Content notes: transphobia (implied and referenced), reference to transphobic violence, misogyny
For a knight, training was a key part of every day. If you were not fighting or traveling (and sometimes even if you were), you trained. That was doubly true at Oak Haven, where Anglish and Norns struggled to live and fight side-by-side.
Reimund’s lordship of Oak Haven was… less than complete. A fact that always made John’s teeth grind when he thought of it. But the lady-witch did have the sense to allow her warrior husband to handle the military and defense of the burg without interference. (Mostly.) And Reimund had declared that all his fighters were to learn at least the basics of both Nornish and Anglish styles.
John knew for a fact that hadn’t been Reimund’s intention when he’d first started planning his conquest of Oak Haven, but figured the fact that the Anglish had handily defeated them had changed Reimund’s thinking.
Which was why Sir John of Kaldar, five years a knight, staggered around trying to get his feet to move in ways he was sure feet weren’t meant to.
Where the Norns, especially the knights but the men-at-arms as well, trained primarily as heavy cavalry, the Anglish lived in the valleys of heavily forested mountains. Aside from their cleared fields, the terrain was the sort to bog down any cavalry, even the lightest. Fighting in the trees and slopes was bad enough, but John still shuddered remembering the fight on the river of rock where the Anglish had ambushed them.
In keeping with the terrain, the Anglish trained as dragoons — infantry that could fight on horseback in a pinch. /Light/ infantry, relying on quickness and maneuverability. A knight’s armor was far more maneuverable than most people who hadn’t worn it imagined. But it was still heavy, restricting vision and (to a lesser extent) motion, and not at all suited to the kind of melee the Anglish had mastered in their mountains.
John knew Reimund wanted to work on combined training — letting each group do what they did best and learn to fight together and support each other. But right now, Reimund needed to be sure that all his warriors would at least be able to stay on their feet (or horse) in any local terrain.
So John and the other Norns were doing the equivalent of learning to dance… in armor.
That Reimund had set the old bastard to oversee the Norns’ training was salt in the wound. The man had beaten John bloody once, for laying hands on Lady Mildthryth. (He’d deserved that and worse for breaking parole, but the witch /had/ been goading him.) Wigmar took a positive delight in being harsher on John than the others, having an excuse to continue to bruise and bloody him, even months later, when John and Mildthryth herself had long since come to an understanding.
John didn’t mind too much. The old bastard’s focus was making John one of the best at the new fighting style, beating even some of the better Anglish fighters when they sparred.
If it let him spend more time with some of those better Anglish fighters — including a certain woman — well, that was no one else’s business, was it?
After talking with Beth, Helen started paying more attention to Sir John. It was obvious why he was one of Lord Reimund’s chosen knights — the man could fight. And he was always courteous, even to people he didn’t like. For a Norn, he was outright friendly.
He barely spoke to Helen, even to say hello, which she’d assumed meant she was one of the people he didn’t like. But given the man’s awkwardness the other night — and the way he blushed now when she caught him looking at her — she was starting to think he didn’t know what to say. Almost like a boy with his first crush.
It was almost… cute. And she wasn’t the only one who had noticed.
Even as she was watching across the training yard, William — one of the Norns she didn’t know well – gestured at her and said something that had Sir John turn scarlet. A moment later Wigmar stalked up to them, swatted William on the head, then dragged Sir John into the yard to ‘spar’. But Wigmar must have been upset about something because he was going full out. Sir John mostly held his own, but Lord Reimund had left Wigmar as arms master for a reason, and he got in several hard hits before laying John out in the dirt.
Wigmar said something Helen couldn’t hear and stalked off again. She expected Sir John to be angry — but he smiled as he got up and went to lean against a wall and catch his breath. Curious, Helen let herself drift over toward him.
“What was that about?”
Sir John actually winked at her. “I’m being warned off from you. If you want to see me get my arse handed to me again, stay here and chat a while longer.”
Helen’s jaw dropped. “What?” She looked to Wigmar, who was glaring at John again. Looked back to Sir John. “And you’re happy with that?”
He smiled. “Your fellows guard you like the treasure you are, Helen. True loyalty.”
Helen shook her head and walked over to Wigmar. Knowing she was making a spectacle of herself, she grabbed the Armsmaster’s shoulder and ‘dragged’ him (only because he went willingly) into a quiet corner.
She didn’t give Wigmar a chance to say anything. Just jabbed him in the chest and said, “I have a father. He knows better than to pull that shit.”
Wigmar’s usually calm expression hardened. “Helen, that’s not a boy with a crush. That’s one of the most dangerous men in the burg, and Ancients only know how he’ll react if he learns–“
“He already knows,” the words slipped out before she could stop him. Somehow, saying the words aloud made them more real. “He knows.” She said again, wonder filling her voice. “And all he did was say he couldn’t court me properly until I stop hiding.”
Wigmar stared at her. Blinked. Pinched himself.
All Helen could do was stand there and grin.
“Well. Well then.” Wigmar nodded. “I still don’t like him for you. But it’s your business.
“Get back to work.”
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