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Part 23 of Three Hundred And Sixty Five Ficlets About Homestuck , Part 1 of The Four Thrones
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Published:
2021-01-23
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2021-05-10
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36/?
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The Four Thrones

Summary:

Or: A Knight-Errant, a Naive Squire, A Brusque Tinkeress, and a Snarky Wizard walk into a bar, start a bar fight, proceed to get kicked out, and then accidentally topple the burgeoning empire of a corrupt politician or two before going on a vacation with some monster-slaying.

Featuring literally as many Homestuck characters as I can fit.

Temporarily on hiatus due to IRL! Updates will return ASAP
(Technically 23/365)

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: BOOK ONE - THE RUNAWAY KNIGHT

Chapter Text

"Oi! Tosspot Egbert!" The Knight-Errant yelled, stretching a hand up into the horizon with the dipping sun behind it, like a halo on a finger-puppet for children. Perfectly befitting the sort of strange week John had been having. The week, of course, as you may know, dear reader, was begun by an attempt at a drinking contest rebuffed by the fact that, as a 19 year old, John Egbert did not find it appropriate to drink. It wasn't as if Sir David E. Strider (knighted by Her Excellency of Derse herself), also 19, found this a particularly compelling excuse, but a person had their reasons and he would respect that.

"That's not very nice." John replied, sucking their cheek between their teeth in a show of disapproval. They pursed their lips up and made a silly face in the general direction of Sir Strider, who flipped them the Queen's Eagle, a complex hand gesture involving your thumb, middle finger, and pinky extended towards the heavens. It was a very rude thing to do, especially to someone you had spent a week challenging to various forms of bar game.

When one looked at Sir Strider, the thought of such a man being knighted much less making anything of himself seemed vanishingly unlikely. He was a scrawny beanpole of a human being, with cardinal-red hair hidden under a thorough layer of brick-red cloth, a more thorough layer of rusted, cheap-looking plate, and then a final coif threaded over his shoulders. More striking, of course, was perhaps the one thing he was known for: a massive greatsword that, if intact, would easily be the kind of blade used to split both a horse and its rider in a single deadly stroke.

If intact.

It was, in fact, snapped cleanly in half through some method that Sir Strider spun a separate yarn for whenever pressed. No matter how frequently or fervently he was pushed for information regarding the clean cut splitting his blade in twain, he would never give you a straight answer, but when you saw it in combat, you soon stopped doubting whether or not such a man was worth of the reputation he earned as one of the fastest hands in Derse.

And with those fast hands, half-blade strapped to his back, he kicked at the dusty ground of the little mountain village he had ventured all this way to best Knight Egbert at. When the drinking contest went through, an arm wrestling contest was held - John won, handily - then a game of checkers - Dave - then a boar-slaying contest - John - and finally, a drinking contest, of water, which Dave did in fact win, startling most onlookers (who knew of John a voracious appetite and thirst, particularly for a good glug of spring water). They left the record 2-2 when Sir Strider decided it was time to move on from this quiet little hamlet and onto greener pastures. His purse grew empty and stomach light, which mean that it was time to go somewhere more populous and stride the bounty boards for some time.

"It's been a very fun time, truly." Sir Strider said, with an indeterminate amount of sincerity, as Knight Egbert approached, warpick in hand. Unlike Sir Strider, John looked more readily built for combat, with shiny, new platemail (inherited from their father), a broad stance perfect for striking (inherited from their father), an intricately smithed warpick (inherited from their father), and a general knightly aura of valor, also inherited from their father. Father Egbert, the literal, was the Court Paladin of Prospit for quite some time until his untimely demise at the hands of Becquerel Black, a lupine brigand of some renown, still at large. John, ever the prodigal child, tempered their desires for vengeance with an even hand, despite the urging of their fellows.

By today, the trail of Becquerel Black had gone bone-cold. And that was okay, John had a life to live, irrespective of the lack of respect they received from those who considered themselves the compatriots of John's father. "But, duty does, in her ever-encroaching orgy, call. I have my life, and you have yours. Fare thee well!"

Sir Strider's voice had an air of unrecognizable melancholy about it, and John, behind their ruffled hair in short, messy spikes, didn't quite recognize the need for the tone. As far as John was concerned, Sir Strider had undoubtedly despised them, as was evident in every motion and request to prove himself against John's skills. Just another wastrel looking to compare themselves to the child of Father Egbert, to see if they could best the inheritor of the Prospitan will. And they could, somewhat frequently, and they could not, almost just as frequently. "In her what?"

"Ever-encroaching- you know? Actually, let's just pretend I didn't say that. I've called a wagon, they should be arriving before nightfall, and, assuming you stay here, or do not follow directly, this will likely be the last we see of each other. It was a pleasure to meet you, in some regard." Sir Strider answered, taking a couple of steps backwards until he was technically out of the bounds of the village, and sitting down on the firm dirt and thin, narrow grasses of the mountain region.

John sat down next to him. "And you plan on waiting by your lonesome, Sir Strider? That seems awfully ill-advised of you. There could be bandits out here in the woods - or worse, wolves!"

Sir Strider rolled his neck and head in a way indicative of rolling his eyes, although it was difficult to see through his narrow metal visor clamped firmly over his actual peepers, revealing only his mouth and the lower half of his nose (alongside the off-orange scruff that passed for his beard). "I will plant my butt here and wait until the wagon arrives, and not spend a minute more in this accursed town, nor will I burn my eyes any further with its hoary inhabitants--"

"It's what? Sir Strider, I believe you are mistaken, the brothel--" John intercepted, actually for real kind of concerned this time, as opposed to the fake concern they typically used when messing with people.

"Hhhhhhhhoary, Knight Egbert. Aitch-Oh-Ay-Arr-Why." Sir Strider explained, starting his sentence off like he was about to hawk a loogie. "It means white, old, wizened. Wrinkly. The hoary people of this village, with no energy, verve, or drive."

"What was that? That thing you did. Aitch-Oh-Ay-Arr-Why -- what was that?" John asked, derailing the conversation yet again with their legitimate curiosity and slight concern for Sir Strider's mental state.

"Spelling?" Sir Strider asked incredulously. "Excuse me, Knight Egbert, I mean not to offend, but are you illiterate?"

"Yes." John replied, grinning smugly. Sir Strider reached up to mime pinching the bridge of his nose, only succeeding in dragging the flats of his fingers across his metal visor, his nails making an unseemly scraping noise against the rusted material. "I spent my childhood days learning the way of the sword, the hammer, the warpick, the axe, the bracer and gauntlet, holy magic - which I failed to absorb. We didn't have time for books, that sort of thing was left for the scholars. Did you have time for books?"

Sir Strider tilted his head in John's general direction, as a nonverbal way of indicating confusion. John tilted their head back, clearly confused. "You never learned how to read?" Sir Strider asked, in blunt disbelief.

"No! Is that an issue? Can we not be friends if I'm not capable of reading your erotic poetry, Sir Strider?" John asked, clearly under the mistaken impression for some reason that Sir Strider was a fan of theirs. He was quick to disabuse that notion.

"No, we cannot, I'm afraid. Only individuals with sufficient literacy to consume my most tasteful mountains of erotic poetry are fit to become my friends, Knight Egbert. I'm afraid you are simply not fit to task. We will have to remain as bitter enemies, forever embroiled in the most painful of personal holy wars as we--"

"Okay, so, can you teach me?" John interrupted, whip-quick.

"Please, stop interrupting my soliloquies, Knight Egbert." Sir Strider blithely retorted.

"I don't know what a soliloquy is. Can you teach me?" John repeated, clearly not taking anything other than a straight yes or no as an answer. To be fair to them, however, this was because anything besides "Yes", "No", or, potentially, depending on their insistence, "Maybe" was, to them, not an answer. "Both how to read and what a soliloquy is. You seem like an intelligent individual, Sir Strider, with wit nearly as sharp as your blade--" "Hey!" "I would like to be taught these basic skills that I have clearly lacked in the proper education to learn! Assuredly, a skillful knight such as yourself is up to the task?"

Sir Strider sighed. "I've only paid enough coin to transport me and my luggage. Plus, I have no use of another mouth to feed on my travels. While I'd love to catch you up on all the finer things in life that your sheltered suburban tutelage withheld from you, I simply do not have the resources available to me." Sir Strider said, internally unable to decide whether he actually wanted to take Knight Egbert under his tutorship or not. It was a slightly tempting idea, to be known as the one who taught the son of Father Egbert everything they knew about the arts, performance, humor, jestership, but on the other hand, it would require putting up with Knight Egbert for even more time, and Sir Strider was not so much a louse as to leave a sentient being, even one in distaste, in the wilderness.

"Oh, that's okay, I'll try to pay for myself. I've the coin." John offered, reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a small cloth sack, jingling with currency. "Prospitan lucre. Unsure of the exchange rate to your Dersite coinage, but it should be enough for the wagon operator? Plus, I've seen your hand in combat, and I believe we may be able to make mutual usage of each other."

"Mutual... Usage...?" Sir Strider replied, slow, ever-slower, drawing out each word, and John's face filled with blush, shaking their head vigorously.

"No, no no, no no no, not in that fashion. I am not the kind to fancy men, fortunately or unfortunately depending on the asker." John frantically replied, waving their hands about in the air like a panicked child. The kind of flailing about that... Actually, we'll leave what it means to you, dear reader.

Sir Strider quirked an eyebrow, albeit one aware of its invisibility behind steel visor. "Assuredly."

John looked away, coughing twice, loudly, to clear the air. "Assuredly. But I digress! While I would certainly enjoy your company, and make well use of your intellect in teaching me how to read, write, perform the skills of basic literacy, et cetera, I actually am not a leech in this arrangement! Or at least, I would not wish myself one."

Sir Strider leaned back, resting his palms on the ground. By now, the sun, already low in her flight, was beginning to descend below the horizon, a steadily sinking egg rotting in the sky, painting the auroras a pale green, bright red, intermingling colors of Gods and Goddesses in the sky above. Then, in an instant, with both knights watching closely, they vanished, the minute of intermingling between the mortal and divine realms per week thus ceased, leaving the sky in starless orange, rapidly fading to black.

It was, as far as sunsets went, a very pretty sunset.

"Right, and what will you be doing for me that makes this arrangement a fair, equitable one? I am no usurer, mind, nor do I desire to become one - I find the field infinitely detestable, for the presence of accursed mathematics that confounds the brain and stymies the senses. I... intensely dislike mathematics." Sir Strider responded, after enough time had passed that he could see the wagon slowly approaching in the distance. Until then, it was quiet silence, neither one of them willing to say anything to break the wall of emptiness that had sprung up between the two. "I digress."

Sir Strider slowly rose to his feet, dusting off spare bits of gravel and stone from his rear end, his legs, and his palms. "I want to make something of myself. Beyond "the child of Father Egbert, in peace may his spirit rest"." John began, staring into the distance, eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed. They grabbed their warpick and pointed it towards the deepening horizon - a challenge to the heavens, and the pendulous divinities they carried, strange caprice under the watchful eye of Egbert. "There are monsters to be slain! Dungeons to be explored! Bounties to be drawn! I am John Egbert, and I wish to be the child of Father Egbert no longer!"

Sir Strider chuckled at the little speech. Oh, how he hated the simple movement of it, the way that John's passion ringed so clearly in their every sentence and motion. There was no training for acting that could produce this kind of emotion, the pure sincerity of an individual who had never learned how to lie or hide themselves from the world outside of them. Sir Strider could feel every ounce of truth in John's words, and laughed, reaching up to clasp his helmet in one hand as his guffawing echoed through the mountainsides.

John looked hurt, letting their warpick drift down to the ground, pointed tip dragging a small line into the dirt. "Well... I suppose it was worth a shot! Fare thee well, Sir--" John began, turning around mid-sentence. This time, however, it was their turn to be interrupted, with a hand clasped over their shoulderplates.

"Egbert. Knight Egbert. You wish to be a vagrant adventurer?" Sir Strider asked, turning John around with a firm grip, the other hand resting on their sword. "Living under the stars, or in inns, never staying home, always searching for danger to be conquered, maidens to be saved, treasure to be gathered? That is the path you wish to take in your life?"

John nodded twice. "More than anything else, Sir Strider."

The other knight reached his hand out to John. "I'll accept your offer. My life is one of humdrum expertise - perhaps carrying a companion in combat will add some spice to my days and nights!" He roared, his voice increasing in volume to a boisterous crescendo.

John, grinning wide, clasped their hand against Dave's, giving it a rough, firm shake. "Let's provide the spice then, yeah?"