A tense silence hung in the air before the knight in the green plate armour gave a smirk and addressed one among their number.

"Sir Romain..." he said, his Milisevran accent thick upon his tongue. "I had not thought to see you upon the road today. On your way to the capital?"

"Indeed I am," Romain replied.

The smirk widened. "Come to witness my victory, no doubt..." the knight in green said, lifting his jutting chin so that he was looking at Romain down his massive nose.

The knight of Chateau Toussaint smiled. "As a matter of fact, Milton, I've come to compete," he said.

His words were met by snickers from the wiry man and the giant, but the man in green plate lowered his chin to fix Romain with a firm, icy stare. "You will address me as befits my station, boy. You owe me homage, and the lands you call home are only yours so long as I do not decide to rip them from you by royal decree."

Hearing this made confusion lance through Logan's body. "Homage?" he asked as he turned to Romain.

Romain looked Logan's way for a second, then turned to the rest of their companions. "Friends... may I introduce Comte Milton du Vertlac, my liege-lord," he eventually said in a resigned manner, a twinge of bitterness upon his tongue twisting the tone of his voice.

"A pleasure..." Milton said as he inclined his head slightly. He then went on to say "Comte of Vertlac, Baron of Barre-Selaine, and reigning tourney champion. My own companions are Sir Anseis de Dorndalle and Sir Fulber de Barbaron," as he gestured to the small wiry man and the giant respectively, who both broke into grins.

Shit-eating grins – the sort lackeys like them were proud to bear.

Logan felt his shoulders tense as Milton spoke, but he did his best to remain courteous. "Good day, sirs..." he addressed them.

Milton turned his gaze upon Logan, the eyes that were as green as his armour seeming to weigh and measure him almost immediately as they ran over him. "And who might you be?" he asked at length, eyes narrowing as though he were either suspicious, unimpressed, or both.

Logan sat a little taller in his saddle, hands gripping Thunder's reins. "I am Sir Logan of House Galehaut, paladin of the Platinum Dragon and knight of the Kingdom of Cormyr," he declared as he introduced himself.

His words were met with a scoff from Sir Anseis, mouth twisting and coiling under his mop of black hair as he muttered "We wanted your name, boy. Not your bloody life story." As he spoke in his slithering tone, he drew an arming sword from his side, his attention fixed wholly upon that as he then raised a whetstone and began honing the blade.

The man didn't even give the Galehaut a glance – a gesture of disrespect that made wroth flare in Logan's nostrils and burn in his bowels.

Milton then took this time to run his gaze over the rest of the party, and as he looked over them all, a gleam of realization sparked in his eyes and the corners of his sneering mouth twisted up before he suddenly burst into mocking laughter.

"Sir Romain! Please do not tell me that this lot are who you're hoping to have fight beside you in the king's tournament!" he said as he chortled.

Logan felt his face turn aflame, but to his surprise, Romain remained totally unfazed. "They are," he said, calm but firm in the face of mockery. "They saved my life, and I would honour them by allowing them to take part."

Anseis glanced up from sharpening his blade to let loose a dry unpleasant cackle. "What, so no knights were willing to join you, so you just grabbed whatever random fucks happened by, dubbed them sirs and dragged them here?"

Milton shook his head pityingly and wiped a faux tear from his eye, clearly having the time of his life. Fulber, however, said nothing. The egg-headed giant was instead looking down at Arabella from the back of his rhinoceros mount, piggy eyes fixed on her while smacking his plump, hideous lips together.

As though he were looking at a choice cut of beef.

Arabella turned away a little, trying not to make eye contact with the unpleasant mountain of muscle, while Finnan shot Fulber back a glare of complete fearlessness and utter loathing. "Leave her alone," the halfling said.

A sound like a squealing pig suddenly filled the air as Fulber's huge body heaved forward and he broke into a wheezing laugh. Hearing this, Milton turned and said "I see you find this as funny as I do, Fulber..."

Fulber's neck – a lump of flesh criss-crossed with pulsing black veins that looked like he'd swallowed a mixing bowl – rippled as the enormous man turned to his liege. "Not just that, my lord..." he said in a voice like stone breaking. "It's that the little shit seems to think he could stop me if he tried."

Scoffing, the Comte du Vertlac looked down upon Finnan, paying as much mind to the halfling's look of defiance as he would have paid the croaking of a toad. Arabella and Ren, sat either side of Finnan, commanded slightly more of his attention, chiefly in how he turned up his nose to them before looking to Romain again.

"You must be even more desperate than you seem, boy," he remarked. "To have hired such a clown show just so that you might take part in a tournament meant for your betters..."

At Logan's side, Stalk looked like he was debating whether opening this man's throat here and now would be worth it... and Logan would be lying if he wasn't feeling the same way.

Nothing would please him more than to drive his fist through that sneering face of his and flatten his unsightly nose, or to plant a lance in his chest and see him topple to the ground... but while he couldn't joust physically now, he could do so verbally.

"Better knights than Romain?" Logan asked. "If there are any here, I don't see them."

Milton turned his way, eyes sparking with amusement at the insult. "Not even in yourself, sir?" he asked, turning Logan's jab right back at him more deftly than the paladin hoped. "Tell me, Sir Logan, what lands do you hold claim to?"

The Galehaut felt his jaw clench, his teeth fixing together so hard that they almost fused his mouth shut.

Memories flashed before his golden eyes – of Frostpeak, with its concentric walls of blue-grey stone, with many towers reaching into the heavens, closer and closer to divinity. Of the looming keep at the centre, with gargoyles carved in the shape of winged griffins standing proud and commanding over the valleys both within and beyond the Stormhorn Mountains. Of the navy and white banners flapping in the icy mountain wind, his family sigil enduring all the came against them, just as the castle did.

It was a powerful fief, undeniably. But not his to claim.

"None."

As Logan said that, Milton visibly rolled his eyes and scoffed. "A knight-errant," he said. "Your kind are no more than beggars wielding cheap blades, sir... if sir you truly are."

Rage caught fire in Logan's chest as he heard that, rushing through his muscles and driving him to act. Immediately, his sword-arm shot for Sacrifice, fingers locking around the handle and yanking the blade halfway free...

Only for something to stop him. An iron grip locked around his forearm – quite literally – and Logan twisted around to see Technus leaning forward in his saddle, right arm extended and fingers clamping down upon Logan's arm, squeezing like a vice.

"Control yourself," the cleric said coldly.

Gritting and grinding his teeth, Logan tried to twist free and pull Sacrifice fully from its scabbard, grunting as he did so.

Milton had insulted his honour... and he would have satisfaction.

But Technus' grasp was unwavering, as was the stare he fixed Logan with. But, for a moment, as the two locked gazes, Logan saw something spark in the one living eye Technus had. A barely noticeable gleam that you might see when someone was asking another for help.

Was he... pleading?

In that moment, Logan felt the grip on his sword loosen, his breathing calm and the fire flooding his skin fade away, as if transmitted through his metallic touch, Technus showed him the error of his ways.

If he was to challenge Milton right now, in his fit of black rage, he would undoubtedly try to kill or maim the wretched noble. And if he did that here and now, in front of their entire retinues, such an act would be criminal.

And if he was a criminal, not only would his oath be even more at risk, but he would undoubtedly be denied a place in the tournament.

Reluctantly, fighting with all his willpower to do so, he slid Sacrifice back into the scabbard. Though the next jape that Milton made just as Technus released his grip almost made Logan lash out again.

"It seems the only potential warriors within your circus troupe are both landless and craven, Sir Romain," the Comte of Vertlac said to his feudal underling as he surveyed both Logan and Technus. "That a knight from such a low-down bloodline as your own could hardly command anything better, I have no doubt."

Surprisingly, in the face of such blatant insults and mockery, Romain seemed to pay no mind to the words that would have other men throwing punches. Instead, when he did speak, it was in a remarkably cool tone and with a cunning smile on his lips.

"I beg to differ, Milton... I think Sir Logan and Brother Technus have merely agreed that fighting a man like you is beneath them. But then, given they serve the gods themselves instead of their own purses, I can't say I'm surprised they have more important things to attend to than you."

It was a surprisingly vicious prod from such a courteous fellow as Romain. But when Logan saw the self-satisfied smirk on Milton's face twitch as his ego was disturbed, he gave a smirk of his own and was unable to stop himself from joining in.

"You speak the truth, Sir Romain..." he said, following up on the remark his comrade made. "After all, can I trust in the merits and worth of a man who wears his manhood on his face?"

As his golden eyes fixed on Milton's massive nose, he heard a buzz of nervous laughter from among his compatriots, followed by Stalk leaning forward and cockily adding "You're giving him too much credit, mate – like that he even has one!" as he looked Logan's way and backed him up.

After a moment where he could swear he saw colour rising to Milton's face, Fulber du Barbaron spoke at last. "My lord... shall I tear 'em limb from limb for ye?" he asked, baring his yellow teeth like a snarling dog and pounding his fists together, his gauntlets crashing together with a noise that would have drowned out the wails of a banshee.

But Milton raised a hand in a gesture of 'halt.' "Not yet, Fulber..." the Comte of Vertlac said in a dangerously calm voice. "We will wait until the tournament, where we shall humiliate them before His Gracious Majesty and the entire kingdom... and then some." Milton smirked as those words left his mouth and he turned his horse away, every move he made thick with narcissistic arrogance.

Meeting his gaze with an unblinking stare, Logan told him, "See you in the lists, you son of a bitch."

"Gladly." Milton replied as he spurred his horse forward. "More precisely, it'll be when you're looking up at me from the flat of your back, as countless others have before..."

That parting remark was the last they saw of Milton for a very long time – having given way to the count's retinue, he and his cronies disappeared behind their tide of followers, guards and attendants while all Logan, Romain and the others could do was watch and wait. By the time the last of the wagon train had passed, moving over mound after mound of horse poop that no-one had bothered to clean up, the sun was lower in the sky and had darkened slightly as midday turned to afternoon.

Logan's rage, however, hadn't dimmed in the slightest. Even after Milton, Anseis and Fulber were long-gone, he gripped the memories of what they looked like and how they had insulted him tight in his mind, never letting go.

He would not let a slight like that go unanswered. He would prove himself a knight by both winning this tournament and putting each of them in their place.

"Don't let them get to you." Romain's voice broke the silence. "They're bullies, plain and simple. All they want out of you is a reaction."

Logan turned his head, and it was clear the moment he looked at the blonde knight that Romain could sense his anger. Still grinding his teeth, he replied with "That might be so. But I can't let them get away with that either way." He then rolled his shoulders as he felt them seizing up a bit before saying aloud "If I didn't have a reason to join the tournament before, I most certainly do now."

Crackling static filled the air as Technus then said "Do not let petty vitriol obscure you from your duty, paladin."

As he turned back towards Technus, Logan felt a sour taste in his mouth. Even if Technus had a point in keeping him from breaking the law, it still made him feel bitter inside to let Milton get away scot-free with insulting his family.

His look was a severe one, and it invited a low croak from behind Technus' mask, almost like a groan. "This... this is why the machine is superior. We do not let emotions cloud our judgement." And before Logan could respond, the Tech-Cleric had tapped the back of his metal foot into Goliath's muscular flanks to push the horse onwards down the road.

Logan watched him go with a vindictive expression, but in the corner of his eye, he saw something that gave him pause of thought. Turning to his left, he saw Romain's face, now paler that unusual and eyes wide, seemingly with alarm.

And the Milisevran wasn't alone in this – Arabella and even Finnan were the same way.

When he gazed upon this, Logan felt his breathing slow, and he tried to force his rage down out of his system as he fought to compose himself.

"Sorry..." he managed to say as he straightened up in the saddle. "I guess he just... struck a nerve."

Romain nodded and placed a hand on Logan's shoulder. "I understand. But as the saying goes; sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." He then gave his fellow paladin a gentle shake before adding, "No need to feel wrath at their comments. Or Technus', for that matter..."

"I dunno..." Stalk piped up with a smirk. "Everyone needs a good bit of wrath from time to time..." He then looked at Logan and said "That comment about his nose was a zinger, by the way..." as amusement sparkled in his orange eyes.

Logan gave a small chuckle, and even Romain couldn't help but smile at that remark.

"As was yours," Logan replied. He then gave Stalk a look of genuine appreciation and said "Thanks for backing me up there, by the way..."

Stalk spread his hands and his beak hung open in a toothless facsimile of a grin. "Like I said before – I'm an asshole, but not that much of one."

Ren also let out a small laugh at the kenku's comments, but before long, his face returned to its usual state of perpetual anxiety. "Those guys scare me, to be honest. Especially that big guy, Fulber."

Twisting around to look over his shoulder, Stalk remarked, "At this point, Ren, what doesn't scare you?"

Romain tutted as he heard this. "Don't be mean, Stalk..." was his chiding response before he reached over Ren and placed his other hand on the elf's shoulder, just as he was doing with Logan. "Don't worry, I'm here for you. Both of you..." the Milisevran said as he looked between them.

Ren blushed furiously and turned away as he heard this, while Logan gave a grateful smile before gently shrugging Romain's grasp from his shoulder. While he was undeniably glad to have him here, as always, the way Romain kneaded his shoulder a little did make him feel a little uncomfortable.

Besides, he could stand on his own. Or at least, that was the hope.

When the party started down the road again, the humour they had shared with each other banishing most of the grim pall that Milton had cast over their journey. It was a bright and sunny day once more... for all of them but one.

As they rode, Logan turned to speak to Arabella and see how she was doing, only to find that she was hanging back a bit from the rest of the group, her soft hands clutching Ruby's reins until her knuckles and holding them close to her chest. Her own head was angled down, eyes staring into nothingness, seemingly on auto-pilot as she rode on her own – Finnan was up ahead talking to Stalk and Romain.

"Arabella?" he eased, turning to guide Thunder closer to her until they were riding side-by-side. "You okay?"

Arabella lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, and while her face was still pale, the glow vanishing from her delicately smooth skin, it was different this time. Instead of her eyes being dark and dull with sadness, her turquoise irises were alive and seemed to pulse as rapid as her heartbeat.

Ren always bore the same look in his eyes. A look of fear.

Logan remembered the look that Fulber had given her... and then it all clicked. Without a word, his right gauntlet reached to his left so he could hold it in place, and he then pulled his left hand free. Reaching out to Arabella, albeit rather tentatively, he took her fingers in his and held her hand for a moment, giving it a slight squeeze as he did so.

He wouldn't greet her with the cold, harsh touch of metal, hence why he had removed his gauntlet, shown what was underneath.

He wanted to show her that there was nothing between them.

As he held her hand, the corners of Arabella's full lips began to curve upward and light began to return to her eyes and her skin. The roses in her cheeks bloomed once more, as though his touch were healing her of an affliction.

As a paladin, Logan could do that. But here, he had used no magic that he possessed. He just hoped that Arabella knew that he would be there for her... to protect her. And from the looks of things, and the look she gave him with a face that was as alive and bright as the sun overhead, it seemed to have worked...

... though, as the voices of the others growing quieter and quieter up ahead and both human and high elf turned to see the party becoming more and more distant quite literally, they both seemed to understand they had to stop. Reluctantly, Logan let go of Arabella's elegant, delicate fingers, and the two of them urged their horses forward.

~~~

After the long wait for Milton's retinue to pass, it seemed like no time at all before they climbed the crest of a hill and Romain gestured with a wide sweep of his hand as he declared "Welcome, my friends, to fair Thalmont, the capital of Milisevre!"

Upon a green plateau with farmland upon all sides, and atop a rich ribbon of blue water that divided the city in half and seemed to run all the way to the mountains in the distant north, was a city straight out of a fairytale. Buildings with brightly-coloured tile rooves were packed tightly together on either bank of the river, interspersed with walls that was white and smooth as marble or porcelain, whose tops and battlements peered up over the structures they seemed set to guard. These fortifications ran and twisted through the city like veins in a body, seeming to divide up the districts that were part of any metropolis. They reached from the city centre to the outskirts, where a final, massive exterior wall waited, taller than all the others with projecting bastions and gatehouses from which roads splayed out across the countryside in all directions – roads packed with horses and wagons that were flooding into

And then, overlooking all of this, came the mighty castle at the city centre. Seeming large enough to garrison the entire population of the city, the keep was a great solid mass of white stone, and there were five external towers accessible only by elevated walkways hundreds of feet above ground. These towers were capped with conical golden points, and the battlements seemed to be laced with precious metals as well, for the whole castle appeared to sparkle and shimmer in the light of day like the building wore its very own crown.

A fitting appearance for the heart of any kingdom.

Logan was gobsmacked when he saw the place, and as he turned his eyes down the row of horses to look at the others, almost all were just as awestruck; Ren and Arabella gasped, Finnan's eyes were wide as a trout's, and even Technus seemed to admire it, running his gaze over the construction as a look of pride appeared to form behind his mask.

Only Romain and Stalk weren't stopped in their tracks, no doubt because they had been here already. But Romain's face was visibly filled with joy to look upon his nation's capital here and now.

"It's... spectacular," Arabella said out loud, amazement turning her voice to the softest whisper, and Logan could not disagree with her at all.

Even though he was a proud Cormyrean, he had to admit that Thalmont came close to eclipsing even Suzail, his own nation's capital.

Turning his head a little, Logan then came across another sight - this one outside the city walls, but no less beautiful.

A resplendent field of a thousand coloured tents, bright as a garden of flowers, with arenas and jousting grounds of wood at their centre, standing tall and proud as they were draped in their own regalia of flags and dyed canopies depicting the royal crest of Milisevre – the platinum dragon crushing the red, just as Ren has described.

"The tourney grounds..." he said aloud, heart surging as he gazed upon it.

Romain's smile widened from where he sat on Elodie's back beside Logan. "That's them, alright!" he declared cheerfully. He then asked "Have you been in any other tournaments, Sir Logan?"

Logan shook his head, a pang of shame inside him. "No..." he admitted. "This is my first."

Romain's eyes were alight and laughing. "Then let's make it one to remember!" he declared, his words banishing all of Logan's fears. And as he watched the blonde Milisevran let loose a whoop of joy as Elodie reared up on her hind legs, the Galehaut couldn't help but laugh before giving Thunder a touch of his spurs and urging the stallion toward Thalmont.