Collaterals

Abandon It.

It was hard to tell— with the sun rising ahead of the Heir Apparent's Champion, silhouetting her frame— just how laboured her breathing was. It seemed to the Young Lord, however, from where he stood atop the steps, that her breathing was within a normal range. Given she'd only just slain a man, that is.

Khaled grit his teeth, watching as she fished something from her belt. A woolen cloth, Khaled realized as she raised her sword, sliding the cloth against her blade's length. And as the blood was wiped clear off it, the sun caught just right so that the cuffs she'd been made to wear once more glistened. The scene was...well, it was a scene that would be passed into legend: the King's Champion, hair tied into a crown, silhouetted against the morning sun as her very hands glowed. The light winked from her moving sword as her opponent's body was dragged away.

Khaled had not been allowed near her. 

No one was, not after she'd descended the steps: that was the law. And when whispers of dawn had flickered through the night sky, the Three Day Duel had commenced. He'd tried  to speak to her before the duel, but her Captain had gotten to her first. He'd laid hands on her shoulders, decorum forgotten as he brought her close and spoke quick, hushed words in Tainish. Oh, how the Young Lord had hoped to listen in, to get a whiff of what may very well be the last words spoken to his Love, but they were in public, and so he was a respectful distance away. It was only at the end, he thought, that he'd heard the worrying console,

"...abandon it; there is no honor in death."

It's struck a cord in his heart. No honor in death? What other honor is there? What greater honor is there but to die as you have lived: in truth. But then...but then, would he rather Leila honorable or alive? The Young Lord fisted his hand by his side, mouth twisting as the sun rose higher, its beams of light tickling his eyes. 

And as his eyes fluttered, he thought he saw another body, moving towards her. He thought he saw her raise her sword. Khaled put a hand up, blocking the light. 

And then the clang of steel upon steel sounded once more through the courtyard. 

"She really is far better than I expected."

Khaled frowned as Mother stepped in place next to him. "She is as good as I expected."

"Won't you come sit, darling, we've refreshments and the shade will surely soon be needed." Mother glanced back, where her entourage had been made honorable guests, with plush cushions and sofas having been arranged, servants fanning and dining them. It was the same for the most prominent of noble families. Only a few Houses were missing, and Khaled could only assume they'd rejected Haitham's invitation, which could only mean one thing: they had their own Champions.

"I am well here, Mother."

"It is a three-day Duel, Khaled. You cannot mean to stand through it all."

He glanced to her, and a disappointed breath sighed through his lips. The glance cost him more than it should've, a shout sounding from ahead. Khaled whipped his head to Leila, only to find her opponent had tumbled to the ground. He was quick to turn, though it seamed his leg was injured enough that all he could do was crawl away from her. 

Leila seamed unfazed as she stalked him, sword in hand. And when he did not yield, she  held her broad sword with both hands and raised it high above her head.

Khaled looked away, teeth grit.