Chapter Text
“The competitions?” Cap asks, eyebrow raised, on hand already on the worn brass doorknob. She’s impatient, that much is evident.
“Yes, Captain,” Techno nods, meeting her gaze and holding it while she scowls uncomfortably.
“You mean to tell me,” she says slowly, “That you, in the twelfth and lowest squadron, could out-fight guards who have been training for years?”
Cap likes respect. All these city-folk do. Techno despises it – and for once, he doesn’t have to give her as much respect as usual. He wants something, and he’s going to get it. Whatever he has to do for that to happen. “I have been training for years, too, Captain,” he says curtly. “Perhaps I’m not a city-bred rat, but I assure you, I can fight.”
“Of course,” Captain sneers. “I have never seen an outsider – least of all those training here for less than a single summer – beat any of my other guards. Stick to your squadron, Soldier.”
“Then run duels within the squadrons,” Techno says, and she whips her hand back to her side as she glares at him in warning.
“You’re handpicking your soldiers, Captain,” he continues doggedly, not sure how far he’s pushing her. “Based on who you think is best. Not who is.”
“Out of my sight,” she snaps, but she’s the one who leaves, slamming the thick wooden door behind her.
“Hey, it’s alright,” pipes up another guard, Darren, consolingly from behind him. Techno hadn’t noticed him arriving. “She’s a tough nut to crack, in’t she?”
“That she is,” Techno frowns.
Darren leans in confidentially, a hand patting Techno’s shoulder. “Here,” he whispers. “I’m the squadron above you, yeah? I reckon if she sees you beating me she might at least move you up.”
“You’re offering… A duel?” Techno asks uncertainly, and Darren beams and slaps his stomach.
“Yep! We’ll get you up to our squadron!” he grins. “Then maybe you’ll come for a drink with me and the lads! Brennock’s Cap’s assistant, you know. I can ask him to put in a good word for you.”
Techno considers. It’s a good idea, but… He has far too much pride to gain Cap’s favour by bribery. “You’re on your break now and finish your shift in an hour, correct?”
“What?”
“Am I correct?”
“Y – yes,” Darren says, then snorts. “Well I never, Techno, have you gone and memorised people’s shifts?”
“Yours,” Techno shrugs. “You come bother me every few days about going to the pub with you.”
“And will you?” Darren asks, wide-eyed, and Techno allows himself a small break in his carefully crafted expression, and chuckles.
“No,” he smiles, the first genuine smile he’s had for these people. “I don’t much like pubs.”
“Lots of pretty barmaids,” Darren presses, and Techno shakes his head, pressing his lips together in an effort not to chuckle again. “Or – or stablelads, if you prefer?”
“I prefer keeping myself alive to keeping others company. I’m boring anyhow.”
“Nooo,” Darren protests dramatically. “You don’t look boring! We all find you quite the enigma, Techno. Just the one time, maybe?”
Techno sighs to himself, and rolls his eyes, finally giving in. “Right. If you beat me in a fight, I’ll go keep you and your friends company.”
“Yes,” Darren grins. “I’ll do my best, then! You better be ready!”
“Whatever,” Techno laughs, finding himself strangely amused by the whole proceedings, though the mirth quickly fades, and he heads out to the barracks.
They’re good quality barracks, not like some that Techno’s seen. They each get a bed, and a desk, and a chest with a lock for their belongings. The curtains are thick and barely let a breeze in at all, and there’s even curtains between their respective areas. He’s heard the first squadron even get their own individual rooms. City comforts are quite something. Even this room is so much more than what Techno’s used to.
He sits at his desk and gets to penning some letters back home, careful not to waste their limited supply of ink. Ink – another thing he always had to buy himself, but the palace supplies them all with a small ration of ink. Or at least, those who have families a day’s worth or more travel away. Techno’s own home is several weeks away, at the border, but the message birds can fly it in a day.
It must have taken about an hour before he finishes, and much to his annoyance, there’s a faint smudge of ink on his thumb where he swiped the cap back onto the bottle. Well, it can’t be helped. He retrieves his own sword, the one he brought from home, not the cheap drill sword that can barely be swung properly, from where it’s carefully locked in his chest and heads back out.
Darren’s edging along the wall of the courtyard, no longer dressed in his uniform – good. Cap would probably have them flogged if she caught them sparring in uniform outside of drill time, regardless of the king’s severe distaste for such punishments.
He spots Techno immediately and jogs over, grinning. “Hey, Techno,” he waves eagerly. “Warm-up first?”
“Sure,” Techno nods, laying his sword on the ground. He’d spent to morning training in the mountain foothills an hour’s walk away, since it was his day off. He’d set off well before the sunrise, unable to sleep. Regardless, he’s feeling quite relaxed, but Darren probably needs a warm-up.
“Say,” Darren says after about a quarter hour of warming up, midway through a series of push-ups. “Never noticed, but you have a lot of muscle, don’t you?”
“Huh?” Techno blinks. “Of course. I’m a soldier.”
“No, I mean like,” Darren lifting himself from his push up to gesture with one hand before wobbling and putting it back. “I mean, like, we’re all fit here, but you look like someone who…”
“Someone who has had to do a lot of fighting in their life, perhaps, Darren,” Techno replies. “I’m not a city baby. I’ve fought a lot.”
“Is it that bad down in the south?” Darren asks with wide eyes, and Techno shrugs.
“The kingdom and the empire have never been friendly, Darren,” Techno sighs, easing into a stretch. “There’s no… direct animosity or acts of war, but… Sometimes things get violent. Both sides want to keep their eyes on each other, and the politics of the place… It’s much more complicated than you might be led to believe.”
“I guess I’m glad I’m just a simple Guardsman,” Darren says sadly. “Pa always wanted me to be a fighter, but I’m not cut out for that, really.”
“Well, pray that if we ever come to a war, you’ll find your instincts somewhere,” Techno tells him, standing up. “Alright, enough warming up. Come spar.”
“Right,” Darren groans. “Please don’t get your hopes up.”
“I won’t,” Techno chuckles. Darren is solidly built, and while a soldier’s life has made him more muscle than fat, he loves his beer far too much to ever be in perfect fighting form, and his movements are still slow. He’s built to stand outside pubs and brawl with a thief or two, not precise warfare swordsmanship.
“Well,” Darren sniffs, “sword or hand to hand, then?”
Techno considers, running a calloused thumb over the finely wrought pommel stone of his sword. “Hand to hand. How’s your back?”
Darren groans. “I pray to dear god you aren’t as good as throwing people to the ground as your eyes tell me you are.”
Techno has no reply to that except a smirk, and a quick nod at Darren before they both take a few steps away. It’s an effortless tackle that slams Darren into the ground.
“Ow,” Darren huffs.
“I was gentle.”
“That was you being gentle?”
“Mhm.”
“Shit.”
Darren gets up anyway and moves into a fighting stance, one mimicking the north-western specific fighting styles. Come to think of it, that’s where his accent pinpoints his location from, too.
“North west?” Techno asks, shifting to match his pose.
“Native to the birthplace of this style,” Darren grins. “My pa taught me how.”
“I’ll hold off on the tackles, then,” Techno nods, vaguely remembering the movements of the style. He moves in, allowing Darren to land a single punch to his side. Darren punches hard and fast, except Techno punches even harder and faster, enough to knock Darren, one of the most well-built guards, several steps back.
“Shit,” Darren wheezes again, laughing. “Cap really missed an opportunity on you.”
“Oh, I know,” Techno replies dryly, closing the distance between them and engaging in several blows, which Darren manages to block or dodge until Techno hits him hard in the abdomen, and he sits down with a whoomph.
Another guard strolls over. Techno recognises his face, remarkable in it’s ever present sullenness, and the guard slowly picks Darren up. “Your stupid little fighting style won’t work,” he says crossly, cuffing Darren across the head. “Why are you showing him something that useless?”
“I think he’s showing me,” Darren huffs, evidently unbothered by the guard’s curtness. The guard just laughs rudely.
“Don’t be stupid, c’mon. Look at him – pink hair, what’re you, a pig?”
“I wouldn’t underestimate pigs,” Techno says mildly. “You ever been gored by a boar? Come spar with me too.”
“Look, I’m not as easy as Darren here,” the guard promises, though Techno finds it very easy to dart forwards and lay a fresh bruise on his jaw.
“You hit my face!” the guard protests, holding his chin. “That’s cheating! It’s not allowed in training.”
Techno leans in close, and coldly whispers, “I don’t see your guard uniform anywhere. This is no training. But if you want me to hit you elsewhere, by all means. Stand up and fight me.”
Captain has weekly meetings at this hour in the messages tower, which means she’ll be passing back through the courtyard any time soon. It’s about time he start putting on a better show.
“Swords,” Techno says as the guard gets up and raises his fists. “Let’s see how good you are with a blade.”
“How good I am?” the guard snorts. “You cheated in fistfights, what makes you think you’re honourable enough to wield a blade? I’ll have you know my family is blacksmiths, and I’ll be damned if you know swords better than -”
“Oh, quit bragging, Florian, you lump of rubbish,” Darren laughs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t get kicked outta your father’s own business.” Techno makes quick note of Florian’s name.
“I’ll fight you next,” Florian grumbles, drawing his sword, which is indeed elegantly made, with a posh silver hilt.
“Daddy’s last parting gift?” Techno says, sparing him a humourless gaze before taking out his own sword, a large, hefty thing, with a hilt studded with real rubies and gold laurels decorating the edges. “Well, let’s see how it holds up.”
“Where did you – where’d you get a sword like that?”
“I made it.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Techno spots the message tower door opening and a familiar flash of a stern face. This really couldn’t be better timing.
One, two, wait, and begin.
He loves this. The small rocks under his specially thin-soled boots rolling under his feet, adding extra flow to his movements although the other guard has clearly never learned to use them to his advantage. The soft whisper of his breath matching the sharp exhale of his sword as it slashes heavy and brutal through the air.
The guard’s sword is light and flexible and can withstand a hit from a sword like Techno’s, albeit barely, and so the other guard is thrown off balance by the blow. Still, he finds his footing, and Techno is content to stalk him like he would a deer, relentlessly throwing blow after blow at him, letting him recover after each one, toying with him, never even giving him a chance for a counter-attack.
“Alright,” Florian huffs eventually. “You’ve made your point. Now stop making a fool of me and finish the fight. We’ve an audience.”
“Yeah, alright,” Techno replies, narrowing his eyes slightly, and with a sudden swing and a push forwards he has the other guard flat on his back in the dirt, Techno’s sword to his throat, and his own sword inches from his fingertips as Techno stands on his wrist to stop him reaching for it.
He waits a solid five seconds, watching the guard turn all manner of shades of red, before finally releasing him and standing up, not even looking at him as he brushes the dirt from his shirt and coldly says, “Thank you for sparring with me. The fight was… Sorely disappointing. For such a self-proclaimed master of the sword.”
“I would call it an honourable fight,” the guard says through gritted teeth and a scowl, “But I found no honour in fighting a pig like you.”
Techno can only smirk as Florian storms off, and he walks calmly back over to Darren, ignoring the faces around them once he’s ascertained the Captain was one of them. “Want to continue hand to hand? I can show you some moves.”
“That was great,” Darren grins. “Florian’s an ass but he’ll have a good sulk and forget about it – oh, please do come to the tavern with us!”
“I already said, I don’t enjoy taverns, but I appreciate the offer.” He almost feels warmed by it. Almost.
“Guardsman Techno.” Captain’s words are clipped as she pushes through the remainder of the dispersing crowds, her voice hushed but angry, clipped. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Boredom,” Techno says with a level gaze. “You seem to assume we learn nothing at the border. I’ve been fighting for my life since I was five, Captain, and I’ve been itching to keep up with my sparring, which has been sorely… lacking in this apparently legendary training regime. Legendary for the people you favour, perhaps.”
“That,” the Captain snaps, “Is that insubordination, Guardsman?”
He might have gone too far. He hopes he hasn’t. She could easily remove him from the Guardsmen. “No, Captain,” he says, and lowers his eyes. “Just sparring in my time off. No uniform on to disgrace, Captain. A friendly fight.”
“That didn’t look too friendly.”
“He pushed himself in, I was sparring with Da – Guardsman Darren. Captain.”
He looks up again, and there’s thoughtfulness on her face instead of the anger and scorn he expected.
“Fine,” she says slowly, a pained look quickly swallowed. “Fine. I may have been lax in my judgement, but you must understand, I have never had a single good transfer recruit in my years as a Captain.”
And how many have you given a chance to, Techno thinks, but he says nothing.
“If you can spar with me, and I find you sufficient, I’ll move you to another squadron, and if you show promise, I’ll allow you to compete.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Techno says, bowing his head.
“I’ll return in an hour after my meeting.”
“I hope it goes well, Captain.”
She stalks away without another word, and Darren punches Techno’s shoulder softly. “Knew you’d get to her,” he whispers once she’s out of earshot. “Well done!”
“Hm,” Techno says, and it’s a noise that could almost be classed as a genuine laugh. “Well, let’s get to the sparring.” He’s slightly pleased by the huge groan from Darren at the words.
When the captain comes back, she finds him being gently thrown to the ground by a hesitant but not totally inept Darren.
“He let me,” Darren yelps. “Please don’t make him miss out on his chance because of me! I don’t want to be beaten up even more! Captain, sir! Ma’am! Cap!”
Techno snorts from the floor and stands up. “Captain,” he greets her.
“You should cut your hair. No clever fighter has long hair,” she tells him, ignoring Darren and their greeting completely.
“I make do,” Techno says. “I’ll put it in a bun.” His hands are familiar with the motions as he twists his braid into a bun and ties it with a ribbon before nodding. “Sword or hands?”
“Both,” Captain says. “Allow me some minutes to warm up. Guardsman Darren, go fetch me my sword from my office, Brennock will get it for you if he won’t let you in. Thank you.”
“On my way, Cap,” Darren salutes her, jogging off, and they warm up in slightly frosty silence until Darren returns.
“No hits to the face, no hits below the belt,” she instructs, and Techno nods. “Alright, Guardsman, ready?”
“Ready, Captain,” he nods, adrenaline starting the thrum faintly, and he feels strangely excited. Finally a fight.
He can’t afford to lose himself in the fight, though, so despite the urge to let loose, he holds himself back, and starts the same way as the captain – a slow circle where he analyses her movement. First move or no… He decides to let the Captain initiate the fighting, waiting for her lightning fast punch that he shoulder rolls before countering. She dodges, too, and they’re back to a more wary circle.
“You’re an analyser, then,” she says, not taking her eyes off him.
“As are you,” Techno returns. “You style is defensive, fast-striking, quick to pull back, and you’re careful to make sure that a missed punch never throws you off.”
“You’re faster than you looks,” she retorts, pausing for a few second as Techno’s next test punch grazes her arm, and she returns two in quick succession, both of which are dodged. “And yet when I look closer you’re built for withstanding punches, not dodging. And you’re holding back.”
“So are you.”
“I suggest we simply get the fight over with.”
That was all that was needed to create a surge of energy, his heart thrumming with excitement, and he leaps at her. She’s a defensive fighter and attacks with speed, but her attacks rely on aim to do any real damage. Stamina is something else Techno senses she has a lot of. But if he can get past her guard, that’s all he needs. A few solid punches will have her down, while her punches won’t hurt him too badly.
He decides to move on the risky side, allowing himself to be exposed in favour of the chance to throw a few solid punches. The Captain, apparently with a few tricks up her sleeve, hits him a glancing blow across the ribs and he feels a familiar twinge as something rips through shirt and skin. A ring, then, not one she had on before. So she was a user of tools, that was good to know, though inconvenient. And it meant he had the moral upper hand, now she’d stooped to using tools in a fistfight. He knows she sees his quickly hidden smirk.
The few punches his risk allows him are worth everything, because they secure the victory, even if it’s not evident right now. He hit her solidly in the ribs, almost matching her punch, only he got an extra one in to her chest while she half-stepped backwards, and he could tell by the jolt in her breathing that she was winded.
He doesn’t let her get any more punches in, just lets her start to wear herself down while he blocks and blocks and blocks and gets in a couple hits of his own.
“Haven’t… Tackled me yet,” she says eventually.
“Didn’t take it as a tackling sort of fight,” he responds.
“It’s an all options open fi-”
She’s not one to get distracted while talking, he can see that, but she’s also not used to being interrupted, so she’s probably at least a little surprised by his next attack, a flurry of strong blows and finally a slam down into the ground with a hand on her throat.
“Blades next?” he says, stepping back.
“Swords only,” she replies, getting up with slightly too much tension in her posture, and Techno smiles, knowing she’s noticed the dagger strapped by his calf, and the other on the outside of his thigh.
“Swords only,” he agrees. “It will be a nice follow up to the fists only fight.” He watches the captains gaze dip down to the slightly bloodied rip in his shirt where the ring tore a hole in it, though there’s no sign of anything other than a slight tightening of her jaw in her face.
“Swords are where I excel,” she says, unsheathing her sword, one larger and heavier than the one the other guard had, but still not as large as Techno’s.
“Good. Me too. Captain,” he says, only the barest respect hidden within the disinterest. He wonders idly if he should end the fight quickly, or draw it out like he had the fist fight, and decides for short, but not too short. Talented swordsman short, not lethal warrior short. Though given he’s never seen the first squadron fighting, he’s not sure what Cap considers a talented swordsman.
“First blood?”
“First blood.”
This is something he’s denied himself for months. The feel of another talented person at the end of their blade, and sure, they’re lacking the usual murderous intent, but his brain can imagine it clear enough, and he barely waits for the signal to leap into the fight, starting slow and steady with an exchange of blows, and then pressing harder, harder, dancing across the rocky ground and perfecting every step he does.
He barely registers it, the scratch of blood on the Captains side, exactly where her ring scratched him. A perfect mirror wound. “Captain,” he says, reluctantly lowering his sword. “First blood.”
She’s taken no liking to him, but at least she’s not one to put others down after being shown what they can do. “You’re good,” she says, flat and cold and angry. “Better than I expected. Very well, you’ll move squadrons tomorrow, but I’ll expect to see you training twice as hard as any of them if you want any chance of competing.”
“Understood, Captain,” he says with an incline of his head. “If there’s anything I can do to make the loss more palatable to you, I’d like to work on that.”
“Fortunately for you, that sounder more like honesty than mockery,” she replies, “So you can start with making me a tea and fetching a fresh healing ointment from the medical station. Try and get the citrus scented one. I’ll be in my office. And… I’ll get you some thread to sew up your shirt, if you don’t have spare.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Techno nods, and waits until she’s gone for a satisfied smile to creep onto his face.
He hasn’t realised, but he had an audience, people gathering to see who the Guard Captain was fighting. Darren is excitedly holding out Techno’s sheath. “Hey, well done,” he beams. “That was amazing. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Darren,” Techno replies, and he doesn’t really think before he says, “I might be joining you in the tavern tonight. If you’re going.”
“Oh, you know me, I definitely am,” Darren laughs. “I’ll be happy to see you, then, nightfall at the wing and crown?”
“Yep,” Techno says, already regretting his words, but never mind. He can always just bail, anyway. It’s not like he feels obliged to go after seeing how happy Darren looks that after so many weeks of offhanded asking, he’s finally agreed to hang out with him.
Well, maybe he could let himself have a little company.