Frederick

I don’t wonder how our host found an impeccable and finely crafted Italian-style jousting harness of the finest bronze plates that fits my frame and face. Between my wife’s day trips and my own wanderings the last few days, I have mysteries to spare.

I inspect the arm harness of the suit while a squire provided by one of the Slanach knights adjusts my helm. The boy is competent enough, but I am not going to spoil my chance at the tournament due to a misadjusted strap or hook.

Aoibheann hovers nearby. She has gone full Guinevere on me and dressed in a very princessy outfit straight out of the illustrations in the old illuminated book of the tales of King Arthur and his court we loved as kids. It was a very old-fashioned look even back then.

“EEE you look so dashing, Freddy Pooh,” she squealed. “It was so nice for Aunty Fifi to organize this tournament on such short notice. Reveling in feats of martial valor like when we were young will be just the thing to cheer you up.”

It’s true this vacation has not been much of a vacation for me; it’s hard to relax when you cannot help but notice the strangeness of it all. We’ve been here and there on picnics, wine tasting, and other excursions organized by Aoibheann and Fionnuala. I had prayed that what Mary had told me that first day was wrong, but everywhere we went, and despite those best attempts to keep me entertained and distracted, I noticed the same glassy-eyed stares, the same automatism, and the same entitled youths.

Now this tournament, which is either a last-ditch attempt by Aoibheann and Fionnuala to salvage this vacation or a means by which to pacify me by the latter. 

I hope it is the former because I have not participated in a tournament since Murtagh was a sprightly youth eager to beat his former master, aka myself, at the lists. I hope the wine-drinking Slanach knights can provide me with a good challenge.

The squire strapped the targe to my chest and stepped back with a bow. I flexed my arms and legs a few times to test the armor. No problems. I started down the corridor out of the preparation room.

“Wait, darling,” said my angel.

I turned.

Aoibheann was looking pensive, as if she wanted to say something.

“There is no need, dear.”I said with a smile, “I know I have been dragging the mood down, and I thank you for arranging this little distraction for me.”

She did not say anything.

The fanfare sounded; the tournament was about to begin. I filed out of the tent towards my charger.

In hindsight, I probably should have let her speak.

Aoibheann

Oh my Freddy Pooh, I love you, but sometimes you’re as blind as a bat. I nearly spilled everything to you, as I had wanted to do every day since we arrived, only to be saved by your misreading of the situation and a fanfare.

I crawled back to the royal box in shame, ashamed of nearly betraying Aunty Fifi’s trust, and mostly of betraying your trust, Freddy Pooh. I took my seat next to Aunty Fifi just as the next fanfare blew and the contestants paraded out onto the field.

The knights of Slanach are just as colorful and shiny as I remember, and Freddy Pooh is as gallant as ever in his shiny bronze suit.

Another fanfare sounded, and the jousting began.

The first match was between Fredrick and a knight in green with a griffon for his heraldry.

Frederick won, of course; he has never been defeated at the lists since he was a squire.

I sighed and put my head in my paws.

“What’s wrong, rosebud?” Aunty Fifi said, with all the warmth and love I’d come to expect.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered.

“Do what?” said Aunty Fifi, alarmed.

“I cannot keep lying to Freddy,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “I made an oath to him at our second wedding that I would never keep anything from him ever again. I have already broken my oath.”

I started to bawl. “I nearly told Fredrick everything while we were in his tent,” I said between sobs. “If he had stayed a moment longer, I would have.”

Once again, Aunty Fifi wrapped her arms around me. “There, there, darling,” she said warmly. “You’re a big girl, and big girls don’t cry. Deep breaths, Rosebud; let all the sorrow out of you.”

I did as she asked, and by the time the third bout had passed, my tears had stopped. Aunty Fifi dabbed away the rest with her handkerchief. I could feel the little canyons my tears carved in my fur.

“There, darling,” she said with a smile. “I know it’s hard, but this is not Faerie; no one will consider you an oathbreaker for keeping our secret, and if Frederick does discover it, I will take all the blame.”

She kissed me on the forehead like she did when I was little, then let me go. We watched the next few bouts in silence, and I still felt terrible for what I hadn’t told Freddy Pooh. I sulked as I watched.

“Your heart is still heavy with doubt,” asked Aunty Fifi.

“Yes,” I meekly replied.

Well, we might as well do something about it,” she said with a sigh. “I promise, no, I swear, with any divinity watching as my witness, that so long as you keep your word not to tell a soul of any of this to anyone and follow my instructions, everything will come out well in the end when Faolan is defeated, and you take your place as a divinity. If I fail to keep my bond, let me be imprisoned with my father for the rest of eternity.”

I stifled a gasp; I had not heard such words spoken that way since I was a little girl in Faerie. Such binding Fey contracts are invoked for the greatest debts and direst quests. She condemned herself to her own personal hell if she broke her word. I was expected to respond with my own oath.

I knew what I was expected to do. Etiquette lessons ingrained in me since I could talk demanded a response.

“I swear with any divinity watching as my witness to never breathe a word of my powers to another soul; if I break my word, let my Freddy Pooh be lost to me for all eternity.”

“There, darling. Now you needn’t feel guilty about Frederick.”

For the first time that day, I relaxed. My body felt spineless as I sank into my throne and watched the jousting match.

Yet I couldn’t enjoy Freddy Pooh’s victories. Maybe it was the opposition. The Slanach knights were not very good. Freddy Pooh won every bout.

Maybe a small part of me still felt what I was doing was wrong, even if I couldn’t say why.

Frederick

It felt good to be back in my native element for a while. I had forgotten how good I was at the joust.

The knights of Slanach barely challenged me.

Every tilt ended with my opponent hit hard, my lance shattering, and me untouched.

I quickly tore through the tournament bracket, defeating everyone until the final round against a knight in black armor—the man who should have been my equal, or at least a better challenge than the rest of his countrymen.

The fanfare blew, and we charged.

We both missed on the first pass.

On the second pass, I got a glancing blow on his targe. This knight had some skill.

On the third, I adjusted my seat slightly and landed a solid hit. My lance broke, and my opponent went tumbling off his horse. That clinched my victory.

The crowd went wild with applause as a final fanfare sounded.

For a moment, I basked in the attention. Then something about the applause bothered me.

Beneath it, I heard something else: booing.

For the first time since I entered the field, I noticed my surroundings. The adults applauded in unison. The kids booed and hurled abuse my way. I winced to hear such language from mouths so young.

Disoriented and confused, I dismounted and made my way to the podium for the award ceremony. From the stands, I saw my angel coming down to the field, likely to kiss me; that’s how these stories are supposed to play out.

I was halfway there when a single word rang out.

“Tricheur,” shouted my final opponent. I needed no translation to know what he called me: cheater.

He stepped into the center of the field and appealed to his queen, “Aunty Fifi, this détestable fey wolfman cheated; the tournement was mine, you promised me victory.” The children renewed their chorus of abuse aimed squarely at me.

“I know not what you speak of, Sir Mazet,” Fionnuala said with an amused shrug. “Frederick is obviously the better warrior; he has had centuries to hone his craft while you had not even half that time.”

At that moment, all composure drained from Sir Mazet. He threw a tantrum. He stomped and screamed like I’d seen Kaida do when she was little, and like Tristan and Lillabella do sometimes.

I would have chalked it up to another mystery to solve if Sir Mazet hadn’t thrown himself at me, flailing like a child. Soon the rest of the knights joined in. I have seen men brawl before. This was not a brawl. There was no anger, no technique, no attempt to win. They simply flailed at one another like children fighting over a toy.

Their punches barely registered against me. I was too bewildered to be angry. Aoibheann stood aghast at the base of the stands, her face contorted in horror. The children in the crowd cheered.

Fionnuala stared down with a disappointed look, but I could not tell whether she meant it for her knights or for me.