Tintauri's Squire - Part 6
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The tabard, crimson-spattered and tattered, was naturally ruined. Tal didn't so much take it off as peel it off the mail piece by piece, letting each one drop on Sir Tintauri’s floor. "Don't know who chose white to start with," the winterknight remarked at one point, but Tal's mind was too set on other things, grimmer things like where the blood had come from, to come up with a suitable response.
The lacing on Sir Tintauri's mail leggings had been rather inexpertly knotted by whoever had helped him dress that morning, but luckily sweat had dampened the knots and made them easier to loosen. Tal knelt gingerly before the knight, reaching around his legs to pull each tie free until one legging and then the other dropped down to hit the floor.
"Small request," said Sir Tintauri. "Don't do that again, even if I do have heavy boots on."
Then he knelt down so Tal could roll his mail shirt up and over his head. That was the theory, at least. It was a heavy, heavy shirt. Tal wrestled and strained, pulling and tugging until every knuckle was throbbing.
"Don't pull!" exclaimed the winterknight somewhere underneath all the iron. "Roll!"
So Tal rolled. The mail shirt finally did come off, dropping on the floor with a jingling thump, scattered with fine white filaments of Sir Tintauri's hair.
"Suboptimal," Sir Tintauri pronounced, rubbing at his scalp. "Let's make sure you clean it better than you remove it. There's a barrel of sand outside for the purpose."
Tal nodded, dragging the shirt across the floor with the leggings.
The winterknight started to strip off his reeking underjerkin. "Wait a moment. This will need cleaning too, though I don’t mind if you do that part tomorrow. Oh, and go heat some water at the bathhouse - I think I've finally reached my limit."
The glare of white skin under Sir Tintauri's jerkin was startling. Tal looked directly down at the floor to take the thing, standing as far back as possible to reach out for it.
The winterknight laughed, and suddenly Tal felt even more anxious, heart hammering. A few moments later, the weight of the knight's leather trews was draped over the arm that still clutched the jerkin.
"You're a girl, aren't you, Tal?" asked Sir Tintauri casually.
Tal's mouth went dry. "Please don't tease me, my lord. I'm trying my best to be brave ... but S-sir ... Sir Madaire ..."
"I'm not talking about how you take Madaire's silly little games. I'm talking about a very feminine shriek the other night, and very shapely little ankles. And now that I look more carefully, a rather soft jaw-line for a boy."
"My lord, I'm not the strongest or boldest youth in Narraine, but -"
"Oh, dear." Sir Tintauri let out one of his odd, sweeping laughs, but a short one. Tal heard him walk over to the wardrobe. "There's an easy way to settle this, but do you really want to make me embarrass you?"
Tal closed her eyes, covering her face with a hand.
"I didn't think so," said the winterknight. "You haven't done badly up to now, you know. Though Madaire would've found out sooner or later - and still will, I might add."
"I'm begging you, my lord," said Tal in a low voice, hearing the rustle of cloth as the knight began to dress, "please don't let him get to me."
"Let? Where's the let? I can't watch you every hour of the day. Madaire's a very, very resourceful little creep when he wants to be."
"Are there no ladies' quarters in the castle?" she pleaded. "Couldn't I squire for one of the Queen's female knights?"
"No-one, brother or sister of mine, is going to swap squires with me any time soon," snorted Sir Tintauri. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you're rather hopeless. In any case, they'd still have you sleeping out in the hall where the bad men lurk."
"Then what about the Queen?" Tal opened her eyes, turning a pleading look towards the knight, who had just begun to tie the belt of a blue robe about his waist. "Perhaps if I went to the Queen and begged for some other duty - her messenger, her jester, anything! Where does the Queen sleep?"
"You're hardly likely to get anything from the Queen."
"Please!" Tal fell on her knees, letting the tears flow. "Where does she sleep?"
Another laugh, almost delighted. "Sleep? She doesn't. She floats on the river's surface, only opening her jaws to snap swimmers in half."
Tal hid her face again, her shoulders trembling as she wept.
"Why are you here?" asked Sir Tintauri. "Your father told the Queen he was submitting his son and heir to her mercy. Or is the Lord of Narraine even your father?"
"He is my father," Tal replied through sobs. "He knew that the Queen would demand my brother as a hostage soon. But my brother is beautiful - glorious - and Narraine couldn't stand to lose him. Nor could my father. So I came in his place."
Sir Tintauri shook his white head, laughing yet again. "An heir so glorious he sent his sister to suffer and likely die in his place. That's quite a country. I thought I remembered the men of Narraine being rather brave when I fought them."
"They are the bravest in the world," whispered Tal. "No-one dares what they dare."
"They obviously don't mind in the least the thought of being called a pack of utter cowards," Sir Tintauri replied cheerfully. "Perhaps there's something in what you're saying."
Tal raised her head and pleading face one last time as she heard him walk by again, stooping to recover his abandoned armour. "My lord, I call on your honour as a knight. Please help me, I beg you! Help me gain an audience with your Queen. Tell me where she lives in the keep, or where I can find her through the day -"
"You've met my liege lady," the winterknight replied cryptically. "I think that should tell you all you need to know about my 'honour as a knight' and my answer. Quite apart from the fact that you should be hiding from my Queen - she'll be very, very angry with Narraine if she finds out, you realise - I promise you now that there is nothing you could say to make her help you."
"Let me try. Please, Sir Tintauri. I've no alternative."
"The Queen is not an alternative," he answered, his ever-amused eyes going suddenly narrow. "You're nothing to her. You're a shape and a sound and she'll look at you without seeing you. If you're useful, you'll live; if you're not useful, she won't kill you - no, she'll make you useful, because unlike her husband, she is merciful."
The last word hung in the air a moment. Sir Tintauri's lips had peeled back from his teeth, half wolfish smile, half wolfish snarl.
"I will not take you to the Queen," he said at last, stooping and then rising with his stained mail shirt. "Your courageous father and brother have sent you away to this, I'm afraid. Either go to Madaire of your own accord and have it over with - perhaps he'll get tired of you quicker that way - or kill yourself. It's happened before. I'll help you if that's what you want."
"Are you such a monster?" asked Tal, voice trembling. "Is that really your only answer for me?"
Sir Tintauri gave one of his crooked grins. "We're all monsters here, my dear. Quite literally. But at least we're not your own flesh and blood."
The tabard, crimson-spattered and tattered, was naturally ruined. Tal didn't so much take it off as peel it off the mail piece by piece, letting each one drop on Sir Tintauri’s floor. "Don't know who chose white to start with," the winterknight remarked at one point, but Tal's mind was too set on other things, grimmer things like where the blood had come from, to come up with a suitable response.
The lacing on Sir Tintauri's mail leggings had been rather inexpertly knotted by whoever had helped him dress that morning, but luckily sweat had dampened the knots and made them easier to loosen. Tal knelt gingerly before the knight, reaching around his legs to pull each tie free until one legging and then the other dropped down to hit the floor.
"Small request," said Sir Tintauri. "Don't do that again, even if I do have heavy boots on."
Then he knelt down so Tal could roll his mail shirt up and over his head. That was the theory, at least. It was a heavy, heavy shirt. Tal wrestled and strained, pulling and tugging until every knuckle was throbbing.
"Don't pull!" exclaimed the winterknight somewhere underneath all the iron. "Roll!"
So Tal rolled. The mail shirt finally did come off, dropping on the floor with a jingling thump, scattered with fine white filaments of Sir Tintauri's hair.
"Suboptimal," Sir Tintauri pronounced, rubbing at his scalp. "Let's make sure you clean it better than you remove it. There's a barrel of sand outside for the purpose."
Tal nodded, dragging the shirt across the floor with the leggings.
The winterknight started to strip off his reeking underjerkin. "Wait a moment. This will need cleaning too, though I don’t mind if you do that part tomorrow. Oh, and go heat some water at the bathhouse - I think I've finally reached my limit."
The glare of white skin under Sir Tintauri's jerkin was startling. Tal looked directly down at the floor to take the thing, standing as far back as possible to reach out for it.
The winterknight laughed, and suddenly Tal felt even more anxious, heart hammering. A few moments later, the weight of the knight's leather trews was draped over the arm that still clutched the jerkin.
"You're a girl, aren't you, Tal?" asked Sir Tintauri casually.
Tal's mouth went dry. "Please don't tease me, my lord. I'm trying my best to be brave ... but S-sir ... Sir Madaire ..."
"I'm not talking about how you take Madaire's silly little games. I'm talking about a very feminine shriek the other night, and very shapely little ankles. And now that I look more carefully, a rather soft jaw-line for a boy."
"My lord, I'm not the strongest or boldest youth in Narraine, but -"
"Oh, dear." Sir Tintauri let out one of his odd, sweeping laughs, but a short one. Tal heard him walk over to the wardrobe. "There's an easy way to settle this, but do you really want to make me embarrass you?"
Tal closed her eyes, covering her face with a hand.
"I didn't think so," said the winterknight. "You haven't done badly up to now, you know. Though Madaire would've found out sooner or later - and still will, I might add."
"I'm begging you, my lord," said Tal in a low voice, hearing the rustle of cloth as the knight began to dress, "please don't let him get to me."
"Let? Where's the let? I can't watch you every hour of the day. Madaire's a very, very resourceful little creep when he wants to be."
"Are there no ladies' quarters in the castle?" she pleaded. "Couldn't I squire for one of the Queen's female knights?"
"No-one, brother or sister of mine, is going to swap squires with me any time soon," snorted Sir Tintauri. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you're rather hopeless. In any case, they'd still have you sleeping out in the hall where the bad men lurk."
"Then what about the Queen?" Tal opened her eyes, turning a pleading look towards the knight, who had just begun to tie the belt of a blue robe about his waist. "Perhaps if I went to the Queen and begged for some other duty - her messenger, her jester, anything! Where does the Queen sleep?"
"You're hardly likely to get anything from the Queen."
"Please!" Tal fell on her knees, letting the tears flow. "Where does she sleep?"
Another laugh, almost delighted. "Sleep? She doesn't. She floats on the river's surface, only opening her jaws to snap swimmers in half."
Tal hid her face again, her shoulders trembling as she wept.
"Why are you here?" asked Sir Tintauri. "Your father told the Queen he was submitting his son and heir to her mercy. Or is the Lord of Narraine even your father?"
"He is my father," Tal replied through sobs. "He knew that the Queen would demand my brother as a hostage soon. But my brother is beautiful - glorious - and Narraine couldn't stand to lose him. Nor could my father. So I came in his place."
Sir Tintauri shook his white head, laughing yet again. "An heir so glorious he sent his sister to suffer and likely die in his place. That's quite a country. I thought I remembered the men of Narraine being rather brave when I fought them."
"They are the bravest in the world," whispered Tal. "No-one dares what they dare."
"They obviously don't mind in the least the thought of being called a pack of utter cowards," Sir Tintauri replied cheerfully. "Perhaps there's something in what you're saying."
Tal raised her head and pleading face one last time as she heard him walk by again, stooping to recover his abandoned armour. "My lord, I call on your honour as a knight. Please help me, I beg you! Help me gain an audience with your Queen. Tell me where she lives in the keep, or where I can find her through the day -"
"You've met my liege lady," the winterknight replied cryptically. "I think that should tell you all you need to know about my 'honour as a knight' and my answer. Quite apart from the fact that you should be hiding from my Queen - she'll be very, very angry with Narraine if she finds out, you realise - I promise you now that there is nothing you could say to make her help you."
"Let me try. Please, Sir Tintauri. I've no alternative."
"The Queen is not an alternative," he answered, his ever-amused eyes going suddenly narrow. "You're nothing to her. You're a shape and a sound and she'll look at you without seeing you. If you're useful, you'll live; if you're not useful, she won't kill you - no, she'll make you useful, because unlike her husband, she is merciful."
The last word hung in the air a moment. Sir Tintauri's lips had peeled back from his teeth, half wolfish smile, half wolfish snarl.
"I will not take you to the Queen," he said at last, stooping and then rising with his stained mail shirt. "Your courageous father and brother have sent you away to this, I'm afraid. Either go to Madaire of your own accord and have it over with - perhaps he'll get tired of you quicker that way - or kill yourself. It's happened before. I'll help you if that's what you want."
"Are you such a monster?" asked Tal, voice trembling. "Is that really your only answer for me?"
Sir Tintauri gave one of his crooked grins. "We're all monsters here, my dear. Quite literally. But at least we're not your own flesh and blood."