X (In Love and War: Chapter 1) X

Evia never, ever knocked when he visited Fayt. The two were such close friends that it wasn't necessary; in fact, Fayt was almost offended when the young man did knock. Despite the war, no one locked their doors, especially those that decided that if they were to die, they would not die in fear. Today was so far just like any other. Young Evia barged right in and announced, "Fayt! I'm here! Gonna get somethin' to eat!" He wandered to the tiny kitchen to explore the refridgerator. He, like his good blue-haired friend, lived on his own, surviving off whatever he could find, steal, or grow. The difference between the two youths was that Evia had only Fayt to call a friend; his eccentricity seemed to repel others. While browsing the make-shift box packed with ice to keep its contents cool, he came across a few boiled eggs and took one for himself, then wandered upstairs to see his friend.

Fayt seemed to be leaning over something in his bed, Evia observed from the threshold of Fayt's bedroom. "Folding laundry, Fayt?" he questioned, but the younger boy merely shook his head and gently waved his hand.

"No, shh. You'll wake him," Fayt murmured. Evia moved to his side. Resting fitfully in the bed was a man no older than his twenties at most, his sharp-featured face shrouded by black, blonde-ended hair. He was skinny as a rail and garbed in the most ridiculously scant purple outfit, Evia had to wonder how the man avoided frost-bite. A large, metal gauntlet covered the man's left arm, five long, pointy claws protruding from the glove, and a thick iron collar with a dangling chain link encased his throat.

"My!" the older of the two exclaimed delightedly, "Who is this?"

"Dunno," Fayt replied, pulling the blankets up to the sleeping guest's chin. "He was laying on the bridge and breathing so hard I thought he was suffocating..."

"My goodness," Evia commented, giving the stranger a look of pity. "He looks awful hurt..."

"He was." Fayt motioned to a pile of blood-soaked bandages and gauze discarded on the floor. "I've been looking after him all morning and he hasn't stirred at all."

The older boy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, fingering strands of dark brown hair that had gotten into his eyes. "Maybe we should ask Nel who he is... she seems to have info on everyone in the world!"

"Perhaps we should," Fayt agreed. He lifted his green eyes to the window and stared longingly down the busy, bustling road. "But you go get her. I don't want to leave this guy alone."

"Aww," Evia grumbled, taking a huge bite of his boiled egg and speaking with his mouth full, "Why can't I stay and you go?"

Fayt rolled his eyes at his friend's antics. "Because, I want him to know that I saved his life, if he wakes up!"

"I could tell him that much!"

"Evia." Fayt sighed, trying unsuccessfully to conceal a smile, "Just go, okay? I'll make some tarts if you do."

The mention of fresh, sweet, homemade pastries made Evia's mind up for him. "You can count on me!" he assured his friend, and out the door he marched.

To Fayt, the journey from the castle and back seemed unbelievably fast. Nel and Evia climbed noisily up the wooden stairs and peered into the room before they came in. "Hello, Fayt," the young woman greeted with a patient smile. "Is something wrong? Evia sounded awfully excited..." She shot the dark-haired youth a look and recieved a sunny smile in response.

"Well, I found this guy injured on the bridge..." Fayt glanced at the man he'd rescued, who seemed to be having a tough time maintaining peace in his sleep. "But I've never seen him before."

"He must not be from around here," Evia chimed in, busy removing the shell from another boiled egg. "So we decided to ask you... Nel?"

The female runologist was staring intensely at Fayt's guest, mild terror evident in her eyes. The two boys exchanged glances; they looked at the stranger, then at Nel. "Wh... what's wrong, Nel?" Fayt piped up. He reached nervously to tap her arm. Before he could make contact, however, she whirled on him.

"Fayt! This man is Albel Nox, captain of Airyglyph's Black Brigade!" she cried, pointing accusatively at the man occupying the bed. "He's very dangerous; you mustn't keep him here!"

The blue-haired youth stared blankly at the woman, and Evia's expression was no different. "...Al...bel...?"

"Surely you've heard of Albel the Wicked," Nel insisted. "He led attacks on us three years ago! He is the most powerful swordsman on Gaitt; a merciless fiend that slaughters for fun and lives for bloodshed." The woman lowered her head sadly and added, "I've lost many a comrade to that gauntlet."

Three sets of eyes rested on the metal claw that covered Albel's left arm. It seemed that the tapiring blades were permanently shaded with blood: something neither Fayt nor Evia had noticed before. Nel touseled her red bobbed hair, giving Albel a contemptuous glare. "I say we destroy him now, while he's still weak and unable to fight back!"

Now it was Fayt's turn to be terrified, and he moved quickly to defend his incapacitated guest. "No! Why would you want to hurt anyone like that?"

"He's a monster, Fayt! He gets a kick out of murdering innocent people!" Nel exclaimed, throwing one arm to the side. "He... he led the attack on Aquios, the one that killed your family."

Off to the side, Evia stood in surprise, and dragged his gaze from Nel to Fayt. Fayt was thoroughly stunned, staring at Nel with large eyes and mouth agape. He arched his eyebrows slowly, questioningly, as if waiting for her to say that she was only kidding, and that he surely was not caring for the very man that was responsible for the death of everyone he ever loved. Yet Nel said nothing of that sort, which seemed to shock the boy more.

"You see?" Nel said, her tone dropping to its much lower, more mellow manner, and there were traces of pity in her voice. "Why would you want to keep alive a ruthless man like him? Kill him now, while we have the chance."

Fayt seemed overwhelmed with this new information, as well as the very idea of ending someone's life. He looked to Evia for guidance and received a bewildered shrug. A knot tied itself in the youth's throat, preventing him from speaking. He swallowed it down. "I... even though he killed my family... I just... I can't just kill him."

The runologist took her turn at being stunned. "Why in the world not? Wouldn't you want to avenge the death of your parents? And all the other people he--"

"No..." Fayt shook his head slowly from side to side, looking upon the face of the murderer he had taken care of. "If I do that... then I would be no better than him! There's no meaning in that. No... avengement... in that."

A slight, cheery laugh from Evia seemed to break up the steadily increasing tension. "Well said, Fayt! There you have it Nel -- Albel the Wicked lives." He beamed at the redhead, who seemed to be quite outraged with the decision, though it quickly died down at the charisma that showed on Fayt's face.

"Ve...very well, Fayt..." Nel said in submission at last, lifting a hand and holding it palm-up before her, "But when things get bloody, please... please don't say I didn't warn you." Fayt gave a nod, nibbling gently on his bottom lip. The woman's obvious concern bothered him some, and he had to wonder if this pale, thin man was really as much of a threat as Nel marked him up to be. "He is very, very dangerous," the woman reiterated, dropping her hand at her side. She moved toward the door and stopped, one foot over the threshold. "Be judicious, and ever more wary."

And with that, she left. Evia snorted and giggled after her, shaking his head with such intensity that locks of coarse brown hair drooped in his eyes. "She speaks as if the guy is Armeggedon or something." He placed his hands on his hips and shook from side to side, mocking the runologist, and Fayt couldn't surpress his laughter at the imitation.

"Still... if he's captain of the Black Brigade, he must be good enough to have a position like that," Fayt offered. "Even if he doesn't look like much."

"Look like much?" Evia covered his mouth, giggling and smiling through his fingers. "He looks like somethin' to me alright."

The blue-haired youth craned his head, perking a brow. "Huh? What are you talking about now?"

Evia laughed and moved to the side of the bed parallel to Fayt and took the hem of the blanket in his hand, pulling it down enough to expose the sleeping man's bare stomach. With his other hand, he pointed to the pale skin. "Just look at those muscles!" he crooned. Fayt stared at his friend in disbelief, and forced the laughter back down his throat. It came back up, however, when Evia proceeded to gingerly slide a finger across Albel's stomach.

"Evia! Gosh!" Fayt laughed, clamping a hand over his mouth to try and smother his amusement, to no avail. He was afraid to make too much noise, lest the man wake up and catch them in the act of fawning over him. "Leave him alone, would you? He needs to get all the rest he can."

Carefully tugging the blankets back up to Albel's chin, Evia laughed a little more. "Alright, alright... you killjoy." The two boys stuck their tongues out at one another, and the older of the two shuffled to the door. "I guess I'll leave you two alone now--" he paused to giggle briefly, "--see you tonight, alright?"

"Alright," Fayt grumbled embarassedly, shooing Evia off with a wave of his hand. He crouched there beside the bed until he heard the front door slam carelessly shut, then stood. His legs were sore from staying in that position so long, and he took a few moments to stretch them out before surveying Albel the Wicked. The color of his hair struck him as odd...

Before he could stop himself, he was reaching down and plucking a strand of black hair from the man's shoulder in his fingers. He inspected an extremely long, braided contraption and found it to be a hair tail; one of two, as a matter of fact. After pawing the blonde ends that poked out from the braids, he became compelled to run a hand through the messy locks, but before he could get there--

"Wha--!" The voice was foreign and sudden, and it startled Fayt enough to send him sprawling on his behind a few feet away. The boy came to realize that it was coming from his guest, and quickly tried to regain his composure, scrambling over on hands and knees to the bedside. He lifted himself up and peered at the man, who seemed to have snapped awake, and was now staring confusedly around with narrow, ruby eyes.

"Guh... good morning!" Fayt greeted, trying to imitate the sunny smile he had seen Evia display so often. "How are you feeling...?"

The pair of cold eyes swerved in their course to look at Fayt, and they beheld no recognition or welcome. "Who the hell are you? Where am I?" Fayt recoiled slightly, but managed to hold his ground.

"You're..." he stopped. Would it be safe to tell a Glyphian, let alone a captain of one of the three Brigades, that he was in Aquios, the heart of Aquaria's nation? No, he decided, it would not. He would at least have to find out just how threatening this man really was before he divulged anything like that. "...My name is Fayt! Fayt Leingod. You're in my house."

Albel the Wicked did not seem satisfied with the youth's explaination, and he quickly sat up, intent on leaving right away. He had more important business to take care of, no time to fool around with idiotic children with strange hair colors. As soon as he was up, a massive wave of pain bit him in the side, and he fell back down into the pillow. "Agh! What... why does it hurt?"

"You don't remember?" Fayt murmured, inclining his head as he studied the outlandish man with nice muscles that was said to be so dangerous. "You... got here and fainted on the bridge. I brought you here." He paused, rubbing his upper arm uneasily. "You were... heavy!"

"Bridge," Albel repeated, moving the blankets down and lifting his head from the pillow to try and see the wounds, and was surprised to find them cleanly treated already. "What city am I in...? Have I made it to Peterny?"

"Peterny?" Fayt raised his eyebrows, remembering Nel's words. He was captain of the Black Brigade. He led attacks on Aquaria, one of which resulted in the death of his family... "Why do you ask?"

The wicked swordsman eyed the boy suspiciously, draping his right arm over the worst of his injuries as if to protect it. "I feel no need to explain myself to the likes of you, maggot." The young boy stood taken aback, not knowing what to say. He was awfully cold, and difficult to get through to... "Would you mind answering my question, fool?" he snapped after a pause, "Have I reached Peterny, or not?"

"I... uh..." Fayt hesitated a moment. What was the best thing to say in a situation like this? He didn't particularly like lying, not to anyone, but began to figure that it would be necessary. At least for now. "No."

"Then where am I?" Albel demanded, sitting up suddenly and reopening the wound he had been trying so hard to defend. He reclined again, a mild wince on his face.

The blue-haired youth's eyes darted in several directions. "You're... in..." The memory of a vacation he and his family had taken to Kirlsa came to mind. It made his heart sting a little, even moreso than usual because he was in the very presence of the man who took all those memories away from him, but it still relieved him that he could remember it. He could remember the long, narrow dirt roads, small, comfortable houses, friendly shopkeepers..."You're in Kirlsa."

"Kirlsa?" Disbelief and maybe even horror crossed into Albel's eyes and mingled with the anger that was already there. "I thought for sure I had made more progress than that! This is unacceptable. I have to..." For a third time the man sat up, ignoring the searing pain in his body and swinging his legs to the floor. "...go!" He managed to stand, but as soon as he took one step, he toppled forward. Fayt rushed to catch him, nearly overwhelmed with the difference in their weights.

"Oof!" The boy cried, catching Albel around the shoulders, stumbling against the far wall and sliding down it. Albel slumped into his lap, hissing through his teeth as wounds upon wounds were reopened. "Ah... are you alright? See now, you have to stay in bed."

Summoning up his strength, Fayt dragged Albel into his arms and stood, half-carrying him to the bed. The wicked swordsman fell clumsily into it and crawled to the pillow, burying his face in it. Fayt pulled the blankets up over him and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry... you should be fine in at least a week..."

"A week?" cried the muffled, irritated voice in the pillow. Fayt merely lowered his head in apology and wandered off to retrieve more medical supplies, leaving the silence to speak for itself. When the boy returned, his guest was still quietly griping to himself. "How could I possibly be in Kirlsa? I must have been detained somehow! Was it Dejison, that wriggling maggot? It had to have been him. When I get my hands on him, I strangle the life from him, and-- OUCH!"

Fayt grimaced at the man's cry, gingerly applying rubbing alcohol to the wounds to clean them as he had before. "I'm sorry! Hold... still!"

Sighing annoyedly, Albel found no other option but to do as this irritating boy said, and lay still, stretched out on the bed to be treated. Every once in awhile he would grit his teeth and hiss, but managed to hold his own. At least, until Fayt got to the deep cut near his neck. "By the gods, fool! Be careful!"

"I'm sorry!" Fayt snapped back, swallowing down the frustrated lump in his throat. He was beginning to regret his decision to spare the swordsman's life already. A whole week with this ungratefulness, listening to him complain and growl... and when he wasn't bitching, he was glaring him down! "Will you turn your head a little, please?"

"Why, so you can make it hurt more than it already does?" The Wicked One barked, crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to move his head in the slightest.

"If that's how you want to look at it!" Fayt exclaimed, slowly beginning to lose his patience. "Turn your head. If I don't clean it, it'll get infected!" The two of them locked eyes for the second time since Albel had woken up: red reflected in green, green in red, both sets narrowed at the other. The silent pause was almost deafening.

"...Make me."

Fayt tossed the medical supplies down in defeat and leapt to his feet, stomping from his room and slamming the door behind him. He stormed down the stairs and snatched his wicker basket off the table on his way out the front door, and slammed that behind him, too. In fact, he stormed all the way to the fields, which were mostly bare from overpicking, and cooled off by searching for whatever leftovers he could find. A whole week, probably more, with him? "Maybe I should have just taken Nel's advice..." he grumbled softly, feeling tears well up in his eyes. "I should have let him die!"

Dropping the basket at his feet, he hung his head and slowly sat down on the hard, dry dirt; a spot free of snow. Albel was the killer of his family, anyway. He murdered many of his people. Why should someone that terrible be allowed to live? And he wasn't even grateful! "What would dad have wanted me to do...?" he whispered, clasping his hands at his throat and lowering his head, as if in prayer. As he thought hard, about his gentle mother, idealistic father, caring aunt and uncle, and his sweet, playful cousin, he tried to compare his decision with what any of them would have done.

It soon occured to him that the things he had said to Nel were definately not his own words. If I killed him, then I would be no better than him. There is no meaning in that. No... avengement... in that at all.

This had to be the truth. He could hear the voices of his family urging him to think so.