Round One: de Mericourt vs. Romme
Theroigne de Mericourt
Gilbert Romme
They say Theroigne is crazy. She supposes that's what she gets for daring to speak her mind. But she isn't, far from it. They forget so quickly her exploits on 10 August, her patriotism that rivaled any man. She's been all over Europe, in and out of prison, and still she finds herself returning to France. This is where her heart is. This is what she was meant to do, this is why she was given these weapons, this is why she hears a voice whispering in her ear that this is your chance to prove them wrong; this is your chance to save the revolution. She sets her gaze on the horizon. She's been through hell and back again, and she will not falter now.
Romme tenses as his fate-given adversary comes into view. Of course it would be the woman he'd given his respect to, of course it would be the person he strove beside to found the Society of the Friends of the Law. He'd heard rumors of what had happened to her, after, and he curses every law of probability that has brought her to face him now. But he is a scientist. He knows that there is no point in resisting the laws of nature. What will come will come, regardless of how it makes him feel. He'd balanced the line between factions back in the day, and a bit of that uncertainty comes back now. He'll try to negotiate first, but he sure as hell won't go down without a fight, if that's what it comes to.
Theroigne's about to strike when she realizes who her opponent is. It's Romme, her friend, her old ally. He puts his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, dodging the wild swipe of her knife that's closer to reflex than murderous intent.
"Hold on! Let me talk!" Theroigne lowers the knife, cautiously. If this is a trick, he will regret it. "We don't have to do this."
"We do," Theroigne says, heart breaking even as she says it. "It's- I don't know how, but we do. There's no other way."
"There's always another way," Romme says. "If this is a combat, like the gladiators of Rome, it is not certain that one of us must die for the other to continue. A simple injury should suffice. Put down the gun, we will fight with knives, and the first to draw blood, however shallow, will be the victor."
And so it begins. Romme may be bigger and stronger, but Theroigne is faster, and she has experience in street combat. Romme goes on the defensive, blocking her strikes with his hilt. It's so easy to lose herself in the fight, and her dagger smells blood...
She strikes. Romme falls, scrabbling at his neck. Too late, she realizes what she's done.
She didn't want to kill Romme. She never wanted to kill Romme. It was a mistake, an honest one, her fault for losing control. She bends down, places a hand on his forehead, meets his wild eyes, even with how little good it does now.
When his breaths stop coming and his heartbeat stutters out, Theroigne stands up. She takes the other knife from the ground beside him, straps it to her waist. As much as she wants to fall to the ground and never get back up, she knows that she must keep walking. Purposeful or not, Romme died so she could live, and to give up now would be a waste of both their sacrifices.