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"You would judge me by the standards of others despite the fact that you surely have realized by now that I am not average?" She lifted a brow, still facing forward, motionless. "A person who cares about public opinion would, perhaps, agree with that statement. I, however, only care about the opinion of the people I care for, and considering that there are many people in the world who are mothers and brothers to ugly women, I would venture to say that my family would love me no less if I were unattractive." Alegra was not the type of girl to blush and call herself "plain" even after having spent hours at home getting ready. She was under no misconception about herself; she knew she was attractive. When she needed to, she exploited it; but otherwise, completely ignored it. She enjoyed riding horses, and they didn't care what she looked like, and enjoyed swordplay, but in her knight's helmet, it wouldn't matter if she had no nose.

Considering the fact that she did not need or particularly want a man at this point - they were troublesome, she found, always having to be dominant and manly, and she would never be allowed to do stuff that challenged their masculinity (though how riding challenged them was beyond her) - her looks were entirely pointless to her. Compliments were always nice, any girl liked those; but she would much rather be appreciated for things she could control. It was practically an insult that the only thing people ever noticed about her was her appearance. Her lips quirked upwards at his question in a faint smile. "People will believe anything if they want to desperately enough," she announced. "If they want to believe that a small child threw a rock at my face from the side of the road, believe it they will." Her fingers itched to feel the wound and inspect the damage, but she had very little tolerance for pain, and she knew well that it would hurt to do so. "Besides, this is rare. The first I've had in months. I'm good." Modest, too.

Her eyes narrowed. A threat? If there was one thing Alegra did not respond well to, it was threats, though she supposed he did have a point. "You would rather that than tell me your name before I told you mine?" she asked, the corner of her mouth turning down. It seemed like a lot of trouble to her, but she supposed he was a man, after all. Men and their pride! She, too, was a person with much more pride than she needed, so she had no choice but to assume that he was not idle about his words. If it were her, she'd follow through with it, too. However, with her own pride warring, there, she was at a loss. Clicking her tongue thoughtfully, she considered her options. She did not know how skilled he was; possibly just as much as herself. However, she had faith that if he were to stop by, she could at least wound him to the point where it was no longer worth it, and if Drake was home, as well, there would be little left to do about it.

But, she had to admit, that wasn't what she wanted to do. He intrigued her, for some reason, though she couldn't quite place it. After all, he was not the first rude, crude man she had ever met. Not to mention that he likely had connections, and whether or not she could defeat him in battle was moot if he decided to return. Besides, even the possibility that he could win was unacceptable to her; she couldn't afford to put her mother in danger like that. Though they were already so close, she took a step forward until she was centimeters from touching him; if she was going to concede, she was going to retain as much of her pride as possible while she did. "Alegra Silvertongue," she said, her voice clear and her eyes watching his face closely.

He was a quick one, that she could not deny - and he was correct, at that. "I was unavailable for the inauguration," she said with a false air of innocence, eyes twinkling with mischief. When all of the other knights were being sworn in, she was at home, being forced to learn how to repair shirts. A week later, she'd shown up in armor and simply blended herself right in with the rest of them, and though she could see the confusion on their faces as they all tried to remember her, they were all too embarrassed to ask; after all, a knight was supposed to be perfect in every way, including memory. Because of this, they all avoided her, lest they be forced to admit they hadn't a clue who she was, and it was for the better that way. It made things much easier.

When he accused her of being childish, one brow rose, and when he pointed out that he had asked first, the other joined it. "You asked first," she agreed, "and I declined to answer until you have told me yours. Is the the summary over?" It was amazing to all who crossed her the wrong way how such a dainty little thing could have such a blunt, often sharp tongue to her. However, the more important part was the mind behind it, and Alegra had no illusions about the fact that she was at a disadvantage, nor did the entertain the obviously incorrect idea that she could make him forget it. "You could easily find out who I am from the information you have on me," she informed him simply, "but I have no way of knowing your name. So, if you want to save yourself the effort of tracking me down, tell me yours first." She did not let on that she had seen him before, in fact - and would refrain from doing so unless he asked.

"I serve when it suits me," she allowed. It was a horribly callous way to phrase it, and perhaps made it seem like she cared less than she did, but it was the truth. She could not serve full-time because of her mother, and even when she had spare time, she did not always feel like donning armor and allowing men to take jabs at her. When she was bored, however, or simply felt the need for the sense of adventure and accomplishment that came with her disguise as a knight, she would do just that. There were times where she could not help but wonder if she ought to have been born male, since all the things she so loved to do were hideously against that which a female was supposed to enjoy doing.

At his mention of manners, she could not help but smile wryly. It was the most humorous thing she'd heard all night, especially since she was sure she knew exactly where his manners were: in a pile of manure, abandoned there years ago, if she had her guess. But Alegra was no fool. If she answered his questions for nothing, he would have access to any and all information about her, and she would be left with none about him. Besides, she did not want to give her name out to a stranger, so he might as well tell her her name so that he was less so, right? "Tell me yours," she said instead, "and I would be happy to tell you my own."

"They are concerned," she corrected. "My mother thinks I'm out with friends and my brother is away." She paused for a moment, reconsidering his declaration that she should want them to be concerned for her, and shook her head. "But even if they were not," Alegra decided, "I would not want them to. What good could come of people worrying over me? I will not change the way they am, so all it will serve to do is create trouble, for me and for them." She shrugged, wrinkling her nose. She meant what she said, of course. Alegra loved her family dearly, but it would be so much simpler if they acknowledged that she was self-sufficient and quit their fretting.

When he made it known that she was there of her own volition, she went silent and straightened up, considering this. When he took a step forward, she hardly noticed. "That's true," she admitted, though in her mind, it was not that simple; he now had life-changing information on her, and surely he knew it. Walking away from him would be begging him to follow through with whatever actions he might take to amuse himself, and she was certainly not going to encourage it. Finally, she claimed, "Your sense of perception is odd, as well. It may not be your presence that traps me here, but I am trapped just the same." Goosebumps rose along her arms at the thought, especially how correct it was. In a matter of speaking, she was trapped, and that was worse to her than any injury he could have granted her with.

For several moments, she didn't move, simply glowering at him. He was clapping? As if she was some sort of court jester as his service, who needed a show of approval? Oh, the nerve! And he even regarded her cut with such callous amusement, a cut that would no doubt result her mother's refusal to even let her breathe the air outdoors for a solid week. She was so irked that she completely failed to realize the display she'd just made, in front of a fellow knight, no less. However, his next few statements provided her with a forceful reminder, and her lips parted in sharp surprise. What could she do? It wasn't like she could simply take her actions back, and he was not stupid enough (at least, intelligence-wise, she thought bitterly) for her to take off and leave him to assume he'd been dreaming.

All at once, before she even knew she was doing it, she was laughing, the sound bubbling out of her throat as if the situation was the funniest she'd ever been in. Alegra didn't know if it was fatigue, panic, or actual amusement that had her giggling so hysterically, but she found herself entirely unable to hold it back. What point was there in begging or crying, after all? This was not a man who would be swayed by such tactics. The situation was completely hopeless. If only to be obnoxious, he would no doubt follow her home and report his findings to his mother or even Prince Arthur, and she would have to face both domestic and public punishment. Instead of shaking in fear, the thought only made her titter harder, to the point where her stomach began to ache with it. "You saw," she pointed out, helpfully, speaking between gasps and peals of laughter.

Alegra took the time to note that there was no movement in her peripheral vision, and she turned her head briefly to watch him. He was just... standing there, not even an expression on his face. Did he really intend to just let them slaughter him? Both of her eyebrows rose. He had two swords, and she could think of no good reason why he wouldn't be using them (though, at the moment, no one was really attacking anyone). Perhaps he was... out of practice? But that really made no difference when you had honest skill, and she was certain she'd seen him fight before. He could be a friend of the bandits? She entertained the thought briefly with a sinking feeling in her stomach; if that were the case, she was surely doomed.

She was just about to ask him why, exactly, he was refraining from drawing his sword when he essentially answered the question on his own. "Be my guest." At first, she didn't understand, until she noticed he was gesturing to her. Almost comically, her face transformed into utter shock, all notions of hiding her emotions flowing out the window; and then, within the next moment, it changed into an expression most accurately portrayed by "-_-". That settled it, then; he was either friends with them and she'd been set up for molest, or he was a man with no morals whatsoever. Either way, her annoyance could not be hidden. So much for a man with valor, she thought simply, shooting him a glare that was surprisingly potent for someone of her rank and, even more so, size. When he was abruptly attacked and so smoothly beheaded the attacker - she held back a wince at the sound of his head thunking to the ground - it became clear that the latter option was the case.

She had no more time to speculate, however, only now noticing that there was suddenly a barrage of men lunging at her; clearly, they had taken his offer to heart. If she got out of this, she decided, she was going to castrate him. She ducked to avoid a fist that was rather unskillfully directed at her head. What did they want to do, kill her or knock her unconscious? It didn't matter - neither were acceptable. She shoved the flat side of her blade against his stomach, knocking him back and quarter-turning in time to parry a blow from his outraged companion, her eyes narrowed like a cat's. He pushed their linked blades forward, and she was grateful for her height as she bent backwards almost like elastic, throwing him off enough for her to stab him in the side and send him sprawling before turning to whatever unfortunate man was next to cross her.

Ravishing features? Alegra was not at all adverse to compliments, even from a man whose motives were obviously far less than pure. She grinned at him (despite the awkwardness of his close proximity), noting, "You do not think, but do you know? There could even be some sort of sorcerer's spell on me, could there not?" She certainly never wished to be a man, though at times she could not help but play with the thought that her life would be so much easier than it was. This was an exception. She could honestly say at the moment that she very much wished that were the case, for the sole purpose of shocking the bloody hell out of the man that stood before her.

She heard a rustle in the bushes several yards behind him, but declined to pay attention to it in favor of what the man was now saying. Fragile? Delicate? The words had her bristling with indignation, though she knew she could not defend herself against them and still have any hope of him believing she was merely a woman making a so-called fashion statement. Still, they were interesting when applied to her, especially when considering that her opinion of herself was rather biased. She did not consider herself to be fragile because of her skill in swordplay, but in terms of her body, it was appropriate; try as she might to improve, she had never been physically strong, and she'd broken enough bones in her life to ascertain that those were no better off. "It is a burden," she agreed, sounding somewhat wry though it was actually the truth - the armor was heavy. "But I fear even the creatures of the forest would not very much enjoy it if I chose to run about naked."

Her other eyebrow rose to join the first when he declared that she had, in fact, reacted - but she had to admit that it was true, if only because everyone reacted to something said to them, at least in one way or another. "You are correct," she admitted, albeit grudgingly. "You are a woman after all, somewhere underneath all that armor." She snorted, not ladylike in the slightest but somehow still sounding feminine about it. "Somewhere underneath," she agreed, grinning unabashedly now. "Perhaps very far down, however. It's rather thick." She was doing her best to sound uncomprehending, ignorant like most women were expected to be; and failing miserably at it. At a social gathering while wearing a dress, sure, she pulled it off effortlessly. But there was something about their surroundings that simply refused to allow her to be anything but herself... a fact that may very well get her into trouble.

Alegra noticed right away that he was looking her over. Most men were more discreet about it, of course, but she supposed it didn't really matter whether or not they were; they all did it. Being the tease that she was (and trusting her skills with her sword in the event that she got into a skirmish for it), she quickly dismounted, standing beside Iron and resembling more a child trying on its father's armor than anything else. She managed, however, to seem proud even so, and her chin was raised slightly with it. She placed one hand to her hip, waiting for him to finish; not that there was terribly much too see through the metal plating.