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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Fifteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 15 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One][Part Two][Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six][Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight][Part Nine][Part Ten][Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] Part Fifteen [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

The tournament takes advantage of the longer hours of daylight as the summer equinox approaches.

Soon enough, the jousting winner is declared—the knight from Nocant barely loses Alry, who had defeated Dale in the original non-tiered jousting round. Still, while there is an archery winner and now there is the jousting winner, the final winner of the tournament is the melee winner.

The knights are split into groups based on how well they did in the first two rounds. Dale will be competing in the champion’s ring which consists of the final four jousters and the three most skilled archers. Then there is another ring for the second tier ranked archers and jousters—twelve in total. Everyone else who participated in both rounds and who wishes to continue is placed in the final, largest melee ring. Purses and rewards will be given to various winners, of all three rounds and rings, with the winner of the champion’s melee ring being declared the winner of the tournament as a whole.

Lady Northridge as the host of the tournament would be the primary presenter of the prizes, however, as the tournament was in honor of the upcoming wedding and you are both one of said betrothed couple and not competing yourself, you will also present certain awards. As such, after leaving the jousting stands and afternoon meal at the high table, you are seated with Grandmother, one of the judges from the archery tournament, and one of the judges from the jousting tournament. Only Grandfather had also accompanied you from the group you’d watched the previous tournaments.

You’re not sure you want to watch this melee anymore than the joust, although there is at least less horsepower and speed involved. It was far too easy for you to picture one of the competitors accidentally running another through with their lance. Not that it isn’t difficult to picture someone being fatally injured in melee, but you’ve watched practice matches and arms training with far more frequency, so it seems like it carries less of a risk.

Due to the way the different melee rings are chosen, the other rings are more dangerous than the champions ring due to the sheer number of combatants. Alliances tended to form between knights—likely hashed out in the break between jousting and melee—and they went on for longer, and so the competitors were more likely to make a mistake. The champions’ arena is the smallest ring, but still by far had a larger knight to square foot ratio. This gave a chance for a better exhibition of skill rather than luck or numbers.

There are three primary ways to be stricken from the lists in the melee. Most obviously, if you are knocked unconscious. Secondly, if you are thrown from the ring. Fence height varies across tournaments, but as these fences are around waist height it’s technically a viable strategy . Finally, if any knight surrendered—at sword-point from another or simply because they no longer wished to continue—they could do so. Generally, only those injured removed themselves voluntarily once the melee had begun or else they were seen as cowardly or with no confidence in their skill.

Those only skilled in archery or jousting and not in melee could withdraw at any time between rounds—archery with the most participants overall and the most who subsequently withdrew as even older knights might still be skilled enough with a bow even if no longer on horseback. It all depended on what type of bow they used in the tournament.

You’re grateful not to have to watch the other melees. There’s simply not enough room in these temporary stands to accommodate all three rings—in fact, they’re taking place on the outskirts of the fair where there is free space for both the rings and the crowds to watch. The other judges from the previous rounds are watching over those, baring the two here. Due to the limited stands around the champions’ ring, relatives and friends of the champions and other nobility are the ones who fill the majority of seats. You can see Dale’s cousins in the left stands, gossiping with Northridge’s neighboring nobles and some merchants.

Your eyes are drawn back down to the ring, the champions having arrived a few moments ago. Instead of plate mail, all combatants will be wearing chain mail and all weapons will be blunted accordingly. You’ll likely only be able to track Dale due to the blue, black, and white that are his family colors on his tunic. Each has their pick from a variety of weapons for close range combat, provided by Northridge for the tournament.

You watch as Dale selects a sword as do three of the others, although one chooses a curved sword more popular in the south, and the remaining competitors select a battle ax, a scythe, and the final a mace. All still have daggers in their belt and solid wooden bucklers for shields. The chain mail they wear should be enough to prevent serious injuries. Still, some of your fears from the jousting: about Dale giving himself away, about him getting hurt, about him hurting one of the others.

You almost hope he gets pushed out of the ring in the first minute, at least then your nerves could relax. A glance around shows that no one else shares your sentiment—Grandfather in particular seems hopeful about Dale’s chances to win. Dale getting to this ring was what was in question since he doesn’t joust particularly often. He trains with the sword every day though and has started to do so again after he recovered. Families of those who host these tournaments don’t always win, but there is more pressure on them to make a good showing. And this one is in his, and your, honor on top of all that.

With all the weapons selected and the champions looking ready, Grandmother stands up. You can’t hear a word of her short speech—it's so similar to the others already given and you’re tense in your seat, eyes fixed on Dale. But your mind isn’t on this melee. Instead, you know that in a short span, it’ll be over—this first official start of the wedding festivities—your wedding festivities.

How can that knowledge keep catching you off guard? How can you keep feeling surprised, and a little confused, about your own wedding? And why is Dale, with all his changes, not the part that worries you the most? In fact, even with the additional worries his condition invites, when you think of him, you mostly feel relieved. He feels the most real out of all of it, makes you feel the least like a child pretending and daydreaming.

This melee will happen, and you’ll help award prizes, and then tomorrow there will be the first true ball for your wedding, and then it will be your wedding.

And then it will be…well, the rest of your life.

You jump when the trumpet sounds and the fight begins.

The first few minutes after the starting trumpet are the most chaotic as it is when there are the most combatants in the greatest proximity, at least that’s what you remember hearing from fellow students who had seen far more tournaments than you had. That certainly seems to be true and you can barely track who goes where and who attacks who first, the dust they kick up proving unhelpful as is the sluggish way your mind struggles to refocus on what’s happening right in front of you as they all move and try to scatter and guard simultaneously.

Dale seems to primarily be fighting defensively, but he’s staked out a, well, not a corner since the arena is circular, but a section of the fence he’s claimed for his own, trying to keep his back to the fence as much as he can. Everyone has instinctively paired off to some extent as Nocant knocked out Yoral’s knight with his ax nearly as soon as combat started. He’d moved almost too fast for you to really watch more than Yoral crumple to the ground. He’d certainly seemed like a large threat as the runner up to the joust so that prediction seems to be holding true.

Mindry is the closest to Dale and he’s practically ignored the other knight near him to follow Dale—perhaps he wanted the prestige of defeating the man of the hour. You also aren’t sure which of these knights Dale used to know personally. You know none of these here traveled with him during those years abroad, but the majority are local and therefore likely went to primary schooling or even trained to be knights in the King’s service with him. Everyone in the champion’s ring is within an age—the very young not having the skills and the older not having the physical stamina or the interest for tournaments. It is generally considered the game of the relatively young and unmarried.

Mindry certainly seems to be going after Dale with strong intent. Dale catches his sword on his buckler, and Dale tries to use the shield to wrench the weapon from his hand. Unfortunately, the blunted weapon isn’t sharp enough to get stuck in the thick wood and Mindry steps back easily. Dale waits him out, though, not chasing after him and giving up his guarded back.

Sure enough, Mindry can’t stay away and closes in again, but this time Dale doesn’t bother trying to catch him. He turns to the side to avoid a jab, strikes with his sword to get Mindry’s at the wrong angle, and knocks his shield into Mindry’s hard enough the other man falls to the floor. Before he can finish getting either his sword or buckler back up, Dale’s sword is at his throat.

You’re glad that the rules dictate no one can attack one knight while they hold another at sword point because Mindry takes longer than you think to drop his sword in surrender. While he hops over the fence to leave the ring, Dale turns back to survey his remaining opponents.

Hilium’s facing off against Alry, her eyes on his heavy mace while he watches her quick sword movements. They exchange passes every few seconds, but neither has a clear advantage as they circle each other.

Meanwhile, the knight from Tiffin has staked out a section of the fence similar to Dale, with Nocant coming at her. He seems intent on pressing his height advantage, backing Tiffin back against the fence surrounding the ring. She hooks her weapon behind his buckler, cutting through the strap keeping it attached to his arm. Barely reacting to the loss of his shield, Nocant surprises everyone—not just you—when he steps into Tiffin’s body instead of backing off or trying to recover his shield like she expected.

Dale’s edging towards the dueling Hilium and Alry as Nocant and Tiffin are on the other side of the arena. It’s clear he’s trying to watch both fights and you’ve found another reason to be grateful he’s so covered in chain mail so that no extra eyes pop up to try to help, or if they do, they’re hidden.

Nocan smacks Tiffin’s hand holding the scythe and bringing the flat of the ax down on her head—hard. She staggers and Nocant avoids her swipe with the scythe she’s managed to hold onto and jabs with the ax. Despite catching it on her buckler, she’s still badly disoriented by the blow he landed to her head and he manages to shove her over the fence railing.

“You are skilled with the ax, are you not, my Lady?” the other judge from the jousting tournament remarks from your right. You’re confused for a moment before you follow her gaze to Grandmother on your other side.

Grandmother cackled, eyes still squinting through her glasses at the ring as Dale switches his stance to prepare for the now free Nocant. “My illustrious husband does encourage that impression, does he not? No, despite his sweet name for me, I was trained with the sword only and lost that skill many decades ago. I’ve no taste for weaponry nor any ability with them.”

“Then why…?” Lady Spir leans around Grandmother to peer at Grandfather.

He grins back at her unashamedly and guffaws. “I began to refer to my wife as my ‘battle-axe’ in our time in the senate, as with her sharp tongue at our disposal I had no need for any weaponry to cut down dissenters. Unlike even my own skill with the sword, the edge of her weapon remains honed and the force behind it still able to cleave those she disagrees with in twain.” He pulls Grandmother’s hand, which he was already holding, up to his mouth so he can press a kiss to it.

The two of them really are quite sweet, you think to yourself as you look back to the arena where Dale left his spot to get between Nocant and his buckler. Nocant seems to decide that his only option is rush Dale. Luckily, Dale stands his ground, not letting the other knight back him into Alry or Hilium. He catches the ax on his shield and thrusts with his sword that Nocant only partially manages to dodge. Nocant tries to land another strike with the ax, aiming for Dale’s head, but Dale ducks and then shoves Nocant hard in the chest with his buckler.

Nocant lets out a bellow when Dale manages to drive him all the way back to the fence, despite the weight Nocant has on him and the blow he manages to land on Dale’s back. Dale surges back up, his buckler going under Nocant’s chin and his sword catching under the head of his ax, stopping a strike midway through. Nocant tries to disengage, but Dale twists his sword just right to send it flying.

Nocant surrenders quicker than Mindry, knowing he’s got nothing left to defend himself. You bite back a cry when Alry crashes into Dale, knocking him to the ground. You’d been so caught up in his fight, you’d forgotten about the other one going on only a couple yards away. Dale rolls the unconscious Alry off of him and gets his buckler up in time to intercept a truly powerful looking downward blow from Hilium’s mace.

Dale pushes the other man’s weapon away from him and scoots backward before lurching to his feet unsteadily. Even once on his feet, he seems unsteady, shaking his head briefly and taking a few staggered steps even as his sword is able to meet Hilium’s weapon this time. You abruptly remember how Dale’s balance has been off sporadically since the incident, how he’d made a passing comment about being on horseback helping, but there always seems to be the possibility of issues when on his own feet. He claimed there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his lack of balance which is why he simply carried his cane everywhere, but you doubt any of this combat has helped.

The men end up hilt to hilt, buckler to buckler for a moment, just shoving against one another before disengaging, Hilium’s retreat more controlled while Dale’s footwork remains just a bit unsteady. Grandfather mutters something under his breath but you can’t make out the words, a roaring in your ears as you watch them each jab at the other, a furious dance of dodging and clashes kicking up dust.

Why did you ever think watching them actually fight would be less stressful than the joust? You barely feel like you’ve breathed since the trumpet went off, your hands are clenched so tightly in your skirts that they ache. Especially since Dale only seems to be getting further unbalanced as they continue to duel, each miss seems closer than the last until Hilium lunges forward with a triumphant cry.

Dale bends all the way back at the waist, but doesn’t fall over. In fact, he hooks his shield under Hilium’s already badly positioned buckler, uses his sword to keep the mace away and uses his leverage to pull Hiliums shield arm, and the rest of him, over the fence you now realize he’d been steering them towards. He nearly wrenches his own with the move, and it results in both knights on their backs on the ground—but Dale is in the arena and Hilium is not.

Applause fills the stands as Dale’s squire hurries over to help him to his feet, Hilium’s doing the same behind him. You follow Grandmother to her feet as trumpets sound the end of the champions melee.

A flurry of activity fills the ring, doctors and squires attending to the knights while a Northridge flag is raised over the stands, resulting in a second cry from the people around the outskirts of this arena. You slump back in your seat, feeling worn out for someone who’s done nothing but watch anxiously for the majority of the day.

Once all the knights are free of their armor, mildly cleaned up, and conscious once more they arrange themselves in front of the host section of stands. It’s time for their rewards.

Grandmother, Grandfather, the two judges and yourself all stand yourselves to acknowledge them, walking closer to the knights themselves. Your eyes catch Dale’s as he grins, pleased with himself, and his grin only widens. He’s so obviously happy and proud you feel your expression grow more genuine as you smile back.

Grandmother is speaking, reiterating the prizes won and directing the servants to bring each champion their reward—purses, armor, weapons, and the like. As each competitor in this ring had won earlier, she gives those prizes now, with additional awarded to the last two eliminated in the melee, until only Dale was left. Her smile brightens at her grandson.

“Lord Dale of Northridge, heir apparent and betrothed to whom this tournament is dedicated. How lucky are you to have done so well in your own honor,” she proclaimed, her smile broadening at the crowd's laughter. “It is my pleasure to present to you this sword, a family heirloom I am relieved shall stay with Northridge—though of course I would have been pleased to present it to whoever was worthy. Originally, this sword belonged to my grandparent, to whom this estate was rewarded by Queen Sara the Second to increase our holdings as a reward for his service to the crown. This sword was commissioned and forged by Derryn of Northridge to be worthy of our expanded holdings.”

“Unfortunately,” Grandmother continues as you take a moment to admire the clear way she manages to project her voice, how it both reaches far but also causes others to fall silent. You’re grateful Dale seems to have inherited that quality and that no one expects you to give speeches such as this—at least, not yet. “The sword continued to see heavy use in Derryn’s lifetime, however by their grandchild’s time it was regulated to ceremonial display. In the flood that struck this estate a decade or two ago, it was damaged. In honor of this tournament, we had it restored and honed so it may once more serve the original purpose for which it was created.”

Dales comes forward so she can present the sword to him and he can strap it to his belt. He gives a similar but shorter reply—the words of gratitude from the winner dictated by tradition, but your thoughts are diverted because the final award was your own to give, both the physical and the privilege to the tournament winner which you are more than grateful is Dale.

You would have had to have at least one dance with the winner at the dinner tomorrow and you are relieved to have the number of champions to dance with down to only the other two and Dale, with whom you expect the majority of your dances to be with as it is.

Ceremonial crowns of woven laurels and flowers are the traditional prize, from when the very first contests of strengths began centuries ago. As the other for whom the tournament was for, it falls to you rather than Grandmother to bestow.

As Grandmother’s speech about Northridge and tradition and honor that she began after Dale finished his thanks wound down, you look to see if they’ve brought out the wreaths yet. To your surprise, Grandfather is the one who is coming over with the servants carrying the wreaths. You don’t know why that makes your spine straighten, he’d helped direct the armor given as well, but it does. Maybe it's the way his eyes dart to yours, a practiced blankness to them that he never used to have, and then away.

Your eyes land on the wreaths themselves, trying to push aside your trepidation. At least the crowns are obvious in which should be awarded to who. The one with blue flowers is nearly identical to the one with red flowers, both smaller and with fewer flowers woven in amongst the laurel branches. The champion's crown had to be the one with blue, red, and yellow flowers and was more elaborate than the others.

You pick up the blue wreath the footman holds out to you and at Grandmother’s prompt, walk over to Yoral to bestow the wreath for his winning of the archery tournament. “Congratulations on your victory,” you say formally, focusing mostly on keeping your voice steady rather than particularly loud. Yoral lowers his head so you can place it as you continue, “Bear this symbol of your ability proudly and with great honor.”

He bows carefully to you and Grandmother, before bowing to the crowd and stepping back with the others. As he does so, you accept the red wreath from Grandfather’s squire, your gaze briefly stalling on the champion’s crown for only an extra second before you turn back around to walk over to Alry, winner of the jousting tournament.

As you repeat the same words and actions, your mind is stuck on the differences between the wreaths. The champion wreath has the same flowers as the others, but it also has one or two additional flowers in blue and red woven in that strike you as odd.

When you turn back for the final time to accept the crown, you are ready to analyze the flowers, grateful for your at least medicinal herbal knowledge as you slowly walk over. For blue flowers, borage is a common herb used with wine to soften memories, with certain people believing it dispelled forgetfulness and sadness on its own. It had no business in this crown. Blood sage is another that is not prestigious enough to be in such a crown and did have rumored cleansing properties—although the portion of the book you’d managed to read disputed that belief heavily, advising against counting on it to do much of anything.

Finally, the yellow flower mullien did not suit either—not to mention there was only one spring of it rather hastily and loosely woven in. In fact, all of these flowers seemed like last moment additions. It took all your self-control not to look at Grandfather as you carefully. Mullien you did not remember reading anything about in the book, but you know it's associated with purification, both spiritually and medicinally. You had taken a few tinctures that included it yourself when you were younger.

You pick up the crown, taking care to wrap your fingers around the blood sage, with the mullien at the bottom. With your finger nail, you dig into the stem. You don’t think a single spring of the herb could hurt Dale, but you don’t want to take the risk. As you come to a stop in front of Dale you can tell you’ve cut through the stem itself with your nail, but it still clings.

“Lord Dale,” you say after swallowing slightly—all the moisture has vacated your mouth in the short walk over and you clear your throat as you look up at him. He certainly doesn’t seem worried or even to truly look at the crown as you continue, “Most congratulations on your victory. Your accomplishments in all three competitions has won you the admiration of the witnesses to this esteemed tournament.” You shake the crown as subtlety as you are able to as you raise it Dale’s lowered head, “Bear this symbol of your prowess so all may know of your talent and skill.” The mullien drops from the crown as you place it on Dale’s head. You quickly step forward, your shoe on top of the flower as you feel a rush of relief. Situated appropriately, you lean back to finish, “And do you honor you have earned.”

You pull back only to have to stifle a gasp as Dale catches your hand. His bright blue eyes catch your own as he presses a kiss to it, similar to how Grandfather had done to Grandmother only a little while ago. To your surprise, you feel heat begin to rise in your cheeks. He’s done so before, why is it flustering you so now? Maybe it's because it seems he’s left his mild suspicion and caution from the tent behind, even if it is only in front of an audience.

“My gratitude, my Lady,” Dale replies, eyes intent. You’re aware everyone around is watching, is listening, but you couldn’t look away if you tried. “This tournament was in honor of us both. What else could I do, but secure our victory?”

[Part Sixteen]

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #nothing's wrong with dale #story part #dale #terato #exophilia #osha compliant #male monster #monster x reader #monster bf #arranged marriage #slow burn #i need to rebuild my writing buffer cuz this is not sustainable #i wrote over 3.4k words today #and i'm posting this lik five minutes before midnight #this is why i need to plan things better

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