The Salle, Monday Morning

[bitchprince]

On Friday, Arthur had reached a decision. After the weekend, he wasn't in the best mood to follow through on it, but there were few reasons to let his mood interfere with what was, essentially, a duty of some kind.

The duty of survival. As Crown Prince, it was a real one.

Still, he thought, as he arrived in the salle, Dinah had best be grateful. And it was all tactics. His gut still twinged with the sting of clear betrayal, but his sense of morality was as confused on this subject as anything else ever was, and so he ignored it.

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[bitchprince]

"Actually, it's not," Arthur told her flatly, because you did have to correct that kind of stupidity as it came. "It's Lady Zoe's salle, so I'd say the decision is up to her."

He'd take his own time in getting to any point. Keep the conversation in his court.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Dinah stopped, kind of amused at that. Nitpick and explain how he was wrong, and Principal Winchester didn't own it, or let it go?

Why was he still talking to her? "Uh-hunh." She gave the eskrima a flip and got to her feet. "And since I'm a student here, and you're a student here... I guess she already did." She studied him a second. Waiting.

[bitchprince]

From what Arthur had been told, Lady Zoe held power over the school. Ergo, she must own it, and it was unlikely Dinah could've convinced him otherwise.

"Circumstances change," he simply said.

That worked in many directions.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Which sounded like a threat, and had Dinah tightening her hands on her sticks again, glare notching up. Why did she have to be the one to prove anything? Why did she have to keep her temper and not just tell Arthur he was being a jerk? Five-year-old her got to tell seven-year-old him that, why was today any different?

Except, except... he'd already said he didn't have anything to fear from him. And he'd been fine fighting with her on Wednesday. So...

...okay, she had nothing here. Maybe it was just Monday, and he had to be a prat to somebody after being a page all weekend.

"Right." She gave him a you're weird look for that, and headed for the practice dummy.

[bitchprince]

It wasn't a threat. Arthur was going to get the worst headache known to man off of this horrible debacle. It didn't help that she was acting distinctly ungrateful, which wasn't doing much to strengthen his resolve in this matter.

"So we'd better make sure you don't wind up destroying more helpless items than enemies next time."

It was not the self-contained, distant forgiveness he had been hoping he'd be able to use. Of course she'd have to remain aggravating as all hell.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

We?

Wait. What?

Dinah turned around, eyes wide, animosity gone in total confusion. And a little bit of hope.

Arthur still looked, well, Arthur-ish. Way too sure of himself and matter-of-fact and mildly irritated. But, maybe... She took a step forward, not dropping the sticks in case she was wrong. "I shot a few of them. And I couldn't kill them with the CD's," and hadn't wanted to much, okay, but, she hadn't run away and she'd fought and she'd done her part, "--they're too light, but I got them to crash into each other and wounded them." Bounce on the toes, look at the sword. Don't ask, don't ask. Please, please?

[bitchprince]

"Wounded will still get you killed in battle if you're not careful."

He was more than averagely working to maintain a facade of sureness. Arthur had no doubts as to what his father would say of this, would think, and it still sat so very uneasily in his stomach.

He went for the practice swords. Picked one.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Dinah carefully put her sticks down, and followed him over to the swords. Half-holding her breath in case she was wrong. She could just, you know, start on her forms now, if she wanted to. Just stay out of his way.

She picked one of her own, and slid him a glance sideways, biting her lip as she got into ready stance.

[bitchprince]

"That one is going to kill your wrist halfway into a form," he said, carrying the sword he held towards her. His face remained a schooled, somewhat smug unreadable.

Mercy could be seen as strength, and that was neither his father's nor Morgana's irritating opinion blaring away in his head. It was his own.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Yes!

Dinah gave him a totally joyful smile. Couldn't help it.

There was a fight they were going to have to have later, maybe. About how you just didn't leave friends hanging for two weeks, or at least admitted you were wrong, or how much he'd been mistaken about her.... But hey.

Actions speak louder, right?

But now was the time to concentrate. Forms. "Okay."

[bitchprince]

He offered her the sword.

Oh, sure. Smile at him. Make the thing twitching in his stomach worsen some. Dinah should be really bloody grateful for this, the risk he was taking, the loyalties that were straining harshly in his mind.

His fingers lingered on the edge of the blade while he waited. His expression didn't change. Survival was a duty, and she had been a peaceful woman, in her way.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

She reached for the sword. Nodded. Hoped he got it. Just in case he didn't, though: "Thanks."

And if she hadn't been so distracted, would've been more careful, and wouldn't have let her fingers brush against his in taking it.

[bitchprince]

At least she was grateful as she should've been. Otherwise, he would have had to put an end to this.

The same image kept incessantly repeating in his mind - his father, upon discovering Morgana's betrayal - Mordred had just been a boy, but he'd known better than to speak up too much, to act against his father's words. He would not be traitor.

He was one right now. And not even to save anyone's life, barring what cock-ups Dinah could engage in in the future.

Morgana had rebelled, betrayed as he had now, and he still distinctly remembered his own helplessness when his father's fingers had closed on her throat. You have betrayed me.

Funny.

He'd done what he had to. Surpass his father? Betray him?

Whatever. He'd have to live.

"Now let's see if you can swing that without removing any extremities," he said, flippantly, and turned 'round to collect his own sword.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Between one breath and the next, Dinah was standing in an open stone hall, flashes of other scenes underlying the one overriding one: a little boy looking up, silent and solemn; a girl, maybe Arthur's age, gorgeous and angry in a red cloak in a dark alley, holding onto the boy; a king, sitting on a throne, eyes like a hawk, one finger to his temple near the crown--

You have betrayed me. And the king, Arthur's dad, was choking the girl. Who looked terrified and still angry.

Arthur standing there, wanting to help her, badly. Knowing that if he did he'd make it worse. Morgana, Father, no

-- and then she was in the salle, skin tingling, breath still choking with Arthur's emotions, and trying not to shake. Gulped, and wondered what the hell her expression looked like.

[bitchprince]

Arthur had his back turned, still. He reached down to pick his sword back up from where he'd left it. "Any time now, Dinah," he said, idly, before he turned 'round.

And frowned in confusion.

Right. Whatever.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

"Um." Get it together, Lance. "Yes. Got it." There was no way in any universe that she was telling Arthur she'd read his mind. Especially about that.

She got into position, trying to push the flash aside, not looking at him. Still stuck on, you have betrayed me and that as his dad doing that. The King. Nobody speaks up against a king. Stocks, dungeons, chopping block, and... he wouldn't ever do that to Arthur. Would he?

Dinah got back into ready position. Later. Think about it later.

[bitchprince]

He reminded himself that he'd made a choice here. And he probably owed it to her to put the details straight, aloud, but this was so much strange territory that he fell back on his father-given habit of showing these matters through actions rather than words.

"Then watch your feet," Arthur said, as he began.

She would not see his discomfort. He wouldn't let her. He just needed to be in control.

[blondecanary.livejournal.com]

Feet, arms, wrists, shoulders, concentrate, be inside your body, not inside your head, certainly not inside Arthur's head.

Because you can't thank someone for taking a risk for you if they don't tell you about it. So just do your best to follow along instead.

Actions speak louder.