The Hearts never attacked Greece (those wanting to see Hercules: we might still see him), Feli and Lovi moved back to Rome. I still need to go back and rewrite a few chapters but I just wanted to give y'all a heads up. Enjoy!
It was twilight of a spring morning but the mist and temperature suggested a mid- winter chill. The pale light of the slowly rising sun inched through the camp with an agonizingly slow crawl. Two warm bodies snuggled against each other in a cold tent, their legs and hands entwined.
One body lay on top of the other, one of his hands resting over the slowly beating spot above the other's heart. His face scrunched a little in his sleep but his sudden discomfort quickly passed. As if noticing this man's lack of peace, the body on the bottom tightened his hold on him, his delicately strong arms enclosing the man of top in soft warmth.
The sun continued its path up the sky and soon hit the camp with its light and heat. Horses tossed their heads, making their halters and ropes jingle in the stillness. A few men emerged from tents and began stoking fires, bringing them back to life. The early morning sounds of men and animals seemed to break the air in a rude dissonance.
The light's intrusion through the canvas of the tent made the man on the bottom slowly open his eyes. He smiled at the man on top of him and ran his hands down his bed-mate's smooth skin.
"Wake up, chère." He said softly. The King of Spades mumbled something and rolled over.
The King of Diamonds laughed. "Wake up, Arthur."
"Why?"
"You're the one that wanted to attack." Francis pushed Arthur off him and stepped out of bed. Francis's appearance, despite what he may admit, had changed. His once graceful, lithe form changed to a muscular, yet still delicate body, even at twenty nine years old. He now looked the soldier king.
Arthur realized what was going on and sat up. Not much had happened to his body. As one that gained very little muscle, Arthur had aged very well. He still looked the twenty three years he was when the war started. But the fact the three years had passed aged him horribly in mind. He looked at everything through the dark view of an old King.
"Yo, Artie." Alfred opened the tent flap and waltzed in. He was now twenty one years old and looked sixteen still. He had, in Ivan's mind though, become more beautiful than before. Alfred's once strong body now looked as if it belong to a prize fighter. His thin strength turned to simple muscle. His armor had to be refitted twice in the past three years.
"What am I supposed to knock on?" He added to Arthur's glare. "The Clubs are itching to go. They're just riding around stepping on stuff." Francis nodded.
"If I have learned anything," he said, pulling on the padding for his armor. "It has been Ivan waits for nothing."
Alfred wanted to add that wasn't exactly true but held his tongue.
"I waited thirteen years to avenge my parent's death, Francis," Ivan walked into the tent. He had changed much in appearance in the past three years. He was still built like bear and could still lift Alfred off the ground with one hand. But he had grown thinner. More scars had been added to his demented collection. And his mental scars had deepened. He dreamed every night of the felids of blood he had created, of the horrors he had endured as a child. But, Alfred was always there, always ready to hold him as he screamed or sobbed. That is the reason Ivan loved him.
"I don't like to wait." His English, even French, had become much better. His accent was still thick and velvety, but his English had improved drastically.
"Patience, Ivan." Arthur said, helping Francis into his armor. Ivan flashed his trademark, disturbing grin.
"The push to Paris won't be easy." Alfred said. "We have less than a month before we have to cut rations."
"The Heart Cards have been moved from the villages to the city itself." Ivan said.
"A scout returned has returned." Antonio entered the tent and bowed slightly. The others looked up at him expectantly. "It appears Lovino and Feliciano have returned to Paris."
"Where have they been?" Alfred asked.
"Apparently, Rome and Berlin." Antonio said.
"Now we know who was running Rome." Arthur said. Francis nodded.
"Now we know." He slowly repeated.
"How close are you sisters to Berlin?" Arthur suddenly asked.
"A few more months." Ivan said, looking at a map on the tent's wall. "They are in the middle of northern Poland." He pointed to a spot. "The last time I heard, they were about here."
"The shipments of weapons and grain have helped then." Alfred said. "Yao and Mattie do know what they're doing."
"Shocking, isn't it?" Arthur asked sarcastically.
XXX
Lovino stood on the balcony outside his old room. He no longer considered Paris home, despite the few happy memories he had of the city.
"Lovi?" Feliciano walked by and leaned against the railing. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"
"Do we have a choice?" Lovino asked. "It's a long shot but we can do it." Feli nodded.
"We have to be quiet about it." He said. "No one can know."
"Of course they can't know, stupid." Lovino snapped, yanking on Feli's curl. "But since you have a hard time staying quiet about everything, I'll do it." Feli nodded and rubbed his head.
"What about the Nine?"
"He can shove it up his ass." Lovino said and walked away.
Feli frowned and watched the city move beneath him. It was far slower than when Francis was on the throne. He sighed and turned from Paris.
