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Author's Notes: Apparently today (June 18) is SuspiciousPopsicle and I's 2nd Vesperia Anniversary??? HOW COULD I FORGET?
Yuri was taking this duel much more seriously. Flynn had hoped that after a few days of the same training that he ran the raw recruits through, he would have changed his mind. He should have known better. Yuri was just as into it after a week as he had been in the moment.
Flynn's temper had cooled. This wasn't to say he wasn't still angry, but it was calm and accepting anger, tempered just right so that he made damn sure Yuri trained his hardest. Yuri didn't disappoint.
He trained hard, harder than Flynn had honestly expected. There wasn't a day when he didn't drag himself back to his room after running the training course and a tournament's worth of bouts just in time to devour his dinner and take a shower before crawling into bed. Even with all that work, Flynn wasn't ready for the day of the duel to arrive. Yuri was.
He was still worried. Cumore wasn't the best swordsman Flynn had ever seen, but he was accomplished enough that Flynn still had need to be concerned. But even more than his battle prowess, he knew that Cumore wasn't above using underhanded tricks to secure a win. He tried to prepare Yuri for that, but it was easier said than done. There were only so many dirty moves he could be ready for.
"I've got this," Yuri assured him. It wasn't much of a relief.
They ate breakfast in near silence, cut only by the scrapes of silverware along plates and bowls and the clink of the porcelain. It was snowing outside, the soft white flakes muffling the sounds of the outside world. It was so quiet that it was unnerving. Yuri broke that, but Flynn didn't find his voice to be much of a comfort at the moment.
"So, what do I get when I win?"
"Please. At least pretend like you're serious about this."
"I am serious. I'm seriously going to kick his ass."
Flynn sighed, setting his fork down with more care than it usually took. There was going to be no reasoning with Yuri. He really should have known that. "On the chance that you do win, what do you want?"
"I dunno."
He suppressed a second sigh, and looked up. Yuri was looking at him, a mischievous grin on his face. His dark eyebrows flicked up suggestively, tauntingly, making the warm swell inside of Flynn ache fire hot.
"Fine. How about dinner? Anything you want, I'll get the kitchen staff to make. Within reason."
"Sweets."
"Sweets?"
"Ice cream, cake, parfait, crepes, the works. I want dessert for dinner." Yuri looked at him like he was an idiot for not knowing what those things were.
"I'll see what I can do." The request for an all dessert dinner seemed childish at best, and he honestly hoped that Yuri was simply joking. No one had a sweet tooth like that. "Just let the kitchen staff know what you want."
Yuri stood and stretched, striding to the door. "Well, it's about time. Let's get this over with."
The proposed dueling field had been set up in the Public Quarter. A crowd gathered quickly, standing in the snow in a big circle around where the duelists would be. It was stark white, quiet and cold. Flynn stood there, and a lieutenant of the Knights was there as an official to oversee the duel.
He watched Cumore's approach carefully. Flashy colors, frills, lace. Flynn hoped that Yuri wasn't going to underestimate him just because he looked ridiculous. If Yuri didn't take this seriously--
"So, you actually bothered to show. How delightful." Cumore's nasally voice cut through silence of the snow. He slid his ridiculously ornate blade from a similarly fashioned scabbard. The blade was similar to the one he had caused the ruckus about months ago, but from this distance, Flynn couldn't say for sure if they were the same. He passed the scabbard to his valet, a snub-nosed young man who likely got the brunt of Cumore's rage at any given time.
"I wouldn't miss this for the world." Yuri drew his own sword, tossing the scabbard aside.
"Being as gracious as I am, I will allow you to resign the duel provided that you apologize."
"Sounds like you're scared that I might win." He was a cocky as ever. Flynn resisted the urge to sigh with frustration.
It got a reaction out of Cumore, though. His pale face went ten shades of red and the grip on his sword tightened. "I hope you're prepared, you filthy commoner!"
"Ready whenever you are." Yuri did a fancy, and flashy, flip of his sword, drawing a dazzled gasp form the crowd. Cumore didn't seem impressed.
"This is a duel to first blood between Lord Alexander Cumore and Mr. Yuri Lowell. Basic dueling terms apply. Turn and on the count of ten, you may turn and face your opponent."
Yuri and Cumore turned their backs to each other. Flynn was already on edge, but even Cumore wasn't stupid enough to try anything before the match officially started. They raised their blades, hilts level with their eyes, and the countdown began.
"One."
Yuri was still smirking, looking directly at Flynn.
"Two."
He blew Flynn a kiss and winked. It didn't ease the heavy worry in his chest.
"Three."
His fingers tightened reflexively around the handle of the blade.
"Four."
His charcoal eyes fixed straight ahead, looking through Flynn, looking past him, sharp and serious and easing into the fight.
"Five."
Ted from the Lower Quarter pressed up against Flynn, having pushed through the crowd to get a better look. his hand gripped the sleeve of Flynn's coat. "He can do it."
"Six."
Yuri was still fixed, but Ted had around Flynn's curiosity.
"Do you know how this happened?"
"Yuri stopped him from hitting me. I wasn't even doing anything."
"Seven."
Flynn did sigh that time, only to release the pressure building up inside of him. Why hadn't Yuri just told him that in the first place? He could have been less angry.
"Eight."
It was too late to stop the wheels of this mess once in motion. It didn't surprise him that Cumore would be furious about something so trivial. He took even the smallest slight against himself and his name with deadly seriousness.
"Nine."
The core of ice in his stomach sank. It was too late. He could only hope--
"Ten."
Yuri spun sharply, whipping his sword out in front of himself with surprising speed. Cumore was just as swift, his fighting stance long and languid and trained. Yuri was less trained, but if there was a hint of tension in him, it didn't show in his limbs. A smooth twist of his wrist, a short exhale, a twitch forward.
Yuri sprung to action, the slightest, focused motion of his arm as he thrust forward. The 'plit' of blood into the snow rang like a thunderclap in the silence of the snowy park. Yuri froze. So did Cumore.
Flynn barely noticed the trickle of red, stark against pale skin, as it dripped down Cumore's right cheek, just below his eye. His white gloved hand wiped it away, smearing the stain like red warpaint further up the bone of his cheek. The offending stain left on his gloves turned that pale face scarlet, and Cumore lunged forward.
Yuri was still frozen solid, eyes fixed somewhere, but not in the fight.
"Yuri!" Flynn called out.
His head snapped up, and his sword swung up from where it had stood in his limp hand at his side. He brought the blade in front of himself just in time to block the attempted blow, Cumore's sword scraping over the edge of his own and whizzing past his head.
"H-hey!"
Cumore pulled his sword back and dove for a second attempt to strike, his face distorted into a furious mask like the face of a demon.
"You dirty little street rat!"
"Lord Cumore!" The valet boy rushed to grab Cumore, but was easily shrugged off.
The knight intervened, pressing between Yuri and Cumore to stop further attacks. Flynn stepped forward also, pulling a slightly stunned Yuri backwards. There in the snow in front of them, were half a dozen bright red spots of blood. Yuri didn't have a scratch on him, in spite of the shock. It was clear to all those assembled, who the victor was.
"The duel has been determined. Yuri Low--"
"Don't you dare think that you'll get away with this, you nasty little tramp!" With one hand, Cumore swept his periwinkle hair out of his face, still plastered red with rage. The blood on his cheek was still dripping, leaving red spots on the breast of his coat.
"Bow out gracefully, Cumore, and save yourself some face," Flynn said, bracing Yuri slightly.
Cumore turned away at that, shoving past his valet and several spectators before disappearing into the city.
Flynn whipped Yuri around, giving him a quick once over.
"Hey, take it easy," he protested.
"Are you all right?" He found not a single scratch on Yuri, not a hair out of place. "Why did you freeze up like that? He could have--"
"I'm find. Take a pill." Yuri shrugged him off with a smirk. "I guess I was just a little surprised is all. I've never seen a person get cut with a sword before."
That made sense. From what Flynn had been able to gather, there had simply been no need for swords on Earth, so it was logical that Yuri had never learned. While drawing blood from a human for the first time, even Flynn had been shocked and sickened. It wasn't an easy thing to deal with. It was nothing like killing monsters. But Yuri chuckled and seemed no worse for wear. It had only been a little blood after all.
"Are you all right?" He asked against, just to be safe.
"Yeah. I'm fine." He smiled and it seemed like things were actually the way he said they were. "Don't forget. You still owe me dinner."
"I haven't forgotten."
Yuri had to explain to the kitchen staff what exactly it was that he wanted for dinner, as Flynn found himself unable to properly relay the information. He didn't seem to have much of a problem with that though. He listed off ingredients and measurement and instructions for assembly with ease. He really must have been able to cook, or at the very least, consumed enough food to know what he was eating, and how to make it.
With the kitchen staff on that task, Flynn excused himself to get back to work and Yuri and Repede went for a walk in the garden.
Somewhere along his planning, the dinner had turned from the regular one they shared, into something he wanted to be romantic. It needed to have just the right atmosphere and he was so careful about setting that up. He was brimming with excitement, even though Yuri was not yet aware of his romantic intentions. Hopefully, this wasn't too forward of him.
Planning it made the duel from that morning seem like a distant, bad memory. The dread he had carried all week with him was gone and replaced by the fluttering in his chest that filled him when he thought of Yuri.
Dinner, and then maybe some discussion on the topic of travel. Dessert and wine over a book on Terca Lumireis's locales. Yuri was constantly thirsting for that knowledge. And then maybe kissing. Maybe light touching. Maybe further. He pushed back that thought, though. It was much too forward of him to even be thinking such things. They kissed quite a bit now, and the feeling of his fingertips over the top of Yuri's hands or down the length of his pale arm were thrilling, but further than that was still far out of sight. He had no intention of pressing the issue. But if one thing led to another that was a different story.
He could hardly sit still by the time Yuri arrived back at the palace, his dark hair sprinkled with snowflakes. Everything was already set up in Flynn's stateroom. The meal Yuri had requested, a pair of candles that filled the room with a golden glow, a bottle of wine and a tray of dessert. He couldn't help think that maybe it was a little too much when Yuri eyed him suspiciously.
"What's all this?"
"Dinner. Just like you asked for." He pulled him forward slightly by the hand, watching as Yuri discarded his coat on the sofa. Words spilled out of him with no control, fumbling for something of a reasoning behind the slight change to the dinner plans, and excuse to keep himself from looking like a love struck idiot. The crack in his voice and the words that came out didn't help that. He was only making the case against himself worse. "I thought that it wouldn't hurt to make it a nice dinner while I was at it. To celebrate your victory and all."
Yuri smiled a little and kissed him, long, sweet and slow, sparking his nerves like tiny fires that burned through him all the way to the tips of his toes. He kissed in return, warming Yuri's chilled lips with his own.
It was almost a chore to sit down and sit still at the table after that. Further kisses were most of what filled his thoughts while he uncovered the tray set before them.
The platter was crowded with exactly what Yuri had asked for: desserts. Little squares of cake with frosting and sugar stars and flowers, miniature fruit tarts and tiny pies, crepes stuffed with custard and fruit, sorbet, pudding. It looked like something out of a child's dream. Yuri had been serious when he had asked for dessert. Flynn had been hoping that he hadn't been, but he was going to put up with this anyway. He had promised after all.
Yuri wasted no time filling his plate full of sugary things. Flynn didn't have much of a sweet tooth himself, but he poured them each a glass of wine and tried to make pleasant conversation.
"So, why did you decide on dessert for dinner?"
"'Cause I like sweets." Fair enough.
He was already in the middle of eating when Flynn picked at a slice of cake. "It seems like your training has gotten you quite a ways."
"Yeah, that Dropwart guy is relentless. Could hardly stop to catch my breath without him breathing down my neck." He was smiling around his spoon. This was going well.
"Master Dropwart is rather... intense. But he was the sword master to the late emperor, and to Lady Estellise, so he's very accomplished."
"Hits pretty hard, too."
"Yes, but I figured that if no one else could get you ready for this fight, surely he could." He brought it up, even if it made him uncomfortable, but now it was something that they could relax and talk about. "I was very mad at you this past week, but I really am quite pleased now. I was really impressed with the fight today."
"Thanks. How did that flashy jackass even make captain anyway?"
"Probably family connections mostly. The Knights used to be somewhat notorious for that, but that's toned down a lot. Merit is much more important than lineage."
"I'd hate to see what sort of lineage he's got." Yuri thrust his fork out in front of him, a smear of icing still on its prongs. He tried to mock Cumore's voice. "I'll allow you to back out now, filthy commoner, but only because I'm ever so gracious."
Flynn chuckled, "You did well, but you still need some training in case you decide to pick any more fights. You're just lucky that he wasn't taking you seriously."
Yuri's fork hit his plate with a clatter. "Excuse me?"
His eyes were sharp and narrow, fixed on Flynn and bright with anger. A lump caught in his throat as he tried to swallow. He hadn't meant much by it, but it was true enough. He quickly found that the discomfort about the fight was back, and with it, the anger that he had carried all week.
"He was going easy on you. You had to have figured that out. Had he been fighting at his full strength, there's no way that he would have lost a duel like that."
Yuri shoved back from the table, his chair scraping across the floor with a squeal. "So you really don't think I could have beaten him?"
"What I'm saying is that he was toying with you! You're a novice compared to his skill with a sword. If he had been taking you seriously, you could have been hurt. It was stupid of you to even accept the challenge, let alone pick a fight with him!"
His chair skidded back a half a foot more, and Yuri was storming across the state room for his coat.
"Where are you going?!"
"What's it matter to you?"
"Yuri!" He called after him, but it was too late. Yuri let the door slam shut behind him and left Flynn with the trappings of what had started out to be a promising evening.
Flynn left it there. He couldn't look at the feast of sweets and romantic nonsense any further. Here he had been trying to something nice for Yuri. Here he had been worried for Yuri. So much for trying to be romantic. But where did that get him? It only got Yuri shouting at him when he was the one who was in the wrong, when he was the one who had picked a fight he shouldn't have against an opponent who could have killed him if he'd wanted to.
He didn't want to think about it anymore. If Yuri wanted to go and sleep with the animals, fine. If he was going to get all up in arms about every little thing, fine. Flynn was too tired, too drained now to deal with it. He didn't have the patience. Maybe in the morning, Yuri would be more reasonable. Maybe he would see the error of his ways. Maybe, but right now, Flynn wasn't counting on it.
Taking care of Yuri was harder than he had ever expected. And it seemed like things had been going so well.