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// Chapter Seven (Unedited) 
// Story: Knights of Bayard 
// by Abi Sain 
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Tristan spent the next two weeks at his posts. When he got home it was too late and he did no see Wing Song until the next evening. She was not in the estates and the watch commander told him that she was still in training, and he would have to wait until she came back. He sat in a wooden bench in the foyer. There were many paintings along the walls of the foyer. There was also a banner, hanging beside the door to the hall, where the foyer opened to, and Tristan recognized the symbol of the Orriflamme, and the words sewn below. Nous servons les soeurs; we serve the Sisters.
Tristan inched himself further from the banner and held his cap. They were supposed to wear steel caps whenever they went outside. Lulamoon’s was made from iron, and it was uncomfortable and somehow made it difficult to use magic. He wore it whenever he went out to the trenches and carried a pair of hoof blades. They were dull, and slightly rusted. He felt them against the wall behind the bench. Also they were required to wear chainmail; even the peasant-soldiers. You were liable to arrest if you were caught not wearing it in plain sight. Swift Bolt wore padded cloth over his tunic. He didn’t envy him and he felt safe until he was sent to his posts. It was heavy and it didn’t have any fasteners so that when you moved you could hear them clinking as you moved. He tried to fix it, using leather straps to tie it around his body and keep it from dangling until he realized the ridiculousness of how big the chainmail was and soon forgot about it and carried it flopping against his legs with not feeling except a vague sort of annoyance when he walked around. He sat quietly on the bench and a few of the nobles looked at him disapprovingly as they walked past while he looked at the granite floor, the oak pillars, and the paintings on the wall depicting battlefields he was certain the former owners were never a part of.
He saw Wing Song coming through the door, and stood up. She seemed tired walking toward him but she looked very happy.
“Good evening, Tristan,” she said.
“How are you?” he asked. A few of the nobility were listening beside the banner.
“Let’s go out. It’s much cooler.”
He walked behind her out into the garden, the nobles looking after them. When they were outside she said, “I take it you’ve been busy.”
“Very. They’re really pushing us.”
“It’s the same over here. You didn’t meet some other mare did you?”
“No,” he said. “No pony I cared for at least. I wanted to come back and see you.”
“Maybe I could try and visit you sometime.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. Swift Bolt would come acting like cupid if you did.”
She chuckled softly, and they were off in the garden, walking under the trees. He took her hoof, then stopped and kissed her.
“Isn’t there anywhere we can go?”
“No,” she said. “The others don’t want you here. They think you’re the wrong sort.”
“I don’t care what they think. I like coming here.”
She looked at him, “And do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“You really mean that, right?”
“Yes,” he lied. “I love you.” He had not said it before.
“And you’re fine with this, meeting in the garden?”
“Yes.” They walked a way and they stopped under a tree.
“And if I go back to Bayard, will you come with me?”
“Yes.”
“I really do love you. These past couple of days have been awful. It helps when you’re here.”
“Same here.” Tristan turned her so he could see her face when he kissed her and he saw that her forehead was bruised. He kissed it. He thought this was probably going to fast. It was alright if it was. He did not care about anything else. This was better than going back to the house, and hearing about all the mares and stallions who’d climb all over you, and whisper sweet nothings as they showered you with their affections. He did not know if he loved Wing Song nor had any idea why she mentioned him going with her to Bayard. It was all in the moment, just him and her instead of being on post, or in the trenches, or in the house, playing cards with Fence and the others. With Wing Song he didn’t have to think about all that. He didn’t have to be a soldier anymore, just a stallion. It was all right with him.
“I wish there was some place we could go,” she said. He experienced the masculine difficulty of avoiding less innocent thoughts.
“You said it yourself, there isn’t any place,” he said. He came back from whatever fantasy afflicted him.
“We might sit there for just a little while.”
They sat on the flat stone bench and he held Wing Song’s hoof. She looked down at the grass.
“You don’t really love me, do you?”
“What?”
“Don’t be dull.”
“I didn’t- I just-”
“You’re a nice colt,” she said. “But you’re a bad liar.”
“Do you always know what ponies think?”
“Not always. But I do with you. You don’t have to pretend you love me. But I do love you, and I think you might actually be starting to love me too.”
“How are you so sure?”
“Because you don’t play the game, like the other ponies do. I’ve played it, only a little sometimes. But it’s a rotten game.”
He pulled his hoof away, just a little. He still felt the warmth from her frog. “Were you?”
“A little, when I first saw you. But you weren’t what I expected. You’re a very good colt.”
“That’s what the priest said.”
“And he was right. And you will come and see me?”
Tristan looked at her. “Yeah, I will.”
“And you don’t have to say you love me. That will come later.” She stood up and held onto his hoof. “I should go now. Good-night.”
Tristan held onto her hoof. He wanted to kiss her.
“No,” she said. “I’m really tired.”
“Kiss me, though,” he said.
“After what I said, you shouldn’t.”
“Kiss me.”
“Do you really want to?”
“Yes.”
They kissed, and Tristan felt warm inside. She leaned closer, wrapping her hoof around him and she broke away suddenly. “No. Good-night, please, Tristan.” He saw her go back inside. He liked to watch her move. He went on home. It was warmer that night and there was a good deal going on along the trenches. He watched the other ponies moving about.
He stopped in front of the house. The windows were covered but he could hear somepony singing. He went on inside. Swift Bolt came in while he was undressing.
“It did not go so well today,” he said.
“She says I’m falling in love with her.”
“Are you?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“That’s good,” he said. “That’s how it all starts.”