“Hmm,” Aaron hummed over the light clop of his horse - casting a thoughtful gaze up towards the clear skies as he guided the mighty white steed through the winding mountain paths, a single gloved hand gripping its reigns lightly. He was wondering, as he’d been for most of the journey, about the conditions and company at the fort once again; hoping for an overall pleasant atmosphere but not holding these hopes up too high.

It had been a long trip for Aaron and he’d dismounted quite a walk back, feeling that he’d made good enough time to simply take it easy and enjoy the view of the picturesque mountain valley, the low whistling of intermittent winds and gentle rustling of trees making for a calming end to his lengthy journey. And as he slowly ascended the final hillock, he couldn’t help but give a sigh of relief when at last he was able to make out the tall palisades of the fort coming into view; glad at the thought of being able to bring the tiring trek to an end.

As he neared the small border fort he straightened his posture, but not by much; the weight of his armour combined with the weariness from the journey making it too much of an effort. He did a well enough job to at least make himself somewhat presentable however, with the downside being that he now gave off an air of snobbish regality at his lazy approach. He was really too tired to care at the moment though and so, merely went with the flow.

Stepping up to the large wooden doors, with his horse in tow, he stopped just far enough to give himself a good view of whatever sentries may be on the wall, before announcing himself, in a fairly commanding tone, “This is Sir Aaron Redden of the Thasian Knights, I’ve been sent as reinforcements and request entry!”

They'd seen the knight coming a mile away, of course. The area around the border wasn't completely flat--it was rather hilly--but the glint of armor had brought the sentry down to the practice-yard, where Digby had been taking part in a demonstration bout with his sergeant. He excused himself quickly. A knight wouldn't be his jurisdiction, but the damn nobles didn't like to trouble themselves with garrison duty. Except for this one, it seemed.

So when Sir Aaron stopped outside the walls to ask for entry, he was the one to call for the gates to be swung open, the wood creaking. It had been rainy lately, damp and swollen with the promise of a bountiful harvest in fall. It'd made his joints creak too, a hazard of soldiering: he was arthritic already, though only 38. He moved more quickly, shaking off the sensation and telling himself the peculiar sluggishness of the joints was only caused by old injuries. He had plenty of 'em, after all.

"Welcome to our humble garrison, milord," he said, nodding at him in the informal, comradely way he could get away with with what his sergeant called 'milit'ry dandys.' Not that it was dandified to fight ahorse--but thing was, Sergeant Hawes wasn't far wrong. Everyone knew half the cavalry'd bought the command with money or title. The infantry might not get to wear full armor or set 'emselves up on prancing horses, but they were the ones to root the damn barbarians out of their hiding-places and crush them on the battlefield while the knights acted like dogs herding sheep.

Not that a whit of his feeling for the noble class of fighter showed on his face, though he smiled a little to see him armored and walking. Hadn't he thought to strip his mail and put it on the horse?

"I'm Lieutenant Digby Tremaine, at yer service. If there's aught you require I'm the man to ask, that or Sergeant Hawes, though he's more often occupied with the training up of our men. May I ask, sir, who might it be as sent one man for reinforcement?" He'd not dare speak so with just any noble, but this was his turf. "I mean, if you're extraordinary enough to merit it I won't speak against it." His eyebrows twitched up, pulling a little at the scar beneath his right eye.

“Well met Lieutenant, Sir Aaron Redden at your service” Aaron replied civilly, returning the curt nod as he began removing his gloves; listening quietly to the soldier while he stretched his fingers. He opted to ignore the bait for now however, at what he believed to be a tad abrasive remark, waiting for Tremaine to finish before finally responding.

“I came of my own accord Lieutenant but if it makes you feel any better, my assigning officer holds me in the highest regard,” he retorted, with a cheeky smile, frowning inwardly as he pondered what to do if he was turned away. He certainly wouldn’t leave without a fight, especially after the time it took him just to make the journey to the fort. And, honestly, he found Tremaine’s attitude completely baffling. Aaron, for one, believed whether one man or a hundred, any reinforcement would be welcomed with open arms but he’d clearly assumed wrong in this instance. Then again he was really oblivious of the disdain the infantry appeared to hold for the cavalry as this was the first time he’d even addressed a footman directly.

Aaron wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of getting into a shouting match with the Lieutenant though, who looked as if he’d been in enough fights to last several life-times - with the scars to prove it. He also didn’t seem the type who’d back down easily once he’d made a decision and the knight believed that even if he attempted at a play of influence, he wasn’t sure if a nobleman would outdo a veteran; especially during a time of civil war, as well as possible war against the tribes.

With one hand resting on the hilt of his blade and the other rubbing the neck of his horse soothingly -finding a little strength in the rough furry texture- he calmly waited for Tremaine’s (hopefully welcoming) response; his own relaxed stance belying the fact that he was feeling more than just a tad anxious.

Digby couldn't help but smile at the knight's brashness.

"One more is always a help," he said frankly, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. Aaron had a hand on his sword, and Digby raised an eyebrow. "Let's save our hostility for the savages, eh? Now, let me give you a tour of the garrison."

He motioned for a nearby recruit to take the horse, casting an eye over the animal. Not a bad piece of horseflesh, but why was the man walking, if he had no problem? And after looking over the Baskari horses he was hard-pressed tot hink of any of his country's own who could beat them. Now that was a shame. But--the power of His Majesty's armies couldn't, wouldn't, and didn't rest on its cavalry. It rested on its pikes and lances. On the infantry.

Can't have an army wiv' no legs, Hawes always said. The cavalry was a pretty spectacle, that was all.

"Here you'll find the sleeping quarters." He gestured toward a tall wooden structure with small windows. "There, the mess hall." It was a low, long building with the slate-and-tile roof used by peasants in the country. "Our food's humble stuff, and we even use some of the techniques of the barbarians--when we lack the time our bread is the unleavened kind and we eat the stuff called yoghurt, a fermented milk. You'll get used to it. And there--" He pointed straight ahead, to a walled-in arena. "There are the practice yards, and beyond them the stables." He gave a little, ironical smile. "We do keep horses, though we aren't fully trained in jousting, but we have been innovating on the savages' art of firing arrows on horseback. Even the difficult move that the inhabitants of Arabia refer to as the Parthian Shot."

He glanced at his companion. "You may have heard of it. While galloping away from an opponent you fire a shot backwards, over the shoulder. It's been called a coward's move, but I see something nobler in it. And we've had many a man done in by just such a shot when the savages make their retreat." Digby glanced at Aaron, gaging his reaction to all this. "We've an independent existence, here at the garrisons. You might find it a little different from stories you've heard of the first Barbarian Wars."

Aaron couldn’t help but give an inward sigh of relief as he was clapped on the back, glad to see things were looking up and swiftly returning the smile. It didn’t last for long though as he soon found himself frowning in confusion, unsure of what the lieutenant was talking about when he mentioned hostility, only realising upon catching the glimpse towards his blade. An allusion that left the young knight just a tad taken aback, not even sure of how he’d draw his sword from such an awkward position. He certainly didn’t want to give the wrong impression however and so, calmly raised both arms disarmingly. Giving a brief half-smile to show no harm was meant before stepping aside as he allowed the recruit access to his steed.

As for the tour, Aaron refrained from commenting until the end; taking the time to admire the rustic look of the garrison while Digby pointed out anything worth mentioning. It was mostly boring with Aaron’s interest only piquing at the mention of having the opportunity to try out some of the barbarian’s own dishes. And when Tremaine started on the stables Aaron couldn’t help but crack a crooked smile. “Jousting indeed…” he thought to himself in amusement, finally responding once Tremaine had finished.

“Yoghurt, hmm? Sounds interesting… And unfortunately I’ve never heard of this Parthian Shot but anything to bring down the count of our enemies and, perhaps in that, save a few friends, right?” he shrugged at this, basically repeating much of what the more veteran of his trainers had told him. “As for the stories, well, they tend to differ depending on who’s telling them… Otherwise, I’m curious Lieutenant, how are things out here?” Aaron wasn’t looking for a fight after all, just some place to show he’d done his bit for the kingdom and maybe gain that much more recognition within the court through it.

Digby twisted his mouth into a wry grimace.

"I'll be honest, Sir, they're not as good as they could be. We've had a few raids from the dam' barbarians and I tell you, it's the quiet that bothers me more'n anything. It means the really warlike ones are preying on villages as are too far east for us to hear about, and it means the nearer ones are like as not planning something. I just don't know what in God's name it can be."

He refrained from spitting, because Sir Aaron wasn't Hawes. Hawes was enough to lower the tone of a fancy dress party to that of a barracks. Hawes was one of those who carried the indefinable essence of barracks around with him. If you bottled him, you'd get eau de crudité, thought Digby, though he didn't know that crudité didn't mean crudeness, but raw vegetables. Nonetheless.

"We none of us know what to make of it," he went on, now leading the way toward the barracks. "Oh--and I hope you don't mind staying with the rest of the men. We don't have proper 'comodations for knights, nor many servants, just, you know, laundry maids and such." Laundresses and whores being, of course, somewhat interchangeable. But that was the beauty of the system. Digby had a wife, so he didn't indulge, but he knew the men did.