[center][h2]A Sword Worth Using[/h2][/center]
[center][Markus & Celena post][/center]
[hr]

The wine was good. Usually he wanted something a bit stronger, but when it was freely given by people richer than he, the sellsword would gladly partake. He found his taxes were now paying for something worthwhile, at least. Just now the sun had begun to set, Markus watching it idly with his drink as he awaited his paymaster's return. The day had been uneventful for its majority, though he had no doubt all of the fine lords and ladies had gossiped and supped and traded quips like drawn blades. He really didn't care. They could play as they liked as long as he did not need to be subject to it. 

Dunc had gone off to fetch more firewood and water, flustered by the errands of the day and finding solace in the simple task of manual labor. Markus had taken the boy around with him, speaking to guards and courtiers, trading stories and asking on the betting pool. A few of them had spoken lewd jokes and offered to take Markus and Dunc to the best brothels in the city. Tempting, but Markus had to decline, much to Dunc's relief judging by the lad's reddened face. At least it made the boy quiet, he had thought sardonically. Still, he liked the boy and felt sorry for him. However, Markus was pretty tame when it came to debauchery. If Dunc couldn't handle things with the sellsword as his guide, he was going to have a rough time. 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a lone figure approaching from the settlement of tents and pavilions. Soft curves and hair bright as a torch in the evening gloom told him it was the Lady Celena. He raised a cup to her and stood out of her way so she may enter her tent. She usually looked like she was focused on some task, as if she saw the future with those enchanting eyes. Rather than walk past him with a smile or a word, however, she stopped and opened the tent flap, inviting him in. Markus didn't even shrug, just followed her orders and walked in with her after the briefest hesitation. 

A minute later, Markus had lit a torch and ignited the sconces perched from the tent's raising, illuminating the comfortable living space. Lady Celena was sat at the table when the light burst to life, as if she could see in the dark, or had memorized where to step even after spending only one night in the place. When she beckoned him to sit, he did so. The sellsword moved his weapon out of the way so as not to bump the seat, and he raised an eyebrow at her in a question once he properly sat across from her. 

"How good of a swordsman are you, exactly?" The Lady Celena inquired, placing an elbow on the table and resting her heart shaped face on her hand. He noticed her nails were cut short, unlike most of the pretty ladies he had seen gallivanting about over the course of the day's festivities. Cut like a swordman's nails, in fact. Markus had always felt she was more dangerous than she let on, though in what manner he couldn't guess. Not his business. 

"Very," he said in his cup, his malefic eyes never leaving hers as he drank the last vestiges of the cup away. She looked at him strangely, her eyes exploring his face and what body she could that wasn't hidden by the table. He could not tell if she thought him fetching or she was measuring him for a future request for a coffin. Somehow he felt it could be both. Placing the cup down, he cleared his throat. "What's this about? Need something done, just say it. You pay me enough." 

"I'm thinking of my options," she vocalized ominously. At that, she smoothly stood up and stepped over to a cupboard, grabbing the greater jug of wine and pouring herself and Markus another two cups. "Would you be interested in joining the tournament?" 

Markus gave an involuntary laugh, surprised. "If you pay and want me to win, sure. But I do have a catch," He said, taking the cup she offered. "I'll need a reason for asking." 

"Would you like the proper one or the rude one." She asked him with the hint of a smirk. 

"Rude works," He replied, giving a threat of a smile back. Both held their drinks, not sipping until the climax of their conversation in some unspoken agreement. Outside, a rural-accented voice raised above the chirping insects. Dunc had returned, apparently. He could manage for a minute by himself, and Markus awaited Celena's answer. The Agent of the Iron Bank's hair blazed like fire in the dancing light of the torches flames. All day Markus had avoided the Baratheon and Lannister tents. Baratheon because he was a Storm, and Lannister because he couldn't stand the bastards. His paymaster wasn't as insufferable, however. Lucky him.

"We're both outsiders here, and it would be nice to fuck things up a bit." She said plainly, holding her cup out. Markus regarded her carefully, and decided she wasn't lying. He was starting to like her more and more. 

"I'll drink to that," he said, and their cups clapped together in a mutual understanding as they both enjoyed their wine. Dunc called out Markus' name again, stupidly to boot, in the sellsword's estimation. He finished his drink in a herculean three gulps, and then set the cup down on the table. Picking himself up, he gave Lady Celena a small bow of his head before he departed to see to the help with a curt farewell. 

"Boss."       

[hider]Lady Celena comes back to her tent and she and Markus decide to enter the sellsword into the tourney of pompous bastards[/hider]