"Send forth your champion, Ashlynn, and may the Holy Lord of Light defend the righteous."

Owain’s words washed over the Blackwell table like a rolling wave at high tide, calling men like Captain Devlin, Sir Elgon, and many others to their feet as though they were boats floating up on the rising tide. The wave passed quickly, though, and before any of them had made it halfway from their seats, Lady Ashlynn’s retort that she didn’t need a champion acted like an anchor, holding them back.

They’d known. She’d made it very clear from the beginning that Owain’s life belonged to her, and she’d spent much of tonight goading him toward this moment, increasing the pressure bit by bit even as she cut off his avenues of escape. In that respect, she’d proven every bit as methodical as her father and several times as ruthless, so when Owain finally sailed into her trap, no one was surprised.

Yet, even though Lady Ashlynn had claimed the right to face Lord Owain tonight, the men of Blackwell still felt a pull to stand for her that rose from the depths of their bones.

One person at the Blackwell table, however, had an entirely different reaction.

"No," Jocelynn whispered, her eyes going wide in fear. "No, no, she can’t," she said as she clung to the arm of Ashlynn’s flame-haired knight.

Sir Ollie’s presence had been comforting and warm the entire night, and without him nearby, she might never have found the strength to speak up when the time came. Somehow, despite his blood-soaked tabard and gambeson, he gave her the feeling that she was nestled among giant stones in a sheltered cove, as though the crashing waves would break over him before they’d ever reach her.

Now, she clung to that strength and looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"Please, you have to stand for her," Jocelynn pleaded. "Owain is one of the greatest swordsmen of his generation. He, he’s merciless and relentless and ruthless with a sword in his hand and..."

"She knows," Ollie said gently, placing a hand over Jocelynn’s and giving her a smile that was meant to be reassuring. "Your sister has been preparing for this for months. She started training with Lord General Thane within days of crawling out of the hole Owain’s knights dumped her in, and Dame Sybyll as well. She’s even trained with, er, with someone stronger than either of them," he finished awkwardly, holding back a name that couldn’t be spoken in the Lothian Great Hall even if few would recognize it.

"I, I don’t understand," Jocelynn said. "I’m certain that, um, Lord General Thane is a capable knight," she said, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar title. "And Dame Sybyll must be as well, but..."

"Shh," Ollie said, placing a finger gently on her lips. "Watch. And have faith. Your sister came here for this moment. She wanted Owain to challenge her so that she could face him openly before the entire Lothian Court. She knows how skilled he is, and she came anyway," Ollie reminded her. "Do you think she’d do that if she didn’t have a plan to handle him?"

"No, but..."

"So watch," Ollie said, wrapping an arm around her to offer her an additional measure of strength and support against the storm of emotions that must be raging in her heart. "And see who your sister has become..."

The Blackwell table wasn’t the only place where men moved to stand for Lady Ashlynn when Owain called for a champion.

At the Aleese table, Reynold Aleese was already halfway out of his chair before he heard Lady Ashlynn say she didn’t need a champion, and for a moment, he nearly made his offer anyway. He’d fought side by side with Lord Owain against the forces of the Horse Lord on the Southern Steppe, and he’d fought against Lord Owain in several tournaments.

Reynold knew the man and how he fought, and while he couldn’t say he’d ever claimed victory against Owain, he’d also never fought a true match to the death against him. There was a difference between the tame, mock battles of tournaments where officials scored points landed and the real, brutal world of a fight to the last breath, and in that world, Reynold was certain that the gap between his skills and Lord Owain’s was much smaller.

But more than he wanted to offer up his knowledge and skills to Lady Ashlynn, he wanted to show her that his family knew how to stand for something. Hearing Sir Hugo talk about Rain bringing him to brothels, or meetings with the Black Merchant to buy insidious poisons, crushed his heart as though it were caught in a blacksmith’s vice.

Worse, his own father sat there and said nothing... No words of apology for a son that had gone astray, nor words from a baron to disavow actions that couldn’t be allowed to stain the family’s honor. His father’s continued silence ate away at Reynold until he felt like he had to do something, anything, to prove that there were still men of principle and honor in Aleese, even if it meant facing the greatest swordsman in the march in a duel to the death...

But Lady Ashlynn, or Saintess Ashlynn, rather, had no need of a champion like him, and her refusal to take a champion left Reynold feeling hollow and empty as he sank back into his seat.

Elsewhere in the hall, other men wrestled with their own desire to stand forth as a champion of the Saintess. Some, like Sir Beathan, came by that desire honestly, drawn by a mixture of faith, loyalty, and a sense of righteousness that had been forged and tempered over years of service as a knight.

Others were more opportunistic, seeing a chance to establish themselves in the emerging new order as a pillar of the realm. But when men of the latter sort remembered that they would have to fight against Lord Owain, the ’opportunity’ before them vanished like dew drops on a hot summer day, and the motions they made to stand were small, feeble, and quickly abandoned.

But just as it seemed like no one would stop Lady Ashlynn from facing Owain in a duel to the death, Owain himself raised his voice to object...