Precision

Mahaad heaved a sigh, eyes jutting back and forth as he followed the exchange before him. Atem, seated at his throne, wore a grin; his eyes were also fixed to the center of the room. Leaning forward in his seat, it was obvious that he was curious about the outcome. Anxious, even, and Mahaad did not reference that word often when it came to the Pharaoh. Watching the ruler's countenance, picking apart body language that was typically rigid and difficult …engaging. It added a bit of zeal to watching the duel, gauging Atem's reaction to progress from both parties.

All the priests were in attendance, of course. These gatherings were typical between them. They were a family of sort, or so Mahaad thought, and even training was shared. It was not often that there was not some pressing issue to consider or work to do and he prided himself on all of the priests maintaining that bond with each other. How better to protect the Pharaoh? Any man with strong ka and ba could be recognized by the Millennium Items, but Mahaad knew that the selection process was much more thorough. No man would lay down his life for another he did not care for. Loyalty was always cemented by something else. Common thieves would use trickery or blackmail, perhaps slightly more noble men would use currency or a reward. But a bond, a true bond like theirs, existed even when there was no more money to share, when there was no compulsion other than the self. Were they even to be stripped of their Items, Mahaad knew that each and every person in this room would still protect the Pharaoh with their lives. They would protect each other. He could feel that loyalty in the room, that bond, and that was why he enjoyed these congregations so.

Light from the outdoors glittered on the weapons as they clashed to and fro. The metal clangs reverberated through the chamber, each echo ringing loudly as though they were in competition over that as well. Several sets of eyes watched the pair in the center of the room, observing quietly, trying to predict how the duel would end.

The objective was to but a small, red piece of cloth from the body of your opponent. Jarring or touching it also counted in some cases, were eyes watching to call it. Some of the priests were fond of attaching their cloths in inconvenient locations; for example, Shada enjoyed teasing his opponent by attaching his at the shoulder, and then guarding it thoroughly. They were not using practice weapons, as the time for that had passed long ago, and considering that their intent was not to harm, quite a number of the priests were crafty when it came to placing their cloths in challenging areas.

However, Set's expression said to all those who gazed upon him that he was determined to win this bout. Brows furrowed in concentration, teeth gritting in his effort, the exhaustion showed as he tried his hardest to keep up. In his opponent's hand one khopesh was deadly, let alone two, as was Isis's desired style. Both were fighting hard, struggling to find an in. Set's cloth was set at his hip, which was the standard, and Isis had done the same.

Once his eyes landed on Set's cloth, they couldn't help being drawn to the taut muscles nearby as they tensed and flexed which each movement, each parry and counterstrike. Set had a style of swordsman ship that appeared to be mere force at first glance, but was a combination of striking techniques and precision. Mahaad had watched him train; the man had a surprising amount of muscle control, and it was a tremendous force when coupled with his longer sword. He knew when it was appropriate to strike hard and when barely a touch was needed; he could read the weakness of weapon, and knew where best to counter or deflect, and with how much pressure. It was a skill that took some a lifetime to achieve, and only Karim could replicate such a level of prowess at the feat. Many of the other priests had doubted the effectiveness of a foreign weapon at first, but Set had proven without a doubt that the wielder made all the difference.

Although Isis lacked that precision, being equally skilled at swordplay in each hand was a difficult advantage to overcome as well. Footwork was also one of her strengths, and Mahaad often likened her mobility in battle to water. She performed a dance with her opponent. It was fluid, and her khopesh were one with her body. These were the two strongest contenders in their midst, and it was always exciting to see who would emerge victorious.

In the end, Set's persistence fell through. This day he could simply not keep up with Isis's torrent of unrelenting blows. Far from disappointing, Mahaad himself had difficulty conquering her in battle. His own advantage was due to using a different weapon type. Keeping Isis at a distance with a staff, his weapon of choice, was effective. Once within a certain striking range, Isis was difficult to counter. Her dual wielding allowed her more of an opportunity to defend herself, and as effective as Set's blows may have been he had not been breaking through. It was easy to spot Isis's final blow, parrying with one blade and attacking with the other. Set turned his right wrist, deflecting the parry and twisting to counter the other weapon, but Isis followed the parry through enough to slow him down – the tip of her blade caught the edge of the dangling cloth. Set lowered himself immediately to sweep a leg beneath her, to force her to lose her footing, and Isis fell.

Unfortunately, ten eyes in the room followed the small strip of red cloth as it landed on the floor.

"Call!" Atem said, clapping his hands – he was genuinely riled up by their performance, and glad they had both done such a good job. "That was riveting! Set, Isis, you both did a wonderful job!"

Riveting indeed. Mahaad's eyes flickered to Set, to his heaving chest as the man realized that he had not quite been fast enough. Isis grinned as the news of her victory set in, eyes scouring the floor until she saw the small scrap of red to confirm what was being said.

Set helped her back onto her feet, as was to be expected, but the small smile he wore wasn't genuine. He was disappointed in himself, Mahaad knew, and a frown crossed his features.

"You bet on Set, didn't you?" a voice called jovially beside him. Shimon laughed, shaking his head, and Mahaad looked down to address him properly.

In fact, Mahaad hadn't placed a bet on anyone at all; he typically didn't bet on these occasions, except when they were completing something formidable.

Shimon didn't give him a chance to speak before he continued. "I had a feeling Set was going to have some problems today. He seemed rather tired before the duel even began. Perhaps he's been pushing himself too hard – I've seen him rather often in the training room recently. He put up a great fight, though. Just a moment earlier and her blade wouldn't have been close enough."

Mahaad wanted to say something encouraging to Set, but it wasn't the right time. Atem had already pulled them to the side and was sharing his observations. Mahaad knew that his duel was next, against Aknadin, and his Elder was very crafty when it came to technique; he was much quicker than he first appeared. Speaking to Set would have to wait, and Mahaad would have to try to keep himself from being distracted by Set's expression for the rest of the evening.

The sun had completely set by the time that everyone had finished and dispersed, and Mahaad had not been allowed an opportunity to speak to Set. There were other matters to be settled after their practice sessions ended and Set was called away a lot more quickly than Mahaad had thought possible. He had a lesson to teach with Mana soon after, and he could not shirk his duties. By the time they were finished the moon had risen and everyone else had presumed to go to bed. The Pharaoh would likely be on his balcony, unable to sleep, Isis would be imploring the necklace for information and Aknadin would be up late reading scrolls. Those were their midnight ticks. On the contrary, Shada and Karim did not usually have trouble sleeping, and Shimon was rather split down the middle: sometime sleep came to him easily and other times he journeyed to Atem's chambers to speak with him.

If the afternoon's training had said anything, it was that Set would still be in the hall, working out his frustrations with his swordplay. Practicing by himself would produce no sound, and Mahaad knew that when he entered the training hall it would seem cold and lonely without the joy of battle to fill it. Set pushed himself much harder when he felt he was underachieving, and the grip of his self-depreciation held the entire room.

Mahaad knew that his robes could be seen fluttering about the entryway, and he waited until Set decided to acknowledge his presence. The other priest was dripping with sweat from his labor. Puffing breaths combined with the weight of his sword in the air. Set seemed very determined to finish this particular set of exercises, and Mahaad stood waiting for nearly a quarter of a candle mark before his presence was recognized.

"Mahaad."

But Mahaad didn't want to go through the motions. Light had gone from the sky and there was no need for such pleasantries. The only person to make such an impression on was Set. "Are you finally finished?" He couldn't help but admire the determination of his peer, and he was sure that Set's diligence had bared an impact on the Millennium Rod's, and the Gods', thoughts of him. He was not the type of man that was encountered every day.

"My plan was to practice until sunrise."

"You don't need – "

Mahaad hadn't expected Set to cut him off. "Not that the information is prevalent."

Sighing, he could already feel the room becoming tense. "You were tired before your duel today. Not resting will not make the next duel easier to overcome."

Set knew that he had a point. The next gathering for training wasn't likely to occur for at least a few more days, regardless. Practicing all night was not something that would benefit Set in the least at this point.

"I would prefer to practice."

Normally, Mahaad would have taken a softer approach, but Set was a hard man at best; any approach that was not direct would be discarded and left unaddressed, and Mahaad knew that from experience. "Your duel with Isis went very well. Even the Pharaoh said so. The both of you had everyone unsure of the victor. You held your ground well." With the exception of Shimon, Mahaad knew this to be true. "Even I was not sure of the outcome. You could not see the Pharaoh's face, but he was paying attention to every movement he could spot. It was not only a good display, but a good display of skill."

Set still said nothing, sword grasped tightly in his hand.

"If I can spare time tomorrow, I would be delighted to practice with you. However, enough of the priests are up tonight due to the restless minds. I would prefer not to need to deal with another priest whose body has been restless as well."

"I don't require your assistance."

Priest Set was being particularly cold, and Mahaad sighed in an attempt to avoid sounding frustrated with him. Set was not usually this stubborn. He didn't want to resort to an underhanded logic to get the man to rest, but it seemed as though options for the conversation were being knocked off, one by one. Stepping into the room, his steps producing a small echo as he crossed the doorway, he frowned. "You did much better than you think, Set. I promise. Even Isis was surprised that she managed to catch you. And it was by so small a margin."

Set grit his teeth. "One day, that margin could mean the difference between life and death. Have you forgotten that?"

The two of them were face to face, and rather than the taut anger Mahaad expected to see reflected in Set's expression, he simply looked worn down, and melancholy. It was not a state he would allow anyone else to see him in, surely.

"I know it as well as anyone else," Mahaad said. "But if you exhaust yourself to the point of being useless the result will be much worse than the end of your duel today. You are not the only battler who took losses today. I could not pass Aknadin today, either." He neglected to add that it was due to his inability to put his worries aside. "Come," he added, reaching cover Set's right hand with his own. "You can't serve the Pharaoh like this. You need rest."

Set's grip on the sword handle tightened. "I need improvement." Despite his difficult words his expression softened, and Mahaad knew that he had accepted defeat, at least so far as his argument went.

Mahaad's hand slowly pried Set's grip open. "Improvement comes over time, but forcing it won't bring your desires to fruition."

It amused him, sometimes, how childlike Set could be. When fixated on a flaw within himself he was almost impossible to deal with. Aknadin and Shimon were the only ones brave enough to approach him, and occasionally Isis – though that would not have been ideal in this case – and even the Pharaoh had trouble deciding what to do with him. It was similar to dealing with Mana, to a degree, but Mahaad knew that Set's intentions were very good. He constantly weighed his ability to complete his duties, always assessed himself on ways to expand his effectiveness. Again, his diligence was astounding.

"Come," Mahaad said again. Only the thumb remained tightened over the blade handle, and Mahaad attempted a coercive smile. "Please," he added, using the only point he had left in his favor, "I'm worried about you." He would not be repeating himself again.

Set sighed heavily, and refused to meet Mahaad's eyes. With a small nod, Set walked his weapon to the left wall of the room and set it down. He would come back for it in the morning. Mahaad silently lamenting being pulled away from, but the moment made his smile more genuine; that was how he knew he valued the moment.

Mahaad contemplated leaving. His work was done, he had gotten Set to desist in his madness. There was no more need for his presence. And yet, that softened feeling he felt when he saw Set's sad expression persisted. It would have been against his better judgment to remain; this was neither the time nor the place. The moments he sought were few and far between, and he knew better than to build groundless expectations. He turned to go.

"Wait," Set said as he made his way back.

"Yes?" Mahaad said, without turning back to face him.

"Thank you, and may the Gods protect your soul this night."

"And you," Mahaad returned.

As Set strode past, Mahaad had to hold back a start. In passing it would have seemed as though their fingers simply brushed, but Mahaad had felt them reach, had felt them curl around his hand for just a brief moment before letting go. It had taken all of a single second, but it was enough. Mahaad heaved the heaviest sigh he had allowed himself to emit all day, and continued to exit as well at a much slower pace.

He was sure he would sleep well this evening, too.

{FIN}

There is a small bit of romance here, mostly because I don't really feel right going over the top with romanticism in AE. I just haven't found my groove in it yet, and until I do I'm afraid they'll all be subtle like this.

In any case, I did have fun writing it, although naming it was harder than I thought.

I'm excited, because I should be getting my new laptop today and I won't have to rely on library comps anymore! Yaaay!

Good luck to everyone else in the contest!