DevlinMature

There was a rapid scuffling noise behind him and the sound of the tent slapping open.
                “Cuz!” he heard and dared to turn around. Weston stood there; a plain white tunic and a pair of pantaloons had been hastily put on. “I had not thought to expect you.”
                “Yes, so I can see.” The pair of them let out a roar of laughter.
                Weston slapped him on the shoulder.
                “I have been –er-courting Lady Enton.” He tried to explain.
                “And you can leave the rest of the gaudy details to my scarred imagination, dear cousin.” Devlin half smiled at him, but held out his hand. Weston clasped it.
                “So, you are participating in the tourney, eh cuz.” Weston asked, peaking back into the tent. “I should have expected it, I suppose.”
                “That is so, and you also I presume?”
                “Aye, which is half of the deal I made to get lady Enton to come with me.” He winked and re-entered the tent. A moment passed before he reappeared. “Well, come on in.” He urged.
                Devlin took a tentative step inside. It was commonplace for people to walk around naked if necessary, especially when they were poor or in bathhouses, but it was the pinnacle of courtesy not to look upon a naked woman, unless she happened to be a whore. Looking upon a Lady was just bad manners, truly. “Surely this is not the first time you’ve seen a pair of teats cuz, aside from your mother’s I mean.”
                “Well no.” He chuckled. “So what was the second part of the deal?” Devlin shook his head. The lady was now putting her dress on.
                “That he wins.” Weston let out an animalistic sound and slapped the lady on the arse. Devlin raised an eyebrow. “And you had better make good.” The lady had broken in. She finished putting on her dress and Weston tried to kiss her. She slapped him away. “We have company, you idiot.” Weston sighed but turned away.
                “So what brings you here cuz?” He picked up a flagon of wine and poured it into a cup, handing it to Devlin. He smelled it. Dawnrose, a taste of home.
                Devlin took a sip before answering. “Well it would seem that Louena fills the streets of the Capital, possibly for the first time in history, and I am in need for a place to stay.” He held his cup up and moved it around him.
                “Aye, I know what you mean. I must say it took me by surprise too.” He poured himself and Lady Enton a glass too and took a long draught, barely able to keep his eyes off the Lady. “And of course you are welcome here. Take your armour off if that is your wish, cuz.” He gestured to one of three stands. “So many big names here, including you. Makes winning all the harder.”
                “I noticed the champion of the Golden Sword, Tallor. Is Justen here?” Devlin eyed his cousin whose face had paled somewhat, a grim smile replacing his jovial one.
                Justen Tallow, like all Tallors before him, was a prodigious swordsman. It was no accident that his sigil was a golden sword, just as Armen Ridling’s was a horse. Somehow these men were born with swords in their hands or horses between their legs.

The End

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