A/N: This story is to start about three months after Hitomi left. The prologue will occur within the story, but not for a while. I have a plot in mind. The rating is for later chapters. Thank you to Suils Saifir for my very first review! To answer your question vaguely, not everything is as it appears to be initially. The story will grow.
Chapter 1:
The air was still and crisp in the way that early mornings have a tendency to be. A little more chill and dark than was normal for this time of day meant that the labourers of the proud city of Fanelia were clinging to the last few minutes of warmth before venturing out.
The city was not completely devoid of life. Down a dim alleyway a haggard looking man dressed in rags was trudging along. A mother of five was taking down the laundry she had forgotten the previous night. There were a few rodents here and there scurrying along tiredly; trying to escape the notice of their vigilant predators. And on the very highest roof of a decrepit looking palace was a cat.
The Cat was contemplating the city with eyes that shone against darkness. She could pinpoint locations of the rodents, the mother and the man who were awake with two of her natural born gifts: scent and sight. She sighed for their hardships, and sighed for her own.
The ruins of Fanelia were proving to be far more difficult than originally thought by engineers and architects. When the city burned, no one realized just how much was lost. Not only were the homes of the people decimated beyond any familiarity; but all the history that had been painstakingly recorded over the years was lost as well.
The blueprints and geometrical sketches of the city had been incinerated. This was causing major upsets in the rebuilding phase. Sewer systems that had been abandoned in times past for newer versions meant that a digging crew could hit upon an area that was not viable for the foundations they were trying to lay. There were tunnels underneath the city that at some time in the past were used as an escape route; for whom no one knew. Burrowing dragons created areas that were not stable, and every day there was a new collapse. Workers had been hurt both trying to build, and attempting to save their comrades from a fall-in. Families who tried to take shelter in the ruins often ended up injured in one way or another. There had been a number of deaths. The city was hazardous; a danger to all of its inhabitants.
The records of address, of ownership, of citizenship were all gone. People had been spending more time arguing over whose place was whose in the unrecognizable heap of their former district than salvaging the tattered remains of their homeland. A group of vagrants had formed, called themselves the Pillagers. They stole anything they could find of value from the ruins. They terrorized inhabitants for their belongings, meagre as they were. Crime was an easy profession in this time of social unrest, and they accomplished this to the most gruesome of results.
Fanelia was no longer a happy place. It was destitute, it was impoverished.
When the pillar of light carried their saviour into the heavens, the people of Fanelia were infused with the drive to work, to rebuild their homes. They optimistically began the process of healing, unaware of the pitfalls they would encounter, the relapses in grief.
That pillar of light had left over three moon cycles ago.
Winter was looming over them; less than two moons away.
Where was their King, their leader in all this? He was working among them, slaving away every day to keep his inner turmoil at bay. He was fighting the same losing battle as the people, trying desperately to solve all the problems on his own. He slept among them, in one of the shelters erected for those who either wished or needed to utilize them. He had enacted laws in an effort to keep his city in working order. They included the necessity to turn over all scavenged valuables, so that they could be sold to neighbouring countries in exchange for much needed resources.
The Pillagers claimed that he was using the valuables to his own gain.
The cat on the roof watched as sunlight shyly began to stroke the tops of the city she called home. A profound sense of sadness at the strange beauty wracked through Merle's small frame. Tears slid down the fur on her face, clinging in droplets there. The sunlight caught on them as well, glinting small slivers of light off her face. She wept for her home, her lost family. She wept for those who had been lost in the war and those who had survived. She wept for Hitomi and for Van and their loss. When she had wept for everyone else, she began to weep for herself, great loud sobs that startled the nesting birds on the roof into flight. The sight of these birds sweeping through the air halted Merle in her thoughts of sadness. If the birds were up, then everyone else would be very soon.
Taking a deep breath, one that shocked her lungs with the chill of it, Merle composed herself. It wouldn't do for Lord Van to see her like this. He needed her to be strong for the both of them, to be happy in the face of all adversity. Merle was accustomed to being whatever Lord Van needed. He was her very best friend, someone she regarded as higher than family. All their lives, Merle had needed Van. She needed him to stick up for her, to tell her everything was alright or not to cry, not to worry. Now that he needed her, she wanted to be the rock that he had been. She wanted to be strong. Strong cats don't cry. Cats hate water anyway, so crying is worse for them than human people.
Merle took one last look over the dishevelled city, then made her way down to join in on the projects for renewal.
"Merle! Where have you been? Give me a hand with the breakfast, would you?" The voice rang out over the sleeping bodies laying in rows in the shelter. Merle squinted against the dim lighting to see Gertrude, a plump matronly woman stoking the cook stove fire for breakfast. Every morning one of Fanelia's widows would cook a communal breakfast for the scrawny young boys and elderly men who were Fanelia's work force. There were few men in their prime that had escaped relatively unscathed through the war.
Merle hurried across the dirt floor, agilely avoiding all errant limbs in her path. She put on an apron and proceeded to stir the pot of grey goop on the stove. She wrinkled her nose.
"This mush seems more...mushy…today."
Gertrude never stopped her hands from moving; getting out the bowls from the crates where they were packed each night as she replied in a low voice; "We're running low on supplies. Our breakfast isn't going to last more than one moon cycle. Our dried meat and flour is going to last even less. If we don't send someone to trade soon, we'll starve!"
Merle stared at the older woman in despair. Another setback? How were they going to rebuild Fanelia if they couldn't feed their workers? There were only about fifty of them in the first place, if they sent five away for a trading excursion, their production would definitely suffer. Not to mention the risk of the Pillagers attacking the trading party either on the way out or back in for their goods.
Gertrude turned a little towards Merle; her hands now busy kneading the dough that would be their noonday meal.
"I wouldn't fret little girl. We're not going to starve today. Something will work out or it won't. But there's no reason to be worrying all them," one flour painted hand indicated the length of the room, "about it all. It's no good for morale you know."
Merle pursed her lips but said nothing. She knew that Gertrude was right. Instead she tried to think of alternative ways to get food. This would be about harvest time for farmers, and many plants in the forest would be ripe with berries. Some of the earlier ones would be past. There could be some roots that were edible, and types of mushrooms; if you knew which ones weren't poisonous. Maybe they could send a search party to barter with farmers? She was so absorbed in her musings that she didn't notice the slight form creeping up beside her.
Her vision suddenly went dark and Merle hissed at the feel of hands over her eyes. She clawed at them, and screeched until they released her.
"You snot-nosed little brat! You're going to pay for this! I'm going to –" Merle trailed off in shock as she took finally saw her accused. He stood there with the faintest of grins on his young face, but even that trace of humour was enough for Merle to melt into a puddle more fluid even than the breakfast mush. She admonished herself instantly for thinking anything of the sort. She thought she understood the meaning of the phrase "old habits die hard."
"I'm waiting to hear what the fearsome Cat is going to do punish me with." The King of Fanelia stood expectantly for a moment. Merle knew what he was expecting, and she knew it would kill her just a little, but she threw her arms around him like always. Anything to make him happy.
"Lord Van! You're awake! Did you sleep well? Do you want some breakfast?" She prattled along easily, keeping up a cheery disposition. He needed that. As she was rambling, she noted that his hair was combed today and that his eyes had purple crescents underneath them. She saw that he hadn't sent his pants to get cleaned since he fell in the mud the other day. She saw that his hope was waning, but that his resolve was as strong as ever. Merle wanted to hug him and tell him that it was all going to be just fine. But cats don't lie, so instead she smiled for him. The others were starting to get up now, men and women who each looked exhausted.
Miraculously, there was cheerful conversation at the breakfast table, peppered with children's laughter and the sight of them running up and down the shelter, pretending to by Gymelefs or Princesses or Dragons. Merle was heartened by this; it seemed that even in these bleak times there could be joy in the world.
Eventually everyone started grouping off into what they were going to do for the day. The families that opted not to stay in the shelters, but in the city itself, showed up and volunteered their time.
Van stood in front of them, outlining their plans for the day. One group would be fortifying the roof of the church just across the street; insulating the building for winter. Supplies were sparse, so another group was assigned to scavenge the city for anything they could use. The women who were able-bodied had weeks ago given up propriety; they were working alongside the men, helping with the physical labour as much as they were able. The older women, the injured men and women were all assigned to keep the shelters tidy, liveable; and to cook, do laundry and any other tasks they could handle.
Even the children were involved. With the Pillagers in the city, they couldn't go far, so older children were to mind younger children while making their tasks into a game. They were to help clear the buildings that had already been rebuilt of all small debris that was left. They were to pick up any nails they could find and add them to the supply closet. Every nail was priceless at this point.
With winter less than two moons away, they had only completed five buildings, all on the same block.
As Merle scampered across the roof of the church, she worried. She threw herself into the physical labour, trying to distract herself from all thoughts of despair. She was invaluable as a member of the crew, being able to balance easily on the beams and carry supplies and instructions to each worker. Here and there she would pause and assist someone with placing a piece of lumber, or get out her hammer and drive the nails into the boards herself. The movements made her muscles ache, reminding her of the weeks gone by. But every nail she ground away at helped her anger and her worry subside little by little.
"What are you grinning about, little lady?" The burly man who was currently working next to Merle was mirroring her facial expression.
"I'm not sure. The work seems to help my temper." Merle was shocked as he began to laugh. "Peter! Are you laughing at me? I can scratch your eyes out you know!"
"I'm not laughing at you!" Peter continued to guffaw, wiping tears that were beginning to form in his eyes. "You just discovered what every man learned as a little boy."
"What?" Puzzled, Merle looked up from the slats of the new roof that were holding her attention.
"That physical activity helps with anger. Why do you think guys are always so aggressive? Or so focused on becoming good soldiers and the like?"
Merle frowned a little, pondering that thought. An idea came to her, with the memory of a tale Hitomi had told her; the one about Naria.
"Do you think Cats would be good at swordplay?" She expected Peter to laugh at her again, to say something about the men taking care of the women. She was surprised when he sat back thoughtfully considering her question.
"I reckon that Cats would be very fearsome soldiers. Cats always have a lot more passion than the rest of us, and are quick to anger. The passion would help in the development of swordplay, but the anger would have to be worked on. A soldier can't be working on impulse, but on training."
Merle thought about what he said for a minute.
"I know that Cats have pretty big tempers. But we're loyal too, that's got to count for something, right?" The hammering never ceased as Peter answered her.
"Sure Cats are loyal, but usually only to one person. To make a good soldier, the Cat would have to be loyal to the right person: their general for example." He looked at Merle and winked. "Or their King."
Merle refused to blush. She was not ashamed of her affection or where it lay. She tossed her head in apparent nonchalance.
"I was just wondering, that's all."
"Sure you were. Pass me that bucket of nails there, will ya?" They worked together in silence until the bell rang for lunch. Merle jumped up instantly and launched herself gracefully off the beams toward the ground.
"Hey! Catgirl, wait for an old man will you?" Peter's voice rang out from the rafters. Merle squinted as she looked upwards; the sun was nearly overhead, blinding her vision of Peter. He wasn't really an old man, Merle thought. Maybe old enough to be the father of someone Merle or Van's age, but not as old as some of their workers. She played along.
"Hurry up old man! All the food will be gone by the time you get there." She squinted upwards again. "Peter?"
"BOO!" The deep voice resonated right next to Merle's eardrum. She hissed.
"Why you little…I'm gonna get you for that!" She took off after Peter who had wisely begun to run like mad away from the catgirl. She caught up to him after he had surrounded himself with children.
"If you're going to hide among kittens, I don't really think you're worth my time." She turned away, grinning as she saw the children beginning to pester Peter for rides on his back, or to be tossed up in the air. His panicked look was enough to assure Merle that it was an adequate punishment.
"Merle!" She turned, knowing that voice like her own.
"Lord Van!" Rushing to embrace him, Merle noted the amused stares of the lunch crowd with an inner humph! What did they matter anyway? Couldn't she suffocate her best friend with affection in peace? "What's wrong Lord Van?"
"Nothing. I just want to make a trip into the Castle, to see what kind of things survived the war." Merle looked at him suspiciously. Van had never made any suggestions for the castle or its contents. He said it was not as important as the homes of the people. His dark eyes met her pale ones, and he seemed to be pleading with her for something. She knew that she could never deny those eyes, and smiled.
"Oh, please Lord Van, can I help? I can climb to a lot of the areas that might be blocked off." He looked sceptical for a moment, but Merle knew that this was his intention all along.
"I suppose. If you feel up to it." Merle tightened her grip on him for a moment before releasing.
"Hooray! Well, what are we waiting for? Let's get going!" She was eager to spend some time alone with her best friend, to assess him and coddle him.
"Uh, Merle?"
"What?"
"Don't you think we should eat first?" Then Merle did blush, a soft pink barely visible beneath her bright orange fur.
"Oh yeah…" He laughed, and she felt a little less embarrassed. He deserved to laugh.
Merle ate her meal with record speed, ignoring all the rules of manners that she had painstakingly learned at the hands of her childhood nurse. She sat impatiently, rocking back and forth in her chair and fiddling with her hair as Van ate his food meticulously slow.
Finally he finished, and Merle scampered out of the shelter to wait for him. A few moments later he appeared, wearing a small burlap pack, his sword fastened around his waist.
"What's in th-"
"Race you to the castle!" He cut her off and began to sprint. Merle waited a moment, then began her pursuit. On all fours, she could easily outrun any human for short distances. But as Hitomi had proved to her, it was more difficult to run upright, because of the air resistance, whatever that was.
Merle raced Van staying upright. As they neared the castle where she had spent her early morning, Merle knew that she could overtake her best friend and win. Instead she feigned a cramp, and crashed into him.
"Hah! A King beats a Cat in a race! Who would have thought?" Van crowed, glee apparent on his young features. Merle grinned inwardly. 'Boys are so dense sometimes,' she thought, immediately followed by an argument that Lord Van could not possibly be dense. He was Lord Van after all.
"It's not a big deal," Merle insisted. It really wasn't. That didn't stop Van from doing a very interesting victory dance. Interesting for Lord Van would have been ridiculous for anyone else in Merle's eyes.
"I beat you, I beat you!" He chanted. Merle grinned. She had no idea what was making him act like a little boy again, but she decided she liked it. As he continued chanting, Merle's grin began to transform into something just a little more mischievous.
"Maybe you beat a Cat, but I happen to know a little girl that could outrun a King." Van stopped chanting. Merle's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't worry about it." His demeanour had changed completely, and he was serious once more.
"But Lord Van, "
"Drop it Merle."
Merle's heart sunk. She had only meant to cheer him up and somehow accomplished the complete opposite. It had been three moon cycles now, and he still did not want to speak about the love of his life. Didn't he realize that Merle hurt too? Hitomi had been her friend, at least at the end. She had stolen Van's heart, something that Merle had been trying to do for years. Merle knew it must be worse for Van, but she thought they might share that pain.
They walked along in silence, Merle barely noticing her surroundings. She had already thoroughly explored the palace in the evenings and early mornings. The layers of dust on the crumbling walls and pillars made for an eerie veil to a once joyful castle. Merle sometimes thought of the building as a person, one that had become old, invalid and introspective. The quiet held a certain solace for her. Now she could feel her face drooping, her mind fading into her surroundings.
They reached what Merle suspected was Van's goal. It was the training room where countless hours had been spent; Van training with Balgus and Merle watching the boy she loved become frustrated over and over again. But she had always been able to encourage him when it was over.
Van unsheathed his sword and began to run through basic exercises. Remembering her earlier conversation with Peter, Merle paid closer attention to this familiar routine. She tried to etch the movements into her mind. It was more difficult than she thought. After years of memorizing his face and moods, now she had to watch his body. It was still young, but hard and used from battle. Merle began to think strange thoughts about that form, ones that caused her to alternate between openly gaping and blush furiously before turning away. She was grateful for the bright colouring she had inherited from her mother. What was that tightening in her stomach? She briefly considered going to a healer, but then scoffed at the idea of a Cat becoming ill.
"Lord Van?" Her voice was soft, as it usually was when it was just him and her. He looked at her warily, and another pang of guilt shot through her. "I was just – well, I was talking to Peter today, and I –"
"If he asked you to marry him, you better have told him no." Merle gaped.
"Wh-what?"
"He's too old for you. We're too young to get married anyway." Merle's tail tensed and bristled as it usually did before she lost her temper.
"What do you mean?! That's not what I was going to say! And I am not too young for anything Lord Van!" Her cheeks flushed, and she was suddenly and inexplicably fascinated with the woven mats beneath her feet. Getting angry with Van was something she just didn't do. A strange sound emanated from his direction. A shy glance up, and Merle could see his shoulders twitching just a little.
"Are you laughing at me Lord Van?" She stalked just a little closer to him, her intended game, her prey.
"No," he answered, trying to keep his voice the usual aloof that he reserved for foreign dignitaries. His eyes were closed, and she knew she had just one chance…
"Gotcha!" She shrieked, landing with all the feline grace she possessed upon his back and promptly began to tickle him senseless. His open laughter was the best medicine she could ever take. Eventually he turned on her and her giggles and shrieks echoed through the ghostly ruins of Fanelia's castle. Finally, Merle pinned him to the floor.
"I win!" She crowed.
"Nothing so fearsome as a Cat." Van observed, before pushing her to the side. He reached for the burlap sack he had brought along. His words mirrored Peter's from earlier, and Merle remembered.
"Lord Van, the talk I had with Peter wasn't about marriage," she said the word with disgust, "it was about Cats." She accepted the piece of bread that Van pulled out of the sack and began chewing with vigour.
"Oh?" He looked up with mild curiosity. Merle took a deep breath, nervous.
"I was wondering…doyouthinkIcouldlearnswordplay?" She instantly began playing with her nail file, diligently sharpening her claws for several moments before she looked up. "Lord Van?"
He was looking at her like he had never seen her before; like she was a strange and new entity. That look chilled Merle. He shook his head.
"No Merle."
She dropped her file, dejected. So that was that, then. 'Oh well,' she thought, 'at least I tried.' She continued to eat her food in peace. One thought nagged her at the back of her head, nudging. It was a familiar thought, but in an unfamiliar place. Anger? At Lord Van? Surely not!
And yet…if it had been anyone else, she would have argued and hissed until she got her way. And this was important! It could mean the life or death of one or more Fanelian citizens, Merle included. She took a deep breath.
"Why not?"
He looked at her thoughtfully, deliberating before answering.
"I don't want you to have to protect yourself. You shouldn't have to fight for your life like that. Let the soldiers do the fighting. Let us protect you." Merle saw the flaw in that at once.
"But Lord Van! You can't protect me all the time! What if all the trained soldiers are killed? What will happen to me then?" She stared at him hard, in a way she had used on everyone except him. It hurt her to fight him. But she had to. To protect him, she would have to fight him on this one, little thing.
He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
"You're right Merle. I can't protect you forever. However much I might want to." His smile was so sad then that Merle wanted to throw her arms around him and retract her arguments, her request, and just let things go back to how they used to be. Against her very nature, she stood her ground. When the sad smile quirked up just a little on the left side, Merle knew she had won.
"Hooray! Wooohooo!!" She did a series of vaults and cartwheels, elated to have gotten her way. She showed off, just a little with her gymnastic abilities when she noticed him watching her with an amused smile on his face. "Can we start now?" She questioned eagerly once her antics had slowed down.
"No."
"But Lord V-" She began to protest.
"Merle, I promise you now that I will aid you in learning the sword. But not now. Not today. Please?" Merle looked into his dark amber eyes, and knew the reason he had asked her to accompany him to the castle. He was hurting. He needed her.
And she was his, of her own choosing.