Work Text:
Guinevere spun through the motions of combat they had been trained in since they were seven. They remembered learning the moves for the first time, how hard it had seemed to keep the foil up. Now that they were older, they knew it was due more to the blade being too long. Compensating for that was something they had to unlearn, which had taken years. Exhaling, they lunged, inhaling as they retreated from their invisible enemy. With a flourish, they pulled their dagger from their belt and mimed a parry before moving as if on the offensive. Three more moves and they performed an imaginary disarm and moved in, driving their dagger forward as if stabbing someone between the ribs.
With a sigh, she sheathed her blades, taking a moment to stretch. This whole routine was simple, so simple and familiar that Guinevere could have done it in her sleep. Still, it was good for her. It helped her stay sharp. Or maybe that was just an excuse, trying to justify habits drilled into her for as long as she could remember. Something to make sense of why she listened to people who had done nothing but make her life miserable. At least she wasn’t being beaten for each misstep.
Finishing their stretches, Guinevere adjusted the loops of their skirt hikes and ensured it remained secured. Once their fussing was done, they pulled out their throwing knives. This was their favourite exercise. Learning magic hadn’t been easy among the Crows, at least not in House Leverone, but it was a valuable skill. There had been one other mage in the House, a Qunari woman. She died four years into Guinevere’s training on a heist gone bad, but the training routines she had taught them had stuck. After a while, they had gotten good enough to start experimenting on their own, which is what led them to their particular technique.
She began her routine, flinging one of her knives forward. Her magic crackled around it, lightning sparking as the blade embedded in a nearby tree. She made a pulling gesture with her now free hand, and the dagger she had just thrown hurtled back to her. Within the same breath, she flung the other dagger as flames licked along the metal. Guinevere began to move, like a dance, picking out three other trees as targets and letting her blades zip between them. Each time the magic coating the blade changed. Ice, fire, lightning, necrotic energy, each gesture and change flowing from one to the other like water. With a final pulling motion, the blades flew to Guinevere, and she plucked them from the air.
Panting and a little sweaty, she sheathed the blades, fondly running her fingers over the hilts. Viago gifted them to her, custom-made for her and her magic. She sighed, wiping her forehead as she started another round of stretches.
“Do you do this every night?” a voice asked, and Guinevere nearly jumped out of their skin. They turned, finding Lucanis leaning against the central building of the Lighthouse, arms crossed as he watched them. He had shed his vest, the less adorned trousers and shirt a little more suited to activity. Guinevere could only assume training, as his rapier and dagger were both secured in their scabbards on his belt.
“I do,” they said, fussing with their skirt hikes to keep their hands busy.
“You have good form,” Lucanis said, pushing off the wall to approach Guinevere. “Did Viago teach you?”
“No.” A beat of hesitation as they looked to the ground. “My original… instructors in House Leverone did.”
“You weren’t always in House de Riva?”
“No. Viago and I are about the same age, I had already almost completed my Crow training by the time he joined and was forming House de Riva. House Leverone bought me when I was four and Viago poached me at seventeen,” she said, finally meeting Lucanis’ eyes. He shifted from foot to foot, eyes flitting around when she mentioned being bought.
“I never realise how little I knew about you,” he admitted. “Or how much were just assumptions I had made or rumours I had heard.”
Guinevere snorted, pulling her hair over her shoulder. “I make a point of being an enigma, it’s part of my charm. Everyone loves someone attractive with secrets, it’s alluring.”
“Does that mean you won’t tell me your secrets?” Lucanis asked, stopping within arm’s reach of Guinevere. Her breath caught, trying to push the memory of their almost kiss from her mind. Where he walked out. She tried to focus on that, on the fact he left her standing there, embarrassed. Lucanis took half a step closer, watching Guinevere carefully. “So you can keep your allure?”
“No, just means you have to earn them,” they said, crossing their arms as they took a step closer to Lucanis.
“Earn them?”
“Like winning them. I need to practice sparring anyways, if you beat me I’ll give you a secret.”
“What do you get if you beat me?”
“The pleasure of knowing I beat the Demon of Vyrantium,” Guinevere said, smile a little smug. “I won’t use magic, just to be fair to you.”
“How merciful.” Lucanis stepped away from Guinevere, drawing his rapier. Guinevere moved to her own said, pulling out the hairpin Lucanis had gifted her and pinning up her hair. She glanced to Lucanis, only to find him watching her intently. Clearing her throat, Guinevere pulled her own rapier free and took her stance.
“I’m well known for my mercy,” Guinevere said before tapping the space between Lucanis’ feet with her blade. “Are we going to spar, or not?”
Lucanis raised his blade, taking his own stance. The two stared each other down for a moment before Guinevere signalled to begin. Each remained perfectly still, studying the other. Lucanis beat his blade against Guinevere’s a couple of times. She knew he was trying to provoke her, but she didn’t let him, her eyes locked on his. When he finally lunged, she was ready. In a fluid motion, she deflected the blade, moving from his path and lashing out with a strike of her own, which was handily parried.
That was the start. Once the first exchange had been made, the two threw themselves into the fight. Guinevere would go to strike Lucanis, only to have him ready for the blow. It was the same the other way around, with each attack of Lucanis’ being met perfectly by Guinevere. With each strike and blow, the Crows and their blades wove in and out, light as two birds in flight. Of course, nothing lasts forever. Lucanis feinted, catching Guinevere off guard. She managed a quick recovery, pulling her dagger free and managing to parry the attack, but her blouse had a hair-thin tear in the sleeve.
“I rather liked this shirt, you know,” Guinevere said, winded. They stepped back to put some space between them and Lucanis.
“Perhaps you should block better,” Lucanis said, mercifully letting Guinevere recover. They snorted, tossing a loose strand of hair from their eyes.
“I can block perfectly fine, but thank you for the advice,” Guinevere said before lunging at him.
They were back to a whirl of blades, Lucanis not bothering to draw his own dagger to parry Guinevere’s attacks. That was when she realised that she was fucked. Even with an extra blade, she couldn’t touch him. She’d try to use her sword to create an opening and get in close, but Lucanis always managed to dance just out of reach. Not to mention Guinevere was getting tired. She had been practicing for a couple of hours before Lucanis turned up, and he had started the fight fresh. If she couldn’t take him down quickly, he would wear her down and use her exhaustion to win. Maybe, maybe, she should have considered that before challenging one of the best assassins in the Crows to a duel. Still, she had never been one to think her plans through.
Guinevere tried to keep close, doing whatever they could to win. If they could get a blade to his throat, against the gap between his ribs, or just over the kidneys, then it could be called a win. They didn’t think they could pin him, they doubted they would have the strength for it. Of course, this plan led to them being a little reckless. Cutting it a little too close to his strikes, barely dodging out of the way or blocking them.
Finally, she had the opening she’d been waiting for. Lucanis slashed at her and she ducked beneath it, hooking his blade with hers and disarming him in a single, fluid move. As she straightened, feeling rather triumphant, Lucanis dropped. Guinevere had barely had a moment for her success to last before she landed hard on her back, rapier and dagger clattering just out of reach. Before she could scramble after them, Lucanis climbed on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head. Not willing to lose yet, Guinevere tried to pull her legs up to push him off. It was a short-lived resistance, his knees settling on her thighs and keeping her down. She squirmed and writhed, putting up a final fight before giving up.
“I yield,” she said, panting.
Both remained there, catching their breath. Lucanis keeping Guinevere pinned to the floor. He was so close. That realisation hit Guinevere all at once, and they were suddenly too aware of everywhere they touched. His hands locked around their wrists. The press of his knees against their thighs, pushing their legs open slightly. Had he realised? Did he know just how close they were?
Maybe he did, colour rising to his cheeks as he looked down at Guinevere. That could just be from the fight. Still, his eyes roamed their face, gaze snagging on their lips. He could have been looking at something else. It didn’t mean anything. Especially because he was looking at them the way he had that night when they almost kissed. Nothing had happened then, so this didn’t mean anything.
“Do I get my question now?” he asked, eyes dragging from Guinevere’s lips to meet their gaze.
A spike of fear shot through them at the question. It was an offer made when they were so high on their ego they had the audacity to think they would win. He could ask anything of them, ask them for their darkest secrets. They could always lie, they didn’t have to tell the truth, but they didn’t want to lie. Not to him.
“That was the agreement,” they said. They studied his face, waiting to see what secret he would pull from them as his victory. Instead, he reached down and ran a loose strand of their hair between his fingers. He held and looked at it as if it were real gold, stunning Guinevere into silence.
“The hairpin I gave you, do you like it?” he asked. Perhaps stunned into silence was an understatement.
“I— yes, I, I do. I love it. I don’t, well, I don’t wear it all the time but… well… yes,” she stammered. A smile tugs at Lucanis’ lips, and Guinevere was reminded of how close he was all over again. It would be so easy to just pull him down to her, to close the scant space between them. Was he thinking the same? He let her hair slip from his fingers, instead skimming his knuckles over the base of her neck and the section of collarbone exposed by their loose shirt. The touch felt like sparks against Guinevere’s skin.
It was over in an instant, Lucanis shaking himself and standing. He offered Guinevere a hand, smiling down at them. They tried not to flush, embarrassed that they had allowed their mind to wander.
“I… admit I expected a more personal question,” they said, fumbling for anything to fill the silence between them as he hauled them to their feet.
“You’re entitled to your secrets, Guinevere. If I’m going to learn them, I would rather you give them to me willingly.” His hand lingered in theirs a moment too long before he let go, stepping away to retrieve his blade. He sheathed it quickly, inclining his head to Guinevere. “Have a good night.”
“You too,” they said, watching him retreat to the kitchen.