TITLE: Sparring Partners
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
RATING: PG-13
POSTED: Aug. 9, 2004
SUMMARY: For once, swords are involved.
NOTES: A snippet for Mel, who, for her birthday, requested "Norrington swordfighting with Jack, line: 'No quarter given.'" It's a moment out of time, falling within no specific PotC fic universe. I'm sure someone, somewhere has used the title before. And any and all mistakes about the practicalities of sword fighting are mine.
DISCLAIMER: Read

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It had started out as play, a good-humored challenge, one spoken with a gleam of laughter and gold meeting a wall of pride and resolve. They had never clashed with more than wits between the two of them, which had to have been what led Jack to ask, "How'd you like to try it with steel, then?"

And now here they are: On the sand, with their crews banished to just out of shouting range ("or hurling, if you please," Jack had added, a placating smile on his lips that did little to hide the anticipation in his eyes), and their blades flashing in the sun.

The first touch of metal-to-metal was light, the second came harder, and the third followed faster. As he disengages from the sixth, feeling the bone-deep ache of two forces impacting run up his arm, Norrington wonders which of them lost his humor first.

"This will change nothing," he says, watching Jack's eyes, not his sword, knowing well which is the more dangerous. Yet the man is not--

"Change is overrated," Jack retorts, stepping forward with a seemingly casual twisting thrust. Norrington knocks it away as he himself sidesteps to the right, and they come 'round face-to-face once more. Jack grins and straightens. "I've no complaints about the way things have been proceeding," he waves his free hand in a grand sweep that winds up with a finger stressing his points, "especially the part where you are always following me."

Norrington gives that a thin smile and feints to the seaward side before cutting back, so Jack's sword barely catches his on the edge before settling firm together. "Following has its advantages, in that I always see what you're doing."

Sliding his blade up in a slow scrape until their faces are close enough that Norrington can smell the salt on the man's breath, Jack taunts, "See, aye, but never prevent." A flash of teeth as Norrington's own set hard. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't trying, Commodore."

With a snarl -- and with amazement that, once more, this man can swing him through such extremes of emotion -- Norrington swiftly takes a two-handed grip on the hilt of his sword and shoves Jack back to stumble and right himself on the sand.

"There will be no quarter given, whether here or elsewhere," Norrington warns, retaking his stance.

"And none expected," Jack says, as composed as if he truly has no stake in the outcome. But Norrington's sight is still clear, no matter how hard the sun, nor how infuriating the opponent.

"Do be sure to let me know when you're willing to meet halfway," Jack requests, dramatic hand over his heart, and lunges just as Norrington brings his point up.

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