<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="color: #BFBF00"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;">Hector Karembeux</span><br/><span style="font-size: 120%; line-height: 116%;">The son of Sir Damian</span></span></span></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i1343.photobucket.com/albums/o793/Galvin_Fugazi/6bbbeb79-fa04-4652-b13f-3d557c14a060_zps5c5dbdf8.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><br/><div style="text-align: justify;">Hector had been thinking of this marriage arrangement with the Delecroix. Martine was a tough, little girl, one that knew how to get what she wanted. She wouldn’t need long to have Abel in line or Abel would face a hard time. And with the thread that he would come over to look for the things, he knew that Abel would try to please Martine. In principle Abel Delecroix was no bad man, just a tad to protective of his sister. But even on the battlefields he had always been a fair and just opponent. <br/><br/>Hector worried more about his own part in it. He had no time to think over it before Sir Abel arrived at the tent and he knew he had played the role of the caring future husband surprisingly well and convincing. But now, with Abel gone and the armor on his body, his mind started to process the implications of this marriage. It wasn’t about Lady Iris, there was nothing wrong with Lady Iris. She was a sweet young girl with a tongue that was maybe a tad too lose, but she had all he was looking for in a wife. The three B and the three S. Beauty, brain, breast and softness, seduction and sexuality. So far, she was perfect…if she wasn’t a Delecroix. <br/><br/>Hector’s hate wasn’t as deeply rooted as his father, who had seen too many close friends die on the battlefield by the hands of the people from Eastshire or Levonshire. His hate was a product of his father’s hate. He had sucked it up with the mother milk, got feeded with it spoon by spoon as a little kid and he grew up with the image of Eastshire or Levonshire nobles attached to the dummies on the sparring area. If someone would play it down, then he would say, that Hector’s hate of the Eastshire and Levonshire people was a product of propaganda. But that wasn’t telling the whole story, his hate went deeper. Every young knight was in need of an enemy he could direct his emotions on. Hate, fear, anger, despair, all things a young knight in training went through and if he couldn’t channel those into a target, then he would be lost. Hector wasn’t any different and he had put those feelings onto the people from Eastshire and Levonshire. They were his enemies, he hated them, feared them, wanted to destroy them. Out of different reasons his hate for them was a valid as his father’s.<br/><br/>And now his father wanted him to marry the enemy. A beautiful, tempting enemy, but anyway the enemy. It kind of gnawed at his picture of the world. They, the Karembeux were the good ones and those, the Delecroix were the bad ones. Now suddenly it had to be different. Well, not really, as it was a charade his father was playing to keep the Delecroix peaceful, but Hector, as vile as he was a warrior, had a soft heart when it came to the ones he loved. The idea that he would have this fragile, young girl as his bride and that she should mean nothing to him, should be still the enemy, a pawn in a game, it felt wrong. She would be his, she counted on him to protect her and to treat her well, how could he disappoint her then? <br/><br/>It was really troubling and Hector decided to take a walk to clear his mind of those thoughts. His warhorse had been sore yesterday from the travel, a muscle in his leg hard as a rock. The stableboys had taken care of it with lotions and massaging, but he had no idea if it worked. He would check on it now in the stables, would decide to take the risk to saddle it for his fight or to saddle his father’s horse for a second stint. A good warhorse was expensive and it would be silly to risk it to go lame, because of a tournament.<br/><br/><span style="color: #FF8000">“I’m in the stable, father, checking on my horse. If it is still sore I’ll take yours for the fight.”</span><br/><br/>Damian nodded and Hector walked off, his armor clanking with every step.</div>