The Guild Fanucci

Faheud One Shot
© 2005 George Reed

It came to pass in the late fourteenth year of the society of the grande tournament–more commonly known as the Society for Creative Anachrowhatsits–that a tournament was held in a lovely park in a quiet part of the modern world known to many in the arcane tongues as Monterey.

As luck would have it this self-same tournament was more than the usual jumble of friendly folk contesting their wills and the honor of a lady’s favor. Upon this day, in this place, on this field, the question of what lord and lady would next inspire the Mists to the greater glory of the Western seat would be answered once and for all.

To this enchanted spaced hied many and sundry folk from all walks and callings. Kings and Dukes, and Counts, and Knights, and bedazzling ladies of highest comport arrived in their sedan chairs and divers other manners of travel.

One fairly unknown fellow in this lot was a tall, slender moor by the name of faheud. Whilst he had been seen of late in the famed Headless House practices–which fighting household spawned such as James Greyhelm and William the Lucky and myriad other ducal personages–little was known of this faheud other than he was Hilary’s great experiment.

As the fighters and consorts progressed and at the very end of the precedence came lord faheud and the lady Evanthea, the heralds mispronounced the names and passed them quietly past the Western Dais. Little thought was given to these matters for many a stalwart fellow had come to compete for the honor of being the twentieth to rule the Mists.

As the day progressed, some folk began to noticed that in the blue eric, the one called fadl, erm foodle., oh yes, faheud, was showing an annoying habit of winning. Sir Stephen fell, then Viscount Amaranth. next fell Count Richard and Duke William. What fell spirit had entered the youngsters blade that day to take him so easily into the semi-final round?

Next in the listing came the famed Duke Paul who would make short work of the upstart and return the Mists to the roads well traveled. But wait! It seemed that Duke Paul had sprung a grievous leak and lie upon the ground. How had that happened. Again, as after each bout, faheud walked to the side where his friend stood by his lady, took from him a rose to give her, and asked permission to carry her favor into the next round.

It seems that permission was again granted, and he took the field in a best of one final against Sir Thomas the Incomplete. Syr Hilary took faheud aside and warned him of the lightning first strike Thomas always made.

” Never look around the shield until you hear his sword strike it after lay on!”

The heralds made their pronouncements that Sir Thomas would meet lord Fahemid in the finals. Faheud did not flinch, though, for his eyes were on his lady, who now held eleven roses.

The marshals cried Lay On! For no reason he has ever been able to ascertain, faheud surveyed the field and saw a pair of unfortunate and unhappy things. First was the stern gaze of Syr Hiliary. Second was the black edge of Syr Thomas’ sword striking his face plate.

Thomas won the day and became the Prince of the Mists and ruled well with Trista de Cordoba, a well beloved lady by all.

That evening faheud’s consort presented him with a locket containing a petal from each of the eleven roses, saying”You did not give to me the golden prize, but what other lady here received eleven roses in such honorable adoration?”

While faheud never again ascended that deep into a mighty list, he has not forgotten a lady’s words and the measure of small gifts over large deeds.