Sound created a concussion in the air, metal on metal; I sat staring blankly out from the dais as the crashing clash hit me again. The crash of metal preceded by thunder as the destrier pounded up the field. My life up for auction to the most brutal of men, the last one standing, the one who could pummel their competition into the ground.
This tourney was in my honour, the champion would have me in marriage. They don’t give a thought to me; I am of less value than their destrier, armour and weapons. All I am is a key. They are here to show off their skills, crashing around on the field and the last one standing walks away with the gold and me inconveniently attached to it.
My ladies were whispering about the prowess of the warlords on display. Me I just wanted it over. This wasn’t supposed to be my life; I was destined for the convent. I anticipated a studious life then my idiot brother was killed in a tourney. This left me sitting here like a goose stuffed for consumption by some lout who could ride a horse, swing a sword and belch loudly.
The trumpet brought my attention back, a winner declared. I looked up as an articulated tin can rode to dais, lance angled towards me with a basket attached. The lance lowered dropping the basket into my lap, inside a book, a kitten and a rose, maybe not such a lout.
