Double Crossed
Apr. 5th, 2009 10:13 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Double Crossed
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Whole lot is mine~
Notes~ Item number one on the list of stuff I wanted to write during Silent Harmony: Rust, Rumal's Own challenge against Laeron. Somewhere in the crowd are Yamin and Nimay, being cute and little, and up on the balcony is a mini!Nol. Also, thirteen years ago, Rumal still had all his fingers. And an accent. And he was hot.
~ ~ ~
Rumal could smell the heat and dust in the air as he followed king and General across the palace courtyard. The cobbles beneath his feet were familiar now, their rough edges almost as easy to negotiate as the earthen floor of the barracks.
The crowd gathered for the day’s Own challenge parted as the group of three approached, their attention focussed wholly on the challenger.
‘You don’t deserve to be here, southern rat,’ they sneered. ‘Leave the money for the folks willing to work for it, not steal it like you, you filthy thief!’
‘Aeia will take you before you have a chance, scarred bastard!’
A drop of moisture struck Rumal on the cheek, though the sky was clear. He barred his teeth and glared back at the crowd, spitting straight back at the man who had spit on him before whipping the saliva from his cheek.
‘I’ve earned me place,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll be on horseback by day’s end, just ye all watch me.’
Whatever they gave him, he could give it right back. Why shouldn’t he? He had the General of the King’s Own and even King Mithé himself leading him through the crowd. Nobody could touch him.
He turned to face them when he broke out into the vacant space in which he was to fight, arms spread and eyebrows raised in a silent taunt. The weak northern sods, so bound by their rules and sense of composure, didn’t dare break into the circle to answer his challenge. They just stood there throwing fists and insults from the sidelines.
‘All ye’ve got is yer words,’ the southerner snorted. ‘Helpless and scared, the lot of ye.’
He rolled his eyes and fell back in stride behind king and General, the latter of whom shot half a glare back over his shoulder.
The Own rider Rumal would be facing today stood with arms folded as he watched the challenger approach, completely unimpressed. Rumal had sized him up not only over the last few days he had been challenging the Own, but over the last year or more.
Laeron was probably his best chance of breaking into the most elite of ranks. He liked to show he had a cool head and an emotionless façade, but Rumal had seen even in the barracks that he allowed his anger to get the better of him too often. It made him sloppy, seeing openings that weren’t there and trying to finish the fight off before it was due.
Of course, as an Own rider, the veteran swordsman rarely lost a fight because of it, and even then it was only to other Own swordies. He’d earned far too much respect over the years for any serious threats to genuinely anger him.
‘How’s yer retirement plan lookin’ there, Gramps?’ Rumal sneered as he drew his sword, spinning its hilt casually in his grip. ‘Don’t go spendin’ it all at once, now.’
Laeron half-raised his eyebrows and drew his own weapon, ignoring or not noticing the cheer that erupted from the crowd at such a simple action. ‘You’ll have to think of polishing up that outlook to even have a chance of making it with the big boys, southern rat.’ His voice was hard and smooth, the cool façade that everyone knew so well.
Rumal had to break that somehow, crack open his defences and tear them apart.
He unclipped his scabbard from his belt and handed it to the king as Laeron did the same, flicking the tip of his sword by his side.
Rumal watched as the Own rider turned away, eyes closed and face towards the sun as he rolled his shoulders in preparation.
‘Careful ye don’t lose it out there,’ he warned with a smirk, then bent to rub his hands in the dust at his feet. ‘Could be embarrassin’ fer ye, goin’ down to the likes of me.’
Laeron paid him no attention, but there was a brief flick of agitation across his brow as Rumal watched him.
The Southerner smirked, but just as he opened his mouth, the king stepped between them, casting a warning look in Rumal’s direction but not saying a word.
Rumal dipped his head briefly and turned, rolling his shoulders to get himself loose and prepared.
‘On my left!’ King Mithé shouted, pausing a moment to wait for the crowd to quieten down a little. ‘On my left, I am proud to present to you, Laeron of the King’s Own!’
The crowd erupted just as they had for Rumal’s last three challenges. He folded his arms and watched Laeron’s little display with a curled upper lip. The Own rider held both arms aloft, waving his free hand until the mob reached a crescendo he was satisfied with, then flourished a bow at them.
‘On my right!’ the king shouted again, louder this time to combat the even noisier crowd. ‘On my right, I present to you the challenger, Rumal!’
Rumal rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms. ‘Not so “proud” to present me, are ye, Majesty?’ he muttered, flipping the back of his free hand at the boos and hisses from the biased mob.
King Mithé took a few steps back, hands clasped behind him as he carefully watched the two combatants until he was a safe distance away. ‘First blood-draw from the torso!’ he roared.
Rumal hung his sword by his side, spinning it idly in his grip as he began to walk in careful circles around the Own rider. ‘Just listen to that, eh?’ he said of the insults being hurled from the crowd. ‘If that’s what they think of me, what’ll they be turning on ye when ye goes down, d’ye reckon?’
‘Won’t be happening, rat,’ Laeron returned, slicing his sword once through the air as he circled. Rumal watched the action carefully, knowing it to be simple showing off for the crowd’s benefit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pick something up from it himself. ‘You’ll be crawling back to your hovel in a few days. You’d best bathe in your celebrity while you have it.’
Rumal smirked again at the irritation in the Own rider’s voice. Sore loser, was he? ‘Ye’ll be forgotten in a month,’ he said with a shrug, running his eyes over Laeron’s form to pick out his weaknesses. ‘What’ll they be sayin’, d’ye reckon? Sloppy footwork done him in? Hard wrists? Ye’re still carryin’ a stiff knee after the last mission, aren’t ye? More’n two months ago now, by me reckoning. That be what does ye in, d’ye reckon?’
Laeron’s snarl deepened with each point the Southerner bought up, and Rumal’s smirk only broadened. He had Laeron thinking about his own weaknesses now, weaknesses he’d tried so hard not only to hide, but to eradicate.
‘Ye’re gettin’ old, Gramps, old and scared.’ Rumal spread his arms and flicked his sword easily in one hand. ‘D’ye really think ye’re a match fer me?’
Laeron charged, sword steady and straight as he cut through the air.
Rumal ducked and flashed his own blade out with brute strength at Laeron’s shoulder, already giving the veteran no choice but to defend. Keep him defending, that was the key with this one, so he dashed his sword over Laeron’s head and hacked again at his shoulder. His aged wrists would jar too much against Rumal’s more youthful force.
‘Crass,’ he heard Laeron utter quietly, more to himself than to Rumal before raising his voice. ‘All your pretty little words and you plan to win by force?’
Rumal caught the Own rider’s blade easily as he slashed at his stomach, dancing back and twisting his sword so that Laeron’s momentum slid his blade to the ground, nearly tripping him up. ‘Among other things.’ He stuck one steel-toed boot out to catch the stumbling Own rider’s ankle and finish the job, but Laeron dove forwards and rolled over the cobbles before springing to his feet, crouching and leaping back to his challenger.
‘How’s yer knee?’ Rumal asked, stabbing forwards with his sword before Laeron could get a hit in. The tip of his sword nicked Laeron’s shirt, but didn’t come away with any blood.
He had irritated the swordsman further, though. Laeron had clearly felt his shirt rip, and he snarled hotly as he slashed diagonally with his sword, aiming for Rumal’s left shoulder. Rumal hit back hard, turning his defence into a brutal attack as he snaked his blade around Laeron’s and reached the tip of it towards the veteran’s hard-wristed hands.
Laeron snatched his sword back before Rumal could finish his move, slashing inelegantly to the side and leaving himself wide open.
Rumal lunged forwards and cut again at the veteran’s shirt, still missing that winning bite of flesh as Laeron jumped back.
‘Or maybe it’s yer anger that’ll be yer downfall?’ he taunted.
‘Aeia-damned Southerner!’ Laeron roared. ‘Why don’t you just die?’
Rumal even found himself take a half a step backwards in the face of that anger. He pulled his eyes from Laeron’s face to instead watch his sword and his hands more carefully.
Laeron’s hands gripped the sword with white knuckles—far too hard for anything but anger and brute force, so Rumal lifted his in the same way. He crashed it up against Laeron’s with far more force than what the veteran could match, then slashed it brutally away. Laeron’s tight grip meant he fell away to one side, with too much momentum to retaliate.
Rumal swung his sword out one last time, cutting a long slash across the Own rider’s chest. This time, the red fabric quickly darkened, and Rumal’s sword came away dripping.
There was a blissful moment of stunned silence as the crowd registered just what had happened, then the air filled again with angry noise, far more vocal than they had been on the previous occasions when Rumal had lost.
Rumal dropped to his knees, only now feeling the exhaustion of the Own challenge catch up with him. Using his sword to keep him from falling to the cobblestones, he took a breath as deeply as his air-starved lungs would allow him, then let it out in a rush. He could hear his heartbeat thumping with adrenaline, could feel it even right through to his fingertips that still gripped his sword hilt.
His lips parted in what was almost a laugh, but a particularly wild roar from behind stopped him. He snapped his head up to see Laeron bearing down on him again, knuckles still white on his sword hilt.
Rumal tensed his muscles again and snapped his sword up with another clang, his own face creased into a snarl now. ‘Ye’ve lost, Gramps!’ he shouted. ‘Ye can’t prove anything, now!’
‘But I can still kill you, southern rat!’
Rumal’s already racing heart skipped a beat as he whipped his sword up to defend another brutal slash. He slid his sword down to lock hilts with Laeron, just for long enough to bring himself to his feet and shove the former Own rider away.
‘What d’ye think ye’re doing?’ he snarled. ‘D’ye want another blood stain that bad?’
Laeron responded with another animalistic roar, stabbing his sword straight for Rumal’s heart.
Rumal caught the stiff movement easily, snaking his blade around Laeron’s as he’d intended to do the first time, this time managing to hook the tip of his sword in Laeron’s hilt. He gave it a strong flick upwards, cutting at the former Own rider’s fingers as the dragon-shaped sword spun from his grip.
Laeron’s sword flew high into the air, to the astonishment of the crowd, and Rumal took a few easy steps back to catch it by the hilt in his other hand. He lashed both swords by his sides, hearing them ring in the air as he strode forwards. As he closed in on the former Own rider, he whipped them up to cross at Laeron’s neck, allowing the steel to bite into his ears so he couldn’t back away.
‘Get it into yer thick skull,’ he snarled, face drawn close to his furious opponent. ‘Ye lost. I won. Now, sweep the desert. Ye’re just First Company now.’
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Whole lot is mine~
Notes~ Item number one on the list of stuff I wanted to write during Silent Harmony: Rust, Rumal's Own challenge against Laeron. Somewhere in the crowd are Yamin and Nimay, being cute and little, and up on the balcony is a mini!Nol. Also, thirteen years ago, Rumal still had all his fingers. And an accent. And he was hot.
Rumal could smell the heat and dust in the air as he followed king and General across the palace courtyard. The cobbles beneath his feet were familiar now, their rough edges almost as easy to negotiate as the earthen floor of the barracks.
The crowd gathered for the day’s Own challenge parted as the group of three approached, their attention focussed wholly on the challenger.
‘You don’t deserve to be here, southern rat,’ they sneered. ‘Leave the money for the folks willing to work for it, not steal it like you, you filthy thief!’
‘Aeia will take you before you have a chance, scarred bastard!’
A drop of moisture struck Rumal on the cheek, though the sky was clear. He barred his teeth and glared back at the crowd, spitting straight back at the man who had spit on him before whipping the saliva from his cheek.
‘I’ve earned me place,’ he snarled. ‘I’ll be on horseback by day’s end, just ye all watch me.’
Whatever they gave him, he could give it right back. Why shouldn’t he? He had the General of the King’s Own and even King Mithé himself leading him through the crowd. Nobody could touch him.
He turned to face them when he broke out into the vacant space in which he was to fight, arms spread and eyebrows raised in a silent taunt. The weak northern sods, so bound by their rules and sense of composure, didn’t dare break into the circle to answer his challenge. They just stood there throwing fists and insults from the sidelines.
‘All ye’ve got is yer words,’ the southerner snorted. ‘Helpless and scared, the lot of ye.’
He rolled his eyes and fell back in stride behind king and General, the latter of whom shot half a glare back over his shoulder.
The Own rider Rumal would be facing today stood with arms folded as he watched the challenger approach, completely unimpressed. Rumal had sized him up not only over the last few days he had been challenging the Own, but over the last year or more.
Laeron was probably his best chance of breaking into the most elite of ranks. He liked to show he had a cool head and an emotionless façade, but Rumal had seen even in the barracks that he allowed his anger to get the better of him too often. It made him sloppy, seeing openings that weren’t there and trying to finish the fight off before it was due.
Of course, as an Own rider, the veteran swordsman rarely lost a fight because of it, and even then it was only to other Own swordies. He’d earned far too much respect over the years for any serious threats to genuinely anger him.
‘How’s yer retirement plan lookin’ there, Gramps?’ Rumal sneered as he drew his sword, spinning its hilt casually in his grip. ‘Don’t go spendin’ it all at once, now.’
Laeron half-raised his eyebrows and drew his own weapon, ignoring or not noticing the cheer that erupted from the crowd at such a simple action. ‘You’ll have to think of polishing up that outlook to even have a chance of making it with the big boys, southern rat.’ His voice was hard and smooth, the cool façade that everyone knew so well.
Rumal had to break that somehow, crack open his defences and tear them apart.
He unclipped his scabbard from his belt and handed it to the king as Laeron did the same, flicking the tip of his sword by his side.
Rumal watched as the Own rider turned away, eyes closed and face towards the sun as he rolled his shoulders in preparation.
‘Careful ye don’t lose it out there,’ he warned with a smirk, then bent to rub his hands in the dust at his feet. ‘Could be embarrassin’ fer ye, goin’ down to the likes of me.’
Laeron paid him no attention, but there was a brief flick of agitation across his brow as Rumal watched him.
The Southerner smirked, but just as he opened his mouth, the king stepped between them, casting a warning look in Rumal’s direction but not saying a word.
Rumal dipped his head briefly and turned, rolling his shoulders to get himself loose and prepared.
‘On my left!’ King Mithé shouted, pausing a moment to wait for the crowd to quieten down a little. ‘On my left, I am proud to present to you, Laeron of the King’s Own!’
The crowd erupted just as they had for Rumal’s last three challenges. He folded his arms and watched Laeron’s little display with a curled upper lip. The Own rider held both arms aloft, waving his free hand until the mob reached a crescendo he was satisfied with, then flourished a bow at them.
‘On my right!’ the king shouted again, louder this time to combat the even noisier crowd. ‘On my right, I present to you the challenger, Rumal!’
Rumal rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms. ‘Not so “proud” to present me, are ye, Majesty?’ he muttered, flipping the back of his free hand at the boos and hisses from the biased mob.
King Mithé took a few steps back, hands clasped behind him as he carefully watched the two combatants until he was a safe distance away. ‘First blood-draw from the torso!’ he roared.
Rumal hung his sword by his side, spinning it idly in his grip as he began to walk in careful circles around the Own rider. ‘Just listen to that, eh?’ he said of the insults being hurled from the crowd. ‘If that’s what they think of me, what’ll they be turning on ye when ye goes down, d’ye reckon?’
‘Won’t be happening, rat,’ Laeron returned, slicing his sword once through the air as he circled. Rumal watched the action carefully, knowing it to be simple showing off for the crowd’s benefit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pick something up from it himself. ‘You’ll be crawling back to your hovel in a few days. You’d best bathe in your celebrity while you have it.’
Rumal smirked again at the irritation in the Own rider’s voice. Sore loser, was he? ‘Ye’ll be forgotten in a month,’ he said with a shrug, running his eyes over Laeron’s form to pick out his weaknesses. ‘What’ll they be sayin’, d’ye reckon? Sloppy footwork done him in? Hard wrists? Ye’re still carryin’ a stiff knee after the last mission, aren’t ye? More’n two months ago now, by me reckoning. That be what does ye in, d’ye reckon?’
Laeron’s snarl deepened with each point the Southerner bought up, and Rumal’s smirk only broadened. He had Laeron thinking about his own weaknesses now, weaknesses he’d tried so hard not only to hide, but to eradicate.
‘Ye’re gettin’ old, Gramps, old and scared.’ Rumal spread his arms and flicked his sword easily in one hand. ‘D’ye really think ye’re a match fer me?’
Laeron charged, sword steady and straight as he cut through the air.
Rumal ducked and flashed his own blade out with brute strength at Laeron’s shoulder, already giving the veteran no choice but to defend. Keep him defending, that was the key with this one, so he dashed his sword over Laeron’s head and hacked again at his shoulder. His aged wrists would jar too much against Rumal’s more youthful force.
‘Crass,’ he heard Laeron utter quietly, more to himself than to Rumal before raising his voice. ‘All your pretty little words and you plan to win by force?’
Rumal caught the Own rider’s blade easily as he slashed at his stomach, dancing back and twisting his sword so that Laeron’s momentum slid his blade to the ground, nearly tripping him up. ‘Among other things.’ He stuck one steel-toed boot out to catch the stumbling Own rider’s ankle and finish the job, but Laeron dove forwards and rolled over the cobbles before springing to his feet, crouching and leaping back to his challenger.
‘How’s yer knee?’ Rumal asked, stabbing forwards with his sword before Laeron could get a hit in. The tip of his sword nicked Laeron’s shirt, but didn’t come away with any blood.
He had irritated the swordsman further, though. Laeron had clearly felt his shirt rip, and he snarled hotly as he slashed diagonally with his sword, aiming for Rumal’s left shoulder. Rumal hit back hard, turning his defence into a brutal attack as he snaked his blade around Laeron’s and reached the tip of it towards the veteran’s hard-wristed hands.
Laeron snatched his sword back before Rumal could finish his move, slashing inelegantly to the side and leaving himself wide open.
Rumal lunged forwards and cut again at the veteran’s shirt, still missing that winning bite of flesh as Laeron jumped back.
‘Or maybe it’s yer anger that’ll be yer downfall?’ he taunted.
‘Aeia-damned Southerner!’ Laeron roared. ‘Why don’t you just die?’
Rumal even found himself take a half a step backwards in the face of that anger. He pulled his eyes from Laeron’s face to instead watch his sword and his hands more carefully.
Laeron’s hands gripped the sword with white knuckles—far too hard for anything but anger and brute force, so Rumal lifted his in the same way. He crashed it up against Laeron’s with far more force than what the veteran could match, then slashed it brutally away. Laeron’s tight grip meant he fell away to one side, with too much momentum to retaliate.
Rumal swung his sword out one last time, cutting a long slash across the Own rider’s chest. This time, the red fabric quickly darkened, and Rumal’s sword came away dripping.
There was a blissful moment of stunned silence as the crowd registered just what had happened, then the air filled again with angry noise, far more vocal than they had been on the previous occasions when Rumal had lost.
Rumal dropped to his knees, only now feeling the exhaustion of the Own challenge catch up with him. Using his sword to keep him from falling to the cobblestones, he took a breath as deeply as his air-starved lungs would allow him, then let it out in a rush. He could hear his heartbeat thumping with adrenaline, could feel it even right through to his fingertips that still gripped his sword hilt.
His lips parted in what was almost a laugh, but a particularly wild roar from behind stopped him. He snapped his head up to see Laeron bearing down on him again, knuckles still white on his sword hilt.
Rumal tensed his muscles again and snapped his sword up with another clang, his own face creased into a snarl now. ‘Ye’ve lost, Gramps!’ he shouted. ‘Ye can’t prove anything, now!’
‘But I can still kill you, southern rat!’
Rumal’s already racing heart skipped a beat as he whipped his sword up to defend another brutal slash. He slid his sword down to lock hilts with Laeron, just for long enough to bring himself to his feet and shove the former Own rider away.
‘What d’ye think ye’re doing?’ he snarled. ‘D’ye want another blood stain that bad?’
Laeron responded with another animalistic roar, stabbing his sword straight for Rumal’s heart.
Rumal caught the stiff movement easily, snaking his blade around Laeron’s as he’d intended to do the first time, this time managing to hook the tip of his sword in Laeron’s hilt. He gave it a strong flick upwards, cutting at the former Own rider’s fingers as the dragon-shaped sword spun from his grip.
Laeron’s sword flew high into the air, to the astonishment of the crowd, and Rumal took a few easy steps back to catch it by the hilt in his other hand. He lashed both swords by his sides, hearing them ring in the air as he strode forwards. As he closed in on the former Own rider, he whipped them up to cross at Laeron’s neck, allowing the steel to bite into his ears so he couldn’t back away.
‘Get it into yer thick skull,’ he snarled, face drawn close to his furious opponent. ‘Ye lost. I won. Now, sweep the desert. Ye’re just First Company now.’
no subject
Date: 2009-04-05 01:08 pm (UTC)AND I LOVE YOUNGER RUMAL sdifhdif he's such a little prick XD with an accent, rawr.
You can really see why Yamin and Nimay were terrified during this fight :x
It's tense and wonderfully written. YOU WRITE SUCH AWESOME BATTLE Sionsigdgfbdgdg
no subject
Date: 2009-04-05 02:14 pm (UTC)God Rumal was such an upstart when he was younger.
no subject
Date: 2009-04-05 08:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-03 08:01 am (UTC)The crowd gathered for the day’s Own challenge parted <- It might actually be an idea to put the whole subclause (gathered ... challenged) in commas for clearer reading, or adding 'that had' before 'gathered'. Right now it's easy to misread 'gathered' as the main verb which would confuse people when they reach the 'parted'. Not sure it's absolutely necessary, but it's worth considering to see what you think sounds/reads/feels best.
spitting straight back at the man who had spit on him <- repetition of 'spit' there, though I'm not sure how to get rid of it in that sentence. I'd like to know how Rumal knows who spit at him, though.
Rumal had sized him up not only over the last few days he had been challenging the Own, but over the last year or more. <- *raises hand* Narti, I know what happens here because I've read it before, and I know what you're trying to say, but I think it could do with being a bit clearer. And maybe also include an adjective here or there to give us a little more of Rumal's attitude towards him/others.
Laeron paid him no attention, but there was a brief flick of agitation across his brow as Rumal watched him. <- Add in a 'seemed' or a 'visibly seemed', I think, as now you're just contradicting yourself and since you're writing this from Rumal's pov... Something like "For a moment, Rumal thought Laeron wasn't paying him any attention, but then he saw a faint flick of agitation'. Something like that, but then more elegant.
casting a warning look in Rumal’s direction but not saying a word. <- Sometimes less is more. Try playing with how to say Mithé is silent and see which version you end up liking best.
from the biased mob. <- Try it without the bias? The reader'll know from the cheering and the booing. (If you've got half-way intelligent readers, we'll also realise it's because Rumal is a southerner because we can piece things together. ^-~) *snugs the Narti* I do/did like Laeron's showmanship in this with the crowd and the bow. That was a lot of fun and it really tells you something about the man in just a few simple gestures.
‘Aeia-damned Southerner!’ Laeron roared. <- For someone who can keep his temper for the serious threats now, he's not doing a very good job... *ruffles hair* I hate it when stuff sits wrong with me and I've no good idea how to describe it. Gah! Might want to make it clearer that 'serious threat' means 'Own mission' rather than 'defend position in Own'. Of course now I am curious whether there are any Own members who leave of old age and how do they feel about having to leave because they know they're nothing but a liability and a hindrance instead of a help...
I have to say I likee this! It circles and flows very nicely with the action and I agree with Sayee. You can really see why Min and May were terrified during the battle. And Rumal. Eeeeeee! Rumal is fantastic with his attitude and calculation there. I likee a lot. And Laeron is so, so realistic! (Yes, yes, I know I just went "*whine* Something is off here!" at you, but that's narratively, not intrinsically the characters I don't think. It might even be Laeron has reasons to be angry beyond the here and now. Beef with southerners for some reason and taking it out on Rumal because he's too angry to think straight. That sort of thing. We don't know!)
I also likee his accent. You do people so well, 'narti!
no subject
Date: 2009-05-08 05:37 am (UTC)Nobody's ever left purely because of age. If they're still good enough to beat any new young upstart trying to get in, they're still good enough. Laeron's still eighth-best swordie in the kingdom here, don't forget X3 Rumal's just emphasising his weaknesses cos he, unlike several thousand others, can see them. Also, he was a right little bastard early on in his career XD