(Untitled)

[seventeensir]

Who: seveteensir, erythrophilia, noprevaricating
What: A duel.
When: July 1st, sundown
Where: Luceti forest
Summary: The time is set, the terms agreed upon, the arrangements made. Now all that's left is the bloodshed.
Rating: R for violence, just to be safe.

Comments

[noprevaricating]

He had tried everything and had not succeeded in changing either of their minds. A petty part of him wondered if this was Horatio's revenge for what happened at the trial. The sensible part of him reminded himself that he was not the one facing death, and Horatio would be the one to come back with the penalty if worst came to worst.

He almost said You'll be all right, but instead clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder, saying it all without opening his mouth. His hand didn't linger for long, vanishing before it could shake. He'll be all right.

[erythrophilia]

The scene was perfect. The dying rays of the sun set the sky ablaze and then they, too, began to fade away into the night sky. The slow movement of the water, the barest breeze swaying the branches in the trees, and two men, shoulders tense as they awaited what was certain to be their end, was a sight Grell could watch forever. The god was glad that she'd chosen this locale for their duel. It was beautiful. And the water was vital, near inseparable from a sailor's death.

A smile spread across the god's face as she watched the two of them. He had come after all and that, in it's own way, was a small bit of fortune. What good was putting on a show if no one was around to watch?

And as always, Grell had to make an entrance. Rather than simply walk in from the forest, she'd chosen to climb to the trees and watch from the branches as the avenging hero and his reluctant second gathered below. Now that the players were here and the stage set, she raised her voice to call to them.

"A fitting site for a final parting, isn't it?"

[seventeensir]

"Almost like a story."

As calm as Horatio's words came, his hand on his sword tensed to avoid shaking. At least this time, Archie was beside him, would be on the sidelines, would be there no matter what happened. He glanced over at his dear friend and bowed his head slightly.

There was no going back now.

"Men at some time are masters of their fates," he muttered under his breath, giving Archie a glance.

He pulled himself up more and turned halfway toward where the voice had come from. "The setting is certainly romantic. But battle," he had learned well enough, whether it was war or duelling, "never is." Hornblower steeled himself, only able to, for the moment, wait.

[noprevaricating]

It was a little like that cold morning in January nearly a decade ago, except Archie had much more invested in Horatio than he had ever had in Clayton. He blinked rapidly, a nervous habit, eyes flashing back and forth between the self-proclaimed death god in the trees and his captain on the ground. Catching Horatio's gaze for one troubled moment, he took a breath and stepped back.

Having Grell here was unnerving him more than he wanted to show. After their conversation on the journals, he had been shaking. But having her in their presence, knowing what she intended, knowing that Horatio was racing toward this end on his own, reminded him uncomfortably of waiting for his own death.