Falaise

Tentative Training.

The blue-haired man shivered lightly, raising his hands in defeat. 'It appears I have lost.' He simply said, letting his arms fall at his side and handing the blade back to Mihawk.

The other man accepted the weapon while Buggy adjusted his clothes. There wasn't much he could do to hide his actual predicament, but he ignored it, holding his head high.

'Well, clearly you two are needed knights.' He wiped the dust off himself. 'It was a nice spar, I'll let you carry on with it.' And he left the training field without another word.

He didn't think he was rusty despite his childhood training being a decade old, but Mihawk's skills were definitely good and better than most soldiers, and he hadn't trained for a long time.

As unexpected as this morning fight had been, it had been fun. Not once had Buggy felt that his status as a Duke had influenced the two men in the training field. And it was nice to be considered as Buggy, just for once. He sighed as he returned to his room. It would certainly not happen again during the day, and he already dreaded having to complete his designated tasks.

He got dressed, unbraiding his hair, arranging the strands to fit in his usual hatted hairstyle. He put on his makeup in silence, and tied his shoes with yet another sigh.

His blood father had been named Robert the Magnificent, and Roger had been nicknamed the Pirate King. Buggy was called Buggy the Jester. There was a certain downgrade in the heir-line's list of nicknames, somehow.

His father had died two years ago on his way back from pilgrimage in Nicaea, leaving Buggy as the only pretender to the Duchy, despite the boy having been born out of union with a mistress. His father had appointed him as his heir before leaving, making Buggy the immediate next candidate to the Duchy of Normandy.

But this decision had not been approved by the majority of the Duchy's inhabitants, his appointment raising protests. Indeed, how could a boy, who'd been raised by the English, rule over Normandy? How was the blood in his veins legitimate enough to grant him such a throne, when he had never proved to be worthy of such?

Buggy knew for a fact that Shanks had never met that much disfavour in Aquitaine. Shanks, who was known as 'the Red Hair' away from his lands. It certainly contrasted with Buggy's 'The Jester' alias.

But that was what he was, in the eyes of his people. A jester, a skiver, someone they could not rely on, someone they could not take seriously. Buggy did not miss the way most of his father's advisers looked at him, eyes filled with contempt, when they thought he couldn't see.

But Buggy was not stupid. He also knew that this reputation of his, of being dumb and ridiculous, had prevented the Duchy's enemies from attempting a direct attack on him. He was seen as not worth it, and they preferred to wait for a perfect opportunity to both get rid of him and claim the throne, than attack carelessly and raise outrage.

It gave plenty of time to Buggy to fortify his position. However, even two years later, and despite increasing efforts, the new Duke did not receive the expected respect.

People still talked behind his back, called him the jester, and brought up his father whenever he had to make a decision.

Buggy was not a bitter man, but he had to admit that hearing praises and news of Shanks' accomplishments as the new Duke of Aquitaine, despite them having received the exact same education sometimes disheartened the blue-haired man. Buggy wished he could simply see his friend in times like this, when he was in low spirits. Wished he could forget their duties as Dukes and reconnect as childhood friends, as brothers.

But they had not been brought to England to become friends, and Shanks had always had more ambition than Buggy. It was not surprising to see him thrive as a Duke.