References:
1) 'Yeah,' he interrupted her, with a faint smile, 'you know, I'm just going by 'Draco' now.' Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
2) A beat, a feint in quarte, a feint in sixte, and a lunge veering off into an attack on the opponent's sword hand. This is very famously Prince Corwin's classic diarming move in Nine Princes in Amber.
3) A smug scholar is only a fool, but a smug swordsman is a dead man. I haven't the faintest. It seems to be a saying. If you know its origin, let me know.
4) Durendal, Greyswandir, Dyrnwyn — Durendal is the sword of Roland in the Chanson de Roland, Greyswandir, again, belongs to Nine Princes in Amber, and Dyrnwyn was one of the Thirteen Treasures of Britain collected by Merlin.
The corridor was stone, lit with the light of smokeless torches at uneven intervals, their sconces carved in the shapes of serpents. The blue-eyed woman paid them no attention as she hurried down the hall, her feet making no noise on the bare stone floor.
She paused in front of a door, rapped on it once. It was opened by a red-headed woman with tired eyes which lit with a dark blue glow when she saw who had knocked. 'Rowena,' she said. 'You came…he's been asking for you.'
'Is he dying, Helga?'
'I don't know. One of those snakes he's endlessly playing with, using in his experiments…it bit him on the arm. I've tried antivenom spells, but nothing seems to be working.'
'I want to see him.'
Helga sighed. 'Go on in.'
Inside the room, Rowena stood for a long time, looking at the young man in the bed. His eyes were closed, shadows like black half-moons under his eyes, his head propped up on pillows. She could see the dark mark of the bite on the inside of his forearm, black and venomous-looking. She didn't move, not sure if he was asleep or not.
At last he opened his eyes and looked at her. 'You can come near me,' he said. 'It's snake venom, I'm not contagious.'
'I didn't know if you'd want me to come near you,' she said, and went to sit on the stool next to his bed. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. His silver hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his gray eyes bright with fever. Sickness had made him look younger, somehow undefended.
'Who would have sent for you, if not me?' he asked.
'Nobody sent me for me. I heard you were ill-'
'Very commendable of you to take pity on me. What does Godric have to say about this?'
She expelled a breath. 'Godric doesn't know. How's your wife?'
He glared at her. 'She's not my wife. I told you that.'
'No, just another of these creatures you've created. What did you call her…?'
'A veela,' said the man in the bed impatiently. 'She's not my wife but she's obedient, she's loving, she's all the things you aren't. And she's giving me an heir.'
'Yes, and when you get her angry, she grows an enormous beak and tries to poke out your eyes.'
'No experiment is perfect,' he said, almost sounding amused, and tried to straighten up on the pillows. 'The wolf-men, though, I'm especially proud of what I've done with them.'
'You don't think it's cruel? Creating these races of creatures that aren't men, aren't animals, but are something else instead? What is going to happen to them, after you're gone?'
'I'm not planning on ever being gone.'
'Oh, Lord, not this again. You have to stop this, all of it, these horrible experiments with the Dark Arts. You can't call up the powers of Hell and expect no repercussions. Be sensible.'
'If you just came here to lecture me, you might as well leave.'
'Fine,' said Rowena, gathering her cloak up about her, but he suddenly whipped his hand forward and seized onto her wrist, making her wince. 'It's not fair,' he said. 'Since we were children, who did we ever trust besides each other?'
'But I don't trust you any more,' she said tearfully, and he loosened his grip on her wrist, sliding his hand down, interlocking her fingers with his. His skin was burning hot with fever. 'What do you want from me, Salazar?'
'I'm dying,' he said. 'But if you want me to live I will. Poison, disease, the wound of any battle — nothing will be able to hurt me.
I'll make myself immortal for you.'
She looked away, blinking hard. 'People are not meant to live forever. Why don't you try doing something good with all your power, your knowledge? You could be a healer like Helga, you could put people back together instead of taking them apart and doing experiments on the pieces…'
He sat up then, staring at her, his gray eyes lit with a fever so intense they looked almost blue. 'I could,' he said. 'I could, if you would help me. Stay with me, Rowena, and I swear, I promise, I'll abandon the Dark Arts, I'll burn my books, destroy my experiments
— ' he broke off, drawing her towards him by their interlocked hands.
She let herself be pulled down on the bed beside him and leaned into him, her face against the hollow of his shoulder. Through the link that bound them she could feel that the weight of her against his skin was causing him excruciating pain. She also knew he did not want her to move away. The poison in him was black and
