The Crowned Captive

It was edging painfully close to twilight when Rowan finally appeared beside the guardhouse, a sullen expression on his face like usual. Cordan grinned when he saw him, their earlier discussion far from forgotten. No, he looked forward to putting his friend back in his place. He did not bring up Rowan’s adamant refusal to make eye contact with Morana, nor her obvious hurt at this. He simply shook the tension from his joints, eager to begin.

“Seeing you have been doing so well with the rest of your lessons, today we learn to unarm an attacker,” Cordan said as Rowan, walked past, beginning to stretch behind him. A pang of jealousy sang through him at Morana’s wandering eyes. “I will demonstrate, and you will repeat.”

Cordan turned to his opponent then, grinning as Rowan pulled out his dagger with a faint smirk. It had once been one of his most hated things, having Rowan come at him and trying to unarm him without a weapon of his own. Unbeknownst to him, Cordan had been practising with some of the other guards. With any luck, Rowan wouldn’t best him today.

They circled each other, and Cordan was a little hesitant at not warming up prior. As Rowan’s eyes flicked to the watching Morana constantly, he knew it wouldn’t be at too much detriment. He may still be cold, but Rowan was far from focused.

As the red-haired elf flew at him, Cordan went low. Dirt and gravel bit into his hands as he glided along the ground under Rowan’s swing, the dagger biting through nothing but air. Springing to his feet as his opponent turned, he brought his forearm up to stop his next swing, used his other hand to grab his wrist before he could react, and kicked out with his leg. His grin widened, his fangs knowingly bared, as Rowan blinked up at him. Cordan flipped over the jewelled dagger in his hand, wishing he had one of such artistry, before returning it.

“The aim is to stop the blow without getting cut, immobilise the weapon, and then push your opponent off balance. If you are quicker, which you will be in most cases, a well-placed blow is all you need to use your opponent’s weight against them. Reflexes take over, and the body usually tells them it’s better to break a finger than their face. Again,” Cordan said, turning to Rowan at the last word.

Their dance was short this time. Barely three steps and Rowan flew at him, his anger peaking. Cordan dodged the first low stab and barely leant out of the way of the punch with the off-hand, causing him to be nearly too slow for the oncoming slash. A deep groove was carved into his leathers as Cordan grabbed Rowan’s wrist, trying to reef his arm back to loosen his grip. When that failed, and he nearly earned himself a punch to the eye, Cordan pranced back. Knowing his tricks again, Rowan thought himself on top. He was wrong.

Cordan leapt forward first this time, hailing Rowan with a flurry of blows designed to anger and distract rather than cause damage. Searching for an opening, Cordan pummelled his opponent with as many hits as he could, hoping to play on his frustrations. His attempts proved worthwhile, for when Rowan went for a furious back-slash, Cordan stepped around him, grabbed his arm, and threatened to twist it until it broke. With a furious roar, Rowan dropped the dagger into Cordan’s hand, who promptly placed it against his throat

“If your opponent is unable to be pushed off balance, pain is the next best motivator. Shattered wrists don’t support much weight, so if your opponent can’t be swayed by pain, break it.”

Morana’s eyes gleamed with the will for action, but they did not stare at Cordan. No, slightly up and to the right is where they landed, on Rowan’s face. He wished he could see whatever look lay there, but was happy enough to have gotten his anger out. After a moment more, Cordan released his friend, offering his dagger back in peace.

“Would you like to stay for the rest of the session?” Cordan asked as Rowan turned to him, intending well.

“I have much more important things to be doing. You will have to take the rest of my watch whilst I attend to them,” his friend spat, his face contorted in anger.

Cordan was honestly taken aback as Rowan snatched the blade from his hand and turned on his heel. He had not realised his win would be quite so humiliating, regardless of Morana’s presence. With a sigh, he banished the thought from his head.

“The idea of today is to make me ready in the case of another attack, yes? Teach me self-defence?” Morana asked, sauntering closer to Cordan. Her floral scent mixed with fresh leather was enough to make his head spin.

“That is correct. Why do you ask?”

“Well, if that is so, I believe I should have a weapon of my own. Nothing too dangerous, just a dagger. If I can kill a field of plants with some anger then I think that is no more issue.”

Cordan laughed then, not knowing quite how to deny her reasoning. If her power was truly Death, which was unheard of even amongst the Unseelie, then she was right. Nobody at all would ever be safe around her, blade or not. But if she was caught with it the king would have his head, let alone Rowan’s reaction.

“I can’t just give you a dagger,” he finally replied, not sure what else to argue with. He had an inkling he would lose this argument.

“Then let me win one. If I can unarm you, I get to keep it.”

“If you can unarm me on the very first try, then you can have it, I promise,” Cordan replied, highly amused. There was absolutely no way she could take it from him that easily.

“Deal.”

Cordan smiled down at her with a lopsided grin, before moving over to the array of weapons. He sorted through the daggers laid out, intent on choosing the nicest one to make her try that much harder for it. Finally, after giving up on the weapons left at the side of the training ring and moving into the armoury, he found it. Why somebody had decided it poor enough to leave amongst the other training weapons, he knew not, for it was stunning. Its blade was steel so dark it was nearly black, and words written in the Old Tongue he knew not how to read were etched along the metal. In its hilt, six black gems sat, one for each of the Gods. Without even showing it to her, he knew she would love it. If she did not win it, he would give it to her someday. Moving back out to the training field, they squared off. Without hesitation, Morana threw herself at him.

Dear Gods and the realms beyond, she was quick. She acted just as he had instructed her to, moving to grab at his hurried blocks and pull him off balance. When that did not work due to her lack of strength, she started to parry with him. Her jabs came in quick succession, forcing him to concede ground under her fury. A week of training, no more, and she was already a formidable foe. When she truly came to power, Cordan knew she would be unstoppable.

But for now, she was still barely trained. Finally, an opening came, and Cordan pounced. As she slacked, favouring her right with her growing exhaustion, he slid through to the left, a sweeping blow to her knee. He cushioned her as she fell forward, still clawing at him, and then brought them both down. The ground rush up to meet them, knocking her breath out of her lungs with a dull thud, and he was already pinning her to the soil. The dagger rested against her throat and a smile on his face. Laying prone underneath him, her hair fanned out around her and her cheeks flushed, Cordan could not help but be struck by Morana’s beauty. He knew she could smell the change in his scent and tried to be sheepish about it, knowing it was inappropriate given her current situation. She seemed not to care as she grinned up at him, her eyes still wild.

And then she leant into the dagger, Cordan quickly pulling it from her skin, and she kissed him. Not softly, but a kiss that burnt against his lips with passion. After a moment of startled rigidity, he melted around her, letting go of her hands and wrapping his fingers in her hair, deepening the kiss. Dear gods, never had he imagined their first kiss together would be like this, his heart thundering and her every curve pressed against him in the middle of the field, with somebody bound to wander out at any time. When she pulled away, he nearly stopped her, nearly crushed her to him and kept kissing her for all eternity. The taste of her lips still burnt against his as she grinned up at him. And then he felt the cold steel against his throat.

He hoped he shut down his face quick enough to prevent her from witnessing the hurt that threatened to spread across it, but he wasn’t sure he did. Hers did not falter as she laughed beneath him, the feeling of it reverberating through him. He shook his head, knowing himself as well as fooled by one of the oldest tricks in the book.

“For the Gods’ sake and mine, keep it hidden,” was all he said as he helped her to her feet.