A/N: More swords!! My apologies to anyone waiting on the Pride Prejucide AU. I'm writing a YA romance novel on the side now, so creative outlets for SkipBeat! have definitely taken a more violent turn to compensate. I'm thoroughly enjoying the unexpected pleasure of developing our characters in a new world, something I've never tried! AND THERE WILL STILL BE ROMANCE IN THE WAR Hoping to keep growing as an author through this challenge, so please send your thoughts and ideas and TIA for reading. Your reviews, even the akskfdjskakdjaja ones, are like Christmas presents!

Chapter II

He paced outside the medical tent, pausing at each pass before the entrance to try and catch any whispered dialogue between Mogami's squire and the field doctor. Mogami would be silent; he was always silent when having his wounds tended to, as if speaking would reveal a weakness.

Ever since he was a child Mogami had carefully hidden any weakness. Despite scores of deep bruises, torn skin and stitched wounds he'd seen him cry only once: the day he showed up on Kuon's father's doorstep, golden eyes glistening with fearful tears. Kuon could still remember the way the torchlight had reflected in the tears, like diamonds in front of an amber setting. He'd whispered beautiful and the child's eyes had shot over to him, shame creasing a pale, dirt-smudged forehead. His mother had clucked at Kuon, patting him on the back with an order to "go and tell the servants to draw a bath," and he'd run off with Yashiro, pausing in the doorway for a moment longer to watch his father kneel in front of the newcomer before Yashiro tugged him through into the servant's hall.

That was the first time he'd seen him, and the only time he'd seen him cry— not even when he returned bloodied from his suicidal attempt to destroy Fuwa on his own. He had radiated fury that day, a darkness that Kuon could feel seeping cold and dank into his bones, dripping off Mogami with the same slow creep as the blood rolling down the side of his face.

He heard his sworn brother hiss in pain from inside the tent and could bear the wait no longer. Mogami hated it when Kuon was present any time he was getting medical attention, instantly growing terse and angry. He would argue with Kuon until the doctor forced him to leave "for the good of the patient." Kuon decided a few minutes of angry banter was worth knowing the true extent of his friend's wound and ripped aside the fabric barrier to stride inside.

Mogami's squire bleated in alarm, rushing around his bedside to block Kuon's path. "Move, Hikaru," Kuon said with a growl.

The short brown-haired squire shook his head in mute protest. When he'd been taken on by the Hizuris to begin training as a squire his voice had been melodic and sweet, a lilting cadence to each spoken word that made it seem as if the young man were always singing. His first time out on patrol with Mogami they'd met a large squadron of Fuwa soldiers led by an enchantress.

Mogami should have retreated but had charged instead, forcing the green Hikaru into the battle after him. He'd fought well, managing somehow to defend Mogami's open flank as the knight hacked his way through the guards, aiming for the woman at the back wrapped in black velvet. The only detail Mogami had shared with Kuon afterwards was the way the woman frowned when Mogami got close enough to see the details of her features under her dark cowl. Deep furrows dug through the center of her forehead like canyons, carving through sharply angled brows to divide her features.

Mogami had already buried her longsword deep in one guard's helmet and lanced out with her spear, piercing another man in the shoulder joint when the woman started speaking. Her hands twisted in the air before her, movements as sharp as the slices of a rapier. A word dropped from her mouth, hanging in the air and becoming dark light that wrapped around her hands, shifting as she carved. The enchantress closed her eyes; a second word fell as she clapped her hands and the spell burst out, light formed into arrows piercing horses and soldiers alike. Mogami and Hikaru had fallen unconscious; when they awoke surrounded by slain enemies the woman was gone, taking Hikaru's voice with her.

A lesser man would have cast him aside as useless-- what hope had a mute man of becoming a knight?-- but Mogami had chosen instead to develop a sort of code using hand signals, staying up late into the night weeks on end to work with his squire until their communication flowed as freely as before. Kuon had picked up a few of the signals, apparently mostly curse words judging by the stricken look on Hikaru's face when he first tried them on Mogami. Mogami had merely laughed and done the signal back to him.

Mogami threw his hand up in a signal now, the swift action catching Hikaru's peripheral vision. He nodded and stepped back, drawing around to stand in front of Mogami. Kuon scowled, disliking more than ever their secret language. The squire's shift had opened his view of his friend, however, and the sight of the dirty bandages wrapping his body pushed down his pettiness. His upper arm was wrapped heavily, blood already seeping through the center. This was the wound Kuon had noticed on the battlefield when blood dripped out of the wrist seam in Mogami's armor. He'd forced him here for attention; his friend threatening to beat him over the head with his sword for delaying their pursuit of the King of Fuwa.

"You can try," he'd said, shoving Mogami in the back, forcing him to stumble ever closer to the medical tent. "I, however, did not charge ahead of the main force like a brainless maniac and therefore need no medical attention. If for once you would simply follow strategy--"

Mogami spat on the ground, his golden eyes ablaze as he looked at Kuon over his shoulder. "Strategy got my father killed." He ripped open the medical tent flap and ducked inside, leaving Kuon to wait.

"This wound!" Kuon yelled, crossing the distance to his friend. His entire chest was swathed in tightly-wound bandages. "How? You didn't--" He cut himself off. The bandages were not fresh. They showed signs of wear, rolled edges and smudges of dirt. Mogami stood, moving fluidly still despite his multiple wounds. He shrugged on a loose white tunic, the edges draping low and untucked over his mud-smeared breeches.

"When do we leave?" he asked Kuon, ignoring the outburst uncharacteristically. Hikaru picked up Mogami's gray doublet, helping the knight slide it on gently over the bandaged wound. Mogami tucked in his tunic but left the doublet hanging loose, buckling on his sword belt to lay snug over slender hips. Kuon was struck again by how much of Mogami's battle prowess was from sheer force of will. His frame was muscle-bound but small, still built with a youth's lightness. Kuon felt like a hulking monster beside him and Hikaru, easily topping both in height by more than a foot.

"We don't." Mogami frowned at him. Kuon crossed his arms over his chest. "Father has sent word that he needs us to report back." Mogami threw his arms up in protest, mouth opening to launch into what Kuon knew would be a string of demands to chase down the King of Fuwa while he was weak after the battle. "Kijima will continue the assault, Mogami. We lose nothing tactically."

Mogami sneered. "Kijima is no better than a mercenary. He will risk nothing in the pursuit."

"Nonetheless, Kijima is who Father has chosen." Kuon turned to leave the tent, tossing the last call over his shoulder as he bent to lift the doorflap. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we return. If you can handle riding in your condition."

He heard a thunk against the closing flap and turned to see a dagger embedded in the thick leather. Kuon shook his head, a smile sneaking across his lips. His friend was many things, but patient was not one of them. "Guts" was how Sword Master Seiji had summed up Mogami's character, and his particular brand of guts lit a fire in Kuon. It had been months of dealing with Mogami's brooding since he'd returned from his attempt to kill the king, satisfied only when he was sent out to battle. Kuon would take a knife-fight and angry words over silent sulking any day.