milliways_bar | (no subject)

It is not until Caspian speaks to him that Peter slides Rhindon back into his scabbard, though his expression does not change.

"Duel if you must, then," he says, his gaze moving between Caspian and Rilian, "but you will put up your sword for the few seconds you remain in the room, or I shall take it from you."

The Knight's expression doesn't change as he slides his sword back into its sheath, inclining his head a little.

"As you say."

He steps around Peter and stalks outside, drawing his sword once he's out of the bar.

The four remaining Narnians follow him, tense.

Caspian waits, feeling oddly calm for the first time since Rilian had stepping through the door. Tossing his scabbard aside, he holds his new sword loosely at his side, standing straight and tall. There is nothing of the boy Caspian about him now--only the king, older than Peter, and as stern.

When all are outside, he holds up his sword to salute the knight, with hard eyes.

"I do not ask for forgiveness, sir," he calls. "For a fair fight, only. Now, come, if you will."

"As you say, sir."

The Knight draws his sword and salutes, expression calm and cold, and then moves.

Caspian is ready.

He parries, the ring of steel on steel shocking through to his hands, and steps away again, breathing a silent thanks to the dwarf who'd made this blade, before moving in again, stepping in close to knock the other down.

Parry, riposte, swing back out of reach and gauge the other man's defense. Caspian is the better fighter, although they're well-matched in strength and speed.

It would be nice, Edmund thinks irrelevantly, if he were more in the habit of carrying the blade Adam had gifted to him.

But it is back in the House of Arch, and instead he stands here, beside Eustace and Jill, for another moment.

And then he steps away, keeping his eyes on the duelling pair, walking around them to stand opposite Peter, for if this is indeed to be a fair fight it must be fairly judged.

Caspian waits while the other studies him for a moment, and then charges in once again.

Can't let him stop. Can't let him think. A few more minutes.

Thrust. Block. Step. Turn. Never close enough to hurt him, not with the edge of his blade, but a push back, a step that almost trips him. Make him angry. Make him fight back. Keep it fair. Make him mad.

The Knight parries each thrust, letting out a low growl under his breath, and lunges forward, twisting his sword around to get under Caspian's guard. Not a blow designed to injure, but to hurt.

Which it, in fact, does.

The blow could be avoided. In fact, rather easily--but in such close quarters, Caspian could not simply slip out of reach. He hesitates, not wanting to hurt his son, and the blow lands, only partially blocked by Caspian's quick slip to the side. He is not wearing armor, and it is a heavy sword.

Likely, he'll have a very pretty bruise there tomorrow, but for now he twists even closer, shoving with his shoulder to get the other man off balance and brings his own blade around.

Eustace hisses out a breath as the sword lands, and half-steps forward, fists clenched.

But he has no sword, and this is not his fight, not his fight at all, and it's so bloody frustrating that he can't do anything, but there it is. He subsides, watching intently.

Caspian's shoulder catches him midway between chest and stomach, and he stumbles backwards. And then he staggers, for reasons entirely unrelated to the duel, and goes deathly pale.

"--no--"

He drops his sword, spinning around to find the door.

Caspian grits his teeth, and grabs the other man, dropping his own sword.

"Now! It is the hour, sir."

There's an unearthly strength in the knight as they struggle, but Caspian holds firm, unmindful of whatver blows might come at him.

"I shan't let you go to the door, not this time!"

Peter runs forward, adding his strength to Caspian's in restraining Rilian.

"We will keep him here, Caspian," he says. "He will know you in a moment."

And now Eustace does step forward, hands out, ready to help.

"Steady--"

Knowing that Caspian is well handled. Jill readies herself for Rilian. Her eyes worried and stressed. Sweat beads on her head and tears well up in her eyes. She bites her lip to fight them back as she looks to Scrubb and to Peter and Edmund.

For his part in this, Edmund runs for the door, to block it should Rilian somehow escape the combined might of Peter and Caspian.

The Knight snarls, fighting against the hands holding him back.

After a few moments, however, his struggling weakens, and he slumps in their grip, breathing heavily.

Caspian's hold lightens immediately, and he looks to Peter to lighten his as well, though he still moves warily, waiting, breathing hard and attempting to ignore the pain in his side.

He meets the eyes of the others, nodding to them his thanks, weary now that his anger has faded.

And waits, in trepidation.

Lucy is there. There with arms slipping around him, hoping to steady him, while studying his side.

She hopes for Rillian.

But she worries more for Caspian. (As it mayhap should be.)

He stumbles as they loosen their hold, falls to hands and knees. He's used to being bound when the fog lifts, and the memories that return this time...

his sword under Caspian's (fatherkingsirelordfather) guard, the sound of steel against steel, his sword striking his father

And hands are there to steady him, a figure kneels before him.

There is a grateful look for Lucy, with something underlying it, before he tries to meet his son's eyes.

"Rilian."

His side aches. His arms ache. He holds his son from crumpling.

"Father."

His gaze is lowered, fixed on his own hands, as he trembles, and says words he'd never thought to have the chance to say.

"Father, forgive me."

And it is all worth it.

He takes his son's hands, meets his eyes, and there is the beginning of joy there.

It is only a second later that he throws his arms about his son, pulling him close, closing his eyes against the tears that threaten.

"There is nothing to forgive. You are returned to me."

For a little.