Fall in Texas. It was no better than summer anywhere else in states. The temperature was still hovering in the low 90s, maybe the high 80s, with a humidity level that caused a brow to bead with sweat the moment they got outside. It was a running joke that the most popular hobby in the humid, hot south was to sweat.
Heat or not, there was a very specific wardrobe the knights of the faire were required to wear. Leather pants, roomy enough to move well, but not loose enough to be considered baggy. The pants always seemed to tighten on him around the ass and groin as he got sweater from the unbreathing pants. Leather boots, curtesy of one of the more expensive boot makers that had been working with the faire for decades, crafted custom boots for the knights. His boots were black and went up to just below his knee. The sole of the boot was thick with a heavy tread for grip. The boots had black leather lacing up the front that weaved through silver buttons with ornate designs masterfully etched into the sterling silver, which he kept polished to compliment the boots he kept oiled and buffed.
He then adorned himself in a loosely fitted white cotton poet-style shirt. It was soft against his skin and very comfortable – airy and light, open from the collar down to between his chiseled pectoral muscles. Which was promptly covered up with a shirt made of light gray that was quilted and thick to protect the skin against the rubbing of the armor. His suit was custom made for him from a combination of thick leather and shiny steel. The suit was built strategically to protect him from hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, and the jousting he did as part of his role here at the festival. Over the armor he pulled a tunic of sturdy cotton with large squares of blue and red with the crests of the Renaissance Festival – a gold lion standing on its back paws with its front claws out in an attack pose.
There is a rule at this festival that head covering are REQUIRED. Not suggested, not hinted at, required and for this reason, he then laid a bright red scarf with designs of black swirls and dragons upon his head and gathered the excess at the nape of his neck and used a black ponytail rubber band to hold it together, the tail of the scarf hung down his back to just between his shoulder blades. When he was performing, he was the “red knight”, but currently he was wearing the uniform of the King’s guard that would stroll the festival on horseback between shows to help the security guards.
It was too early for shows yet, it was just opening cannon – 9am – the first show wouldn’t be for another hours yet and he was one of the representatives of the faire that stood at the entrance of the festival as the customers swarmed in to start their day of recreated medieval fun. With the canon blown and the gates open, he counted down his fifteen minutes until he was allowed to leave the front of the grounds and head toward the back where the jousting court was.
He wasn’t required to smile or be friendly. He bowed his head with simple nods to people and would occasionally wave, but mostly he was quiet, while others around him were overly loud and boisterous. He was told he always looked mad with his thin lips that rarely parted to smile and his blue eyes that were so clear they looked icy. He wasn’t unfriendly, only reserved in a way most weren’t here in the realm of performers.
When he was able to leave the front gates, he took his usual path through the vendors hawking their goods in loud, friendly ways, and the more permanent vendor booths with their employees calling out and flirting for attention. He rode by it all without paying much attention. The one booth that usually made him turn his head was one of the beer gardens. It was still early morning but people, men mostly, were already lined up for beer or coffee with Baileys in it. It never failed; the moment they got in here they started drinking, like they couldn’t have fun unless they were buzzed.
A blonde caught his eye. This was the second weekend of the season with nine to go. He had seen her the previous weekend (opening weekend) and he now found himself riding by the booth whenever he was away from the jousting ring. She was easy enough to spot as she had adorned her body in tattoos. It took him less than a minute to ride by, but for that minute his cool blue eyes took her in. A smile that could dim the sun. Breasts, full and luscious under the wench’s shirt and corset. He watched but he never stopped, never smiled. And, if she looked his way, he would merely nod his head and ride on.
He thought about her, even when he wasn’t riding by. It was crush. It couldn’t be anything more than that. He didn’t know her name, the sound of her voice, or anything. She was just nice to look at. And he wasn’t the only one who thought that. He listened to several of the guys talking about her. Ones that were actually bold enough to go up to her and chat with her, ask her to the fireworks and bonfires after the gates closed. He was not one of those guys able to put him out there so easily. Reserved. It was his curse.
He steered his horse – a chestnut bay with a white star on her forehead – into the stables as he needed to prepare for the first show of the day. He knew the beer garden was adjacent to where they jousted and fought, in sight of where she worked. Though, while performing he was too distracted to know if she ever stopped to watch. Some of the “beer wenches” picked their champions and cheered for them, sometimes even wearing their champion’s colors as a scarf. No one had ever cheered for the red knight. In the show, he was the villain, always defeated in the end by the black or white knight. The blue knight was a crowd favorite, very flashy and flirty, but rarely stopped being flashing or flirty enough to win. The green knight always tried hard, but they were usually a rookie and still learning. His father, Sir Patrick of the Thorn – aka Thorn around the faire – was the white knight, the hero. While the black knight was another talented actor who wooed the crowd and loved to win.
He dismounted the bay and changed his tunic from the red and blue to his red tunic with a black silhouette of a dragon on his chest. He changed from the chestnut bay to his black ‘war horse’ if you will. This was a horse he had chosen for himself when he was ten and trained to work with him perfectly in the ring. Because he wasn’t supposed to win in the end, he needed his horse to know exactly when to pull to the left or right, so he took the fatal blow to the chest or missed his opponent. That was probably the reason he was the red knight; it took a lot more skill to lose than to win.
As he prepared for the first show of the day, he checked his horse, and then his gear. And when the stands were full and the horns sounded, he rose out into the arena to start the show. And that was how his day went – patrol as a “King’s guard” quick change and tunic and horse, perform, take a small break, repeat.
The rest of the shows went smoothly. The red knight was always defeated in the end and now that the final show concluded, the revelry could begin. The knights dismounted from their steeds and disappeared into the darkening faire grounds to drink and frolic. They didn’t have to turn their armor back in to the Thorn at the stables until they were ready to leave the faire grounds. Now came the time for Orion’s third ‘job’ of the day, but it was the most enjoyable.
Orian wasn’t solely responsible for the horses. Each horse had a tender, appointed by Orion’s mother, Lexi, who was a licensed veterinarian and in charge of the stables and staffing them. The tenders, who were also anxious to go have some fun before the faire clothes, stripped the horses of their banners, saddles, and bridles, hanging the tact and playing anything that needed to be washed into a hamper before scampering off themselves.
Now, alone in the stable, his mother and father were in the office attached to the stables to discuss the day. They usually didn’t linger long after the shows ended as they liked to grab dinner together before his mother returned and help Orion wrap up the evening. While they were gone, he took great care washing and brushing the horses until all the sweat and dust was washed away and they were clean. There were six horses that were housed in their stables and all he was responsible for.
Due to the heat, he usually only worked in his leather pants, leather boots, and that thin cotton poet shirt that let him feel the night breeze. Thanks to the water and the sweat of the day, his shirt was almost see through. He left the stable to head to the barn to fill buckets with oats and barely feed.
Heat or not, there was a very specific wardrobe the knights of the faire were required to wear. Leather pants, roomy enough to move well, but not loose enough to be considered baggy. The pants always seemed to tighten on him around the ass and groin as he got sweater from the unbreathing pants. Leather boots, curtesy of one of the more expensive boot makers that had been working with the faire for decades, crafted custom boots for the knights. His boots were black and went up to just below his knee. The sole of the boot was thick with a heavy tread for grip. The boots had black leather lacing up the front that weaved through silver buttons with ornate designs masterfully etched into the sterling silver, which he kept polished to compliment the boots he kept oiled and buffed.
He then adorned himself in a loosely fitted white cotton poet-style shirt. It was soft against his skin and very comfortable – airy and light, open from the collar down to between his chiseled pectoral muscles. Which was promptly covered up with a shirt made of light gray that was quilted and thick to protect the skin against the rubbing of the armor. His suit was custom made for him from a combination of thick leather and shiny steel. The suit was built strategically to protect him from hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, and the jousting he did as part of his role here at the festival. Over the armor he pulled a tunic of sturdy cotton with large squares of blue and red with the crests of the Renaissance Festival – a gold lion standing on its back paws with its front claws out in an attack pose.
There is a rule at this festival that head covering are REQUIRED. Not suggested, not hinted at, required and for this reason, he then laid a bright red scarf with designs of black swirls and dragons upon his head and gathered the excess at the nape of his neck and used a black ponytail rubber band to hold it together, the tail of the scarf hung down his back to just between his shoulder blades. When he was performing, he was the “red knight”, but currently he was wearing the uniform of the King’s guard that would stroll the festival on horseback between shows to help the security guards.
It was too early for shows yet, it was just opening cannon – 9am – the first show wouldn’t be for another hours yet and he was one of the representatives of the faire that stood at the entrance of the festival as the customers swarmed in to start their day of recreated medieval fun. With the canon blown and the gates open, he counted down his fifteen minutes until he was allowed to leave the front of the grounds and head toward the back where the jousting court was.
He wasn’t required to smile or be friendly. He bowed his head with simple nods to people and would occasionally wave, but mostly he was quiet, while others around him were overly loud and boisterous. He was told he always looked mad with his thin lips that rarely parted to smile and his blue eyes that were so clear they looked icy. He wasn’t unfriendly, only reserved in a way most weren’t here in the realm of performers.
When he was able to leave the front gates, he took his usual path through the vendors hawking their goods in loud, friendly ways, and the more permanent vendor booths with their employees calling out and flirting for attention. He rode by it all without paying much attention. The one booth that usually made him turn his head was one of the beer gardens. It was still early morning but people, men mostly, were already lined up for beer or coffee with Baileys in it. It never failed; the moment they got in here they started drinking, like they couldn’t have fun unless they were buzzed.
A blonde caught his eye. This was the second weekend of the season with nine to go. He had seen her the previous weekend (opening weekend) and he now found himself riding by the booth whenever he was away from the jousting ring. She was easy enough to spot as she had adorned her body in tattoos. It took him less than a minute to ride by, but for that minute his cool blue eyes took her in. A smile that could dim the sun. Breasts, full and luscious under the wench’s shirt and corset. He watched but he never stopped, never smiled. And, if she looked his way, he would merely nod his head and ride on.
He thought about her, even when he wasn’t riding by. It was crush. It couldn’t be anything more than that. He didn’t know her name, the sound of her voice, or anything. She was just nice to look at. And he wasn’t the only one who thought that. He listened to several of the guys talking about her. Ones that were actually bold enough to go up to her and chat with her, ask her to the fireworks and bonfires after the gates closed. He was not one of those guys able to put him out there so easily. Reserved. It was his curse.
He steered his horse – a chestnut bay with a white star on her forehead – into the stables as he needed to prepare for the first show of the day. He knew the beer garden was adjacent to where they jousted and fought, in sight of where she worked. Though, while performing he was too distracted to know if she ever stopped to watch. Some of the “beer wenches” picked their champions and cheered for them, sometimes even wearing their champion’s colors as a scarf. No one had ever cheered for the red knight. In the show, he was the villain, always defeated in the end by the black or white knight. The blue knight was a crowd favorite, very flashy and flirty, but rarely stopped being flashing or flirty enough to win. The green knight always tried hard, but they were usually a rookie and still learning. His father, Sir Patrick of the Thorn – aka Thorn around the faire – was the white knight, the hero. While the black knight was another talented actor who wooed the crowd and loved to win.
He dismounted the bay and changed his tunic from the red and blue to his red tunic with a black silhouette of a dragon on his chest. He changed from the chestnut bay to his black ‘war horse’ if you will. This was a horse he had chosen for himself when he was ten and trained to work with him perfectly in the ring. Because he wasn’t supposed to win in the end, he needed his horse to know exactly when to pull to the left or right, so he took the fatal blow to the chest or missed his opponent. That was probably the reason he was the red knight; it took a lot more skill to lose than to win.
As he prepared for the first show of the day, he checked his horse, and then his gear. And when the stands were full and the horns sounded, he rose out into the arena to start the show. And that was how his day went – patrol as a “King’s guard” quick change and tunic and horse, perform, take a small break, repeat.
The rest of the shows went smoothly. The red knight was always defeated in the end and now that the final show concluded, the revelry could begin. The knights dismounted from their steeds and disappeared into the darkening faire grounds to drink and frolic. They didn’t have to turn their armor back in to the Thorn at the stables until they were ready to leave the faire grounds. Now came the time for Orion’s third ‘job’ of the day, but it was the most enjoyable.
Orian wasn’t solely responsible for the horses. Each horse had a tender, appointed by Orion’s mother, Lexi, who was a licensed veterinarian and in charge of the stables and staffing them. The tenders, who were also anxious to go have some fun before the faire clothes, stripped the horses of their banners, saddles, and bridles, hanging the tact and playing anything that needed to be washed into a hamper before scampering off themselves.
Now, alone in the stable, his mother and father were in the office attached to the stables to discuss the day. They usually didn’t linger long after the shows ended as they liked to grab dinner together before his mother returned and help Orion wrap up the evening. While they were gone, he took great care washing and brushing the horses until all the sweat and dust was washed away and they were clean. There were six horses that were housed in their stables and all he was responsible for.
Due to the heat, he usually only worked in his leather pants, leather boots, and that thin cotton poet shirt that let him feel the night breeze. Thanks to the water and the sweat of the day, his shirt was almost see through. He left the stable to head to the barn to fill buckets with oats and barely feed.
The faire. It wasnt part of the growing plan of the Bennett Family. She was supposed to take over the ranch with her, now, ex fiancé. To run it however he wanted to run it, which would wound up going in the ground with debt. She wasnt going to allow that to happen to her family home. Not to the animals, to her family, none of it. So, to make sure it didnt happen, she ran. Ran as far as the Texas heat could allow her to rin.
Tossing the ring and picking up a bar maiden outfit, it felt almost natural. The opening night of the faire proved that she was a natural at dealing with people. Sure, a lot of men would flirt with her, try to get her to go to the fireworks or walk around the faire on her break. But she politely declined the offers. Some tried harder than others, constantly buying drinks and tipping like it would get them somewhere. But those men werent the ones that had her eye, oh no.
Even since joining the faire, she had her eyes set on what everyone called the villain. The red scarf knight. He would ride by her booth at least once a day. At first she just thought it was an accident, but then she thought it was part of his routine. One she would be more than happy to be apart of. Even if she was too nervous to ever say hi to him.
Once the second weekend hit, she had gotten dressed in the outfit that she would grow to hate. The corset was always cutting into her hips, the heat wasnt kind to all the layers. But it always made her chest look nice and her tattoos pop against her slight tan freckled skin. A smile on her lips was also, part of that uniform she was. Her blonde hair always made her stand out against the other two girls who worked the beer garden. They constantly told the her to pick a knight color to wear around her corset, a scarf or piece of fabric. But she couldnt decided on the first weeke d. Even though she knew it was going to be red. Maybe it was a thing of liking the bad guy.
But the second weekend was proving more interesting. Seeing the red knight ride by again, she halted her hands as she was cleaning a mug. Honey colored eyes glanced up to meet the one brief contact with him. Her fingers wiggling in a small wave before she went back to cleaning the mugs. Not wanting to distract him any more than she probably already did, or hoped. Knowing that the knights were always so busy, she didnt want to interrupt them or cause issues with others around them.
The rest of the shift went without a hitch. Most of the knights came over and flirted like usual, but she simply ignored the flirts. All she wanted to do was sneak off at the end of her shift. Wanting to get a taste of home that she was missing so badly. And the only way was to go near the stables.
So once the sun had set, she tossed in her half apron and replaced it with a cloak, she snuck off from the beer garden. Heading over to where she knew the knights had given up their horses for the night. The stables were usually pretty quiet around this time of night. Everyone was usually leaving the grounds or going to the fireworks. But with her hood up and her cloak blending in with the darkness, she maneuvered herself through the back of the stables.
Not seeing anyone at first, she couldnt help but feel a bit of excitment. Even if she ran into anyone, it wouldnt be the knights that was for sure. Maybe one of the stables workers surely, and she doubted they would care about a simple bar maiden just petting a horse.
Seeing the horses, she couldnt help bit smile as she tip toed her way over to the first one she could find. Head tilted to the side as the warm smile stayed on her face. "Hello handsome..." Her voice was soft as she made her way to one of the horses the was in a stall. Making sure she kept a bit of distance as to not startle the horse. She was a new face after all. Plus, she assumed she was alone in there, so she would take her time letting the horse get use to her.
Tossing the ring and picking up a bar maiden outfit, it felt almost natural. The opening night of the faire proved that she was a natural at dealing with people. Sure, a lot of men would flirt with her, try to get her to go to the fireworks or walk around the faire on her break. But she politely declined the offers. Some tried harder than others, constantly buying drinks and tipping like it would get them somewhere. But those men werent the ones that had her eye, oh no.
Even since joining the faire, she had her eyes set on what everyone called the villain. The red scarf knight. He would ride by her booth at least once a day. At first she just thought it was an accident, but then she thought it was part of his routine. One she would be more than happy to be apart of. Even if she was too nervous to ever say hi to him.
Once the second weekend hit, she had gotten dressed in the outfit that she would grow to hate. The corset was always cutting into her hips, the heat wasnt kind to all the layers. But it always made her chest look nice and her tattoos pop against her slight tan freckled skin. A smile on her lips was also, part of that uniform she was. Her blonde hair always made her stand out against the other two girls who worked the beer garden. They constantly told the her to pick a knight color to wear around her corset, a scarf or piece of fabric. But she couldnt decided on the first weeke d. Even though she knew it was going to be red. Maybe it was a thing of liking the bad guy.
But the second weekend was proving more interesting. Seeing the red knight ride by again, she halted her hands as she was cleaning a mug. Honey colored eyes glanced up to meet the one brief contact with him. Her fingers wiggling in a small wave before she went back to cleaning the mugs. Not wanting to distract him any more than she probably already did, or hoped. Knowing that the knights were always so busy, she didnt want to interrupt them or cause issues with others around them.
The rest of the shift went without a hitch. Most of the knights came over and flirted like usual, but she simply ignored the flirts. All she wanted to do was sneak off at the end of her shift. Wanting to get a taste of home that she was missing so badly. And the only way was to go near the stables.
So once the sun had set, she tossed in her half apron and replaced it with a cloak, she snuck off from the beer garden. Heading over to where she knew the knights had given up their horses for the night. The stables were usually pretty quiet around this time of night. Everyone was usually leaving the grounds or going to the fireworks. But with her hood up and her cloak blending in with the darkness, she maneuvered herself through the back of the stables.
Not seeing anyone at first, she couldnt help but feel a bit of excitment. Even if she ran into anyone, it wouldnt be the knights that was for sure. Maybe one of the stables workers surely, and she doubted they would care about a simple bar maiden just petting a horse.
Seeing the horses, she couldnt help bit smile as she tip toed her way over to the first one she could find. Head tilted to the side as the warm smile stayed on her face. "Hello handsome..." Her voice was soft as she made her way to one of the horses the was in a stall. Making sure she kept a bit of distance as to not startle the horse. She was a new face after all. Plus, she assumed she was alone in there, so she would take her time letting the horse get use to her.
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