The Beauty of Us Two

Summary: (Support conversations between Caellach and Amelia) She was an innocent yet resolute recruit while he was hardened, embittered warrior. She espied his scarred soul and wanted to help him. He wasn't too certain if he should let her. Amazing on what a few, simple talks can create. (CaellachxAmelia)

Support A: In My Time of Need

A/N: Chapter title is from the lyrics of "Angels" by Within Temptation. Nuff said.

Text:

"Speech"

Thoughts

Flashback

Songs/Music:

"Cadence of Her Last Breath" by Nightwish

"Rainmaker" by Iron Maiden

Disclaimer: Yes, yes, I own the Sacred Stones. This is just a hobby of mine. …Lord, I hope all of you who just read that knew I was being sarcastic.

"A Loner longing for

The cadence of her last breath

Put to rest all that's not life

Drink for beauty and fill my blank page

Sometimes a dream turns into a dream

A Loner longing for

The cadence of her last breath."

-Cadence of Her Last Breath, Nightwish

The lurid, jacinthe flames flickered jocosely in the middle of the campsite teeming with Rausten soldiers, the ciders and sparks hurtling outward like miniscule flammeous fairies, cavorting against the swift, brisk evening wind. The sun had set and night was casting its arcane, elusive cloak of darkness over the land, evoking the shadows and its creatures to come out and play.

Amelia dourly watched the Rausten knights gorge themselves with grog and gamble their livelihoods away, the hearty whoops, cheers, and groans permeating the crisp, gloaming air. The élan of the Rausten army was quite a contrast to the dejected, harrowed mood of the Grado legionnaires.

"No one will be coming for us."

Amelia jerked her head towards the soldier who had uttered such a pessimistic, ill-begotten manifesto. She faced a rugged, ill-kept Falcoknight with a scruffy beard and matted cinereous hair whose face was caked with grim and sweat.

"What do you mean? Surely someone from our regiment will come and rescue us." Amelia replied dubiously, vainly tugging at the bonds around her wrists.

The Falcoknight snorted coldly at her firm belief. "Do you really think so, lass? Do you truly believe our general, the mighty Tiger Eye, will even bother to help us out of our dire predicament?" He eyed her sharply, the glacial glare slicing her to the bone was just as effective as his caustic words. "I have been with that man from the start, lass, and if there's one fact I learned from him, it's this: He cares naught for his fellow man. He'll use anyone he deems a tool to help further his ambitions and then steps all over them once he is through with them."

Amelia shook her head vehemently to contradict his opinion of their Grado commander. "That's not true," she retorted fiercely, recalling the haunted glimmer in his hazel eyes she had witnessed from their first encounter, "General Caellach will come for us. He will. I know it."

A half-entertained snicker rose from the morose Falcoknight and he incredulously stared at Amelia as if she had sprouted fangs, a tail, and five grotesque heads. "You're really naïve, aren't you, girl?" he remarked jocularly and for the second time, Amelia shook her head.

"No, I am simply saying you don't know General Caellach enough to so quickly dismiss the thought of him coming to our aid. I believe he will fight to retrieve us." All amusement died from her compatriot's eyes and his lips curled into an ugly sneer.

"Listen, brat, I have been in this war far longer than you have and also been under the Tiger Eye's command way before you come waddling along out of your diapers. I fathom how this venturous man operates and can guaranty you he will not come. Not now, not ever." He turned away from her, fully esteeming that the conversation was over and he could at least get some shut-eye. He couldn't be more incorrect.

"You're wrong." Amelia's lucent, assertive voice washed over the disdainful Falcoknight, aggravating his already grated nerves. Fortunately for the female, he just clamped his jaw shut and promptly ignored her. Closing his eyes, the Falcoknight uttered his final words to Amelia before he was taken into the land of Nod.

"You are too innocent for you own damned good. Don't you know those Rausten pigs are wagering to see who gets to bed you first?"

Panic seized Amelia's heart and she whirled herself around to face the curmudgeon once more. "What?!" she gasped horrifically, hardly grasping what he had just informed her. "You must be jesting!"

Her only reply was a deep, resonating snore.

Despair and despondency settled over the blonde fighter like a palpable pall and Amelia strenuously battled against the sense of hopelessness clawing its way into her mind. There had to be an alternative, a misunderstanding of some sorts! Why on earth would her adversaries want anything from her, a simple, plain girl of Grado?

"Majority of them are starving men bereft of womanly companionship. The Rausten soldiers miss the presence and touch of a female, friend or foe. When they saw you, half of them probably went completely mad with desire." proclaimed a man sitting across from her as if he read her mind and decided to offer her an explanation. His half-lidded eyes were rimmed with smudges and dark circles and he shifted unconsciously in his stained subfusc robes, seemingly assaying to achieve some levels of comfort in captivity. Amelia gauged him warily, her whole body rigid and alert at his ominous message.

"Are you saying that they (she motioned to the reveling Raustans with a head tilt in their direction) will—" She paused, nearly choking on the next two words about to tumble from her mouth, "compromise me?" The taxed shaman (she estimated this by his monotonous, sober attire) simply nodded, utter sympathy etched on his waning visage. Amelia tensed briefly, and then slumped against the wooden post in resignation, bitterly enraged at her incapability to save herself from the unsavory, impending position.

"I have to escape," she murmured softly yet decisively, "I can't allow that to happen." She glanced back to the shaman, whose tired eyes were suddenly open wide and his thin lips bore a trace of small grin.

"There maybe a chance for you, that is, if you're willing to take a couple of risks." The shaman's salving declaration of a possible flight thrilled Amelia like never before. She leaned as nigh as her bondages would permit and waited with much anticipation for the shaman to elaborate.

"What's the plan?" she queried curiously, azuline eyes abound with hope. The shaman's inscrutable smile broadened at Amelia's sedulity and imitated her actions, glancing side to side to reassure himself no enemies would overhear them.

"Henrik right next to me has a dagger in his left boot that the Raustans failed to detect and confiscate. He has agreed bestow his weapon to whoever is selected amongst us to flee first." the shaman began placidly, his tenor hushed and barely above a whisper.

"'Whoever is selected'?" Amelia repeated dubiously, raising one unexpected eyebrow. Her fellow-in-arms nodded.

"Henrik mostly come up with the stratagem but all the men here agreed on the person who should be the first to escape and tell General Caellach about our situation. We unanimously decided you definitely should be the first one leave." His lackluster, metallic eyes seemed to bore into the center of her core, almost daring her to protest. The words, the lilt of his voice seemed so final that it seemed she didn't have a say in the matter whatsoever.

"But…why me? I mean, I'm hardly suitable for the task and barely experienced enough to even—" The shaman silenced her with a languid wave of his hand.

"None of us here are getting raped and something tells me you, out of all us, can convince General Tiger Eye to assist us if he isn't already hastening to our rescue." A derisive snort echoed from the slumbering Falcoknight, causing Amelia and the shaman to snap their heads in his direction.

"What is it now, Boelthor?" he asked wearily, nearly at the end of his rope with the distrusting soldier.

"Oh, nothing," came the muffled reply, "it's just I find your profound confidence in the Tiger Eye aiding us most absurd." The dark spell caster across Amelia stiffened and then his murky eyes flared momentarily with indignant fire before he opened his mouth to remark acridly on his comrade's comment.

"You know, Boelthor, your nihilism is simply the most irritating entity I was ever forced to listen to and I believe I speak for the rest of the soldiers when I say we're sick and tired of your fatalistic viewpoints!"

This jarred Boelthor out of his drowsy sleep and he glowered unhappily at the steaming shaman.

"You're going daft as well, Rox? We all are vulture fodder here and you know it! Why place the remnants of our fading hopes on a general who doesn't give a flying fig about anyone but himself?"

"Defeated already, Boelthor?" jeered Rox the shaman. Acutely aware she was no longer apart of the discussion, Amelia sank back to her place, wondering if the plan would commence or not. Prior she could speak up and interrupt the two squabbling males, the rogue next to Rox caught her attention by kicking his dagger straight towards her boots.

"Here yah go," he announced cheerily, sounding like they were on a vacation rather than in imprisonment, "inch the dagger to your hands with your feet and the rest of the body and let yours hands to the rest." The rouge she presumed to be Henrik placidly guided her movements so the dagger reached her mildly fettered hands as quickly as the weapon could. Once the hilt touched the palm of her hands Amelia aggressively tackled the roped with great relish as she sawed her way through the scratchy, thick ropes to the best of her abilities. Rox and Boelthor were still quarreling when her hands were free and she began working on her ankles.

"Are they always like this?" she quietly asked Henrik so she wouldn't evoke much fixation upon herself, especially from the Rausten soldiers. Judging what she had been hearing in the distant so far, there were still plenty of them fighting over the bets as who would be the man to deflower her first. And she wanted them to be preoccupied as much as possible.

Henrik sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, yes. They're almost like two brothers, always censorious of the other. Forget about them, just focus on making your getaway." When he finished, Amelia's work was complete and the ropes laid around her in luteolous, frayed swirls. Step one of her liberation was done. Now she had to get out of the enemy's camp before one of the wardens noticed her absence. The sole female in a scattered group of prisoners was quite easy to spot, no matter how many men she was amidst.

Okay, you're free; now go find your weapons and then steal a horse when none of the Raustans are around!

After Henrik wished her luck and speed on her journey, Amelia cautiously snuck away from the rest of the captured men and furtively treaded to the horses and the artillery. Scanning the disseminated weapons, Amelia rapidly snatched up an iron lance similar to her own and a vulnerary. A solitary iron sword ensnared her scrutiny and unable to resist temptation, the blonde legionnaire grabbed the desired blade. Since she was no longer a mere recruit but instead a newly transformed cavalier she could be exposed to the art of swordplay. The caliber of wielding a sword was still premature to her however she had learned the rudimentary, essential skills a couple of days ago, prior to her capture. Today could very well be her first day of brandishing a sword in combat.

Strapping the blade and sheath to her hip, Amelia silently walked towards a horse separated from the rest of the steeds, the lone destrier absentmindedly staring at tiny bug in the khaki sand. "Sssssh," she whispered when the horse realized her presence and gazed at her suspiciously, "I'm not going to hurt you. Just hold still and allow me to mount you—" She fluidly reached for the reins, despite the fact inside she was trembling from head to toe in fear of being discovered by one of the guards. Much to her relief, the horse didn't flinch or neigh raucously in self-defense when she grasped a hold of the bridle, the creature simply continued to gauge her unblinkingly. Deeming the moment was now or never Amelia swiftly swung up on the saddle and cut the stallion's tether with the tip of her lance, releasing them both. With a kick of her heels, the brunneous stallion bolted into a trot and then immediately into a canter by the perpetual urging of Amelia.

She had managed to garner a myriad of leagues before a modicum of the Rausten soldiers finally realized that she was missing from the captives.

Conscience could really be a pain in the arse sometimes.

I must be insane. I literally, wholly must be insane, just like that freak Valter–only he's much worse. Much worse.

While his perturbed thoughts brewed hectically inside his head, Caellach assessed his platoon's progress and how the tracking was coming along. From what he managed to accumulate by the Raustens' trail in such a short time span, he could confirm the troops of righteousness and justice did not possess an inkling of masking their footpath from enemies. They were in hurry, he perceived, and terribly sloppy in the process. Caellach nearly snorted in disbelief at the foe's inefficiency. Can any of the frivolous, trite fools conceive how to actually fight and win a battle, especially in a harsh barren desert?

And to think I lost seventeen soldiers to those weak-kneed morons. Mother Irony sure enjoys mocking me.

As if that was the only entity taunting him.

Caellach growled inwardly, irked that he reminded himself once more why he concurred in rescuing the prisoners. He consistently retold himself that the notion was only to restock his manpower for the massive, pending fight with Prince Ephraim and his squadron and had nothing to do with a certain azure eyed, blonde haired female whose salving smile kept plaguing his mind, much to his inner frustration. Admitting he was mostly pursuing the fleeing Rausten troops to rescue some lass he had the pleasure of chatting with would be like admitting he cared about her and in his mind, that concept was purely ridiculous. He just needed the rest of his men back so he could battle Ephraim and his forces more sufficiently. There was nothing else to the simple, strategic equation.

"Uh, General Caellach, sir?" called out one of his remaining Falcoknights, "A rider approaches, sir."

Snapping his head towards the bearer of such interesting news, Caellach stolidly inquired, "Is the rider one of our own?"

The young Falcoknight squinted and didn't respond for a few seconds. After a minute's worth of discernment, the winged rider diligently answered, "Yes, I believe it's one of our cavaliers. He–or she–is heading this way, and fast, too."

Inwardly noting to ask the rider how he escaped on arrival, Caellach ambled towards the path the Falcoknight was pointing at, hoping the oncoming soldier will have any valuable information regarding the pathetic Raustans. He heard the vociferous hoof beats of a horse and spied the horseback rider approaching him and his men with rigorous effort and speed. As the cavalier loomed closer and closer, Caellach could finally glean the identity of the nameless, peculiar rider. He received the shock of his life when he saw Amelia galloping towards him and the rest of the army, her flushing cerise visage imbibed with sweat and unbound perseverance as she jolted curtly on the reins and the horse instantly halted in its tracks.

"Behind me…several Raustan men…can't recall how many," Amelia announced breathlessly, clutching the saddle of her stallion fiercely, "They…should be here…very soon."

"Easy there, lass," Caellach told her, trying to get her haphazard breathing under control, "I don't want you fainting on me before the skirmish even starts just because you didn't receive enough air." He turned back to his men, his imperative, rough-and-ready nature descending over them.

"All right, boys, get into your position at once! The enemy is near and unaware of our presence so now is the perfect opportunity to give them an ambush!" A roar of approval surged across the Grado soldiers' ranks and the men scrambled across the arid terrain, finding secluded spot behind, underneath, or beside a dun or sand mound. Amelia followed Caellach into a recently dug fosse and slowly coaxed her horse into the shallow crevice.

"How did you escape?" Caellach asked her once they were settled in the trench. His silver axe was ready to be drawn while her lance was leveled for a fatal strike.

"I had some help from a couple of soldiers." she confessed sheepishly and the stallion snorted, as if to confirm the female cavalier's statement. "You have to rescue the others!" she added ardently, staring at him beseechingly with those enthralling, lovely periwinkle orbs. He so awfully wanted to rend himself away from her enchanting scrutiny, ignore the desperate plea in her mellifluous voice that distinctively reminded him of raindrops gently and rhythmically pelting against satin that subsequently wrapped its beguiling, alluring spell over his mind like a nebulous, stuporous fog of uncertainty. Closing his eyes furiously and grinding his teeth together, Caellach strenuously compressed all of emotions concerning Amelia and blotted the foreign impression altogether.

"After we deal with these wretches you can show us the road to the Rausten camp." he replied indifferently, attempting not to look at her while he spoke. Unfortunately, due to curiosity on his part, he failed miserably. The Tiger Eye tilted his head slightly in her direction and witnessed the sincere, tender smile that bedazzled and captivated him simultaneously on Amelia's lips, her heart in her cerulean eyes.

"Thank you, General Caellach," she said benignly, "I knew I could rely on you."

The said hero grunted, not at all certain how to react or respond to such a sentimentally blunt, frank remark. "Uh, you're welcome," was all he could think of to say in return.

The ambush transpired better than anyone imagined. The Rausten dispatches certainly weren't expecting a gigantic influx of Grado soldiers springing out the ground like meerkats or beset tantamount to the surreptitious pouncing of avid trapdoor spiders. The search party chasing Amelia did not stand a chance against the mighty, august Grado soldiers; the element of surprise was so craftily designed and precise that the defeat of the Rausten detachments was a fairly lenient victory for Caellach and his warriors. The whole group was completely effaced, not a single trace was left of the opposing regiment save for their contorted corpses scattered about raging, sanguinary desert, akin to broken, worthless dolls discarded by a small child for someone else to pick up.

Amelia solemnly cleaned the carmine blotches on her sword, wondering if the other Grado captives would be all right and safe even if the slaughtered Raustans didn't return with her in tow. Would the enemy decided right then and there to march all the hostages together and then proceed butcher them mercilessly as retribution for their grisly, easy triumph over them? Banishing the harrowing, unsavory idea from her brain, Amelia resumed her cleansing and tackled the blood stains with exigent vim. She refused to allow her fellow compatriots to be massacred alike pigs in a slaughterhouse, dying in a lone, massive grave with no one to properly honor and bury them one by one. They helped her and now she could return the favor.

"What is on your mind, lass?"

Startled slightly, Amelia snapped her head back to see speaker standing behind and smiled softly when the person's face came into view. "Hello to you too, General Caellach." The said general smirked, his way of acknowledging her greeting. "If you really want to know, I'm just pondering about the rest of the Grado prisoners of war and their condition. What if the commander of the Rausten army concludes to execute them on the spot and we arrive too late? They were so hopeful in being rescued…." She trailed off, new conjectures and prospects taking root.

"Or worse, what if they force them to fight against us or—"

"Amelia, enough."

Amelia heeded Caellach's command and abruptly stopped her rant. She opened her mouth to apologize for her silly behavior but she was hindered from doing so for the Tiger Eye had raise up a hand as an imperative gesture for her silence so he could talk.

"None of those outcomes will happen," he told her staidly and she cocked her head inquisitively, her entire visage imploring for a further explanation. "I mean, we'll come to their support before the Raustan pansies even dare let the notion of permanently damaging our men cross their feeble minds." Ebullience glowed all around the wheaten haired cavalier and prior he could prevent her, she enveloped Caellach into a friendly, grateful embrace.

"I realize I already said this to you earlier but I want to repeat it. Thank you, General Caellach. Thank you very much." He tried shrugging her words off, as if his act of retrieval was merely a trifle, a triviality not worth lauding over.

"Eh, it's nothing. Don't worry about it." Honestly, why was he keenly intent to keep that promise with her and so tenacious in fulfilling the vow? Why did he strenuously not want to botch this mission up and successfully retrieve each and every of those ridiculous soldiers of his, just so he would be spare to see the bitter disappointment and sorrow lacquered in her celeste eyes? Did his incongruous behavior derive from those nameless, foreign emotions churning convulsively inside him whenever she was near or he unintentionally conjured her image on a whim? Or was his ambiguous nature due to the fact she deeply trusts him when no one had ever offered their faith to him voluntarily after he become a mercenary and then the infamous Tiger Eye?

"We should move quickly. There's no telling how long the Rausten fools will start miss their measly search party." he told her bluntly and as a reflex, Amelia nodded impassively.

"Yes, sir. I'll inform the others." Sheathing her sword back into its respectable scabbard, she murmured a farewell and traversed to the rest of the army to announce his mandates.

Caellach couldn't help it but subtly wished she had flashed another one of those breathtaking, genuine smiles of hers prior to attending her duties. "Ah, hell, what's up with me?" he grumbled, furiously shoving his axe into the holster of his claret shield, "Going weak and pitiful over the mere smile of a female. Bah, I think the blasted heat's getting to me."

Amelia directed them down the path to the Rausten bivouac, each soldier cautious not to produce an audible sound while they clandestinely crept towards the dysfunctional, rowdy Raustans who were still gambling or playing idle games to pass time. A sober, quiet group separate from the rambunctious revelers distinctively exhibited that they were the captured Gradans. Concealed by the rolling, slopping hills of the Jehanna desert and the shadows of the night, Caellach proudly noted none of the enemy sentries had detected their arrival or anything unsettling. Albeit his men weren't completely silent through out the journey (however, the soft, sandy terrain definitely muffled any overly plodding footsteps) the hero had yet to see a Rausten sentinel glance or squint in their direction. Really, just how imbecilic and oblivious could those justice-loving mooncalves be?

"So there they are," he whispered thrillingly, eager to dismember of couple of limbs with his axe, "just waiting to be decimated." In the corner of his eyes he noticed out of all people, Amelia was crouched on his left flank, periwinkle orbs persistently fixated on the Grado prisoners and then at the foe, her focus zooming in on their activities.

"Whose going to recover the soldiers?" she asked him in a hush voice, tearing her inspection away from her targets and cast her discernment onto her commander. He grunted, clearly haven't thought about that.

"You can be in charge of that task, if you want," he replied stoically, "they probably prefer you rather than me or anyone else around here."

"Oh, I doubt that's the case," she objected, causing Caellach to snort incredulously. "What? I'm serious!"

"So I am," Caellach remarked, ceasing the derisive laughter, "but setting all that aside, I have a question. You are barely acquainted with the hostages yet you so implacably desire to abet them. Why?" He cocked his head at her, thoroughly intrigued to her answer.

At first, Amelia blinked at him, promptly caught off guard by his direct and somewhat personal inquiry for her. However, her bedazzlement was short-lived and the nonplussed expression melted away to reveal a transparent, doughty attitude.

"Because, Caellach, they are my fellow countrymen and even though I may not know them very well or they hardly can recollect my name, we still are one of the same. We are soldiers of Grado and we never forsake each other." Amelia explained simply, reciting the words as if they had been engrained into her mind after hearing several repetitions of a speech based on national pride.

Caellach didn't have the heart to tell her that was bloody lie, that Gradans, Jehannans, Renais', Frelians, Raustans, Carcinans–practically everyone–had abandoned each other and their fellow men for one reason or another. Since the epoch of humanity man deserted man and the eternal, damned cycle would proceed to revolve as long humans continued to roam the earth.

"Whatever you say," he muttered, holding his tongue from all the caustic comments spewing inside his head. Nonplussed, Amelia gauged him with meticulous care, her dissecting azuline eyes staring up at him as if they knew he was tempted to contradict her explanation. "What?"

Amelia shrugged her shoulders dubiously. "I was merely wondering if Jehanna had a vow similar to Grado's, you know, like 'always look out for your fellow man' or something tantamount to that." A quiet snigger escaped Caellach's lips and he shook his head divertingly, unable to mask his humor in her words.

"I was a mercenary once, remember? No one 'looked out' for us, Amelia; we had to do that all on our own. It was every man for himself and that little adage wasn't just for the mercenary business, the maxim also extended to every denizen of Jehanna. When you leave in a barren, avaricious desert independence is strongly encouraged and a potent essentiality to a Jehannan lifestyle. That is, if you're not among the royals or nobles. They have everything."

He sighed, but strangely, out of relief, like an oppressive, mammoth weight had been crushing down on him for all these years and by his small, paltry confession, the pressure suddenly crumbled away, releasing his heart from the throbbing constriction and freeing his shoulders from the anonymous burden he bore since he was a young, bereaved lad. The feeling…it was magnificent.

The same expression of commiseration flashed across Amelia's face and she gently placed her hand on the crook of his arm, her emotions blazing so truly in her cerulean eyes Caellach could not fathom on what to make out of it. Why was she being so…compassionate towards him? Was she going to trap him in another embrace?

"I see…" she whispered, guileless pavonated eyes puncturing the core of his very being as she spoke, "I think I understand now."

He quirked an eyebrow, bemused via her cryptic proclamation. "What do you mean, lass?"

"I mean, I can sort of comprehend the trials you were coerced to undergo and molded you into who you are now. Those tombs you visited earlier…who rests there?"

At her seemingly innocuous question, Caellach felt his blood turned to ice. She had beheld him by the graves, the buried remains of his mother and sisters? How is that possible, I checked not once but twice to be certain no one was around! How could I overlook her?!

"What are you rambling about?" he rasped out requisitely, clasping both hands rigorously on his trusty axe. He averted his intense gaze away from her, wroth bubbling precariously inside him. For some eccentric, unspecified reason he was unable to look at her. No matter how dexterous he was at fixing and strengthening his cracked mask or how fuming he was towards her for witnessing the sacred, private spectacle meant for only him and his deceased kinfolk, Amelia's periwinkle eyes could defy all logic and rationale and if given enough time, possibly strip him all of the guises and subterfuges he had constructed ever since the destruction of his childhood, to obstruct others from gleaning his true nature. He veiled his weaknesses by enhancing and multiplying his strengths, causing himself to appear near invincibility. Yet he was human, a mortal, hence he possessed such hindrances. Notwithstanding there was nothing he could feasibly do about the matter.

But now she, this Amelia lass, was beginning to uncover all he worked so arduously to conceal, to protect from everyone around him, anyone who was deemed not a friend or a foe–someone would most likely mock and jeer at his hidden, subtle devotion for his departed kin. Amelia wasn't like that, he fathomed, but having her descry him was corrosively unsettling, in the least.

"I'm referring to those tombstones. You know, the burial mounds you placed a flower on each one."

Demon's breath, she did see him by the tombs of his kin! She actually bore witness to a transaction he would deem verboten for anyone except him to behold.

"Yeah, so?" he replied gruffly, feigning apathy.

"Who were they?" he heard the blonde cavalier ask softly, her velveteen voice hushed as if she was revealing a hallow secret that would end her life if someone caught her in the act. He exhaled sharply, mentally debating whether or not to answer the inquiry. From his unusual silence Amelia instantly gleaned her query harrowed him and she strenuously endeavored to redeem herself for her unintentional prying.

"I-I'm sorry if I asked such a personal question, General Caellach. It's just—"

"They were my mother and sisters."

His blunt, abrupt answer caught Amelia off guard since she wasn't expecting him to concede to her somewhat innocent request. "Excuse me?"

He curtly turned his formidable gaze upon, cinnamon eyes caging in so much detriment and indignant that Amelia felt a wave of sympathy washing over her as she faced the uncompromising stare. "The graves you saw were the resting places of my mother and two sisters." he stated, his baritone toneless and grim.

Startled, Amelia could only remark with a simple: "Oh." Caellach's tawny eyes bore deeply into hers and she struggled to find her voice. Once the astonishment dispersed, she managed to express her condolences. "I'm so sorry, Caellach. When…?"

"When I was fifteen." The Tiger Eye frowned, appearing hesitant in mentioning something to her, his perturbed countenance conveying a mental tirade brewing inside his mind. What seemed to be an eternity to Amelia–who desperately craved to apprehend more of her superior–when the wait was only a few minutes, Caellach then spoke again.

"The four of us were trapped in a sandstorm and our tiny village was in shambles. Starvation and illness completely wiped the townsfolk out, including my father, who provided the most for us. After his death we attempted to leave the abysmal hamlet…yet Jehanna decided otherwise."

"What do you mean?" Amelia questioned serenely, arching a fair eyebrow.

"They perished in the desert. Jehanna snatch them away from me. End of story." Caellach snapped, detesting how easily she was burrowing herself into him. He hoped that was the end of her questionnaires and he could send her after the captives while he rouses the other men to charge towards the half-drunk, half-asleep (and half-witted, he added silently) Raustans while they still possessed the element of surprise.

"You ready to go and free the prisoners, lass?" he asked her, pretending the unfavorable conversation they just had didn't occur. Amelia nodded dutifully, appearing strangely carefree in spite of the fact he groused at her a couple of seconds ago.

"Ready as ever!" she responded firmly, endeavoring to behave professionally yet her lucent azuline orbs still contained the amiable, soothing luminesce Caellach haplessly found himself attracted to. Like a moth to a flame he was and the prospect infuriated him to no end.

"Good." He turned to the rest of his soldiers, who either squatted or lied down, impatiently awaiting his orders. "All right, you maggots, the Raustans are fat and lazy from their flippant revelry hence now it's our time to have a celebration of our own." Several Gradans snickered, clearly amused by their general's implication.

"On my signal, we besiege the camp. Do your job properly and we'll have a feast tonight, boys!"

Needless to say, the Grado internees were just had flabbergasted as their enemies by the precipitate appearance and onslaught of the Tiger Eye's regiment.

"The Imperial Army is actually here?!" exclaimed one prisoner incredulously when Amelia arrived and commenced in freeing her fellow soldiers from their trammels. In reply, she simply smiled and wordlessly nodded her head. She, along with the help the liberated captives, made her way to all the imprisoned Gradans, occasionally glancing to survey the battlefield to be certain the Rausten soldiers were focused on Caellach's platoon and not on the escaping Grado prisoners.

Extremely proud of her efforts so far, Amelia jocundly finished releasing Henrik (who muttered a quick word of thanks and then went off to retrieve his dagger she had left behind) and moved to her next assignment which turned out to the pessimistic, crusty Boelthor. She ignored his dour, sullen gazed on her while she worked rapidly and efficiently on his bonds, taking no heed of the nearly asphyxiating tension hovering on them.

"…you were right."

His admittance caused Amelia to falter and she jerked her head up. "Right about what?" she asked albeit she perfectly conceived what he was referring to. Boelthor sighed yet renewed his statement.

"You were right about General Caellach coming for us. I truly credited that he was incorrigible to the core…however you proved me wrong. You have my respect, kid." He said no more thus leaving Amelia to untie the ropes in absolute yet tolerable silence.

When all the Grado prisoners had finally been released, Amelia directed the sixteen soldiers towards the Rausten artillery and they armed themselves prior to engaging the enemy. Once the last of the freed hostages had taken what he needed and joined the frenzied onset, Amelia took arms herself and mounted the burnet stallion she acquired after escaping Rausten captivity.

"Let's go, Blake!" she cried, adjusting the lance at her side and kicking the said stallion into action. The horse neighed in response and charged head-first into the sanguinary battle, the haphazard, thunderous poundings of its hooves spontaneously signaling their participation in the desert skirmish.

Immediately a foot soldier lunged at her, twirling the lance about in a berserk temperament and jutted the pike's point squarely towards her chest. Amelia parried the hectic assault and maneuvered Blake around the soldier so she gained some ground and could beset with her lance with more efficacy.

"Fight me, dog of Grado!" spat her opponent, lunging towards her and thrusting his lance outward, nearly hitting her right calf. Amelia blocked the convulsive assault and counterattacked when the Raustan soldier failed to recover and almost lost his footing. The butt of her lance unexpectedly penetrated through his armor and punctured right through his shoulder, sticking out from the other end. A detrimental howl exploded from her adversary's mouth as Amelia drove the lance in further before quickly withdrawing it from the grievous wound. Brilliant vermillion droplets now coated the spearhead of her lance, the sand, the man's shoulder, and her countenance. The injured enemy shot an ugly glower at her and resumed his aggression with proliferating hostility.

"You damned shrew!" he hollered spastically, flailing his lance towards her torso. The spearhead sporadically collided against the unarmed portion of her uniform, snagging the fabric and lacerating her skin. Biting back a brief cry of agony, Amelia knocked the pike aside with her free arm and jerked her lance at the skull of the Raustan, seeking to end the arduous onslaught. Her aim was straight and true, for the lance burrowed itself into forehead of doomed solider. Blood gushed out of the fatal infliction, flowing down the carcass's flummoxed face like a jocund, placid, carmine waterfall.

"Finally," murmured Amelia breathlessly, yanking the lance out of the cadaver's brow, "he was really persistent."

Kicking Blake's sides, she and her steed raced into the thick of the battle, tenaciously surveying the battlefield for any Grado soldier in dire need of her support. Bedazzlement pervaded her senses as she scanned past the contorted, surreal carcass of both Grado and Rausten alike and the nebulous dust of stirred sand, the desert sun beating onerously down on her and the rest of occupants. Humidity shrouded them, its torrid beckoning arms encompassing the warriors like a palpable, asphyxiating pall, ergo evoking desert illnesses and fatigue amidst those who did not fall victim to their foe's assailments yet.

"Come at me, you Rausten milksops! Did you think the Tiger Eye would so lenient towards your deaths? Where's the rectitude and gaudy bravado of the Rausten knights now?"

Caellach's deep, coarse baritone attracted Amelia's attention and she rummage through the stentorian combat to find his face amid the quarreling crowd. At last, she found him in the midst of the skirmish, retrieving his tomahawk from the back of a deceased opponent and then embedding his silver axe into another Rausten with the other hand. When the man tumbled to the desolate ground, dead, Caellach pressed onward, slaughtering and silencing any Rausten foolish enough to charge at him brazenly. Amelia observed with stark fascination and revelation as the hero attacked with the mighty swing of his axe or the concise swipe of his sword. On an occasion, he would even sweep or bang his glossy claret shield at his adversaries if the opportunity called for the action. Rapt in awe, Amelia stood motionlessly as Caellach fend off his enemies with remarkable potency and tenacity, marveling his caliber and astounding level of forte. For a lack of better word, he was simply…incredible.

Instantly realizing she had been drifting off in the middle of a battle, Amelia furiously pushed her reverie regarding her commander aside and rejoined the fray. This time by Caellach's side.

"Amelia?" he questioned when he saw her riding to his aid (not that he needed her assistance but he had to admit the gesture was very thoughtful). "What brings you here?" He pivoted behind him to lop off a Rausten soldier's head.

"What do you think, General Caellach? I'm here for support. Why else would I be here?" Amelia explained placidly, impaling a sluggish cavalier with her lance. Caellach didn't respond but gave a grateful head tilt in her direction prior to resuming his fighting tactics. When he assailed to the left, Amelia guarded his right. When he switched over to right, she protected his left flank. He was confounded by her tangents although he compressed his bemusement by conjuring up the concentrated grimace he usually wore in battle and pretending their partnership was a regular occurrence. Yet she had espied a tiny glint of quizzicality in his smoky, fuscous eyes and she assessed his puzzled state. He never expected anyone to lend a helping hand to him and now that someone had, he wasn't certain how to handle the affable transaction. Amelia ruminated on a practical method to tell him everything was all right and he didn't have to trouble himself over her deed.

Either by Fate, Dame Fortune, or a sheer contingency, her keen eyes detected a Rausten myrmidon sneaking up behind Caellach while he was preoccupied with a knight and monk, battling them simultaneously. The opposing myrmidon raised his honed blade, executing the beginning step of a lethal attack. Fiery furor boiled wildly inside Amelia's blood and she grasped the lance tautly in her hands, firmly refusing to permit the soldier to succeed in his sub-rosa assault. As the myrmidon brought the blade down, Amelia's lance sailed outward, the spearhead burying itself into the sword wielder's heart. The man gurgled and hacked out a passel of blood before the final breath departed his lips and death conquered him. Sensing the commotion, Caellach whirled around only to find his would-be killer dead and Amelia's lance piercing his halcyon heart.

"Eh, thanks, lass," commented the Tiger Eye, shifting his gaze away from the corpse to the blonde cavalier who smiled kindly in return. Suddenly, Caellach's eyes widen and quicker than she could even blink the hero general hurtled his tomahawk directly above her head. Amelia heard a whoosh, the cracking sound of metal colliding into bone, and a definitive thud. Whirling around Amelia beheld the sight of a dead druid–her cloak-and-dagger attacker–sprawled across the ochroleucous tinted sand, Caellach's tomahawk entrenched in his skull.

"General Caellach," she whispered, glancing back at him, "thank you." He shrugged the words of gratification off, walking over the druid and retrieved his special hand axe.

"You saved my hide and I saved yours. We're squared."

"I watch your back and you watch mine. That's what comrade-in-arms do." Snorting, Caellach rolled his eyes as he cursorily wiped the tomahawk free of bloodstains.

"Those rules apply to ordinary men. I'm not an ordinary man, lass." Amelia immediately interjected.

"I realized that, General Caellach, but even you deserve—"

She never had the chance to finish her sentence. An excruciating, burgeoning magnitude of agony she had never experienced before shot through her side, irrevocable pain exploding all over her lower abdomen. Lowering her eyes down to the infliction, Amelia saw an arrow protruding her waist and a haematic splotch imbued her sullied uniform. White spots cavorted around in Amelia's vision and disorientation started pervading the blonde cavalier's senses. She heard Caellach scream her name yet barely comprehended the rising panic laced within his yell. A second potent pang prickled all over her erector spinae and a de profundis escaped her chapped lips. Had she been hit again? Where were all these arrows coming from? Why couldn't she detect the archer's or archers' location? Laden with dysphoria and sudden lassitude, Amelia struggled to stand erect in the saddle and not slump over and fall off Blake.

What's happening to me? Were the arrows poisoned? Why am I so fatigue…?

The foreboding white dots returned and speckled her sight with uncanny fervency. Slowly losing consciousness, Amelia lost her grip on the saddle and slid off her horse.

"AMELIA!" Caellach hollered in utter horror as he witnessed the blonde cavalier tumble out of her saddle, two arrows projecting from her back and lower torso. Accumulating speed he never imagined he possessed, the hero lurched to Amelia's rescue and caught her prior she struck the scalding, sandy ground.

"Lass?" he murmured, gently shifting her around in his arms and flicking a couple of flaxen tresses out of her half-shut eyes. "Amelia? Can you hear me?"

"Yes…" she replied feebly, sputtering a bit. Caellach furrowed his eyebrows and took a more thorough, meticulous inspection on the hideous punctures delivered by the blasted arrows. Translucent aubergine liquid dripped and trickled down from the bleeding wounds, merging together with the crimson fluid to form a sinister shade of fuchsia. Caellach cursed vibrantly out loud, instantly assessing the identification of the arcane, noxious mulberry substance.

God's wounds, both arrows are coated in poison! There's no telling how lethal the toxin is; already Amelia is undergoing the first stage.

Vehemently wishing he packed an antidote in his satchel, Caellach tenderly set the partly consciousness Amelia down, cautious not to disturb her or the injuries or accelerate the flow of the poison. He was no stranger to envenomed wounds, anyone who lived Jehanna wouldn't be. The desert was a haven to a plethora of poisonous creatures and majority of Jehannans contained a fundamental knowledge of how to withdraw venom from a person's body without a Restore staff or antidote. The method was oral and if Amelia was to survive this ordeal he better work fast.

Stripping her out of her tarnished armor and tossing the aegis aside, Caellach rolled her besmirched, blood-soaked shirt up mid-way, stopping just right under her breasts. Examining the two punctures Caellach raked a hand through his auburn hair, fully aware the arrows would have to be removed first before he can commence the venom extraction. Yet for he knew, the arrows could be the sole entities forestalling Amelia from bleeding to death.

"Either way, there's a risk. Poison or blood loss, pick one," the Tiger Eye muttered gruffly to himself, stuffing a wad of cloth he had torn from his own shirt into Amelia's mouth to prevent her biting off her tongue. Grasping the arrow's shaft with one hand and the fletching in the other, Caellach grimaced and methodically pulled the arrow out of Amelia's backside. Through the makeshift gag Amelia cried out in detriment and half-heartedly clawed at his arms, still combating the dreary, mercurial haze of senselessness. Discarding the first arrow, Caellach moved to the next one and repeated the same steps. This time he only received a weak, muffled whimper from Amelia.

"All right, then. Time to extract the poison." Swallowing to ease the heavy lump in his throat, he leaned down and placed his mouth over the first wound, and began to suck the toxin out of Amelia's muscles. Haphazardly he would spit out the poison he had garnered and then resumed the extraction. Time was slow to him, time was nonexistent. His focus, all his introspections were centered on saving a young, affable blonde female from certain death. Finally, after deducing the puncture had been wholly purged, the hero general proceeded to the second and last injury. Eclipsing his lips over the fleshy rupture Caellach went through the whole cycle once more, silently praying his strenuous efforts were not all in vain. For some obscure, inexplicable reason he strongly wanted Amelia to live and not perish in the desert, just as his mother, Jeanine, and Windy did. He would triumph over Jehanna, not the other way around. The desert shall not be the victor today, not if he had anything to say on the morbid subject.

Several minutes whizzed by and Caellach continued to regurgitate and pry the venom out of Amelia, oblivious to the sporadic, fervent frenzy transpiring all around him. When he ejected the last of the toxin from his mouth and Amelia's second puncture was poison-free, Caellach gently nudged the side of her face with his hand, hoping she was partly conscious and didn't surrender to the entreating embrace of sleep.

"Amelia? Lass?" he said quietly to her and the said cavalier stirred slightly, her face crinkling up in semi-confusion. "Are you awake?" To his relief, Amelia's eyelids fluttered opened and she slowly tilted her head in his direction, a ghost of a worn but auspicious smile on her lips.

"I am now," Amelia rasped out, "what happened? How—?"

"I managed to extract most of the venom out of your body but we probably should take you to a healer as a precaution. I might have missed some of the toxin. But first, we must tend to those two injuries of yours." In consensus, Amelia nodded weakly.

"I have a vulnerary in my knapsack," the wounded female mused gravelly, gesticulating to the fallen canvas bag near the burnet horse. Caellach rummaged through her satchel's contents and eventually found the potion. Sliding one hand underneath Amelia's head and clutching the vulnerary in the other, he inclined the blonde cavalier's head forward and steadily poured the salving liquid down her throat. He heard the sizzling sonance of torn flesh being regenerated and patched together. The convalescing process comforted him, assuring him Amelia was out of the danger zone and would recover swiftly and successfully.

Once the vulnerary had taken its course and completed the mending, Caellach delicately hoisted Amelia onto her feet and helped her mount the steed before he swung over the stallion, placing himself behind her. "I'm taking the reins," he stated flatly despite Amelia's protests she could handle the task, "you're still exhausted from the ordeal and the last quandary we both need is you passing out while riding in control." With an authoritative yell to the horse and a kick in the sides, the steed launched itself into an agile canter and quickly escalated into a mighty, stentorian gallop.

"You're so much different than everyone says you are," Amelia told him offhandedly and the hero arched one bronze brow nonchalantly.

"Really now? What ever gave you that notion?" He could sense her smiling jocosely at his response, alacrity brimming in her azuline orbs.

"You saved my life yet people claim you care naught for anyone except yourself. They claim you'll stomp over anybody to accomplish your ambitions but you didn't leave me die just so you could achieve your victory."

Caellach felt his stomach clench convulsively at her statements and his grip on the chafed reins tightened. "What's your point?" he groused, detesting her frank perception.

Amelia rotated her head around to face him and his stoic gaze. Displaying a considerably amazing amount of tour de force in her whole mien, she thusly replied, "My point is you aren't as horrible as they all portray you as. You have a kind heart, Caellach, despite what you or others esteem."

Unable to help himself, he sniggered amusingly at her confounding proclamation. "Lass, one act of humility don't automatically make me a decent man. I'm no saint."

"Neither I am," Amelia interjected, undaunted by the Tiger Eye's rebuttal, "but that doesn't mean I'm a terrible person. Granted, I have committed some rather awful acts and made some mistakes in the past yet we're humans, right? We're not perfect." She leveled her scintillating, celeste scrutiny against his hazel eyes, sheer obstinacy written all over her face.

"I believe, deep inside, you're a good person, Caellach, whether you want to acknowledge the fact or not. You rescued me from my demise and that's enough proof to me you are capable of kindness."

"What if you are wrong? About me and everything else?" The charming, enchanting smile widened and she sank deep into his chest, closing her eyes in jubilance.

"For the first time in my life, I am positive that I'm right. I know I am." Instead rolling his eyes at her importunate belief in his goodwill, Caellach instead found himself cocking a droll half-grin on her behalf.

"Well then, let us allow Father Time to confirm your faith about my mortal being and if I'm even worth redeeming."

Mellifluous laughter bubbled out of Amelia and he instantly realized how much he relished that delightful, empyrean noise. Just like her lovely, dazzling smile.

"Yes, let's, General Caellach. Let's wait and see."

"You tell me we can start the rain,

You tell me that we can all change

You tell me we can find something to wash the tears away,

You tell me we can start the rain

You tell me that we can all change

You tell me we can find something to wash the tears away……

And I know of the pain that you feel the same as me,

And I dream of the rain that falls upon the leaves

And the cracks in our lives like the cracks on the ground,

They are sealed and are now far away."

-Rainmaker, Iron Maiden

Color Glossary:

Lurid- red-yellow

Jacinthe- orange

Flammeous- flame-colored

Cinereous- ash-grey

Subfusc- a somber, dark or dusky color

Azuline- blue

Luteolous- yellow

Brunneous- dark brown

Celeste- blue

Pavonated- peacock blue

Burnet- dark brown

Fuscous- tawny

Ochroleucous- yellowish white

Haematic- blood colored

Aubergine- dark purple

(Let me know if I missed any other obscure colors.)

Tada! Support A is, at last, finished which means…all there is left is the epilogue. Hence this mini story will soon be over! Rather sad, I know, but you knew it was going to betide eventually. Now you can review, critic, all that jazz, I thoroughly enjoy hearing your comments and responses to the chapters. Flamers, you cannot join in the extravaganza or one irate Demon King shall deliver a dish of his noxious casserole (which contains unidentifiable ingredients) onto your doorstep. Plus, I credit that the "casserole" is alive…so it's your funeral. Oh, well.

That's a wrap. Adieu!

:SpeedDemon315: