Beneath Honour's Wing

"Blast!"

It wasn't the most eloquent display of frustration in the world, but for Sir Montjoy, it suited the situation well. A situation that involved a longbow, an arrow embedded in a branch, and a bird that had just left its nest.

"Hob, get the arrow."

"Hob?"

"The arrow," the knight repeated to his squire. "Get it."

"Hob!"

Montjoy watched Hob waddle to the tree. Chances were the arrow was out of reach. But it was hot, he was thirsty, he hadn't hit anything all day, so watching his squire try to climb the oak was quite possibly the only piece of entertainment he'd get."

"Hob!" the lout exclaimed to his lord, gesturing to the tree trunk. "Hob!"

"Climb it."

"Hob…"

Montjoy took out his waterskin and took a swig as he watched the lout try to climb the tree and fail miserably.

It didn't help.

Montjoy, Knight of the Realm, lord of Castle Milan, located in the province of Bordeleaux, turned his back on his squire and made his way over to Lance, his horse. Like him, he wasn't clad in armour. This was peacetime. A period of waiting, of ruling over peasants until he was called to defend the realm with honour and chivalry. A period of time where honour allowed him to use a longbow, to hunt in the Forest of Chalons. Or rather, try to hunt. Because so far, he hadn't managed to kill anything. Stags fled. Wolves were nowhere to be seen. Even the birds seemed immune to his arrows.

"Hob!"

And the dull witted lout he had in his service until he could find some to replace his former squire wasn't having any more luck than he was. The knight smirked as the idiot fell to the ground. Peasants were deprived of intelligence and worth anyway, but some of them could provide some amusement. Even if they weren't showing their madness in the banquet hall.

"Hob…"

"It's alright," said Montjoy, handing the wretch his waterskin. "Here. You earnt it."

Hob fumbled with the flask, finally getting some water to pour into his mouth. He handed it back to the knight before long though. As foolish as Hob was, he at least had enough sense to realize that having too much of his lord's water was a one-way ticket to having a hand removed.

"Well, come on. Let's find something else."

And with that, Montjoy climbed back on Lance and began trotting through the forest.

"Hob!"

And Hob hobbled after him.

The sound of Lance's clopping echoed throughout the forest, mixing with the sound of birds that the knight couldn't see, let alone hit. He wished he could hear something else. The cries of a maiden, the roar of a bear, or even better, an orc. He was without armour or shield, but he still had a shortsword on him in addition to his bow and arrows. Killing an orc would bring him honour and glory, he reflected. Perhaps even a song for a bard to sing. Some recognition that killing a dumb beast certainly wouldn't.

This was a waste of time.

Montjoy yawned, the summer heat getting to him. He should have practiced his jousting or swordplay. Not waste his time with a weapon that he would never carry into an actual battle. A stag, a bird…he could get any of that at his own castle. He-

Crack.

Montjoy yanked Lance's reins with one hand while he took out his sword with the other.

"Hob?"

"Quiet," the knight hissed, glancing around the forest. "Who's there?"

There was no answer.

Montjoy kept searching. Expecting…hoping…for something to come charging out. Something that would spark a duel. A battle. A chance for him to prove his mettle. But as he kept searching, there was nothing to be found. No orcs. No stags. Not even-

Tweet tweet.

…what

The tweeting continued. Montjoy, keeping quiet, did his best to find the source. And soon, up in the trees, he saw it.

A bird.

Tweet.

A common blackbird to be exact. Sitting in its nest. Oblivious to the knight below it.

Montjoy sheathed his sword. He unfastened his bow. He nooked an arrow.

Tweet.

The knight paused. This was an easy shot. The bird was completely unaware of his presence. At least the other birds he'd seen so far had actually seen him in turn before firing on them. This…well, honour couldn't really extend to witless creatures, but even so…

Honour be damned. This is a hunt, and by the Lady, I'm bringing something back with me.

So the knight drew his bowstring. The bird just sat in its nest. Hob stood there. Lance hit the forest floor impatiently with his hooves, as if spooked.

Just a little more…little more…now!

The arrow was released. The string let out a 'twang'. And a second later, both the blackbird and its nest came crashing down.

"Yes!" Montjoy exclaimed, tossing his bow and quiver aside, glad to be finally without the need for such wretched weapons. "Finally! A kill!"

The knight stretched in the summer sun, ignoring Lance's whines. He'd done it. He'd fulfilled his 'quest.' Now he could go home and

"Hob!"

"Yes Hob, we can go home," Montjoy said, turning around on his saddle. "We-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence.

The staff that made contact with his forehead saw to that.

Montjoy groaned.

"You're awake, fair knight."

He opened his eyes. The sun was lower in the sky, given how the forest had darkened.

"Now smell the ashes."

His eyes widened. He reached for his sword.

"It's gone. So has your bow."

He tried to get up. But couldn't. His hands were bound.

"Hob!" he yelled. "Hob, where are you?!"

"Your servant's gone, along with your horse. I think he might appreciate it."

Montjoy swore with enough fervour to make even the Lady blush. But it did no good. Because while his assailant was speaking fluent Breton, she didn't seem put off by it.

But what would put off a Wood Elf?

"What…what do you want?" the knight asked.

"Justice."

"What?"

"Justice," the elf repeated, kneeling down, her dark brown eyes boring into his own. "To balance the scales."

"What? What are you-"

"All hunt. But to slay a defenceless animal, killing it and dooming its unborn young? Is that what your honour demands?"

"You ambushed me!" Montjoy spat. "What would you know about honour?"

"More than you could comprehend. Now stand up."

The knight did. It took an effort on his part, given his bound hands, but he managed it anyway. As he got to his feet, he could see the elf was armed with a bow of her own. And a blade. His own sword. She pointed it out.

Fine. Take me. I do not fear death.

She cut the ropes.

"Let's see how far honour takes you," the Wood Elf murmured, taking a few steps back before drawing out her own bow and arrow.

"Pardon?" Montjoy asked.

"I'll give you a chance," the elf said. "More than you gave that bird."

"You…you can't-"

"I've let you see me," she whispered. "I'm not afraid to face my prey."

"I-"

"And I'm not afraid to give you a chance to run either."

Montjoy stood firm. "I'll not run. I'll-"

"Ten. Nine."

The knight started backing away. This wasn't right.

"Seven. Six."

Not right at all.

"Five. Four."

Montjoy began running. Running as fast as he could.

"Three. Two."

He began praying.

"One…"

The arrow was released.

A/N

You know, one day, I'll write a Warhammer story again that doesn't involve elves of some kind. Still, got to write for Bretonnians for the first time, so that's a plus I guess.

This actually spurred from a writing challenge. One that stemmed from a VLC track of cheeping birds, the challenge being "make a story out of it." Um...yeah. Somehow came up with this as a result.