The next morning, all of the settlers and soldiers alike were gathered along the main street to make certain they missed nothing of the day’s event. When first they spotted Arvel and his procession coming along the winding road, a few shouts rose up, “There they are!” before the folk began to move to the edges of the road, clearing the way.

Arvel was dressed nothing but normally, with a pair of dirt-stained overalls on top of a long-sleeved, button-up shirt, with its sleeves rolled up and its buttons long since gone. A thick leather belt hung around his hips and his father’s longsword rested at his hip, though its dry-rotting scabbard had been wrapped with burlap to keep it from falling apart.

Three women accompanied him. Though Lunette’s armor had long since been destroyed, she chose to don her cloak, still marking herself in service to the Marchioness of Nathulan. Fidget, meanwhile, was dressed to the nines, or at least her version thereof; she had put on her leather booties and gingham curtain cloak, wearing it wrapped and pinned just like Lunette’s. Over her shoulder, the goblin carried her large leather bag, packed with medicine, bandages, and snacks for the day’s outing. Lastly was Rain, wearing the cleanest and finest of her commoner clothes; she’d brought no gowns nor jewelry with her to Elediah’s Trail, and her only sign of nobility was the broad straw hat she wore to shield her delicate skin from the sun.

As they walked into town, the locals were whispering, and a few got brave enough to cheer for Arvel and wish him well. After all, supporting Arvel meant wishing for Lord Kellian to fail, and few wanted to be so bold in front of the lord’s soldiers.

Few, that is, besides Frederik.

“Arvel!” Frederik shouted as he broke from the crowd to walk alongside Arvel and his procession. He held his notebook braced against his forearm with a wrapped stick of charcoal pinched between his fingers, ready to write, as he asked, “Is there anything you would like to say before your duel?”

“What the hells are you askin’ me that for?” Arvel asked, giving Frederik a suspicious look, “Are you already plannin’ my headstone or somethin’?”

“Hardly,” Frederik replied, “In the history of Elediah’s Trail, I believe that this shall be a grand event. Perhaps even a turning point in the history of Nathulan, depending on how the future unfolds! I could not live with myself if I neglected to properly record these events.”

“Well why do you need a quote from me?” Arvel asked.

“This is a rare opportunity,” said Frederik, “Seldom do those who record history have the chance to express what was in the mind of a legend, before they became one. So please, humor me if you would!”

“A legend? Oh for...” Arvel muttered, stopping in the middle of the street. He thought for a moment, then looked at Frederik and said, “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to make history here. I’m just tryin’ to make a better future, y’know?. We ain’t gonna have peace ‘n prosperity in our land if high ‘n mighty folk think they can walk on the person who’s dedicated to tryin’ to help her people live good lives. Sure, she’s startin’ out small ‘n focused, but what other nobel has ever decided to strap on their muddin’ boots and walk out in a farm to ask folk like us ‘what do you really need’? I don’t know of none. So quit scroungin’ around lookin’ fer quotes and just make sure you write down good ‘n clear who wins today. ...What the hells are you writin’ so much?”

“Your words!” Frederik replied, busily scrawling on his page, “Fantastic!”

Arvel groaned and shook his head, before looking down the street.

At the far end, Lord Kellian was arriving from his camp. He would not arrive first to stand around and wait for Arvel, but he would not be tardy to such a duel either. He walked in the accompaniment of his highest ranked soldiers, all of them wearing armor cloaks, though Lord Kellian himself had eschewed armor, instead wearing a fine doublet over his shirt, with leather trousers.

“It would seem Lord Kellian wishes to ensure no one argues unfairness,” Frederik said with a smile.

“So what’d he say?” Arvel asked, “What’s his quote for the history books?”

“Oh, I haven’t asked,” Frederik replied, grinning confidently at Arvel, before saying “I can imagine they’re quite confident and self-assured, but I shall ask him his thoughts on his loss after.”

Arvel stared at Frederik as he ran back to the crowd to take a prime viewing spot.

Lunette stepped forward from Arvel’s side, to stand along the edge of the road between the two men. She raised her voice over the din of the crowd and said, “If there are no objections, I will volunteer myself to oversee this duel.”

“I consent to this,” said Lord Kellian, removing his cloak and handing it off to one of his men, “You are a right and honorable knight, Ser Goldmane. I trust you to be impartial.”

“Thank you for your trust, my lord,” Lunette said, “That said, the opportunity remains to beg pardon and avoid bloodshed entirely.”

“I owe this young man no apologies,” Lord Kellian said, his eyes narrowed on Arvel.

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“That’s right,” said Arvel, “You owe Rain an apology. If you’ll give her one, in front of all these folk, we can both walk away right now.”

“My words for my niece are not the business of others,” Kellian said, “Whether or not they were harsh, they were meant for her and you have no place to interfere.”

“You decided to spread those words all up ‘n down the street as loud as ya could,” Arvel replied, glaring sharply, “You made it everybody in town’s business.”

Frederik lifted a hand from the sidelines and said, “If I may! It is stated in proper dueling code that any insult to a lady under a gentleman's care or protection to be considered as, by one degree, a greater offense than if given to the gentleman personally. As Lady Deleraine lives with Mr. Arvel, he has every right to challenge for her honor.”

Lunette took a deep breath before sighing and saying, “It is clear that we are at an impasse.”

“That we are,” Lord Kellian replied, resting his hand on the sheath of his sword.

“Yup,” Arvel replied, arms folded across his chest.

“Then so it shall be,” said Lunette, “This duel shall be fought with swords. The parties shall engage until one is well blooded, disabled, or disarmed. If the challenger receives a wound and begs pardon, they may choose to end the duel. Do you both vow to never revive this quarrel once settled?”

“I do,” said Lord Kellian.

“Yup,” said Arvel.

“Then your seconds shall inspect each other’s weapons,” Lunette said.

Arvel took his sword belt off and handed it to Fidget, who ran to the middle of the road to meet with a knight from Lord Kellian’s side, bearing his lord’s weapon. Both of them unsheathed the swords and laid them out for inspection, while Fidget squinted and closely looked over every part of the lord’s weapon as though she had any idea what to look for. While they waited, Rain gently laid her hand on Arvel’s back.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rain whispered.

“Yeah I do,” Arvel replied, looking over his shoulder at her.

“But you don’t,” she said, “I don’t care about my uncle’s unkind words. They hurt, but the wound he dealt me is nothing compared to the comfort your compassion and kindness bring to me. I do not need this.”

Arvel turned, and took Rain’s hand, squeezing it firmly as he said, “I called you ‘my lady’ for a reason. Frederik said it too... An insult to you is worse than an insult to me.”

Rain squeezed his hand and stepped closer, leaning up to gently press her lips to his, while her free hand tugged the brim of her hat down to offer them some small privacy from the gaze of onlookers. She nestled her lips to his warmly, and whispered against them, “Please, please don’t get hurt for my sake.”

Arvel unfolded his arms, and wrapped them around her waist, far beyond what the brim of her hat could hide, and whispered against her lips in between faint kisses, “I ain’t gonna... I’m gonna win today... ‘n even if I get a little banged up... it’s gonna be worth it.”

Rain’s cheeks reddened deeply as she stared up at him, and Arvel’s cheeks began to warm too beneath her gaze.

“D-Don’t worry about it,” Arvel said as he released her from his grip, and ran a hand back through his hair, “It’ll be fine. I’m gonna kick yer uncle’s ass and once he leaves, everything can get right back to bein’ normal.”

Rain stepped back a bit, lightly wringing her hands in front of herself, before asking, “What if I don’t want it to be?”

“What?” Arvel asked, blinking at her.

“My ‘normal’ is one of tension,” she said quietly as she looked down at the dirt in front of her, “Always wondering when the other shoe will fall. I know that I have a life and obligation that await me in Fairvale... and I know that my time here is temporary. But to me, it merely feels like a stay of execution. I am at my happiest when I’m with you, Fidget, and Rain, but every time I’m happy, a little thought creeps into the back of my mind to remind me I’m going to lose it all one day. I don’t want my ‘normal’... I want... I want to be able to trust that my happiness won’t vanish like smoke.”

Arvel was quiet, watching her.

“Done!” Fidget shouted as she ran back toward Arvel, holding out his sheathed sword in both her hands, “Jerk lord’s sword seems okay.”

“J-Jerk lord?” Rain stammered, staring at Fidget.

Arvel turned and took the sword back, strapping the belt around his waist and fastening it in place as he tried to work through the chaos in his mind.

“Alright, alright,” Arvel said, “I gotta go. I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Oh!” Rain exclaimed, “...I... I’m sorry. This was terrible timing...”

“It’s fine,” said Arvel as he fished in his pocket, “Jus’ hold onto this ‘n we’ll figure it out later.”

Rain held out her cupped hands to receive whatever Arvel had to hand her, and she stared down at a platinum band that fell into her hand, decorated with etchings of waves that wrapped around a sizable blue sapphire set in the center. At first, she could not fathom why Arvel was carrying such a thing. But slowly, her thoughts began to turn to why Arvel wanted her to hold onto it.

“Wish me luck!” Arvel said, waving as he started for the middle of the street.

“Ah!” Rain gasped, lifting her head, clasping the ring between her hands, “Good luck!”

Arvel and Lord Kellain met in the middle of the street, ten feet apart from one another, while Lunette flanked them both in the middle.

“Gentlemen, we have reached an agreement of terms,” said Lunette, “The field is yours to find your satisfaction. You may... begin.”

The instant the word ‘begin’ left her lips, Lord Kellain drew his sword, lifting it over his head and slashing downward at Arvel in a broad arc. At the same time, Arvel drew his own blade from its shoddy wrappings with a glorious flash of light, and Kellain’s strike was stopped in mid air with Arvel’s block, though Arvel’s feet skidded and dug into the dirt by a few inches from the force.

The crowd gasped in amazement at the sight, but Frederik stared at the sight of Arvel and his shining blade.

“Why?” Frederik whispered, “Why is it glowing?”

“Oops,” came a whisper from over Frederik’s shoulder.

Frederik cast a glance back, before his head whipped to the side in a double-take, staring at Melodia. She gave him a small smile from beneath the shade of her hood.

“What?” the glamored demoness asked, “You didn’t think I’d miss this for the world, did you?”