Elrond was awake and ready when Glorfindel came for him, testing the edge of his sword with detached bloodthirstiness and a keen eye. It had not seen use for many years now, but he was satisfied with the way it still felt in his hand. Steel grey eyes rose to meet the worried blue ones with every semblance of long-forgotten battle lust.
There was no need for words as the two made their silent way to the designated clearing in the forest. None but a few would be gathered there, for Celeborn had judged that it was wisest to let the dual progress with as little interruption as possible. Elrond had completed the arrangements by clearing the snow from the forested area, suppressing his guilt for the abuse of Vilya's power for another time when he did not have to do battle with an elf that he despised so very much.
Arwen was not in attendance, having been calmly but firmly told to stay away by both her lover and her brothers. Elrond had asked Galadriel to stay with his daughter, to prevent her from needless anxiety. Indeed, he was actually very amused that the only one who seemed to hold any belief in his skill with a sword was himself. For his part, he relished the chance to knock some manners into his opponent's head.
"Are you ready, Elrond?" Celeborn asked quietly, still there in his capacity as judge.
"I am anxious to proceed," was all Elrond said, already focused on the task at hand.
Aurief simply nodded as he took his place in the centre of the clearing, mocking eyes for once serious and his entire demeanour that of a capable warrior on his highest guard. Elrond, by comparison, seemed almost nonchalant, settling lightly on his feet with all the breezy unconcern of a friendly sparring match.
"Begin."
When blade clanged to blade, it was clear why- Elrond's movements were fluid and beautiful to the eyes, his height and litheness perfectly in symmetry with his strength and vision; the whole made for a very formidable swordsman.
However, Elladan was disconcerted to note that Aurief was almost as good if not quite as nice to watch as his Ada. The strokes of his arm were not as clean or as talented, but what he lacked in instinct, he more than made up for in strategy. Elladan shared a worried look with his twin, knowing Elrohir would have seen it too.
Glorfindel was only happy to see that Elrond had at least bandaged the barely healed stomach cut tight, the white of the linen glaringly obvious as he wove through the flurry of attacks and a bare glimpse of his midsection could be seen. The blond leaned against a tree and sighed, prepared to wait it out; reclaiming of honours were usually very long and drawn-out duals unless one of the contestant's skill was just too impressive. For example, if Legolas had been shooting the bow against Aurief, the entire match would have finished with the first arrow. But as Aurief had predictably chosen the sword, Elrond would still have to fight for his victory.
It seemed a most depressing day with rain clouds racing through the sky like wild horses on the move, occasionally allowing the sun to glitter on bare trees for a moment before apologetically hiding away again. The dew and cold clung to the grass with tenuous grimness, as if deliberately trying to make it more dangerous for the fighters.
Aurief raised his sword, feinted and dove his way through Elrond's defences. But he miscalculated and the Elf Lord harmlessly stepped out of the way, a wide grin on his face as the 'Lorien elf steadied his footing and turned messily to face him again. Elrond deliberately provoked him by raising a cool eyebrow, sighing with mock impatience as he waited for his opponent to gather himself.
Aurief's face darkened as he quickly calculated another series of tries. Elrond did not even have the courtesy to hold his sword at the ready, leaving his hand apparently lax and unsettled. But the minute that the guard tried to knock the sword away, strong wrists parried with a double armed blow that sent shudders up through the assaulted weapon through the bone to lodge somewhere in Aurief's shoulder. It was a not-so-subtle warning of Elrond's expertise and Aurief did not appreciate it.
Legolas smiled from the tree he was currently perched in, one leg under him and the other dangling off the branch. He leaned comfortably against the bark and watched with his heart in his mouth. But he had almost whooped with glee when Elrond landed that most humiliating blow to Aurief's ego. So far the Elf Lord had barely even begun to breath faster, seemingly finding the Lothlorien guard's talent over-rated and too predictable.
Aurief was aware of Elrond's complaisance and he knew that he had the disadvantage of physical dexterity. He had simply never been born with the instinct for mindless fighting; but he had been born with an instinct for people! He watched Elrond closely, pressing him into a quick series of moves that kept the half-elf busy if not a little bored, trying to fix on the obvious weaknesses in his armour. There was nothing wrong with his stance or his grip- he was technically as close to perfection as one could hope to see- and his battle sense was finely honed by the best tutors and the most extreme of learning conditions. But there was one weakness- his interest in this battle.
"Well matched, dear one," he laughed, smiling to his opponent's immediately suspicious eyes, "You are truly a master of the sword. Or at least, of several kinds of swords."
"What exactly are you babbling about?"
"Why, I have seen you wield your... other sword, with as much expert knowledge as you wield this kind. Perhaps I chose the wrong weapon to dual with; the other would have been more pleasurable."
Elrond suddenly switched viciously from defence to offence, driving the smug elf back towards the trees. Aurief only just managed to evade a blow intended to slice him diagonally from shoulder to hip and pranced back to the middle.
Dark blue eyes sparkling, Aurief threw back his head and laughed, meeting the blow head on and parrying swiftly as the blows began to lose some of their strict accuracy. "You do not agree?" Aurief panted when they broke apart.
Elrond growled low in his throat at the very thought, feeling white-hot anger hook into his gut, pooling there until he thought he would go mad to slice right through that pretty smile. "It would be... most inconvenient," he called back, speaking as he spun back into the graceful dance, "You would need something... to bolster... your inadequacy."
Aureif scowled and Celeborn choked on his laughter, clapping a hand to his mouth to halt the intrusion of sound. Not that Elladan and Elrohir seemed to mind that; they laughed loudly with relief at their father's retort, hearing Legolas join them from his position on the other side of the clearing.
Aurief looked to the two with a contemptuous sniff. "I should have known not to leave our sons in your hands, Peredhil- they are low as you."
"If they do not take after you, I do not care," Elrond snapped, "And speak to your own crimes before you accuse my children."
"They are mine too," Aurief taunted briskly, "They carry my blood as well."
"Oh, I am healer for many things, Aurief. And I have stopped your infection from spreading to them."
"Tsk tsk tsk... such anger! Such bitterness! What? Your prince does not help you sleep at night?"
Elrond did not bother replying to that. He simply bent to his task and got Aurief locked into a fierce play of thrusts and counter-thrusts, hell-bent of making him eat the words against both his children and now the slander to Legolas. His anger was beginning to boil over and he bottled it tight, waiting like a true veteran for the right moment to unleash it on his foe. Gil-Galad had taught him the trick, telling him that passion was a good part of the armour of a warrior, but only at the right time. Many practise sessions and hard failures had it taken for him to learn the art. But once he had learned... he clasped his lips shut and poured all his concentration into the exact shift of Aurief's limbs, eyes fixed to the ebb and flow of Aurief's presence around him. Falling into a deep trance, he shut out the world around him, fixed only on the glitter of the blue eyes and the bright sword. All the rest faded to insignificance.
Elladan and Elrohir had been told by their father countless times about the need for patience and timing. They were renowned for their sword work as well. But now, as they watched their Ada up the stakes, they knew why Erestor and Glorfindel had joked that it was never a good idea to disturb the dormant passions of the Lord of Imladris.
But one had, and though Legolas had never been on the receiving end of a sword slice that ripped open the skin of his back, he knew what passion looked like on Elrond's face more than his sons did. And the sight of it here in a fairly public clearing made him extremely uncomfortable and heated, knowing that Celeborn's eyes were watching him knowingly from the Lord of Lothlorien's seat on a large tree root. It made him want to hide his face. He wished his Ada were here to see this for Thranduil had a gift with the sword as well, and the son was in sore need of the father's calming influence. But he knew better than to expect his father to care about something like this, especially not when there was an icy steward to be melted and won at the Last Homely House.
The sun began to climb and the dualists were engaging each other less and circling each other more, waiting for their second breathes to revive their flagging energy. Both had suffered minor injuries where Aurief had not whirled away fast enough and Elrond had slipped slightly on a wet patch of grass where his ankle twisted. But those were so irrelevant to the now tangible tension between the two that the aches and pain of battle were only spurs to further strike that deciding blow.
So, swaying on his feet as he surveyed the still entranced half-elf, it was Aurief who first noticed the exotic figure that strolled casually into the clearing and stood watching them. The grin on his face as he looked back to Elrond, snapped the Elf Lord's deep concentration and he tried to ignore the urge to look over his shoulder.
"Your mate has arrived," Aurief said sweetly.
Elrond frowned, not quite understanding.
"King Gorrofer. But he is a handsome man as far as these things go," Aurief breezed, panting as he allowed himself to be deftly repositioned so that Elrond could both fight and glimpse for himself, "I suppose... it is... where Arwen gets it? After all, who else but... a Peredhil... would ever love a human?"
The slur delivered, Aurief suddenly knew he had made a grave mistake. Needling Elrond to impatience was one thing; goading him beyond endurance was an entirely different matter all together. The elf had not only insulted him, but his beloved daughter and human foster son. There would be no mercy for that.
Legolas gasped when he saw those sharp features harden to a mask of the most terrifying hate. Celeborn frowned and straightened and Elladan and Elrohir actually took a step back when they saw someone else stand in the clearing that they had never before met. Glorfindel was privately of the opinion that none of the twins- for all their obsession with fighting orcs- could never hope to rival the violence that Elrond carried inside him. It was the type of cruelty that most of the best warriors carried and Glorfindel knew himself that it was the one thing that every true warrior had in common, no matter who they were or what their beliefs. It belied everything that the scholarly Lord of Imladris ever looked to be, and the icy depths of this were not easily invoked.
Elrond walked back a few steps, rolling his shoulders a little to ease the muscles. He raised the hilt of his sword to his heart as his lips moved in a brief but silent prayer to the Valar. Silver eyes blazed with vengeance and for one of the few times in his life Aurief felt desperation. Then the sword streamed at him with a Quenyan war cry, as the elven legend of an age past broke through his restraints and reminded the Lothlorien guard why the name of Elrond was held in such high regard.
The battle did not last much longer. Aurief was already exhausted and although Legolas had twisted his fingers in nervousness as the dark-haired elf swiftly turned the tables on his adversary, Elrond had not let this bother him, ceding ground and blood with a snarling smile that proved the stinging pain would only fuel his exertions.
By the sun's highest point in the sky, it was over. Aurief lay on the ground and Elrond stood over him, near to exhaustion but still standing, steadily tracing a thin line of red into the elf's throat. Legolas and the twins came forward, knowing that they needed to make him stop the final blow.
But Elrond knew that himself. He was tired, so very tired, and his anger had drained away to mere jadedness. Nothing would come of death; he knew that. The very thought of returning to his home to pick up his innocent elfling with blood-stained hands was revolting, one that refused to let him simply give up and end the fight.
"Ada, leave him be," Elrohir called, "Let him go. He's lost everything anyway."
And in a point of fact Aurief had. He was a citizen of No-Man's Land, exiled from his elven kingdom and lost to honour and respect. He turned his head away from the intense burn of grey eyes. All his life he had been the one of top, staring down into those resigned grey eyes as he'd asserted his dominance. And now he was on the ground too shattered and too weightless to do more than pray for death.
Elrond stepped back, his sword still aimed at his conquest's throat. He wanted... no, needed, one more thing for this to be over. "Apologize," he said quietly, "And I will let you go."
Aurief did not open his eyes. "I have no need of life, half-elf. Kill me now." His fingers twitched as he tightened his fist weakly. "Please!"
"No. You will stand and you will be taken to a room in my house. You will be given a bath, clothes, food and your mount. Then you will apologize to my family and you will be escorted to the borders. And you will live with your crimes and your hatred; you have nothing else left to you."
The sword fell from nerveless fingers and Elrond sank, his faltering strength gone. Legolas managed to steady him but the blond was too slight and Glorfindel luckily took his Lord before both Elrond and Legolas landed in a tangle of limbs. Celeborn ignored the commotion, walking instead to Aurief to help him up.
The Lothlorien elf was in almost as bad a shape, having been sorely tested in the last two hours of their battle when Elrond went straight for his throat. He was bitterly certain that he could not even feel his sword arm any more, and that the deepish gash in his side was going to get infected due to his roll on the grass. He kept his eyes fixed firmly to the ground, not even bothered to show respect to Celeborn as the Elf Lord helped him from the clearing.
Gorrofer smirked gently to himself, eyes shining as he remembered the way that the lithe body had swept through air and space, seasoned muscles bunching and pulling with well-oiled precision. And the precision had been deadly and dangerous. Gorrofer wistfully longed to pit Elrond against one of his own personal bodyguards in a fight to the death, just to see more of that magnificent ruthlessness. The Elf Lord fought like an assassin!
And therein lay the problem. The man sighed, making his way back with characteristic languor, already discarding his mating slave in his mind; it would be sheer bad taste to keep an elf like that on a chain.