A/N: Fun fact: I hate writing fight scenes.
It has occurred to me that given that fact, a story set in the Hunger Games might not have been the best idea.
Oh, well . . .
. . . . .
They were down to nine. Gimli and Eowyn were holed up in their fortress. Merlin hadn't seen them since Eowyn's trip around the rusted old track, but there were no signs they had left. He'd caught a glimpse of Red as she went by the night of the full moon. What Baelfire was up to, he didn't know.
Will was still in action, as were Leah and Harry. Morgana had claimed another kill just yesterday. And, of course, Arthur was still in the Game.
It was time to go on the offensive. It would be risky though. Their weapons he could handle. Their magic was laughable.
The consequences, however, were not. There were too many connections this year, set up in a domino chain balancing on a high wire above a land mine. If Arthur was going to unite the districts someday, he couldn't afford to go around killing their darlings now.
An invisible assassin who could make death look like an accident however, would cause no problems at all.
He settled the invisibility cloak more firmly around his shoulders and scratched Arthur a note in the dust.
Going scavenging. STAY HERE.
It was a lie. After all the betrayals Arthur had suffered, he wouldn't appreciate that.
Of course, first he would have to find out.
. . . . .
Arthur did not appreciate being left behind like a child. He might not be the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, but he wasn't helpless either. He was tired of hiding. He was going hunting, and if Merlin didn't like it, too bad.
He grabbed his sword and set out.
. . . . .
Will was out of arrows. The last one had snapped when he'd tried to pull it out of the mutt who had been lurking just past the exit of the so-called "Haunted" Mansion. The whole place had been crawling with them, as had most of the alleyways after dark. Bats and wolves had been popular choices for mutating, although he'd also had to fight off some vultures who'd thought hunting was looking more lucrative than scavenging.
The fights had been satisfying. But they had also ultimately been pointless. No matter how many he killed, the Capital could always send in more. He was no closer to winning the Games, and he'd depleted his best weapon. Will could only imagine what Halt would say to that.
Cassandra was gone. If he wanted to hold the Capital accountable for that, he was going to have to do it in a way more meaningful than taking down a few lab rats.
He would have to win. After that . . . Well, surely he could get his hands on one last arrow.
In the meantime, he still had his knives. He was nearly as good with his throwing knife as he was with a bow, and if worst came to worst, there was always the double knife defense. He hadn't practiced that as much as he should have, but it might be enough.
It would have to be enough.
Will was going hunting.
. . . . .
Nine red dots glowed on the 3D map of the arena. Seneca Crane examined it approvingly.
Two red dots were about to intersect.
"Put a cannon on standby."
. . . . .
Movement. The faintest of rustlings, just past the corner. Silent as the grave, Will ghosted up to the very edge of the building.
He eased his knives out of their sheaths.
Then he whirled around the corner, saxe knife plunging towards Arthur's heart.
. . . . .
One moment the street was clear. The next Will had risen from the pavement to oppose him, blades at the ready.
His jumped back to avoid the attack. He was too slow to avoid it entirely. A thin line of blood dripped down his chest, but it hadn't more than scratched him.
He swung his sword with enough force to cleave the boy in half. Will was already gone, three feet away and ready to go another round.
Arthur shot a quick glance around the street. It was plenty wide enough to give them more than enough room to fight. It was absent of any notable features. It was lined with a sidewalk on either side and long rows of buildings that would be hard to break into quickly. No special advantages or disadvantages to be found in the lay of the land then.
Will's eyes were harder than he remembered them. More distant, less friendly. He suspected the pretty smiling face he'd seen in the sky that second night might have had something to do with that.
Arthur lunged forward, blade swinging.
Will didn't dart back this time. Instead, he brought up his two small knives in a strange formation and caught his blade between them.
As if knives could ever stop a sword. A bit of strength would be all that was needed to push through the blades.
A bit more, apparently.
Surely.
. . . . .
"That's right," Halt muttered, eyes locked on the screen. "Leverage. Leverage is everything. Now finish him off."
. . . . .
Will leaned his weight forward just enough to keep the knives properly balanced. Leverage, check.
Now if only he could remember what Gilan had said to do next.
. . . . .
"Double knife defense," Gilan said. "Clever."
Tug snorted. Of course it's clever. My ranger's the one doing it.
"What was that?" Alyss asked, voice strained, blissfully unaware of the the other conversation.
"Double knife defense. It's a technique Rangers developed centuries ago for keeping larger weapons at bay by utilizing leverage. I taught it to Will a couple of months ago."
"So he's practiced it a lot?"
Gilan shifted uncomfortably. "Well, a fair bit."
Twice, Tug corrected. You practiced twice.
Gilan didn't think he should tell Alyss that.
. . . . .
Arthur twisted his sword free and stepped back. A notch had actually been cut into the blade from where the saxe knife had cut into it. He narrowed his eyes.
He feinted high then swung for Will's torso. Will still managed to spirit away, but a thin line of blood had appeared on him too.
He was just too cursed fast. He was everywhere with those knives of his.
Thrust. Parry. Swing. Cut. Parry. Dodge. Duck. Roll. Kick. Thrust. Blood. Cut. Parry . . .
. . . . .
He was just too cursed fast, Will thought furiously. Arthur's sword was a blur. The fight had been raging on for far too long now. Will was trained to be unnoticed, an excellent shot, and an expert spy, not a duelist. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up.
The street was no help. There were no handy landmarks to take advantage of. Unless . . .
He started jumping a bit to the left whenever he had to avoid one of Arthur's wilder swings. Back and to the left. This way. Come on.
He eased onto the sidewalk where the low part met the pavement. Arthur followed him, barely seeming to notice their surroundings. That's right.
Will started turning carefully until Arthur's back was to the very edge of the sidewalk. Then he pushed forward in a sudden surge.
Arthur's sword came up to meet his blades as he stepped back. His foot came down just a few inches further than he'd anticipated, and for just a moment, he was off balance.
Will leaned into the blades with everything he had. Arthur stumbled in earnest, and Will whirled in for the kill.
His left knee collapsed from under him. He fell to one knee, the two knives now above his head and the only thing keeping Arthur's sword from embedding itself in his head.
. . . . .
The kick had been a desperate, last second attempt, but it had worked. He kicked out again, at Will's stomach. He wouldn't find it so easy to dodge from his current position.
The blow connected. Will fell back, the breath knocked out of him, and the knives loosened in his hands. Arthur pressed forward, and they went spinning from his hands to the pavement.
Will rolled for them but stopped mid turn.
Arthur's blade nicked his throat.
. . . . .
Even the Gamemakers had watched breathlessly.
"That's the best fight I've seen in fifteen years," one of them said in awe.
Another one, less reverently, said, "Pay up."
. . . . .
Halt didn't so much as breathe.
. . . . .
The metal wasn't as cold as he had expected. All the stories described the metal as cold, but it was rather warm actually. Possibly from the thin coating of blood that had accumulated all down the edge.
Sorry, Halt. Sorry, Alyss. I tried. The piece of him that had frozen over with Cassandra's death thawed a little. I tried.
He refused to close his eyes. If he only had one moment left to live, then he wasn't going to spend it blind. He followed the sword up to its owner's face.
A smile tugged at the edge of Will's mouth. "I'm ready when you are."
. . . . .
Alyss didn't scream. She wasn't that type of girl.
But the words No, no, no, escaped her with every trembling breath.
. . . . .
He wouldn't look away. He had a sword at his throat and he was smiling.
One little push. One more swing and you've made it to the final eight.
A flicker of memory danced through his mind. He'd killed a man in the woods once, the first time around, for insulting him. It had been a test, but he hadn't known that at the time. What a frighteningly stupid thing to kill for.
Now here he was with even less provocation. Ready to kill just because someone had told him that this was the way things had to be. That this was the way things had always been done.
That hadn't cut it with him last time. He certainly wasn't going to let it slide now.
He slid his sword into his scabbard. "What happened to your district partner?"
Will blinked at him. He eased himself up onto one elbow. "Um. What?"
"How'd she die?"
"Bat mutts. They're venomous." It was plain the memory was still raw. "Yours?"
"Tried to kill me." He offered Will a hand up.
Will eyed it warily. "Am I missing something?"
"I'm not the enemy. None of us in this arena should be the enemy. We know who put us here. We don't have to list every wrong they've done us to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're evil. Yet we lie, and betray, and torture, and murder one another as soon as that buzzer rings. Once a year, we all get together and pretend that the other districts are the problem." He shook his head. "It's stupid. It's pointless. I may yet die for it, but they can't make me kill for it." He grinned. "Especially not after a fight as pathetic as that. My eighty year old neighbor moves faster than you."
Will grabbed his hand and pulled himself up, glaring, but a smile was threatening to break out at the edges. "Pathetic? The only reason you got me was that since you'd been swinging weak as a baby the entire time, I got caught off guard when you upgraded to toddler. What, did you steal your daddy's sword?" The glare gave way to the smile, and he let out and exhilarated laugh. "I bet the Capital's loving this. Now what?"
"There's someone I'd like you to meet. He should be back at home base by now. Come on."
. . . . .
The Gamekeepers's mouths were wide open.
"He just - "
"He can't do that!"
"Did he just - "
. . . . .
Halt sank back into his chair. He could breathe again.
. . . . .
Alyss let her hand fall from where it had been clutching her mouth. "He's still alive. He's still alive!"
Of course he is. He's Will. He always comes back.
"I know." Tears shimmered in Alyss's eyes. "I know." She took a deep, steadying breath.
Even in his stunned relief, Gilan noticed that. "Wait a minute. You were talking to her?"
Tug looked at him. Why wouldn't I?
"She's - she's not even a Ranger," Gilan sputtered.
Yes, but she's Will's, and Will's mine, so that makes her mine too, Tug explained patiently. Like Pauline is Abelard's.
That was, Gilan thought, certainly a unique way of looking at it.
. . . . .
President Snow clicked the TV off.
This was unacceptable.
. . . . .
Note: The title obviously comes from Robert Frost's poem. It's a reference to the commonly held meaning (taking the less frequented road will lead to a very different outcome) to refer to a very unusual choice on Arthur's part. To defend whatever knowledge of literature I have, I know that there are several commonly overlooked lines in the poem that talk about how there was actually little difference between the two roads. I chose to ignore that, mainly because I couldn't think of a better title.
Next chapter coming tomorrow!