A/N: This little scene originally began as part of a longer story that didn't quite work out, but even after I scrapped the longer fic, I still liked this scene too much to completely do away with it. Therefore, I'm submitting it as a study in characterization with a little humour thrown in.
A Duel at Dawn
"Hey you! Think fast!"
Startled by the cheerful voice, Sothe twisted to his feet, narrowly avoiding the sword thrust that might have skewered him.
"Not bad!" The voice, it appeared, belonged to a purple-haired myrmidon whose cheerful demeanor was completely at odds with the fact that she had just tried to stab him. "You're pretty quick." She continued to prattle. Either she had failed to notice his expression of wounded confusion or she was choosing to ignoring it.
Sothe vaguely recalled that her name was Mia. With the exceptions of Astrid and Tormod, he hadn't made any friends in the army and hadn't intended to. Belatedly he noticed that the sword Mia brandished was a blunted practice weapon. If she had landed the blow she had attempted earlier, it wouldn't have been fatal - merely painful and inconvenient. Still as far as Sothe was concerned, a random attempted maiming wasn't an appropriate opening for polite conversation.
"In fact," the woman continued, narrowing her eyes dramatically, "That sort of speed and skill is exactly what I'd expect from my rival!"
"Your rival?"
"Yes! My rival - nemesis - archenemy!" She said as Sothe continued to stare at her blankly. "I had my fortune told a while ago and the woman told me I'd find my rival - someone with the passion and determination to match my own! She said he'd appear on horseback - dressed in white with hair like flame."
At that Sothe took a moment to consider himself. With his dark green hair, severe dislike of animals and tendency to dress in ill-fitting green hand-me-downs, he couldn't think of a less likely "rival" in the entire camp.
He made sure to tell her so.
She laughed but refused to be deterred.
"I've already checked with the red-heads and the horseback riders in camp and none of them are game. So," she paused dramatically, "my rival must have disguised himself.
"Besides," she grabbed a lock of Sothe's hair, pulling him closer. She appeared to be examining his roots for traces of red. "Are you sure you're not a redhead?"
"No!" he cried, knocking her hand away and twisting away from the madwoman.
"Still," she shrugged. "I'm willing to settle for two out of three. Clothes are easy to change and I'm sure you can learn to ride a horse."
"Um..." he said. "I don't think so."
"Nevertheless," Sothe watched as she again hefted her practice blade. "I challenge you to a duel at dawn - and on your honour you cannot refuse."
She smirked as Sothe mentally questioned her motives. "There IS honour among thieves, right?"
There was indeed honour among thieves, but thieves' business was often of the sort best conducted in dark alleys well after midnight.
He made sure to tell her that too.
"You know, kid?" She said - her perpetual air of perkiness never fading. "I think I like you."
Sothe wasn't sure the feeling was mutual.
That was how Sothe found himself sparring with Mia the next morning.
At first she insisted that he use a sword like she did. Sothe wasn't fond of the sword; the extra length and weight of the weapon inhibited the freedom of movement he was accustomed to. To make matters worse, Mia was continually correcting him on his stance and balance, lecturing him on the finer points of "The Art".
Sothe had no time or patience for formalities. He preferred to get the job done and get away as quickly as possible. Mia eventually relented, allowing him his choice of weapon. The ultimatum was clear - return the knives or lose a sparring partner.
Sothe enjoyed sparring considerably more after that, relishing the knife's familiar weight in his hand. Held with the blade against his forearm, it allowed him to curl into a defensive crouch, occasionally falling into an artful back handspring to avoid Mia's relentless onslaught.
"Come on!" She said as he avoided another slash. "Quit the athletics display and hit me!"
"Um... okay." Sothe had never met anyone - man or woman - so eager to take a hit. Dodging her sword a second time, he slipped past her defences and jabbed her in the ribs with his practice blade.
"You call that a hit!" She cried, lowering her sword. "That's not even going to leave a mark. How do you expect to succeed on the field if you can't do better than that?"
"I didn't need to hurt you." Sothe replied softly. "I just needed to get close to you."
"Get close to me, huh?" She laughed then and smirking, pretended to give him the once over. "Sorry kid. You're not my type and you're a little young for my taste, but try again in a couple years."
Sothe laughed too, but not for the same reasons.
It wasn't until Mia visited the market later that afternoon that she realized her wallet was missing.