This is for the broken hearts blogfest. I wanted to do something with assorted heroic types (hence the not-entirely-dissimilar-to-the-grey-mouser character), but then I realised that they aren't the sort to get upset over wives, girlfriends or assorted other significant others. So what would they get upset over? The result is this slightly odd variation on a breakup. Enjoy.
“Thief!” Yrng the Barbarian stared across the interior of his yurt at the small, grey clad man who on the other side of it holding a sword. Holding his sword. “Villain!”
“Look-” the grey clad type began, but Yrng cut him off with a glare. This stranger dared to steal his magic sword, and he wouldn’t have the decency to wait for Yrng to finish declaring what he would do to him?
“I shall rend thee,” Yrng promised. “I shall crush thee. I shall-”
“Yrng.” This voice was a feminine one, though with a faintly metallic edge to it. Although that was understandable, under the circumstances. “He’s not stealing me. I’m leaving. There’s a difference.”
Yrng stopped in mid-declaim. “Leaving? But... you can’t.”
The sword turned so that the elaborately worked hilt was level with Yrng’s features. “I’m sorry, but I’m breaking up the act.”
“But… but… why?”
The sword rose and dipped slightly. Had it possessed shoulders, it would probably have been a shrug. “I just think it’s time.”
“Time?” Yrng’s eyebrows narrowed like two caterpillars getting to know one another better. “What sort of a reason is that?”
“The sort where she’s trying to spare your feelings, possibly?” the grey suited man suggested.
“You stay out of this.”
“Yrng,” the sword said, “he’s right. I didn’t want to say any of this, but I’m… well, bored.”
“Bored? But we got to fight those goblins only last week. Lots of lovely hacking and slashing.”
“But that’s just it. It’s always hacking and slashing. Frankly, dear, your swordplay isn’t up to much.”
“And his is?” Yrng demanded, glaring at the other man.
“Yes,” the sword purred. “He can do proper pris de fers and everything.”
“Why you…” Yrng started towards the little man in grey, only to find the tip of his sword… his former sword, at his throat.
“Don’t make this difficult, Yrng, dear. We both know that you have other options. All right, so your other choice is a bit of a battleaxe…”
“It’s a battleaxe, it’s meant to be.”
“…but you’ll get by.”
“So that’s how it is?” Yrng demanded.
Another bob of the hilt. “That’s how it is. Sorry.”
“Well, I hope you’ll be very happy together. Wait. No I don’t. I hope he chucks you into a lake or something.”
“Well, really,” the sword said, before turning in her new owner’s hands. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
They left. Yrng stood there for a minute or so, seething quietly. He didn’t need that glorified letter opener. She was right. He had plenty of other options. Yrng went over to a chest at one side of the yurt, digging out a huge, double bladed axe. He swished it through the air experimentally.
Damn. Who was he kidding? With a grunt of effort, Yrng threw the axe from him. It thudded into the central pole of the yurt, splitting it neatly in two. Still, at least the falling fabric of the roof meant that no one could see the tear that rolled down Yrng’s cheek.