Archive of Our Own

The thing nobody tells you about killing somebody is that you have to do it with the right sword. 

The sword she wields in the dueling arena was a gift from a visiting emissary from Liyue. The woman who'd given it to her had been an interesting one, too, horns jutting from her head and a large bow hanging from her back. Clorinde hadn't taken Liyue to be a city of warriors, but the other woman in the delegation – a huge bulk of a woman with broad shoulders and an eyepatch strapped across one side of her face – had challenged her to a friendly duel, thoroughly humbling Clorinde. It is always interesting to see how Vision users use it in battle – the fellow Electro user had imbued her claymore with it at one point before striking Clorinde's sword down. 

Clorinde's sword was not actually forged in Liyue, but simply brought to the city on the tides of trade. This is the Iron Sting, the emissary had said. It is a simple sword, made of steel and spokes jutting out from just below the hilt. It is not too flashy, which is just how she likes it. She doesn't train with it. This sword belongs to the dueling arena. 

She has cleaned a lot of blood off that sword. The flat blade and its lack of fancy divots and grooves make it easy to clean and polish. 

She darts forward, catching Lynette off-guard, and sweeps her feet from under her. Lynette is a competent swordswoman in her own right – she avoids the disabling move, leaping into the air and grabbing onto a weapons rack on the wall before landing gracefully in front of Clorinde again. Anyone else, perhaps her brother Lyney, would be grinning in triumph at being able to outsmart Clorinde. Lynette's face remains impassive. 

Absently, Clorinde wonders if it's the fault of the blade she's using today. She's using another foreign sword, this time a stiff and unyielding Inazuman blade the visiting Yashiro commissioner had given her. It's a copy of his sister's personal sword, though the purple has been toned down to suit Clorinde's tastes. 

Maybe she should stop using foreign swords and get something from the Gardes' armory. But the Marechaussee Hunt doctrine decrees that a skilled swordfighter be able to wield any blade to perfection. 

She manages to catch Lynette the second time she goes in for the kill, this time feinting the sweep of her legs and lunging forward instead with renewed energy to knock the sword out of Lynette's hand. The blade flies out of Lynette's hands before she can react, and Clorinde allows herself a small smile. Being left-handed has allowed her to disarm many an opponent – few people are used to dueling someone who isn't right-handed. 

"Thank you for the training," Clorinde says earnestly, picking up Lynette's sword and handing it back to her. She has an encyclopedic knowledge of swords (to the point where visiting diplomats make it a point to bring gifts for her), but she can't seem to place what Lynette has been using. She turns it over in her hand, before noticing a clawed hand symbol etched into the flat of the hilt. "Is this blade from the House of the Hearth?" 

Lynette nods politely, already packing up her things. She's a girl of few words, which Clorinde is content with, but she'd revealed just now that she has a show with her brother to prepare for in the evening. "Father had it forged and brought from Snezhnaya. It's similar to the one he uses." 

"I see." 

Lynette pauses, as if she's going to say something, then seems to make a decision. "I hope you don't ever have to go against Father, Clorinde." 

Clorinde's heart seizes. She has never been fully comfortable around the House of the Hearth and the Harbinger that comes with it, even if she might be a Fontainian herself. Even if Navia worked with them and said they were cooperative. The Fatui are unsettling and bring unrest to every nation they pop up in, and that's enough for Clorinde to distrust Arlecchino. But Lynette talks about her as if she hung the stars in the sky. She clears her throat. "Do you think I would lose?" 

"No," Lynette shakes her head, "I just wouldn't know who to root for." 

She tilts her head. "I don't mean that in a treasonous way, of course." It would sound funny coming out of anyone else, but it's Lynette, and Lynette has said much stranger things.  

Clorinde nods, and turns away to grab her bag. She leaves her own thoughts unsaid – I don't really care if you do. 

-

A few days before Callas' trial and death, Navia had called Clorinde down to Poisson. It had been surprising to be summoned like that, but Clorinde had gone anyway. Poisson had been a second home to her for years, and treading a familiar path had calmed her slightly as she made her way to Navia's home. 

"I need you to go easy on my father," Navia had said, and Clorinde had tilted her head in confusion. "The Marechaussee Phantom are bringing charges against him. Shouldn't you know this?" 

She had sounded hurt, but Clorinde had shaken her head nonetheless. "I can't say I have. What trouble is he in?" 

"It's not important. All that matters is that I know he will choose to prove his innocence in a duel," Navia had murmured, by this time far away from any of her bodyguards or other prying eyes, "And I know you will be selected to duel him. The Phantom did not tell me this, but I know that Lady Furina will ask for it." 

Their Archon had always had a flair for the dramatic. The idea of a man and the Duelist he considered his second daughter having a showdown would positively thrill her. And if she knew about the strange situations Navia and Clorinde had found themselves in together, leaving them unable to define their relationship as neither here nor there, perhaps she would tear up at the romantic tragedy of it all. 

"Please, Clorinde," Navia had whispered, "For old times' sake."

"Your father is an honourable man. I don't think anything will happen, Navia." 

"You don't understand," and Navia's tone had grown frantic, "He's been framed. Can't you feel it? The whole of Poisson is holding its breath for the Phantom to come and take him away." 

Clorinde closed her eyes, seeing nothing but Navia behind her closed lids, and when she opened them, exhaled hard. "If all of this is true, you need to get out of Poisson. You might be implicated–" 

"I didn't think you'd be on board with that plan." 

"What plan?" 

And Navia had given her a long look.

-

The Chief Justice calls her to his office after she's done with training, which is an anomaly. They work closely, but Neuvillette likes working with the Melusines the most, and trusts them to delegate accordingly. It's strange taking orders from a creature barely three feet tall, but Clorinde doesn't find it difficult to respect them. They make for better colleagues than most humans.

She raps her fist against the door twice, waiting for Neuvillette to invite her in, but there is no answer. So she waits, taking a seat on the bench near his door until he hurries into the Palais Mermonia, speaking to a Melusine and a human Garde in low tones. He nods at Clorinde as he passes her, beckoning her in. 

"Monsieur Neuvillette." 

"Come in, please," Neuvillette says, taking his seat. Clorinde doesn't sit – she has a feeling she won't be in here for very long. "I have news I thought you might find unpleasant to hear, so I decided to inform you privately instead of having a Garde tell you." 

In the back of her head, a slow, ominous beat has started. Neuvillette distances himself from humans as much as he can, mostly out of his natural awkward demeanour than actual dislike for their kind, and Clorinde has never heard of anybody being called into his office to be given personal news. A chill runs down her spine. Has something happened to a friend? Navia? Wriothesley? 

"I…" Neuvillette meets her eyes for a moment before looking away, carding one hand through his hair slowly to settle it. Clorinde wonders what he had been discussing just now that's made him so flustered. He is trying to find a tactful way to say it, and somehow Clorinde knows instinctively that this is going to be a painful matter of the heart. If it has even managed to frazzle the Chief Justice, it is going to devastate her. "Furina has requested your presence at a duel in three days." 

Outside, it has started raining, the rain broadening from a drizzle to a storm in a matter of seconds, the sky going dark. Neuvillette has gone back to staring Clorinde in the eye, and she sees an age-old tiredness in him. 

He clears his throat. "That is not all, I'm afraid. I believe the defendant and you are familiar with each other. I suspect that is why Furina requested you be the duelist, but I do not want to speculate on her reasons." 

Clorinde's lips are already forming her name before Neuvillette speaks again. 

"Navia of the Spina di Rosula is being prosecuted for conspiracy to traffick Sinthe from Poisson to the Court of Fontaine. She has chosen to prove her innocence in a duel." 

-

"There is a backup plan," Navia whispers. "Only Melus, Silver, and my father's own guards know about it. And now… you." 

She lets the last word linger in the air. Clorinde's not sure why. Self-centredly, she wonders if Navia still loves her. 

"The plan is to sneak my father out of Fontaine. He has a friend in the Sumerian Eremites who'll keep him safe after we sail across the strait, and she says the desert is big enough anyway, they'll never find us. Or, we can borrow an Antoine Roger aircraft and try to make it to Mondstadt – their benevolent winds should be able to make up for the lack of fuel. But if this plan is to come to fruition, we need to go now . " 

Clorinde's skin is on fire where Navia inadvertently brushes against her, her mind chanting no, no, no. She is an officer of the Opera Epiclese. She serves the state, and if Callas is truly in the legal trouble Navia claims he is, then she is duty-bound to stop this escape plan from happening so that he can be brought to justice. "You've lost your mind. I can't listen to this, Navia, why are you telling me all of this?" 

"Come with us," Navia begs, and she shatters, tears finally spilling from her cheeks. "I want you to come." 

"To protect you?" Clorinde asks, and Navia looks like she's stuck between continuing to cry and laughing. 

"We have enough security. You know why I want you with me, Clorinde. I can't imagine life without you. I see you less and less as your responsibilities pile up – this is a chance to change all that." Navia exhales. "Please, let me be selfish."  

"Navia," Clorinde can only speak her name helplessly. 

"Abandon your post, and let's run away together," Navia sobs, wiping desperately at her eyes to preserve some form of composure. "It's not too late." 

Not too late for what? 

Clorinde already knows. 

"I can't. You know I would never have said yes."

A soft, pained chuckle that makes Clorinde's heart squeeze so hard she nearly has to grab her chest to steady herself. 

She has let Navia down. This feeling will stay with her. 

"I know. But it was worth a try, just to see if you would leave for me." 

This conversation has stopped being about Callas. It stopped being about him a long time ago. 

Clorinde hands Navia her handkerchief, then stands and excuses herself back to the Court, chest tight with the knowledge of what she will have to do.

A messenger from Lady Furina's office comes that evening, requesting her presence for a duel against the defendant Callas. Clorinde acknowledges the summons, and turns away to cry the moment the messenger leaves.     

-

By the time Clorinde makes it down to Poisson, Navia is long gone. She wants to ignore the stares the Poisson residents are giving her, but today, she can't – she's flipped off by three separate people before finding someone willing to speak to her. Even then, she doesn't get enough information to work with. 

Callas had worked his whole life to eradicate the Sinthe trade. Clorinde had seen first-hand just how it had turned its addicts to husks of their former selves, pus leaking from open sores that they'd itch relentlessly, unable to stay asleep for more than a few hours, stumbling around Poisson like they were possessed. Some of them would even come up to the Court of Fontaine when they ran out of money to feed their habit, panhandling outside restaurants until they'd get chased away. 

There is no way , and Clorinde is more certain of this than anything else in her life, that Navia would get involved with the Sinthe trade. She lost far too many of her own neighbours to Sinthe addiction; She would have absolutely no incentive to dabble with the stuff. 

Thankfully, the people she speaks to seem to agree with her. Recognition flickers in some of their eyes when they see Clorinde, recognizing the girl who used to run around with Navia and play-fight with her with the wooden training swords some of the Spina members had lying around. It was here that Clorinde discovered her love for swordfighting, and where Callas had encouraged her to pursue that passion. 

Everyone who recognizes Clorinde doesn't mention it. They can't afford to reveal that they know the woman who killed Callas, and who might kill Navia, too. 

"Clorinde," calls a gruff voice, and she turns to see Melus. "The Phantom came for her an hour ago. You just missed her." 

Silver and another member of the Spina flank the eldest member of the Spina di Rosula, and Clorinde raises her hands to show that she's not holding any weapons before stepping closer. 

"Is it true?" She asks, fearing the answer. She knows that it cannot be true, but Navia has not talked to her since Callas' death. Clorinde has witnessed Navia stressed, angry, and tired as she's kept an eye on her – could his death have been enough to catapult Navia into the Sinthe trade her father detested, to go against everything he wanted? 

Silver and Melus scoff, almost in sync. 

"Of course not," Silver says indignantly. "There's someone framing her." 

Her mouth dries. She is not one to get angry easily, but she knows instinctively in this moment that if she found who was behind this, she would have them begging for their life at the point of her sword. "Do you know who it is?" 

"Of course," Silver huffs, adjusting his sunglasses. Between Navia's bodyguards, he's always been the more hot-headed one. But he is fiercely protective of Navia where Clorinde cannot be, and so she tolerates his presence. "But we are not in the business of sharing that information with the likes of you ." 

"We are not," Melus agrees. 

She could have run away with these men a year ago, Clorinde thinks absently. Where would they be now? Would they be in the Sumerian desert with that friend of Callas that Navia mentioned, throwing away any status they had in Fontaine and starting anew as foreigners in the massive deserts of Sumeru? Or would they start over in Mondstadt, taking on new identities so that only they would be privy to their pasts? 

She doesn't really care about Melus, or Silver, really. Just Navia. Just how she wouldn't have to take up arms against the only girl she's loved if she had just listened .  

-

When they spoke before the duel, Callas shook her hand, and said, "To the death, Monseigneur." 

She could see Navia outside the arena, unable to hear their dialogue, but assuming that Clorinde was promising to go easy on Callas in the name of her and Navia's friendship. Just like they had discussed, just as Navia expected. 

She did not turn her head to look at Navia again. Clorinde wanted to ask Callas why he had chosen to fight to the death, when the vast majority of duels in Fontaine ended when one party was incapacitated, but her swordsmanship tutors would've clipped her across the ear for questioning her opponent in such an unprofessional manner. If he requested an honorable death, then it was Clorinde's duty to do the best she could. 

She had not killed a man in a long time. The last person to die in the arena had been an old man accused of embezzlement, who decided that he would rather die to Clorinde's blade than face a decade in prison. He had shown surprising agility as he ran and impaled himself on Clorinde's sword – a coward's death, but a death nonetheless. Clorinde had felt absolutely nothing cleaning her sword in the aftermath. 

She gave Callas a short, sharp nod, and they had taken their places opposite each other. Callas had held his sword in a way that showed his immense discomfort with one. He had always been more comfortable with a pistol than a rapier, which, ironically, was what had brought him to the arena. 

In her high-strung state, she had briefly considered fighting with her sword in her right hand, to extend the time Callas had to rethink his decision to die that day. But that would be shameful too - another infraction for her masters to punish her over - to fight with her non-dominant hand, just to fulfill any ideas she had of mercy. The conclusion had come to her naturally, loathe as she was to admit it. 

She would have to kill him. There would be no getting out of it. Anything less would be letting him down. 

Few competent sword fighters are accustomed to dueling someone left-handed. For someone like Callas, it would be over before it even began. Clorinde had known that to be a fact. And she had been proven right in the end, when two minutes into the duel, Callas had his blade knocked aside after a series of clumsy attempts at feints and parries. 

She has never forgotten how it felt to pierce the heart of the man she'd seen as a second father. She has never forgotten the sound of Navia screaming for her father as he toppled to the ground, dead, as her Iron Sting took the life of another. 

-

She finds Navia just as the sun is setting, after looking through multiple of the Court's underground jails and not finding Navia in any of them. 

Navia is seated, one leg thrown over the other, reading a book when Clorinde bursts in. She jolts, nearly dropping her book, before realizing that it's Clorinde and laughing softly. 

"Hello, Clorinde." 

Clorinde shushes her, and begins working on the lock with the key she stole from the belt of the guard outside. It's hard to see in the dim light of the cell, which makes her wonder how well Navia could even see her book, but a few more twists yield a click that let the cell door swing open. 

Navia stands, a half-smile on her face, like she's not sure how to quite react. 

"You're not supposed to be here," Navia says, brow furrowed. Her book is set aside on the floor. "Won't you get into trouble?"

"I locked the doors," Clorinde replies. Her blood is still hot and rushing in her veins from the adrenaline of sneaking into the holding cells. There is no one else here – there has been a dearth of criminal defendants who need to be held in the jails recently, which she generally views as a good thing. It means that Navia gets some measure of privacy, other than the Gardes standing outside. 

Gardes who Clorinde knocked out with a few well-placed blows to the head. They won't remember what happened – probably, and if they do, they'll doubt their memories too much to accuse Clorinde properly. Her reputation is far too clean for anyone to suspect that she would ever do anything like this.

"What are you here for? A romantic tryst?" Navia snickers. "I'm afraid the time for that has long passed." 

Clorinde recoils like she's been stung, and Navia must notice the hurt expression on her face, because her features soften. "Hey. I was just kidding. Thank you for coming, Clorinde." 

She shakes her head, "No, I should apologize. For everything. For your father–" 

"Let's not talk about him right now," Navia says tightly, "Please. Being here is already too harsh a reminder of what he went through." 

For a pregnant moment, Clorinde wants to tell her the truth. That Callas had asked to die that day, that Clorinde had simply fulfilled his request, and that she is so, so sorry that she had. Her honour has brought her to this point – what's one more rule broken? 

But the moment breaks, and Clorinde lets out a long sigh. "Okay."

"So why are you here?" Navia asks, head cocked. "Surely not to lecture me about my becoming a Sinthe kingpin." 

" What ? But Silver said–" 

"Gullible as always," Navia giggles, and Clorinde blinks hard to dispel the dizziness. "I was framed, obviously. Another poetic parallel to what happened to my father, I'm sure." 

"Who did this to you?"

"Does it really matter?" she shrugs, and when Clorinde gives her a look that says Yes, it matters , shakes her head. "Somebody who wants the Spina out of Poisson for good. You don't know them." 

They sit in silence for a moment, Navia staring at her feet, Clorinde at a loss as to how she's going to present her plan. 

"You asked me," she starts slowly, "Why I was here."

"I believe I did, yes." 

"You know that I'll be the duelist going against you, don't you?"

Navia smiles sadly. "I guessed." 

And Clorinde may be duty-bound to serve their Archon, but that doesn't mean that she has to like her. She spends enough time protecting Lady Furina, and she should be used to her whims and inclinations by now, especially her excitement when she has the chance to set up the most dramatic of scenarios. Clorinde has watched it happen too many times – like the time she assigned a prosecutor to prosecute his own brother in a criminal case. Or the time Lady Furina allowed the fellow villagers of a woman accused of killing her mother front row seats in the Opera Epiclese. Archons do not understand human emotions, nor do they care. Lady Furina is not vindictive, but simply born of divinity and too far removed from her subjects' feelings. In that, it is impossible for her to be cruel. 

She should not blame Lady Furina for putting her in this predicament, and yet she wants to. The romanticism of being made to fight both father and daughter is probably good entertainment for their Archon. 

"It doesn't have to be that way," Clorinde says, lowering her voice just in case there are any spies lingering, or worse, Melusines, with their superior hearing. "Listen to me, Navia. You can follow me out now, and Melus and Silver will meet us at the jetty in the Court. I know an underground path that will let us escape–" 

"No." 

"We'll be out of here before sunrise," and everything comes to a screeching stop, "What do you mean, no?"

Navia leans back in her chair, that same sad smile staying on her lips. "I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work this time." 

I am trying to save your life , Clorinde thinks desperately, I am trying to atone for the biggest mistake of my life. I am asking you to run away with me, because I am ready to leave with you, and I will keep you safe.

"You…" Navia's expression is inscrutable, and it throws Clorinde off, because for once, she is trying to figure Navia out, laying her anguish on her sleeve to try to convince her to run away  with her.

Run away with me.  

"You want to stay? Navia," she tries, "There will be a duel." 

"I know that," Navia replies evenly, steepling her fingers together. "I'm not going anywhere, Clorinde. You had your chance, and I'm not running now when I have my name to clear." 

"This isn't about last year, is it?" Clorinde's voice has been growing frantic, because this is not how she thought this conversation would go. She thought Navia would eagerly follow her, and they'd be halfway out of the Court by now. "Because I wasn't ready then, but I am now–" 

"It's not about last year," Navia interrupts. "It's about a lot of things." 

"Navia, please ." 

"I think you should leave," Navia whispers, looking away, "You're not supposed to be here." 

-

The last day before she is due to duel Navia is spent like this– 

Instead of going to the training grounds to practice, as she's used to doing before any duel, she goes to the armory instead, and spends time polishing her sword. She goes over the blade with an oiled cloth until she can see her own reflection, and grimaces at what she sees reflected back at her. She looks older than she actually is, the dark circles under her eyes speaking to the stress she's faced since Neuvillette broke the news to her. 

She doesn't usually spend the day before a duel with anybody, preferring to be alone so that she can clear her mind, but she finds herself in need of a friend to talk to today. She considers heading to the Fortress of Meropide, if only to rest in Wriothesley's office and have Sigewinne give her the all-clear for the duel tomorrow, but she doesn't want to bother him. It doesn't help that going to the Fortress will only remind her of Navia's fate – if Navia loses. 

It's not a duel to the death, she reminds herself, but it does little to quell her racing heart. If Navia loses, she will have no chance to clear her name in the eyes of the public. Clorinde wouldn't be able to live with herself if Navia's name were to be marred like Callas' was after his death – to this day, Callas the Unfaithful is a name reviled by most, except for the most loyal members of the Spina, and the people of Poisson. She can't let that happen to Navia. 

But it will happen, because Clorinde has mastered her craft, and she will win the duel. 

She ends up stopping by Hotel Debord, where Lynette and her brothers are having lunch, and requests Lynette's companionship after she's done with lunch. Unfortunately, the three of them are in the middle of a 'mission', whatever that means (Clorinde never likes remembering that Lynette is a member of the Fatui), so Lynette's busy the whole day. They have heard about the duel, though, and so Lyney invites Clorinde to join them for lunch. 

"We were sorry to hear about the duel," Lyney says, laying down his utensils for a moment to address Clorinde. He has a spark in his eyes that differentiate him from his much calmer sister, and he's always given Clorinde the impression that he's always about to burst into laughter or song. "A card trick for your thoughts?" 

"What?" Clorinde says, and Lyney leans forward, retrieving a card from behind Clorinde's ear. He spins it in his hand, and it morphs into another card, this time with a picture of a winking cat on it. Her eyes widen. "How did you do that?" 

He places a finger on his lips. "When you're good at what you do, you can do anything." 

Lyney spins the card in his hand again, and it disappears into thin air. It must be something he's practiced tirelessly, but he still looks smug at the reaction Clorinde gives him. Lynette, on the other hand, just rolls her eyes fondly and continues eating. 

"Take a look at our Freminet, for one," Lyney says, "He's managed to trick everyone into thinking he needs a diving suit to go underwater, even though he has a Vision." 

Freminet reddens, more of his hair falling over his eyes as he looks away. "I like being in the suit. It's comfortable. And I'm not tricking people." 

Lyney spreads his hands in a Look, see? gesture. "As I said, you can do anything if you're good at what you do. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to take our leave. It was nice talking to you, Clorinde." 

Really, Lyney had spent the time talking at her more than with her, but Clorinde bids them goodbye anyway. Lynette gives her a sympathetic look and mouths Good luck , and Clorinde nods.

The rest of the afternoon is spent training alone. She thinks she sees some members of the Gardes eyeing her from a distance, but she's chosen a training ground reserved for members of the Marechaussee Phantom. Though she's not part of the Phantom, she was trained by their predecessors, and has a good relationship with the Melusines who make up the Phantom. The sword she chooses isn't a foreign import for once, just a dull blade that makes her wrist hurt after a few hours with it. 

She finishes the day eating dinner in her apartment alone, and thinks about what Navia is eating right now. Jail rations are hardly anything impressively, but Neuvillette ensures that the food is nutritionally up to par with regular meals on the surface. She hopes Navia is eating. 

By the end of the day, she realizes that she should thank Lady Furina for selecting her. It means that she will be able to right her wrongs, once and for all. 

-

This is what Clorinde thinks as she trades a bow with Navia – She won't end a bloodline. 

Her composure is perfect as she enters the arena, the spokes on her sword glinting in the bright light. The ground is sand, to soak up any blood that is spilled. She has never thought to ask who came up with that idea. Fontaine is the only nation where there is an official dueling arena to settle legal disputes – is there a reason for that? 

Most people who step in here dare not look into Clorinde's eyes, too afraid of what they'll see reflected, but not Navia. Navia grips her sword – the rules of the Opera Epiclese forbade her from bringing her claymore, but Clorinde knows from experience that Navia is just as proficient with a longsword, with years of instruction by tutors Callas hired under her belt. He was always paranoid that Navia would be targeted by the Court of Fontaine, just like he was. 

Clorinde supposes that she wasn't wrong. The training served Navia well. She brandishes her sword confidently, her form perfect. Navia's tutors were some of the most powerful sword masters of their time, second to only the Marechaussee Hunters, and some of them were even foreigners Callas paid to come to Fontaine. As a result, Navia has handled a host of foreign swords Clorinde can only dream of. 

But not now – she's holding a sword Clorinde recognizes as a basic model Estelle forges for beginners. A simple blue-and-white colour scheme, something that screams Fontaine. Perhaps this is a gesture of protest against the state itself. She is fighting the state with a weapon of their own creation. It's just too bad that right now, Clorinde is the state. 

She should be insulted that Navia has brought a beginner's sword to their duel, when Clorinde knows she has an armory's worth of gorgeous swords which she could use. Estelle forges these beginners' swords from cheap material that doesn't cost much. The swords themselves don't retail for much either, so overeager recruits can buy spares when they inevitably warp the metal or snap the thing entirely. Navia's better than that, and they both know it. 

Navia is not Lady Furina, an Archon unable to fully comprehend human emotion. She is being cruel.

But Clorinde cannot find it in herself to blame her for it. Navia, time and time again, has been denied the chance to express her anger, whether it was because duty called on her to muffle her emotions or some other reason. As she stares her down, Clorinde accepts that she was always going to be Navia's punching bag – and that she doesn't mind, because a part of her is convinced she deserves it. 

She will not throw the duel, of course. That would be dishonorable and disrespectful, both to the swordswomen who taught Clorinde the Marechaussee Hunter style of swordplay and to Navia herself. No– Clorinde will fight as if everything is normal. She will fight as if she isn't going to hurt the only woman she has ever loved. She will fight as if she remembers nothing of what she did to Callas (because Navia says she's forgiven her for Callas, given the circumstances, but Clorinde knows there is a part of Navia that will hold that grudge til the end of time). 

Lady Furina gives the signal – her expression is oddly solemn today; Does she know the history that Navia and Clorinde share? – and Navia and Clorinde walk up to each other for the customary exchange of words. Clorinde is breathless as she watches Navia walk up to her, piercing blue eyes searching for something in Clorinde, searching for something she may never be able to give her. 

Abandon your post, and let's run away.

They extend their hands to shake, meeting each others' eyes. Clorinde thinks of something to say, and comes up with nothing. She doesn't often speak to the people she duels, anyway, but the dearth of words she faces now feels embarrassing. 

"Monseigneur," Navia says, almost coquettish, the light in her eyes intense and manic. She looked the same that night in her holding cell, too, devastating and gorgeous as she always is. "Afford me my honour." 

She turns before Clorinde can speak again, and walks back to her spot. She wonders if Navia practiced that line, but knowing her verbosity, she came up with that on the spot. 

This is not a duel to the death, but somehow, it feels like one.  

-

The thing no one tells you about the girl you love killing you is this – it doesn't hurt. 

Clorinde's sword is deftly knocked out of her hand a second after Navia's blade pierces her abdomen, and through the blood bubbling out of her mouth, she smiles. Only Navia would be shrewd enough to remember that Clorinde is left-handed. Only Navia would be able to use it against her, when it mattered most. She didn't have to go easy on Navia – Navia would never have forgiven her for it, and Clorinde's own sense of honour wouldn't have allowed her to. 

Navia wins. 

Fair and square. 

And no one but Clorinde will be able to say that she handicapped herself, even if she intentionally made mistakes only a trained swordmaster would be able to spot. Even if she intentionally left herself open for Navia to go in for the kill, even if she acted as if she didn't practically walk onto her blade once she was caught. Because she is good at what she does, and so she can do whatever she'd like. 

She looks to her Iron Sting, the beautiful gifted sword from Liyue, and wonders if she should try to crawl to grab it, before giving up on that thought. It would simply be unbecoming of someone conferred the title Champion Duelist, and embarrassing, too. 

This was the only way that things could have ended, the only way Clorinde could've made everything right again. 

Run away with me. 

It's not too late. 

It was worth a try, just to see if you would leave for me. 

Her vision is fading, but she still manages to keep her eyes on Navia. Navia is not looking at her – she is turning to Neuvillette in the judge's bench, to Lady Furina, screaming for someone to come and help Clorinde, because she's made a massive mistake, and mortally wounded her Champion Duelist when she didn't mean to. Clorinde thinks she hears the pitter-patter of the Opera Epiclese's medics rushing over to the arena, the heavy creak of a stretcher being prepped near her head. They're not going to be able to save her. It is a fatal wound. 

She can't lift her head. Why can't she lift her head? 

"Navia," she chokes out through another mouthful of blood, and everything goes deathly still. Navia stops screaming for a moment to stare at her, her sword clattering to the ground beside her. Clorinde's blood coats Navia's blade like a child's been left alone with paints. Still dripping, almost hypnotically so. 

For a moment, she thinks Navia cannot hear her, and uses the last of her draining strength to call her name out again. "Navia-" 

"Be quiet," Navia kneels down beside her, her eyes welling with tears, "Save your strength, oh Archons, you're bleeding so much, I'm so sorry-" 

"You… loved me… right?" Clorinde says, almost delirious at this point, and Navia's eyes widen in incredulity before filling with a fresh wave of tears. At some point, her head is shifted into Navia's lap, and there are gasps coming from the direction of the audience and Lady Furina's seat high up, as she stares at her downed duelist and her lover who was never meant to be. 

Clorinde thinks she might be satisfied like this, even as she dies. She is back with Navia again, even if it is on the ground of the dueling arena. 

"Yes, you fool, I loved you," Navia sobs. She bends over at the waist to bury her face in Clorinde's hair, crying softly. "I never stopped. Keep talking, please, we're going to get you a medic."

"I…" Clorinde pauses to cough another spray of blood. It hurts so much, a burn that spreads like wildfire. "I loved you too." 

"There will be time for love in another life, I promise," Navia whispers into her hair, "We've wasted this one already." 

With the last of her strength, Clorinde looks up at Navia, and says something even she cannot hear – she thinks it might be next time – before the darkness swallows her entirely.