4. The Storm
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, as usual.
A/N: I actually really hate the song I picked for this chapter. But I picked it regardless, because the acoustic version rocks.
Characters: Percival, Chris (pairing kinda hinted, because I just couldn't help myself.)
"How long have I been in this storm? So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form? The water's getting harder to tread, with these waves crashing over my head."
"Storm" by Lifehouse
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Hints of dark hair collected by the moonlight shone in stark contrast to her own head, which glowed magnificently.
It was then she inwardly cursed for not bothering to tie it back, as such realizations of her appearance tended to make her self conscious. A moment passed as the two knights observed each other, and feeling increasing uncomfortable at the direct casual attention she was being giving Chris nodded, "If you'd like to."
Percival came closer from his perch among the trees and nodded back, revealing a weapon almost identical to her own. "Alright." He smiled. She gripped her hilt firmly, hoping to make her grip overcome the moisture from the humidity of the night air, as he did the same.
Through his years of extensive training, he'd learned certain perspectives on fighting that no ordinary civilian villager could possibly realize without the experience itself. When two enemies fought, it created the friction of steel on steel, the tension and subtly growing blood lust surged like plague. But as he had practiced with fellow soldiers there was tension, but of a different sort. There was competition, boasting rights, pride, and the possibly of being the victim who was stuck with paying the pub bill that night hanging over one's hand.
Though they only fought with the flats of their blades, Percival watched his companion's face wince slightly as his blade's tip stripped the tips off of several of her hairs as she dodged, although she kept her speed.
Fighting with Chris was of a different concoction. It was something that could not be experienced between either comrade or enemy, though the emotions ranged from both. There was the tension thick, but an air of playfulness as well. Their bodies were charged by a certain lust for adrenaline moved with fluidity. And something they had been brainwashed to avoid on the battlefield.
Concern.
He blocked her swing yet again. They stared for a moment, one set of bloodshot eyes looking into the other, and proceeded yet again, slowly losing the moment to time. His dark tunic clung to his body, causing the air to move smoothly over him, and the night sky continued to illuminate the sight.
She cursed again, at the realization of their attire occurred. Her tunic was a lot lighter in color than his; which in the lack of light (because of the overhead trees), allowed him to feel for her movements better, and to respond quicker than she could to him. She somehow heard a light chuckle somehow over the clash of metal, reminding her that she'd said the word out loud. She heaved her blows in exasperation at the man. He did tend to have that effect on her.
A sharp exhale from him told her exactly what he was going to do next, though he never realized it; she'd seen him do this plenty of times in battle. He moved his torso as if sending the signal for a right side blow, while quickly gaining momentum for the left. Had she not noticed his breath she'd lost; but in an instant grazed her weapon against his while backhanding him harshly across the brow. The moisture of the night air caused him the lose grip of his weapon from the sudden, unexpected contact from hers. It landed some several feet away, and he remained still as she held the point of the blade to his neck, and smiled.
They now sat panting slightly, backs against the thick trunk of an oak, shoulders almost touching though they were both facing out towards different directions.
His legs sprawled out in grass before him, and his right barefoot nudged her left, causing her to grunt in response before he attempted to speak, speech plagued by slight mucus in his throat.
"What was that?" She asked hoarsely, running her long fingers through her lengthy hair, as if attempting to comb it.
He cleared his throat this time. "After all of this, I think I need to return to Iksay for a while. They need all the help they can get," Was his earnest reply.
Chris smoothed the fabric in her lap as he continued. "And it's my hometown, after all."
She nodded. "Well, that's understandable." She replied thoughtfully, her professional tone returning. "You'll be no small loss to the knights, Percival." He leaned back, head resting against the tree bark wall and she added, "But your intent is honorable." The professional tone was gone.
"Thank you, milady." He turned to face the violet eyes fixed on him. The same eyes he'd seen from the torments of training, and the brutality shown towards her by her own fellow cadets, simply because she was female. The eyes that spoke of a tough skin. She was strange, to say the least; strange, beautiful, yet most of all, deadly. He returned her smile from earlier, causing her to blush and turn her head, and say softly, "Please don't look at me that way, it's rather uncomfortable."
He nodded and looked down. "Forgive me, milady. I didn't realize it was inappropriate."
His words seemed to sting her. "Well no," She began apologetically, crossing her arms on her chest while gazing at the moon through the canopy above her. "It's just that I see you look at... women like that often." She finished awkwardly. He chuckled, standing and grabbing his sword from the ground by the blade before tossing it lightly to the other hand to hold it properly by the handle.
"Perhaps I do," He said, "But I've recently realized I find the simplest reasons to smile from you, milady." And with that he saluted her respectfully before turning back to the castle.
She watched him stiffly, stunned by his words. And she began to wonder what drew them both to that clearing that night in the first place.
