Proven has a minion!

Gavin the Sidine

Today was no ordinary day. The light breeze carried the scent of meats and vegetables cooking mixed with the less savory odors of the stables. Sounds of conversation and excitement swelled up from the press of bodies as they made their way to the tournament grounds. There was to be a jousting tourney today and they had come to watch and cheer on the knights and squires that had traveled from the surrounding kingdoms to compete. Ladies clutched their favors to their chests, waiting with bated breath to see the valiant knights in hopes they would accept the favor and carry on with the tournament in the lady’s name.

Out of view of the nobles and commoners as they intermixed in the stands, the knights and squires readied themselves for their opening presentation. They would be announced to the crowd as they paraded around the outskirts of the tournament grounds, smiling, waving and greeting the common folk and local nobility. But one such knight loathed such demonstrations. A small squire by the name of Tobias worked relentlessly to ready his knight, Sir Oric, for the presentation. ‘Everything must be perfect’ he chanted silently in his mind as he scrutinized over Sir Oric’s appearance, adjusting a strap here and a plate there. The act reminded Sir Oric much of a mother doting over her small child.

The knight seemed none too impressed with the need for perfection. Unlike most knights who adorned themselves in pristine armor that had never seen the light of day, Sir Oric chose his tourney armor which was riddled with deep gouges and scratches from prior scuffles. Yet Tobias still worried over his appearance endlessly.

“That is enough fretting,” Sir Oric’s voice boomed, interrupting the young squire’s thoughts, to which the squire bowed and excused himself. He hadn't meant to scare the boy, but Sir Oric's patience had grown thin as of late. He was here to compete in the tournament, not impress the crowd with his shiny armor and glinting sword.

Mounting his steed, Sir Oric felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder, causing him to turn towards the offender. It was Sir Donaven, another tournament regular. A permanent grin seemed to be etched across the other man’s face at all times, a trait he and Sir Oric did not share.

“You frighten the poor lad when he wishes to only help,” Sir Donaven laughed as he adjusted himself on his own steed.

Sneering a bit in response, Sir Oric turned to face forward again, fitting his foot into the stirrup and readying for their slow and painful strut around the tournament grounds. “It is a meaningless tradition. The boy frets for naught,” Sir Oric responded in turn without looking towards the other knight.

A laugh pulled from Sir Donaven’s throat. “Perhaps, but it does get the ladies in a bit of a stir,” he said while jabbing an armored elbow into Sir Oric’s side. “Do you seek favor of someone special? Or are you to be a stiff once more and ignore the swooning maidens’ favors?”

Grunting in disgust, Sir Oric shook his head as his brows contracted a bit. “Another meaningless tradition,” Sir Oric responded. In truth, the fawning women waving their roses, handkerchiefs and ribbons only served to annoy him.

With a sigh, Sir Donaven glanced to the other knight. “You take all the fun from tournaments, you know?” Spurring his steed on, Sir Donaven entered the tournament grounds at the announcement of his name, leaving Sir Oric to his thoughts.

Glancing down, Sir Oric pulled a teal ribbon from his pouch, turning it in his gloved hand. The ribbon was dirty and torn from age but he kept it still. It was the reminder of his past love but also of his past mistakes. One he intended to never make again. Tying the ribbon around his arm, the sound of his house and sir name being announced brought Sir Oric to the present again, spurring his steed roughly and entering the sunlit tourney grounds to greet the cheering crowd.


Credits

♥️ Profile art, coding and story ©Celestial

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