Favors - Dedicated to ...well... Everyone that ish mai friend, a fan of FE, and has a liking for shounen-ai.
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Some time had passed since the war over Elibe. Things had become rather quiet - peaceful, one might say. The various nations were piecing together the remains of what they hoped would become a better future.
The thief flicked his nose in taunt as his friend stared in disbelief. "You s-still have that!" the other exclaimed, "MATTHEW!" The thief let out a soft laugh, eyes dancing with merriment. Up to his old mischief, it seemed.
"You still owe me four favors, and I intend to make certain you see it through," the thief replied casually, glancing down at his nails with sudden interest.
The swordmaster lunged for the piece of parchment with a growl. Having this little thing dangled over his head for the last... what was it now? five years? had driven him beyond insanity.
The thief ducked to his left and skittered beyond reach. Blowing a raspberry at the other, he weaves into some nearby brush. The swordmaster, intent on stripping the thief of his toy, raced after.
Past trees, under low branches, over logs they ran. Something, however, was bound to happen. They expected this lack of luck to affect the swordmaster... and in turn shocked them both.
The thief stopped dead, barely in time to catch himself on a cliff. Oh great. Cornered. Hopefully the swordmaster meant simply to destroy the paper. He had been promised that should he manage to destroy the thing, the debt would be cancelled... but he wouldn't take it over the thief's corpse, would he?
Lady luck may not have sided with the thief this day, but so long as she wasn't clutching the swordmaster, there was always a chance for recovery.
The thief ducked back in the direction they came, drawing his blade to parry as the other's came down upon him. Maybe his taunting had gone too far... Maybe the swordmaster had finally snapped... What if it wasn't the parchment he intended to shred? ...What if... he had become like his master in the art...
The thief shook his head violently at the thought, scrambling onward. That couldn't be possible. Never in a million years could those lips still bear a stutter and mean real damage on him... could they?
The swordmaster seemed to have picked up in stamina since they'd met. Normally by now he would be tuckered out and wordlessly admitting the day's defeat. Something of this was beginning to panic the other.
"Unreal..." the thief muttered, finding himself cornered yet again. He made a cursory glance to his left and right before breaking off in another direction. Each hesitation closed the distance between them, and he was running out of room.
However... perhaps the swordmaster was simply looking for a battle... If that were indeed the case, then perhaps the thief should not disappoint. Gripping the hilt of his short sword, he turned to face the other. The swordmaster was much closer than anticipated, barely giving him the chance to dodge.
The blades clashed furiously, metal grinding against metal. Dammit! When did that weak little myrmidon get so strong! Well... Maybe the lack of scrawneyness should have been the first clue. No pallor, a little meat on his bones... The swordmaster had been taking care of himself since they parted ways - much unlike his myrmidon self.
The thief backed from the sheer force from strike after strike, the fury of the attack. It seemed vaguely familiar... like when the swordmaster trained with that demon... The other meant every blow, didn't he? This was no mock battle.
The short sword shot up into the air, sending the harsh glare of a full noon sun down upon them, and buried itself in the earth nearby. The thief lunged to snatch it, not directing enough attention upon the swordmaster to realize the other had sheathed his weapon.
Before he could reach it, a leg swept behind him and jerked him off his feet. His body hit the ground only inches from where the fallen blade lay. He reached out for it, finding the arm pinned. A knee to his belly, he could move no further.
The swordmaster snatched the item his adversary sought and drove into the ground. Having nearly been scathed by his own steel, the thief swallowed hard. He reached as nimbly as his trembling fingers could into the folds of his cloak and withdrew the parchment this other sought.
"Take it!" he pleaded, demanding the other's mercy.
The swordmaster leaned down over him, tired breaths on his ear. He placed a kiss on the thief's jaw before muttering "One down... three to go."