Honestly, Laurent’s chest swells with pride when his brother goes to celebrate him. He’s tried so hard, and for so long, just to be good, just to be recognized, that he enjoys it too much to play coy about it. It fills him with a renewed energy, and really works to revitalize him. They’d been in this bar for some time now, and after hearing Alistair go off on his tales he’d honestly started to fall asleep. “I tried to find you,” he admits. But he’d gotten sidetracked protecting their youngest brother, in getting their queen to safety. To have fought by Alistair’s side like they did in the war, he would give anything for that once more. “How many did you manage to get, brother?” he asks, the competitive streak re-emerging as it always did. “Yes I was about to beat you. As thoroughly injured as he was, that left shoulder being a massive problem for him during the tourney, he’d planned to continue to let it take the brunt of the impacts so he could afford himself a greater angle with his lance. Laurent reaches for his drink, finishing it in its entirety before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No such thing would have occurred,” he quips back, standing now to look his brother in the eye. “I had that fight, that entire tourney in the bag. Even if I were to face uncle Asher, I would have won it all.”

Each raised mug was met with a smile, a wave, a salute for those he’d recognized out of uniform. Rather than face the bar, Gervasius sat with his back to the counter, elbows leaned back to rest on the wood with his forearms and hands relaxed and down. “Keeping appearances, showing that we’re ready should the worst come to pass.” It was almost too easy, slipping into the plates and buckles of a man at war. “Ale, then.” When it arrived almost suspiciously fast, Vas reached for and raised the mug – a toast of his own, which was met with ample enough response.

Satisfied, Vas spun on the stool to face his son more fully. The crown prince had his attention. “So– two manticores, was it?” The king looked up at Alistair, head back and to the side, his grin wide and almost knowing. “Any other conquests of the day?”

“Only a few?” Laurent calls out, looking up at his brother. The second born prince knocks back what’s left of the ale he was drinking and smirks. “I took out three of them,” he comments whilst looking back to his now empty drink with disappointment. Of course, he’d had the help of one brother for the one, but only the one, and all he really did was take the beast’s eyes out of play. He still cut the thing apart. A victory in Laurent’s books. “I think all the ale in this bar wouldn’t be enough to make me forget hearing that story seven times tonight,” he mutters quietly to himself. A hand clapped on his brother’s shoulder, a smirk fired his way, interrupting what surely would have been the closing on a mediocre fuck for Alistair at best. “How about you tell them all how I was about to knock you from your horse in the tourney when the attack began? How your little brother was about to knock you flat on your back?”

Alistair regarded Laurent with a careful stare. It could have been easy to argue with his brother and insist that he was superior. Instead, he relented and merely clapped his brother on his shoulder, "For that, I am proud of you. If I had been there I would have loved to fight by your side." Alistair grinned, proud of Seren and Laurent for taking out a manticore without their older brother. He had been worried for his family but knew they would manage. He had no idea that they'd kill some of the creatures themselves. It made Alistair insanely proud to call them his younger brothers. While he was happy to give Laurent his victory over the manticores their jousting match was another story entirely. "Oh, you were about to beat me, aye?" Alistair grinned and set his flagon down, "You're lucky those beasts interrupted our match, brother. You would have been knocked on your ass in front of our adoring public. You should be thanking the manticores for saving you from enduring such a fate."

“You’d buy your father a drink?” Not that Gervasius had to suffer his eldest son’s bragging, since he’d only stepped in at the tail end, noting the conversations stopping and softening as he passed. “My pride, my joy – that you live after the events of the day, from the stories I’ve heard, perhaps it’s me that should be getting you the round.” Vas was as much king as he was soldier, polished as much as he was unrefined. Hands on his hips, armor swapped for more casual (but still well-kept) clothing, the difference in their heights was more apparent than ever. “What’ll it be?”

Any number of disasters could’ve befallen the tavern and Gaetan would’ve been none the wiser. Alistair’s presence, his kiss, was consuming his attention and focus.  He didn’t even realize his feet were off the ground until he realized he was parting his legs to wrap around the man’s own waist, but he had to catch himself when he was set back down. At the declaration, the architect nodded vigorously – but stopped once Alistair questioned him further.

“I came on my own – I know the crown prince of Argos meant to joust, but I hadn’t spent much time in the provided Argian grounds.” Perhaps it was a bit telling, that he was more willing to spend time with Valtolian commoners than the nobles and royalty of his own nation. “Has everyone been fleeing to the castle? It seems the most defensible position.”

Cadmus had been battling a headache ever since the manticore attack had ended. There had still been many people who needed his assistance. By the time he was done, his headache had gotten even worse and he decided to go to a bar for a drink. “Yes, it is. Thank you. What have you been drinking? Considering the talking you have been doing, it must be strong.”

“Good question!” Alistair looked down at the flagon he had nearly finished before he gave a shrug. “I told them to give me the strongest stuff they had.” He looked up at Cadmus, wearing a crooked grin. “So far it hasn’t done anything but make my face warm.” Alistair didn’t want to get drunk to the point of passing out. He merely wanted a good time and to revel in his victories. “What’s your name, ser? I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” 

The scene Alistair was picturing might not have been exactly what was occurring. Despite her leg, the girl in the chair was throwing her hands up, feeling the thrill. The others, including Gaetan, were a bit more cautious. The engineer waited a few seconds, glancing between his prince and the beast, before charging forward and almost sacking Alistair to the floor. He blinked wildly, starting and stopping words as he kept leaning back and looking the man over, before jumping back and ripping the burning sleeve from Alistair’s arm and shoulder. After stomping on it a few times, he finally let himself breathe.

Chest and shoulders heaving, Gaetan’s breaths gradually slowed, and he looked back over at Alistair again. “Are you always so…so…” Eyes wide, Gaetan’s chest bounced as he threw his hands up. “Heroic?” After a few more seconds, he reached up to take the prince’s face in both hands and pull him down into a kiss, uncaring of the soot smearing over his bare torso. Lost in the magic of the moment, he nearly forgot there were more manticores outside, and that they all needed to run.

Fire! Of course! From the lips of his lover, no less. The two would share a glance, gazes meeting, until a solid claw would send the prince spiraling towards the door. It’s almost the exact kind of daze Gaetan needed, to best snap out of the fairy tale that’d become their afternoon. “Fire!” Gaetan repeated, whirling around to rally the uninjured patrons to action. “Rum! Grog! The stronger the better! Get the barrels out here!” Some thicker-set men ran to roll the alcohol from the stores. “Cloth. Bottles. Tear it into strips, fill the bottles, soak the cloth, shove it into the bottle, light the cloth, throw.”

Perhaps it was too many steps to give to them at once, by their stunned expressions. “You, cloth strips.” He pointed to the injured girl, pulling off his own apron and tunic to throw to her. It’s her leg, not her arms – he was banking on the focus to distract her from the pain. “You, bottles. Don’t need to be clean, just filled with the good stuff.” He then spun back around to see how the prince was doing against the beast. Bad idea. Eyes screwed shut, he turned again to focus on the task at hand. “I’ll pull nails from the chairs to get some spark–unless, innkeep! Tinderbox!” A barmaid pulled the box from under the counter. As Alistair fought, Gaetan worked as quickly as he could with the strips of his clothing and the high-quality alcohol.

Within a few moments, Gaetan stood with the first of the bottles in hand, the commoners in the back of the tavern working to fill and stuff more. With the weapon in his elbow, both hands worked the flint to get it to spark, catching on the fumes of the drink. “Duck, Alistair!”

And it flew.

Acting quickly Alistair ducked down just in time for a molotov cocktail to fly overhead. It exploded in a ball of flame which only seemed to irritate the creature. That was before a second, third and fourth bottle joined the fray. Spurred on by the bravery of his lover and his people Alistair used his shield to taunt the now flaming manticore. It was now lethargic and angry as Alistair knocked the broad side of his sword against his shield, leading it away and outside. If he had fought the creature inside he would have risked catching the tavern on fire and putting all those inside in danger. 

It was, of course, unsurprising that the other man was taunting the damn beast. He wouldn’t be Alistair if he didn’t avoid actually learning anything that Sulvan taught him except his blade work. That didn’t, however, stop him feeling the vaguest hint of pride at the display that the other was putting on in fending off the beast whilst the civillians were making there escape. Pride, and absolute fear that the other was going to get himself killed. That was not the sort of thing that he needed on his concscience. He was already feeling it, weighing down somewhere in the back of his mind considering how many he’d seen dead. They were Witcher’s to prevent these things.

“Oh, like I could go and steal a thing like that. You’re the showman here, Alistair. I’m just efficient.” There’s a healthy amount of teasing in his tone with the prince, even as he brought his blade up in a quick slash as the beast took another swing with it’s paw. “Use their weight against them. As big as they are, they’re not the most graceful on the ground. Lumbering paws and huge tails make their balance less so.” A shift of his weight, spreading himself apart from Alistair again to draw the beasts attention. He may not have had a shield, but he knew tricks to help that. “Watch it when it lunges. Look for where you can sink your blade as it lands, use it’s weight to drive your blade, use your strength to keep stable as it ifnds it’s mark.”

He offers an example the next time the beast let’s loose a raw and strikes with it’s tail. Instead of parry, he takes his blade in both hands, weight shifting so that as the tail stabs, instead his blade cuts deep in to the stinger itself. The spray of… “Disgusting, but effective.” And deprived the beast of it’s worst weapon, no way to administer the toxin without it’s stinger.

Alistair paid close attention to every word that Sulvan spoke. He was a diligent student and learned best through example. This wasn't a class he was going to fail. "You make this look so easy." Sulvan had years of experience under his belt which made Alistair jealous. He had asked since he was a boy to accompany him on his hunts. Even if he understood his reasons for denying the prince it didn't make him long for that excitement any less. Now that he was battling alongside Sulvan he was afraid of stepping out of line or doing anything to embarrass himself. He had a reputation to uphold! "Nice hit, ser!" As expected Sulvan was handling the Manticore with practiced ease. While the beast was instructed with his temporary mentor Alistair took the moment to drive his blade into its neck. Without the stinger, he didn't have to worry about attacking it closely. With his new knowledge of Manticores he planned on accompany Sulvan or striking out on his own to reduce their numbers. He wouldn't allow them to harm any more of his people.

“Now is not the time to be discussing this! There are lives to be saved!” 

for @valtolianheir

Such a simple barricade, tables and chairs jammed in at odd angles, couldn’t be expected to hold for long. The smell of blood would call the creatures past whatever wall they might raise. Gaetan was having a drink in one of the lower-looking taverns when a woman was carried inside, one leg shredded terribly. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he realized what was wrong with her, saw the injury and processed what it could possibly mean.

Then came the screams.

He’d looked to each other patron, and they’d looked to him as well. Were his clothes too clean? Was the pendant too large? What gave him away, even in another nation? With his sleeves too short to push up, Gaetan just moved as steadily as he could to one of the tables, flipping it onto its side and moving it towards the doorway. The barrier was simple, all wood and nails, as even an education at the Mycenaea didn’t spin gold from straw. It wasn’t long before one of the beasts took to the scent, Gaetan backing the others in the tavern against the farthest wall, most of them behind his outstretched arms.

Alistair had been annoyed when the first of the manticores appeared. He didn't take lightly to anybody or anything stealing his thunder. While the crowd dispersed Alistair battled the creature atop his horse. He struck it swiftly with his lance, leading it away from the arena so his people could escape. There was also the matter of finding Gaetan. In the panic that followed the manticore appearing he failed to spot his lover. Alistair was certain that he was safe. He would search for him once he tired the creature out. It didn't take long for the manticore to strike his horse with his poisonous barb, sending both the prince and his steed to the ground. Alistair quickly hopped up and onto his feet, ignoring just how heavy his armor made him feel. He had battled in far worse conditions. Using his lance he was able to keep the manticore at bay long enough for the witchers to arrive and put the creature down. With one of those beasts out of the way, he started his quest to find Gaetan.

While he should have been worried for his family he was confident that they were safe. Their royal guard rallied to protect them at the slightest inkling of trouble. There was no doubt in his mind that every single member of his family was safe and sound. His architect on the other hand? He still wanted to be sure. Alistair wouldn't feel better until he was holding him in his arms. In passing, he happened by the same manticore that Gaetan was trying to keep out of the tavern. Alistair quickly borrowed the sword and shield from a fallen knight and charged into battle just as the creature broke through the barrier. Alistair was met by the terrified screams of those inside as he lobbed his shield at the creature, aiming at the back of its head. It connected with a sickly crunching nose before the beast reared its head at him. "Fear not, my people! For your crown prince has arrived!" Alistair beamed confidently at the cowering group of people before he narrowly avoided being swiped at by a large paw.

No can do, lad. I’ve got my eyes on a certain somebody. You’ll have to merely settle with adoring me from afar.