The Salle, Monday Morning

[bitchprince]

It was Monday morning, and Arthur was not about to let one little sorceress (or one not-so-little guilt complex) keep him from running the morning's training. Besides, Lady Alice might well come 'round, and now that the injury was nearly healed he needed to get as much training in as he could.

So he strode into the salle as he always did, his eyes locked on the practice blades. Time for work.

[[ open salle, kids. and now in the right comm! ]]

Comments

[not_in_the_book]

Ronan stared for a moment. "Seriously?" he asked. "Don't come by the clinic on Sundays, then. Unless you'd object to magical healing, too?"

[bitchprince]

"Just don't use any magic near me," he repeated, "And we'll have no quarrel."

[not_in_the_book]

"Get over yourself," Ronan retorted, as he picked up his sword and returned to his practice, "and there'd be no risk of that in the first place."

[bitchprince]

The urge to punch Ronan in the face was suddenly rather strong.

This is not Camelot. You can't order him to the dungeons.

Repeat, repeat.

"Whatever," he said, eloquently, after failing to come up with anything more witty. He had no intent to impress, anyway.

[not_in_the_book]

"Oh, brilliant retort," Ronan snarked. "I'm dazzled by your wits and eloquence. Who are you, anyway?"

[bitchprince]

"Certainly more brilliant than you, it seems," he shot back.

He'd already been crabby.

[not_in_the_book]

Ronan stared hard at Arthur for a minute, and then began quoting:

"In Life's name and for Life's sake, I assert that I will employ the Art which is its gift in Life's service alone, rejecting all other usages. I will guard growth and ease pain. I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way; and I will change no object or creature unless its growth and life, or that of the system of which it is part, are threatened. To these ends, in the practice of my Art, I will put aside fear for courage, and death for life, when it is right to do so -- till Universe's end."

He leveled his gaze at Arthur. "When you can swear an oath like that," he said, "and understand what it means -- when you can live that oath, and give your life in Life's service, and survive only through the quick-thinking, ingenuity, and magic possessed by your closest friends -- then you can level judgment against me and what I do. Until then, kindly sod off."

He spun on his heel, returned his sword to the locker, and left, a sudden bang filling the room as he was all at once gone and the air rushed into fill where he'd been.

[bitchprince]

Oh, brilliant.

In Ronan's wake, Arthur was torn between three responses:

1) Grudging recognition that this kind of oath was what he'd taken and he could understand it, even if he wasn't fond of the magic aspect;
2) Calling Ronan a complete girl and an utter drama queen;
3) Stabbing the hell out of his practice dummy.

He opted for #3.