Windsoul Family/Tarawethion/Duel with Solufein

The Duel of Tarawethion and Solufein

Tarawethion brushed dust from his cloak, having just got up from resting in the grass. His men were restless, milling around and talking. None of them were sleeping, too expectant of an assault from Lukon at any time. The Elf ran a hand along his bow, resting his hand on the words of honour his brother had inscribed there.
“Lye nuquernuva sen e dagor,” he murmured to himself as he read it. “We will defeat them in battle.”
Suddenly, he noticed the Dark Elf, Solufein glaring at him from a nearby group of soldiers. The black cloak he wore was lifting in the wind, and the Drow looked sinister and removed from the Portion-uniformed soldiers around him.
“And what is it that you are looking so angry at me about, Dark Elf?” Tarawethion asked Solufein, annoyed.
“I am not angry,” the Drow sneered, “I was just looking at the brother of a traitor.”
Tarawethion’s temper flared, and he gritted his teeth, his long brown hair in its braid moving in the breeze, as he tightened his hand around the bow.
“Insult my brother not,” the High Elf replied, working to control his anger, “for it is not your place to do so.” Solufein turned his head on one side mockingly. “Your brother’s dishonor is itching at you?” he asked sardonically. By now, a few soldiers had heard the exchange and were watching with interest.
Tarawethion took a step forward, his knuckles whitening on the bow.
“My brother has much honor!” He spat at the Dark Elf, “do you even know what it is? Do you understand the concept of honor?”
The Drow’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and he also took a step forward.
“Watch your tongue!” Solufein hissed, his shadowy clothes swirling around him almost like he wore a dark storm cloud that was ready to explode.
“You disgust me!” Tarawethion shouted, losing his temper completely, “Let me defend my brother’s honor then! Caela ie'lle, Drow!”
Immediately, both High Elf and Dark Elf brought up their bows and notched an arrow within seconds, aiming unwaveringly at each other, no more than five yards apart. Each arrow aimed directly for the other’s chest. The surrounding troops looked on in a wary, still silence.
“Come then, noble one,” Solufein said, pronouncing the word “noble” sarcastically, “why do you not fire?”
“I hate to waste good arrows on Drow hide,” Tarawethion retorted.
Instantly, they both fired, and the poisoned Drow arrow flew towards Tarawethion. In a split second, he stepped deftly to once side and the arrow continued on, coming to rest quivering in the long grass. Solufein dodged Tarawethion’s arrow more spectacularly, flipping sideways to avoid it. As he came to a stop, he swiftly notched and fired another black poisoned arrow. Tarawethion again avoided it with a fast sidestep, and fired an arrow of his own. Solufein leaped right, and the arrow flew harmlessly past him.
“Why not settle this without bows, High Elf?” Solufein said as he landed with one hand pressed into the grass and the other up behind him, grasping the bow. He stood up, and placed his bow on the ground, instead drawing a small serrated dagger from his ankle.
Tarawethion watched him coolly for a moment, and then placed his own bow upon the ground as well. He took a short silver knife from his waist, and glared at the Drow.
“For my brother!” Tarawethion shouted, as the High Elf and Dark Elf launched themselves at each other in a flurry of fast jabs and slices. Tarawethion parried the fierce assault, as the dagger came in from the right, and up towards him, slicing horizontally. Metal clinked and rang as the knives slammed into each other, and Tarawethion was momentarily pushed back by the ferocity of Solufein’s attacks. Even so, none of the swipes and jabs got through his guard, and he quickly parried and delivered a determined attack of his own, bringing the silver knife up under Solufein’s guard. The Dark Elf brought his arm down and blocked with the wicked-looking dagger.
As he stopped the blow, Tarawethion lifted up around, pushing Solufein’s arm sideways, leaving him open. He jabbed inwards, but the Drow leaped backwards, bringing the dagger up to his face as he stared at Tarawethion.
“You are not as useless as you look, it appears,” Solufein said in a low voice, and then leaped forward in a lightning movement, bringing a gauntleted arm up, aiming to crash into the side of Tarawethion’s head. The High Elf swung out of his reach, but the metal of the gauntlets slashed his face, and blood trickled down into his shirt. He ignored it, blocking the other arm that came in from lower, aiming for his stomach. He sliced at it with the silver knife, and Solufein stepped back, cradling his injured arm. When he took his hand away, blood dripped into the long grass.
It was evening, and the sun was rapidly disappearing, casting the meadows outside the city of Portion in twilight. Their fight was now being watched by nearly all of the troops around, who had formed a large circular arena as they looked on.
“Come on, Drow,” Tarawethion taunted, “surely you can do better than this?”
“Do not test me!” Solufein snarled, and attacked once more with both fists and the dagger.
Tarawethion stepped back, blocking the first few blows, but a slice got through, and he grunted as the point of the dagger sliced a thin red line down his shoulder, tearing the fabric of the shirt. Angered, he brought the silver knife up to throw Solufein’s attack off, and slashed at the Drow’s chest. The blow hit and Tarawethion saw the wound through the ripped black of Solufein’s clothes. Both Dark Elf and High Elf fell back, glaring at each other. Tarawethion placed a hand on the wound in his shoulder, and glowered fiercely at the Drow.
“Have you had enough?” he shouted to Solufein.
“You are a fool!” the Dark Elf hissed, and jumped at Tarawethion again. The High Elf leaped forward to meet the attack, but suddenly felt many strong hands holding him back. He spun, angrily, and saw the Royal Guard had grabbed him and stopped him attacking. Looking back at the Drow, he saw Royal Guard had also halted him.
“What are you doing?” Tarawethion shouted at the Royal soldiers, who stared coldly back and did not answer. Solufein was fighting ferociously against those holding him, slashing wildly with the dagger.
“Get your hands off me, humans!” the Drow spat, “I will kill you! I will tear you to pieces!”
“Calm yourself, Solufein!” the voice of the King said as the broad figure of Ronan strode into view from the twilight, his clothes yellow in the glow of a torch a servant carried in front of him. His face was black as thunder.
“What is the meaning of this?” he bellowed, stepping forward in between Tarawethion and Solufein, “I turn my back for a few minutes, and return to find two of my troop leaders at each other’s throats! Explain yourselves!”
“I was defending my brother’s honor!” Tarawethion told the King, and reached for his bow, still lying in the grass. The Royal Guards wrenched him back.
“This High Elf needed to see that insulting a Dark Elf does not go ignored, your majesty,” Solufein said, struggling against the men holding him. The King turned towards the Drow.
“You will keep your instincts for bloodletting under control, Solufein, do you understand? I do not want you attacking any members of this realm, ever.”
The Dark Elf glared openly at the King, but then nodded.
“I will direct my loathing for this High Elf towards the Lukonians, your majesty,” he said sullenly.
The King turned to Tarawethion, scowling.
“And you, Tarawethion, brother of Thaliithilion! I would have expected better of you. You speak of honor, so show that you have it! I understand that you want to prove your brother is still a good soldier, but attacking Portion’s troop leaders is not the way to do it!”
Tarawethion hung his head, ashamed.
“Infighting just makes Portion weaker. Our enemy is the realm of Lukon. You would both do well to remember that!”
With that, the King turned on his heel and left, and the soldiers began to disperse, except for the ones holding Solufein and Tarawethion. Night had almost entirely fallen over the meadows and city of Portion, except for a band of grey on the horizon. After a minute or two, the Royal Guard released the High Elf and Drow, and both stepped forward to pick up their bows. Solufein glared at Tarawethion.
“This is not over,” he said.
Tarawethion nodded, picked up his bow, and walked off into the darkness without a word.

(Transcribed from “Portion’s End,” an epic by Masul Rodise, Gladmonger and Refugee of Portion)