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"Is that right?" you ask the boy. When he nods quite vigorously, you give a not-at-all apologetic look to Karl for what you are about to say. Your man-at-arms can read your intent quite well, and answers it with an irritating smile. "I am sorry, Karl, it looks like our match has to be cut short. Quite important matters of honor and all. It would not be right to let bad blood hang between us and the locals."
"I understand, Dame Louise," Karl says with a twinkling smirk. "Perhaps we can continue another day."
"Perhaps," you say. He no doubt will talk you into another game eventually. Karl loves the game so, with victories in almost every tourney to be found in the Duchy. You wave him off, and, look to the boy, affecting a playful seriousness to your words. "Now, we must needs get you ready for our duel, noble warrior of the mountain folk."
"I'm more than ready! Raaaaah!" the boy rushes at you. But all it takes to halt him is a hand ruffling his fluffy head. He pouts and whines, "C'moooooon..."
"Now, now, it's important a warrior wear armor." You chide. The scars from the butchery at Charlemont have faded with time and healing, but they remain enough of a reminder. When your father's armor failed you, the only protection you had was your faith in the Lord of Light. That and your rage saw you through the battle, but barely so. "And a duel of honor <span class="mu-i">must</span> be fair. Right now I am too heavily armored... and you are armored far too lightly."
"..." the boy looks a bit ashamed. "But I don't have any armor..."
You fluff his head enough to make him pout for a different reason. Satisfied he's no longer sulking, you tell him, "By all rights, a child should have no need for armor. Today, though, you're a little man defending his precious sister, so I think arrangements can be made. Trev!"
Squire Trevor comes to your side. He was only a few years older than this boy when the Duke gave him to you as squire; now, he's almost ready to receive his knighting. If he does well upon this campaign, then perhaps when you return to the Dukal seat. "Yes, Dame Louise?"
"Help this little man find a brigadine in his size," you tell him. Mouthing the words 'for sparring', you continue. "A helmet as well. There is a matter of honor to be settled and he needs appropriate harness."
Amusement plays in your squires eyes. "Of course, Dame Louise. What's your name little man?"
"Rickard, son of Bjorn!" the boy's eyes light up as Trev leads him to the luggage. One of his old sparring brigadines should do nicely for little Rickard, if it's still among his things. "What's your name, mister?"
"I am Trevor, son of Martin, of House Goldenbell." Trevor gives a grunt of effort as his scoops the boy up, much to the little man's annoyance. "Squire to Dame Louise le Blanc, who has many epithets that you can ask her about, I'm certain."
"The mean Alans lady?" Rickard asks.
"Oh, quite mean," Trev says something that you'll have words about later. "But the best teacher I've had..."
