Nephrite shifted his weight from his right side to his left side. The last battle had left him with an injury that had yet to fully heal. He often felt uncomfortable leaning on his right side. The actual source of the injury had eluded him. There was no break in his skin. No displacement of bone or joint. Rather he had woken the next morning with the majority of his leg swollen and lightly bruised.

He tended to think it had been when his horse had been cut down from underneath him and both man and beast had fallen. The weight of the horse kept his right leg pinned beneath it and for a bitter moment, he feared he would need to remove the extremity to save his own life. Not that cutting off his own leg would have brought him more than mere seconds of life, but rather that it seemed more noble at the time to choose his own death than to be cut down by a filthy rebel.

There was no glory in battle.

Men did not rush in and clash with one another.

Rather the poor would be the first line with almost no chance of survival. Their bare feet, more often than not, couldn't move them away fast enough to avoid being trampled by their own calvary.

Even the glorious war horses were just an illusion. A man with any worth would make every effort to take extra care of his mount the night before so that it would know some peace before the disgraced horror of war.

No, men ran into danger and slaughtered each other.

You could only hope that in the heat and fury of the moment you did not cut down your own brother as your backs touched and the mark of their allegiance was blurred by blood.

The injury would heal soon though, he liked to tell himself. Endymion - the newly crowned prince - had made him a General. There would be nothing worse than disappointing his childhood friend with such a careless error. Besides, his natural need to constantly keep moving kept it from being obvious that he hid this aliment.

Kunzite stood ritualistically still beside him. The man never moved. Never appeared to be breathing. His back was always straight, uniform pristine. By all appearances a natural born soldier.

Endymion sat on the steps of the throne room dais. It had been just over a week since he had been crowned, yet he still refused to sit in the chair his father had once brutally ruled from. His father's sins stained the chair, the cushions doused in his madness. Nephrite knew that Endymion had always had nightmares of becoming like his father. As if it were a disease and not just a man who had seized power and become mad with it. That was perhaps one of the reasons that Nephrite most respected his new ruler.

The dark blue eyes of their prince turned up to look over the two men standing before him. Both tall and strong, dressed in the garb of the crown's protectors. He had placed his life, and that of those in the kingdom, in their hands, and they had not let him down.

"I know that I have promised you both some time to rest," Endymion began, his hand rubbing over his jaw. "I haven't forgotten all that I promised. I'm naming my third General. This should help to spread out some of the work. Perhaps you can begin to alternate for a day of rest."

Kunzite was the first to respond. Nephrite knew that Kunzite's words would appease Endymion, so he never rushed to be the first to speak in moments like this. "We will have time enough to rest when peace has been restored. I think we can all sleep better when we know the remainder of the old loyalist have surrendered."

"Far better than being bored anyway," Nephrite said, trying to sound bored rather than exhausted.

"A ruler can ask for no better friends than two of the best liars," Endymion responded.

Kunzite frowned, as expected, and Nephrite laughed, also expected. "Who have you chosen?" Kunzite asked, his arms crossing, fingertips dancing over the hilt of his sword with instinctual precision. After all, a man did not live through battle after battle if he allowed both eyes closed and either hand without protection.

"You both should recognize him. He was a protector of the crown before he was moved back to the front lines. I don't know that we could have subdued the West without him."

"If you say he is worthy," Kunzite said while nodding his head, "then we will support your decision."

Endymion leaned to the side to look down the long expanse of the throne room and down the entrance hall. "Ah, and here he is."

The man walked the length of the carpeted hall and stopped behind the two generals. He placed one hand to his waist and bowed deeply. "At your service, my prince," he said.

Kunzite, good old dependable Kunzite, was the first to speak to the new man. He offered his hand and the soldier took it, both men grasping forearms.

"Thank you, brother," he responded. "And to you, brother," he said looking to Nephrite.

Nephrite turned his back to the man. "So tell me, my prince," he said, almost mocking the tone of the new arrival, "when shall we find a fourth?"