Diarmuid returned to the hill where had left Sabina, wading through the same hell he had to go through to reach the palace. But he did not hurry his footsteps walking across the destroyed streets and collapsing buildings taking his time and waving his blades at anyone who came across him. He returned soaked in blood, similar to the same condition Laurentius had come in. However, when he arrived, the carriage was still in its place. Did she really wait for his return? However, one he inspected the hill, he only found Laurentius standing, his sword unsheathed and stained with freshly shed blood. There were no servants or coachmen, only the counselor standing near a corpse that the lancer's keen eyes easily recognized. Sabina was lying on the grass, her face hidden beneath her golden hair, her right arm, rigid and cold, clutching to the wound across her heart.
"Did you kill Germanous?"
Laurentius asked, and at seeing Sabina's dead body, the lancer challenged the warrior counselor.
"So what if I did?"
Laurentius looked at the man, his twin blades seeping with blood that could not pertain to a single man but he still had no way of knowing if the latter's answer was true or not, he could only guess that he was involved somehow. Diarmuid was looking at the woman's bloodied corpse when he noticed that Laurentius was heading to his horse, his intentions to leave the place and return to the battlefield obvious and clear but the lancer stopped him before he mounted his horse.
"You have killed my Lady."
"Indeed, I have."
"Do you think of me as a warrior who would not avenge his lady?"
"From my understanding, she had freed you. So, you have no obligations toward her."
Laurentius answered, deeming this conversation unnecessary and out of the right time and place. Diarmuid could understand this very clearly, but he still did not back down, saying.
"I know you do not think of me as much, but do I strike you as a man who would not avenge his mistress? I still owe her my freedom after all. Also, you do not seem to me as a man who would not avenge his only nephew."
At this proud declaration, the counselor knew the lancer was bluffing. He did not kill Germanous and left the lad to his own fate, though in this situation the two things were similar. He also realized that the lancer did not want to avenge the murdered noble woman. He was seeking some sort of venting, of punishing himself, or redeeming it perhaps and this last thought was not far off the mark.
Diarmuid had nothing of his former self, or of the new one he was trying to assimilate and weave, while Laurentius possessed everything he was craving for; courage, nobility, chivalry, and loyalty to his empire. The lancer yearned for all of these qualities to be returned to him as neither Sabina nor Germanous could fulfill this wish. If he was unable to build his reputation back, then he was determined to extract it from someone else, much like usurping it. For a mad instance, it seemed to him that if he killed the esteemed counselor, he will gain back all his qualities, the same qualities that belonged to him once. He could boast he had killed the most skilled warrior, the wisest counselor in a fair duel and re -gather the pieces of himself, the same pieces that Laurentius did not shatter or lose on his path of life. And so, the lancer held the counselor's horse reign preventing him from going anywhere. Laurentius understood the notion, and unsheathing his sword once more, stepped away from the horse. It was not because he was keen on fighting the lancer, but because the latter would not let him pass under the false pretense he presented. Laurentius calculated in his mind how much such a duel would take, maybe fifteen minutes or less? The city was doomed, he had some time to spare though against his will but that it not to say that he did not wish to face the lancer, he just did not care for it. However, if it was fated then let it be. But, there was still one matter he had to elaborate on as he returned the lancer's claims.
"I have never thought of you as anything other than a walking warfare."
The lancer did not return the insult, leaving this task to his blades. One would think when facing each other, the two prudent and experienced warriors would wait for a bait or think carefully before striking, but not even a second passed before the black sword clashed with the twin blades as the two warriors barged at each other like a bolt of lightning, black against red and gold. They kept exchanging blows looking with their eyes at a suitable blind point or a weak spot, but not in any of the counselor or the lancer's defenses or attacks were there a single one. Both men were fighting and blocking with the same determination and ease. Laurentius was counting the moments he had resolved to end this duel within, and after five minutes, his strike underwent a drastic change. They were stronger, more precise seeking his opponent's heart or throat, but Diarmuid managed to thwart away every single attempt. Still, the counselor did not seem frustrated or running out of patience as he kept charging to no avail in the lancer's mind. Nevertheless, Laurentius was not thinking the same. He launched forward aiming at the lancer's throat seeking to cut a vital artery, aiming his sword from high, and in an instinctive reaction the lancer held his long spear up to his neck ready to block the assault, but the moment the sword's blade was about to clash with the red tip, it sled down along the entire counselor's body as he aimed now for the dual wielder's abdomen, seeking to cut him from one flank to the other, and ending the duel in his time limit. However, Diarmuid was not a novice, his instincts and reflexes were on a constant watch. As the sword sled down, so did his red spear, flipping its tip direction within less than second barring the intimidating sword from reaching to his flesh, driving it along the red shaft into the earth, and before the counselor could move his sword away, the golden spear quickly, with the same swiftness followed his twin in barring the sword from the outside, tethering it deeper into the ground, deeming all Laurentius's efforts at retrieving his sword in vain.
The final strike that would determine this fight's outcome had to be done as fast as the blink of an eye. While Laurentius still struggled to move his sword, the golden spear was ushered up as the red one sled down further taking the black blade along. All what the counselor could see was a flash of gold like a sun ray blinding his vision and ready to thrust into him. Diarmuid knew he did not have much time before his red blade would not be able to restrain the struggling sword, and prayed for this strike to bring the man down but Laurentius, despite being taken by that pure bright, twirled around the lancer avoiding the blade within an inch away from his face as he kicked the two rooted blade strongly out of the ground, now standing with his back against the lancer's back. Diarmuid immediately turned around aiming his golden spear at the counselor who jumped quickly few steps behind, dragging with his sliding foot the two blades but Diarmuid kicked the ground without a proper aim, with the sole intention to prevent the man from retrieving his sword but he did not succeed much as the red lance was swept under the counselor's feet, who then tossed it in the air and held it.
"Huh, you have lasted more than I thought."
Laurentius calmly commented, his ten or fifteen minutes had long passed by and he was the one bearing the first scar on his cheek. He faced the lancer whose the flames of the burning city could not match or compare to the fire that radiated in his eyes when he saw his prized weapon swept and held by another person. His anger was further agitated by the man's comment:
"Such a fine weapon. How miserably it had been treated and wasted for the amusement of vulgar crowds."
"Do not you dare presume to endear my weapons more than I do!"
The lancer threatened, preparing to launch his final attack, thinking the counselor would not know how to fight with a spear, but his pride was foiled within the same few seconds the counselor needed to assumed a lancer's stance and charge forward before Diarmuid could move.
"You really hide more than what you reveal, Laurentius!"
The lancer spoke excited though enraged that he was the one now having to dodge the red serpent strikes, and he knew how to dodge every blow, because that spear was not a mere piece of weapon he was trained in and used to, it was a part of himself, an extension of his being, and so it would never harm him. Laurentius charged with the spear ahead, and Diarmuid prepared his golden blade to block the attack. The instant the two twins clashed, Laurentius relaxed his grip on the red blade, handling it with more dexterity than what the Celtic had imagined, letting the long shaft slid along the golden one that was pointing at the empty air now, as Laurentius moved his body
two steps yet kept his hand steady and in the same trajectory, aiming the red tip at the lancer's chest, but Diarmuid was smiling, and the counselor while not irritated by that confidence, knew he had to be on his toes around that man, and that admission bothered him.
If Laurentius had stepped to the left to avoid the golden strike then the lancer intentionally leaned in the direction of the red tip, injuring his neck on purpose as the weight and strength behind the attack dwindled from colliding with its target, leaving a not so deep wound. Then suddenly out of nowhere, a black blade was swung at the counselor, his own blade as Diarmuid while receiving the red tip with a welcoming despite its harm, kicked the thrown sword by its handle into the hand he was holding the golden spear with, and where all the counselor's attention was focused, letting go of the spear to hold the sword that pierced through the counselor's flesh.
"I think you forgot a possession of yours with me!"
Diarmuid spoke as he drove the counselor's own weapon inside of him, feeling while he drove the weapon inside that he was extracting everything that had been taken from him. But this was only in his imagination. To the Celtic's dismay, the wound he inflicted was not as deep as he had imagined for Laurentius had expected such a move and distanced his body further, receiving a flesh wound, similar to the one on the lancer's neck.
"Do you believe I cannot anticipate your moves after seeing you a thousand times at the arena?!"
The counselor proclaimed, as the two men stopped to catch their breaths wishing the pain to fade away.
"Nevertheless, you are just a mere beast, risking the chance of a fatal injury just to retrieve your weapon! This is not bravery, this is foolishness!"
Diarmuid eyes darkened, as he saw the man taking the sword out of his own flesh and whip it in the air.
"You would not understand because you do not cherish a thing! Everything is the same to you, you have no passions, no dreams, you killed your own niece, you are nothing but a soulless body!"
"It is because I cherish her that I had to put an end to her misery. But then, who are you to judge me? I thought I was facing a knight, but it turned out I was only entertaining a flashy performer!"
Diarmuid gritted his teeth, as the counselor went on:
"Should I applaud your risky bet? Should I deem this foolish tactic as praiseworthy? I am a realistic man, and while you are claiming to want to restore your honor, you are still fighting as if you are in the arena!"
Diarmuid's eyes widened, that man knew his intention and why he attacked him, and this made him feel vulnerable for a few moments. Laurentius's words were right though. He was trying to redraw his picture but was still stained by the performances at the arena, by the dishonorable act he carried at the den of the "Justice Pallbearers". He was afraid of the certainty that his former self was impossible to be sewn once again. He left Germanous on the cold floor, lying pierced by malicious arrows everywhere chocking amidst a lake of his own blood. But he was too afraid to reach to him, to see what expression his face bore; he feared to see the frustration, lament, regret, and failure that he himself was ought to face by this night's end and so he decided to take back by force the dignity that was stolen from him from a man who remained dignified through all of the city's turmoil and troubles.
He did not reach or kneel to see Sabina's face for the same reasons. He knew a man like Laurentius would not have killed her if she did not deserve it, and he could not view her as a pure soul despite everything she claimed to be so he was just bluffing earlier. His multiple games and countless performances had accustomed him to flashy movements and sarcastic speech but this night he was determent to erase all of these stains. Though he had no retort or response to the counselor's words, he merely said, every word seething through a tightened jaw:
"And whose fault is this?"
"Yours."
Laurentius answered looking the former knight in the eye, unfazed by the possibility that the latter will turn into the same monster he turned into at his trial. Diarmuid glared at him, ready to launch his next attack grasping both spears. Laurentius readied himself as he raised his sword to repel the upcoming attack, and the lancer did not disappoint him. He rushed at him with the speed of a mountain lion, still, Laurentius deemed this rushing futile and stood his ground, not running to meet the lancer at the mid of his run, and with the dark radiance that glowed from the golden orbs, he could tell this was not the right choice. Laurentius merely batted his eyes at the man who was running on the unstable ground, only to find him jumping in the air, meters above him and throwing his golden spear like a flame that managed to catch up to this hill before the rest of the fire they were surrounded with. Laurentius clenched his jaw and raised his blade to thwart this attack, leaving the rest of his body exposed. In the air, he could only see the golden spear but not the man behind it, lowering his eyes, Diarmuid was already about to thrust through him with his long blade, sliding on the ground he had just soared above and for the lancer, the battle was concluded.
It would have been had his red lance pierced the armor and the flesh of the exposed man, but a metal clank rang annoyingly in his ears, as the sound of something cracking slightly followed the impact. Diarmuid could not but curse under his breath, as Laurentius emerged from this attack unscathed, blocking with his sword sheath the tricky attack as he flung with his sword the golden shaft, and the two men immediately separated once more. Diarmuid jumped back to get his golden blade, Laurentius stood holding his sword and its cracked sheath each in one hand while Diarmuid looked at his red shaft, receiving its first scar from colliding with the sheath made of sharp steel, as sharp as the sword it contained.
"Do not think you are the only one who can dual wield!"
Laurentius humbled his opponent as he rushed toward him wielding his sheath like a second blade with the ease of someone who had been trained for long in this sort of fighting as he did not hesitate to attack the surprised man who was forced to awaken quickly as he was within seconds receiving strikes from his left and his right barring his movements and hindering the reach of his red blade. The two seasoned warriors remained exchanging blows each with his own two weapons for quite a while, during which the flames had begun to whisper through the dry grass and hiss on its way climbing the low hill. The voices of the invaders, the barbaric troops, reached their ears but meant nothing aside from the city's falling. It meant nothing to their fighters who continued as if they were blessed against the searing of fire and the lethality of its smoke.
"You should have accepted your death at your trial instead of facing my blade!"
"Forgive me for disappointing you, but I was not keen on dying unjustly that day the same as I am today!"
"You dare speak of justice as you were tried for the killing of a man?!"
"And what a fine man he was! Truly, a loss to his nation!"
Diarmuid sneered at the counselor's logic, his strikes gaining more strength and power as he was reminded by that lecherous man and all the events that led to and followed his capture, but the counselor did not approve of the Celtic's logic in a similar mutual disdain.
"He was still a man, and you murdered him! The same you murdered multiple people at the arena just for fame and recognition! You turned justice into a flashy show hoping to remain significant!"
"If you call your arenas proper justice, then I am not a knight but a king's jester indeed!"
"You are not a knight for sure!"
Laurentius spat the last words in an usual way, roaring with anger that seeped in return to the lancer who intensified his attacks and doubled his speed. To be stripped of his knighthood in the eyes of the man from which he hoped to gain it back flamed his heart with blind anger and hatred, and now he wanted to kill the counselor not for the man's virtues but just for his personal amusement and satisfaction, proving his point by shattering the sheath into pieces with one strong strike of his golden spear gifting the sun bathed shaft multiple scars, but the lancer did not care for the grunt that escaped the counselor's mouth was as satisfying as killing him. Laurentius barely managed to pull the hand that held the sheath away as it was about to crack as well beneath the power of that single strike.
And so, despite the strength Diarmuid placed on that single attack, he did not stop as if his muscles and fatigue were strangers that never met. He did not allow an escape for the self – righteous counselor immediately following that attack with another from the red spear as he almost twisted his arm and dislocated his shoulder manipulating the golden blade to bar his foe's sword after shattering its sheath. He drove the red lance forward, forcing Laurentius to perform a stunt, the only resort he had, through clenched teeth. Faced with the sole possibility of being stabbed to death, the esteemed counselor and warrior held the red shaft from the middle with his bare hand, a useless attempt to stop the shaft, a vain effort deemed by Diarmuid, but though he was slim in figure, Laurentius's bare strength equaled that of ten men, and he managed to divert the spear with his tight grip and change its direction forcing it to impale the ground right at his feet. Diarmuid was almost pulled down as well if it were not for his robust body and sturdy steps, but nevertheless, he could feel the tension of his shoulder and arm muscles reaching its maximum capacity as he tried to drag the spear out of the counselor's grip. Laurentius did let go of the spear, but only after he had stepped on it driving it deeply into the ground, making its carved tip a stepping stone for him to balance one foot while he twirled around marching on the larger spear shaft, freeing his sword from the hold of the golden one and towering above the lancer while standing on his own weapon. Diarmuid's eyes dilated with disbelief. He had never encountered a resilience like this man's, he could only compare his movements to his own and perhaps that was the reason the fight was taking longer than what both men had estimated. However, Laurentius did not hold the Celtic lancer as an equal in strength the same the Celtic held him. The two men were in an awkward position where any strike would probably harm them both as they were entangled together by body and weapons. Diarmuid had to think fast, and only his golden spear could act at this point but then Laurentius spared him the effort as he retreated letting go of the red shaft saying.
"I can too perform stunts and flashy movements if I wanted to, but I would never stoop this low even if my life depended on it!"
"Are you not contradicting yourself, Laurentius!"
Diarmuid panted these words through long breaths, his sweat almost blinding him, from both the heat of the fire and the fight.
"That was a lesson to you, lad!"
Laurentius explained his behavior and Diarmuid for a moment was quieted by being called a lad, only now realizing for the first time that he might actually be as he was dealing with a truly superior foe that he would not be able to win against. At this thought, that all what he had been through will be ended here by the counselor, a man who clearly did not share the respect, fear, and admiration the crowds held toward the lancer, a blackened flame that surpassed the ones they were surrounded with was ignited in the lancer's heart. A fire that blocked his own insight as he shook the golden spear ready to skewer the long haired man with it, but the latter warned him.
"I would not trust that blade any further."
The lancer could not comprehend the meaning of that warning, and after he was about to throw the spear, he felt the ray of gold that radiated victory upon every battlefield it graced split in half in his own hand, falling to the ground in two unequal pieces.
"Do not think you were the only one who poured all his strength into that foolish attack."
Diarmuid's entire body was shaking at the sight of one of his prized weapons, his unique blade, the one that entranced the entire city, the one that captivated its governor as it embodied his hopes and made him place his death wish upon, the blade that was compared to the sun rays with its bright and sharpness, prose and poems describing it as being woven from it directly, the blade that protected Grainne and freed Oscar, the blade that won along its brother in every battle and never betrayed the lancer till now… When he was about to regain all what he had lost, when he was about to bring all of his broken pieces together. He was betrayed by the thread he sought to weave with his shattered image, his scattered pride and honor… that thread proved to be as fragile as Germanous's dreams and Sabina's power… as fragile as Grainne's will during their escape, as fragile as Oscar's ego… as fragile as the hopes he placed upon it…
Diarmuid eyes could not believe what they had just seen, his hand was still grabbing but at the empty air. The lancer had to kneel on the ground, descending gradually, releasing his tightened fingers ashen with golden dust. His knees hit the ground too powerfully that even Laurentius was startled thinking the man had broken his bones. The lancer eyed the golden pieces, a shine that no longer blinded anyone's eyes, dim as the darkness he was fighting surrounded with, shattered pieces turning into smithereens before the fire had even caught to them. It was not even appealing to look at, and in return it did not call for anything, neither hopes nor victory. The dual wielder contemplated for a while if he should at least try to re – gather the two pieces, or merely hold them but it had already lost all the meanings they were molded and carved with. At this sight, Laurentius put his sword aside, knowing the battle had come to its end. Winning was not the man's purpose, as it was not lancer. After that moment nothing mattered, or so Laurentius thought.
Hearing the solemn footsteps retreating back to their horse, the lancer hissed suddenly awakening from his daze.
"We are not finished yet… or do take my red spear for granted?"
"Are you not finished showcasing your talent?"
"What?"
Diarmuid spat out, his eyes promising the counselor death in repay to this offense, but Laurentius was not interested. He frowned at the kneeling man, and concluded any conversation he wished to have with the dual wielder.
"You are a free man now, and what are you doing exactly? I am not going to become your chains and drag you in any direction I see fit… cannot you do that now by yourself?"
Laurentius did not even stop to listen to the man's reply. He got on his horse and rode off in the direction where his soldiers were retreating. The lancer yelled calling him back, calling him weak and coward but none made the counselor return. His words echoed in the silence of the lancer's mind and he realized that he had no answer to them.
He never did. Not since he ran away with Grainne, he thought.
His answer back then was love, and when he was captured it was the hope of returning home for the sake of love.
But somehow along that destination, the road got twisted and took a large curve, a curve that never led back to the first steps. A curve that led further and further away from that answer but at least it was a clear path, an already laid one which he could trudge without questioning anything, while blaming everything.
And now, he was free. But what should he do?
What could he do?
Even if he were to return home, he would not be complete. He would not return as the famous dual wielder of the Fianna.
Diarmuid looked in lament at his two spears, one shining through the night yet broken, the other laden with scratches and losing its elegance.
His spears once flew through the air, imitating the dawning skies; a golden beam ripping through a reddened lake.
Now there was none of that, not the radiance, not the elegance, not even the comradery of these two shafts. One was broken leaving the other alone and yearning.
Yearning was the only thing it could do.
The lancer remained on his knees looking at his twin spears that were finally separated, leaving the shadow without the light. He contemplated following Laurentius but what would that accomplish? The most basic thing of his character would not be restored by winning against him, for the man who broke the light would not weave it back.
The sounds of hooves and footsteps accompanied by loud snarling noises caught up to the lancer who was still sitting silently amidst the hill catching the fire. He raised his head at the indistinct voices and found himself surrounded by some of the barbaric soldiers who were eyeing him in curiosity unable to tell if he was a foe or a friend until one of them dared to point his sword at the man, who in response, caught the blade and drifted it away from his throat with his bare hand. He stood up and the confused men looked at their surroundings; an abandoned carriage, a slayed noble Roman woman, they did not need to think much to thread the events together.
The men reckoned that strange creature was not a Roman, he was a foreigner like themselves and after witnessing his deed they smiled back waiting for their commander's orders. They knew he was not one of them, but they welcomed him, as they fell in a trance at the confident alluring smile that was directed at them. A blood thirsty yet enchanting smile nonetheless. The lancer, Diarmuid, had never looked more beautiful or bewitching than he was at that moment and even the barbaric tribes quickly fell to his spell. The spell of the golden eyes that shone more radiantly and vividly than the fire surrounding them or the sun that was about to dawn on them. His spear, red like a lonely blooming rose yet attractive and compelling like the color of wine, surrounded by the fire, glowed with the redness of blood intensifying these beasts hunger, and they could not but follow its call.
Diarmuid stood up holding his red lance and resting it on his shoulder as he smiled at the men and asked:
"Now, what should we do next?"