Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 30: The Duel of the Youngsters

Métimafoa stood outside of the tent, looking at the walls of the castle in the distance. Looking at the walls of his home, he knelt down and picked up a rock, lobbing it as far as he could, but it landed over a hundred units away. Far more than a stone's throw, he mused, kicking another rock gently. "This is foolishness," he muttered to himself. "I don't even know what the inside of those walls look like, and here I am, risking my life for a treasure I've never seen."

But I have never known freedom, he mused further, pulling out his rapier and looking at it. The chrome-vanadium alloy was polished and sparkled in the noonday sun, and he tilted the blade so the flair caught off of the two ribs bones that formed the hand-guard of the sword. I carry you with me, Oroneminya. I always have, and I always will. He gave the sword a few practice swings, but his mind was far from the diagnostics he should have been running. "I've never duelled someone who actually wanted me dead. I've fought against Oroneminya and Nolgaion, but neither of them would have killed me. Gyges? He would, without a second thought, if it meant the crown was his forever." Bastard.

Sheathing the long. Slender blade in his frog, he saw Percival approaching with a package, and it was far larger than just a vest. "I thought we agreed to only a vest, Percival."

Percival sighed visibly, even from this distance, and, once he had closed said distance, he said "I wanted you to have a little more protection, and Rainëwen did as well." The Prince grimaced and said, "If you won't wear it for me, wear it for your fiance. You're of no use to any of us dead."

Métimafoa took the armour and pulled it on. As he tightened the straps, he asked "Where is she?"

"She's already at the fighting pit." Metiafoa raised an eyebrow, so he explained: "We convinced Gygax to move the duel into one of the old Trial buildings, on account of the snow."

Metimafoa looked around. No snow fell, but there were several inches on the ground. "Isn't it usually a bad idea to go to war in winter?" he teased, causing Percival to take on a hurt look. "Oh come on, let a boy have a joke before going to fight to the death with the man who raped his sister."

Percival's face grew lighter and he drew a bit closer. "Are you going to be alright?"

"I hope so," Métimafoa stated, "The kingdom and our lives depend on it."

. . .

The stone walls of the fighting pit gave some level of insulation, but even their thick, earthy layers of restraint could not keep out the occasional chill. Métimafoa and Gygax stood next to each other, both of them looking at their negotiated parties of three that they had been allowed to bring. Percival, Rainewen and Sevod stood across from Gygax's generals, none of whom Celst recognised.

Turning to face Gyges, he said, "Nice armour, Gary."

"Please don't call me that," The Usurper said, straightening up slightly under the weight of his gold plated armour. "I'm more preferential to Gyges or Your Majesty." He looked at Celst's armour. "I could have a set of armour brought up if you would like."

Celst shook his head, "I didn't even want this much. You can thank my fiance and brother for the fact that my movement is impaired."

"Fiance?" Gyges said, raising an eyebrow, and looking over the three. "The blonde?" Celst nodded, and Gyges held out a hand. "Congratulations, Celst. I'd wish you the best, but..." he tapped the hilt of his sword in explanation as he trailed off.

"Fair enough. You know, I've heard a lot about you." Celst stated.

Gyges smiled in spite of himself, and said "Only good I hope."