One Word Prompts

Swollen - A Friend

Justice Morisan raised his gilded blade with a flourish, his signature grin plastered on his face. He wore his dueling jacket, a red coat with impressive puffed up sleeves. It was covered in slashes from past duels, some loosely stitched closed again to preserve the jacket's integrity, but most left as they were, badges of honor each of them.

His smile was for the crowd that had gathered, his blue eyes scanning the watching faces. They never lingered on any one too long, but long enough to take stalk of the beauties. He'd already spotted a few women he'd be sure to have tend his wounds after.

Across the courtyard stood his opponent, Markus Alder. He wore a dark jacket made of a sturdy fabric. It was not leather but neither was it a gentleman's silks. In his right hand he held ready a simple but serviceable rapier. Unlike Justice, he didn't twirl it for the amusement of the crowd. He already knew its weight and its length. He had no reason to refamiliarize himself with his blade.

He wrote a stoic expression, only his hard eyes betrayed the anger burning with in him. They did not waver from the grinning fool before him. He was uninterested in the gawking crowd.

Between them a flighty man in a gentleman's suit looked between them. He bit his lip, clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides. Somehow, Allen Milber had found himself as official for the most anticipated duel of the year. He closed his eyes, wishing very badly he were not there between them, but finding no way out of his current predicament.

Justice had dragged him to the club house that afternoon, as he often did. He, being Milber, had followed along with all the usual half-hearted excuses about needing to return to his manor for business, but being Milber, hadn't actually done so. Justice was a force of nature that way. It was very difficult to do anything to oppose him, after all. And they were best friends.

At the club, Justice had rubbed elbows with everyone in the room, making eyes at all the unattached ladies, and at more than a few of the attached ones. Milber had followed along, laughing with all of Justice's jokes, but otherwise largely keeping his head down. He didn't particularly like socializing, although Justice never seemed to get tired of it.

They were just about wrapping up the day's events when Alder'd walked in. Unlike Justice or Milber, Alder wasn't a nobleman. Sure, his father had been a lord, but the family'd lost just about everything by the time Alder was old enough to do anything. No, Alder made ends meet as a mercenary. But, by the gods, was he was good at it.

That was why he was there, he was following up on business with another lord. Caravan protection it had been, it seemed to Milber.

Milber didn't know what it was about Alder, but he drove Justice mad. Maybe because it was Alder, not Justice, people heralded as being the best swordsman in the country. Maybe it was his flippant regard for status. Maybe the two were just destined for disagreement.

Regardless, Justice had taken this chance to tweak Alder. Alder, a smart man if nothing else, had ignored Justice. That was when Justice called him a chicken. The insults flowed from there. Each a little worse than the last, all coming out of Justice's sneering mouth. Milber'd kept his mouth shut and his head down, silently praying that Alder would ignore it as he always did.

He didn't. It was a small comment. Said under his breath as he left the club, done with his main business and sick of Justice's voice. "Do you exercise your tongue because you don't have other skills?"

It was enough for Justice. He threw his gloves at Alder's feet, the gasps of those in attendance going up in accompaniment.

So, they arrived here. So, poor Milber ended up between the two men, the dubious referee. Alder had picked him, the sole qualification being he was the closest on hand. Milber had tried to explain that the referee should be impartial, and that he was Justice's friend, but Alder had just shrugged, saying he didn't want to spend an hour looking for someone who didn't know Justice.

"Justice Morisan?" Milber said, his voice high and reedy. "Are you ready?"

He felt silly asking. He knew his friend was ready. He knew that even if he hadn't been, the grinning fool would rather answer he was than lose imagined face for not being, whatever consequences came after be damned.

Sure enough, Justice nodded.

"Markus Alder, are you ready?"

Alder nodded, his eyes still locked on Justice. "Let's get this over with."

Milber nodded. The eyes of the crowd seemed to all converge on him then, all expecting his next word. There was definitely a bit of ceremony here. There were exact words he was supposed to say. There in the middle of that crowd, he lost them. Instead, he managed to choke out, "The-then, begin?"

He ran out of the center as he said it, finding a place amid the crowd as quickly as he could.

Justice leapt forward at the call, not waiting to measure his opponent. Alder parried with ease, pushing aside each blow in turn, neither losing nor gaining ground. In fact, despite the raw energy with which Justice threw at him, Alder moved with a collected calm more fitting in a sparring match than a duel.

They continued that way for a minute, the general audience eating up Justice's sword play. Although, like Milber, the more experienced swordsmen could see the trouble he was already having.

Alder waited for his moment, maybe even giving Justice his moment of show, but inevitably he struck. Lightning fast, his blade struck Justice's forward shoulder, cutting a new tear through the red jacket.

Abstractly, Milber knew he was supposed to step forward, stop the fight, and ask if the two were satisfied. But neither men slowed. Rather, Justice howled, charging forward with a renewed flurry of blows. It was obvious to him that Justice wouldn't be satisfied here.

Alder sidestepped a downward thrust, stepping past the guard of his opponent, drawing a long gash across Justice's back as he passed him. Justice spun and leapt back, regrouping.

Justice's grin was ragged now, his breathing heavier. Milber didn't really know what to make of this. Justice was the best. He couldn't lose to some mercenary.

But Alder still was uninjured, his breathing still even.

"Are both parties satisfied?" Milber ventured forward. He looked between them hopefully. It'd be a loss for his friend, the first loss in a long time, but he'd live to fight another day.

"Out of the way, Milber," Justice ordered, charging forward again.

Milber scurried again to the side line, just in time to see Alder take his first hit.

Justice's sword point grazed Alder's cheek, crimson blood beading along the wound. Alder wiped it away with his left hand, as his right pulled his blade from Justice. He flicked the blood from its edge, splattering it against the pavement.

Justice dropped to his knees. His gold blade clanked to the stones beside him as his hands clenched his stomach.

"Justice!" Milber shouted. The crowd around him faded out of mind. The blood pooling on the pavement and his friend's whitening face all he could see.

"A doctor. Quickly." He vaguely heard Alder ordering someone from the crowd. Alder's hands found his, pushing something into his hands and then guiding them to Justice's abdomen. He found himself pressing a dark jacket into his friend's wound, Alder gone.