Pairings: MINOR, MINOR, MINOR Geoff/O.C., attempted Will/Geoff, Will/Jocelyn, Roland/Christina, et cetera...

It's Chaucer's Point Of View, Post-Will/father scene, pre-'Intervention'.

Comments to reviewers are at the end.


"How long have you been in town?" I ask as I carefully lean over and pick a stray petal from the posy cart out of his hair. I pretend to be interested in my new "find", examining it and tracing its thin veins with a fingernail. I'm really staring right over it and into his eyes. I'm not sure why, any and all reason or logic seems to have escaped me now,

"I mean, you are new here, right? I usually remember you bard-types, and I can't recall ever meeting you. I have been absent from the city for a while, though."

He nods again, and I form my doubts. For if he had not sung that lovely piece, I probably would hold him as a mute.

"That's an interesting instrument you're playing there. A lute, right? I've never really seen one up close."

A light breeze suddenly passes through the streets and I wrap my coat around me. It isn't exactly the warmest thing to wear, with fall fast approaching. This bard –this mute with a lute- is actually wearing a coat that's disturbingly similar to mine, but yet, he doesn't seem to be bothered by the change in temperature.

"Eirik," He says suddenly, and I'm confused until he clarifies for me, "My name is Eirik Snorrison."

Except it sounds more like, 'Mae nahme es Earric Snoarrehson', and I realize he's not at all Venetian; maybe from one of the northern kingdoms of Norway or Sweden.

He doesn't look like he's from the north, that's just it. And why didn't he have that accent before? Another piece to add to the puzzle. This one might be more infuriating to figure out than my Lord, and that's quite a feat. But all the same...

I try to hide my growing curiosity and continue to question my man, "And how long have you been visiting this charming district?"

Now he frowns, as if he can't quite find the right words, "Two? Two sunrises I've been here."

Again: 'Tew sun'ises I'd ben 'ere."

I wince and try to ignore it, just as I've been ignoring the off-key strumming that continues in the background. As I wonder where my finely-educated lute player with the lovely voice has gone to, I notice that there are watchmen coming our way. I see they're not really looking for us or me, but I notice a keen, knowing look in their eyes. I may not be at my best right now, but I've got enough wits about me to recognize it's probably the one that's in reserve for my lord.

Ahh... that's right... Such a fool, Geoff. The rope is being strung in the gallows and my lord, he hasn't a clue. Here I am chatting it up with this young attractive, where's my decency? Left back in Paris with my clothes and pride, then.

The fiercely armed watchmen –and I realize that they might be royal guards for they have several extra layers of armor- notice my man playing his lute. Well, first they notice his attire and the "oh-so-calculating" expression on his face, then the open case, and finally the lute. I find that waves of emotions are going over their faces: gluttony, greed, envy, wrath; a melting pot of the deadly sins. They all seem to be sharing the same single-thought mind. One moment they're almost all the way down the block, and the next, they're pushing and shoving their way towards this little concert.

I turn to... Eirik, was it? "Get your permit out." I wave a finger at the approaching men. "Those agreeable gents intend to see if it's up to their standards."

The blank -blanker- expression on his face tells me what I'd feared,

"You have a permit, right?"

He doesn't. Why'd I even ask? I already knew he didn't.

I continue anyway, "A musician's permit? Did you go to the guild master and get a little slip of paper that says you can play? Play your instrument. The lute. A rounded device with strings. That thing in your hands." I furiously point and wonder if he's purposely ignoring me, if he's really quite daft, or if he just doesn't know enough English to grasp what the bloody hell I'm saying,

"You need that permit to play on the streets. If you don't have it you could get arrested, as we're are about to be." We?

Half of the guards have nearly reached us. The other half, I can see, are heading around the street as if to block out any escape paths. I throw my hands up and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Days," the great bard said softly.

I turn to him, "What did you say?"

"I've been here for two days, not sunrises." He's smiling and nodding as if he's just performed a musical masterpiece in front a royal audience.

I blink once, then again.

Quite daft. I wonder why he's allowed out on his own. Another reason why I can't let the guards get him; I doubt he's able to get himself out of his own nightclothes, let alone this mess. This means taking him with me, with us. Well, at least Wat will have someone on the same level to talk to now.

"Hey, you," someone says roughly out of nowhere, interrupting my thoughtful attack on a certain man's character.

You. Of course. That could only be one person on these crowded streets in a city of thousands.

Eirik, as the fates would have it. I realize we're now surrounded by five or six of those disgruntled men.

"Yes," I say pleasantly, turning to them with what I hope doesn't look like a rather strained smile. It's barely been an hour since my last encounter with the law, and I hope this one doesn't turn out worse.

"Not you," one of the guards spits out, trying to push me aside and grab at my new friend. "Tis' the bloke we wan' now. Unlawful disturbances of the publics, ye' see."

Ah yes, he is the one you want then. To rough up a bit, steal his lute and anything in his purse, and then do who knows what to him. Yeah, these are the type who would sell out their own mothers for a bit of private time with a 'lady' and a jug of cheap liquor. I motion to Eirik to stop playing his instrument with a quick jab in the ribs, but he doesn't get the message.

"Unlawful disturbances?" I ask. "How exactly are we being unlawful, gentleman, if you would be so kind as to share this with me?" I extend my arms out, trying to be as least threatening as I can. Eirik's still playing his lute and I want to kick his shin, but this isn't the time or the place. What, with those men looking at me to be the responsible one.

Another guard: "Musician's permit. You need one if you expect to play this side of town. I'll be seeing it now. That is, if you be havin' one."

I laugh nervously. I can't leave him to a fate worse than...what's a fate worse than a mugging, a severe beating, an extended stint in jail, and then hard time on a work crew? Well, that doesn't matter. What matters is getting him –us- out of this, and then untangling my lord from his personal web of disaster.

"Yes, that permit," I'm not sure what I can say. 'We don't have one, take us away mister?' I lick my lips and take a risky chance. I grab at one of Eirik's hands, causing him to cease his infernal playing, and hold it in mine. I've finally got some sign of life from him. He's looking at me as if he was nine and I just killed his puppy, or at least severely bludgeoned it with a sharpened stick. I want to sigh again,

"You understand gentlemen, if we had known about this 'musicians permit', we would have gotten one. But you see, we've only just arrived in London a few good hours ago," Eirik looks as if he's about to protest this untruth, so I squeeze his hand tighter,

"And I was going to go buy my cousin –we're cousins by our mothers- well, I was going to buy him a nice pastry from that baker-chap over there," I point him out, "yes that's the one. And well, I hate to advertise this to you, considering it's rather personal, but my cousin here, he's not quite right in the mind.

I told him not to play his instrument in the streets –he's going to give a performance at my mother's house so we had to take it along- but I told him, and he didn't listen. I was trying to get him to put it back in its case when you fine gentlemen came along. And now that you know our story, and mother-dearest is expecting, I think it'd be best if we just went on our way."

I'm smiling the entire time I'm talking, and encouraging Eirik to smile along with me, and maybe put his lute away. But he's not partaking in any of this and the guards are watching us rather impatiently.

"He's lying," a voice says and my hopes fade, but the cheery grin remains. If that's Eirik, I swear by all that I hold dear to me... no, who's that, then? A new man, possibly someone of a higher rank, had appeared somewhere in the middle of my speech, and I hadn't even noticed. Geoffrey Chaucer: writer extraordinaire with wits of a fish and the bleating mouth of an ass.

"What do you mean, I'm lying? I don't lie; it's against my very nature. I'm very much a religious man, sirs, and if it hadn't been for that ghastly plague, I do imagine I'd have a rosary in my hands right now." I'm trying to sound as offended as I can; our very lives depend on it. "I do say, now that I think of it I rather take offence to that remar—"

"Quiet," the man interrupts me, and I give up on my modest lie. "I saw you not one day ago riding with your lord, Sir Ulrich of Liechtenstein."

Yes that you did. I was reporting that Adhemar was going to be competing. He was so happy. Determined to beat the snot of Adhemar, but happy. From the look of it, my lord won't be competing at all now.

It has dawned on these guards as to the prize they've caught. They know the truth behind Sir Ulrich and how he's nothing more than a Thatcher's son. Some of them have probably heard the tale twice over, once in a tavern and then again from their superiors as they were getting ready for the day's rounds.

They never thought that they would be a part of the group who caught up with this liar. Well, they've caught the liar's herald, actually. His lowly, foolish herald. There's probably some sort of reward, there usually is. These men around me, except for Eirik of course, are all probably plotting on how they're going to spend it. I see more of them looking at me as if they were trying to locate a price written somewhere on my body.

I open my mouth and then close it again. Words… they are like water running through my hands.

"I have a permit," someone says, and I don't realize it's my Eirik until he forces his hand from mine and starts fumbling around in his purse. He pulls out a bit of parchment and proudly shows it off to the guards,

"See," he says, and I do. It has the insignia of the guild master and everything else to make it perfectly legal. What's confusing me though is that he's lost the bloody accent, again.

Nobody seems to care though, that Eirik has finally gotten his wits about himself again. The guards certainly don't see the parchment that's being waved in front of them. All they see is the bonus money they could cash in if they caught the lying Thatcher's son. I can't hold it against them either, I'd probably be doing the same thing if I was in their collective shoes and I had just caught a villain. So much for morals and ethics.

Just when it looked like the guards were about to make their move, another "mysterious voice" entered the lovely conversation. Except this one was distinctly feminine and rather, to put it lightly, disgruntled,

"What do you think you're doing? Unhand these men."

I turn to see my savior, and find it's the one and only Lady Jocelyn. She's sitting in a small horse-drawn carriage. She's dressed in… well, another one of her spectacular outfits that it's better not to describe and just imagine. To her side I see Roland's heartthrob and the lady's maid, Christina.

Of all coincidence, why her, my lord's lady? I don't dwell on this thought long; I'm becoming more absorbed in the fact that she may have just saved my life. These guards at least recognize the fact that this lady is a Lady, and take a few steps back from us.

The Lady Jocelyn doesn't seem a least bit concerned for my wellbeing, rather, she appears to be more interested in why a dozen or so royal guards would be on the streets and blocking her path of travel. She signals to a footservant to help her out of the carriage. When her feet touch the ground, she immediately makes her way towards the center of this quarrel –me.

"What pray tell is going on here? What reason do you have to cause me to be late to my next appointment? I am a very busy, important person and I refuse to be subjected to your petty squabbling."

It's an act of course; I can see it in her eyes. Jocelyn can be snobbish sometimes, but she'd never throw such a fit for the entire world to see. Foxy lady, indeed.

The leader of the guard stutters, "M'lady, these men are criminals. They're part of an illegal outfit meant to debase all nobility and God's very word. The Lord Almighty chose his house and the King chose his lords. This scum means to defile these beliefs and take command of the royal hold."

The Lady's eyebrows rise a bit before she cuts in, "Is it treason you speak of, for you are talking in circles."

"No, well, no and yes-"

"-which is it then?"

"M'lady, this man's liege is none other than Sir Ulrich Von Lichtenstein." He paused for a moment to see how Lady Jocelyn would react.

"I am very aware of that fact. Is there a point, or do you just enjoy arresting nobleperson's servants. If that is the case," a tight smile is on her lips as she turned back towards Christina, "You'd best be along before they decide come after you."

"But that's exactly it, m'lady. Sir Ulrich isn't a Sir at all. He and his band are said to be commoners who've been making a mockery of the noble houses."

Jocelyn's nose wrinkles a bit, "I'm wondering, who's exactly been doing the 'saying' in this matter. Probably a competitor of Sir Ulrich set on defaming his house and taking him out of the tourney. What proof do you have? Filthy, dirty lies."

I'm trying to make eye contact with her, but she's intent on the leader. She doesn't want them to know I mean more to her than just being her lord's flamboyant herald.

"Oh, but it's all quite true, beloved Jocelyn." I look behind the Lady to see Count Adhemar riding in on a black horse. He looks rather pleased about something, and I fear whatever news he has, it won't be good for my lord,

"I followed "Sir" Ulrich last night to Cheapside and met his father. He's the son of a Thatcher, you do realize. He's not any sort of lord, Ulrich is a liar and a definite fool."

As Count Adhemar dismounts from his horse, I finally catch her glance and with a sharp nod, I confirm the rumor.

"It can't be true," protests Jocelyn.

"But it is, dearest," Adhemar continues with the smallest hint of intimacy in his voice, "You've been deceived by this Ulrich –if that even is his name."

He wraps his arm around Jocelyn's waist, "But it is all completely true. I think you'd better go back to your father's home. The wedding...," he pauses dramatically and I inhale sharply. "The wedding is only in a few days and my mother has been nattering on about how nothing is getting done."

Adhemar gently guides Jocelyn back to the carriage. Christina's still there and she grips her lady's hands in sympathetic comfort.

He turns around and losing any form of compassion, he quietly adds, "Arrest these men."


Ugh. I have nothing to say historically. Literature-wise: I hate Jocelyn. Not the person, I love the actress. I just can't write her; I don't get "how" her character is; Adhemar too. Odd.

Chronicles Bailey: about the "Ring around the Rosie" thing. I knew I should have explained that comment; no, it's not about the plague. If you're interested go to then to "language" then the "literary legends" catergory.
NamelessRose: Thanks for the review. It is tough writing in character, but Geoff is fun. Other characters though... evil eye at Jocelyn
Destiny's Creator: Geoff/Will all the way! I'm a bit of a realist though, and it could never happen. Not unless they were both drunk... well, I don't want to give away the story! Wordiness? Slow paced? I agree on both topics. Essentially, I'm trying to explain just how Jozie and Geoff knew what was happening. The part with William and the rest is coming up really soon, probably next chapter. It'll really pick up then.

Disclaimer: A Knight's Tale belongs to Columbia Pictures, not me. "Let Forever Be" belongs to the Chemical Brothers. All other characters, unless noted, are mine.