[IRP] Idyll of the Idle

[Victor]

The scene unfolding before Roland's eyes was perfectly idyllic. The fields of Eastern Lycia were carpeted in wildflowers, shining in brilliant whites, reds, and yellows. The fields were abuzz with the happy toil of farmers sowing crops, singing joyful hymns to the Saint to bless a fruitful harvest. Roland meandered through the town atop his mount, a fish out of water, looking entirely too wealthy and well-armed for the pastoral village.

The midday sun shone down with a warmth that could barely be considered uncomfortable, but for someone traveling in the thick undercloth and overcloth needed to support a suit of armor should he need to put it on, it created an unsightly and uncomfortable sweat. Roland dismounted, leading his horse to a nearby quiet pond to water and rest.

Setting his sword over his lap, Roland rested his back against a large tree, enjoying the shady relief from the heat. He honestly was not sure what came next. As a landless, lordless knight, what exactly was his duty? Was he supposed to advocate for the fall of the lord he'd been sworn to serve? He picked petal after petal off of wildflowers, tossing the stems into the pond water as he pondered. One thing was for sure, all of this journeying left him too much time to think.

[thenoun]

Ingrid's small grey horse slowly sauntered into the small village, carrying its exhausted looking rider. It felt like she'd been riding for days, though she knew it'd probably only been a few hours. A dull ache in her back pounded in rhythm with the hoofbeats of her mount; somehow, despite months of being on the road, she still wasn't used to riding for long distances this way. She was gonna have to rest here, at least for a little while.

She looked around the village as she brought her horse to a halt. It was a quaint little settlement, rustic as can be; the kind of place she never would have entered until a few months prior. As always, she felt that she looked a touch out of place, given her generally refined attire, at least in comparison to how most commoners dressed. She didn't think anyone actually cared, really, but it still felt a bit awkward.

This place seems pretty at ease, Ingrid thought. Doubt there will be much need for my talents here. I may as well relax for a bit.

Ingrid brought her horse to the edge of a small pond, opposite an armored figure that she paid little mind. She dismounted, then walked to a large stone and sat upon it. After rummaging through her satchel, she pulled out a small book on various salves and poultices, and began studying it.

[Victor]

Roland's eyes were locked on the lone maiden leading her grey horse near him. She was wearing finer clothes than he'd seen in quite a while, and was very obviously not from this village. Maybe a runaway? Maybe a rich traveler? Either way, she seemed to have more of a lead on what to do in this town than he did. Plus, as an unaccompanied maiden, she was obviously counting on a knight like himself to escort her and save her from any potential sorrows. That was chivalry. He would more than happily drop his own quest for her sake, if he had a quest.

He hastily picked a small bouquet of the flowers surrounding him, and, standing up, consciously left his sword behind as to not scare her. He walked over to where she was reading, and offered the flowers out.

"Hail, fair lady," he fumbled, taking a second to clear his throat. "I am Sir Roland Summer, former Knight of the Three Covenants and defender of beauty. I could not help but to notice a rather interesting book in your hands and was wondering what it contains, that you should deem it worthy for your eyes to grace."

[thenoun]

Ingrid quietly turned her gaze up from the manual and met the eyes of the stranger. Roland had quite a noble bearing about him; everything from his finely-crafted armor to his unmarred, youthful face suggested a life that hadn't known much in the way of hardship, at least not until recently. The freshness of his features suggested he was roughly her age, maybe a few years older. He claimed to be a former Knight of the Three Covenants, a title that made her stomach turn; he'd once worked for the very Emperor that had destroyed her homeland and family.

His question was innocent enough, and he seemed fairly genuine, but she couldn't help but distrust him. She didn't really know why he'd come over to talk to her; perhaps he mistook her for some Lycian lady, helpless and in need of protection, or maybe he had some ulterior motive she couldn't guess at. Either way, companionship, especially that of an Lycian ex-knight, wasn't really something she was all too keen on.

"It's a book on healing, through the use of vulneraries and the like. Nothing of much interest to most people, I'm sure." she responded, sounding polite but guarded. "But I'm sure you didn't come over here just to talk about my reading habits. Is there something you wanted?"

[Victor]

Roland cautiously laid the flowers he had picked at her feet. She seemed to be quite well-read, and quite quick, to boot. He sat down in the grass beside her, crossing his legs and stretching his arms. This seemed almost disrespectful, but he had decided it was fitting of the scene that lay before him.

"No, my lady, I want for nothing, as I have been refreshed by your presence alone. Your words, like vulneraries, have soothed my very soul," Roland smiled widely, completely oblivious to social graces and lost in the floral fields of his own prose. "I wish only for a companion to while away travel's long hours, until I find my due purpose. A knight's duty is not to himself, and he is truly worthless without a master. Companions, however, can also be masters, yes? Masters of the heart and the mind. Will you gift me with a name, fair companion?" he asked, holding out his hand to receive hers.

[thenoun]

Ingrid found an amused smirk creeping onto her face. Roland certainly thought himself the chivalrous sort, that much was apparent; she almost felt bad for assuming that he had any intention other than companionship. She hadn't had someone try to charm her this way in quite some time, not since she'd been on the road. She doubted he'd have taken interest in her if he hadn't mistaken her for a noblewoman, though; she wouldn't be surprised if he dropped all interest when he realized she wasn't nobility, not anymore, at least. And even if he didn't, she didn't desire his companionship, especially not if he wanted more than just a traveling partner. She decided to let him down gently, so long as he didn't persist.

"The name is Ingrid," she responded, without taking the knight's hand. "I'm sorry, sir Roland, but I don't believe you'd want to travel with me. I am merely a healer, not a lady or noble of any sort. You'd probably never find any glory or purpose traveling with the likes of me."

She gently picked up the flowers he'd laid at her feet, and set them down next to her, then returned her gaze to the knight. "I do appreciate the sentiment, but I'm doing fine on my own. I hope I haven't wasted your time."

[Victor]

Roland clenched his hand as if he was planning on making a fist all along, quickly brushing off the rejection. Many a dainty hand had been spared from his kiss in the same manner. He gestured dismissively, and placed his hand back onto his lap. Still, the road was lonely and he would not relinquish the chance to have someone beside him to share the journey, if only for a short while.

"Fair Ingrid, you have not wasted any time at all! How could one waste time when the very purpose of idle conversation is to while away hours? Noble or not, my duty is to all who are in need of a shield. Accept me as a..."

Roland trailed off as he noticed a horse and rider in the distance behind Ingrid. The man seemed armed, and, although it pained him, his status as renegade knight had garnered too much attention at this point. He slowly rose, and, making a hushing motion at Ingrid, walked slowly to his sword. He quickly buckled the scabbard and belt onto himself once again, keeping one hand on the hilt as he slowly stalked back to Ingrid.

He offered her a hand once again. "Hurry and get up, and watch yourself," he whispered, waiting to pull her up off of the ground and behind the tree. "I must confess, Ingrid, that my covenant to the Emperor is not one so easily broken." The rider had dismounted, and was heading towards the two of them, lead on by Roland's telltale red armor.

[thenoun]

As Roland's attention seemed to move from her to something approaching from behind, Ingrid turned to look. An armed rider was approaching the pond, seemingly with some degree of purpose. The fact that his arrival had made Roland fall silent unnerved Ingrid somewhat; he'd been gabbing almost nonstop up until then. Perhaps the knight had a more sordid past than he'd let on.

When Ingrid turned back to where Roland had been, she found he'd already gone back across the lake to retrieve his weapon, and was heading back her way. Ingrid snapped her book shut and placed it back into her satchel just as he arrived. He held out his hand again, which Ingrid took, pulling herself up. She asked in a hushed tone, "Are you in some sort of trouble, Roland? What's the problem?"

[Victor]

"My lady," he whispered, "This does not concern you, and I am deeply sorry that you should be embroiled in this commotion." The rider was finally within earshot, and Roland stretched out an arm as if to hold Ingrid back.

The approaching knight had a haggard look about him. His armor was caked in mud, however, underneath the filth was a breastplate that matched Roland's own. He looked unaccustomed to heavy, daily riding. Roland almost chuckled when he noticed the strange gait, as if he had been chapped in the thighs from the saddle. He was green. This young whelp would be an easily bested opponent, should it come to that.

The knight drew his sword hastily in response to Roland's bared blade. Roland tensed and kept his arm back to keep Ingrid from getting any closer. She must be protected at all costs. It was very impolite to get her wrapped up in all of this. Especially now that he'd been confronted by this two-bit replacement.

"Roland Summer," stated the rider, "As an oath-breaker and traitor to Lycia, you have been marked for death. Drop your weapon, or I will strike you down by the power vested in me by the Emperor himself."

Roland brushed his hair off of his forehead, making sure it landed in a perfect curl. There would be no point in breaking a sweat when it came to fending off the mannerless lackey that had most likely assumed his abandoned post. He might as well look like a hero doing it. "So be it," he replied. "Steady yourself."

This would be a game, really. The knight swung his sword, a predictable blow that was easily deflected by Roland. He used the opportunity to pull closer to his opponent, holding his blade in both hands. The knight, stunned, did not respond as Roland pulled up so close. Roland grabbed his sword by the flat of the blade and pushed it together with the rider's in an attempt to bind him. His free hand locked around the knight's thigh as a wrestler. As he tried to hobble out of the hold on one leg, Roland kept their blades locked and gave him a good shove. He went tumbling to the ground. All in all a gambit, as any tournamenter worth his salt knew his way out of this one. Roland was almost stunned the bout was so easily won.

Roland walked over to the rider, holding his sword at his throat. "You have been bested this day. Flee now, or continue to fight and lose your life." The rider, shaking, got up and dashed to his horse. It wasn't until Roland watched him ride away that he put down his sword. He was bleeding from a gash on his hand when he had held his sword by the blade. If only he'd had enough forethought to grab his gloves. Truly not a knightly thing to do, forget your gloves. He walked over to Ingrid, holding out his palm, showing her the large cut across the crease of his thumb and forefinger.

He was reluctant to allow her to help, as she probably would not be keen on dirtying herself with blood. Besides, she was supposed to be defended, not drawn into battle. However, she seemed quite well read, so he would bother to ask.

"My lady, I assume you've studied your book thoroughly, yes? Please allow me, your humble servant, to be your first lesson in practice."

[thenoun]

While the two knights had their duel, Ingrid watched from a short distance away. Roland hadn't needed to ward her away from the duel; she couldn't have intervened if she wanted to, not without giving herself away, at least. She winced when Roland grabbed his own weapon, slicing his hand open in the process, but found herself equal parts surprised and impressed when he almost effortlessly disarmed and knocked away the rival knight. She had- perhaps unfairly- assumed him to be more romantic fool than actual knight, but he did indeed possess the skill befitting of his former title.

Soon after Roland had chased off the Lycian knight, he approached her once more. He commented on the wound he'd inflicted on himself while he held out his injured hand, giving Ingrid a closer look at the damage. She found his mistaken belief that this was her "first lesson" in mending someone's wounds rather humorous, somehow; evidently he hadn't been listening when she said she was a healer.

"Don't worry, you're in capable hands" Ingrid said, gently taking his wrist and turning his palm upwards to better inspect the wound. The wound wasn't terribly deep nor bleeding overmuch; fixing this would be simple, once she retrieved her supplies from her horse's saddlebag.

"If you don't mind, go ahead and sit there" she said, releasing his hand and gesturing to the stone she'd been sitting on earlier "I just need to get my staff and medicine." With that, she walked the short distance to where she'd secured her horse and began rummaging through its saddlebag.

[Victor]

Roland complied, and sat on the stone where Ingrid had previously been sitting. He inspected his hand and tried not to poke at the wound. It didn't look particularly bad, but it stung. He still wasn't keen on leaving his prized hand in her so-called capable hands. What would happen if she messed up and grew him another finger? Or worse, left a scar? A delicate flower such as her probably wasn't as seasoned a healer as she claimed to be. Definitely not like the battle-honed, grizzled old war priests that accompanied the Pheraean knights. Still, it was better than sitting around bleeding.

He was almost embarrased to have won the fight in some way, now that he thought about it. Roland called out to her while she was recovering supplies from her saddlebag. "You know, my lady, I'm deeply sorry your eyes had to watch such a brawl. To win so dishonorably in front of you was truly unbecoming of someone of your stature. There was no purity in that."