Chapter Text
Hreshfal stands on a grande plateau of Nreech-Shlegga’s iridescent mesas . A mile high and far from any clan-groups, the air is thin and clear. They breathe long and slow to make up the slack.
The stars are close and brilliant overhead, shining in an illusion of raindrops at their feet. Hreshfal’s reflection against the stone wavers beneath them as they pace. Chiss’vatham said they’d be here. Though a dishonorable scoundrel they are, unreliable they are not. The grand announcement that had cut their last meeting short, as Hreshfal’s people discovered the double’s true identity and knew the imposter was among them, left Hreshfal with their mind scattered across the floor as they stood to let the Chiss’vatham escape, turning away as the enemy lingered for a last glance. It was a slight against themself, a moment of weakness, and Hreshval will not let it happen again.
It’s fear Hreshfal feels now. Not on their own account, they’re blades have never done them wrong, but on the part of Chiss’Vatham. Who is to say they were not discovered during their escape, that the letter designating this meeting place was not sent by some third who wishes to get between them, or to honor the pirate by disposing of their enemy before they get a say? But no. If Chiss’Vatham were easy to defeat, they would’ve made a home out of Hreshfal’s brig already. There is still time to make reparations. Though to whom.
Dust blows across the floor, and distantly, vermin scampter from their burrows in search of mr’rrakk sh’lep. A cry sounds over head, almost like a bird who’s caught glimpse of their prey. Almost.
When Chiss’vatham falls onto Hreshfal, feet first, they are ready, catching Chiss’Vatham by the ankle descended to strike and spinning to throw their momentum across the cliff. Chiss’vatham’s four-armed handspring has all the elegance they need to absorb the shock. They skitter the last few feet to a stop, and draw their blades.
Above, their parachute falls away to reveal a ship not marked by any clan. Blemreh mercenaries. Typical.
" Sh’th Hremreh sharpen our blades together in non-mandatory paid overtime to bolster loyalty and morale . Do you have no one in your corner to sharpen your knives for you, Chiss’vatham? Or have they all seen you for what you are?”
Chiss’vatham is slow to pull the veil from their face, but when they do, their eyes are tired, and mouth crusted with blood someone else has drawn. “You needn’t taunt me about what I already know.” They say, nearly sounding defeated.
It’s on Hreshfal’s tongue to ask what is wrong when Chiss’vatham descents like the world around them is on fire.
Hreshfal sets themself into fighting stance just in time to parry Chiss’vatham’s thrusting rapier by locking it in their own, and throwing it off to the side. Hreshfal tries for the opening that move should have made, but finds a dagger in their wake, splitting the air in a merciless slice. They duck away.
“Chiss’vatham?” Hreshfal asks. It’s hard to recognise what has come into their voice now. It has been a long time since they've felt this. Years since the death of Hra’vway left the clan in Hreshval's care far too young. Hreshfal didn't know they still felt fear like this.
“I have called you,” Chiss'vatham replies. “I have come, as asked, armed and alone. And how do you greet me? With insult, Hreshfal.”
They advance again. A slice at the face, shoulder, a thrust towards the abdomen. Attacking rhythmically, like the periods at the end of their speech.
“You speak of honor. You speak of doing your crew well as they have done to you. You speak, and you speak, yet how do you act, Hreshval? Not granting me even the honor of being made an example of. The chance to surrender and clear my clan's name of the rash I have been upon it’s skin.”
Hreshfal flounders for words, eyes focused on the whir of blades in front of them. “I did not know you wanted— “
“Oh, save your pity for the marker on my grave. I never planned to surrender to you. ”
Chiss’vatham attacks out to the side, and in Hreshfal’s keenness to parry, they leave a line open opposite their movement. Chiss’vatham takes if, and pierces their lower back with the rapier’s wicked tip. Hreshfal hisses.
They dance away just far enough for Hreshfal to see they've kept their offhand tucked dutifully behind their back this entire time, brandishing the weapons that adorn their lower set of knuckles like jewelry, one blunted and the other several rings with razors emerging from them. The skill it takes to fight single-bladed like that—
Chiss’vatham twists to reveal the dagger held behind their back. “This is what honor does to you, dear captain. It makes you bind yourself." They say, and in a blur of movement pitch the thing so the dagger flies through the air where Hreshfal's head just was. "And when you do away with honor, you are left with nothing."
They leave Hreshval to the offensive this time. The pirate approaches hesitantly, but Chiss’vatham makes no sudden moves, only engaging a simple reversal of the fight as it was before, their defense flowing around Hreshfal’s movement like water. There is no fear, no desperation in their eyes as they knock Hreshfal's blade this way and that. Only the leaden acceptance of someone without a place. Hreshfal aches for them.
Yet they cross their blade over Chiss'vatham's to test how far it can bend before it snaps.
"Do you want to know what one does with a lack of honor, Hreshfal?"
Hreshval scoffs. "Stew in it? Let it consume you? I can see in your eyes—"
They're cut off by Chiss'vatham's empty fist connecting hard with their cheek. Hreshfal holds their face in shock.
"You use it, " Chiss’vatham says. "It's wonderfully effective against people like you."
They twirl their sword between their fingers, giving Hreshfal a look that's somewhere between pity and adoration. Like you might a pet. Their sense comes back to Hreshfal slowly. But when it comes, anger quickly follows.
Hreshfal barks a laugh. "You fight well. And yet I find no spirit in you. Where is the Chriss'vatham I so despise."
"You will not find them by taunting me."
"That I doubt."
Hreshfal strikes with their dagger, without one of their own to block it with, Chiss’vatham is forced to dance away.
"What of the friend I have in you. Chiss’vatham? Where has their humor gone?"
"I was never your friend."
"This I admit. You were not." A passing breeze chills the sweat against Hreshfal’s forehead. Their body thrums with the strain of the fight in a way that's deeply familiar . Their heart strums is a way that is new. Hreshfal falls out of stance. "Before, you had your people, treacherous though they were. And now what is left in you but emptiness made a weapon?"
"Do not lower your sword at me. I never asked for your compassion."
"Yet it is what I give."
"Do you have any clue, Hreshfal, what I have done to fight you well, now? How I have split myself open to practice for this? The jobs I worked to afford to fly here? I would do it again. If it's your venom I must earn now, I will turn my sword to Vellagreb and see how steady you remain with their blood slipping under your feet. "
"Empty threats will do nothing but bring us both pain."
"You say as if I am still capable of such a feeling."
Chriss'vatham advances again, but all the fire has been put out of their movements. Jerky and half-hearted, Hreshfal catches what might be tears glistening in their eyes.
"Listen to me, Chiss’vatham. how many times have you thought of this moment?" Hreshfal says, hardly leaving standard form, taking deft steps backwards.
"Every betrayal. Every moment of hard labor. Every empty night—"
"Then have I not been your companion all along?"
Chriss'vatham is breathing hard. They hesitate for just a moment, just long enough for Hreshfal to disarm them with ease, rapier sent flying. The metal skips against the stone with a sound that's almost song-like.
"You swore you would fight me. You swore on your eyes."
"I did no such thing."
"Then you gave me your word." Chriss'vatham gives a weak swing with their bladed fist. Hreshfal steps out of it's way. "What of your honor? Or it it only those who know our rules best who can work so cunningly within them?"
"You are worth more than that. I have offered to break my code for you before."
" And I have rejected you— "
"Yet you helped me." Hreshfal says. Another swing. Another step. Tears fall freely down Chiss'vatham's face now. "It costs you more than the honor of an alias, it cost you my destruction, and yet you helped me . Who else is so loyal that they can find my worth without my honor? Sh'th'u Chriss'vatham, we are not meant to be alone. See what it does to us? To you? "
"Do not waste that's title on me."
"It's waste on anyone else in comparison."
"You speak as if you've been waiting to blaspheme all your life." Chriss'vatham spits. They stop their assault. The two stand facing one another on the plateau, nothing else around but stone and the flotsam of things discarded in battle.
The wind that shakes their coattails is the first indication of how close Hreshfal is to the edge. They look over their shoulder at the dizzying fall from the the mesa. But at the sight their heart is only hardened.
"My life is in your hands, now Sh'th'u Chriss'vatham," Hreshfal says, holding their sword vertically in front of them. "What do you do with it?"
Chriss'vatham's damp cheeks make their face a canvas to the stars. Old scars shining in the new light. They look Hreshfal in the eyes, the first time their gazes have met with no pretenses.
Chriss'vatham steps close, and says, not much more than I whisper, "I wish I was who you believe me to be."
And they press forward, splitting their skin on Hreshfal’s blade, as they send the pirate captain plummeting.