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Ser Giles de Cerneau, Knight of the Duke's Household and one of the most famous knights in Brittony, was having a damnable time trying to start a fire.

It had rained for nearly three days straight, a ghastly torrent of water that seemed unending; indeed, by the latter half of the third day Ser Giles was all but certain that the second Genesis flood was upon them, and he and his party were most unfortunately without an ark. Thankfully, the downpour had abated by the present day's morning, but the area remained drenched and horribly muddy — in many cases, the rivers and streams his small party had needed to cross had flooded, rendering the fords known to them useless. The detours they had to take in these cases had set them back days. Ser Giles had expected to be in Poitou by now, but as best as he could tell, they had barely made it into Anjou. With their horses exhausted, he had been forced to call camp for the day just north of the banks of the Loire river. 

And now he was in charge of lighting their cooking fires, except he had been entirely unable to find a single damnable piece of dry kindling, and for God's sake why wouldn't the spark catch—!

He sighed and massaged his temples in an effort to cool his temper. The poor weather and hard travelling had gotten to him, he had to admit. When he had first taken charge of this quest, he had been unable to quell his excitement for a moment in the days leading up to the beginning of their journey. After all, it had seemed like a situation plucked straight from a romantic fairy tale, and he had always loved playing the part of knight-in-shining-armour. His Lord's betrothed, a princess in need of saving from a jealous King? He had positively burned with glory-lust. Yes, he had soured a bit at the odd set of companions the Duke had seen fit to provide him with, but his enthusiasm was not truly diminished until the terrible trek from Brest to their present camp.

Ser Giles sighed again, and pushed such thoughts from his mind. A poor start to a journey, true, but he needn't make it a portentous one. He turned his attentions back to the task at hand — namely, creating a fire. He took up his flint and steel and shaved sparks onto a charred cloth until it finally caught an ember. He almost shouted in relief, before he realized he hadn't built a nest of bark and tow to catch the ember. He had to start again.

I am a fool.

He could feel his companions' eyes on him, certain that they were judging him. What sort of leader, a famed man-at-arms no less, couldn't start a simple fire?

Ser Giles scowled, reached for a handful of damp tow and birchbark, and built a small bird's nest out of them. He leaned over the cloth again, precisely striking the flint with the steel until it sparked, lighting the char—

He dropped it into the tow and bark and gently blew—

The fire caught. He dropped twigs into the blaze until it grew steady, then built a cabin of wood split from his rondel dagger. He was absurdly proud of his little fire, and thought that if he drowned crossing the Loire tomorrow then at least he would have started a damned cooking fire before he died.

Ser Giles rose from his crouched position, groaning a bit at his stiff knees, and turned to his companions. 

"Time to cook!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Some time later, when they all sat on logs and rocks around the fire and ate their stew in silence, Ser Giles tapped on his bowl and cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose it's about time we all made our introductions. I think the recent weather has dispelled any illusions at this being a quick journey, yes?" He smiled, a hint of self-deprecation in it, and continued. "I'm sure you all know me of course, but I am Ser Giles de Cerneau, and I have been charged with leading this little expedition in its endeavor to conduct my Lord's betrothed, the Princess of Savoy, safely to Brest." He takes another spoonful of stew, before gesturing to the person to his left. "And you are?"
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