Fighting Fair

By: Chaoslace

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Chapter 2: Life's Lessons

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The next day, Guy woke up early. The room was still dark as he stood and padded lightly to the window. He opened the shutters and took a deep breath, rubbing his face with both hands. The inn seemed to be on the outskirts of a small farming community, and outside of his room a grassy lea stretched towards the village proper. He stood by the window for a while and watched the sun rise over the pretty pastoral scene.

"I could live in a place like this," he said to himself, smiling. A few rotations of his arm confirmed that his wound was healing nicely, so he tied his hair back and started into a pattern of calisthenics. He closed his eyes and focused on feeling the day's life flow into his limbs as he moved through the positions of a traditional Sacaen meditation. His mind drifted, the motions so second nature to his body that he hardly needed to think of them.

First form. Humility. It had been a few months since Guy had joined up with the young nobles and their entourage. At first he had had his work cut out for him just remembering everyone's names. It was so much harder than he thought it would be when he first left the Kutolah. He drew in a deep breath and tried to relax the tension in his shoulders. Quiet, he told himself. You're well fed, aren't you? Your wounds are tended, aren't they? Stop complaining.

Second form. Effort. The cool morning air and the sounds of the waking world outside of the window stirred his mind, brought back old memories of the plains. He found himself thinking of his childhood there, of his friends and of the girls in his tribe. He'd been proud when his father went away to protect a fringe settlement from a bullying noble landlord. And he'd been proud when they told him his father wasn't coming back. It meant that he'd died doing what he was supposed to do. He smiled wryly, sweat beading on his forehead from the steadily more strenous exercises. I remember I didn't get why Mother was so sad, he thought. I didn't really get it until I was older. Of course, by then I'd forgotten most everything about him. Well, I remember that he was strong.

Third form. Strength. Guy slid easily into the next series of movements, feeling confidence come with them. They had always been his best when he had first learned them in school. Something about the third form reminded him of the sword dance, and it was easy for him to envision the familiar, comfortable steel edge in his hand while he performed it. His bare feet made small sounds on the woven straw flooring of the room as he stepped lightly back and forth. His arm was starting to ache, but he dutifully ignored it against what might have been a more patient man's better judgment.

Fourth form. Trial. The sun was coming full force through the window now, shining pinkly through his closed eyelids. Distant voices tickled the edge of his hearing and he knew that the others were probably waking. He quickened the pace, determined to get through all of the forms before they called for him. He was panting softly now. What am I doing here? The thought nagged at the back of his mind. These are not my people. A familiar tingle warmed the backs of his eyes. Gah, what a time to get homesick, he thought, biting back tears.

Fifth form. Sorrow. A light breeze ruffled his hair, and far off a pair of larks called to each other over the sky. He tried to keep his mind empty as he passed through the slow, controlled motions of the Sorrow form, but visions of his homeland keep seeping into his head. "I miss it," he whispered very softly.

"I miss it too."

Sixth form. Vision. His eyes popped open. Next to him, matching him precisely in grace and figure as he performed the meditation, was Lyn of the Lorca. He fought to keep from missing a beat as she lead him through the difficult and exulting second-to-last form. "Lyn," he said, astonished that she had come in without his awareness, and that she seemed to have such an excellent grasp of the exercises. He had always prided himself on simply being able to perform them all, and for that he was considered strong among his people. But even he felt the strain by the sixth form, and here she was, hardly breaking a sweat. Her calm and efficiency of movement inspired a new respect for her in him. "You really are the daughter of a chieftain," he said, not a hint of questioning in his voice.

"I do this often," she said softly, extending her arms towards the sky, her movements in perfect unison with Guy's. "I need to." They spun once on the lead foot and clapped, the sound surprisingly loud in the still air. "You're not bad yourself." They spun again, this time on the back foot, and reversed the stance to face away from the window.

"I'm surprised you know it," he said as they stomped twice and clapped again. "I thought it was only taught to myrmidons."

"I studied as a myrmidon, a long time ago," she said, and then said no more about it.

Final form. Victory. Guy felt the stress of the exercise drip away from him as they started the calming final form. "This is the best part," he said, and she smiled at him.

"It's not over yet," she responded, and they clasped their hands behind their backs. Together they bowed low from the waist until their foreheads touched the soft, dusty flooring. They held this position for a long time, each giving thanks for the strength to finish the forms and the gifts of the Sacaen heritage. It was Lyn that spoke first to begin the closing ritual.

"This is the day," she started.

"I will break my own back," Guy continued.

"I will find my own way."

"I will beat back the storm."

"At the end of the day..."

"...I will not be left wanting."

Slowly, very slowly, they brought themselves back up to a standing position and turned to face one another. They put their hands palm to palm and spoke the last lines together.

"And tomorrow, I will do it all over again."

Silence fell over the room and they let their arms fall back to their sides. Guy stood where he was, a mess of dust and sweat, panting from the exertion of the exercise. Lyn gave a happy sigh and started to busy about the room, packing up his bag and tossing his spare tunic to him. "I didn't get a chance to look for a new one for you," she said. "Will that one be okay for a while? I'm sure Merlinus could find something that would fit you."

He looked dumbly at her, then down at the tunic. He shook his head. "Uh, yeah, this will be fine. Thanks, Lyn- I mean, Lady Lyndis," he said, correcting himself carefully.

She smiled. "It's alright if you call me Lyn. I'm not really one for titles away," she looked down at the bag in her hands. "Is this all you brought?"

"Oh, um, there's my sword..."

She looked around. "Where is it? I didn't see it before."

"Ah-" he stuttered, then flushed a dark red. "I, uh-" he slipped his tunic on and stepped forward to the bed. He tossed the mound of pillows aside to reveal his leather scabbard and belt. He picked them up sheepishly and fixed them around his waist. Lyn started to laugh.

"You can't be serious," she said, stifling her laughter behind one hand.

"Look, if you'd been ambushed by a thief with a sick sense of humor in the middle of the night, you would sleep with your sword under your pillow too," he protested.

She chuckled and gave him a light pat on the arm. "Who says I don't?" she said with a wink. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head and picked up his bag. "What?" she asked as they left the room and made their way down the hall.

"It's nothing," he said. "But I think maybe I should give up on being surprised by you, Lyn." She gave him a look and he grinned back at her. "Hey, I never got to ask you why you came to visit me."

"Oh," she laughed a little nervously. "Actually, I was going to fire you."

He stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"No no, please, I've changed my mind," she said quickly. "Let me explain." She pulled him aside as a young girl with a tray of breakfast meats bustled past them. "After what happened yesterday... I've been worried about you, Guy. We all have. Didn't you know that?" He shook his head numbly.

She sighed. "You have friends here," she continued. "People that care about you. But you always go out alone, and it's been getting you hurt. I'm starting to be afraid that it's going to get you killed."

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "I can take care of myself," he started to say.

"Don't say that," she interrupted, her tone serious now. "No one can take care of themselves all of the time. Not you, not me, not Lord Eliwood, not anybody in this army." She crossed her arms. "Part of being a member of this group is, well, being a member of this group."

He looked at her for a moment, then hung his head. "I'm sorry, Lyn," he said, sorrow showing in his voice. "I didn't realize, that, you know..."

Lyndis nodded. "I know," she said, and smiled warmly. "That's why I decided not to fire you when I came in and saw you doing the meditation rite." Her eyes flicked down. "I was like you too, at first. And I guess I probably still am, in many ways." She shrugged. "It's easy to feel like you're alone, even amidst all these people. Because they're not-"

"-my people," he finished. She looked at him evenly and they stood in silence for a few moments, each lost in memories of their homeland. "Hey Lyn," he said hopefully, breaking the silence. "We could go back, ya know? Couldn't we go back?"

She smiled then. "But I don't want to, Guy. These are my people now. They've become like family to me." She put a hand on his shoulder. "They can be that way to you too, if you let them."

Guy straightened his shoulders, then took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay," he said resolutely. "I'll try. That is, if you're sure I'm not fired?"

Lyn laughed. "Yes, I'm sure. You get a second chance. But no more running off on your own! I want you to be more careful in the future, okay?"

He grinned. "I swear I will. Now, if we're done here, I think I should get some breakfast before we go!" He edged by her and trotted away down the hall. "Man, I'm starving!"

The Lady Lyndis watched him go, then turned back towards the rooms, shaking her head and chuckling under her breath.

"That kid," she said to herself, and set about preparing for the day's journey.

* * *

"Hey, Guy!"

The swordsman didn't look up from his breakfast. "This had better be good, Matthew," he said, around a mouthful of bread.

Matthew pulled up a chair and sat down heavily, rattling the silverware that Guy was dutifully neglecting to use. "Hey, careful with that. You might choke or something." He produced an apple from somewhere and took a noisy bite out of it.

Guy looked at the fruit enviously. "I didn't know they had apples here," he said.

"Well, they technically don't." He grinned. "So I heard that the Lady Commander almost fired you this morning."

Guy nearly spit out a large bite of lambsmeat. He sputtered, then forced himself to finish chewing and swallow. "How do you know that?" he said finally. "What do you know about it?"

"Hey, relax," Matthew laughed and handed him a cup of water, which he gulped appreciatively. "By 'I heard' I mean 'I heard while hiding in a nearby shadowy doorway.' Don't forget who we're talking about here."

Guy rolled his eyes. "I should have expected as much." He finished cleaning his plate and pushed it forward. "You seem like you're in good spirits today. What's the occasion?"

"I don't really know. Maybe it's the weather." His eyes rolled up dramatically to look past Guy's head. "Ah, but what's this? The Lady Priscilla approaches!"

Guy's eyes widened. He fumbled for a napkin to wipe down his hands and face. "Do I look okay?" he hissed, but Matthew just raised an eyebrow and gave him a bemused look.

"You look fine, Guy," said a slightly puzzled female voice behind him. "Is something wrong?"

He cringed a little, fighting the blush that threatened to color his face. He jumped to his feet and turned to face the young woman.

"Ah, nothing's wrong, Miss Priscilla," he managed to stammer out, trying to smile as naturally as possible. She gave him a strange look, then shrugged and reached out to touch his arm. For about two seconds he had a hard time remaining conscious, then he realized that she was just checking his wound from yesterday. He belatedly remembered to breathe.

"How's your arm today? Lucius sent me to check on you. He said he was worried about how it would heal." Her small fingers traced the edge of the scar, pushing up his sleeve a little. She frowned. "Have you been straining yourself already? If you aren't careful, this will open up again."

"Oh, I may have hurt it this morning with Lyn-" Behind him, Matthew broke out laughing, then covered for it by pretending to cough. "Er, that is, with Lady Lyndis, we, uh... you know, it's a long story..." The temptation to rip out his sword and commit ritual suicide suddenly became overwhelmingly strong. Priscilla just looked up at him, a curious expression on her face. Meanwhile, Matthew was going into conniptions.

"Oh, um, I see," she said delicately. "Well, I think it's safe to say you'll be fine. If you have any problems with it, talk to me or one of the clerics, by all means." She peered around him to look at Matthew. "Are you alright? I don't like the sound of that cough."

The thief gasped for air. "Oh no," he said, pounding his chest. "I'm great. Really." She nodded and bowed to them both before returning to her table. Matthew lost it and dissolved into laughter as Guy sat down sullenly.

"I'm glad you thought that was funny," he said, his cheeks burning.

"Really smooth, Guy, I mean that was truly a class act," Matthew managed to get out.

"Remind me to kill you when I'm feeling a little less like killing myself."

Matthew chuckled a few more times, dabbing the corners of his eyes with a napkin. "Ah, don't be so hard on yourself. This one's as good as in the bag." He stood and patted his friend on the back.

Guy shot him a look. "And how would you know?"

The thief's eyes twinkled. "Why else would Lucius be playing matchmaker? There's no such thing as a coincidence, you know. Seriously, Guy, sometimes I think you never hear the important stuff." He tossed the remainder of his apple to Guy and made for the exit, whistling as he walked.

Guy looked down at the half-eaten fruit in his hand, his expression going from annoyance to recollection to dim realization to exultation. He whooped and threw the apple into the air, ignoring the strange looks from the people around him. He caught it and took a big bite out of it, humming something happy under his breath as he chewed.