Story - 1000 Victories II

[maderr]

If the day got any worse, Epee decided, he was going to be a total girl and break down into tears.

Sabre had, indeed, known he was absent and ratted him out over breakfast. That had forced Epee into doing a number of tedious errands for his father that Sabre, the bastard, should have done. Then he'd snuck off to see his warehouse and arrange to have it cleaned only to find that someone – boys, probably, out doing what only boys found amusing – had shattered all the windows and nearly broken in the front door.

Not an expense he had planned for in his limited funds. That would set him back by at least a month.

His new green silk coat had caught a nail while he'd surveyed the damage, and was utterly beyond repair.

He'd seen Mace and Sharp having a grand time of breakfast at the club, putting him off his own, and it was now well past noon and he'd not had so much as a bite of food the entire day.

The ship he had hoped to purchase was no longer for sale, the current owner having abruptly changed his mind. Thanks to the broken windows, he could not afford the other ships available at present.

What else, he wondered morosely, could possibly go wrong?

Now he would have to trek all the way back across town to change his coat, and hope father was not around to set him to still more errands.

Turning a corner onto the main street that cut the city roughly in half north to south, he jumped back just in time to avoid a carriage going full tilt – right through a puddle of mud, which splashed up to smatter his clothes from chest on down.

Epee balled his hands into fists and took several deep, calming breaths, fighting an urge just to throw up his hands, sit down in the street, and wail.

He really hoped he did not see Sharp further today. That would be the final insult on top of far too many injuries today. Truly, what had he done so wrong to earn this level of retribution? If there was a god in need of appeasement, he would do whatever was required.

Sighing heavily, he continued his trudge home, finally reaching it without further incident, slipping around to sneak in through the kitchen.

He had just reached the back stairs when footsteps sounded behind him.

"Lord Epee, your father said you were to see him the very moment you returned home." Though he said nothing further, the slight hesitation to his voice told Epee all he needed to know. For some reason as yet unknown, his father was angry with him.

What had he done? All his assigned errands had been accomplished, and on schedule – barely, but done all the same – and he not been engaged in a duel and so had not been able to lose one.

"I don't suppose I could change first?" Epee said, sighing when the butler only gave him a look that said it would be better to go straight to his father.

Bracing himself as best he could, Epee gave up on the stairs and headed for the main part of the house, quickly striding to his father's study and giving a perfunctory knock.

Called inside, he stood before his father's desk and waited.

"Sabre brought me interesting news today," Rapier said, eyes cold as he regarded his son, arms folded across his broad chest. "I've decided he must be sorely confused, but want to hear it from you directly."

"He's sorely confused," Epee said promptly. Being flippant was never a wise recourse, but if he was already in trouble, what harm?

Rapier's expression only went from cold to frozen. "What is this nonsense about you purchasing warehouses and ships and consorting familiarly with merchants and other commoners?"

Epee felt the words like blows to his gut. Sabre had told him? How in the bloody hell had Sabre learned of his warehouse? To hell with that, how had Sabre known about the ship and the merchants? Sabre was a bloody idiot; he would never have found out such a thing on his own. Why would he think to look?

He started to speak, but Rapier beat him to it. "I can see from your face that it's true. Why are you attempting to embarrass me this way? What game are you playing?"

"It's not a game," Epee replied, "and you embarrass yourself quite well, no need for me to do it. I bought the warehouse. I'm working on acquiring ships."

Rapier narrowed his eyes. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I thought I'd try my hand at business," Epee said quietly, meeting his father's eyes. "I think I'd do rather well. I will not be able to duel forever, and nothing else holds my interest. My efforts would do quite well for the family fortunes."

Rapier sneered, all but shaking with anger. "I don't need someone else earning money, especially not as a bloody commoner. You will dispose of that warehouse and cease this nonsense at once, Epee. I will not tolerate having a son who acts in such vulgar fashion."

Epee met his gaze, glaring back as good as he got. "I'm not selling it. I've chosen my course, and you'll not turn me from it."

"Then you can get out," Rapier said. "Go join that fool blacksmith."

"The one the crown prince loves? Gladly. I'll pack my things and never trouble you again."

Rapier shook his head. "Get out. Nothing in this house belongs to you; it was all purchased by me. Get out or I will order the footmen to toss you out."

"Father, surely—"

"Out," Rapier said. "I will not tolerate such ingratitude. I raise you, give you a home, fencing lessons, money to spend as you like, and you betray me by turning commoner? I have only one son, and you are not he. Get out."

Epee left, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

He had known it would come some day…but not today, and he'd always thought to take away some of his possessions. Contrary to what his damned father believed, many of those things Epee had purchased with his own money.

Now he had nothing, save the meager funds he had squirreled away. Much less than he would have had otherwise be, given the damage to the warehouse.

What, he wondered, would go wrong next?

The answer came soon enough, as he was walking down the street.

He felt eyes on him, the same foreboding sensation that always came upon him right before his father appeared to administer brutal discipline. Looking around, his eyes fell upon Mace.

Epee slowed down, taken aback by the open hostility in that gaze. He stopped completely as Mace excused himself from the companions at his café table, and crossed the street to stand before him.

Sudden realization struck him, though he could not make sense of how or why. "You told Sabre."

Mace nodded.

"Why?" Epee asked, staring at Mace, uncomprehending.

"Because the only one allowed to look at Sharp that way is me," Mace said, voice quiet but cold. "One would think that after all this time, you'd be past the lovesick puppy behavior. I did not return just to put up with you all over again."

Epee felt the words like a slap to the face.

What? Why? Those and a thousand questions more burned though his mind.

"I'm not nearly as civilized about these things as I was seven years ago," Mace continued, voice still so calm and quiet and steady, but though he had never seen before what he saw now in Mace's eyes, he knew what it was – hate. "Stay away from Sharp." He looked Epee slowly up and down, a mocking smirk slowly shaping his mouth. "Not that I think you could turn the eye of a desperate beggar at the moment."

Epee balled his hands into fists to still their trembling, refusing to feel ashamed, because it was hardly his fault that he had been battered with mud or that the nail had torn his coat. Even his brother had a few articles of clothing which had met their end on bad days.

"Last I checked, Sharp was an adult," Epee said. "I do not think he would appreciate your interfering like this; he can make his own decisions. When he wants nothing more to do with me, he will say so."

Mace let out a sharp bark of laughter. "What would you know about how Sharp feels or thinks? You do not. I am the one sleeping in his," Mace paused for the briefest of moment, "house, at present, and that aside I have known him far longer and far more intimately than you."

He was lying, Epee knew it. Whatever Mace and Sharp might be, they were not lovers. He had seen Sharp with lovers before, as brief as those liaisons had been – he would know if Mace was in Sharp's bed.

Wouldn't he?

Surely so.

It made him sick to his stomach to think that perhaps he had missed so vital an aspect of Sharp for so long. As though he were not already a laughingstock, if only in his own head.

Then something else Mace had said suddenly struck him. As civilized as I was sever years ago

"Seven years—that's why you accused me of tipping my blade in poison."

Mace shrugged. "You were fine so long as you stayed in your little corner reading and mooning quietly, well out of the way. The moment you started dueling – that was going too far. I thought an accusation of cheating and three months of suspension would scare you off it. I guess you are simply too stupid."

"Bastard!" Epee bellowed, temper snapping, drawing sword before he even thought about it, the tip not quite touching Mace's chest.

"Enough!" Sharp's voice rang out, and only then did Epee notice the stark silence which had fallen all around them. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, stepping between Mace and Epee, forcing Epee take a step back and lower his sword.

Epee did not sheath it. "I will not tolerate slurs upon my characters. I have done nothing to earn such disrespect. Not from him, not from anyone." He pointed at Mace. "If you want to call my honor into question, Lord Mace, then I demand the matter be settled in the dueling square." He hated the thought of fighting Sharp's friend, but damn it, he did not deserve this. If Mace wanted Sharp as well, he could at least fight honorably.

Mace smiled nastily. "No."

"What?" Epee demanded, anger and humiliation growing as spectators exploded into whispers, that Mace would be so rude, so mocking.

Well, two could play at that game. If Mace was going to imply he and his honor did not merit being defended, then he—

"I will face you, on his behalf," Sharp said, level but heard loud and clear.

"What!" Mace and Epee demanded together, then glared hatefully at each other.

Sharp stepped away to better look at both of them, and Epee felt awful for the conflicting emotions on his face – defending a friend against a man who…if not a friend, then Epee thought he had at least earned 'highly respected opponent'.

This was not a position in which Sharp should have been put, and he could see that even Mace had not anticipated this.

Maybe he didn't know his friend as well as he liked. Ordinarily, Epee would have smiled in smug amusement. Right now, the thought only left a bitter aftertaste.

"I detest that two people of whom I think so highly would behave this way," Sharp said. He looked at Epee. "You imply Mace would besmirch your name, though I can see no reason he would do so – he does not even really know you."

No, Mace didn't, but he did know the one thing neither of them could say – that they were both in love with Sharp, and that was all the reason Mace required to do Epee any and all manner of harm.

Sharp turned to Mace. "You and your temper are helping nothing. The very least you could have done was accept the challenge. If you insist on behaving like a child, then I will behave as men ought. Epee, I will face you in the dueling square."

Without saying another word, he turned and stalked off into the crowd.

Mace shot Epee a hateful look, then turned and bolted after his friend, hand immediately falling to rest on Sharp's shoulder – but Sharp shrugged it off, jerked away, and Epee took what satisfaction he could from that small gesture.

He wondered where Dagger was, and wished he were nearby. It would be nice, now that his day was ruined beyond all repair, to see one friendly face. One person who would care he was unhappy.

Sighing, ignoring the looks and the whispers, he sheathed his sword and slowly dragged himself to the dueling circle.

When he arrived, he very nearly called the whole thing off.

This was not how this final, most important duel was supposed to be. Despite their rivalry, the insults and barbs they tossed, there had always been an air of respect and competition between them. Never friendship, quite, but something that might have become that – or more – if circumstances ever changed.

On this, the 1000th duel, he had planned to change those circumstances.

Instead, Sharp looked unhappy and angry, Mace was suddenly looking smug and satisfied again, and Epee wished simply to go hide away somewhere and forget this entire awful day – but that only reminded him that he had nowhere to go, save his ruined warehouse. By now, Sabre would have ensured he was no longer welcome at any of his clubs.

Swallowing, he stepped into the circle, wondering what to say.

"What began all this?" Sharp asked quietly.

"Your friend once again has accused me of cheating," Epee said.

Mace snorted. "Why should I not? You were nothing in school for years, then suddenly you begin to seek out duels and win them? Against men who had already dueled for years and years? Sharp was acclaimed one of the very best, until you suddenly appeared and he began abruptly to lose. And let us face it – your family is not one known for its honesty or integrity, or even honor. I'm certain your stepbrother would agree."

"I am no cheater!" Epee bellowed angrily. "Always I have fought honestly. You accuse me of these things, but have no proof. I was cleared once, and if you insist upon it now I will be cleared again."

"Prove it, then," Mace said, overriding Sharp's attempt to speak, drowning him out. "Fight with a different sword, rather than your own. Prove that you do not need your sword to win."

Epee felt like he was going to be sick. This was humiliating and demeaning and wholly unworthy of the duel in which he was shortly to be engaged. He looked desperately at Sharp, but rather than cutting Mace down, Sharp merely looked at him in misery and doubt.

Damn it.

He deserved much in life, but he did not deserve that.

"I have never cheated," Epee said again, devastated – heartbroken. He deserved plenty that Sharp might say, but after nearly a decade of dueling he did not deserve still to have his integrity doubted.

So be it. Two could play this cruel game. "If it will make you happy, my dear Lord Sharp, then certainly I will fight with the handicap of using another's blade."

Sharp flinched at the insult, that he would not, could not, duel unless his opponent was at a disadvantage. He did not reply, however, merely stepped forward into his position. When Mace made to speak, Sharp cut him off with a rough sound and a furious look.

He turned back to Epee. "Whose sword will you use?"

"Mine."

Epee turned his head sharply to see Dagger pushing through the crowd to join them in the square. Dagger tossed his sword, and Epee caught it easily.

"Main Gauche," Epee greeted, faintly amused despite the circumstances that hearing that name made Dagger grimace. "What are you doing here?"

"I ran into Sabre," Dagger said with a shrug, being purposefully casual. "I was on my way to find you."

Epee nodded. "I see." Dagger knew he'd been disowned, and had probably seen the state of his poor warehouse. "Thank you for the sword."

"I know you're an honorable man," Dagger said. "When Rapier and Sabre would have nothing to do with me, you came to visit a humble blacksmith nearly every day. In a mass of people who should have known me, only you recognized the masked Main Gauche."

Dagger turned away, not waiting for a reply, and motioned for the crowd to silence. "I am witnessing this match. Any protests?"

Normally, their matches did not attract spectators, minus a handful of those bored enough to watch the Lords Epee and Sharp go at it yet again. Today, however…

It was also irregular for a relative of either party to witness such a serious match.

No one, however, was going to dare question Main Gauche. Those who did not love him, feared crossing him.

Feeling numb, Epee set Dagger's sword aside long enough to strip out of his muddy coat.

His leather book tumbled out, and he was surprised it had taken this long for it to fall from its little pocket. He rubbed his thumb over it, sadness and heartache striking him anew. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Retying his hair to make certain it stayed out of his way, Epee finally took up his position in the dueling square, and raised his borrowed sword in salute.

Dagger called the start of the duel a second later, and Epee did not waste time on the defensive.

He barely took note of his own movement, giving in the pain and rage accumulated over the course of what had to be the worst day of his life. Sharp said nothing, neither did Epee. The odd silence, rife with anger and unhappiness and distrust, only riled him further.

They had fought so long and hard over the years, their moves were no mystery to one another. Their had been dozens of reasons for their duels – supposed insults, tournaments large and small, boredom, one or the other seeking to vent…

Genuine negativity had never really colored them; the only he'd ever fought whom he hated were his father and Sabre.

Fighting Sharp now, when he hated everyone and everything and simply could not take anymore, gave Epee an almost vicious edge.

When Dagger called the victory, and the point of his sword just barely pressed against Sharp's throat, Epee could not remember how he had done it. He was breathing heavily, sweat stung his eyes, and he could see that Sharp had been worked just as hard.

He dropped the sword as though it burned.

There was no satisfaction in the victory, no thrill – no triumphant joy. Sharp regarded him with closed expression, too many emotions in his eyes for Epee to sort them out.

1000 victories, he thought miserably, looking into Sharp's eyes, willing him to read Epee's thoughts, to see. You're supposed to love me now.

"You were fighting Sharp, Epee, not Sabre," Dagger said, voice obviously striving for levity.

Pure habit drove Epee to reply, to make some jest or flippant remark, but when he opened his mouth nothing came out.

He realized he couldn’t do it anymore. Not now. Not now when there was finally no hope left. It was painfully obvious Mace had won.

His supply of smiles and laughter and jokes had finally run dry.

Ignoring everyone, even Dagger, Epee turned and walked away.

*~*~*

Sharp bit back an impulse to beg Epee not to go, to stay so that they could fix whatever had gone so horribly wrong today.

He didn't beg, though, because he didn't have the right. What he'd done – let Mace do – was despicable. He only wished he'd admitted that to himself a little bit sooner.

At some point he would apologize and begin to make reparations. For now…

"What in the bloody hell is your problem?" he bellowed, rounding on Mace, finally letting go of the strict hold he'd kept on his temper. "What did Epee ever do to you that you persist in accusing him of cheating? The two of you have exchanged maybe a dozen words over the course of a decade. What is your problem with him, Mace?"

Mace glared right back. "I’m allowed to dislike whomever I want, Sharp."

"He is as dear to me as you," Sharp hissed, and realized the words were true, though until then he had never even thought them. "We have dueled together with swords and words for nearly a decade. He is the only one to have crossed blades with me so often, and more than a few of those duels were finding solace and understanding when it could be found no where else!" He raked a hand through his hair, and wondered when the devil he'd lost the ribbon for it.

"Dear to you?" Mace demanded. "Like hell—"

"It's none of your business!" Sharp bellowed. "This entire duel never should have happened, and I allowed you to let me hurt someone I had no real desire to hurt. I want to know, right now, what started this entire mess. You will tell me or you will fight me, and then you will tell me while you are bleeding."

The sound of a blade sliding from it sheath drew their attention, and Sharp stared in shock as Main Gauche moved toward them, stooping briefly to retrieve his abandoned sword.

Sword in one hand, his famous main gauche in the other, Main Gauche moved to stand near Mace and raised his blades in challenge. "I'm afraid, Lord Sharp, that if you want to fight Lord Mace then you shall have to stand in line."

Mace laughed, angry and amused and contemptuous. "Why do you want to fight me?"

"For purposely bringing all manner of harm down upon my brother," Main Gauche replied. "Just this morning you told Sabre things which he reported to Lord Rapier, who in turn kicked Epee out. Then you question Epee's honor, and humiliate him before his peers, and erect this chasm between Epee and Sharp."

"What?" Sharp demanded, looking between them both in complete confusion. "Mace, what in the bloody blazes is he talking about?"

"He was going to be a peasant!" Mace said, the words seeming to explode. "That nasty, upstart little scholar playing at duelist was going to cease being a noble to play at being a merchant! I saw him walking about last night, to that stupid little warehouse, and wondered why he would go there. Figuring it out wasn't hard. A damned commoner, hardly fit to hold a blade or keep company with real men."

The ringing sound of steal against stone was the only warning, and Sharp barely saw Main Gauche move, only saw the fall out – Mace standing with a look of shock and pain upon his face, with a broken, bloodied nose.

"You're not worth a duel," Main Gauche said coldly. "Do not insult my brother again, or you will see what power a damned commoner can have."

Sharp looked at Mace, feeling as though he were looking at a stranger. "Why?"

"That bastard does not deserve to be anywhere near you," Mace said, the words sounding funny as he spoke with the broken nose and profusion of blood.

"You…" Sharp shook his head. "I thought I knew you. Clearly I do not."

"You don't know half the things you think, Sharp. It's your most endearing and most frustrating quality."

Sharp could only shake his head again. "I’m sorry."

Mace said nothing.

"I think it would be best if you returned to your own home before the day is out," Sharp said quietly, forcing himself to meet Mace's eyes. "You should have spoken to me, not gone to such horrible lengths as this."

A sudden, horrible thought struck Sharp, as he went over the course of the duel and all that had started it. "You lied about his cheating all those years ago too, didn't you?"

Mace once again said nothing, but the silence was damning.

"I cannot believe…why, damn it?"

"He should never have started dueling," Mace replied, old anger returning. "You are too good for him."

Sharp turned away, done with the conversation, done with Mace, done with everything.

Except Epee, who had deserved none of what he had endured.

"Where is Epee?" he asked quietly.

Main Gauche looked up from where he had begun to gather up the belongings Epee had left behind. "Why should I tell you?"

"I must begin to repair what I have done sometime," Sharp replied. "Best to begin sooner than later."

"Indeed," Main Gauche replied. He picked up Epee's discarded coat.

A book tumbled to the ground, and Sharp bent reflexively to retrieve it. The lines of neat writing caught his eye, and he lingered over it even as he knew the contents were none of his business.

But in the next moment it was snatched from his hands. He turned angrily around, attempting to take it back from Mace.

"That bastard," Mace muttered. "He really did think—"

"You are dangerously close to being arrested," Main Gauche said coldly, the tip of his sword against Mace's throat. "Give it back to me at once. Epee's things are none of your concern."

Mace sneered and handed it back. "Take it. All it proves is that your stepbrother really is a bloody idiot. A thousand duels, did he really think? Ha!"

"A thousand duels?" Sharp asked, brow furrowing in confusion. "May I?"

Main Gauche hesitated, and sheathed his sword, then flipped the book open himself. After a moment, he shook his head, and slowly handed it over. "It makes no sense to me, just a long list of dates, numbered one to a thousand."

Sharp accepted the book with absent thanks, thumbing through the pages of meticulous writing. He felt the wretch, nosing through Epee's things, but something about the book had upset Mace, though he tried to play it off.

As they had both said, it was a list of dates. Epee had a neat, elegant hand that continuously improved over the years he'd maintained the little book.

The last entry caught his eye, because he knew for a fact it was the duel he and Epee had fought only yesterday.

Come to that…the previous three were also dates of their duels…

In fact…

He checked and double checked, racking his brain to remember.

There was no mistake.

"These are all duels we fought," he said at last. "Epee and I – and all he won. If we include today's match, then he's won a thousand duels against me. Why would he keep…"

Sharp froze as something came to him. Surely not. That had been almost ten years ago. They'd all been drunk. Epee had not even been there, had he? He would have been two years behind in classes…

"1000 victories," Mace said, breaking into his thoughts. "1000 victories to prove worthiness to be the Lord Sharp's perfect companion." His voice was full of bitter defeat.

"We were drunk," Sharp said, whispering the words to himself. "Do not tell me…" He looked down again at the book, every carefully noted victory, minus the thousandth recently won. He looked up at Main Gauche. "Where is he? Please, for the love of god, where is Epee?"

Main Gauche frowned at him, but nodded, granting permission. "A small warehouse near the ports, on the east side. The address is 1024 Merry Row."

Sharp turned, and ran.

When he finally found the warehouse, he realized belatedly that if it was locked, there was little chance Epee would grant him entry. It proved a fruitless worry, however.

He wondered what had happened, for the little warehouse was a wreck – the windows running along the top, to let in light, were all smashed in. The door too was barely standing on its hinges. Sharp had a sneaking, depressing suspicion he knew who was responsible for the damage – and he would make Mace pay for it, or else.

The door creaked a bit, making Sharp hesitate, but his heart was drumming too rapidly in his chest for him to back out of this now. Inside, the warehouse proved empty minus a few dust-covered odds and ends. There was no sign of Epee.

A light, however, shone from the door all the way at the back. An office, perhaps?

Forcing his feet to move, Sharp strode on, and gently pushed open the second door. Then he hesitated.

Epee spoke without turning around, bent over a desk and what looked like a glass of brandy. "Go away, Dagger. I know you mean well, but right now I'm not in the bloody mood."

He'd never heard Epee so miserable. On some level, he'd thought it impossible for Epee to do anything but smile and laugh. Sharp tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.

"Dagger, I'm really not—" Epee had stood and turned as he spoke, and stopped abruptly as he realized he wasn't speaking to Dagger. He stared a moment. "What are you doing here?"

Sharp swallowed, forced his voice to work. "I came to apologize," he said, the words coming out rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I came to apologize…it is not nearly enough, for all the wrongs I have done you this day, Lord Epee, but I must begin somewhere."

Epee shrugged, and looked away.

In looking at Epee, he had always seen the fighter, the brother of Sabre and son of Rapier. He'd seen a duelist, a challenge, a…whatever it was he and Epee had always been.

Looking now, really looking at Epee as a man, he felt a deep, painful regret.

What would it have been like, he wondered, to know Epee intimately? To finally understand how Epee thought, and why he acted as he did? What would it have been like to spend time together just in simple things like hunting or fishing, or even the dreaded shopping trips? What would it have been like to see Epee over the breakfast table every morning? Did he smile in the mornings? Was he grouchy? What would it have been like to take Epee to bed every night, to hear his own name from Epee's lips in climax?

Why had he not wondered all these things sooner? Epee had been there all along, and Sharp had stupidly missed his chance, and the knowledge of that loss was devastating.

He wondered if there was anything he could say or do to earn a second chance.

If he were honest, he would concede there was not – he did not deserve it. He could not forgive himself, why should he hope for it from Epee?

"How many duels have we fought over the years?" he asked.

"One thousand, nine hundred and twelve, counting today," Epee said, and Sharp could see he'd spoken without thinking, and immediately regretted the words.

Sharp almost smiled, awed and charmed that Epee had kept track of so many duels. "So if I won the next eighty eight, and brought myself to a thousand victories, would that earn me some small measure of forgiveness for all the wrongs I have unfairly inflicted upon you?"

Epee's head jerked up, expression a mixture of surprise and disbelief and wariness – but also hope, unless Sharp was seeing only what he wanted.

He didn't care. That hope was all he had, and he would cling to it, use it to bolster his own meager, foolish hope.

"Is that all you want, my lord?" Epee asked. "Some small measure of forgiveness?"

Sharp smiled sadly. "No, but I am hardly worthy of even that. To date, in regards to you, my Lord Epee, I have been nothing but stupidly oblivious or unjustly cruel or unreasonably callous."

Epee smiled faintly, and Sharp felt a small breath of relief. The look of defeat which had been on his face when Epee left the dueling square had hit him hard, because someone like Epee should never be forced to wear that expression. He had half-feared the smiles were gone forever, and all because of Mace and him.

If he could smile even that little bit, then his smiles were lost to Sharp, but not lost entirely.

"I am tired of dueling, Lord Sharp," Epee said. "I cannot bear the thought of almost a hundred more of them."

Sharp bowed his head in acknowledgment of the cut, devastated but accepting it as only what he deserved.

"But if you want to keep calling yourself names for a bit," Epee continued, "I would not protest that."

Sharp looked up, surprised – more surprised to realize that Epee was making a playful jest.

He gave a faint smile of his own, and forced more words out, though it was difficult enough simply remembering to breathe. "What would you like me call myself?" He asked. "Fool? Bastard? Idiot? Cad? Buffoon? Moron? Nitwit? Jackass?" With each word he dared to step forward, compelled by the hope and the pain mingled in Epee's eyes, until Epee was against the far wall and his own hands braced on either side of Epee's head. "Bastard?"

"You said that one all ready," Epee said quietly, eyes locked with his.

"Then I'll call myself a fool again," Sharp said, "and be a foolish bastard thrice over."

Epee lifted his head the slightest bit, tilting it just so in an invitation old as time.

Sharp took it, before Epee could realize it was a mistake, and covered Epee's mouth with his own. If one kiss was all he ever got, then it would be a kiss he would remember until the day he died.

Why had he been so blind for so long? Why did anyone put up with him? Sharp groaned and moved one hand from the wall to sink it into Epee's hair, kissing him hard and deep, resenting the need for air that eventually forced them apart.

"Epee…" he said when he finally trusted his voice again. "Why did you never say?"

"I was going to," Epee said quietly. "Years ago. Then Mace accused me of cheating, and you changed after that…" He shrugged. "So I decided I would wait." He frowned. "You looked in my book."

Sharp winced. "Not on purpose. Mace snatched it away and looked his fill, and then Main Gauche and I succumbed to the curiosity his words stirred." He slowly released the hold he still had on Epee's hair, stroking along the back of his neck in a gentle caress before finally letting go entirely. "There is much for which I must apologize, and it will take me the rest of my life to make amends, but I swear to you I will make them. The words are feeble, I know it, but I am sorry, Epee."

Epee nodded, and closed his eyes. "I never cheated."

"I know," Sharp said, wanting to say more, but knowing there was no point.

Slowly Epee opened his eyes again. Never quite the same color twice, Epee's eyes. Depending on his surrounding, Epee's eyes could appear to be most any color. Here, in the poorly lit room, they seemed only dark. Nothing like his hair, which held bits of fire brought to life by the lamp on the desk.

Sharp wanted badly to kiss him again, but did not dare.

"How did you know to find me here?" Epee asked suddenly, looking miserable again.

"Main Gauche told me," Sharp said. "After he punched Mace for seeing to it your father disowned you."

Epee laughed briefly over Main Gauche punching Mace, but then hesitated, frowning.

"Have you considered going into the wine business?" Sharp asked, hoping and praying he was saying the right thing. "As much as Lord Rapier adores wine, I think it would give him apoplexy should he be forced to endure not only a stepson who is paramour to the crown prince, but a disowned son who is famous for his wines."

For a moment, all he got was a startled look – then Epee started laughing

Sharp fought an urge to kiss him, sternly reminding himself of all the reasons for which he did not have the right. "All this time," he said softly, looking at Epee, unable not to look. "I cannot but despise myself."

Epee shrugged, looking torn between his own weary sadness and dry amusement. "You see now, though, my lord?"

"Yes," Sharp said firmly. "I most definitely see now. I remember a drunken night when I said I would only love someone who beat me in a thousand duels. I cannot imagine why in the hell you thought I was worth that much work, Epee. Today alone proves I am not."

"That is not your decision to make," Epee said. "Your only decision…is to choose whether or not to stand by what you said…"

Sharp reached out and gripped Epee's shoulders, dragging him close. "I stand by it," he said quietly. "One thousand victories, Epee, and gladly am I yours if you still would have me."

"I would," Epee replied, and closed the space between them to give the kiss Sharp had been trying not to take.