A/N: here it is, the moment you've all been waiting for, THE DUEL!!! special thanks to taran for helping me write this (actually, she wrote most of it b/c she was annoyed that i hadn't written it yet) and to chasm (again) for allowing me to try to knock off his balance by kicking the backs of his knees (it sort of worked, and besides, i have the advantage of artistic licence).
i'm introducing a new character that is a prevalent part of another fanfic i've been toying with. i thought this would be a good chance to bring him into the mix (no, he is not the ONE).
**disclaimer** i own nothing except for mista, riordan, harrana, and the occurrences in the duel. i don't even own the dueling style. i stole it from the sca (society for creative anachronism). anyways, i hope you enjoy it!
Chapter XIII
April, T.A. 3021
"And then I challenged him to an Amrothian duel!" crowed Lothiriel. It was late in the evening, and she was relating the details of her day to her friend as they dressed for bed. "You should have seen his face! It was priceless!"
Mista laughed alongside her friend. "This sounds perfectly wonderful, Lothiriel, but what exactly *is* an Amrothian-style duel?"
"That's the best part. I have no idea!" The two burst into fresh peals of laughter.
"I suppose you'll have to come up with something in the morning," said Mista. "But for now, let's sleep. You must save your energy, you know." And with a last burst of giggles, she blew out the candle, and they both drifted into sleep.
************
On the other side of the palace, Eomer was pacing in his room. The coming duel was a paradox: if he beat her, it would be an unfair match, for he was the stronger of the two by far. But if he lost, he became a source of amusement for his men. There was no way around it; he would have to beat her, but not so much that she would hate him.
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he said.
Riordan, the king's bard and one of his most trusted advisors, entered the room. "Milord, you called for me?"
"Yes. You have been to Dol Amroth before, haven't you?"
The dark-skinned man nodded.
"Good." Eomer paced some more. "I need any information you might have on how they go about their duels."
"Their duels?" inquired the bard. "I don't understand." Actually, he knew perfectly well what the king was talking about and had no idea how to tell him what an Amrothian duel entailed.
"You have heard about the duel the Lady Lothiriel is having against me at noon tomorrow, yes?" Riordan made a little half-nod, neither admitting he had, nor denying it. "I need to know how their duels work, so I know best what tactics to use."
The bard cringed slightly. He had seen a duel in Dol Amroth between two men over a lady. It wasn't a pretty sight: they had fought to the death, but the winner was now scarred and missing an ear. Riordan rubbed his own ear at the memory. "Sire, I never saw a duel take place there, though I doubt it could be much different from the duels we have here," he lied.
Eomer sighed. He would have to be careful he did not hurt the princess. "Thank you, Riordan, that is all." The man nodded and turned to go. "Oh, Riordan?"
He turned back to the king. "Yes, your majesty?"
"Your lady will send you a message. Have faith in her. She has a long journey before she gets home."
"I know, sir." The bard left.
Eomer sighed again. His friend was so lonely, but there was nothing to be done about it. No one had seen the lady Harrana in nearly three years--not since Eowyn and Riordan had helped her escape Minas Tirith. She had promised she would find him again, but it seemed that she had forgotten him after all.
************
The next day dawned bright and clear. Lothiriel woke and dressed in another of Eowyn's tunics, though she opted for a pair of Mista's pants because they fit her better. She pulled her long hair back into a braid and wound it on top of her head, binding it with a leather thong. Mista helped her stretch her legs and arms. "Have you figured out how the duel will work?" she asked.
"I have indeed." Lothiriel grinned. "You remember when my cousins and brothers had mock fights?" Mista nodded. "I was thinking we could have the duel in the same fashion. That way I don't have to worry about getting my arms hacked off because I haven't had much practice with a glaive in so long."
"A glaive?" exclaimed Mista. "Where do you expect to find one?"
Lothiriel shrugged. "Our weapons will be wooden. I'll break a staff in half and use it."
The two finished their stretches and made their way to the great hall for breakfast.
************
In his room, Eomer was dressing as well. His squire helped him put on his armor, polishing it to a golden hue that matched the sun in the sky. Riordan brought him breakfast, a loaf of bread and some cheese. Eomer would not leave his room until just before the duel.
************
It was nearly midday. Lothiriel and Mista had been waiting at the arena for some time, watching as the gathering crowd grew. It seemed that the whole of Edoras had come to watch their monarch and soon-to-be-monarch battle it out. Lothiriel should have known: there had been too many soldiers around yesterday.
At last, the king made his way down to the arena, followed by Riordan and others of his entourage. Lothiriel and Mista nearly burst into laughter when they saw his garb: he was dressed in full armor and looked ready to battle a full battalion of orcs. He strode into the arena and looked at the princess like she was insane for not wearing armor.
"Milord," she began, "you would do well to remove your armor, for it will no doubt hinder you."
Eomer scowled at Lothiriel. "You would have done well to tell me thus before now."
"You did not ask, milord." Lothiriel grinned as he began pulling off his gear. "Now, the rules of Amrothian duel are quite simple. We each receive a wooden weapon, so that we do not truly injure our opponent. We will face off in the arena, using normal hand-to-hand combat tactics. If your opponent strikes your arm, you lose that arm, and it must hang limp; likewise, your leg, if struck, is no longer useful, and you must hop about on one leg. The first of us to hit the ground is the loser. However, do not try to truly injure your opponent, for that will be considered a forfeit. Understood?"
"Sounds easy enough." Eomer had gotten the last of his armor off and was standing in his tunic and trousers. "One thing, though. If you win, your honor will be restored, but what do I gain if *I* win?" he asked.
"What ever you wish...within reason." Lothiriel replied with caution because a mischievious grin had crept onto the face of the king.
"Within reason....." He stroked his chin. "How about a kiss? It is innocent enough." This pronouncement was followed by many whistles and cat-calls from the soldiers.
Lothiriel blushed slightly, but said in a confident tone, "Very well, you battle for a kiss. Now, what weapon will you choose?"
Eomer took a wooden sword from the racks by the stable and gave it an experimental swing, testing its balance. He nodded his approval and asked, "What will your weapon be?"
"Have you any lances?" Immediately, three were brought from the practice armory. Lothiriel took the thickest. She brought it to her knee, saying, "Mind if I...?"
"By all means," replied Eomer.
Lothiriel broke it in half with a resounding crack. She rotated both halves in her hands and tossed the longer piece aside. "Ready?" she asked.
"A king is always ready," Eomer answered, twirling his sword.
He stood, muscles loose, sword at the ready. Lothiriel faced him, turned slightly to the side, her glaive up in the guard position as her brothers had taught her years ago. The pair circled, searching for weaknesses, trying out a few measured blows. Suddenly, Eomer bellowed a war cry and rushed forward. Lothiriel, who had not started at his shout, parried his blows easily. He drew back to renew his attack, but Lothiriel chose that moment to swing her glaive. Eomer parried, but barely. She feigned right, placed her glaive for balance, raised her left leg, and kicked the backs of Eomer's knees. She planted her left foot back on the ground and swung her glaive into his stomach. His legs buckled, and he fell forward, but as he did so, he grabbed Lothiriel's legs, dragging her down with him.
The crowd cheered, unsure of the winner, but cheered just the same. Eomer stood up and leaned over top of Lothiriel. He extended his hand. "I think, my lady, that we shall call it a draw."
"But that means that neither of us gets what we want, and so my honor is not restored," she said as she took his hand.
He helped her up, talking just loud enough that she could hear him. "Or, we could say that both of us win, and then we both get what we want." He grinned. "Your honor is restored, my lady," he said, making sure the crowd heard him. Eomer made a sweeping bow, to the delight of their audience.
"And the kiss?" she inquired softly.
"I will save it for another day," he whispered in her ear. "When there are not so many witnesses."
A/N: and so the duel ends! now you must be wondering when the kiss will come. well, you'll just have to stick around and find out, won't you? oh, yes, i'm horrible. torturing reviewers is almost as much fun as torturing the characters, so you'll have to forgive me. up next: a weaponry discussion, and they *finally* decide to go to dol amroth so you can meet HIM..........
i'm introducing a new character that is a prevalent part of another fanfic i've been toying with. i thought this would be a good chance to bring him into the mix (no, he is not the ONE).
**disclaimer** i own nothing except for mista, riordan, harrana, and the occurrences in the duel. i don't even own the dueling style. i stole it from the sca (society for creative anachronism). anyways, i hope you enjoy it!
Chapter XIII
April, T.A. 3021
"And then I challenged him to an Amrothian duel!" crowed Lothiriel. It was late in the evening, and she was relating the details of her day to her friend as they dressed for bed. "You should have seen his face! It was priceless!"
Mista laughed alongside her friend. "This sounds perfectly wonderful, Lothiriel, but what exactly *is* an Amrothian-style duel?"
"That's the best part. I have no idea!" The two burst into fresh peals of laughter.
"I suppose you'll have to come up with something in the morning," said Mista. "But for now, let's sleep. You must save your energy, you know." And with a last burst of giggles, she blew out the candle, and they both drifted into sleep.
************
On the other side of the palace, Eomer was pacing in his room. The coming duel was a paradox: if he beat her, it would be an unfair match, for he was the stronger of the two by far. But if he lost, he became a source of amusement for his men. There was no way around it; he would have to beat her, but not so much that she would hate him.
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he said.
Riordan, the king's bard and one of his most trusted advisors, entered the room. "Milord, you called for me?"
"Yes. You have been to Dol Amroth before, haven't you?"
The dark-skinned man nodded.
"Good." Eomer paced some more. "I need any information you might have on how they go about their duels."
"Their duels?" inquired the bard. "I don't understand." Actually, he knew perfectly well what the king was talking about and had no idea how to tell him what an Amrothian duel entailed.
"You have heard about the duel the Lady Lothiriel is having against me at noon tomorrow, yes?" Riordan made a little half-nod, neither admitting he had, nor denying it. "I need to know how their duels work, so I know best what tactics to use."
The bard cringed slightly. He had seen a duel in Dol Amroth between two men over a lady. It wasn't a pretty sight: they had fought to the death, but the winner was now scarred and missing an ear. Riordan rubbed his own ear at the memory. "Sire, I never saw a duel take place there, though I doubt it could be much different from the duels we have here," he lied.
Eomer sighed. He would have to be careful he did not hurt the princess. "Thank you, Riordan, that is all." The man nodded and turned to go. "Oh, Riordan?"
He turned back to the king. "Yes, your majesty?"
"Your lady will send you a message. Have faith in her. She has a long journey before she gets home."
"I know, sir." The bard left.
Eomer sighed again. His friend was so lonely, but there was nothing to be done about it. No one had seen the lady Harrana in nearly three years--not since Eowyn and Riordan had helped her escape Minas Tirith. She had promised she would find him again, but it seemed that she had forgotten him after all.
************
The next day dawned bright and clear. Lothiriel woke and dressed in another of Eowyn's tunics, though she opted for a pair of Mista's pants because they fit her better. She pulled her long hair back into a braid and wound it on top of her head, binding it with a leather thong. Mista helped her stretch her legs and arms. "Have you figured out how the duel will work?" she asked.
"I have indeed." Lothiriel grinned. "You remember when my cousins and brothers had mock fights?" Mista nodded. "I was thinking we could have the duel in the same fashion. That way I don't have to worry about getting my arms hacked off because I haven't had much practice with a glaive in so long."
"A glaive?" exclaimed Mista. "Where do you expect to find one?"
Lothiriel shrugged. "Our weapons will be wooden. I'll break a staff in half and use it."
The two finished their stretches and made their way to the great hall for breakfast.
************
In his room, Eomer was dressing as well. His squire helped him put on his armor, polishing it to a golden hue that matched the sun in the sky. Riordan brought him breakfast, a loaf of bread and some cheese. Eomer would not leave his room until just before the duel.
************
It was nearly midday. Lothiriel and Mista had been waiting at the arena for some time, watching as the gathering crowd grew. It seemed that the whole of Edoras had come to watch their monarch and soon-to-be-monarch battle it out. Lothiriel should have known: there had been too many soldiers around yesterday.
At last, the king made his way down to the arena, followed by Riordan and others of his entourage. Lothiriel and Mista nearly burst into laughter when they saw his garb: he was dressed in full armor and looked ready to battle a full battalion of orcs. He strode into the arena and looked at the princess like she was insane for not wearing armor.
"Milord," she began, "you would do well to remove your armor, for it will no doubt hinder you."
Eomer scowled at Lothiriel. "You would have done well to tell me thus before now."
"You did not ask, milord." Lothiriel grinned as he began pulling off his gear. "Now, the rules of Amrothian duel are quite simple. We each receive a wooden weapon, so that we do not truly injure our opponent. We will face off in the arena, using normal hand-to-hand combat tactics. If your opponent strikes your arm, you lose that arm, and it must hang limp; likewise, your leg, if struck, is no longer useful, and you must hop about on one leg. The first of us to hit the ground is the loser. However, do not try to truly injure your opponent, for that will be considered a forfeit. Understood?"
"Sounds easy enough." Eomer had gotten the last of his armor off and was standing in his tunic and trousers. "One thing, though. If you win, your honor will be restored, but what do I gain if *I* win?" he asked.
"What ever you wish...within reason." Lothiriel replied with caution because a mischievious grin had crept onto the face of the king.
"Within reason....." He stroked his chin. "How about a kiss? It is innocent enough." This pronouncement was followed by many whistles and cat-calls from the soldiers.
Lothiriel blushed slightly, but said in a confident tone, "Very well, you battle for a kiss. Now, what weapon will you choose?"
Eomer took a wooden sword from the racks by the stable and gave it an experimental swing, testing its balance. He nodded his approval and asked, "What will your weapon be?"
"Have you any lances?" Immediately, three were brought from the practice armory. Lothiriel took the thickest. She brought it to her knee, saying, "Mind if I...?"
"By all means," replied Eomer.
Lothiriel broke it in half with a resounding crack. She rotated both halves in her hands and tossed the longer piece aside. "Ready?" she asked.
"A king is always ready," Eomer answered, twirling his sword.
He stood, muscles loose, sword at the ready. Lothiriel faced him, turned slightly to the side, her glaive up in the guard position as her brothers had taught her years ago. The pair circled, searching for weaknesses, trying out a few measured blows. Suddenly, Eomer bellowed a war cry and rushed forward. Lothiriel, who had not started at his shout, parried his blows easily. He drew back to renew his attack, but Lothiriel chose that moment to swing her glaive. Eomer parried, but barely. She feigned right, placed her glaive for balance, raised her left leg, and kicked the backs of Eomer's knees. She planted her left foot back on the ground and swung her glaive into his stomach. His legs buckled, and he fell forward, but as he did so, he grabbed Lothiriel's legs, dragging her down with him.
The crowd cheered, unsure of the winner, but cheered just the same. Eomer stood up and leaned over top of Lothiriel. He extended his hand. "I think, my lady, that we shall call it a draw."
"But that means that neither of us gets what we want, and so my honor is not restored," she said as she took his hand.
He helped her up, talking just loud enough that she could hear him. "Or, we could say that both of us win, and then we both get what we want." He grinned. "Your honor is restored, my lady," he said, making sure the crowd heard him. Eomer made a sweeping bow, to the delight of their audience.
"And the kiss?" she inquired softly.
"I will save it for another day," he whispered in her ear. "When there are not so many witnesses."
A/N: and so the duel ends! now you must be wondering when the kiss will come. well, you'll just have to stick around and find out, won't you? oh, yes, i'm horrible. torturing reviewers is almost as much fun as torturing the characters, so you'll have to forgive me. up next: a weaponry discussion, and they *finally* decide to go to dol amroth so you can meet HIM..........