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WYNETHYA
Wynethya steadied herself and held her chin high as her horse carried her into the arena. The screams of onlookers rang out as they rose from their seats, shouting and pumping their fists to the air in a moment of recognition and appreciation. Wynethya was known locally as the bravest knight in her community, confidently defending them from any harm that may look their way. She had grown up here, living and learning alongside other young women her age. She was more skilled in weaving and embroidery than any of her peers, though she hated the drudgery that came along with it and preferred more adventurous activities like archery, hunting, and horseback riding. As she grew, she learned to appreciate the love that went into her previously hated hobbies and began to find joy in the hours she could spend stitching away at fabric. Though she enjoyed this pass-time, she would go on to join a knightsman’s league, aligning herself with organizations that would allow her to participate in combat. By the age of 24, she was well-known throughout her land as someone that was both resilient and dependent.
Securing her grip on the flag she held at her hip, she sent a soft kick into the side of her horse, Cimeron, who let out a gleeful winny as she picked up speed, turning her walk into a trot. Cim was a beautiful, white criollo horse with a graying mane that billowed off of her as she moved gracefully across the dirt path. For this fortnight’s tournaments, Wynethya had specially made Cimeron a floral crown that sat atop her head and had chains that draped below her ears and connected back to the bridle. In a coordinating fashion, she had made her own costume; a white floral cape was pinned at her neck, bursting blue and pink hydrangeas painted across the silky fabric. As she held the flag steady, she could feel her cape and blonde hair blowing in the wind, unrestrained. The sounds of cheers and claps echoed through her ears as she finished her lap around the arena and came to a stop on the northern side, turning Cim to face the southern entrance. Wynethya sat still, though the blistering sun made it hard to focus. She could feel beads of sweat dripping down her face and onto the shining metal pauldrons covering her shoulders. As a wave of impatience washed over her, she began to wish that her opponent would make haste in showing their face, just to save her from the heat.
The crowds had an uneasy, mixed reaction to her opponent’s arrival. Though some had traveled from quite far to watch this duel, most were locals who sided with Wynethya. Still, her opponent surprised her. A beautiful dutch draft finally came trotting out of the southern entrance just as the sun began to dip behind the mountains. Though she had usually only seen them used for farming or work tasks, Wynethya had to admit that the sheer size of the horse was daunting to her. Larger than Cimeron, the draft now trotting around the dirt ring was a dark caramel color with only small white spots on its face. Though the mane was braided into several smaller plaits, the long black hair that covered its legs was windswept as the massive horse made its way towards Cimeron and Wynethya. Upon a closer view, Wynethya could see the other rider’s shoulder length black hair and strikingly sharp nose. She watched as the rider held her own flag at her waist, the wooden stick surely driven just as deep into her thigh as it was her own. They paraded their steed around the curve of the arena and then, they were gone. After a minute or so, the other rider had finished her entrance laps and took up a stance at the opposite side of the arena, now facing the Wynethya in a quiet stand-off.
MARCELLO
They had been nervous making her way into the arena knowing they would be perceived poorly. Still, the applause that erupted when they made their way out caught them off guard. The crowd was electric tonight. Plenty of people stood and screamed, spilling their drinks and falling over each other to show their support. Marcello listened as singers, stringed instruments, and the beat of drums rang out in her ears over the rhythmic sound of Devi’s footsteps. They held tightly onto the ropes with their free hand, directing her trusty friend where to go. As planned, the pair rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of their opponent; a familiar face. They’d dueled her before, losing in the last tournament. Still, after traveling all this way and finally being out in the arena, Marcello couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of optimism as they watched the smile drop from Wynethya’s face. Like a pro, Devi kicked up dirt in her direction as he made his way around the arena, the crowd growing more and more anxious as the seconds passed.
It was hard to focus on the nobility's words. They knew the king was speaking as his voice rang out and silenced the crowd, but their focus was solely directed at their opponent. Still, she was good at this by now, and so with a graceful kick, Marcello dismounted Devi and handed their flag off to the nearest appointed squire. He took it and ran off towards the barricaded wall as another approached, carrying her helmet and sword. He kneeled as he presented them. Cheers erupted from the crowd as Marcello reached for her sword, tucking it into the sheath snugly attached at the hip. After securing their weaponry, they pressed their helmet down onto their head, the bright silver bright and blinding before it encompassed their face. A smooth, cool darkness overcame them as the metal slid over their eyes.
Now forcing herself to focus on the lord’s booming voice, Marcello listened as she was instructed to approach the center of the arena with Wynethya. Slowly, each of them remounted their horses and calmly moved towards one another. Once at a safe, but reasonable distance, the two dismounted again before approaching one another on foot. Wynethya pulled her helmet off before Marcello could, blonde hair falling into her face as she shot a sultry smile their way. Her eyes were a bright green, almost algae-like. Abundant. Necessary. Natural. She offered a half curtsey/half bow before speaking just loud enough for Marcello to hear over the crowd’s murmurs and cheers.
“And what honor do I owe this occasion?” Her smile was golden and light, just like Marcello’s favorite ale. She tasted of it, too, at least the last time they had checked. Now having removed their own helmet, Marcello kneeled and returned a cheeky smile before standing once more.
“Awe, not even a little happy to see me, Wynny?”
Wynethya narrowed her eyes.
“I am overjoyed that I have the opportunity to beat you again, Marlough.”
Wyneytha took a deep breath before flipping her hair onto her back and putting her helmet back on. Raising her hand, she called for an arena squire who came swiftly, swinging his legs over Cimeron before taking her away to a stall on the far side of the arena wall. With a similar gesture, Marcello dismissed Devi and the other squires. Now just the two of them, Marcello stared through the visor of their helmet, desperate to win the first round. The stringed instruments had disappeared leaving only the steady, fast beat of the drums. The sun was truly set now, casting everything in a golden glow. Marcello couldn’t help but notice how angelic it made Wynethya look in the moment. Shouts came from all sides as the two of them waited for their signal.
WYNETHYA
In an instant, the clanging of metal rang out and echoed through the arena. No longer could she hear the shouts of the crowds or the loud voice of nobility, only the familiar and metallic banging of her own armor and weaponry clashing against Marcello’s. Only the sound of her own breathing, deep and heavy. She thought back to the last time they had met when Marcello had put up a solid fight, but in the end, had underestimated her abilities on a steed. For the first round this night, the two fought in a melee. Their swords crashed into one another’s and she could hear their own heavy breathing cacophony.
With a deafening crash, Marcello’s blade hit the side of Wynethya’s armor, sending her flying onto her back. She landed with a blow, dazed for just a moment too long. Marcello approached and kneeled down next to her, pinning her arm under the weight of their leg. It didn’t hurt, but it did annoy her. Wynethya was grateful her helmet covered her face, because hidden under the metal, her lips cracked into a smile as Marcello placed the edge of their sword against her throat and held her still, waiting for someone to make the call.
“Round one to the outsider, Marcello!” The nobility’s voice rang out and a choir of “boos” and displeased groans called back to him, unhappy Wynetha had lost round one. With a new fire in her chest, Wymetha pulled herself to her feet and readied her blade for round two.
Marcello had always been better at melee combat. They'd sparred dozens of times out of real combat, dueled a handful more *in* real combat, and usually, Wynethya struggled to get the upper hand. This time was different, though. After the exhilarating performance in round one, Wynethya felt the adrenaline begin to course through her veins.
‘One more melee, then a joust’, she thought to herself. She felt her stomach churn as she remembered the massive horse Marcello had ridden in on. Cimeron was strong though, and faster than she looked. Swallowing her nerves, she straightened her back as the King’s voice rang out again, marking the beginning of round two.
With agile speed, Wynethya tricked Marcello by dancing at their feet with her sword, using any and all trickeries to throw them off game. After several minutes of dodging jabs and doling out her own, Wynethya had managed to back Marcello against the arena wall. As the cool evening air began to settle in around them, Wynethya found herself grabbing at the neckline of Marcello’s chest plate, holding them still, back shoved against the wooden barrier. With a graceful trick of the hand, the tip of Wynethya’s sword settled into the groove of Marcello’s neck. The harder they breathed, the closer the sharp tip of the weapon sat to their neck. The two stared at one another through the slits on their visors as victory for round two was declared to be Wynethya’s. Marcello narrowed her eyes as the horn sounded.
Knowing what came of round three, Wynethya let go of Marcello’s armor and began to make her way back to the center of the arena. There, Cimeron was waiting for her, appointed squire standing off to her side. When she approached, the squire knelt as they always did and took her weapon, providing her with a new one. Running a hand down Cimeron’s neck, Wynethya took a firm grip of the ropes and slid her foot into the stirrups, swinging her leg over the back of the mighty creature. As she steadied herself on Cim’s back, she could see the massive horse Marcello had brought standing just in front of her, meters away. Unable to calm her nerves, she watched as Marcello mounted the steed, now sitting a few inches higher up than she was. She swallowed, hard.
MARCELLO
As they handed off their sword to the squire at Devi’s feet, another replaced the weapon with a lance that they were all too familiar with. The grip of the spear had perfectly remembered the shape of their hands and so, with a deep breath, Marcello closed the visor on their helmet again and nodded to the nobility, signaling they were ready for round three.
Wynethya looked nervous. She was not steady with her lance, but that had been the same thinking that tricked him last time. Still, she shut her visor as well and gave a hand gesture to the man calling the shots. Time seemed to slow as the two of them lined their horses up. With a deafening blow from a horn, the two opponents sent kicks into their horses and were off. Devi was not a particularly fast horse, though he was strong and sturdy, something Marcello hoped would give them an edge. Truthfully, this was one of the first times they had ridden a draft horse. Still, they knew Cimeron, Wynethya’s horse, was fast and agile, so they refused to become arrogant like they had at the last duel.
As the two massive creatures approached one another, trots now turned to gallops, Marcello positioned herself and held the lance out straight, pointed just below Wynetha’s chest. Digging her feet into Devi, Marcello quietly said a prayer that they would win this round or at the very least, no one would be seriously hurt. A jolt sent Marcello’s mind spinning.
With an audible gasp from the crowd, the tip of Marcello’s lance landed exactly where it needed to. Wynethya fell backwards off of Cimeron, tumbling to the dusty ground. A disgustingly loud “crunch” rang out in Marcello’s ears. Devi continued forward, looping around to make his way back to the center of the arena. By now, squires were tending to Cimeron and Wynethya alike, hauling her to her feet before ensuring she was good to stand on her own. Marcello could see no blood and was grateful to see Wynethya moving towards Cimeron with a few squires, clutching her stomach. As the King’s voice rang out across the stadium, Marcello directed Devi to the side of Wynethya.
He approached calmly and after a moment, Wynethya noticed she was no longer alone. She turned her head and looked up at Marcello who sat several feet above her on Devi’s back. Marcello pulled their helmet off and tucked it in front of them, reaching their hand out. Wynethya took it graciously and through the slit in her helmet, Marcello could see her eyes narrowing. Like she was a rag doll, Marcello pulled Wynethya onto the back of Devi. Theyfelt her fingers looping through the leather straps on their armor and with a winny, Devi took off in a trot around the arena as squires took Cimeron out of view.
“Are you still overjoyed?” Marcello asked, leaning back and obviously trying to get under Wynethya’s skin. With a jolt, they felt their balance waver as Wynethya pulled on the straps she held at Marcello’s waist. Wynethya leaned forward just enough that the metal of her helmet grazed Marcello’s hair and whispered,
“I am, actually. How else would I have ended up so close behind you?” She pulled her own helmet off after this and held it at her side. Marcello snorted.
“How else? We both know how this ends, Wynny.”
The crowd of people were in disbelief that Wynethya had lost, shouting their dismay and anger loudly as the group rode by. Marcello could feel Wynethya straighten her back as she began to offer waves to the groups of people in their seats. Marcello offered a few as well, circling Devi around the arena for 2 more laps before directing him to the same southern entrance they had come in from and Cimeron had been taken to.
As soon as they were out of the sight of the crowd and beneath the stadium, Cimeron could be seen enjoying a much deserved rest in a comfortable stall. Equine squires milled around the barn, offering guidance to Marcello and Devi as they rode in. A squire directed Marcello to a spot opposite of Cimeron; a nice, comfortable stall with plenty of food and water for the sturdy horse. Wynethya swung her leg to the side of Devi and slid off, jolted by the distance between her feet and the ground. She extended her free hand out to Marcello and with an eye roll, they accepted.
Marcello offered a wink to the squire who began tending to Devi as they walked out with Wynethya. He offered an uneasy smile in return. There was a small exit at the back of the stadium that led out to an exclusive camping area. Canvas yurts and caravans littered the grassy area and flags and banners hung from trees, offering a lively and homey atmosphere. Campfires burned, muscians laughed as they played guitars, ladies danced with their skirts hiked; there was merriment everywhere. Wynethya took the lead, walking in front of Marcello with a hand extended backwards to guide them. Marcello took it and after a short walk to the back of the campground, the two approached a green, fabric yurt that was decorated with beautiful tapestries and rugs.
“Not bad, Wynny! All yours?”
WYNETHYA
She nodded.
“Mhm; all mine, all harvest,” she said, peeling back the opening before gesturing for Marcello to enter. She followed behind, pulling a curtain back to reveal a nook where she kept her armor. Setting her helmet down, she turned to Marcello.
“Here, Marlough,” she continued, reaching out for their helmet. She took placed the helmet into the same area before turning back to her guest. Tilting her head in a way that said come here, Marlough strode over noisily to where Wynethya stood.
For a moment, the two stared at each other in silence, the only light being from a few candles lit around the tent. Marlough’s eyes were deep and brown like the lakes she was fond of as a kid, though they had more clarity to them; she could see further into them. Wynethya pulled the gauntlets from her hands and laid them near her helmet. Reaching forward with a delicate touch, Wynethya pulled at the leather straps securing Marcello’s armor. It was sensual. Slowly and delicately, Wynethya worked her fingers across their body until each metal buckle was undone and their armor hung loose off their body like a second skin. It felt intimate; a literal showcase of removing armor. Soon, with an equally careful caress, Marcello pulled the metal from Wynethya’s body and gently laid it out next to theirs in a neat and tidy fashion. Neither of them spoke, both choosing to sit quietly in the silence as the two of them pulled one another apart.
When they were done, it was like a weight had lifted. They were *friends* again, not enemies. No longer were they confined to dueling each other, now they had the freedom to do as they please. With a hearty laugh, the two of them crashed onto a pallet of blankets; Wynethya’s bed. Marcello turned their head to the side, dark hair falling behind their ear. Staring back at them, it felt like she could see right through them, like she couldn’t quite tell where their skin ended and soul began.
Marcello sat up on their elbow and reached for Wynethya’s face. Carefully, they slid their thumb in front of her ear and pulled her head towards them, her breath already picking up. Wynethya thought she might explode as Marcello held her face just inches from her own. They teased her by leaving trails of small kisses across her neck and jawline. After several tense moments of this, she couldn't take it anymore and made the move herself. Marcello looked surprised by the reaction at first but quickly recovered as the two of them held each other in a passionate embrace, lips locked.
In no time at all, both sets of hands began to wander. Marcello took control again, pushing Wynethya back onto the pallet before straddling her legs, locking her down in a way that prevented her from moving much. It was similar to what they had done out in the arena just a little while ago. Still, her hands found their way up their thighs before settling on their hips, thumbs pressed into the spaces between their stomach and legs. Marcello seemed to like this and began grinding into her lap, leaning down to kiss Wynethya again.
The two made each other dance. Wynethya teased Marcello by touching them as they kissed her, running her hands up their back and into their hair. She smiled while she did it, too. Marcello, for her part, played the game just as well by sliding their tongue across Wynethya’s lips and holding her face steady at the jaw; something they remembered her liking from last time. It went on like this for hours; the pair worked each other to the edge before pulling away, each of them growing more and more desperate as seconds passed. Outside, the sounds of evening tasks could be heard, though the two of them ignored the noise and continued enjoying the taste of one another.
MARCELLO
They didn't remember Wynny being this forward last time, though they chalked it up to excitement. She tasted delicious and her voice sounded as sweet and heavy as a cold molasses.
“That was a good duel today,” she said, “I’m pretty sure I let you win.” Marcello’s jaw dropped open as they pretended to be amused. Truthfully, they couldn't focus on anything besides Wynethya’s full chest, hidden away only by a few thin pieces of fabric as she lay pinned beneath them, eyes starry and dazed.
“Mhm, yeah. Sure. Okay,” Marcello managed to get out, no longer trying to hide the fact that she was staring. Wynethya offered a cheeky smile and rolled her eyes before firmly pulling at the straps of Marcello’s blouse and undergarments, bringing them back down level with her. Then, in a display of strength, she pushed Marlough to the side, bucking their legs off of her midsection. In no time at all, the two had switched positions and Wynethya was pinning down Marcello’s legs, using the moment to objectify them as they had her. Marcello liked the shit-eating-mischievous grin Wynethya had plastered to her face. She looked even better from this angle. Staring up, Wynethya’s face was framed by her breasts and hair. They wished they could paint.
The two found themselves wound up in one another, drunk on each other’s kisses. The pallet of blankets becoming messier and messier as the two fought for control, every so often pulling away to laugh or smile. Finally, Marcello couldn't take it anymore and with a tender look in their eyes, they slid their hand under the waistband of Wynethya’s trousers. Her eyes grew wide and she let out a nervous chuckle as she dug her nails into the back of Marcello’s shoulder. Loving every moment of it, Wynethya let their hands wander until her eyes were wide and her head had fallen back.
She sat up and pulled Marcello close to her, holding their hand steady with her own as she clenched the smooth muscles inside of her around their fingers. Her face was stuck in an ‘oh’ shape and as her head fell back again, Marcello planted fat, wet kisses just under her collarbones. They could feel her practically melting under the touch of their tongue. She got closer and closer until finally, Wynethya pitched forward and leaned her head on Marcello’s shoulder, biting it to stunt a moan. Her body shook as Marlough’s fingers pulsed a few more times inside of her, now just *trying* to tease her.
Pulling their hand from her undergarments, Marcello stared intensely at Wynethya as they raised their hand to her mouth as an offering. She took it. Grabbing onto Marcello’s wrist to steady herself, Wynethya let out a whimper as she licked and sucked the fingers they had just used on her. Marlough thought they might pass out just from the sight, let alone the sensation of her tongue on their hand. Taking a huge breath, they steeled themself and exhaled, chucking at themselves a little as they did.
The ground was hard underneath them. Though there were several blankets and even a few sleeping mats, it was not a comfortable place to be. Until now, they hadn’t even noticed. They’d been too focused on Wynethya to even care what her tent looked like. But now, laying back on the stack of pillows with one arm behind their head and the other around Wynny, it was clear to Marcello that this was a.. less than ideal sleeping situation. Fortunately, they hadn’t planned on staying here anyway; they had hoped Wynethya would ask them to, but had made other sleeping arrangements, just in case. Turning to her, Marcello spoke.
“So, um.. wanna bounce? I got a room at the Hilton for the weekend.”
Wynny quickly sat upright and turned to them, slapping their chest with a huge smile, already laughing.
“Are you fucking kidding? I can shower? You should have led with that, you asshole!”
Wynethya stood up quickly and pulled her shoes on quickly before turning back to Marcello, who was still laying on the pallet.
“Dude, come ON!”
Marlough did not argue. Taking the instructions gladly, they stood and pulled their own shoes on. Wynethya turned off the battery-operated candle lanterns lighting the tent and the two were off, trudging through the campsite again. They poked back into the stalls at the stadium for just a moment, checking to make sure Cimeron was good for the night before making their way towards the parking lot. Marcello unlocked their subaru as the two approached, shoes slapping pavent. Clicking on their headlights, they pulled out of the entertainer’s parking lot at the Saffron Falls Renaissance Festival and onto the highway, bound for a nice, air conditioned hotel room across town.
