Torm suffered the looks of the passing courtiers, stoic as a statue. "He looks like a wolf at bay" one woman whispered too loudly to her friend, and they giggled. He paid them little mind, too anxious to hear news, but he needed patience. His father had once told him a story of St. Kristoff, the saint of conversion. He told him that once St. Kristoff was speaking to the King of the Alarcs, who was being accosted by many shamans and priests of different pagan faiths for the conversion of his people. Each priest promised the king their god would bless his kingdom, and his wife would bear him a son. St. Kristoff, did not have a physical gift, and he was not allowed an audience with the king. He waited 5 days and nights, until all of the priests and men of witchery had done their best to impress the king, leaving him gold and jewels. However, once the king was told that St. Kristoff was still waiting outside of his throne room, he let Kristoff in, curious on what the saint had to say for himself. St. Kristoff then presented the king with a balm that would heal his wife's infertility. When the king asked him why St. Kristoff did not say he had such a gift before that moment, the saint replied, because he had not had the cream until noon that day, when the valta flowers had finally bloomed and he could collect the ingredients. He cautioned the king to be patient, as he had been, and ten days later, the king's wife was cured of her ailment, and she bore him a healthy son not a year from that day. 

After the tale, his father had told him a knight's most noble attribute was patience. It was why they were required to stay up for an entire night in prayer to Il. Of course, all of this was told to an impressionable young Torm because his father wished to keep him from complaining on a carriage trip in winter. But he took it to heart, nonetheless. And so he waited in the noonday sun, his features neutral and his form straight but easy. He had not changed out of his armor. He had not had the time, and would not meet his lord without being able to serve in whatever way he could. 

He noticed various courtiers and retainers rushing by, some of his lord's house, and others he did not recognize. He desperately wanted to know what was happening with the Lady D’Orbai and brother Albrecht. No, that order should be reversed, he told himself. He knew nothing would come of it, but he was getting far too comfortable with her. She was a foreign princess, and the wife of his liege. It did not serve him or her to be so casual. A knight was also judged by his etiquette, and whilst it was encouraged to serve a fair lady, there was a limit. After an hour, he had the inkling that he desperately needed to piss, but just before he was going to sneak off, Lord D’Orbai and two knights whom Torm recognized but could not think of the names of, strode up. His lord bade him follow him into the pavillion, and Torm did so. 

Briefly, his lord conversed with the knights for a short moment, before handing one a rolled up parchment, and dismissed the both of them. They gave Torm hard looks, but departed without a word.

"Well you're just trouble wherever you go," his lord said, indicating he was understating an obvious problem. That confused Torm.

"My lord?" 

He looked as if he wished to sit down on the cushioned chair, but made himself keep to his feet. "Your victory has caused quite the stir in the ranks, I'm told. I can't reward you in such a lofty fashion, yet again. Skill is not all I must reward, but loyalty as well. Your opponent has served me for four years as a squire, and seniority matters." 

Torm opened his mouth, and then closed it. "Should I have... thrown the fight, my lord?" he asked cautiously, wondering if he even would have if, ordered.

"No," His lord admitted. "It would just be less of a hassle if you had lost. Now the men will want to test themselves against their elders, and some men of aged experience might lose in combat, and then on the battlefield when it really matters, some billman won't deigned to listen to an old coot he beat in the ring and get his squadron killed with a tactical blunder. Not to mention I heard my adoring wife was there. Don't look stricken, I am suggesting nothing. The thought is laughable. My concern is now many other lords will now find their wives being less...discrete with their extracurricular activities with their favored knights."

Torm felt for a moment he lord cared more for appearances than his own wife's virtue, but he would not dare to make such a statement. He wondered how he could even suspect such a thing, but his attention was stolen again when the Lord D’Orbai asked a strange question. 

His lord removed his hand from massaging his temples. "That destrier? That horse is yours, is it not?" 

"Yes m'lord." Torm said immediately, unsuccessfully hiding his confusion. 

"Well, now you have two." Lord D’Orbai said. "Horses, that is, not warhorses. I cannot knight you, as of yet, though soon I might be forced to. But when or if that day comes, no knight has just one horse. I have a palfrey I won off of a bet I made with Signore Marelli. A fine dappled thoroughbred. I find little room in my stables, and this would serve us both. It will be arranged." 

"You honor me, my lord." Torm remarked with a bow, but his lord waved him off dismissively.