A/N: Guys, I'm going to be honest here. I- really don't feel great about this. I'm losing confidence in the quality of this story. The plot just- I don't think anyone will like it. I'm finishing Act 1 for sure, but if this mood persists, then I'll either abandon the work or put it up for adoption so that someone better can finish it. We'll see how it goes. Or if anyone is actually interested.

Side note, I did have to switch proofreaders, and my new one isn't really caught up with the story yet. I do my best, and once they go through and fix some of my mistakes, I probably go back and update the chapter with those changes. Eventually.


You're a little surprised by how easy it is to get out of the engagement.

After years of living with your father's rigid schedules (designed just so that he knows where you are every second of every day) and non-stop security measures, you had just assumed that all nobles lived that way.

This is not at all true.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and all you had to do to avoid an unhappy and rather bothersome arranged marriage was open your window and climb down the side of the building. Your father never allowed vines or trees grow near any window for this exact reason, as even in your inconvenient hoop skirt, you managed to scale down five stories. Your ex-betrothed has a nice house, if not a little smaller than what you're used to.

The first thing you do when you hit the ground is remove the awkwardness of your skirt. The hoop and metal frameworks come first, the pretty silk tearing with the force you use. You don't really care. The layers come next, awkwardly stripped off until you're left wearing just a petticoat underneath it for warmth and the silk body of the dress. The skirt is in shambles, and the whole thing hangs off of you oddly without the layers to tighten it into remaining still. But it's loose, and a lot easier to move in than before, which is what you had been going for. You push your skirt up, reaching up the back of it to loosen your corset a little. You don't bother trying to remove it just yet. It's too much of a hassle.

You're glad that you opted to swipe a pair of servant shoes before you left. They're not as stylish as your heels, but you'll gladly trade style for comfort any day. You're going to be doing a lot of walking, anyway. You have somewhere to be. Someday, you'll thank your almost-husband for transporting you here. It was a lot easier than walking 100 miles. It was quite nice of him.

There are no walls around his house, either. No guards. No watchtowers. It's a welcome change, and it makes things a lot easier. You have only one thing with you aside from the clothes on your back. It's a white sphere upon first glance. Perfectly round and mesmerizing to gaze upon. Normal people wouldn't understand why they were drawn to it. But, then again, you aren't normal, are you? And you wouldn't want to be.

As much as you dislike your mother at times, you do have to credit her with your vision twofold. It lets you gaze upon the sphere and receive answers. Whereas the answer she received drove her insane though, you have a much more calm and rationalized approach to the situation. You use it's answers to play the game of fate, and oh God is there a lot of moves in the making. This game has spanned generations, and you're finally going to end it. Before it gets even more out of hand.

It takes a lot of careful questions to get any solid information from the sphere, as it only gives yes or no replies. But you've overheard enough of your dad's military meetings to know what questions to ask. It's 100% accurate, and you're trusting it enough to throw away your whole life on its divinations.

Not that your life was all that great, but still. It was your life. You'll miss the gardener girl, though. You wish that you could have gotten to learn how to make flower crowns before leaving. The way her fingers knotted the fragile stems together so effortlessly- you never knew that something so simple could be so beautiful.

But there will be time for idle thoughts like that later. You have more important things to be doing now.

The forest around the noble's house is dense, low-hanging branches scratching at your arms when you brush them aside. You don't mind so much. It would have gotten stuck in your hair, had it still been long and down to your waist. But your almost-mother-in-law had been kind enough to leave you with a pair of scissors for smoothing out your "choppy bangs" as she put it. You used them to hack off the hair reaching below your neck, leaving the white-blonde strands in piles on the floor. That and the open patio door should tell them that you've left of your own free will. Not that it will stop them from blaming any nearby gangs for your "kidnapping". Oh, well. That's not your problem.

You don't know exactly where you're going (the orb, with all of its omnipotence, is not very specific), but you do know that you'll know it when you see it. You just need to keep walking.

Walking and walking and walking and… yeah. This is boring. You frown at the orb in your hand. You know that something important is waiting for you out here, and you know that it has something to do with this "silent war" your father is so worried about, but you don't know what. "Is there a person I need to meet?" you had asked. The orb hadn't answered, radiating smugness. Your key to omnipotence is a sarcastic piece of shit not unlike yourself, and as inconvenient as it is sometimes, you know that the orb wouldn't send you to your death, so you begrudgingly trust it. You have a war to stop, don't you? You bet that wars are far more interesting than staring at the drab, dull stone walls of your room for hours on end.

After what feels like hours but is probably more like fifteen minutes, you come upon a clearing. You don't walk directly into it - that would be stupid - and instead crouch in the underbrush to survey your surroundings undetected. You want to ask the orb if this is it, but you don't need to rely on it for every little impasse you come to. Besides. Chances are high that it's still in one of its moods and won't answer regardless.

You crouch there for a moment, the world around you still as you hold your breath, and then the trees across from you part and a woman steps out. You don't recognize her, probably because it's nearly midnight and she's nothing but a silhouette to you. She doesn't seem to realize that you're standing there.

She comes to the center of the clearing, where a small tombstone is embedded sloppily in the earth. The hand gripping the orb twitches as you get the urge to ask about it, but you resist. You watch the woman withdraw flowers from her huge sleeves, laying them around the grave. She sits for a moment - talking? - then to your surprise, reaches around and hugs the stone tight. With the way she's slouched over it, as well as the way her form shakes, it's safe to assume that she's crying. You don't want to ruin the moment, but you know instinctively that this is the best time to approach.

You're quiet and careful, not making a sound until you're standing near her. Just five feet away, she crouches, still weeping over the tombstone. The orb didn't tell you what to do once you got here, just that this meeting is extremely important. But that's okay. You think you understand.

"Were they important to you?" You ask quietly. It's a stupid question with an obvious answer, but it works as a conversation starter.

She jerks in surprise, looking up at you with wide, fearful eyes. The fear quickly turns to determination as her hand goes to the knife strapped to her waist, and that determination fades to curiosity when she notices that you're unarmed.

You slowly sink to your knees, wordless as you gesture to the tombstone. You can see her thinking. Considering you. Evidently, she's too tired to bother with killing you or running, because she just sighs and looks at the grave again.

"He." She says softly, closing her eyes as she answers your question. "It's a he. And, yes. He was- is very important to me."

In response, you just nod. "Does he have a name?" You ask. It would be hard to read in the low light, even if the tombstone wasn't completely bare. It's just a slab of rock. No one who hadn't been told would know who was buried here.

The woman laughs a little, shaking her head. Her hair is brown and drab, shaking around her in a matted mess with the movement. When was the last time she combed it? "Not one you'll be told." She smiles, but it's clearly forced. "He has a code name now. So that it's a little bit harder for them to find us again." There's a pause. She runs a hand over the top of the grave, taking a shaky breath. "He's my husband." It's hard for her to say that word. 'Husband'. He's been gone for years- decades, even. You can tell. "We call him the Sufferer."

The name feels familiar. But where you might have heard it, you aren't sure. "And what's your code name, then, if I'm allowed to know?" You ask. You don't think that you're prying just yet, but you're getting close.

"I'm the Disciple." She tells you, her gaze never leaving the grave. "I suppose you want to know where the names came from?" She doesn't sound upset - just amused. You take it as a good sign.

You nod. "If it isn't too much of a hassle for you."

"He's the Sufferer because of the way he was killed. Murdered." Disciple corrects herself. "Maybe I'll tell you how one day." You sit up a little straighter at that. "One day" is good. It means that she might let you stick around. "And I'm Disciple because he was my teacher and his word was the truth and I recorded all of it. That's probably a silly way to think of one's husband- as being right all the time- but he really was." She smiles fondly. "He always had something kind to say about everyone. Always had time to listen, no matter how busy. Wise beyond his years. But…" her smile falls, "I guess you just had to be there."

You reach up just then, causing her to turn a curious eye to your movements, but you're just reaching for your necklace. You unclasp it, letting it hang in front of you. Her breath catches in her throat. She recognizes the symbol. How could she not? It's his. "I think I know more about it than you think." You say quietly.

Disciple's eyes narrow, and she scrutinizes you with renewed wariness. "And who, exactly, are you?" Her question sounds like she's actually amazed you know his symbol. "His legacy was wiped from the history books. No one should know about this."

"The Silent War?" You ask, and she nods. "Let's just say that I have… connections." You put the necklace back around your neck. "Or, well, I did. But those bridges have been burned. The point is, I know about you. I know what she did." Both of you spare a glance at the tombstone. "And I want to help you turn this war around and make his memory a good one." You say surely.

She hesitates. Certainly, nothing about you is trustful. And yet… you can see her considering it. She knows that you can help. And you know that she's desperate. "Alright." Disciple sighs, caving to your request. "We haven't had new recruits in ages. Come with me. I'll get you better clothes and some food and…" she looks you up and down once more, "see what you can do."

You smile, hiding the white orb behind your back. "If that's what you think is best." You say innocently. You're no fool. You'll be running her operation within the week. Maybe this rebellion of hers can actually work.

There's really only one way to find out.


A/N: Okay, so, I know this is confusing, but trust me. It will all make sense in later chapters. Like most of this story. Just bare with me (by which I mean Act 2- sorry you have to wait so long for answers). I like complicated plots. You made a mistake by reading this story.

But, yeah, you guys don't need to worry about Rose. She can take care of herself. And you guys thought she was going to be a minor character.

On an unrelated note, I do have a Tumblr. It's the same as my username, but in lowercase. karalicious769 on Tumblr. You can follow me if you have nothing better to do. It's pretty lame, but, like, sometimes I'm funny? I have links to my other accounts on various websites there, in case you wanted to stalk me for whatever reason. I reblog a lot of DaveKat stuff, and sometimes maybe post things about my writing, so you can go there if you want.

And I don't know if you guys know this, but I have a YouTube channel, too. So I keep pretty busy, considering that a 15 second good edit takes about three hours. I have a handful of open Homestuck MEPs, so if that's something you're into, just let me know and I'll hook you up. I'd love to finally finish some of them.

Shameless self-promotion over.