Hansel: Swordplay (pt 1)

Hansel had never actually seen Mishka use the rapier that hung from his belt. It was very ornate—the hilt was inlaid with jewels, and Hansel got a whiff of magic off it, which was unfounded but didn’t seem at all far-fetched. He didn’t think he’d even once seen the blade, though. It was always in that scabbard.

Eventually, he commented on it. He’d taken over as Master at Arms, so he figured it was his business.

“That thing for looks or can you actually use it?”

Mishka looked confused, or maybe slightly insulted. Then Hansel realized he’d made this comment while Mishka was holding a compass, standing behind the wheel of the ship taking his turn as pilot. Hansel had noticed that he had a tendency to miss things when it came to Mishka. Really obvious things. He just got distracted by *other* things, and the bigger picture vanished. It was really fucking annoying.

So Mishka gave him a perplexed look, but gave him a chance to make himself clear before ridiculing him.

Hansel jerked his chin towards the blade, finishing tying off the rigging he’d been told to take care of and coming up alongside Mishka. “The sword, I mean. You use magic.” He propped his forearms on the rail that overlooked the main deck. “Can you swordfight?”

“I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” Mishka said coolly.

He was so damn suspicious. It wasn’t like Hansel was digging for weaknesses to exploit—if anything, he was looking for ways to help. But he shrugged instead of letting on that it bothered him. He wasn’t sure *why* it bothered him.

“I can probably teach you how to use it, if you want. S’all I was gonna say.”

There was another look, one Hansel couldn’t quite parse, but it flickered away and was replaced by amusement. “You use a trident.”

It was dripping with condescension. Hansel grinned toothily in response. “Yeah? They both got pointy ends. What’s the difference?”

He was pretty sure Mishka liked it when he talked back.

# # #

It was the middle of the night when Mishka took him up on the offer. It took him a couple days, like he had to think it over first, but they were on the long journey between Calimport and Skyport, so he had nothing but time.

They were on the upper deck again—alone after Serena had passed off navigation duties for the night. Hansel had been keeping her company, at least in theory. Between the two elves onboard, he was fairly sure that Mishka didn’t particularly enjoy him as a person on most days and Serena had an even lower opinion, but he still felt bad for her, stuck abovedecks in the cooling wintery air while everyone else was shut up down below, warming themselves with booze and blankets and body heat.

She didn’t even want him nearby, so he leaned against the mizzen-mast at the back of the deck and just kept an eye on her. They hadn’t spoken the entire time they’d both been there, and when Mishka came all-but-silently up the ladder to trade with her, she still didn’t say a word to him. He took a swig from his flask. It didn’t bother him that Serena didn’t like him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone whose opinion of himself he valued that much.

Mishka checked their heading, made sure everything was in order as if there would be any question. Hansel found himself admiring the furry white coat he was wearing, which was dumb, because he knew something so fine would look ridiculous on himself. It looked nice on Mishka, though. It suited him. That was all. He took another quick swig as Mishka turned around.

“Do you really think you could fight with a rapier?”

It caught him off-guard, but he couldn’t honestly say he hadn’t thought about it since the day he’d first brought it up. It was still *bothering* him. The sword was just dead weight at Mishka’s side if he couldn’t use it. He straightened and tucked away his flask.

“Can’t be that hard.”

He pulled his trident from his back, catching the slight tensing on Mishka’s part as he did. He was drunk enough that he wanted to snap *Why do you think I’m going to hurt you?* but not drunk enough to actually say it. He kept the blade down and nodded to Mishka’s sword.

“Just do what I do. More or less.”

Seemingly a bit reluctantly, Mishka came away from the wheel to stand beside him, giving him a once-over and drawing his rapier. Hansel returned the once-over and immediately shook his head. He’d seen sailors stumble aboard half-drunk and the other half dead with better fighting form than that.

“No, no, c’mon. Your posture’s fucking terrible.”

“My posture is *dignified*.”

“Well, dignified gets killed.”

He wanted to make an example like he would with the other sailors—get in front of him and give him a gentle jab with the point of his trident, prove to him how off-balance he was. And it would be gentle—much gentler than he was with the recruits. He didn’t mind hurting them. But he was fairly sure that Mishka would hurt *him* if he pulled something like that.

He already looked impatient, so Hansel cleared his throat and tried a less aggressive tone. “Look, keep the straight back if you have to, but move your feet further apart. Like in rough seas, right? For better balance.”

Mishka nodded and spread his legs, studying Hansel’s form again. It wasn’t like he never looked at Hansel normally—Hansel wasn’t stupid, he’d noticed that much—but the close inspection made him self-conscious. He wanted to deflect it by straightening and going over to adjust Mishka’s form a little further by hand, but he didn’t think Mishka would let him. He made himself think about the differences between a trident and a rapier instead. He kept his trident low, driving it with his back hand and guiding it with his front hand, throwing his body weight behind it. It wasn’t an elegant weapon. The rapier … it was smaller. One-handed. More delicate. If he taught Mishka to use a rapier the way he used a trident, the blade would just break.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Keep it high. Go for the gut and the throat with it.” He demonstrated with his trident, then immediately realized a flaw when Mishka mimicked the motion awkwardly. “No, keep it in your front hand. You need that reach.”

Mishka sighed in annoyance. “You clearly don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Look, just because they’re not *exactly* the same—.”

He was drunk enough that when Mishka started to sheathe his sword again, he switched his trident to one hand and closed the distance between them, but not so drunk that the words *I didn’t say you could stop* came out. It was only after a beat had passed that he realized he’d grabbed Mishka’s wrist to stop him anyway, and Mishka’s thumb and middle finger were pressed together as he glared up at Hansel.

His skin was cold. Hansel wondered if he didn’t wear gloves because he had to make his little gestures to use his magic. Well, if he’d let Hansel help him, he could defend himself with the damn sword instead, and protect his soft skin from the wind.

Neither of them budged. Then Hansel released him and stalked away wordlessly—across the top deck, down the ladder and into the hold. The warmth down below was suffocating and he didn’t think it was entirely because he’d just come in from the cold. That was fucking annoying too. He ignored his shipmates, barging past them to the armory, where he grabbed a cutlass and started back out. A couple of them perked up, but he waved away their questions of danger.

Mishka hadn’t really moved. He’d sheathed his sword but not gone back to the wheel. His own hand was covering the spot where Hansel had grabbed, but only for the second before he realized Hansel had come back—then his normal posture came back, and his carefully haughty expression.

“All right,” Hansel said, passing the cutlass to his dominant hand and falling easily into a comfortable stance. “Like *this*.” He demonstrated the motion again.

Mishka stared at him.

“Look, we don’t have any other fuckin’ rapiers aboard, so ignore the fact that this isn’t how you’re supposed to use a cutlass and just …” He gestured vaguely.

Slowly, Mishka drew his sword again. He studied Hansel’s body and the ship bucked underneath them as he was finding his form, forcing him into a natural one—then he looked down at himself. Hansel could see it clicking.

“All right,” Mishka said. “Show me again.”

# # #

“So is it magic or something?” Hansel asked later.

“Hm?”

“The rapier.”

“Oh. No, I just …” He looked away. “Thought it was pretty.”

Hansel tried not to laugh, but it came out anyway. After a second, Mishka laughed with him.