Music is The Song of the Sword-Dancer from The Witcher 3 OST, composed by Marcin Przybylowicz. Play it!

Media: I found Gilbert!!

******

I watch two squires duel each other, wooden swords in hand, circling each other cautiously. One of them is Sam Garthy, the squire who had been on my team for the assessments, when Sir Kendrick had still been choosing his apprentice. His gangly figure and red hair stand out starkly against his opponent's stocky figure, whose shaved blond hair does little to protect his head from the fresh onslaught of falling snow. If I'm not mistaken, the other boy's name is Lorian. Or Lorien. Or something similar to that.

I was never very good at names.

They're one of the few pairs of squires who are still duelling. Most of them are already done, changing into fresh sets of woollen clothing. Perspiration renders the wool's innate properties of trapping heat useless, and thus we usually bring a few extra clothes with us onto the training field. I fold my arms across my chest, the dead branches of the tree I'm standing under casting long, spindly shadows sprawling across my feet, like thin, wretched fingers ready to pluck unassuming children out of their beds. Sometimes, one wonders why Pst. Maia had created a whole season of plunging, miserable cold.

The squires continue to circle each other for a few seconds, before lunging for each other at the same time.

Sam aims his thrust at Lorian or Lorien's abdomen, while the shorter boy slashes wildly with his wooden blade. Each weapon hits their marks, and both stagger backwards, clutching their injured areas in pain. They bare their teeth at each other, abandoning a proper stance in favour of looking more threatening instead. They succeed. Mostly. However, the fact that their stances are unbalanced makes me gnash my teeth in frustration.

They rush for each other.

To my surprise, Sam opts for a more defensive stance at the very last second, parrying a thrust away. His opponent looks just as surprised as I am, but recovers quickly and steps in for another attack. This time, Sam swings his sword and aims for Lorien's exposed left abdomen. The shorter boy dodges the blow, but is unable to get an attack in himself. They circle each other again, only to jump in and out wildly, no strategy in their moves, no poise to their form. Like animals. Animals with weapons in their hands—or paws.

Each stroke of one blade is met with the other. They go back and forth like this, lashing out with every ounce of strength they have, not bothering to conserve their energy and seek an opportune moment to strike. There's no doubt that they're excellent swordsmen, truth be told. And there is a certain unorthodox beauty in their swordplay. But fighting like that in real life would only get them cut down in the first few seconds.

I step forward, casually striding towards them. Their swords are now locked in front of them in an 'X', and they're pushing against each other hard, perspiration beading on their brows. They're so focused on the fight that they don't see me coming.

Mistake.

Even without any weapons in hand, I disarm them easily-I grab their wrists and twist hard, forcing them to drop their weapons in shock and pain. Only then do they notice that I'm right in front of them. They bow their heads in submission, looking frightened although I haven't said anything damning yet.

And you wonder why people fear you so much, Abner yawns lazily. Why shouldn't they, if you use your abilities so blatantly? They are rather intimidating, after all.

I'm trying to teach them, Abner. Now, if you would kindly go back to sleep.

I wasn't sleeping.

Just go back to...whatever you were doing.

Fair enough.

I sense Abner retreating back into the farthest corners of my mind. I exhale loudly, recollecting my thoughts. Then with my eyes flickering between the two boys, I say, "Haven't any of your trainers taught you about sword stances?"

I'm met with silence. Sam seems very interested in the trees behind me, while Lorien looks at my collarbone, where my Mark of a lion's head is branded. I shift uneasily, as though he could pierce through my disguise, see me for who I am beneath the tunic layers. "Well?" I bark.

"Yes, sir," they finally say, voices timid.

"I am not a knight. On this field, I'm your trainer, so a 'master' would suffice," I correct them.

"Yes, master." They sound a little more confident. Better.

"So, proper stances. Any trainers taught you that?"

"Yes, master." Now they pluck up the courage to look at me in the face. Excellent. At least they do have backbones of some sort, and are not just all bluster.

"Then would you care to explain what happened during that duel just now?"

They look away again. My mouth twitches in irritation. On the bright side, if they're this rattled, it means that they do acknowledge their mistakes. They know what they've done wrong. That makes my task slightly easier. Now to make sure they actually stick to the proper fighting forms.

I straighten my spine. "What happened to all your stances? Haven't they been drilled into your heads just yet? Or do you need some assistance with that?"

"No, master," squeaks Lorien. Sam remains silent.

"Are you sure? Because I'm positive that ten laps around the field should solve that issue immediately."

"Twenty," a gravelly voice chimes in. "Ten is much too little for these rambunctious brats."

I wheel around. "Sir Isaac?" I say.

The old knight is wearing his signature scowl on his wrinkled face. He eyes Sam and Lorien with a glare that would make a wild boar retreat to wherever it came from. He's old, but his posture is as straight as ever, and he still walks around with a spring to his steps. However, there's no mistaking that he's growing older. He seems frailer compared to when I'd first met him; there are moments when his mind blanks out.

Now though, he's in one of his crusty moods. Just like old Sir Isaac. Despite myself, I smother a small grin. This is one of the few moments where I get to interact with him, when I'm not completely busied by apprentice duties and he's the trainer on the field. In fact, it's the first time I've had a chance to properly interact with him ever since he returned from a trip to Hallicus, our main port city. Which was...seven months ago. Pietists, it's been that long. I've never realised how busy Captain Eldric's assignments have kept me.

"Do you see anyone else around here?" He looks around, ducking his body high and low mockingly. "There's you, me, those two idiots-of course it's Sir Isaac! Don't bloody well look like Sir Evan, do I?"

His physical strength may wane with age, but his temper doesn't. "Er...Certainly not, sir," I say.

"Good to know! Now, where were we? Right. Doling out the proper punishments for these two stinkbugs." He places his hands on his hips, features still twisted in a scowl. Once, I might have taken it for a warning. To watch my words and make sure that I'm not on the receiving end of his grumpiness. "So, twenty laps around the field."

We all stare at him.

"What are you waiting for? Don't just stand there like a pair of headless turtles!" he screams.

The two boys take off immediately, kicking up dirt in their trails. They run till they're almost a blur in the distance—not too bad for normal humans. It would be a miracle if they could keep this speed up though. I look at Sir Isaac. "Sir, isn't twenty laps a little excessive?" I let the words slip before I know it.

He snorts. "Feel sorry for those lads, don't you? Won't feel so sorry if you join them."

Some extra physical training never hurts, says Abner.

"Thank you, but no thank you, sir. Don't have much time today." I offer a smile, carefully ignoring Abner's provocation. I will not fall for one of his terrible, sarcastic lines again. Not today.

"Why not? Don't tell me Captain Eldric's been piling you with work again?"

"Not exactly..." I swivel my head around, observing that the men are rotating positions-the ones who had been resting now take up arms, while the ones who had been training take a rest. Still no sign of him. "I'm waiting for someone."

"And who might that be?"

"Squire Gilbert Falkner," announces a new voice, coming up from behind. I jump involuntarily; Sir Isaac's scowl deepens.

Sure enough, a young man with dark hair and amber eyes come into view. He looks awfully cheery for someone who had kept me waiting for at least four hours. I'd been expecting him to show at the beginning of training, not when we were almost approaching the end of it. "Nice of you to grace us with your presence," I say, a sour note ringing in my tone.

"My apologies. I overslept," he replies, flashing a grin at me.

"Really, has travelling worn you out so much that you don't keep your appointments on time?" I'm probably being unfair, but I feel like teasing him. I don't know how I'm maintaining a straight face as I say all this.

"You can't blame me! Do you know how tiring it is to sleep late, wake up early and ride on horseback till your arse turns sore with bruises?" he protests, in typical Gilbert fashion. "Look, I'm truly sorry. How can I make it up to you?"

"What about a duel then? I might just forgive you if you agree to take my mind off the matter for a while," I suggest.

"Isn't that the whole point of my coming here? To show you how much I've improved in skill?" The cocky grin returns. I think of a comeback to wipe it off.

Before I can say anything, Sir Isaac interrupts, "Just get on with it. Why do you think everyone's still hanging around even though the weather's positively depressing?"

Indeed, an unusual number of knights and squires remain on the field. Although their eyes are drawn to something else, be it their opponents or their swords or blades of grass, but there's no mistaking it-their attentions are all on us. Or more specifically, me and Gilbert. It had been quite a while since we'd made a show here. Naturally they would be eager to see a fight between two Champions of War.

"All right. Come on." I head towards the swords stands. Gilbert follows, while Sir Isaac retreats under the shade. Evidently he's just as eager to see this fight as the others are. When I walk under the shelter of the makeshift roof, I note that everyone doesn't bother to hide their hunger for a good duel. I fight to keep a cool mask on my face, not betraying my nerves.

I select two longswords, fairly equal in weight and grip. Real swords, not wooden ones. No need for us to hold back here. Gilbert swipes one away from me, corners of the lips curved upwards good-naturedly. I jerk my chin towards the outside, and we both stride into the field. Almost in perfect synchronisation, we whirl around to face each other and unsheathe our swords, discarding our scabbards to the sides. The area is cleared of people. Most likely watching by the sides, placing their bets on the winner.

Gilbert and I nod at each other. We take up our ready stances.

"Any rules for this duel?" Gilbert asks. There's a dangerous twinkle in his eyes.

"No dismembering or using our abilities," I warn. He very well knows what abilities I'm referring to. "Other than that, none."

"Done." Almost as if he is playing with what he can really do, I feel an unnatural chill in the air, gusting in my direction. In return, I bare my teeth at him. The blade of his sword gleams like a challenge.

I wait for him to charge.

The seconds tick by. He doesn't make the first move, like he usually does.

What's he doing? I ask Abner.

He emerges to the surface of my mind with the lazy prowling of a cat. Ironic, considering that he can take the form of a lion. If only he would nap like one too, then I wouldn't have to put up with his sardonic remarks. But then again, I wouldn't have him ready to advise me during necessary moments. Such as this.

Aren't you cheating, Constantine? I'm not very sure if Gilbert has an all-knowing advisor in his head...

I clench my jaw in irritation, keeping my eyes focused on Gilbert. He hasn't changed his position at all-not even shifting a slight inch. I don't see any noticeable tension in his muscles. He looks coiled and taut, ready to attack at any moment, yet able to hold back for as long as it takes.

Abner, I groan. This isn't exactly the time.

Time for what? Anyhow, don't take this so seriously. It's just a duel. Trust your instincts.

With that, he dives back down into the depths of my head. I suppress a snarl of dissatisfaction. Honestly, what is the use of a sliver of Pst. Bronicus if he can't give me proper adv—

Trust your instincts, his words echo in my head.

Not a bad idea, Abner, I think. Not bad at all.

I narrow my eyes. I haven't considered the possibility that his fighting style might have changed. Meanwhile, mine hasn't. Not by much. But...trust my instincts. Let my sword fighting skills take the lead. Perhaps that would work. If things get too heated up, I could always go on the defence while observing my opponent.

I close the distance and lunge for Gilbert's throat.

As expected, he parries the blow. I quickly shift my weight and duck low, ready to bury my fist into his stomach.

The strike lands true. I leap away before he can come up with a counterattack. He recovers quickly, preparing himself for another attack. He has a grin on his face, but his eyes scream murder. He's not going to hold back anymore.

I flex my shoulders. Neither am I.

I lunge forwards again.

This time, already anticipating my attack, Gilbert dodges it neatly. I expected that. What I don't expect is that he tucks himself into a roll, agilely coming round to my back before springing out. I barely wheel around in time to block his sword. The impact jars my arm, and I may have twisted my wrist. I release a low growl, leaping backwards and trying to ignore my throbbing bones.

However, Gilbert doesn't allow me any time to catch my breath, following up the sneak attack with brutal slashes. I hold my ground. Then I see an opening as he brings his sword down on me. I parry the blade and slam my shoulder into his ribcage, throwing him off balance.

I pull back, gaining enough momentum to swing my blade. But instead of staggering like he's supposed to, Gilbert uses the push I give him to roll away again, effectively placing a measurable distance between me and him.

I observe him warily. My arm is growing heavy from all the blows I had to block, and my wrist isn't getting any better. Sweat dribbles down my forehead; copper curls sweep across my vision. I haven't been tested this hard since he'd left. Usually a dozen or soldiers would attack me at the same time, yet it was nothing compared to this exercise.

I force myself to hold back. Gilbert starts to circle me, putting me on guard. I take in a few deep breaths. He has grown clever in his fighting—and more agile too. I'll have to be careful. Keep defending myself till I can get a clear opening. A proper one to strike and end this duel.

Then Gilbert lashes out at me.

He brings his sword down my left side—my weak side. I'm taken by surprise. I twist my body to avoid the slash, but his blade draws blood down my arm. I hiss and recoil from the wound. He retreats in the meantime.

Duck in. Strike. Duck out. Constantly moving, never stopping. That's what Gilbert is doing. His motions are fluid, full of feral grace. Still reminiscent of his old, reckless style, but more contained. More polished. Like a, like a...

A sword dancer.

Fortunately, I've grown used to his quick attacks by now. He abruptly lunges out at me, and I bring my sword up to parry his blade. I have to keep him constantly engaged in combat if I am to have any chance of winning this. Otherwise, if he keeps cutting away at me like that, I'll being worn down in no time.

So I push myself to keep swinging my sword. As expected, he blocks every single attack. But at least he's forced to hold his ground; I don't give him any room to retreat. Breathe, I tell myself. Just a little longer.

Problem is, I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out. I'm wearing Gilbert down, yes. However, I'm draining my energy at the same time. The only consolation I have is that his defence is growing weaker by the moment. There's mild panic in his eyes. A small satisfaction takes root in the pit of my stomach. Even if I lose, at least I would have some dignity left.

I don't plan on losing though.

I feign a quick thrust to his shoulder, before shifting my feet and bringing my blade round. Gilbert seizes the brief opportunity to roll away. A small smirk lights up my lips mid-whirl. Trust your instincts.

Using the momentum from my sword, I bound after him. I close the distance between us, catching him off guard. He hasn't even brought his sword up. I pull my arms back, aiming for his throat. After that, victory.

Victory to Pst. Bronicus.

But he's already moved away. I blink. Surely he couldn't escape my attack in that brief of a moment! Where the tip of my blade should be just on his skin, there is nothing but air. I snarl and twist my body again—

Only to have my sword wrenched out of my hands.

"Yield," says Gilbert from my side, blade at my throat. I swallow down hot embarrassment. Granted, that wasn't much of a strategy, but it should have guaranteed me a win. I should have triumphed!

No, I think. He won, fair and square. It wouldn't do to let my pride get in the way now. "I yield," I say, effectively ending the duel.

The cool steel of the sword disappears. Now I can move without risk of having my throat slit open. I stoop to pick up my weapon, only to see that Gilbert has already done the honours. He extends the hilt towards me. I take it, nodding at him. He smiles in return. "That was well played," I compliment him.

"Same to you," he replies. "In all honesty, I thought that it would be easier to beat you."

I snort haughtily. "Nice to know that you think so little of me."

"No—no! That's not what I meant at all. It's just..." He shakes his head. "I'll explain more later."

Curiosity flares in my mind. "Why later, and not now?"

"Because the knights are waiting for us to return the swords. I expect that they must be eager to get on to lunch now."

I heave a sigh, walking over to the edge of the field. The adrenaline of a duel ebbs away, and my senses become clear to the rest of my surroundings. Roars of approval fill the air, as well as demands for bets to be paid. Typical. I just hope that no one had put down a hefty sum of coin on me.

"You fought very well though," says Gilbert. "Lost by a scratch, really."

"But I lost anyway," I grumble, gathering my cloak at where I'd left it by the sword stands. I fling it over my shoulders and wrap myself in it, grateful for its warmth.

"Had to pull out a hat trick." Gilbert sheathes his longsword and returns it to where it belongs. I do the same. "Come now, don't be angry."

"Do I look angry?" I look at him, raising a brow.

"No. just very, very irritated. The way you always do when you don't win something."

I glare at him. He's unfazed, giving a lopsided grin. The corners of my mouth twitch. When I can't hold it in anymore, I burst out in laughter. "All right, so I'm somewhat irritated," I say. "Still, you would too, if you just lost a duel against someone who's more or less your equal."

"I'd say that's a cause to be glad, not irritated. Imagine if you went down while fighting Sir Isaac instead!"

The image makes me laugh again. "All right, all right, I see your point." I walk out of the stands, Gilbert by my side. "I'm going to the dining hall now. You have anything else to do?"

"I'll join you then. Outer or inner ring?"

I give a snort, one that resembles my old trainer's. "Where do you think?"

"Inner ring it is then."

******

A/N: Constantine sure is one crusty swordsmaster. Just like her old trainer, eh? And looks like Gilbert has upped Constantine in terms of strength and agility... Question is, why? That's an answer we have to find out eventually. Anyhow, hope you guys enjoyed this little duel. Been a long time since we've seen these two going at each other!

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