The Burden of Breaking Hearts

A Bar Fight

"We can talk about this, right?" The thief cautiously rose from his seat, his hands open and outstretched to Darion. His mask was the most colorful of all with vertical stripes of glittering color streaking down it; red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. Other than the mask, he wore a tight black shirt which he appeared to have cut the bottom half of the front off, displaying his abdomen. His pants and boots were as dark as the night sky and his look was completed by a black cape with a golden swirling pattern stitched down it. The style was definitely something Darion had never seen before.

Darion stepped forward, people parting to give the man a space to walk through, his voice clearly heard through the silence. "There's nothing to talk about. You're an escaped criminal and the royal family wants you alive."

"Alive?" As Darion drew closer, the thief stood his ground with his hands still raised. "I guess that means the odds are in my favor, right?"

The tensing of the thief's arm was ever so slight, but to the hunter, it couldn't be any more obvious. "If you just come with me peacefully, no one has to get--" The thief swung out with the shackle. Darion ducked without a second's hesitation, jumping to the right as the thief brought the shackles over and down right where he'd been standing before.

Screams erupted as the violence began and people bustled towards the exit. The bartender stayed put, keeping close to the knife he had hidden under the counter.

The thief made another attempt to hit Darion with the shackle, but the man caught them. With a push, the cuff slammed into the thief's mask, cracking it. The thief's head didn't have a chance to properly snap back before Darion pulled on the chain, kneeing the man in the exposed stomach.

"I wasn't expecting that." The thief's voice was nothing more than a wheeze. Darion grabbed his arm and flipped the other man over, the floor groaning under the body's weight. Curses poured into the air.

"You should be happy they want you alive, thief."

"My name's Hernon," he said, rolling over onto his stomach. He pushed himself to his feet, a grunt escaping his throat as he did so. "And I'm not a thief." Criminals usually gave up denying a crime as soon as they were caught; there's was no point arguing with someone who knew what you did. Hernon's denial gave Darion pause, but he was once again tentative when his opponent grabbed the hilt of his sword. The hilt was golden with a brown leather grip leading to a blossoming rose at the bottom with a red jewel in the center.

"I didn't want it to come to this." Hernon quickly drew his sword, pointing the blade towards his attacker. In a single step, Darion had Aslander drawn and was swinging it at Hernon. Sparks flew as the blades connected and the two commenced in a dance of death.

The mask was partially obscuring Hernon's vision, but he didn't dare take it off. The thing that had led Darion to him seemed to be the very shakles weighing his arm down at this moment, so unless the mask fell off, there wouldn't be anything else for him to be tracked with. The--now alleged--thief grabbed his cape and threw it up into the other man's face, blinding him for a few precious seconds. The attack was aimed for the neck and meant to kill, but Darion ducked, spinning just in time to lift his sword to meet with the other.

Both of their faces were twisted in concentration as they pushed the blades together.

"This can not be good for the blades," Hernon said through grit teeth. His golden hair hung a short length into his face, but he paid no mind.

"You know what's interesting about metal?" Darion asked, receiving a look of confusion in return. "It's a pretty good conductor of magic." The grin following that statement sent a chill through Hernon. Darion allowed the magic in him to flow through the swords in an aggressive manner, giving the other man no time to even register what he meant. A flash covered the room in a white light for a split second as the magic attacked Hernon.

The man's grip was practically torn from the sword's hilt by the energy and he was sent flying across the room, through a few chairs and tables, and into the wall on the far end. His mask now laid on the ground, broken. The sword had been left behind; its blade still in contact with Aslander. When Darion pulled his weapon away, sliding it back into his sheath, the suspended sword clattered to the floor.

Darion's body felt as if it'd been robbed of all warmth that had been there before--this cold being the side effect of whenever he poured his magic out of him as he just did.

He shook out his arms and walked over to his unconscious opponent. Kneeling down, he lifted the man's face to get a good look at him. Hernon had soft features with skin as smooth as the hilt of a sword and a tone that would suggest it'd only recently been kissed by the sun. Darion almost gasped audibly as a single word flashed through his mind.

Beautiful.

Gone as quick as it had come.

"Sir?" Darion sprung to his feet, wrenched from his trance. "Is the royal family going to pay for damages?" The bar tender watched Darion as he looked around the bar; chairs and tables had been flung near and wide in the chaos of the fight, not to mention the pile of splintered wood the losing opponent was nestled in. The floor was wet in some areas where drinks had toppled over.

Darion cleared his throat. "I'll see what I can do once I return to the castle."

"Thanks," the bartender scoffed.

Darion ignored the man and scooped the man he came here for up and slung his limp body over his shoulder. He could've taken Hernon straight to the castle to be locked up once again--he should've--but the way the man had said he wasn't a thief was too convincing to be some desperate lie. Also, Darion just couldn't get the thought of his reaction to the man's face out of his head.

Beautiful.

It was a word he had only applied to two people before: his mother and his fiance. Why did he use it to describe this man? Was it magic of some sort; a curse? He didn't know, but he was determined to find out. The castle could be seen in the distance, bathe in torchlight.

Darion walked the other way.