(no subject)

[ssecca01.livejournal.com]

My request is a bit unusual (which seems to be a theme with me, eh?). I would love to see a Lance/Chris ficlet set in the Tamora Pierce world of Tortall. Chris taking Lance on as a squire. If having this specifically set in the Tortall world is too hard. Then Just any old "world" would do, but still the same plot of Chris is a Knight and takes Lance on as his squire. heh.

Those unfamiliar with the world, Tortall is a realm of a king and queen with knights and mages theives and yeah. Also? this site has good information on Tortall.

Comments

[pensnest]

I'm taking the 'Just any old world' option here because Tortall is not a place with which I am familiar, but I rather fancied having a go at this request. If you want it to remain open, I won't be the slightest bit put out.

Here goes.



Stupid, stupid. Going through the world in a daydream, wishing for the stars, instead of paying attention to the humdrum. Never let down your guard in the city, Lancyn, always stay alert when you're bringing home the takings. Don't let your mind wander. This is your life, humble, dull, confined. This is the regular walk to Master Perel's home. This is wood in your hands, not a sword.

Lancyn backed up another inch, and braced the cudgel in his hands. The three feral-eyed youths danced on their toes, feinting towards him, taunting. They had knives. Small blades, true enough, but sharp and deadly. He had his cudgel and his natural stubbornness, but no skill in the wielding and no expectation of rescue.

Breathing carefully, trying to keep himself calm, Lancyn considered his options. His chance of taking on three thieves and winning was... negligible. If he threw the leather pouch away, he might escape without injury, though that depended on whether they wanted the money more than the chance to torment him, but if he didn't get the takings back to Master Perel, he might as well go feral himself. It'd be either that or live out his life indentured, because he'd not pay off the debt before his hair was grey.

On balance, it looked as though fighting was as good an option as any. Shrinking, and emitting a carefully-judged whimper, Lancyn brought the cudgel down as hard as he could on the wrist of the nearest feral, who dropped his knife and howled, clutching the injured arm. Unfortunately, the knife fell beyond Lancyn's reach, but he consoled himself with the thought that his cudgel was a better weapon. Longer.

"Oh, well struck!"

The four of them froze in astonishment at the incongruous exclamation. Lancyn kept his focus on his three attackers, who had drawn back just out of range, but beyond them he could see someone in black—fine black, there was a cloak and a hint of glitter, which meant either gems or costly metal—and was it possible that this was Lancyn's miracle? That he was going to escape unhurt and with a chance to keep his place?

The newcomer strode negligently into the middle of the scene. He was obviously of the knightly class, and carried a sword, but he was an unlikely knight. Slight of stature, pale, with his dark hair braided and twined with ribbons like a maiden's. Not the tall, noble-jawed hero of Lancyn's imagination, but somehow, the unlikeliness of this strange saviour made him more solidly real.

"So..." the strange knight continued, quite casually. "My squire is out of his depth. Lucky I'm here."

"Your squire?" one of the attackers exclaimed.

"That's right," said Lancyn, his chin up. "I am his squire."

The thief with the injured wrist spat noisily. "I don't believe it. You're no squire. Where's your sword?"

"I am!" Lancyn asserted. He didn't understand why the strange knight would make such an absurd claim, but it seemed like rescue and he wasn't going to argue. "I am Lancyn, and I am squire to Ser..."

"Ser Chrisfer doesn't explain himself to street scum," the knight said brightly. "But Lancyn is my squire. You don't want to take him on, trust me. I see he's already neutralised one of you."

Lancyn wasn't sure that whacking someone on the wrist with a big stick actually counted as neutralising. The injured thief didn't seem to think much of it either, he spat and cursed. The other two were giving each other meaningful looks, and their hands tightened on their knives. Lancyn wondered if a knight would be able to deal with three assailants at once. Ser Chrisfer didn't look particularly intimidating.

Then Ser Chrisfer looked him directly in the eyes, and the intensity of that dark gaze left Lancyn breathless.

"I say again, I am Ser Chrisfer and this is Lancyn, my squire. Isn't that right, kid?"

"Uh, yes. I am Lancyn and this is Ser Chrisfer, my knight, uh, master. Oh!" There was something in the shadows. "Behind you, Ser!"