|The Meaning of Melee|
|Related Logs:||Immediately follows Moar Jousting at Seagard|
|Terrick Encampment, Seagard|
|Purple tents! Maybe some yellow somewhere.|
|18 June, 289|
Kamron nods to Nedra, putting one hand up to his arm in the wake of the swat but sending her off with a wave, "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, Nedra." And then he turns back to Saffron, only to be met with a tightened mouth and a reproachful look. Pausing to recall the words that left his mouth, he flushes slightly, "You're right, Lady Saffron." His voice and expression have sobered, and the Mallister knight bows his head, "I have overstepped the bounds of propriety and I must apologize for my forwardness and beg your forgiveness."
Another tireless gesture of her fingers tuck a bit more red fleece behind her ear, and Saffron inclines her head gently. "I will forgive you, Ser Kamron, if you escort us back to the Banefort tents." There is a slight tension in her voice, though she is trying to not leave the knight so downtrodden. Off Saffron's shoulder, the dark-haired Roost girl looks over to the pair with a slight frown on her plain lips. She takes another step back, half-turning as if to see if he will join them on their way out of the lists.
Kamron swallows once at the mention of the Banefort tents, but he bows his head in acceptance. "Of course, Lady Saffron." He steps down a row past her, and then sweeps one hand in invitation, "Ser Quentyn rode well." Because that's a safer topic, "He didn't fall too hard, so I'm sure he's not badly hurt. Just the usual bruises and bumps. He definitely did your house proud."
Saffron Banefort strides along the tournament grounds with the knight at her side and her maid just behind them in the grace of the Lady's shadow. She has accepted his arm with good grace, though she has distanced herself once more from the Mallister knight. She watches her feet as they walk at most, glancing now and then toward Kamron. "Quentyn is a Banefort… we are stronger than rock. I'm sure that whatever bruises he's sustained have done him little harm."
Kamron offers a flash of a smile, but it's not the carefree, nearly wild thing from his teasing before, "Harder even than the Rock of Seagard?" He shakes off the light joke. "So… have you decided if you prefer the tilt or the melee, Lady Saffron? It seems like everyone has a favorite." His steps stay simple, slow, his left arm held away from his body so that she does not have to step so close to to side, despite the escort and the connection of her hand on his forearm.
The Banefort offers Kamron a small smile in return, though there is a small flash of dimples. "To be honest, Ser Kamron, I prefer the melee. I've never understood the whole idea of charging men with sticks on horseback. I mean, my father tried tirelessly to explain that there is some warfare purpose behind it, even if its just learning to charge your horse forward while also maintaining balance. Not to mention the ability to take a physical strike that would throw an unarmored man from his horse, if not kill him instantly." She drops her gaze down to her feet, watching her dark brown leather slippers peek out from beneath the skirts. "But the melee… I have greater opinions on."
Kamron shakes his head slightly, "If you'd seen the charge of the Mallisters at the Trident, you'd understand the purpose of the joust, Lady Saffron." His eyes go a little distant, and he's silent for a moment, obviously reliving that famed charge. Letting a slow smile spread across his lips, he drags himself back to the present and the woman on his arm. "But what opinion is it that you have ont he melee, My Lady Saffron?" As he speaks, he crooks his right arm just a little, shaking back his sleeve to show just a bit of the braided favor, "Besides the fact that you have a stake in the next melee?"
Saffron draws herself a bit closer toward the knight so she can look at the braided ribbons with a touch of fondness. Then she looks up at the knight as they continue their path to the Banefort tents. "My father trained up knights and soldiers for battle… the melee is the closest representation of that. I spent a lot of time in the practice yard, watching my cousins." She looks back down at her shoes a bit. There is a slight nervousness as she smooths her hand across the skirts of her wildfire gown.
Kamron turns his wrist up to show the braid all the better, then drops his arm and shakes his sleeve back over the favor, "I shouldn't be wearing it yet, strictly speaking, of course. Not until I'm armed, armored, and on the tournament grounds." He chuckles softly, "But I didn't want it to get lost." At her description of the attraction of the melee, he nods his head slowly, "So it brings back happy memories of your childhood, Lady Saffron?" He turns his head to watch her closely then, and adds, "As well as actually being something you've done. Not the melee, but fighting with hand weapons."
Saffron looks a touch startled at first as he brings that up. It is not something others talk about, and even when she does it is done with care and casualness. She is quiet for a long moment following the analysis of her fondness, and then she slowly nods. "That by itself is a happy memory," Saffron says finally. "But, I have not held a sword in many months… perhaps even a year now." There is a shy moment as she looks off across the open thatch of grass that rustles in the evening breeze.
Kamron shrugs a little helplessly at Saffron's start, "And is that what you think of when you watch a melee, My Lady?" The question is quiet, soft. "That sounds like a much better thing to think of during a melee." He trails off into silence, not directly commenting on what he might think of when he's in the midst of it.
"Not all, but some. My father would instruct me often during the melee, but he would often just talk about the way men fight and how it really is when there is a battle to be fought." Saffron pulls Kamron to a stop, and Hara is quite smart enough to stop before there is a collision. She half turns to face the knight, and she tilts her head a bit as her gaze meets his with a sure steadiness. She is not shy to hold the knight's eyes. "And what do you think of, Ser Kamron?"
Kamron stops as she silently bids, turning to meet her gaze. There's something a little vacant in his eyes then, a thousand-league stare. "When I'm fighting, I don't think about anything. All I'm doing is trying to put blade to body, to get my shield or my armor between myself and incoming attacks. It's a sort of fugue state, where nothing exists but myself and the men around me." Even the Mallister man's voice is dull as he speaks, trailing off at the end. Squeezing his eyes closed as if to block out the image of what he describes, he shakes his head, and when he opens his eyes, there's a certain sadness to them, mirrored in his voice, "And yet being on the edge of death is all so exciting. Even more-so than jumping from a cliff." His right hand crosses his body to touch the back of her hand with just a few fingers, "More-so than most anything I've ever encountered."
There is a renewed softness behind those panes of usually burning eyes. When his eyes close, she immediately takes another step forward as if to further close the gap between them, though the step is halved as to not defy the propriety of their relationship. But his fingertips to her skin dashes that all away in a single breathless moment. Her other hand comes to rest over his, only further drawing them close together. "I have wronged you," she says in a soft, almost sad voice herself. "I have made you think of sad things, and for that… I hope you will forgive me."
Kamron doesn't respond for a long moment, dropping his eyes down to look at their hands, and then past to his boots and the hem of her skirts. "That's what scares me, Lady Saffron. The only sadness in that thought is that there's so little in the world that can compare with the pure rush of combat." His fingers squeeze just a little, and then his hand moves to withdraw, "You have not wronged me, My Lady, I assure you." He offers a dry, amused smile, "I'll let you know if you ever do."
He withdraws, and Saffron takes a step back. Her head is bowed, and she nods gently. "I hope you do," she says softly as she offers him a soft smile. Apart once more, the Banefort lady looks across what she feels is too great an expanse between them. "But you love it, and there is nothing more you want than to be in it. I suppose you should not feel quite so forlorn for that." She then glances toward Hara and back to the knight once more. "I think I would like to finish the rest of the walk on my own — " Well, with Hara of course. "I relieve you of your duty."
Kamron almost draws his arm back to keep the Banefort close as she steps back, leaving a cool gap between them even in the warm evening air. But he lets his arm draw away from him to guide her in stepping away, doing the proper thing. And not much enjoying it. "I don't know that it's something I love, My Lady. But there's something about it. I almost understand Jacsen." And then she's really stepping away, and he lets his arms drop, "As you wish, Lady Saffron. Enjoy your time with your cousin." And he'll stand there as she walks away, leaving him rejected.
Saffron has taken several steps from him, but when she looks back to see the sight of the rejected Mallister. There is a strained moment in her chest, and looks toward Hara almost beseechingly. The Roost woman can offer her nothing but a slightly purse of her lips. In a sudden moment, she retraces her retreat by a few steps so she can touch the knight at his arm. A kiss is pressed suddenly to his cheek, perhaps an almost surprising gesture. And then as quickly as she scampered back, she scampers away with Hara falling swiftly into stride behind her while looking wide-eyed at the Mallister.
Kamron tilts his head slightly at the return, and his brows rise sharply as she steps so close and raises that little bit to her toes to reach his cheek. The stretch is necessary as he's drawn up sharply to full height at the sudden closeness. Despite his propriety, that little kiss on the cheek leaves a smile on his lips. He's not quite as wide-eyed as the maid, but there's a certain sparkle to those blue-grey orbs, and the fingers of his left hand rub over one another, just barely kept from reaching out for her trailing arm. And then he bows his head to the departing lady, watching her depart — now with a crooked grin on his lips and his right hand rising to touch his cheek once.