Dripping Wax
Summary: A knight and a peasant fight in an arena… there is a punchline. Some mild extortion takes place. In the end, Tanjiro ends up as an apprentice to a knight who doesn’t know what a joke is.
For rntnvillage prompts: chivalry / “yes, my lord”
AO3
Chainmail rattled as Tanjiro leapt sideways, dodging a blood-red axe. He scrambled to his feet, black axe in hand, as the crowd roared around the jousting arena.
His opponent laughed. "Excellent hustle, my boy!" he crowed, amusement clear in his voice. In the shadows of his helmet was a hint of gold, and two burning embers where the eyes would normally be— less of a knight and more of a demon.
Tanjiro gripped his axe tighter. "Thank you very much!" He paused, and added, as an afterthought, "um. Sir."
"You are very welcome!" The knight boomed. "Though, there's no need for such formalities. You may address me as Kyojuro Rengoku!"
"Sir Rengoku," corrected Tanjiro. He shifted back, taking a wide stance, pretending his heart wasn’t shaking. It was one thing, to chop wood. It was another to chop flesh- even if that flesh was covered in armor. “I… wish we had met under different circumstances,” he admitted.
“Hm.” Rengoku tilted his head. His eyes gleamed inside his helmet. “But I rather like this. Don’t you?”
Tanjiro didn’t know what to say to that.
Without warning, Rengoku spun on his heel, axe flashing. Metal connected— screeching past Tanjiro’s chest-plate, sparks flying, before whipping away, just missing the gap in his armor.
Before Tanjiro could so much as gasp, Rengoku pursued him, axe whirling, flashing, slicing— Tanjiro ducking, stumbling, slipping, backwards— until Rengoku slammed him into the fence. The crowd cheered.
A drop of blood plopped onto the mud. Then another. Then another.
“Got you,” huffed Rengoku. He tried pulling away, only to find his weapon embedded in Tanjiro’s axe handle. “Interesting.”
Their eyes locked. Tanjiro bared his teeth.
He wasn’t going to lose.
Tanjiro jerked away, yanking Rengoku with him— then he firmly planted his feet, whipping his head towards Rengoku.
BANG!
Both axes splashed to the ground, splattering mud over their armored boots.
“Got you,” wheezed Tanjiro.
As Rengoku stared, a crack split through his helmet. Bit-by-bit, the crack snapped over the faceplate and the helmet shattered— clanging as it clattered against his armor, to the muddied ground. In the sun, Rengoku’s ember-eyes shimmered like halos. Tanjiro recalled, then, why some men worshipped angels.
The rest of his features were equally bizarre. He had a delicate face with strong brows and bright, sweaty hair, that clung to his features like magma. The air swam around him, bubbling and popping and swaying— the sort of heat Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. One second, one moment of happiness.
Then he fell.
Rengoku made a choked noise.
After a long moment, he gathered himself, and shoved Tanjiro over the fence. “A very good fight!” he announced. “Though, being disarmed so easily, I am quite ashamed! Perhaps I should retire, and become a jester, hmm?” The hushed crowd burst into laughter. Rengoku picked up his axe, and twirled it elegantly, before tossing it to a page.
The nobles clapped politely as Rengoku bowed to them, and the crowd again cheered when he made his rounds, showing off an impressive display of archery as Tanjiro dazedly soaked in a puddle. Then, on dismissal, as the next competitors trotted into the arena, he hopped over the fence and squatted next to Tanjiro.
“That was impressive.” He poked Tanjiro in the forehead. “I’ve been training all my life for this. To think, I was defeated by a charcoal farmer… it’s very mortifying, you know!” he poked Tanjiro again, harder. “Regardless. It’s decided! You’ll become my apprentice.”
“Decided… “ Tanjiro blinked, trying to gain his bearings. The world tilted around him, swaying in doubles, “Decided… by who? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Decided by me! Right now.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that!”
Rengoku abruptly stood, hauling Tanjiro up, and slamming him into his chest-plate headfirst— denting it.
“Haha! You’ve quite the talent for destruction, don’t you?” teased Rengoku. “Shall I send you the repair bill?”
Tanjiro looked at the ruined armor and nearly sobbed. “I… don’t think I can afford it,” he dourly replied. “I’m sorry.”
“All the more reason to join me!” Rengoku then said. “You’re Tanjiro, are you not? I shall accept your blood, sweat and tears as payment. My word is my bond.”
This seemed more like blackmail than chivalry, but Tanjiro didn’t know enough about chivalry to disagree. “Yes, Sir Rengoku. Okay. But…”
I don’t want to fight, he silently pleaded. Rengoku watched him expectantly. I want to live with my sister. I want to live in peace. But…
In a world like this, that was impossible.
Knowing that, Tanjiro nodded, smiling weakly as Rengoku beamed.
“Very good!” Rengoku clapped a hand on Tanjiro’s back, nearly bowling him over. “To start— I’d like to use your head as a battering ram.”
“E-excuse me?!”
“That was a joke!” Rengoku yanked him closer, pinching Tanjiro between his arm and chest plates. “I hear you commoners like those sorts of things,” he added conspiratorially.
“Sorts of thi—,” Tanjiro stammered. “Do you— not know what a joke is?”
“Hm?” Rengoku did not blink. He did not look at Tanjiro. “Ah, yes. I’m quite familiar!”
“Ah,” nodded Tanjiro, as if he understood. He didn’t. Why would someone lie about that? “I’m just not used to your sense of humor, Sir. You’ll have to tell me more,” he instead offered, as Rengoku cheerily called for some ale.
Just what had he gotten himself into?