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Two swords clash against each other with the setting sun lighting them aglow with an orange tint.
One blade is of tallman make; an iron arming sword forged with the local resources within Melini. The maple grip is wrapped with leather straps, held steadily by the dark masculine hands of a tallman in a high guard. A glinting cocked-hat pommel accentuates the weapon. Pristine and without blemish, owing to its recent fabrication.
The fighter drives his blade into a high feint, shifting into a low cut against his opponent. A basic maneuver, but executed effectively.
The second sword reacts quickly, meeting the attack with a practiced parry. The blade is of elven make; a steel rapier, constructed by the most decorated artisans and utilizing the most precious metals that the western elves can offer. Hardened ariadne spider silk is coiled around the sleek ivory grip to form a protective hilt. An acorn pommel caps off the elegance, inscribed with elven incantations. Despite the beauty, it is worn and weathered. The color of the blade has clearly dulled and there is a sort of unevenness to the debole. Nicks and scratches run along the surface and the hilt bores dents from years of use. Nevertheless, It is held by pale slender hands that wield it with a noble's grace.
The lissome duelist follows up his parry with a riposte; thrusting his blade forward with a confident precision and fluid motion. The thrust is deflected and the two swords lock together, metal struggling against metal. In their bind, the eyes of the combatants bore into one another, vibrant blue struggling against bottomless black. Tallman struggling against elf. The rapier rolls off the iron blade into another thrust. The tallman voids the press, stepping back to put distance between himself and the deadly edge. The elf retreats as well, the swift battle halting for a moment. The two fighters catch their breath, but still eye the other with a sense of trepidation.
In the field of combat, desire is what pushes the combatant on. It is why metal meets metal. It is why a man may spill his brother's blood. It is why two nations may form against each other and run their rivers red. As in any matter of the heart, there are countless desires which may drive one into the fray. Wealth, honor, prestige, ideals, and so on. When man first struck wild game with something that was not his own hands he set forth an avaricious inundation that still thunderously flows throughout the veins of all.
Indeed, the sword is a tool which one may use to carve their own destiny.
For Kabru, he must secure a future.
For Mithrun, he must rebuild himself.
In the coming months there is to be a great festival in Melini, welcoming elven delegates and travelers from the western lands. Food, dancing, music and games will be the spectacle, but of course the immense political backdrop cannot be ignored. Especially since there would be one more grand display, one proposed by the elves themselves: a duel. A testing of skill between one who represents the new kingdom and one who represents the western elves. This was a precise political game. Melini needed to establish itself, to show that it was an equal player in the political landscape.
There was a heavy anxiety in the king's court when this was proposed, but they decided they could not decline and that this would be a great opportunity to display their strengths and let the elves know they weren't pushovers or infants playing at government. The only problem then was who would be the king's chosen fighter. Laios had initially proposed one of the orcs to showcase the kingdom's diversity, as well as to reinforce the status of the races who had been previously oppressed. But Yaad and Kabru argued that they needed someone of some renown and higher political status to rival the elven champion.
Melini had not organized a proper army yet and so lacked any gallant knights or warriors to exhibit. The 'noble class' was also not clearly defined. Small time merchants, craftsmen, farmers, and adventures were the bulk of Melini's population and none were sprouting distinguished swordsman. And so, after some discussion the mantle fell to Kabru. He was a royal advisor, directly involved in the creation of the kingdom, an experienced swordsman with a good build and was certainly popular with the people.
He was not ecstatic about this, but neither was he against it. Though he faltered against monsters, he was quite confident in his swordplay and dueling an elf was not something that was foreign to him. If he could survive Milrisil's training, he could take this on. That being said, the fall of the dungeon and the hustle of being the king's advisor left him slacking in his training. He'd lost some muscle. Going up and down the stairs left him a bit more winded then it should. He hadn't even held a weapon in awhile. He needed to build back his strength, retrain his instincts, and remember the fundamentals and complexities. Doubt was creeping in. Lucky for him, a veteran noble warrior of the elves just rolled back into the capital.
"I hear you'll be participating in a duel."
Mithrun stands in front of Kabru's desk, having just turned in another report from the outskirts of the kingdom. Though no longer a part of the canaries, he still retains his silk armor and green cloak, which is now clasped with the emblem of House Kerensil.
Kabru nodded. "That's right. Not to puff myself up, but I'm a good choice."
Mithrun hummed. Not in agreement, but in contemplation.
"You don't think so?" Kabru wasn't hurt by the doubt. He was used to elves underestimating him. It was expected.
Mithrun's eye stares down at him, gazing over his form, assessing him like one would an opponent. "Your skills were faltering in the dungeon. They're certainly lacking now."
Oof. Nevermind. An elf can definitely wound his pride and make him question himself. Things had turned out well in the end, but he still held an amount of guilt within himself over how close everything had gotten to disaster. Had he been more capable, more prepared, more...
No time for regrets.
"I think I did pretty good down there, all things considered. I'm confident in my skills. I mean, I grappled you a few times."
"Pretty good and good enough aren't the same. And you were only able to get one over on me because I did not see you as an opponent."
"So I only overpowered you because of your arrogance?"
Mithrun let out an amused huff. "I meant that if you were a monster, I would've obliterated you. I don't take to murder so easily. And I have not been under the trance of arrogance for some time."
"But my opponent probably will be."
"Maybe, but if you underestimate them in the same way you'll both be in the same position-a weaker one, where you can be caught off guard. Like so."
Suddenly, Mithrun disappeared in blink. A firm hold enclosed Kabru's head, an arm pressing in on his throat.
"Mithrun!" Kabru sputtered out as the choke hold threatened to take his breath.
As Kabru struggled, Mithrun calmly continued his point. "If you do not sharpen a knife, it will become dull. If you do not water a plant, it will wilt. I have faith you understand what I mean."
Mithrun releases his hold and returns to the front of Kabru's desk. Kabru coughs and rubs his freed neck.
"Putting one of the king's advisors in a choke hold is grounds for various punishments, you know."
Mithrun throws a glance to the side. "They'd never catch me."
Kabru lets out a small laugh at that. It was nice to see a sense of humor had ignited in the elf. He hopes it is humor.
"Even still, I hope you'll avoid possible national incidents in the future."
"I'll try."
A moment of silence passes between them, then Mithrun's gaze returns to Kabru.
"So you understand the importance of what I have tried to communicate?"
Kabru gazes over his piles of paperwork. He thinks of the meetings that still need to be held. There is so much to be done. And on top of that, he now needs to fit in exercise and training into his already packed schedule. Anxiety is rising in his chest. He does not need Mithrun's blunt scolding right now.
"Your input is noted, but it has already been decided. No turning back now. I'll just have to try my best." Kabru let out a sigh. "Now, I really should be getting back to...all this." Kabru gestures to the mountain of paperwork on his desk.
Mithrun stands firm. A deadpan determination etched on his face. "I was not criticizing you as a choice, merely your present skill. Get someone else to do the paperwork, you should be training."
Kabru is really starting to lose his patience. Mostly because he knows Mithrun is right. This isn't something he could treat carelessly. He could pull an all-nighter catching up on paperwork at anytime. Training his technique, growing the strength and stamina in his body, that wasn't something that could be done in a night.
"If an elf gets wounded, they can spend decades taking it easy in recovery. You don't have that luxury. And this isn't just about the now. If you lose, your great grandchildren's great grandchildren will have to bear your humiliation."
"I know!" Despite himself, Kabru snaps. He just hates being talked down to like he didn't know any better. And...there was something about Mithrun that always made him drop his usual guard. A sense of guilt pangs him, but Mithrun seems unfazed.
"If you know then take it seriously."
"Listen, I'm trying. But it's not so simple. I'm swamped with work. There's a lot to do and I have to find a good trainer, hire them, allot and record expenses for that and so on."
"I'll train you."
Kabru's expression softens. It certainly isn't a bad idea.
"You're not busy?"
"Well, I've just returned from an expedition. Everyone says I need to take time to relax, so perhaps I'll lounge around here for awhile. I can certainly take some time to help you train."
"Training me is your idea for relaxing?" A teasing smile comes to Kabru's lips.
Mithrun simply shrugs. "I'm your best choice. I am of a noble house. I've had to clash swords in the name of politics many times before. I know the techniques. I can train you specifically for this fight."
Kabru leans back in his chair, shaking his head. "I don't think I can afford someone of your stature."
"I'll take food as payment."
"Food?"
"Yes. I'm still poor at eating, so provide me with some food and I'll train you."
Kabru thinks for a moment then smiles. "Alright, let's do that." He holds out his hand and Mithrun takes it in his own in a firm shake.
A faint smile crosses Mithrun's face. "I'll whip you into shape."
Kabru's thankful expression does not fade, but his mind flashes back to his training with Milrisil and he suppresses a shiver.
Just outside the externals of the lower castle sits a large, circular cobblestone clearing. In the middle was a dirt arena dug about 10 feet into the ground. They would have to use it at some point to bolster a guard, but for now it lay dormant. Here, Kabru and Mithrun would come to train almost daily.
For the first few weeks, Kabru was set into an exercise regimen. At Mithrun's instruction, it focused mostly on cardio in order to rebuild his stamina and get him quick on his feet. After a short break, they would go over the fundamentals of swordplay: stances, basic maneuvers, counters and so on. Some of Kabru's skill had degraded but was being built back quickly, owed both to Kabru's will and experience as well as Mithrun's direction. However, though Kabru meets the training with much enthusiasm, Mithrun notices a sluggishness in Kabru's movements.
"You're a bit slow today." Mithrun comments, jogging next to Kabru as they round the arena.
"I'm just trying to conserve more energy. I think I put to much into these warm-ups."
Mithrun eyes him as they go along their way. Dark bags are set under Kabru's eyes and a faint stubble shadows his face. His posture and movements have an awkwardness to them, like he is almost about to stumble.
"Seems more like fatigue than restraint."
"I have a lot to do. Building a kingdom isn't easy."
"Of course. But you must have certain priorities, including yourself. Have you gotten any assistants?"
"I can handle it."
"I have no doubt about that. But can you handle it with our training and maintain yourself?"
"Mithrun, please. Let's just focus on training."
"We are. Prioritizing health, sleep, and knowing your limits are just as important as knowing how to parry and counter."
Kabru stops to catch his breath. "I know you're my trainer right now, but can we ease on the lecturing? It might come as a surprise to an elf, but I am an adult."
Mithrun kicks at a stray stone. "I apologize, I am not trying to make you feel inadequate. But I am your trainer, and your friend. I think these things are important. I know all too well, these are things I am also struggling with."
Mithrun places a reassuring hand on Kabru's shoulder. "Let's improve together."
A warmth swells in Kabru's stomach and he can't suppress a smile. "Alright. Thank you, Mithrun. Maybe I can have Yaad vet some people to help me."
"That sounds like a good idea."
The two go to fetch their wooden practice swords. On their way, Kabru seems to wrestle with his thoughts, and Mithrun gives him a sort of glare.
"I can't mask anything from you, huh?"
Mithrun shakes his head.
"Ugh, it's just...it doesn't feel right if I don't know what's going, you know? I don't want to be blind to what's happening."
"I understand. Statecraft, bureaucracy, leadership in general - it is a difficult thing. But you have to rely on and trust in others just as much as yourself. For me, commanding the canaries was a juggling act. You've seen first hand how troublesome I can be. Of course I have confidence in my combat abilities, but little elsewhere."
"Mithrun-" Kabru starts, but is stopped by Mithrun raising his hand.
"Just listen. I had to rely on my squad for a lot of things. And not just my unique situation. We've undertaken many dangerous tasks, not things any of us could do alone despite our prowess. It's a collaborative effort, you have to trust in other's abilities. That trust in others, it is an important quality in a leader."
Kabru nods. "I guess I have that experience with my squad too. And with all that happened in the dungeon, really. Trusting Laios was certainly a difficult choice. It still is, sometimes."
"And you're doing it again with me by letting me train you. So, you're already well accustomed to it."
"Even though I recognize the necessity and the logic, it still leaves me uneasy, though. In regards to the kingdom's governance, I mean."
"At least just try while you prepare for this duel. Afterwards, you won't have to be directing your efforts in as many places, so you may return to a fuller administrative role. And perhaps in that act, you will train yourself to accept it, and it will be easier from then on."
"I suppose you're right. One step at a time, huh? You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, you're very wise."
Mithrun scoffs in a playful way. "This knowledge didn't come cheap. That's why I'm so insistent to convey it to you. Don't learn it the hard way like I did."
Mithrun flourishes his training sword. "Now, let's get to more practical lessons."
Mithrun takes an offensive stance and Kabru mirrors it.
After one particularly strenuous day of training, which was preceded by some exhausting court work, Kabru invites Mithrun to a new local tavern that had popped up in town.
"I've decided to take your advice to try to relax more. I hope you're okay with eating here. I'm sure this type of place is a little uh...abnormal to you."
"Things like that do not bother me."
"Well. it's not a bad thing to have preferences. But I've really wanted to try the lamb stew here. I expect it to be better than the barometz we had."
Kabru's eyes dance over the menu but his choice is clear.
Mithrun glances over the items with little interest. Nothing stands out to him at all, which comes as no surprise to him. "I'll have the same. I'd like to know what you had actually wanted me to taste."
Kabru's eyes flick up to meet Mithrun's. "Really now? Is that a want?"
"Don't get too excited. Nothing else perks my interest."
"Well, I still think it's a good thing. Maybe after you have it, you'll find you may want it again."
"We'll see I suppose. Though I can't say I share your enthusiasm."
They are seated in a cozy eatery, rustic in it's design. Simply called 'Roland's', its décor is charming. oak wood, animal furs and soft light lamps set a warm atmosphere. The restaurant is near packed; families, couples, rowdy friends and even quiet loners are dotted around. The dense population was not unwelcome however and added a lively, communal feeling to the space.
"What did you like to eat before? Maybe next time we can find a place that serves that."
"I don't think I had any favorite food. I ate what was given to me, or had what others did."
"...That's what you're doing right now."
"..." Mithrun shrugs.
"Mithrun, I know it must be difficult, but I think experience is the best way to discover new things."
"Well like you said, maybe I'll discover I like this lamb stew."
Kabru chuckles. "Alright, I'll leave it be for now. I do hope you like the stew."
Mithrun sits in thought for a moment, then with a bluntness mutters out, "I think I liked eating Falin, or at least as close as I can get to like."
"Huh...?" Kabru equates the feeling to their earlier sparring session, when Mithrun demonstrated striking your opponent with the pommel of the blade. Kabru acted as the opponent, of course.
"There was something...prestigious about it. A banquet to celebrate victory over the demon and set the bedrock for a new kingdom. I suppose that is what I liked before, the status of the meals we had. The galas, the balls, the ceremonies. A dinner for nobles, for high society."
"That's...alright. Hm. Well you're definitely not eating Falin again."
"Of course not." Mithrun's expression remains his usual deadpan.
"But we're certain to have royal banquets every now and then. I'll make sure you're invited to every one!"
"You don't have to go that far, but thank you. Just remember I said that was what I liked before. Its a fleeting feeling, so don't get too roused over it."
"It's something to pursue though. It's better than nothing, right?"
"It's a pretty vain desire."
"So what? A little vanity might do you some good!"
"I'm not so sure."
"The first thing you have to do is learn how to pursue things. Maybe none of them will work out, maybe none of them are even a great idea. Still, you have to train it. You have to learn to want and get to those wants."
Mithrun huffs. "Hm, I believe I told you something similar the other day, did I not?"
"Yes, you did. And it was good advice. If I can do it, so can you."
"I suppose, but..." The last word floats, going nowhere, halting just before a long road. Kabru never thought he would see it. He never saw it before, he didn't think it was possible. Mithrun hesitates.
"But...what?" Kabru wants to know, desperately. What could the usually too open Mithrun stop himself from saying?
Mithrun lets out a sigh. "I try to avoid things that my old self connected to. I think I should try to be different from how I was and make sure I don't revert to being that way again.
Sometimes...sometimes I consider what happened to me to be somewhat of a good thing. Is that bad?"
Kabru was caught off guard, he initially wasn't sure how to respond. It was mostly a sad thing to hear.
"Mithrun, what happened was horrible."
"I don't know what to think. I was an insufferable person. It took one of the worst things that could happen to someone to get me to reflect on what I was. I was bitter, pompous, cruel, scared and shallow. Now I'm nobody."
"You're not nobody. Don't say that. You have much more in you than you think you do."
Mithrun shakes his head. "I think you see things that aren't really there. You're young. You're too idealistic."
"But it's true, isn't it? You said your only desire was to be devoured, but I don't think that was really the case. I've seen the pride you have in yourself when you fight. You helped all those people in the dungeon. You tried to reason with Thistle and Marcille even though you knew it wouldn't work. You woke me up when I was having nightmares. You snapped me out of it when I was losing it. You even went along with my idea, even though you thought it would be better to just kill Laios. Was that all really just for you to end up being devoured?"
"...I don't know. I guess there might be something to what you're saying."
"I think there is. For sure."
The heavier conversation fades as the waitress appears to take their order. Over an appetizer of biscuits, they discuss the next regimens they will cover for Kabru's training until their stews come. The stew carries a hefty aroma of spices and the perfectly browned meat and various vegetables within are delectably accentuated by a fair garnish.
They eat and chat into the night, eased by their meal. Kabru finds that it does not taste much like what his mom used to make, but is delicious all the same. Mithrun finds it easy to eat and the texture and warmth pleasing. Even he can tell care has been put into it, and a variety of ingredients meld together in a burst of flavor. He supposes that the fact he can recognize all this is a good thing. He looks up from his meal to joyful Kabru.
"It's not exactly what I was expecting," Kabru begins to muse, "But it's really good. Everything I've heard about this place is true."
Mithrun takes another bite. "It is good. As much as I can tell, anyway."
Before they leave, Kabru inquires as to what ingredients were in the stew.
The waitress perks up, clearly having well prepared herself for questions like these.
"Well, we have lamb from the local livestock farms and there's also onions, carrots, tomatoes, chickpeas, and garlic we get from local gardens! Roland, the owner, also grows his own herbs which we use in it, too! Bay leaves, oregano, rosemary and paprika I know for sure are in it. Oh! And we make the broth from leftover diced vegetables in the kitchen. Yep, all homegrown!"
Kabru and Mithrun glance at each other. A smile tugs at Mithrun's lips.
"Right. How could I forget?"
Kabru sees an opening, a surefire route to pierce the skin and draw first blood. But he hesitates. Why? All he has to do is...
Mithrun kicks at his shin, shaking him off balance and sending him stumbling backwards trying to secure a defensive position. Mithrun thrusts his sword forward and Kabru meets it with a flustered parry.
"Captain!" Kabru yelps at the offensive.
"Do not play with your food, lord advisor. Your prey is cleverer then you think."
"I'm not-"
Another thrust meets another shaky parry.
"Stop hesitating then. They will underestimate you. Use that to your advantage but take care to not make the same mistake."
"So you've told me. Don't talk to me like I'm a novice." Kabru huffs with exasperation. He pushes back, turning the tables and putting Mithrun back onto the defensive. A wry smile comes to Mithrun's lips as he deflects the attacks.
"Then don't make novice mistakes. You won't just be dueling a noble swordsman. You're up against the entirety of elven arrogance."
"Wouldn't be the first time."
"Indeed. But you'll be on your own this time."
Kabru slams his blade down with a powerful cut, hoping to disrupt Mithrun's guard, but the elf dodges to the right. Kabru attempts to recover to catch him with an upward slash, but Mithrun thrusts towards his face. Kabru hesitates, caught off guard. He shifts backward clumsily, unbalancing himself. Its a feint and Mithrun angles downward, thrusting his blade and cutting open Kabru's thigh. Kabru hisses and stumbles backward onto the ground. Mithrun quickly crouches down beside him and begins to cast a healing spell.
"Why are you hesitating so much?"
"Why are we using real blades?" Kabru shouts out, incensed. Mithrun had already explained to him why, but he still had trouble accepting it. He didn't want to stab his friend. He didn't particular want to be stabbed either.
"It will prepare you better. Duels are won by first blood. This is exactly what it will be like."
Kabru frowned. "It's hard...to try and hurt you." Mithrun's eye flicked up to meet Kabru's. His stoic expression unwavering.
"I'll live."
"That's not the point. It's still difficult."
"Then face it. I'm not porcelain. What are you going to do for the real thing? You won't be able to charm them into submission."
"I know that. Just..." His sentence doesn't finish and hangs in the air as he tries to find the right words.
"Interesting that you are not very concerned with me stabbing you, but the inverse disturbs you so much you falter."
Kabru's breath halted for a moment. It was a bit strange, wasn't it?
"You remind me of my younger self sometimes." Mithrun muses, his stoic expression dropping slightly.
"You didn't have many kind things to say about your past self."
"No I didn't. But you're much better than I was. Still, you have some of those qualities. You neglect yourself in favor of others, or for something." Mithrun stared at him with a look that felt pleading.
"Take better care of yourself. Isn't that what you've tried to communicate towards me? Let me help you. I want to help you. I want you to rely on me."
Want struck right into Kabru's brain, he almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. His nervousness washes away as stark blue stares into deep black with an enlivened intensity.
"I'll give it my all."
Mithrun takes Kabru's hand and pulls back on his feet. They stare at each other for a moment, each noting the sweat glistening on each others faces. Kabru gazes at Mithrun's now frazzled hair and how it hangs in front of his face. His hand comes up, almost unconsciously to sweep the sliver locks to the side, fully freeing the elf's handsome visage. Here in the midday, flushed from exertion and with the sunlight glinting off his pale skin, Mithrun is quite beautiful.
Mithrun does not react much to the touch, but his dark eye trails slightly downward, following a bead of sweat before falling on Kabru's lips. He thinks they look a bit dry. He feels a pulling sensation within himself that threatens to lurch him forward, but his body remains still. An indescribable tension sits in the air before it is cut through by Kabru's stomach growling.
Mithrun's deadpan expression upturns into a small smirk.
"It seems you are neglecting yourself in another way, despite you being so fussy about getting me to eat."
Out of instinct, a large faux grin passes Kabru's face, but he lets it settle into a fainter but more genuine smile.
"It seems I have. Let's eat then."
Mithrun nudges him forward. "Let's start making a habit of having meals after our training. That way, neither of us will be allowed to forget."
"That sounds like a wonderful idea."
Mithrun voids a slash, then feints high. Kabru's eyes follow it meticulously, quickly catching the change in trajectory. The rapier goes for Kabru's forward thigh same as before, but he pulls back and smacks his broader sword down onto the rapier. He closes the distance between them and hooks his crossguard into the hilt. Mithrun attempts to disengage but Kabru keeps his control. With his strength he angles their swords up and thrusts his forward, slitting open Mithrun's shoulder. Blood seeps out, staining the white sleeve red. They stay bonded for moment before Mithrun lets his grip fail, letting his sword clatter to the ground. Kabru sheathes his sword and concerningly gazes at Mithrun. He takes a step forward, wondering if there is something he can do to help.
"Mithrun...shall I cast a healing spell for you?"
"No."
Mithrun's hand sluggishly comes up to begin healing his wound.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." Mithrun doesn't meet his eyes, staring down at his own blade as he heals himself. Kabru watches him, noting the subtle shift in his mood and his face.
"I can't help but feel there's something wrong."
Mithrun huffs, blowing disheveled strands of hair out from his face. "You're too observant."
Kabru gazes at him with that annoyingly expectant but empathetic look.
"You and the demon taught me something."
Kabru internally winces. Wherever this was going, he did not like being lumped in with the demon.
"And what's that?"
"If you really want something, you have to want it more than anything."
Mithrun pauses for a moment, shifting around in some agitation.
"It's a bit late, but perhaps I am not the best choice of trainer. I don't want to beat you. I cannot bring you my best. I'm not adequately preparing you."
"Mithrun, please. You've done great. I'm much stronger than I was a few months ago."
"I saw what you were doing. You learned that from Milrisil, didn't you? She used it in our own sparring back in the day. I could've countered in multiple ways, but I didn't. I just couldn't will myself to do so."
Mithrun continues to stare at his discarded blade.
"You've still helped me a lot. I promise. I feel so much more confident than I did."
"If you say so."
"I do say so." Kabru's hand found its way to Mithrun's shoulder, placing itself on top of Mithrun's own hand, his grip gentle and affirming.
"It's not enough." Mithrun's voice grew quieter. He almost whispered it out in a rasp.
"What do you mean?"
"It's not enough...for me. I thought that I liked fighting-being skilled at something, displaying my strength, claiming victory. But it's just another dull pulse now. I'm losing something again and I can't even muster to help you. I-I thought that I at least wanted that but-" Tears began to prick at his eyes and Kabru instinctively steps closer.
"Hey, hey Mithrun. It's...I know it's hard. Seemingly impossibly hard. But I know you have what it takes in you to find something. To want something. To feel more than empty and discarded. I know because I've seen it."
"I know. I know. I have to keep looking, to keep trying. I'm just so tired. I'm sick of being so empty, so apathetic. The second I feel any sort of optimism or progress it all seems to fade away the next day."
Mithrun's posture slumps.
Mithrun feels the warmth of Kabru's hand burn through the linen of his shirt and pierce through to the icy skin of upper arm.
"It's not gonna happen right away," Kabru's blue orbs are inundated with pure sympathy, no pity or disgust exists within their depths, "And it may even go away sometimes. But, it's still in there. We'll nourish everyday, I'm right here with you - whenever you need me."
"Kabru."
"Yes?"
"Did you accept me as your trainer for me, or for yourself?" An accusatory tone laces Mithrun's query.
Kabru's expression scrunched in equal parts confusion and a bubbling anger.
"How do you mean, exactly?"
"Have you gone along with all this just to satisfy me - to your own detriment no less?"
"Mithrun! You are not a detriment, seriously! You've aided me immensely. If you won't believe anything else, at least believe that."
Mithrun picks up his blade and slides it into his scabbard. "Let's break for today." He begins to swiftly walk away but then stumbles back as Kabru grabs his hand.
"We eat together after training."
"I'm not hungry."
"You never are."
Mithrun's face mirrors Kabru's frustration.
"Treat me then."
"Sorry?"
"Treat me. Take me somewhere nice, not some tavern made for peasant families."
"Peasants? That's a bit rude don't you think? And somewhere nice...neither I or the kingdom are swimming in gold as of right now, you know."
"There's a restaurant near the port that serves elven cuisine, along with the dining experience of the west of course."
"Really? I didn't even know such a place existed, how out of the loop am I? Wait, is it a branch of some western business? Seriously, how did I not know?"
Kabru begins a mini spiral as he processes the cultural and economic invasion of the western kingdom already well underway, just under his nose.
"Relax. It's not based in the west, no. They are a sort of unofficial offshoot of one, however. My family has financed the main branch for generations, but this one is run by some cast out son or something or other. He probably saw the rising of a new kingdom as a good chance to run away and strike it out on his own."
"I see."
"So you'll take me then?"
"I don't think I can just splurge on that."
"You're in the royal council, call in a favor. Haggle. Surely a charmer such as yourself can pull that off."
Mithrun turns on his heels and strides out of Kabru's softening grip. He only briefly glimpses Kabru faintly blush at his snide compliment.
The two settle in at the quaint restaurant. "Vetus Aula" is inscribed into the stone set above its fine fir door. The interior is a striking balance between clean efficiency and premier ornament. Booths of black tanned leather and polished pale wood are lined in rows and magically lit steel braziers hang from the ceiling. Silk cloths cover the tables and immaculate silverware of all kinds are set upon them. As they settle in, Kabru marvels at the scenery, and even further, takes in the surprising emptiness of the place. Only a few other booths are occupied, despite it being prime dinner rush hours.
"This place is quite extravagant."
"The owner comes from a very wealthy family, as I said." Mithrun states as he combs through the menu.
"Right." Kabru nods and glances around again. "It's also quite...empty."
"Most don't care for elven cuisine."
At that moment, Kabru is reminded that he is one of those people. He glances down at the menu and his stomach twists in memory of bland sogginess, dry brittleness and other unappetizing textures and tastes. An elven waitress comes around carrying two small plates of nut cake, along with steaming cups of tea and places them in front of Kabru and Mithrun. The tea gives off a sweet, pungent aroma which Kabru deduces to be ginger. The waitress curtsies and silently awaits direction - a custom of servants found in the employ of elven nobility, Kabru thinks to himself. It seems this restaurant attempts to replicate the meals of those in higher social standing.
"We'll have the Vetus Course." Mithrun announces to no one in particular.
The waitress curtsies and takes her leave. Kabru, disgruntled from having choice taken from him, leers at Mithrun.
"I am capable of ordering for myself."
"I am curious as to what your opinion will be compared to mine. So, we have to have the same dish."
Kabru's irritation morphs to interest.
"Really, you'd like my opinion? Well, I guess I'm interested too."
Mithrun breaks off a piece of nut cake and dips it into his tea, letting it darken and soften from the liquid. Kabru can't hide a wince at the action.
"They're better when moistened."
"I can see that, but I don't think a ginger tea will pair well with it."
Mithrun shrugs. "It makes no difference to me." He slips the soggy cake into his mouth, with no visible reaction on his face. "Try it." Mithrun gestures to Kabru's own plate.
"I'll pass for now. I'd rather have the main meal first."
"Right. I forget these types of snacks aren't all that common for tallmen."
"Well, I think they're only common for nobles."
"A class which you are now apart of."
Kabru chuckles. "It certainly doesn't feel like it yet."
Eventually the waitress returns with a large cart in tow. Dutifully, she places down two cups with a pitcher of wine followed by two bowls of pottage, a plate of finely square-cut cheeses with maza bread, and a bowl of grapes mixed with dried dates. She once again curtsies and takes her leave. Mithrun begins to pour himself a cup of wine and Kabru takes a few grapes while internally grimacing at the pottage, which seems to be a thick lump of boiled grain.
"This is somewhat of a vintage meal, as far as I know. Is that correct?" Kabru queries.
"Yes. Some elves enjoy the simplicity, or the history of it."
"They think it gives them some sort of prestige, to eat like the older generations."
Mithrun sits in thought for a moment. "I suppose so. My father is like that."
"And what about you?"
"I don't know yet. Consider this an experiment."
"But why choose this dish specifically?" Kabru leans in, full detective mode, trying unravel the motives of Mithrun that are hidden even to himself.
"It's at the top of the menu in large lettering."
Kabru glances down at his own menu. "So it is."
Mithrun gulps his wine, then dips his spoon into the bowl in front of him. The silverware sinks into the beige viscid, collecting a fair sum, then rises to his mouth. As he swallows the first spoonful, his expression remains stoic, and he feels nothing spurred within him. No pleasure, no revulsion. No gratitude or disappointment. it is food. It exists. He has eaten it. He looks up to Kabru, who is picking at the fruits and cheeses.
"You'll need to have more than that. You've been quite active today, and I know you did not eat lunch."
Kabru grows a bit sheepish while slipping a cube of cheese into his mouth.
"Sometimes I forget. I'm still very busy, even with some effort to offset some responsibilities."
"It is certainly more than sometimes. Are you going to walk into the duel hungry?"
"No, Mithrun. I will not. I'll make sure I eat more properly." He responds with a half sarcastic tone.
Mithrun glances at Kabru's pottage, signaling him to prove himself and eat.
Kabru internally steels himself, attempting to look as normal possible as he prepares to eat something he knows he will hate. He mirrors Mithrun's earlier motion and slips a spoonful into his mouth. It is bland, mushy, and clings to his tongue and throat even after swallowing. He forces a small smile.
"You do not like it." Mithrun bluntly states.
Kabru blinks twice. "No, it's..." A small war wages within him. The instinct to lie and present a certain version of himself, to ease Mithrun's mind and assist him in his journey by feigning enjoyment, pitted against the knowledge that it will be futile for the ex-captain is just as perceptive as himself.
"I'm not exactly fond of elven cuisine." Kabru admits.
"I see." Mithrun seems to deflate. "I suppose I am indifferent."
"Well, what about the atmosphere? Didn't you say you like the prestige?"
"This is a port diner made by a runaway."
"Yes...a port diner for a flourishing new kingdom that is bound to see immense traffic, catering to merchants, artisans, politicians, and others of high esteem."
The silence within the restaurant is deafening.
Kabru knows that Mithrun knows his attempt restructuring his view is faulty at best. "I guess in your experience this wouldn't be the most prestigious place, huh?"
"I thought it would be worth a try. And I thought perhaps if you enjoyed it I may enjoy it as well."
"Really? Well, I'm sorry to disappoint."
"Don't be. I think I must admit the tavern you have taken me too is ultimately preferable. So, at the very least, I've realized something. We should get you a proper meal there before it gets too late."
"Oh, no that's fine. I'll just have some of the bread and cheese."
Mithrun shakes his head. "How many times must we go over this? You need a proper diet to be strong. Proper meals, not snacks."
Kabru sighs in resignation. "You're right. But...is it okay to leave like this?" Kabru gestures to the unfinished food.
Mithrun glances around at the near empty hall. "Kabru, I don't think this place will be in business much longer. I'm not sure it matters."
Kabru stands in a middle guard, much more comfortable in his own ability as well as the versatility of his weapon. Mithrun stands opposite from him, in a side stance, extending his blade forwards in a long guard. After a few beats, Mithrun lunges forward with a quick thrust aimed at Kabru's arm.
Kabru parries it with the flat of his blade and advances. He feints at Mithrun's head, then downturns to slash at the legs. Mithrun reacts with a rapid grace, backstepping and thrusting forward to re-secure a more favored position. However, Kabru's mirrors Mithrun's swift movement and presses in, beating down on Mithrun's blade to disrupt his attempt to regain control.
Mithrun allows it, but not in an act of surrender. He uses the momentum of the contact to redirect Kabru's blade sideways. Kabru rushes in, using the motion to snap his blade in, hooking the crossguard within the rapier's hilt. He grab's Mithrun's arm with his offhand and tosses the elf forward. Mithrun rolls out of it and quickly aligns himself in a defensive stance, which Kabru mirrors. Their scuffle pauses as they catch their breath and eye the other.
Mithrun blows a strand of hair out of his eyes.
"A bit brutish, but effective. You've come a long way."
"I've had a good teacher."
"I'll believe it when I'm bleeding."
Kabru switches to an offensive stance. "You're certainly spirited today."
Mithrun readies himself. "I'm trying to take your words and my own to heart."
"So am I."
Kabru advances, raising his blade. In a comfortable striking distance, he swings his blade down but stops half-way in a feint. Mithrun sees the bait and thrusts forward, but is disrupted as Kabru meets his advance with a parry and sidesteps, swinging his sword downward.
Mithrun retracts and sidesteps the attack and angles his sword towards Kabru's legs. Kabru reads the movement and redirects his sword into a horizontal slash. Mithrun adjusts and meets the slash with the forte of his blade, then ripostes towards Kabru's arm. The attack makes contact, but only discharges threads of fabric as Kabru narrowly voids it.
Kabru steps in aggressively, striking Mithrun's head with his pommel. He then hooks his crossguard into the rapier's hilt once again and this time wrenches it free from Mithrun's dazed grasp. The sword clatters to the ground, but Mithrun remains undeterred. He rushes in, momentarily taking Kabru off guard and shoulder charges him, knocking the tallman back. Mithrun goes for his wrists, tightly wrapping his hands around it and begins to twist. The broadsword falls to the ground as Kabru's throws Mithrun off him to the side. The elf regains his posture quickly and two stare at each other for a moment.
Then, Mithrun punches Kabru. Hard.
"Mithrun!"
"First blood."
Kabru wipes his mouth, a small stain of red on his hand from a split lip.
"I don't think that will be legal in the match."
"Maybe the elf you'll fight will throw the match to get a hit in."
Kabru scoffs. "You're unbelievable."
"In any case, I think I've trained you as much as I can. You'll do well."
Kabru takes a seat on the ground and Mithrun follows.
"Thank you, really. I definitely feel ready. I mean, I can match you when you're trying."
"Did I not warn you against overconfidence? If this were not a sword fight it would be over in seconds."
Kabru laughs, a light one that brings a small smile to Mithrun's lips.
"Whatever." Kabru wipes his mouth again. Small traces of blood pulse from his bottom lip.
"Here, allow me." Mithrun's right hand trails up to Kabru's face.
"No, it's fine-"
Mithrun ignores his protest and makes contact, beginning to cast the spell.
"Are you anxious for next week?"
"There's always going to be some nerves, but I feel confident, secure."
"Good."
Kabru and Mithrun exchange smiles.
"I have enjoyed our time together." Mithrun muses.
"I'm glad, So have I. And thank you again for helping me with this."
"You're welcome, I'll have to thank you as well. I...had doubts, but I think it has been fulfilling - helping you that is."
"That's wonderful to hear." Kabru stands up and extends his hand. Mithrun takes it and allows Kabru to pull him up.
"How about we go to that tavern again?"
Mithrun nods. "Lead the way."
The day of the match has arrived. The festival is in full swing. Grand decorations line the streets and music and chatter ring out through the new kingdom. Merchants wave merchandise and haggle prices while performers act out exciting acts. The smells of food, alcohol, sweat and summer fauna hang in the air.
Within the arena, various races are gathered in the stands, and nearly the whole crowd erupts in cheer as the King's advisor and champion enters. On the other hand, boos and jeers roar out as the elven champion appears. The western delegation keeps their cool in the stands, but are both clearly displeased and yet filled with an ostentatious glow, ready for the kingdom to be humiliated. It does not go as they want.
The battle is swift, with both fighters pressing aggressively. It is far too swift for the elves however, and they barely have time to register their defeat when first blood is called. Kabru stands triumphant and the crowd enters a madness of elating cries. The new kingdom has proven themselves, with thousands as witness. Kabru couldn't feel prouder. A weight lifted from his shoulders. He knows that there will be many problems in the future, but no one can ignore this. With his own hands, he has secured a victory for all that he cares for.
Later that night, as the festivities wind down, Kabru slips off to his office to enjoy a moment of quiet. After his win, he could not escape the masses of people whisking him off to celebrate. Strangely enough, Mithrun was not one among them. He wonders if his dutiful trainer witnessed the duel, and his victory. He can't think of a reason Mithrun wouldn't, perhaps he had some obligations to the delegation? Kabru's thoughts are cut short as he enters his office, already aglow with light. Mithrun sits in a chair, a bottle of alcohol placed before him on a table. When he registers Kabru's presence, he holds the bottle high.
"Can you stomach a little more?"
Kabru sighs. "I was wondering where you where." Kabru strides over to take a seat adjacent. "I suppose I can have a little more, I'd like to celebrate with my trainer."
"Apologies, acquaintances dragged me away. You should have seen their faces when they learned I trained you."
Kabru laughs at that. "Don't worry, I saw some priceless faces when I won."
"Oh, I saw them. Then they had to face my victory as well as yours."
"Yours?"
"I'm your trainer. Your victory is also mine."
"I suppose that's true. I owe a lot to you. Thanks again."
"Well, you owe some. You did plenty yourself. And you're welcome."
Mithrun pours them glasses of wine and they toast.
"Kabru?"
"Yes?"
"I'd like to make a request."
"I'm all ears."
"May we continue to eat together, even though I am not training you any longer?"
Kabru's eyes glint marvelously, catching the shining moonlight.
"Mithrun, I'd love that."
A wide smile spreads across Mithrun's face, accentuated by a faint blush.
"Thank you, Kabru."
The two talked into the night. They both felt lighter, happier, and more hopeful for the future. They helped each other up, and they both felt enlivened by the fact they would continue to do so.