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FIC: Mirror, Mirror (SotL)
WRITTEN FOR: ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sunreon, Christmas 2004
TITLE: Mirror, Mirror
FANDOM: Song of the Lioness
PAIRING: Roger/Alex
RATING: PG
WORDS: 1,413
DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations belong to Tamora Pierce, I’m just playing.
NOTES: Set between the first two books.
EXTRACT: As always, he watched the dark young man in the mirror, with his sword that was alight with the reflections of candles and movements that matched his own. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fastest of them all? You…or me?
Mirror, Mirror
Three times three candles stood in a circle around the perimeter of a room that was three by three by three feet long and the same wide. Four stands in the corners, each with another three candles, and four large mirrors along each of the four walls. Sadly, there was only one door, but as everything was divisible by one, he found no real fault with that.
He was Alexander of Tirragen, standing in the room’s center, barefoot and dressed in black. His naked sword, simple and elegant, had dancing candle reflections along its highly polished surface. The effect was beautiful, but he ignored it. Alex was good at ignoring things that he didn’t like, and maybe if he ignored the sword he could ignore what it represented – knighthood.
Midwinter in a squire’s eighteenth year meant the Ordeal of Knighthood. The knights who survived were forbidden to talk about it, of course, but they didn’t really need too; anything where there was a distinction between those who survived and those who did not was a source of nerves. Especially today.
It was Midwinter, and Alex had turned eighteen months ago.
Last night had been spent getting drunk with Gary, Raoul and Jon before he had finally staggered into bed at some ungodly hour in the morning. The theory behind said drinking was that much of the day would thus be spent either sleeping off the effects of aforementioned alcohol, or it would be devoted to moaning about the hangover, which in turn would neatly result in no time spent worrying about the upcoming and inescapable Ordeal.
That was the theory, anyway.
Sadly, all the theory in the world couldn’t compete with reality in the form of the twin facts that Alex naturally woke up at five in the morning and that he had never had a hangover in his life. His body saw no reason why he should wake up any later then normal merely because he might die in another twelve hours or so, and it clearly had no intention of giving him a hangover when he wanted one.
In retaliation, the faintly exhausted Alex had made his bed, tidied his room and headed down to the practice courts.
If the effect of walking into the room was compared to the first glass of wine, then the laying down and lighting of each candle was an additional sip until he stood in the center of the room, limbs relaxed and mind drunk on the sheer simplicity that practicing involved.
Meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, Alex gave his reflection a deep bow and began. Attack, block, circle step and thrust, parry and spin to cut down then sweep up, his slender body moved from one position to the other with slow, sure movements which gradually built up speed as they grew more fluid. As always, he watched the dark young man in the mirror, with his sword that was alight with the reflections of candles and movements that matched his own.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fastest of them all? You…or me?
So involved was he in following the blade in the mirror that he turned to block the glint of metal on automatic. It was only at the clash of blades that he realized he had actually stopped a real blade. Stepping away and shaking his head slightly to bring his mind back to reality and actual thought, his eyes widened as he saw the owner of the other blade. Bowing deeply, he murmured,
“Your Grace.”
Duke Roger smiled and lowered his sword.
“Ah, Alex…I thought I might find you here.” The Duke’s melodic voice was mild and far too awake for this hour in the morning…unless Alex had spent far longer down here then. Not inconceivable, he had to admit.
“Have you been up long, your Grace?” Alex asked, soft voice quiet. The handsome Duke smiled again, and shook his head.
“Not long, maybe an hour, an hour and a half…I found your bed made and concluded that you had wandered down here.”
“Not to seem presumptuous, but I could have spent last night somewhere else,” like a tavern floor, Alex mentally added.
“Not with the amount of swearing I heard you utter after hitting your head on the door, my dear boy.” Roger said calmly, clearly amused at Alex’s flush of chagrin. “Speaking of which,” the Duke went on, “that was at perhaps two in the morning? Considering the time is now roughly eight, and that you’ve obviously been down here for a while…when did you wake up?”
“Five, your-sir,” he hastily corrected himself.
“Five.”
“As normal, sir.”
“I am well aware of what time you wake up, Alex.” Silence fell over them, the Duke giving his squire a somewhat stern look while the squire did some mental arithmetic to stop his nerves from winding themselves all tight again. Three times three candles in a circle, that’s nine, plus the three times four candles on the stands, that’s a further twelve…
“Why do you fight him, Alex?” Roger asked at last, gesturing with an elegant hand to Alex’s reflection. The dark squire shrugged slightly.
“I’ve never beaten him, sir.”
“Ah…”
“And neither has he ever beaten me.”
“Something to aim for?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Interesting.” Roger commented, his bright blue eyes thoughtful. Raising his sword enough to gain Alex’s attention, he spoke again.
“I have an offer to make you, Alex.”
Alex frowned slightly. “Sir?”
“I propose a duel. Here, now. If I win, you are to spend most of today sleeping.”
“And if I win, sir?”
“Then how you spend your time is entirely up to you. Agreed?” he offered his hand. Alex gave his knight-master a long look, but shook his hand anyway.
“Agreed.”
Silently, both of them bowed to each other and, crossing their blades, they stepped back so that they were just a sword’s length apart.
“Guard,” Roger said quietly and feinted to the left. Alex didn’t even try to block it; he just stepped smoothly back. His knight-master smiled slightly as they started to circle each other, watching the other for the right moment. This time Alex feinted, a mere suggestion of movement that signified a weakening of guard. Roger lunged in and Alex stepped aside, bringing his sword around Roger’s and aiming for his master’s heart. But his lack of sleep made him slower then normal, so Roger was able to step away and block the movement with a clear, ringing sound that echoed in Alex’s head.
Maybe I am still a little drunk after all, he thought to himself as he stepped back. Roger wasn’t a trained knight, but he was still an excellent swordsman. And Alex, after all, was still technically a squire. A squire who was suffering from sleep deprivation and a night of heavy drinking. He had thought that he was fine, but practicing with someone else was different from your reflection. Your reflection, after all, would only be as good as you were.
Roger whipped his sword down and in, and Alex only just parried it. He lunged in himself, but he stumbled and Roger’s sword caught his around the hilt, wrenching it from his grasp and sending it flying. It crashed into the door and fell to the ground. Alex watched it insensibly, wincing slightly at the clang of metal on stone.
“Oh, fuck.”
Roger slid his own sword back in its sheath and raised an eyebrow. Alex met his eyes, and yawned.
“You won, can I sleep now?” he asked, holding out his hand according to the rules of good sportsmanship. Roger nodded, and took Alex’s slender hand in his own large one.
“Of course, my dear boy.” Roger said with a charming little smile, raising Alex’s hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles gently. Alex was too tired to do more then mutter “You said sleep,” before his knees buckled. Roger caught him before he fell to the floor, and then just shook his head with a fond smile.
“You really are a silly boy, you know,” the half-asleep squire dimly heard him say through a fog. Magic, Alex struggled to think, you cheated and magiced me!
He settled for mumbling, “Am not,” to which Roger gave a soft laugh. Catching a sight of his reflection on the way out, Alex made a mental promise before surrendering to the sleeping spell.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…I’ll see you again tomorrow.
Fin.
sunreon, Christmas 2004TITLE: Mirror, Mirror
FANDOM: Song of the Lioness
PAIRING: Roger/Alex
RATING: PG
WORDS: 1,413
DISCLAIMER: All characters and situations belong to Tamora Pierce, I’m just playing.
NOTES: Set between the first two books.
EXTRACT: As always, he watched the dark young man in the mirror, with his sword that was alight with the reflections of candles and movements that matched his own. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fastest of them all? You…or me?
Three times three candles stood in a circle around the perimeter of a room that was three by three by three feet long and the same wide. Four stands in the corners, each with another three candles, and four large mirrors along each of the four walls. Sadly, there was only one door, but as everything was divisible by one, he found no real fault with that.
He was Alexander of Tirragen, standing in the room’s center, barefoot and dressed in black. His naked sword, simple and elegant, had dancing candle reflections along its highly polished surface. The effect was beautiful, but he ignored it. Alex was good at ignoring things that he didn’t like, and maybe if he ignored the sword he could ignore what it represented – knighthood.
Midwinter in a squire’s eighteenth year meant the Ordeal of Knighthood. The knights who survived were forbidden to talk about it, of course, but they didn’t really need too; anything where there was a distinction between those who survived and those who did not was a source of nerves. Especially today.
It was Midwinter, and Alex had turned eighteen months ago.
Last night had been spent getting drunk with Gary, Raoul and Jon before he had finally staggered into bed at some ungodly hour in the morning. The theory behind said drinking was that much of the day would thus be spent either sleeping off the effects of aforementioned alcohol, or it would be devoted to moaning about the hangover, which in turn would neatly result in no time spent worrying about the upcoming and inescapable Ordeal.
That was the theory, anyway.
Sadly, all the theory in the world couldn’t compete with reality in the form of the twin facts that Alex naturally woke up at five in the morning and that he had never had a hangover in his life. His body saw no reason why he should wake up any later then normal merely because he might die in another twelve hours or so, and it clearly had no intention of giving him a hangover when he wanted one.
In retaliation, the faintly exhausted Alex had made his bed, tidied his room and headed down to the practice courts.
If the effect of walking into the room was compared to the first glass of wine, then the laying down and lighting of each candle was an additional sip until he stood in the center of the room, limbs relaxed and mind drunk on the sheer simplicity that practicing involved.
Meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, Alex gave his reflection a deep bow and began. Attack, block, circle step and thrust, parry and spin to cut down then sweep up, his slender body moved from one position to the other with slow, sure movements which gradually built up speed as they grew more fluid. As always, he watched the dark young man in the mirror, with his sword that was alight with the reflections of candles and movements that matched his own.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fastest of them all? You…or me?
So involved was he in following the blade in the mirror that he turned to block the glint of metal on automatic. It was only at the clash of blades that he realized he had actually stopped a real blade. Stepping away and shaking his head slightly to bring his mind back to reality and actual thought, his eyes widened as he saw the owner of the other blade. Bowing deeply, he murmured,
“Your Grace.”
Duke Roger smiled and lowered his sword.
“Ah, Alex…I thought I might find you here.” The Duke’s melodic voice was mild and far too awake for this hour in the morning…unless Alex had spent far longer down here then. Not inconceivable, he had to admit.
“Have you been up long, your Grace?” Alex asked, soft voice quiet. The handsome Duke smiled again, and shook his head.
“Not long, maybe an hour, an hour and a half…I found your bed made and concluded that you had wandered down here.”
“Not to seem presumptuous, but I could have spent last night somewhere else,” like a tavern floor, Alex mentally added.
“Not with the amount of swearing I heard you utter after hitting your head on the door, my dear boy.” Roger said calmly, clearly amused at Alex’s flush of chagrin. “Speaking of which,” the Duke went on, “that was at perhaps two in the morning? Considering the time is now roughly eight, and that you’ve obviously been down here for a while…when did you wake up?”
“Five, your-sir,” he hastily corrected himself.
“Five.”
“As normal, sir.”
“I am well aware of what time you wake up, Alex.” Silence fell over them, the Duke giving his squire a somewhat stern look while the squire did some mental arithmetic to stop his nerves from winding themselves all tight again. Three times three candles in a circle, that’s nine, plus the three times four candles on the stands, that’s a further twelve…
“Why do you fight him, Alex?” Roger asked at last, gesturing with an elegant hand to Alex’s reflection. The dark squire shrugged slightly.
“I’ve never beaten him, sir.”
“Ah…”
“And neither has he ever beaten me.”
“Something to aim for?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Interesting.” Roger commented, his bright blue eyes thoughtful. Raising his sword enough to gain Alex’s attention, he spoke again.
“I have an offer to make you, Alex.”
Alex frowned slightly. “Sir?”
“I propose a duel. Here, now. If I win, you are to spend most of today sleeping.”
“And if I win, sir?”
“Then how you spend your time is entirely up to you. Agreed?” he offered his hand. Alex gave his knight-master a long look, but shook his hand anyway.
“Agreed.”
Silently, both of them bowed to each other and, crossing their blades, they stepped back so that they were just a sword’s length apart.
“Guard,” Roger said quietly and feinted to the left. Alex didn’t even try to block it; he just stepped smoothly back. His knight-master smiled slightly as they started to circle each other, watching the other for the right moment. This time Alex feinted, a mere suggestion of movement that signified a weakening of guard. Roger lunged in and Alex stepped aside, bringing his sword around Roger’s and aiming for his master’s heart. But his lack of sleep made him slower then normal, so Roger was able to step away and block the movement with a clear, ringing sound that echoed in Alex’s head.
Maybe I am still a little drunk after all, he thought to himself as he stepped back. Roger wasn’t a trained knight, but he was still an excellent swordsman. And Alex, after all, was still technically a squire. A squire who was suffering from sleep deprivation and a night of heavy drinking. He had thought that he was fine, but practicing with someone else was different from your reflection. Your reflection, after all, would only be as good as you were.
Roger whipped his sword down and in, and Alex only just parried it. He lunged in himself, but he stumbled and Roger’s sword caught his around the hilt, wrenching it from his grasp and sending it flying. It crashed into the door and fell to the ground. Alex watched it insensibly, wincing slightly at the clang of metal on stone.
“Oh, fuck.”
Roger slid his own sword back in its sheath and raised an eyebrow. Alex met his eyes, and yawned.
“You won, can I sleep now?” he asked, holding out his hand according to the rules of good sportsmanship. Roger nodded, and took Alex’s slender hand in his own large one.
“Of course, my dear boy.” Roger said with a charming little smile, raising Alex’s hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles gently. Alex was too tired to do more then mutter “You said sleep,” before his knees buckled. Roger caught him before he fell to the floor, and then just shook his head with a fond smile.
“You really are a silly boy, you know,” the half-asleep squire dimly heard him say through a fog. Magic, Alex struggled to think, you cheated and magiced me!
He settled for mumbling, “Am not,” to which Roger gave a soft laugh. Catching a sight of his reflection on the way out, Alex made a mental promise before surrendering to the sleeping spell.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…I’ll see you again tomorrow.
Fin.