The Knight and the Maiden Fair
Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader
Word count: 7.6k
Synopsis: Jousting isn't all fun and games when the love of your life is participating in it.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, princess! Reader, Knight! Hobie, medieval AU, CW violence and injury, CW food mentions, R has unnamed family member/s, inspired by GOT, fluff!
A/N: I was heavily inspired by the knight of the seven kingdoms 🤭 I highly recommend watching it!
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The tent stinks of seared metal and old leather. The scents waft around Hobie as he stands beside his squire, a small stumpy boy that could barely reach up to help him strap his chest plate on. The squire struggles, standing on his tip toes as he makes a face that has him looking like he ate a bad clam.
“Tybolt, there’s no dishonour in usin’ the stepstool. That’s why I made it for you.” Hobie flicks his eyes down at the struggling boy.
“But, Ser, it’s dehumanizing.” Tybolt turns his gaze upwards to meet his knight’s eyes.
“Big word for a lad.” With a subtle smile, Hobie simply moves his foot, gathering the stepstool by its leg and then pulling it towards little Tybolt. “C’mon, don’t make me crouch for you, the blokes ‘ere aren’t as nice back at the keep.”
“Yes, ser.” Defeated, Tybolt steps up the stool to secure the leather straps around his shoulders. “May I ask you something?”
Hobie’s gaze wanders around the stuffy tent with its racks of weapons, from lances to swords, to wooden shields that bare each knight’s coat of arms; he hasn’t been in a joust since his first year as a knight. The sight alone makes his stomach tumble, and his mouth turning dry. The last time he was in a joust he almost lost an eye, he has the scar just under his brow to prove it. He won that tourney and got him the title of champion but it made him a tad fearful of jousts.
Hobie did manage to get something better than the job of lieutenant after that— he got to meet you. Even though it’s under a royal, a job is a job, plus, he gets to be near you at all times being your sworn protector. He has done more than protecting you throughout the years though. No one could pry that information out of him even if they threaten him with a hot metal poker to the eye.
He wants to get this tourney done with so he could return to your side once again.
“As long as it’s not as shite as the question you asked me yesterday.”
Fixing his clinking chainmail, Hobie glances at the various knights getting fitted with their armours with the help of their respective squires. Their armours are all different in variety, some are ornate, showing off exotic flowers or animals as helmets, intricate chestplates that depict their house’s sigil and different coloured capes that flutter right behind them. But some opted for the more practical armour that will keep them well protected from a flying shrapnel or from a mace hurling right at them.
“I just asked how you manage to go to the loo with all these on.” Voice squeaky, Tybolt huffs beside him as he finishes the first strap of the chestplate before he heads down and around to fix the other side.
“You’ll find out when you become a knight yourself.” Tone soft and genuine, the boy smiles at him wholeheartedly.
“Thank you, Ser.” He whispers, making sure that the leather straps are extra secure.
“What was your question, mate? And please don’t ask how to woo ladies this time ‘round.” Chuckling, Hobie subtly sizes up his opponents. He might be anxious about the joust, but he still wants to win. Or at least not to make a fool of himself.
Wiping the metal plates with a clean cloth, Tybolt rubs away any fingerprints he accidentally left on the steel. “I was going to ask about the princess.”
Hobie almost chokes on his own spit, and yet he gathers his composure before the squire could notice the way he cleared his throat. “What ‘bout her?”
“If she’s as annoying as everyone says she is.” When Hobie doesn’t answer him, Tybolt backtracks, pausing mid movement, as if he just remembered who he’s talking to. “I–I meant no offense, it’s just that, I’ve heard the workers talking about how she talks everyone’s ear off. And that’s the reason why the northern prince broke off the engagement.”
Scoffing, Hobie sneers at the mere mention of the so-called prince. “She was the one who broke it off ‘cause he was a prick.”
“Aye, but the prince is wealthy—”
“Wealth isn’t enough of a reason to fall in love with someone.”
“Is that why the princess fancies you so much? Because you’re a pauper?”
“I should clout your ears like the other knights do, mate.” Rolling his eyes with a joking chortle, Hobie stretches his hands, testing how loose the metal gloves are, something so small could make or break his aim once the joust starts.
Shrugging with a small smile, Tybolt hops off and admires his handiwork. “You’re not that kind of knight, Ser. Maybe that’s why the princess fancies you.”
“You were jus’ askin’ what kind of person the princess is but you seem to know how much she fancies me.” Brow raised, Hobie takes the offered leather belt from Tybolt. He secures it around him, and then he takes the necklace from under his chest armour plate to bring it atop it. The simple jewelry glints, catching Tybolt’s eyes.
“Not all women can be princesses but all princesses are women. Simply enough, they like a man in armour.” Hands on his hips, Tybolt shrugs and makes a proud face.
“And you know this because you’re an expert in ‘em?” Hobie gestures for his shield, which is almost bigger than Tybolt himself as he wobbles on his feet to get it to him.
“Barely, Ser. I just say what I observe. And I tend to observe a lot when no one pays much attention to you.” Peeking above the shield, Tybolt smiles at him. “It’s the way she looks at you, like you’re the last sweet roll, or a blacksmith to his favorite hammer.”
Grabbing the shield with ease, Hobie stares at the red spider painted in a sea of black, a sigil that he made when he was much younger than Tybolt. “Word of advice, lad, do less observin’ when it comes to the ladies of the court if you want to keep your head on your shoulders. And you can’t say that people don’t pay attention to you because I do, the other knights at the keep do. You’ve got friends, y’know.”
“Hollow threat, Ser.” Smiling at his knight’s last comment, Tybolt doesn’t falter from the former advice. Hobie simply narrows his eyes at Tybolt, a brow raised and a subtle smile hidden beneath the surface. He’s his squire, alright. Maybe he taught him too much. “Yes, Ser.” Defeated, Tybolt scratches his cheek bashfully.
“More trainin’ less oglin’” Ruffling Tybolt’s hair, the boy smiles before brushing off Hobie’s hand away.
“Oi, Hobart!” Someone calls for him from the front of the tent. The noise outside filters in through the opened leather flaps as the blonde swaggers inside.
The sound of a blacksmith’s hammer landing against metal, horses huffing and people excitedly walking around as they wait for the event enters for a brief moment. The sun peeks through briefly, giving him some much needed warmth when you’re away from him. He really cannot wait for the tourney to be over.
The smiling knight’s armour is shiny and new, a white silver with golden vines weaved around the steel plates that deeply contrasts Hobie’s black and red armour with its web like texture design. His white cape that drags behind him matches the rest of his armour, stark white with its hem dirtied by the mud and dirt outside.
“James?” A smile grows on Hobie’s lips as his squire makes a face at the other knight moving closer with his arms open. “What are you doin’ ‘ere, you wanker?” He receives his fellow knight with a grin, embracing him as their armours clank against each other. “I thought you weren’t invited!”
James pats Hobie’s back, the sound is akin to shields ramming against steel armour. “My lord sent me here for the tourney of course!”
“Your lord? You mean your father?”
“Yes, fuck off!” James pushes Hobie lightly, but it has the poor squire shaking in his boots, remembering the last time an unruly knight pushed the red spider knight like that. “Father, lord, what’s the difference, really?”
“One pays you and the other fucked your mother,” Hobie has a wicked smile on his lips. “wait, you’re right, what’s the difference?”
“Still a poet with your way around words.” James clasps his shoulder way too harshly for the boy’s liking, he then turns to the young squire, flashing him a smile. “Has he told you that he used to be an actual poet? A real charmer with a lute too.”
“No.” Tybolt beams up at him, eyes shining.
“Don’t talk to my squire.”
“I can talk to anyone I like, Hobart.” Rolling his eyes, the two knights shove each other off playfully that reminds Tybolt of a couple of ducks he watches behind the castle as they always fight over the food he gives them. James’ gaze lowers, a cheeky grin immediately spreading across his handsome face. “Oh, would you look at that, Hobie has a sweetheart.” Whistling lowly, James eyes the necklace around Hobie’s neck.
The squire’s gaze turns to the single ruby dangling on a silver rope right atop his knight’s chest plate. Tybolt has a feeling as to where it came from, but he’d rather not say it out loud. Hobie is kind, kinder than most knights to their squires at least, but he’d rather not test him by saying your name in front of his friend and most definitely not in front of the realm’s greatest knights, who are probably listening in. His teasing before was a different case, knowing that everyone knows of your character and how friendly you are to everyone at court, but by accusing Hobie of wearing a favour, a ruby necklace more exactly, is like treason. Scratch that, it’s not like treason, because it is treason. Your brother, the king might be called ‘the just’ and the kindest ruler the kingdom has ever seen in recent years, but he won’t take kindly to vile accusations against his only sister.
Hobie brushes away James’ index that pokes the ruby. “Get your dirty hands off it.”
“Oh, come on, I just want to see.”
“I got it myself— James.” Flicking his best mate’s forehead, the fellow knight staggers back dramatically, nursing his so-called injury. “I warned you.”
“Mate, there’s no way you would buy something this fancy, moreso with your lieutenant salary.” Hands on his hips, James’ eyes glance at Tybolt for a moment, as if he’s waiting for him to jump in on the teasing.
“Says the one gettin’ stipends from dear ol’ father.” Hobie doesn’t falter, instead he snatches his folded cloak from his pile of things to clip it on himself, partly to hide his nerves from getting found out, and the other half just to get out of the knight’s tent and out of possible gossiping ears. Knights don’t particularly partake in gossips, but their squires definitely do. Tybolt is proof of it.
Blowing a childish raspberry, James then turns to the only one who would not lie to him. “Lad, do you know where Hobie got that necklace from?”
Tybolt freezes, glancing back and forth to his knight then over to the blond. “Ser?”
“Stop pesterin’ the boy—”
James bends his knees and places his hands atop it for emphasis. “I’ve got a bag of coins with your name on it.”
“Alright, now you’re jus’ bribin’ him.” Clicking his tongue, Hobie grabs James by his shoulder to yank him up to his feet as the man chuckles from Hobie’s reaction. “Tybolt, you’re dismissed, James and I will have a drink before he offers you knighthood for gossip.”
“I wouldn’t protest!” Tybolt blurts out.
“I like this lad!” James gestures at the squire as he’s actively getting pushed out of the tent by Hobie. “Tell me when you’re bored of being his squire and I’ll get you a better knight!” He yells over his shoulder whilst Hobie practically drags James out of the tent.
“I can’t wait to dirty your pretty white armour out on the joustin’ field.” Hobie says whilst yanking James by his white cloak.
—
The tourney is packed with people, nobles and small folk alike. You don’t usually like tourneys with its violence and blood in full display, but you can’t possibly skip this one royal event when it’s held specifically for your brother. Plus, Hobie’s participating, and you’d rather be there to see him joust rather than die from nervousness when you have no idea what happened to him during the competition.
As you walk up the steps to the royal box with carnations all decorated around the place, the kingdom’s flower and your house’s sigil; the nobles, who have the pleasure of sitting with you and your brother nod their heads respectfully at you with polite smiles. The brilliant yellow gold canopy shields the whole royal box from the sun, whilst the common people filter through the gates and onto the sides of the field, more than eager to watch the tourney from behind the fences.
The whole field is bustling with life, fire and smoke coming from blacksmiths, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafting through the air together with the stench of wet dirt from the grass below. And the colourful tents are all pitched up high, all in different fabrics and colours and even decorated heavily with each house’s sigils and motifs, signifying that they have taken part in the festivities.
Your plush seat is placed beside your brother’s, placed much lower than his, but just as opulent and grand with its finely carved unicorn at the back rest together with the family crest. The common people cheer excitedly around the jousting arena, waving their chosen knight’s banners. You could even see an area that is filled with supporters of the red spider as they chant his name.
With all the excitement, you don’t feel the same as everyone else with your hands wringing together, sweat gathering on your upper lip, stomach churning and eyes skimming over the arena as if you’re one of your brother’s purple clad sworn protectors; always looking for threats lurking around. Biting your lip and twirling the ruby ring around your middle finger, the trumpets sing of your brother’s arrival.
He swaggers in, a royal purple cloak dragging behind him as his crown shines against the sunlight. It’s much warmer now, and it’s not helping your sweaty self hide your nerves. The crowd cheers for him as you stand up to greet him, you hope that he doesn’t see through you but as he passes by your seat to get to his throne, he raises a brief brow right in your direction. Or it could be for Lord Faulton that sits behind you with his numerous scandals looming over him.
When the king sits down, you and the others follow suit. You clutch onto the arms of the chair, nails digging in as if your seat would get yanked right from under you.
Your brother leans closer to you subtly, eyes keeping up front as he smiles and waves at the crowd. “You’re abnormally quiet, sister.”
“Is it crude to say that I need to take a massive shit?” You whisper back, much to his chagrin.
“This is why you’re still unmarried.” He says jokingly.
“I wonder why you’re still unmarried, hm?”
“There’s no rush for an heir when I’ve got you as my lawful heir.”
“You know I’m not keen to be queen.” You sigh, eyes scanning the sunlit field for the familiar black and red armour as the bannermen come out and hammer down each knight’s banners right into the muddy soil brought by last night’s rain.
“That’s why you’ll make a good one.” Your brother thanks the cup bearer before taking a sip of mulled wine. “Now, tell me, what’s got you forgetting your crown?”
“My—” you feel for the top of your head, eyes closing, wincing in realization. No wonder why your head feels lighter than usual. “I wanted to look…casual today.”
“Of course, sister,” scoffing, he chuckles atop the rim of his glass. “I guess I’m overdressed then.”
“I’m glad that you finally noticed.” Your eyes glance up and down at his whole royal ensemble with a cheeky raised brow.
“It’s my nameday and my anniversary, and yet you won’t give me some reprieve?”
“Technically our nameday was a week ago, brother,” you roll your eyes, hands placed on your lap as your nails leave crescent moons on your palms. “but you don’t see me complaining about it.”
“This is why I was born first.”
“It’s because mother wanted you out of her quicker.” Turning your attention to your brother, you don’t back down.
“Royal pain in the ass.”
“Royal dickhead.” Shaking your head with a subtle smile, you pluck his glass from his grasp and take a generous sip as he sighs and takes a new drink instead. You feel the warmth lining your stomach, exhaling out grape scented air as you bite the inside of your cheek. “Why does it have to be a tourney? We could’ve just had a nice and calm feast instead.”
“Because tourneys boost morale, sister.” Sitting back, he lounges as the squires start to gather outside right on the jousting field. “It’s been half a century since the last war and our knights are itching for a fight. Wars have been started for far less than wanting to drench their swords in blood.”
“Not all knights are like that.” You say under your breath, but your brother most definitely heard it as he nudges your elbow with his. Just in your peripheral vision, you could see Tybolt lugging around his knight’s equipment.
“Which particular one exactly?” He asks with a lilt in his tone, as if he already knows the answer to his question.
Anxiety bubbles from your stomach, caught as you refuse to look at him whilst your nail scratches at the silver goblet. “No one in particular—”
The trumpets sing again, this time in a more rushed tune together with the sound of war drums that strikes right at your chest, signaling the knights appearance.
Pursing your lips, your eyes immediately find him within the crowd of knights in their finest armours.
Hobie stands taller than the rest, shoulders squared as his red cloak flutters in the spring breeze. Tybolt now stands beside him, holding onto his shield and lance, sandwiched in between the heavy weapons as the poor boy struggles to stay upright.
The red spider gets on his horse as the rest of the knights do, except this one has his eyes meeting yours the moment he sits down, as if he felt your eyes right on him. He’d wink at you if not for the numerous eyes staring at him too, so as a compromise, he nods curtly at you, still knightly and casual without the gossipers singing how the emerald field champion is so lovestruck with the princess and the person he swore to protect. It’s a gentle reassurance, but it doesn’t help calm your flipping stomach and sweaty palms. Just the thought of wooden shrapnels flying dangerously at him has your nerves in knots.
You give him a nod back, albeit a shaky one as your eyes convey all your worries to him.
There were two people in the whole field that noticed the tiny interaction while most were more focused on putting their bets down or cheering for their champions to win— your brother and Hobie’s squire. One who knew you since before you were even born, and one who could clearly see the obvious secrecy between the two of you that transcends a knight and princess relationship.
“Is that the particular knight you were thinking about, sister?” Your brother, the king, whispers to you with a teasing tone.
“Hush, brother.” You utter in between clenched teeth. If it was any other day you would’ve joked back, but with the fight looming, you’re not in the mood.
“He’ll be alright.” He says softly, a mere whisper that has you meeting his eyes. “He’s a fine knight, he’ll do well.”
“I don’t care if he does well or not, I care if he gets injured…” swallowing down thickly, your fists shake around the goblet. “or worse.”
Inhaling deeply, the king finds your hand and pats it fondly. “You can excuse yourself if you need be.”
“I don’t want to,” turning your attention back to the field of knights, you blink the warm tears away, swallowing down your anxiety and facing the event head on. “I need to see.” You need to see him.
Pride swirls in your brother’s eyes. “Very well.” He sits upright, watching the knights gather at each side of the field through his steady gaze.
Hobie eyes his opponents, whose horses neigh and huff in anticipation. They stand ways ahead of him and his squad, armours shining as they stare at his side of the field. Three knights occupy the left hand side, on the first lane is Ser Gunther, known for his brute strength with the mace. Hobie could see that his infamous mace that has smashed dozens of skulls is held by his squire at the ready. His bronze horse whinnies wildly, causing his emerald armour to shine brighter in the sun. The bright green symbolizes his house colour and his crest, an almost blindingly green hue that resembles the first grass of spring.
Right beside Gunther the grim is Ser James himself, Hobie’s best mate, other than Ned, who’s currently learning at the academy, and with Yuri gone across the seas to make a name for herself, it’s just James and him left at the capital. And by some fate, his oldest friend gets to joust against him. Hobie’s already calculating where to hit him that’ll cause less pain to his friend.
The other knight in James’ side is Ser Crawford the younger, who dons a simple armour that’s adorned with poison ivy right on the metal. The vines even spread to his horse’s armour, weaving around the metal as if it’s growing right around it. Hobie wonders if Ser Crawford knows that he looks like a fence with overgrown vines snaking around it rather than a mighty oak covered in vines like his father, Ser Crawford the older.
“Sizing our opponents up, hm?” Ser Eugene that rides on Hobie’s left snickers at him. “No need, I’ll knock young Crawford off his horse with one lance.”
Hobie looks at the knight up and down, seeing him in his shiny golden armour and sapphire crown that sits right atop his helm that looks traitorous since he’s next in line after you. As if he has already crowned himself king when your line still sits the throne. He likes that it’s a middle finger to the crown, but if he’s king, that means that you’re dead, and if you are, Hobie thinks Eugene would be too, by Hobie’s own sword and so would everyone who had their hand on your death. The thought alone fires him up even more.
“Knocking out a knight, who’s a season away from turning ten and eight seems unearned, don’t you think, Ser Hobart?” The blue clad knight, Ser Theodore the Unyielding, says beside him, smiling genuinely as the sun hits his chest plate, where a sailing ship is etched right on the metal, symbolizing his seafaring roots. He doesn’t look too unbothered that he got matched with a known brute.
“Aye, I think so.” Hobie looks back at Eugene simultaneously with Theodore. “You better be careful, mate, those vines are poisonous.”
“A simple itch won’t stop me.” Eugene scoffs, reining in his horse as he snatches his lance and shield from his poor squire.
“I know someone who has died from the hives of a poison ivy,” Theodore smirks right at the annoyed knight. “I heard that it wasn’t so pleasant.”
Hobie chuckles, followed by his right hand knight as the irked knight’s jaw clenches. Eugene then leaves his lane, trotting his horse towards the royal box, holding up the tip of his lance upwards. It’s Hobie’s turn to clench his jaws, eyes narrowing at where the fellow knight points his lance at.
“I ask for the favour of the fairest maiden!” Eugene announces to everyone as the audience eats it all up. “My princess, if you’d give me the honour?”
Your brother has to nudge you for you to notice him. “Y–Yes, of course, my good Ser.” Playing the part of a perfect princess, you grab the offered flower wreath that’s adorned with yellow ribbons from an attendant before placing the wreath into the lance, letting it fall until it reaches the handle. “Good luck, Ser.”
“Princess.” He flashes you his best smile, but you’ve seen better as you can’t help but glance at Hobie, who is smiling cheekily at the interaction.
You sit back down, but you shouldn’t have as Hobie makes his way over to the royal box, lance reaching up towards you with a smirk. Eyeing him down, you stifle a grin.
“I ask the favour of the kindest maiden.” The tip of his lance taps the railing rhythmically, the same knock he does before he enters your chambers. “Lady Juniper,” his eyes go from you to the young girl sitting a few ways behind you. “May I have the honour of being your champion?”
You turn to look at the noble girl smiling from ear to ear as she takes the offered wreath of flowers that’s laden in red ribbons over to him. Sitting fully, you watch with tender eyes as she could barely reach over the railing to place the wreath into the lance. Hobie helps her by tipping his lance further down, winking at you at the opportune moment while everyone’s eyes are on the blushing girl.
“Good luck, kind Ser.” She says in the sweetest tone.
“Thank you, my lady.” Hobie smiles genuinely, before heading back to his lane.
“You did marvelously, lady Juniper.” You say to her with the same smile as Hobie’s.
“Thank you, your grace.” Curtseying before you, she’s ushered by her mother, matching her daughter’s happy smile.
“Huh.” Your brother says under his breath, quiet enough for the people behind him to not hear, but loud enough for your ears.
“What’s that?” Already annoyed, you kick him subtly with the length of your gown hiding it.
“Nothing, best not to anger you when I already bet against your knight.”
“You what— oh you fiend.” You’d say those words louder if not for the crowd around you. “How much did you bet?”
“Fifty gold.” He side eyes you, smirking wickedly. “Walter does the betting—”
“Walter!” Abruptly turning around to face the scribe, he jumps in his seat, shaking in fear that you could almost hear the clinking of coins in his pockets. “A hundred gold for Ser Hobart to become our champion!” You announce boastfully, followed by murmurs and then cheering from the others as they bet alongside you.
“Yes, your grace, right away, your grace.” Frantically, he jots down your bet, hands too sweaty as he drops his quill.
“Fifty coin, what a joke.” Your eyes narrow dangerously at your brother as you see the audience eagerly watch whilst the knights put on their helms and ready their lances.
Hobie for sure heard your jape, but to him, your support means the world. It’s his drive that feeds his adrenaline rush, pumping up his blood as he puts on his helm. It’s practical, and protects him when lances start to split in half, but it obscures half of his vision, it doesn’t matter when his eyes are on you up on the royal box.
When you feel his familiar gaze upon you, you send him another curt nod, more steady this time, not at all romantic, but to the both of you, it’s a kiss upon his cheek from far away, a hand wrapped around yours from a distance. A gentle reassurance that you’ll have all the time in the world with him later.
Hobie then brings his hand to his chest, right where the ruby necklace lies hidden underneath his armour. And you run your finger around your ring, as if you could feel each other’s warmth through them.
“Men, steady yourself!” Hobie’s voice booms around the arena, fluttering the winds itself. “And don’t fuckin’ die!” His team hurrahs, banging their shields with their lances together with the opposing teams. He swears James smirked right at him before closing his visor.
“You’re about to make a lot of people rich, Ser Hobart.” Theodore cheekily says, voice muffled by the metal of his helmet whilst Eugene snickers beside him.
“Ser?” Tybolt taps his armoured foot, jaw set as he frowns up at him.
“Yes, Tybolt?”
“Don’t get mortally wounded, or worse, whichever comes first.”
Chuckling, Hobie smiles under his helm. “I’ll try my best, lad.”
“Not at all reassuring, Ser.” With his final words, the boy backs away to the farthest of the fences with the other squires and spare racks of weapons.
Inhaling deeply, the knight brings his attention towards the men in front of him, fists tightening around his lance and the leather strap of his shield.
The king smirks, hiding his smile from behind his fist as he turns his attention to the field. They wait for his word, and with a nod from him, the joust begins with the eerie sound of a ram’s horn.
Horses neigh and whinny, the sound of thundering hooves has people hooting and hollering louder above the sound of the charging knights. Hobie has never been to a real full blown battle, but he can imagine that it’ll sound like this.
He points and aims his lance as the wind hits the metal of his armour, and he hits James dead on by his shoulder. Wood shattering, splitting down the middle as the shards rain down upon the field. But he doesn’t celebrate when his friend stays on his horse and grabs another lance from Tybolt.
Meanwhile, Theodore holds out his own with Gunther the grim, despite his brute strength, the blue knight manages to unhorse the man, which he wasn’t so happy about when he challenges Theodore to one on one combat whilst the rest of the joust is happening right in the middle of the field.
Hobie grabs another lance from James’ squire, pivoting his horse immediately to strike again. He could feel his horse’s muscles straining under him as he charges towards James.
The sun hits his visor, and he narrows his vision, missing James and hitting his shield instead.
This time around, Hobie gets the brunt of the lance’s force. He staggers back on his horse, held by the stirrups as he faces the sky whilst the horse runs back to his lane.
“Fuck!” Shaking off the pain radiating from his side, Hobie checks for damage, only to see Eugene fall on his back harshly, landing on his arm that cracks from his weight. He groans in pain, clutching his misaligned arm as the younger knight yells above him victoriously.
“Ser!” Tybolt shrieks below, giving him a new lance as James is already halfway down the lane, charging at him, looking like he’s ready to kill.
Hobie doesn’t waste time in taking the outstretched lance, the horse kicks dust as Tybolt dodges just in time to watch the lances hit each other in a shower of splintered wood.
James grits his teeth, taking the offered lance immediately as he bolts back towards Hobie. From where he rides, he could see the fire in his friend’s eyes. Back in the tent, they’re best mates, laughing at shared memories and sharing ale, but on the field of battle, there are no friends here.
Pointing his lance right at James’ shoulder once again, his friend anticipates Hobie’s next move, moving his shield in front of his shoulder at the last second.
But Hobie knows his friend well, he grew up with James, broke bread with him during harsh trainings, laughed with him, and learned beside him. So when his fellow knight moved his shield, Hobie moved his lance an inch downwards, hitting him dead center, flinging his friend off his horse and down on the ground. He lands in a sickening crush of metal and skin.
Heaving, Hobie looks over his shoulder to see a crumpled James before stopping his horse in the middle of the arena and hops off within a second. He runs towards his oldest friend, taking his helmet off to help him breathe better.
“Y–you motherfucker.” James whizzes out, breath taken out from his lungs. His right eye is bloodshot, capillaries broken as he musters a smile through the pain.
Chuckling, Hobie sighs in relief as he pats his friend’s chest plate. “You almost got me there, mate.”
“F—Fuck you, bruv.” Coughing and wincing, James is helped up by Hobie’s outstretched hand.
“I’ll take that as you yieldin’” Looping James’ arm over his shoulder, Hobie waddles back to Tybolt, who’s too busy cheering for Theodore as he goes toe to toe with the bigger Gunther. Their shields and weapons clash, metal against metal. Knight against knight.
“Four broken lances…” James chuckles, only to wince and hold his bruised side. “I think that’s our record.”
Hobie scoffs, akin to a laugh. “I think we can break that next time.”
“I don’t think there’ll be a next time with your princess looking at you like you stole a kiss from her.” It’s James’ turn to snicker, flashing Hobie a teasing smirk. “I knew that ruby necklace looked awfully familiar.”
His heart beats in his throat, threatening to spill out his guts. “James—”
“No need, If anyone asks, I know nothing.”
“Thank you, old friend.” Hobie hands him off to a pair of waiting doctors as they help him.
“Just buy me a pint after this, wanker.”
“I will—”
The sound of applause and cheers interrupts him. Hobie turns his gaze at the fighting pair, and to everyone’s surprise, Ser Theodore the Unyielding stands victorious above Ser Gunther. Which means—
“Hobie and his squad have won the joust!” Your voice stands above the loud crowd, grinning at him from above as you clap your hands victoriously whilst your brother claps to possibly humour you and to give respect to the knights.
Hobie yanks his helmet off so you could see his smile shining around the dirtied and bloodied arena. His face is covered in dirt and grime with a bit of speckled crimson.
He tastes metal on his tongue.
“Ser!” Tybolt screams frightfully at him. “You’re bleeding!”
Bringing his gaze downwards, he sees a piece of a wooden lance protruding from his side, wedged in between steel plates, crimson oozing slowly out of the wound, painting his metal boots in his own blood.
“Well shit—”
The last thing he hears is your scream as he falls into darkness.
—
“You should be in bed.”
The sun bares down on you, a field of wildflowers bloom around, a green field dotted with colourful flowers that matches your gown.
Hobie opens one eye, laid upon the bed of flowers as he smiles up at you, painted in a halo of light, smiling down upon him like an angel brought from above. “And you’re late.”
“I had to escape from my ladies.” Hands upon your waist, you can’t help but look at his bandaged side that you could see through his thin tunic. “While you have no excuse.”
“I haven’t seen you in a couple of moons, my lady, so please spare me the unpleasantness of your glare for my yearnin’ is greater than my self preservation.”
“Shit.” Closing your eyes with a wince, you hear Hobie chuckling under his breath. “Hobie the poet is back.”
His hand wraps around your ankle, thumb caressing your skin lovingly. “You love it though.”
“I do…” Sighing, you plop down beside him. His hand immediately reaches up to your cheek, feeling the warm summer air kiss your skin. “How are you faring? How’s the wound?”
“Better, the doctors said that it didn’t hit anythin’ important.”
The corners of your lips curl up into a small smile. “That’s good, Tybolt did good with securing your armour then.”
“That he did, he may be a cheeky arse but he’s good at his job.” Sitting up, you help him steady himself against a strong elm tree behind him. “How are you? You were beside yourself at my bedside.”
“You’re the one who’s injured and yet you ask me how I am?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be able to forget your cries.” He softly says, taking both of your hands in his to place gentle kisses upon them.
“I should put James under the axe for what he did.” You jokingly say, squeezing him three times, earning a chuckle from Hobie.
“Ned and Yuri wouldn’t be too happy about that. And he’s proper guilty ‘bout it, even kneeled before me or else he’ll get a beatin’ from Yuri. I told him that gettin’ his horse and sword was enough of an apology.” Head resting against the tree, he looks ethereal under the dappled sunlight that filters through the branches and leaves. His eyes are aglow, a greyish blue that reminds you of a stormy sea. Strong and unyielding, and yet soft like a spring rain when it comes to those he cares about. “‘m fine, love. You don’t have to worry.”
“Can’t help it.” As he tugs you beside him, you lay yourself down on his side, careful of his injury. “I worry, and I worry, but that’s a part of it. What am I supposed to do with you, Hobie Brown, hm?” You say with all the love in the world.
“Go behind the tree for me and fetch your present?” He utters sweetly against your temple.
“What?” Leaning away, your worried frown is turned upside down. “What for?”
“Your nameday present.” He smiles with you, picking up a stray leaf from the top of your head. “I didn’t finish it in time.”
“But you already gave me my present?” Your fingers play with the ruby necklace dangling around his neck as your brows knit together in confusion.
“A kiss and a visit to your chambers aren’t exactly a present worthy of you, lovie.”
“Then what is it?” There’s a growing smile on your face that Hobie loves so much.
“Look and you’ll see. I’ll go and get it for you but…” he gestures to his wound. “‘m a bit indisposed.”
With a stifled giggle, you kiss his cheek and leave his side to go around the large tree.
There’s a wicker basket filled with a wine bottle, a loaf of rye bread and your favorite cheese. Those were enough to make your heart a flutter but when you see a thick leather bound notebook beside the wine, it piques your interest and your stomach leaps at what could lie inside.
“You can’t miss it, love.” Adjusting his position, Hobie hides his excitement with a wince. His injury still aches but being in your presence is like a comforting balm on his wound.
You return with the basket in hand, grinning from ear to ear that even your brother would say is unladylike of you. “What’s inside?”
“It’s clearly food, my love.” Smirking, Hobie points at the basket, eyes shining teasingly.
“No,” sitting back down beside him, the basket laid in between the two of you, you show him the thick notebook. “I was talking about this.”
“It’s a notebook.” He simply says.
“Hobie, I’ve seen tomes thinner than this!” Giggling, he takes it from your hands and opens a random page for you to see. Your own smiling face drawn in sharp graphite greets you right on the parchment. Eyes watering, you gaze back at Hobie. “You— you drew this?”
“Aye, and a lot more.” He says with pride, flipping to another page where he drew you whilst you were getting fitted for a dress. “This one’s one of my favorites.”
“You rake.” Smiling, eyes crinkling in the corners, you peck the tip of his nose. “Please tell me that this has your wonderful poems in it.”
“Aye, one for each day that I’ve loved you.” He utters with all his heart.
“That’s a lot of poems.” Your eyes water, sniffing and yet your smile stays as he gently wipes a stray tear away from your cheek.
“There are a lot of days that I loved you.”
“I love it,” hugging the book against your chest, you gaze at him fondly through wet lashes. “And I love you, my knight.” With a smile, you lean closer, a hair’s width away from his lips as you give your proper thanks with a much needed kiss.
Taking your hand in his, he places it atop his heart as his thumb brushes along the ring he gave you. Usually it’s you who leans away first for air, but with his injury, Hobie’s the first to pull away, albeit reluctantly as he chases your lips for another peck before parting fully.
“How the tables have turned.” You utter jokingly above his lips, feeling his breathing hitch in his throat as he takes in a gulp of air. Your palm rubs his chest lovingly, encouraging him to breathe slowly as you inhale with him. “There you go, my knight, I’ve got you.”
“L—love.”
“I know, I know, I’m here.”
Hobie takes a deep breath in, wincing yet he steadies himself before you could help him with the glass of wine. “You bet on me.”
You roll your eyes. “Of course I did, I knew you’d win.”
“Sounds like you owe me my cut.” Smirking, Hobie’s arm snakes around you, pulling you impossibly closer beside him as the basket is pushed down in favour of having you near.
“Too bad, I forgot my coin pouch in the castle.” Arm around your shoulder, a hand squeezing your elbow, you instinctively lean your head atop his chest, hearing his heartbeat and how it syncs with yours.
He sighs, pecking the top of your head that doesn’t bear the heavy crown. “Good thing that we live in the same place.”
A beat passes, and you could feel the gnawing thought in the back of your mind.
“Hobie, I think my brother knows.” You bluntly say, craning your neck up to face him with tearful eyes. “About us.”
Instead of sadness or shock in his handsome face, he doesn’t seem to mind the revelation. “He’s the king and your brother, ‘m not even surprised.”
“Hobie,” you sit up, palm resting above his heart. “What if he assigns you somewhere else? What if, god forbid, strip you of your knighthood?”
“Lovie,” his tone softens even more as he caresses your cheek with his knuckles. “I know your brother, not as much as you do but I know that he loves you more than what the other houses think. He won’t do such a thing, especially if it means losin’ you.”
“Losing me?”
Hobie tilts his head, “what would you do if he does that? Separate us?”
You blink, chuckling at your own revelation. “You’re that confident that I’d leave with you?”
“Well, you don’t want to be queen someday and you’ve rejected every bachelor in the realm. ‘m fairly confident ‘bout it.”
“You ass.” Laughing, he matches your laughter as the sound gets carried by the wind, fluttering the wildflowers.
“‘m serious, your brother won’t do that. He’d rather you marry me than risk your wrath.”
“And would you?” Your tone turns quiet, unsure as your fingers play with the ties on his tunic. “Marry me if he makes us?”
“Lovie.” Hobie takes your face in his hands lovingly, calloused palms brushing along your skin like finely woven silk. “Even if he doesn’t make us, I’d do it. If you want to.”
“But you won’t be a knight anymore.” You utter through unshed tears, soft and quiet, as if saying it will strip him of his title.
“I could be both, I’d be honored to be both.” His forehead touches yours, gazing softly into your eyes as he holds you in his strong arms that have held you far longer than you could remember, that you’d let hold you forever if he could. “And if he does separate us, then what else is stoppin’ us from leavin’ this all behind for us?”
“M–must you be so sweet to make me cry joyfully?” Face planting right on his chest, you rub your tears right on his tunic as you feel his chuckle rumble in his chest.
“We could become farmers, or sail the seas and find somewhere as warm as this, where we could jus’ be us.”
“What k–kind of farmers?” You could barely get the words out as you let out a soft cry.
“Pomegranates, you always loved those the most.”
“Pomegranate farmers it is then, if not, we become pirates.” That earns a hearty chuckle from Hobie.
“I have to draw you like this.” Your squished face in his hands, you pout at him as he pecks the pout off your face until you’re grinning at him. “Add it to our collection.” Hobie gestures at the notebook on his lap with his head.
“As long as you’re in this one. Preferably with me.” Poking his chest, he matches your smile.
“‘m always with you, lovie.”
Omg....this is undeniably sweet 🥹🥹 I loved every second of it when reading this 💜
I love it whenever Hobie n r yearns for each other ❤️🩹 forever love Knight Hobie, our prince(knight) in shining armour 🥹🥹
EVERYONE GO READ THIS NOWOWOWOW!!!! SHOW SOME LOVE
