Chapter 39 - The Challenge

"I want to spend more time with you under the leaves of Ithilien," Legolas confessed, his eyes unwavering and his tone serious. They lounged together on her bed, deciding to relax there rather than separate on the small chairs her room provided. Another night they needed to forego under the stars due to light spring rains again finding their way down onto the city's cobbled streets. However, they admittedly desired the intimacy that being behind closed doors provided them; to converse while wrapped in each other's arms was a lover's joy, even if they had yet to make love.

"As do I," Vezely replied in similar tone, propping her head up on one hand, "But with council meetings filling your days, I don't think going at night is a good idea."

"Council is merely a complication," he said optimistically, brushing off concern and implying he thought there could be a way around his attendance.

She smirked, deciding to tease him, "You should not skirt your duties and run off into the woods with a harlot. What would your father think?"

His laughter was followed by her own, along with a bright grin brought on by her enjoyment of teasing him, the sight of which stalled Legolas's breath momentarily. Vezely was not conventionally beautiful to Elven eyes upon first appearance. Even he admitted his own physical attraction to her started because he found himself curious of her differences; how she moved, acted, and spoke was strange and unexpected by one of his kindred. But in time he realized her beauty was hidden behind her uniqueness; covered up by her stern demeanor, strange jewelry, androgynous garments, and shorn locks, which he had not seen on a grown woman of any race in Middle Earth before. But having since accepted and become accustomed to them, he realized she possessed a beauty worthy of one who belonged to the line of Luthien; the fairest being ever known to Elves or men. But he feared telling her this, for he did not believe she cared for such compliments and perhaps, he thought, they might even offend her.

"What is it?" she asked quizzically, bringing him out of his brief trance.

He shook his head, pushing these thoughts aside as he breathed in deeply, saying instead his other thoughts on her joy, "It uplifts my heart to see you laugh, and I never again wish to see you cry."

Emotion drained from her face, as she felt ashamed about her breakdown earlier, "I never cry," she validated firmly, "But these days have been taxing."

"You need not explain," he smiled softly, not surprised by her defense, "For tears can just as easily find their way to my eyes for the trials you go through."

She moved her hand to the side of his face, now concern for him removing her own worries over having appeared weak. "I wish these burdens were not yours to bear."

He lightly pressed her hand to his cheek, continuing his thoughts, "To love you and desire your joy is not a burden."

"But I hold you to waiting and uncertainty," she said carefully.

"Not uncertainty," he corrected her, enjoying the warmth of her hand against his face, "I know you will return and one day we will look back on this brief time and realize we should not have spent these days in sorrow."

"I wish I could be as forward looking as you," she replied, admiring his resolve.

He spoke to her endearingly, "The young are not use to the length of time allotted us. We are bound to Arda and our marriage will bind us together, making it impossible to spend forever apart." These were the thoughts that kept him strong, he realized, stabilizing him despite the constant and uncomfortable pull of the sea and a growing sadness over the inevitable death of his mortal friends; thinking of this future with her provided him some calm.

Vezely soaked in his words. Neither dared speak of what they knew remained uncertain - her entrance into Valinor. Their fleeting hours together should be spent discussing their joys, rather than their woes, she told herself before replying. "We have not discussed marriage for some time," she brought up a delicate, though pleasant topic, "Upon my return perhaps we can even have a proper ceremony."

Legolas felt some heat rush to his cheeks upon the mention to discuss marriage since he was lying aside her on a bed, having been hesitantly led over to the bed when they first entered her quarters; reminding himself that he had already strayed quite outside of what was proper for their time of courtship. For Elves, marriage was not the ceremony itself, but the act of love making. And while they could forego a ceremony, it would be considered improper to do so; especially for the son of Thranduil and in a time of renewed peace. Vezely cared deeply about his reputation, and he knew this. Brushing away his sudden embarrassment, he replied, "My father would appreciate that."

She watched charmed as the flush that graced his cheeks fluttered away and he regained some composure, for it was during these times he appeared as a young boy who was not the wise Elf who had seen centuries pass him by. She added wondering, "And would it please you, to hold such a ceremony?"

"It would please me to have our union celebrated and blessed before our kin under the leaves of the fair forest that bore us. To proudly stand aside you and for all those who look upon us that day to envy the love we have found during dark times, unexpected, but true," he then intertwined his fingers with hers as if affirming its importance through the symbol of clasping their two hands together.

His strong words moved her to further realize the ceremony held importance to him not only for propriety's sake, but for her own reputation; he so desired her acceptance and their relationship's acceptance. Rolling over on her back, and adjusting herself closer to him, she placed their intertwined hands on her chest. He now looked down upon her from his propped elbow as she spoke, "I have never seen an Elvish marriage ceremony. Perhaps you should describe it to me so I can envision this future event with you."

Legolas swallowed slightly at her sudden closeness, again remembering where they lay. While his eyes were at first focused on her lips as she spoke, they strayed down her neck, trailing to where she held his hand, dangerously close to her breasts, and he noted a strong desire to kiss her and to have those kisses follow that line. Composing his thoughts, he began to explain the ceremony, detailing those expected to be attendance, what gifts would be given and what vows would be taken. Vez did not let her regret show that she had no close kin to take part, though equally regretful that Legolas's mother would also be absent.

"...You would be adorned in a gown of pale silver, your hair soft and loose," he removed his hand from hers and trailed his fingers up her neck, outlining her ear, bringing his fingertips to her short hair; not often did he touch it he realized. He brushed her fringe away from her forehead, noting its pleasant texture as he did. "And a garland of flowers would sit upon it..."

Vez interrupted firmly, "I would not put flowers in my hair."

"Even if I had flowers in mine," he replied wondering why such a custom brought outright refusal and amusement as she now chuckled slightly over what he just mentioned of his own adornment. Even his father wore a crown of flowers in the springtime, and especially for the Elves of the Woodland Realm, the integration of nature's beauty into every aspect of the ceremony was deemed essential. For Vezely, the pomp of this gathering, the fanciful garbs, the rituals, and the thought of being adorned with flowers were strange to her Balchoth senses, but still she marveled in imagining it and was glad he shared with her its details.

"Tell me then, what of the Balchoth wedding ceremony?" he queried, touching the tip of her nose as her chuckles stopped and he watched as the pink hue her laughter caused on her cheeks faded and she breathed deeply.

"Lots of drinking. Eating. Fighting," she listed them slowly, grinning throughout.

"Fighting?" he asked confused.

"A little friendly competition between the houses to be joined. Usually no one gets killed," she added bluntly, causing his eyes to widen which was exactly the reaction she expected. "And no flowers," she added a second later for more personal amusement.

"But you will wear flowers at ours," he replied back with conviction, "White flowers, for they will appear even more radiant against the perfect dark color of your hair."

"Perfect dark color? Are you complimenting my hair?" she narrowed her eyes suspicious of his angle, for he had not provided her many compliments, especially any pertaining to her locks so she assumed he was teasing her. So she replied back in kind, "And hair deemed too short by Elvish standards?"

But he replied in a courteous tone, "It is short indeed my lady, but far lovelier in color than any I have seen, as are your eyes which have hews that mix the bluest sky and newest spring leaves. While your pale skin," he ran a finger softly down her nose, patting ever so lightly a finger on her sparse freckles, "Is graced by the markings of the stars, for you are blessed with their beauty."

A displeased look came over her face as she was not so amused by him mentioning all this in jest and she scrunched her nose, remarking bluntly, "You are teasing me."

"I do not tease," he spoke firmly, looking into her eyes with conviction, and forgetting his prior fear of reprimand, he stated sincerely, "You are beautiful, Vezely. A truth I should have told you sooner."

Any emotion she could have had was locked inside her, for she did not know how to respond to such a heartfelt compliment, and one which held no sinister desire behind it. Indeed, she has been called beautiful by ragged men who lusted for her but she took no heed of it.

Worried by her lukewarm reaction, Legolas apologized softly, "I am sorry if I offended you."

She shook her head, a small smile slowly finding its way to her lips, "No, I am sorry to have reacted as such to kind words." They stared deeply into each other's eyes, appreciating the other in silence, and Vez noted her breath deepening and heartbeat quickening as she realized he looked upon her in that way; that he saw her as beautiful. After a long moment of equal admiration, she returned them to their prior conversation, "I have a feeling," she bit her lip, moving her hand along his robe's collar, "Both ceremonies end the same for the betrothed." A slight blush was brought back to his cheeks as he knew she referred to the act of love making. She grinned at his boyish reaction, "And that is the best part," she added watching him closely, her hand sliding from his collar to his bare neck, trailing them to the first clasp of his robe, the feeling making him close his eyes in pleasure of her touch, "Just you and I, no need for gowns or flowers, or special vows. So simple." He opened his eyes when spoke his name, "Legolas," and the sound was softer than he had heard her say it before, and she spoke to him assuredly, her hand now on the side of his face, "I long for that day where I will stand by your side in front of our kin, flowers adorned in our hair, speaking the vows to bless our union. We shall have a proper ceremony and it will be even more than we had hoped, for that will be the day we truly start our lives together." She desired to let him know it mattered to her as to him; that she could wait to marry him if he so desired it.

An appreciative smile found its way to his lips, and he lay down next to her, embracing her in his arms, and she nuzzled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and placing her hand on his chest. He took her hand and re-entwined their fingers, saying softly, "Thoughts of that day will be a constant on my mind while you are away."

"As they will for me," she replied quietly, the patter of the rain only now being heard as they rested in each other's arms.

"You are headed to the prisons this morning then?" Legolas confirmed before he left her room to prepare for the morning's council, before which he would have breakfast with his father.

She nodded, "I've been permitted to address the men on council findings, and to gauge their preparedness to leave," alluding to having scheduled this allowance with Faramir. And while the Steward would be absent, attending the first of the day's council meetings, the translator, Derufin, was expected to observe and keep track of all that was said in order to report back to him.

"You should join the ambassadors for lunch then, as my guest," he cupped her face in her hands.

"Your guest?" she raised an eyebrow, "We are moving forward then?" querying his intentions of announcing their betrothal.

"I was hoping we could, even if slowly," he confessed, "I will discuss it further with my father, but know, I do not intend for you to leave for Rhun without it being announced."

"Legolas," she protested, but he hushed her with a finger pressed against her lips.

"My guest, at lunch," he lectured, "Which today is being held in the central courtyard."

She breathed in after he removed his finger, "Very well, my lord," she stated with mild displeasure at being instructed like a child.

The smile of victory that stretched across his face caused her to break her stern demeanor, and he leaned in to kiss her farewell before leaving, the softness of which only left her desiring more. "Until then," he whispered, his lips yet hovering before hers, and their eyes still closed. She nodded and breathed in, realizing only he could easily get her to succumb to such demands.

Thranduil greeted Legolas at the entrance to his quarters, leading him to the veranda where a simple breakfast of tea and fresh fruit was laid out for them on the balcony's small table. Thranduil beheld the grand view his balcony allotted with reverence before being seated, his son following suit after him. "You were bold last night," the aged Elf initiated the conversation, "Being late together and exchanging glances at every chance possible. I assumed you would make an announcement."

Legolas's eyes focused on the porcelain teacup in front of him, and he reached for the teapot to pour his father and then himself a cup of tea. The motion being an attempt to stop a smirk from forming on his face; knowing quite well he made his father uncomfortable last night. He responded politely after he was done, "I would not do so without you knowing in advance."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes as he watched his son's actions, replying bluntly, "Well, you have already sparked curiosity in Lord Celeborn, and if you continue your public displays, an announcement will not be necessary."

"That could make it easier," he considered in seriousness, his tone not hiding that he truly understood the weight of it.

Thranduil breathed in deeply, finding again his will to aid his son, to not abandon him or deem the desires of his heart as unimportant, even if he saw this partnership as ill-fated. He added as if defeated, "Different though her manner may be, last night she did prove herself humble, and open to council. Neither Lord Elrond nor Lord Celeborn spoke unkind of her after your departure." Realizing his father lightened his attitude, Legolas met his gaze, showing appreciation for sharing this. "So, what are your intentions then?" he asked, returning to his less kind demeanor as he picked up his teacup and saucer, "I doubt you intend a proper betrothal, seeing as it has been an improper courtship."

Legolas could not deny he felt both regret and some guilty pleasure in straying outside these expectations. He cloaked these mixed feelings by responding sincerely, "It has not been proper for obvious reasons. But we do intend to hold a proper ceremony upon her return."

"You will wait then?" His father responded surprised.

"Is that not what you expect?" he asked after taking sip of tea, encouraging him to share his thoughts.

Thranduil set the teacup down in front of him and adjusted in his chair before responding, "I know these are not normal circumstances and she is not a normal Elf. But I think it is prudent you wait." He then reached into his pocket and removed a small, intricately carved wooden box. Clasping it in his hand, he hesitantly handed it to his son from across the table, garnering a curious look from the young Elf who took and opened it. "These are your mother's and my betrothal rings, and my father and mother's before that," he stated as Legolas looked upon the polished silver bands; simple though they were, yet special and significant to his family line. "I intended to give these to you if you agreed to court Lady Adele," he added uncomfortably, "And it would be wrong of me to withhold them from you."

Legolas's eyes were transfixed on the two ancient rings while listening to his father's words before returning them to his; seeing in them the paternal devotion he yet held. "Father, you honor me," he said in heartfelt gratitude, though the words were harmful to Thranduil's ears, for he knew he had not honored his son's choice from the start. Legolas closed the box and warmly smiled back down upon it, looking forward to exchanging these rings as a token of their partnership before she left. Thranduil did not linger on the subject, however, and decidedly moved them onto another, namely the re-sowing of the forests of Ithilien, and plans for a small migration of Silvan Elves from his woods to assist him. He considered the rings as the last token of his stated acceptance of his son's decision; hoping from now until her departure, it would be smoother for the couple, and that he could simply limit his involvement.

"Lady Vez," Derufin greeted the Easterling-Elf at the gate; his proud stance showing he took his orders from the Steward to attend her seriously. But instead of stopping to greet the translator, Vezely continued walking right past him, making him catch up to her side. With a slight puffing out of his chest, trying to find his courage in his broad stature, Derufin stated, "I heard you held council with two prisoners yesterday without official consent."

Vez held the smirk from her face as she replied disinterested in the man's attempt at reprimand, "I did meet with two of my men," emphasizing it as her leadership right, "If the Steward takes issue, he can certainly tell me himself."

Derufin realized it was pointless in being the bearer of Faramir's complaints, for she took no heed in him. "Very well," he replied trying to keep pace with her march. "The guards are already stationed in their usual corners on the second level, and I will be there as well, transcribing your conversation."

"You don't desire to attend my side?" she asked with one eyebrow raised, finally observing him as she stopped before the entry gate.

"If you are addressing all the men at once, I should have no issue with hearing your words," he explained firmly, though truthfully not desiring to go inside the gates if he could avoid it.

"Very well," she remarked bluntly. Desiring to show solidarity with her men and address them unarmed, Vez then removed the sai from the sides of her boots, making Derufin step back in fear of the gesture. She turned the knives in her hands once before offering them, handles outward, to the guard who stood aside the entry gate; the one she often gave trouble to when there. "Hold these," she commanded him nonchalantly, and he outstretched his hands as if he were one of her own guardsmen bid to follow orders. "I wouldn't drop those if I were you," she remarked bluntly a second after her release, causing the nervous guard to jump slightly and clank them together, which invited a smirk from her.

The gate was unlatched and Vez marched inside with her head held high. All rose if seated and turned to face her, hands pressed to their sides, and the Captain walked forward, pressing his fist to his chest and bowing his head. "General," he greeted dutifully.

"Captain," she mirrored his response before shifting her stance to observe the men who stood up straight and motionless before her. She noted that their health had returned for none wore bandages and all were cloaked in clean and non-descript Gondorian garb provided by the king.

She walked through and inspected them briefly before speaking, ascending her voice proudly over them. "Brave Variags. Fierce Haradrim. Long have you waited for release from this prison, long have you healed your wounds, mourning your fallen comrades, yearning for your homeland. Soon you will pass through the gates of this white city unhindered, and soon you will see the fields and families you left many moons ago. You return not with the shame of defeat, but with renewed purpose as Rhun passes into a new age, freed from the bonds of shadow. And with hope, you will find those fields and your families safe. This, however, may be short lived. From information gathered about the last days of the great war, it is certain the People of the Darks Lands dishonorably retreated from the northern front; their intentions worrisome for a land now sparse of protection. It is my charge to return Rhun to its former glory; to a peaceful land where the greater territories of our ancestors' are respected, where free trade prospers, and our distinct cultures are respected. I am your leader, and I will lead you to Khand and Harad, but once there, I ask that you assist me in this future. If Rhun carries a common enemy, it is only against those who care not for restored order." She returned to the side of the Captain, adding while there, "I give leave to those who would voice concern over this or other matters."

Yaban, his face healed and his eyes on fire, stepped from the group and went to stand in front of her and the Captain; straightening his posture and holding his head high.

"Yaban," Vezely acknowledged him. "You wish to speak?"

He tilted his head politely and was given leave by Vezely, but with warning, "Speak then, but realize you will be heard beyond those of common tongue and mind, and what you ask must be taken with consideration of your position. For a prison this remains and a captive you are."

And with a voice of equal intensity as her own, Yaban addressed the men, "Our general takes on a noble charge; to incite aid for a homeland whose people she betrayed when order did exist. How long did you foil the Variags, the Easterlings, the Harad when you stood with the Resistance? How many of our kindred did you slay on the battlefields below? And now, you stand before us deeming enemy those who are no better than yourself. You are unfit to lead us to our homeland."

Vezely tilted up her head slightly higher, asking, "And you would prefer the Gondorians to lead you hither, with swords at your back and chains on your wrist?"

Yaban did not back down, "If that is our path, we will accept it having proven the leader of this rabble worthy."

"Take heed, Yaban, before you hasten your words to foreseeable end," Vezely interrupted sternly to provide further warning, "We remain on foreign soil, and at the mercy of those who will not condone such ritual and by law would be required to take retribution on the victor."

"And why would they trouble themselves upon our soon release? And why would they care if we slay each other inside their belly? We would but give them one less mouth to feed..." his voice ascended to the second level, of which only Derufin could understand his words and who had been transcribing the entire conversation.

The translator grew uncomfortable the moment Yaban stepped forward to speak, remembering quite well the incident when Vezely violently clocked him unconscious. Faramir had told him that if anything went awry to contact him, and sensing the tension he quickly wrote a note and handed it off to a nearby guard, telling him in haste to pigeon courier it up to the Steward. It requested Faramir's immediate attendance due to concern over Lady Vez's interaction with the prisoners, as he worded it. Faramir was in the middle of the first of the day's council meetings when the rolled parchment was handed to him. He opened and read it in silence as the ambassador from Rohan spoke, afterwards politely excusing himself, a displeased look on his face rather than one of concern. His horse was prepared and brought to him to travel in haste down to the second level.

Yaban strode closer to Vezely, starring her in the eyes intensely as he spoke firmly, "And neither you nor these excuses, General, are above my right to question your leadership or to make the challenge," he held his fist up defiantly. "Hear me all," he cried turning from her and strutting to the middle of the courtyard, "I, Yaban of the house of Yarukzu, challenge Vezely, Elf-child of the Balchoth, to the right of leadership. Of which will take place now in this humble prison, in the city of our Western enemies. May death prove one unworthy."

So it was done, Vezely thought fatally as Yaban declared his challenge, and she brought her fist to her chest and bowed her head down slowly, breathing in deep and releasing her breath before lifting her chin; a simple show of acceptance. "Captain," she turned to her second in command, stating calmly, "I hold you as fair witness to this trial. May none interfere or face certain death by your hand."

The Captain bowed his head, and went to cordon off the men. From the shadows stepped forward Remi, with his arms crossed and a smirk across his face, as he looked forward to watching her fight. He had seen none defeat Yaban thus far, and hoped the elite warrior would muster a worthy match to enjoy.

Vezely slowly removed her black jacket; the black sleeveless tunic underneath displaying the tattoos on her arms. None who stood around the courtyard could avoid taking notice of the names inked on them; neither did her challenger. And Vezely of course took notice of Yaban's glance, and provided him a proud smirk as she knew it reminded him that she was his senior in many ways and his name would soon enough be added.

The Captain then addressed the men, "Due to current circumstances, this challenge is weaponless. All who stand witness stay beyond the courtyard parameter. Interference is punishable by death," he then engaged both challenger and the challenged, "By the others death you prove yourself leader. By your own death, you prove yourself honorable and may your ancestors accept you with open arms into their halls of proud warriors." The Captain stepped back behind the newly created parameter, alongside the prisoners who looked on in eager anticipation to watch such a duel. Even the few remaining Haradrim had come forward to witness this spectacle.

While displeased it escalated into what she hoped to avoid, Vez also knew regardless of her warnings, she would not have deterred Yaban from making his stand. Her eyes followed the young Variag as he moved to her right as if a predator stalking its prey; he appeared confident and angry, his piercing gaze letting her know he did not fear her race or her legend. He would prove himself worthy of an elite warrior, and worthy of their leader.

He lashed out first, throwing his fist at her face followed by a high kick, each were blocked by Vezely's forearm, and he jerked back as she retaliated, swinging her hand near his head followed by a low kick to his stomach, each being missed by his stealth and style of training. She punched at his midsection, but he sidestepped the blow, grabbing and holding her wrist against him; he then charged forward with full force, shoving her into one of the courtyard's large stone columns, kneeing her in the side a split second after her back hit the cold, hard surface. Before Yaban could hit her again, Vez head butted him, throwing him off balance as she pulled him by the arm and smashed his own back against the same column, clocking him across the jaw with her elbow while there, adding a crushing knee kick to his side. In her attempt to hit him in the face, he ducked out and spun to her left, gaining distance from her. He shook his head to reorient and she allowed him only a momentary reprieve before lunging into him, starting another round of blocking each other's kicks and blows. Another grab of her wrist and he halfway succeeded in tipping her to the floor, but Vez spun out of it, tilting off his back onto her feet. Once free of his grasp, she provided a low round kick that knocked the feet from under him. Once on his back, she went to stomp on his face but found slat instead, as he rolled from under her boot and flew to his feet.

Yaban sprinted to the corner of the courtyard, his hands grabbing an abandoned stool which sat there. He charged her with it, swinging the wooden object wildly and with deadly purpose, but she swerved each time, and in one final swing his makeshift weapon met another stone column; breaking it into pieces. Vez retrieved two of the legs, with Yaban grabbing the other two, now each having makeshift clubs to fight with. He twirled them about gracefully and with precision, showing off some of his mastery as if to place fear into his opponent and marvel his onlookers with his prowess. Vez rounded the posts once in her hands before crossing them in front of her in a fighting stance, smirking while saying unimpressed, "Are you finished?"

The snide remark only upped his anger, and their posts clanked and splintered as they took turns driving the other backwards, blocking and retaliating, showing off the fighting styles of their clans. The sound of wood knocking together resounded above the crowd of men who cheered on each blow.

On the second level, Derufin watched with growing anxiety, and the head guard, who understood nothing of the conversation that led to the fight, inquired as to whether they should interfere. There had been daily sparring matches that week in the courtyard, each appearing as friendly competition between prisoners, and the guards simply let them slide for the sake of giving the prisoners exercise, and providing the guards a show; alleviating them of the dullness of their day. Thus, they didn't deem this current competition as anything other than what they had witnessed many times before, even if Lady Vez was involved. Derufin hid his growing worry and uncertainty of what action to take, responding they would wait for the Steward to arrive, and surely Faramir was on his way, his horse already galloping down to the prison level as the fight got underway.

Though enjoying the match thoroughly, for Vez found Yaban a skilled opponent, well-trained and competent in the martial arts of his clan, but she reminded herself this could only end one way. And while minutes passed as they proved their skill with clubs, Vez fell to the will of the crowd - their chants were intoxicating; they wanted action; they wanted blood. By a strategic kick, she knocked one post from his hand, reducing him to using the other as one would a bladeless axe, of which he attempted to come down on her head with. She blocked it with one post, using the other to jab him hard in the gut, spilling him backward; his feet shuffled beneath him to keep his balance. She then clocked him against the jaw with her other club, a tooth and blood being spit from his mouth showed all the force of the blow, as her foot kicked the other post from his hand. Further blows by her clubs were blocked by his forearms; Yaban would not give up. He grabbed one that assailed him, gripping and pulling it hard towards him, and by a clever maneuver brought her into a choke hold, causing her to drop both clubs from her hands and bring them to the arm that was tightening around her neck. She forced her weight into him, leading him backwards into another pillar, but he held on with all his might to choke her. She then released his arm, and used her elbows to jab him on each side; the hits providing enough of a release in his arm's hold that the same arm which choked her gave her leverage to twist and flip him via his shoulder to the ground. She quickly found herself straddling his waist, an ample position to provide him several blows to the face.

After three punches, she saw from the corner of her eye a Variag from the crowd race towards her, pulling a dagger from his cloak. The moment her eyes moved up Yaban took the opportunity to hit her in her face, his leg flipping her onto the ground before him. The man with the dagger did not get far, however, as the Captain interfered, hitting him hard in the head with one of the stool's discarded legs, sending him to the ground below hemorrhaging from the force of it. The dagger he held flew from his hands into the center of the arena.

Vez blocked Yaban's next blow with her forearm, using her other arm to push him off of her. Both rolled and ascended to their feet, but Yaban moved in the direction of the dagger, standing up with renewed hope as he held the weapon his companion sought to bring him. They stared menacingly at each other and Vez tasted the blood in her mouth. She brought her index and middle finger to her lips, placing some of the red liquid onto them, and rubbed it with the tips of her thumb. Her eyes again transfixed on his, she smirked and her demeanor showed dark amusement that he had provided her this injury. Though exuding coolness, in truth she was infuriated that another Variag interfered in such a ritual, furthered by recognizing that the dagger Yaban now held was the same one she used for the burial ritual. Remi must have stolen it from her sack and brought it into the prison; probably as a bargaining chip with those who were against her.

Gripping the dagger downward, Yaban lunged forward and slashed, necessitating Vez to swerve several times before finding an opening to start what she deemed her final assault. She grabbed his knife wielding wrist, kicking his rib cage hard, followed by a high kick to her head, and a bone breaking punch to the arm she held; splitting his elbow in the other direction of the joint, and releasing the dagger's hilt from his grasp. She caught it while low kicking his feet from under him, and as he hit the ground, holding in pain his shattered arm against his chest, she stomped on him in the gut with full force, causing him to spit blood from his mouth. It was over and Yaban knew it, but being a brave warrior, he struggled one last time to rise, but failed and flopped back down.

The crowd was cheering, and Vezely, who circled around the fallen warrior once, then raised the hand she gripped the dagger in. Also knowing it was near completion, the men resounded the arena with her name, cheering her on. "Vezely! Vezely! Vezely..."

In the midst of this blood sport, Derufin ran to the prison entrance, pulling the Steward in haste, explaining frantically what was occurring. There was no line of sight allotted from the prison entrance, as the prisoners were crowded around the courtyard, and the Steward followed by Derufin ran up to the second level, hearing the chants of the dubious Elf's name as they ascended the stairs.

Barely conscious, but not yet spent of life, Vezely lifted the man to his feet, pulling him up by his mid-length hair and enclosing her arm around his chest, steadying his broken form against her body. She then held the dagger to his throat, saying respectfully, "You fought honorably, Yaban of the house of Yarukzu, may your ancestors accept you into their halls and may your kindred never forget you."

When preparing to drain him of his life, Faramir, appalled by the scene he beheld, commanded her from above, "Halt, or your life is forfeit!" His voice brought silence to the arena, and all looked up to see the Steward standing next to Derufin, and the head guard with his bowstring stretched back and an arrow aimed down upon her.

She stilled her hand. Yaban was yet conscious under her grip, but knowing his defeat and desiring death by his combatant an honorable discharge from his failed challenge, he spoke to her firmly, "Do not dishonor me." Vez breathed in deeply, her eyes fixed on the Stewards, and though knowingly under threat, she gritted her teeth and did as her challenger requested, as tradition expected, and dug the knife along the man's throat, releasing the warm liquid along with her hold on him, and he slumped down before her feet. The motion prompted the release of the guardsman's arrow, and it sailed to the ground below, straight to its target.

A/N: Does this take the cake for the best/worst cliffhanger I've given you? Comments/hate mail welcomed. ;)