warily, as he realized both of them were probably very capable of killing someone with JUST their hands.
Out of her vision, her escorts stood and watched apprehensively (well most of them aside from the young woman who was practically swooning at the sight of The Capitan Duhningham OUT OF HIS UNIFORM). This wasn't the mainland. This was Echo Isles. And not even the nobles came around these parts. What they called 'accidents' in brawls over there, here it was just part of the event.
The man wasn't kidding when he said he'd dance. He probably was a dancer once in his life, many, many ale pints ago. His fists were as thick as the rest of him, and he proved quit adept in hand-to-hand. Luckily Beau made a point to swing first, and brought up the ball of her palm to his nose, sending him reeling back a few steps before he got his balance again. She didn't hesitate in taking advantage the opening. Surging forward she swung a fist right into the side of his ribs, where no muscles were there to protect it from the force. He cried out and brought an arm down, locking her hand in a bone-braking grapple and she winced before shoving a knee into the meat of his inner thigh, making him jolt and loosen his grip on her arm. The toppled away from each other and circled the ring, glaring. He wiped at his nose, checked for blood, and snarled when there was.
Both went head first towards the other, only Beau being thinner therefor nimbler, tucked down underneath him. Getting her head between and fastening her arms around tree-trunk legs she roared with strain, effectively lifting him up and over onto his back behind her. Only he grabbed her too, so she went with him. Both groaned at the dull thud of their bodies. He didn't let go, which was odd because this really wasn't an ideal position for either of them. Unless he planned to crush her by rolling over, something she was now going to be paranoid about forever, but proven ineffective as this would get her legs and arms to the floor and she already proved she could at least LIFT him momentarily. She wrenched her hips to twist over in his arms, wincing inwardly at the sight she was presented, and dug knobby knuckles into tender muscles. He flailed and threw her off before both scrambled up again.
She didn't bother for form but instead just THREW her arm into the side of his head, splitting the skin of his ear as he physically stuttered as his inner balance was thrown off.
There was no actual skill or tactic to street brawling. Hit harder, swing faster, grapple tighter, last longer. You didn't dodge, you took what came at you, and gave it back two times harder. And also hope they didn't slip a knife into the brawl.
He came at her, she pushed him back by his shoulders, he charged again, again she shoved him. With a roar he did it again and she smacked his head to the side moments before colliding and he skid to the ground. Sputtering he howled and now he wasn't being careful, or concentrating. He reached for her, grabbing her by the shirt and bringing her INTO his fist. Blood burst into her mouth immediately, coating her teeth, her eyes stung from meaty knuckles smashing into her nose. Gasping she managed to reach over his head, gripping onto the little scruff of black hair he had, and bring him forward with the aid of his own force straight into her knee. The second blow to the nose tipping him into fury. He just wanted to lay a hand on her. And Maker did he. But with each blow he became more winded, each one getting a bit weaker, the rage keeping his swinging arms open and inefficiently using the most energy possible.
With each withdrawal of one blow, the window became wider for her to strike. He landed a full fist flat into her chest and she gagged a cough before keeling a ways over herself, gasping. Equardo didn't put two and two together luckily and used this moment to shove her over.
She caught herself, wiping away the blood that spilled from her nose and cheek. He kicked straight up into her chin and she flew flat on her back. Before he could, she could only presume, STOMP on her face she sat up and growled viciously. Win his men be damned! Grabbing clotted dirt, she spun onto her feet and SMACKED it into his eyes before shoving it into his mouth. Grabbing him by the scruff she slammed a fist into his gut with a fercocioty seen in wolves, and he doubled over. But she wasn't done. She wasn't done seven more times. She wasn't done when she threw him back first into the ground before standing over him, grabbing the dreadful beard of his, and wailing three more.
He saw his mouth sputter and slacken mid swing and stopped. Tossing his head, she righted her shirt primly "I win." She stood, stepped over him and posed in the middle of ring. The referee darted over, grabbed her arm and raised it and everyone went MAD.
Stepping down, the crowd nearly mauling her, some booing, some praising, more than one checking her pockets... She got to her small group and the scout with mousy hair just stared at her stars struck and the healer fretted at her face graciously. She was shoved in a seat against the wall by a new supporter who just invited themselves I guess, the cold water was deliciously poured over her face and she wanted to sing at the relief. Her face was probably a mess. She didn't want to think about her clothes, she didn't want to think about the sweat and the dirt the melted into the corner of her fingers and caked her skin, she didn't want to think about the absolute AGONY it will be to wear her breastplate for awhile. She winced when someone clapped her on the shoulder, but kept a gracious smile one her face, nodding and shaking hands.
Finally everyone dispersed.
She sighed and leaned back, the healer doting over her and she wasn't feeling like stopping her from doing it, expecting Equardo any minute.
The sound of lumbering, labored steps, found their way into her ears and she popped open her eyes leisurly. With a grunt, and wince, and a groan he righted himself onto a chair that was positioned behind him. "So," He sniffed and cleared his throat, "You could 'ave jus' sent a bloody scou' you bloody ass, instea' o' hurtin poor ol' me and beatin my bloody ass."
She gave and wheezed laugh, "You wouldn't have done it otherwise." She sat up and gently declined extended care from the young healer. "Besides, now it's 2 to 3." She grinned, her lip split again, she frowned, making it worsen. So she just stopped entirely with a careful grimace.
He howled with laughter, "Aye, tha' I' is. You kept track all these years? Thought you'd've renounced an ol' fallen knight like me all that time ago."
They gazed at each other with melancholy for a long while. Equardo Musso, yes, that Equardo Musso, was once a poetic Knight of the King's land. But, good men make perilous mistakes, and he sent a group of men to their doom, their lives on his head. He was ripped of his title and station, his rank, everything except the clothes he wore.
His writings were out decades ago, but only have been recognized recently. And to everyone's knowledge, Equardo Musso died valiantly in combat those years ago.
He had been a mentor and father to her when she first entered official training. He was once a candidate for the seat Beau herself held now.
"There is much you need to know, old friend."

By the time the runner came to Duhningham alerting of the location they were to meet, Equardo had put clothes on, gathered a good group of rough looking men, a good decade or more older than she, and she had briefed him on near most everything, nothing he didn't really need to know. The basics. Kept it safe.
They hustled their way down and through cobblestone alleyways and streets, nobody really giving them a second glance.
They got a safe distance away from where Reik was suspectedly held, and the hunkered down to play the waiting game.
Beau's ideal time to fret.
Beau was IDEAL at fretting.