Authors Note: Four words: It is finally here. ^^

Chapter Twelve

Only Hope

"Between who you are and who you could be

Between how it is and how it should be"

Switchfoot

Jess unsheathed his sword slowly, inch by inch. It was heavier then he remembered.

I've been through a lot with this sword he reflected. It was the first thing that I'd ever stolen. I wonder if Luke's noticed that it's gone yet?

"Jess! Is that my sword?"

Damn!

"Um … you leant it to me, remember?" Jess grinned sheepishly, glad for the distraction.

Anything to stop me thinking about her.

As a matter of fact, 'her' was in a much more visibly frantic state than her fellow combatant seemed to be.

"Oh Mitch, what am I going to do!" Rory Gilmore practically threw herself into the outstretched arms of her long-time thieving friend, the brotherly Mitch. "I don't even have a sword!"

Rory had objected to a sword even though Jess insisted that every thief in his band was to have one. She thought them too violent for her, resulting in two long-term disadvantages - she was amiss of a very powerful weapon and the knowledge of how to use it. Now it was all coming back to haunt her.

I guess Jess was right. Rory thought grudgingly. He said that there would be a time when I would need a sword and be sorry that I didn't have one. Though I bet he never suspected that I would need it to duel against him!

"You're free to use my sword," Mitch said, trying to be helpful. "But I'm afraid you'll find it extremely heavy, especially since you've never handled one before."

Rory groaned. "Great."

"On second thought, you're probably better off borrowing someone else's sword. A lighter sword would probably give you a better chance." Mitch looked around as if expecting a perfect sword to appear on the ground right in front of him.

"I would borrow someone else's if I could, but everyone else's sword is the same size as yours if not heavier." Rory was at this point beyond even despair. "Everyone except Charles … and Jess."

"I suspect we left Charles' sword at the castle. Pity, it had a sharp blade," Mitch added, almost regretfully.

"And we all know I can't use Jess' sword. That's obvious. I remember specifically that Jess promised me - he promised me - that I could use his sword if I ever needed one. We're about the same size, you know. He told me that if I needed a sword, all I had to do was ask. How ironic. I don't suppose you can share swords in a duel. That'd just be stupid-"

"Rory,"

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

Rory stopped her nervous babbling long enough to look at her loyal friend properly, and found concern in his eyes. There was a long pause.

"I'll just use your sword," she said quietly.

Nephews! Luke thought in exasperation. They're nothing but trouble.

There Jess was, grinning as cocky as a spaniel, actually enjoying Luke's frustration, with the stolen sword bright in his hand.

"I can't believe you stole my sword!" Luke ran a hand through his untidy mane of hair. Why couldn't he have normal nephews like everyone else?

"Gee, calm down. I only borrowed it. And hey, I took good care of it." Jess held the sword blade-up high enough for the light to illuminate the metal. It was unblemished. "See? And plus, you don't need it anyway. You should be grateful that I made good use of it."

"That's not the point!"

"All right, all right, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have stol- Ow! What do you think you're doing?" Luke had grabbed his nephew by the arm and was dragging him ruthlessly into the hut.

"You don't understand!"

"Understand what? So I stole a sword, big deal." Jess shrugged.

"But that's not just any sword. That's the sword! It's … the sword that killed Christopher. Jess, don't use that language on my grounds!"

Jess had just let out a vehement exclamation. He sheathed the sword quickly, took off the scabbard, and leant it against one of the walls of Luke's hut. Luke himself watched his nephew silently.

"Great. So I'm supposed to duel with that sword? This just keeps on getting better and better." Jess wiped his hands on his trousers as if he had just touched something unwholesome.

"Look, Jess, is there any way you could get out of this duel?" Luke suddenly felt very old and tired. Fate seemed to have it in for him for some reason.

"Not without getting killed."

"Wonderful. That's all we need. Another chance for history to repeat itself."

"History repeating itself? Don't tell me you buy all this fate mambo-jambo. It's just a sword. A sword with a history, yeah, but it's still a sword." Jess shrugged, and nudged the scabbard with his foot. It fell to the ground with a clatter. Luke winced.

"I don't mean anything mystical." Luke gently picked up the scabbard, and lay it on a small, wooden table behind Jess. He did everything slowly and carefully, as if he was handling a basket of eggs. "You know I hate that stuff! No, what I'm trying to tell you that the sword itself is faulty."

"No way! I've used it loads of times, and it's just fine." But despite his words, Jess moved to unsheathe the sword to see if it was true. Luke held him back.

"That's because I fixed it up," he said. "But I'm just a farmer Jess. You can't expect the adjustments I made to hold. That sword could break at any moment, and not in the usual way. It was designed as a last-resort for self defence. It's made up of two separate parts, the hilt and the blade, which can be attached or detached. You get me so far?"

"Yeah, keep going." Although on the outside, Jess kept his calm exterior, Luke could tell that inside Jess' complicated mind the cogs were turning.

"The idea was, you kept the hilt with you and hid the blade in some inconspicuous spot, and just attached the two together if the unexpected happened."

"You mean, if someone like me happened." Jess grinned.

"Exactly. It was the only sword I could afford at the time, so I bought it. But Jess, when you detach the blade from the hilt, you do so by pressuring a spring inside the hilt. It bounces forward and propels the blade out. And the thing is, the spring in my sword somehow is extra sensitive. If my adjustments don't hold, there will be nothing to stop the blade from shooting out the next time you block a particularly strong blow from a heavy sword. Which means…"

Jess suddenly felt cold all over. "Things could get dangerous."

"Dangerous? Jess, it could kill someone!"

"Someone like Rory."

"See, you hold it like this, with your right hand on the bottom. Carry most of the weight with your left hand and use your right hand for control. That's right. Now, hand it here. To block, you just thrust your sword upwards, horizontally, until it meets the opposing blade." Mitch imitated a simple block, swift and precise. "Always try to defend with this end, and attack with that other end. Now you try." Mitch held the sword out to Rory.

The sword felt awkward in her hands. She wasn't used to carrying something as big as Mitch's oversized weapon, and felt slightly off balance. She swayed some to the left.

"Move your right foot out a bit," Mitch instructed. "That's right, put your weight on the right foot. Good."

Making sure that her feet were planted firmly on the ground, she raised the sword up. It quivered in her hands - the sheer weight of it was almost too much for her.

"You're doing fine," Mitch said. "Now block!"

Rory brought the sword up at a horizontal angle and held it there with all the strength she could muster.

"Keep it there! Keep it there!" Mitch instructed. "For one … two … three…"

Rory gasped from the effort it took. She had seen the others do the same exercise, but she never imagined it would be so difficult!

"Four … five … six … seven … eight … nine … ten! Okay, drop it!"

Rory did so with relief.

"Not bad, for your first go." Mitch said, wiping away the sweat from his own forehead. "Not bad at all."

"I don't know how you and the others manage to do it all the time!" Rory said, a little breathlessly. "It's really hard!"

"It just takes practise," Mitch consoled. "I remember what it was like my first time - "

"Mitch! Rory! Do you know where Jess is? I'm almost done here!" Richard's voice interrupted Mitch mid-sentence. Richard had been making preparations for the duel on a flat pasture on a side of Luke's hut.

"I think I saw him go into the hut! I'll go get him!" Mitch took off, leaving Rory very much alone. He was concerned about her, and about Jess. He was especially concerned about the outcome of this duel. It could be disastrous. We've always prided ourselves in being the survivors. Mitch thought, as he entered the hut. But it seems that our downfall could come from within our ranks, rather than from outside forces -

Mitch's thoughts were interrupted by two heated voices.

"Is there another sword you could use?" Luke was asking. Mitch saw that Luke was seated on a sturdy wooden stool, looking so old and troubled that Mitch almost felt sorry for him.

And then there was Jess.

"No. The other swords are too heavy for me. This is the only one that's my size. Charles' sword is still at the castle." Jess was pacing back and forth, paler than Mitch had ever seen him. His sword was lying lone on a wooden table. Mitch wondered what was the matter.

"Um…Jess?" Mitch said, feeling uncomfortable about interrupting.

Jess froze in his tracks, and rigidly turned around to face Mitch.

"Yes?"

"Richard's almost finished the preparations."

Jess nodded. "Thanks."

Mitch didn't budge.

"Is there anything else?"

" - About your sword. I couldn't help but overhear. There isn't anything wrong with it, is there?"

Silence.

Jess and Luke exchanged equally unsure glances. They really are related. Mitch smiled inwardly, despite himself.

"No, nothing's wrong with the sword." Jess said finally.

"Nothing at all," Luke added.

"Good." Mitch plummeted on. "Because I wanted to ask you if you would swap swords with Rory."

"What!" Jess yelled. "Why?"

"Well, see, I don't think it's very fair - "

Jess' eyes flashed. "Not fair! She's the one who challenged me!"

"She doesn't have any experience in sword fighting whatsoever! She doesn't even have a damn sword! She has to use mine, which is what - about three times to big for her!" Mitch was surprised at the harshness of his own voice.

"So what, make me use your sword? Doesn't that tilt the unfairness scale a bit more to my side?" Jess took a step towards Mitch threateningly.

"Look," Mitch continued quietly, seeing the dangerous look in Jess' eyes. "She has never handled a sword before. You've had seven years. If you used my sword and she used yours, it'd be about even, wouldn't it?"

"But - "

"But what?"

Jess looked helplessly at Luke. Luke however, was looking at the sword. Well, everyone'll be better off if I get killed instead of Rory, was the only logical thought that ran through his mind. I deserve it.

"Sure, she can use my sword."

Mitch nodded in appreciation, and departed as quietly as only a thief could. The way he'd said it, you'd think he was passing his own death sentence, Mitch thought to himself on his way out.

But for all Mitch knew, Jess very well could have been.

"Eerrp! Tristan! Put that horrible weapon away at once!" Tristan's hand didn't waver. The tip of his sword remained dangerously close to the Duke's throat. He was starting to wonder if there was anyone in his kingdom he could trust.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked, a little more harshly than he had intended. His nerves were really on edge.

Yeh…he thought. That's what happens when you find out that someone's attempting to kill you, and your own mother doesn't give a damn.

"Watch your tongue, boy." The Duke was very badly shaken by Tristan's tone, and whenever he was caught off guard, his number one instinct was to reprimand. It was in his nature. "What ever has brought on this crazy, feverish, irrational side of you? I've never seen you like this in my life!"

"Sure, Horace, sure." The Duke winced visibly. No one had called him Horace since his grandmother died, twenty four years ago.

"Please, Tristan. You know I detest being called that."

"So what?" There was a paranoid glimmer in Tristan's eye, and his voice was quivered, but his hand did not falter. "I'm the one holding the sword!"

"What's the matter with you, boy!"

Tristan paused to observe a round, bead of sweat trickle down the side of the Duke's chubby face, leaving a wet, tell-tale trail.

"You're sweating, Duke."

"Thank you for pointing that out." The Duke said sarcastically, beginning to feel annoyed. Really, now, this was no way to treat company! "The reason why completely escapes me. Though it may have something to do with that sword you're pointing at my neck, but I might just be sensitive."

"You never sweat under pressure." Tristan pointed out. "You only sweat when you're lying or when you've just eaten pork."

The Duke gave Tristan a telling stare.

"No way!"

"Guess what I had for breakfast?"

"You're lying!"

"Bacon. Juicy, simmering, crispy, slightly burnt bacon." The Duke licked his chops at the mere memory of the succulent strip of pork he had dined on that morning.

"I refuse to believe it!" Tristan said, half amused, half disbelieving. "I'm insulted that you think I'd fall for that."

"It's true!"

Tristan caught up with himself, and actually looked at the Duke. He was right there, standing in front of him, as short and chubby as he had been all Tristan's life. He was dressed in red velvet, and Tristan noted that the colour suited him well. The Duke's face was shiny with sweat, and blotchy with pent up annoyance. His eyes were earnest, though, and, now that Tristan thought about it, the Duke did smell like pork. Suddenly Tristan dropped his sword. It clattered noisily as it hit the floor.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry." Tristan couldn't believe that he had doubted the Duke, whom he had known for the whole of his life. "I don't know what's gotten into me."

The Duke nervously stepped around Tristan's sword and lay a chubby fist on Tristan's shoulder. "I think I do."

"You do?" Tristan collapsed into a chair, and the Duke followed suit.

"Yes." The Duke stretched his legs, and casually lay his feet out on the footrest in front of him. "I mean, I'd be jumpy too if my own family hired someone to attempt to murder me."

It took a moment for Tristan to register what the Duke had said.

"W-w-what! You… you knew?" he managed to get out.

"Oh yes. It's been favoured gossip among the aristocrats for several weeks now. Don't tell me you've only found out today? Oh." Catching the look on Tristan's face, the Duke fell quiet.

"How long ago, exactly, has this been in the works?" Tristan felt a serene calm sweep over him. The thick blanket of ignorance that had blissfully covered him had now been replaced with a thicker blanket of disbelief.

"It's been common knowledge for at least a month, but that's all I can tell you." The Duke shrugged. "My guess'd be three months at the least."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The Duke could see that Tristan was hurt. "I thought you already knew," he said sincerely. "I thought you were expecting an attack. I had no idea that you had no idea. You have my word on that, Tristan."

Tristan nodded, his eyes dull. He hadn't felt this helpless since his father had died. Waves of despair threatened to drown him. His eyes drifted to his sword, lying on the ground.

"Maybe I should just kill myself, and make it easier for everyone else." He said in an empty voice. He was dead serious, too. His whole world had come crashing down and it was too late do pick up the pieces.

"Oh, stop talking nonsense. Don't take things so seriously."

"Um…"

In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little shocked to find out my assassination was common topic of gossip…

"Seriously. It's all just part of the game."

Game? My being killed is a game? Okay, it's official. You've lost me…

"What game?"

"The game which comes with the politics of being royalty. You know, they try to kill you, you come up with a plan of defence, they think up a nastier scheme, you come back with a smarter defence tactic…"

Tristan looked blankly at the Duke.

"Huh?"

"That's why I came by today, actually." The Duke said. "To discuss your plan of defence with you."

"What plan of defence?" Tristan asked, now completely bewildered.

"Exactly! You have none!" The Duke sat up and slapped Tristan good-naturedly on the shoulder. "I was going to give you some rookie tips."

"Is this your twisted idea of fun?"

"It's easier to survive if you're having fun." The Duke grinned. "Now, we can't afford to waste anymore time. Is there anyone you can think of who might be able to help you out?"

How did I get myself into this?

He was standing right there, sword in hand. His untidy hair shadowed his eyes, and his expression was unreadable.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked softly.

No! Of course I don't want to do this. The words just came out. I can't duel! What do I say? I don't know…what would my mom do?

She'd fight.

"There's no backing out now."

"You seem determined."

Shows how well you know me.

"So do you," she said.

"Combatants!" Richard bellowed out, and Rory and Jess fell silent. They were standing in the middle of a large field situated on Luke's property. Richard had cut the grass roughly with a longsword, marking the boundaries in which the duel was to take place. Rory and Jess were standing inside the boundaries, facing each other, while the three spectators looked from outside.

"Pick up your weapons!"

Mitch's sword was lying on the yellowing grass just next to Rory's feet. She reached down to pick it up, but Jess snatched the hilt before she could get a firm grip on it.

"Hey," she protested. "That's my sword."

"Use mine," Jess said.

"Why?"

"It's fairer this way."

Rory couldn't fathom the look in Jess' eyes. He seemed reluctant, almost fearful.

Why?

Rory slowly bent down and picked up Jess' sword. It was lighter than Mitch's, and was more suited to her slim hands.

"Take your places!"

Rory and Jess moved to stand three feet away from each other, with their backs against each other, feet shoulder-length apart. Slowly, they raised their swords.

"One. Two. Three."

"I just don't know who I can trust anymore," Tristan confided to the Duke. "It seems like everyone I used to think I could trust are all in it against me."

"Then think of someone whom you didn't trust," the Duke suggested, picking a piece of lint off his velvet suit.

How much longer before he gets the hint? The Duke thought, sighing inwardly. Over the past three hours they had discussed vermin, spies, brunette women, and the advantages of resourceful people, but Tristan still remained oblivious to the Duke's numerous hints. He's as narrow minded as his father was…

"That won't work." Tristan was exhausted. He and the Duke had been discussing defence tactics for three whole hours, and they had gone over everything from vermin to brunette women, and they still hadn't gotten anywhere. The Duke had been shooting down every idea Tristan came up with. Tristan had the feeling the Duke had a plan all set out in that mind of his, and was waiting for Tristan to figure it out for himself, but Tristan had no idea what it was. He wished the Duke would just out and tell him. "I never trusted Marcus, and he turned out to be the head of it all."

"I wasn't talking about Marcus," The Duke was getting impatient.

"Then who were you talking about?" Tristan was getting really impatient.

I give up! The Duke thought, exasperated.

"A certain young thief comes to mind…" was all he needed to say.

"A thief!" Tristan exclaimed, leaping to his feet. "Perfect!"

Dean trudged through Luke's familiar corn fields. He was really concerned about Rory. She seemed very upset about her mother, and who could blame her? Right now, Dean was intent on finding her, and comforting her.

Stepping through the last line of corn plantations, Dean caught sight of Luke's hut. He started to walk in that general direction, but saw a group of people gathered together in a field to the side of Luke's dilapidated dwelling.

Maybe Rory's there…he thought.

As he got nearer, he saw that Rory was there. She was standing right in the middle of the group of people, holding up a sword. Behind her was… it was a thief!

Dean's mind reeled as strange, masculine thoughts ran through his head.

That brown-haired boy is about to duel with Rory! I bet she doesn't even know how to use that sword she's holding. I'll have to save her…

"Rory! RORY!" Someone was shouting out her name. A familiar somebody. She tried to remember…that's right. That peasant boy…Dean.

She turned around to see him sprinting towards her.

"Dean, what are you doing here?"

Dean ignored her, his eyes narrowed and glaring at Jess. Without a word, he swung his fist back and punched Jess with all his strength. Jess barely flinched.

"Dean, stop it!"

"Rory, what are you doing with these thieves?" Dean asked her. "Here, give me your sword. I'll fend them off for you."

He tried to grab it from her, but she held it firm.

"Don't be scared, Rory. I'll get you out of here…" he said, trying to break her grip.

"Dean, let go!" Rory said, pulling the sword towards her with all the strength she could muster.

"No, I can help!" Dean said earnestly, tugging on the sword hilt all the more. "Really."

"Dean! Stop it!" Rory said in frustration. "These people are my friends!"

Dean had been pulling on the sword hilt as hard as he could, but hearing Rory's words he let go instantly. Rory was propelled backwards, landing hard on her back.

The sword hit the ground hilt first.

It was like everything was moving in slow motion. She hit the ground with a dull thud, and pain shot through the back of her spine. She could see Dean, standing pale and tall, staring at her like she was something foul and undesirable. She could the hatred building up in his eyes. There was a softer thump on the ground, beside her. It was Jess' sword. It hit the ground hilt-first. There was a strange click, like a spring being released. And then…

"Jess!" she screamed. "No!"

Jess kneeled forwards, blood oozing from his stomach, smearing the yellowing grass underneath him a deep shade of crimson.

One thought echoed through his mind…

Rory, I'm so sorry…