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Your hand, m'lady

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 The next day saw knight and squire sitting in a cosy little set-up in the inn's eatery. “Give me but a week to find a mistress.” Ron taps loudly on the table with his elbows and their goblets of ale tremble delicately.

 “Yes, yes, thank you sir, thank you. I can't thank you enough.” He leaps to the ground and makes a scene of kissing his sabatons.

 Harry laughs jovially. “Barkeep, one more for the betrothed.” He slaps his friend over the head and they banter through the day, wasting away in the dusty little inn.

***

 Four days into his search finds him the perfect candidate.

 A caravan had caught his eye in the next town over. A woman set on the outskirts, in particular. She seems much less approachable than her kin, but more than willing to partake in such a task he is hoping to set.

 He had asked the town crier how long the caravan was staying for to which his reply was a fortnight. Harry had smiled politely and travelled back to his home town and informed his squire of the news.

 More ale was had, and with a good conscience and cause to celebrate a bottle of wine was purchased along the lines too.

 The woman had watched him approach with a  scowl and a short, sharp pairing knife in hand. Wild hair tied back via dull yellow bandeau and flowing skirts of red, brown, yellows and oranges completely covering her caravet's steps.

 Harry bowed, his armour gleamed to a shine by them both the night prior, “Madame, I hope to ask a request, a sum of money being the reward.” He hopes this woman is as dangerous as she looks.

 She grunts and he takes the affirmative to carry on. “You may have heard of Hogwarts and it's captive princess?” She merely lifts an eyebrow and glances over his gleaming armour.

 “My squire and I have found her captor will not attack any woman, be it young, old, poor, or rich. We were hoping in order to h-.” A woman, much, much taller than himself leaves the door directly behind the sitting lady. Her own face sporting the same scowl and unusual long two-toned hair  fluttering in the wind.

 Harry may have misread the situation a little then...

 “Madame.” He bows deeply to the new arrival.

 “Bella?” The woman bends down and puts a hand to the other fair-skinned woman's shoulder. This 'Bella' quickly glances at the newcomer and a short, sharp conversation is had.

 “Very well, carry on knight, you're wasting our time.” The two-toned woman sits with the other and Harry stumbles over his words a little as they sit similarly as a married man and woman should.

 “Y-yes, well, I'm sorry madame's, where was I? Oh yes, I was wondering, begging your pardons, if you would help me gain the princess' favour by rescuing her.” Harry wonders as the first woman leans back and bangs loudly on the door. “Dromy!” She shouts a few more words in Romani and soon a woman similar in looks to the first appears, although she is tanned like her people and her hair brown where the first woman's is black.

 “Ask us again.” The first says, the third sits too, amongst her like the second had and Harry tries, he really tries not to stumble over his words as hands land on thighs  and shoulders are pressed too closely.

 He receives three scowls, until he can finally throw a sentence together. “I was wondering if you would be able to help me betroth the princess.”

 The third 'Dromy' huffs. “Well that doesn't sound too hard. How much?”

 “400 shillings madame. Be it her captor is a dragon m'lady.” He bows and hops to his Lord that this works.

 The second speaks, with barely a hint of communication. “150 shillings each.” He thinks carefully and separates his own rates in his head. After a moment he nods.

 “Alright m'lady, 450 shillings total.” The three of them nod and he notices how unanimous it was before he catches a chill and shivers. “By Saturday, noon, I shall be back to escort you to the castle.”

 He then leaves, on his way to bare the good news to his squire, although not too sure if he's just hired one woman or all three.