Notes: This is a re-write. The original is waiting for two more chapters. If this has any interest, I'll finish this one as well.
Kurt straightens his coat, watching as, with one tug, the seams fall perfectly into place. He regards his reflection in the mirror and sighs. It's a fine suit – a beautifully tailored black brocade coat (designed and constructed by none other than his own talented hands) atop one of his best dress shirts. He doesn't relish the idea of getting blood on it - his or someone else's - but it would be a fine suit to die in if the situation warranted it.
"No! Please!" Rachel cries, stumbling over the hem of her dress to reach her best friend. Kurt moves swiftly and catches the pregnant woman in his arms before her knees meet the hard floor beneath them. "Don't do this, Kurt! Please! I'm begging you!"
"Oh, Rachel … honey …" Kurt shushes, smoothing a hand down the waves of her long, dark hair. "Fear not. It will be over within a matter of minutes, and then you'll have nothing more to worry about."
"But what if he kills you!?" Rachel sobs, her chest straining against her maternity corset, giving her little space to competently breathe.
"Shhh …" Kurt continues, trying to put her at ease. "Please, Rachel, be calm. Think about the baby."
"And what of the baby's father?" Rachel whimpers, meeting Kurt's somber gaze. "What about Finn? Hunter's men have already killed him! They will kill our child, too, before all is said and done!"
"All the more reason why I must do this," Kurt explains, walking a trembling Rachel over to a nearby sofa and setting her gently down in it. "How many times has that scoundrel Hunter Clarington tried to have you for his own? Hmm? And Finn – poor Finn – set upon by five armed men, fighting with his every last breath in defense of you." Kurt sighs at the thought of his stepbrother, alone in the dark, trying to defend himself against so many men with swords when he himself was without.
Finn was a decent fighter, but he didn't have a chance, caught alone and unarmed, and without any warning.
Hunter made sure of that.
Kurt has no choice. He needs to end this – for Rachel, for Finn, and for their baby.
"But, we can pay him?" Rachel reasons. "Surely he has a price. All men do."
"Not Hunter. He has more money than he needs," Kurt says, too ashamed to admit that he himself had thought of that as a means to avoid this. But no. Hunter does not delight in money. He has almost too much of it. What he enjoys is sport – and his sport of choice includes humiliation and pain. For so long he has haunted Rachel's steps. For so long he has wanted her for his own. When she chose a middle merchant's son over Hunter's vast wealth, he was furious. He made it his mission to make Rachel's life hell on earth as the price for rejecting him.
Hunter had been a patient man. He'd waited for just the right time, till she was at the summit of happiness, before he attacked.
Kurt looks at Rachel, who has been gazing up at him through his long, contemplative silence, and drops a kiss into her rose-scented locks.
"My dear," he says, "this is an honor duel. One man against one man, and overseen by witnesses. I know most of Hunter's hired blades, and I dare say not a one is as good as me. One on one, I can best them all."
Kurt prays he sounds convincing – more so than he feels.
"But, you yourself have just found love, Kurt," Rachel begs.
"All the more reason for me to return without a scratch," Kurt assures her with a smile on his face and his heart seizing inside his chest.
But Kurt wishes she wouldn't have mentioned him.
Blaine.
Going through with this duel, recognizing all that rides on it, is hard enough without having to think about losing Blaine. What a beautiful man to drop into his life out of the blue at such an ill, inopportune time! Kurt already knows without being reminded that it is of Blaine's gorgeous hazel eyes and his sinful lips whispering so many sweet promises that Kurt will be thinking of if today he meets his end. He feels his resolve harden inside his chest.
He must not let that happen.
Kurt hugs Rachel tightly in his arms one final time. If he doesn't leave her now, he may never, and Hunter's men will come looking for him. They'll come in a pack like the scavengers they are and he won't stand a chance.
Just like Finn.
"I love you, Rachel Berry," he says with all of the affection of a brother for a sister. "I love you so very much. Please, remember that, no matter what happens today."
"Oh, Kurt," Rachel wails. "I love you so! Do not leave me! Whatever you do, whatever it takes, you have to live! Do not leave me and my baby alone!"
"I promise." Kurt motions to the nurse who had entered the room at the sound of Rachel's despondent cry. "Whatever it takes, I will win this." Kurt pulls away and looks into his best friend's watery brown eyes. "I will come home to you. In one piece. I swear it."
"I will hold you to that." Rachel places a palm to Kurt's cheek and a kiss to his lips. "I will hold you to that till my dying day. And should you perish before me, I will find you in heaven after my time is done and slap you soundly across the face for lying to me."
Kurt chuckles sadly as the nurse helps Rachel to her feet and leads her from the room, whispering soothing sentiments that only Rachel can hear, though Kurt knows them all. They are the same platitudes everyone has been spoon feeding the girl from the moment Hunter first tried to lay his claim on her, and then again when Finn was killed. Nobody wants to hurt her but the cold truth is that this is not a perfect world, nor is it kind or caring. People can be heartless, self-serving. And today, on the snow that covers the cathedral courtyard, Kurt Hummel may very well die defending her against those failures of human nature.
Then there would be no one left to keep the wolves away from her and her newborn baby.
Kurt looks once more in the mirror, standing straight and shrugging off the weight that had begun to sag his shoulders. He meets his own blue eyes, glaring until they turn ice cold and murderous.
"I am Kurt Hummel," he says in a clear, steady voice to his own visage, "and no matter what, I will win. Come what may, I will return to Hudson Hall alive."
Kurt fixes a mask over his face, obscuring all but his mouth and his eyes, as is custom, so that those who see him know to steer from his path.
For he is a harbinger of death.
It is pale blue in color, like the peaceful sky above, a reminder of the loved ones he has lost who look down on him from the heavens above: his mother, his father, his stepbrother, and most recently, his stepmother, also a victim of Hunter Clarington's vengeance and hate. He throws a cape over his shoulders and picks up the narrow, mahogany coffin that holds his dueling sword. Alone and without another word of farewell (as fate dictates who lives and who dies), he leaves the house of his sister-in-law in hopes of making a speedy return.
Kurt opts for the walk and not his carriage as he makes his way to the square, to stretch his legs and settle his nerves. He has no doubts in his abilities, but he doesn't look forward to the prospect of taking a life.
Of course, there's always that chance that he will fall.
But he doesn't dwell on that. He can already hear Hunter and his goons chortling from the courtyard inside the church gates, and he focuses his mind on other things to shut those foul voices out: his stance, the balance of his steel, the flexibility of his wrist, the soles of his shoes gripping the icy ground. He hates fighting in snow. He always has. He puts a hand over his purse and judges its weight - just enough money to pay the vicar for overseeing this whole affair.
And for bloodying his courtyard.
Kurt keeps his eyes cast down as he comes upon the scene. The voices quiet at his approach, sinister eyes watching him and lips curled into sneers that he feels upon his skin. He refuses to look at them, or their champion. The mob of four villains have occupied the north corner, so he will take the south. Waiting for him there is his single witness - his stepbrother's oldest friend and best man, Noah Puckerman.
"My friend," he says, his voice apologetic. Noah embraces Kurt heartily, and Kurt hugs him back. "You know, it really should be me fighting this duel for Berry, not you."
"Truly?" Kurt lets the man go and looks into his eyes. "And what would I say to your wife, Quinn, and your daughter, Beth, when I carried your bloody corpse back to your home?"
"My skill with a sword is not so bad," Noah argues, affronted at Kurt's joke.
"No, but you could still die," Kurt says. "And … you would die. Then there would be two corpses to tend to because your wife would have my head for letting you duel at all."
Kurt and Noah crow with laughter, holding each other still, but a mocking laugh echoes from the opposite end of the courtyard, tempering their moment of glee.
"If you ladies are done cuddling, can we get this duel started?" a sour voice taunts. "I have a whore waiting for me at home and I would like to get back to her before my wife returns from her mother's."
Kurt rolls his eyes at the faceless voice and its crass comments. It's a voice he's never heard before - another expendable hired man rallying to Hunter's cause.
Kurt wonders if this is the man he will have the pleasure of killing today.
A comforting hand rests on Kurt's shoulders, and immediately he is brought to mind of Blaine the last time he saw him – his white shirt open at the collar, lips swollen from a dozen kisses, laughing at the blush that rose to Kurt's cheeks when he told Kurt that he loved him.
That he could see loving him for the rest of his life.
He turns with hope in his eyes only to see a warm, aged face looking back at him - the vicar, saying a prayer on Kurt's behalf, but also waiting for his payment.
Kurt puts down his sword case on a nearby ledge and reaches for his purse.
"I deeply apologize for whatever happens here today," Kurt says with a slight bow of his head, handing over the silk tied sack of gold coins. "I hope this is enough for the trouble we are causing you."
"Bless you, my son," the vicar says. To his benefit, he doesn't dishonor the cloth by counting the coins in front of Kurt. "May God have mercy on your soul."
"I pray that he does," Kurt replies, watching the man toddle away through the snow.
"I guess that's that." Noah replaces the vicar's hand with his own. "They'll want to start now."
Kurt nods. Noah takes Kurt's cape from his shoulders. Kurt opens the box that holds his sword and lifts it from its velvet nest. He gazes along the edge of shimmering metal. As it catches the sunlight and winks, he steels himself.
He needs to win this and have it over so he can get back to his life … and his love.
Noah leads Kurt with his head bowed to the center of the courtyard where Hunter waits, his crimson-masked champion standing beside him, prepared to duel. Both men stare at the ground at their feet as the vicar recites one last prayer – for the swordsmen, for the company, for those who have gathered on the outskirts to cheer and witness and place their bets. Kurt hears the words but they mean nothing to him. He is the master of his own destiny. No kindly old grandfather has ever guided his steps, though he has to admit to speaking to him from time to time, just in case he does exist. He focuses on the clean, white snow, holding the image of its glittering purity before he taints it.
For he will win this duel.
He will avenge his stepbrother.
He will return to his sister.
And finally, he will ask Blaine for his hand in marriage, and his life will be set.
He will do this. No invisible God will do this for him.
"So, are we going to duel?" the champion behind the red mask jeers. "Or do you need another moment to stare at the ground?"
Kurt swallows hard.
What?
That voice. It hits Kurt's ears and steals away his every last breath, stops his heart and freezes his blood as if it has already been spilled in the snow.
It makes his body shake and his knees go weak.
It has had that same effect on him before.
Oh, no. Oh, please, God, no …
Kurt can't think of anything to say, so he says the only word that matters to him.
"Blaine?"
The man's taunting chuckle stops.
Two heads snap up.
Two pairs of stunned eyes meet.
Two masks fall to the ground.
The look on Blaine's mortified face is a perfect match to Kurt's own of horror.
Hunter grins like the bloodthirsty jackal he is - cruel and vicious, satisfied with his plan.
"Oh," he says, feigning surprise, "I see you know one another."