Disclaimer: I'm not writing anymore of these, read any previous disclaimers, from any other chapter or fanfic ever, and that's basically the gist of what this would say, ok? Ok.
AN/ Oh, another chapter. . . another boring, action-less chapter. . . yay. . .
Part Four - Concern and Haste
"Celena!" Allen screamed as he bolted upright from his leather chair. His eyes darted around the darkened room, panic contorting his features and tightened in his chest. Looking around, he half expected to see Dilandau leap at him from the shadows, with a dagger still glistening with his sisters blood, or to find himself kneeling in a sunny field, with Celena's lifeless body growing cold in his arms.
A dream. It was only a dream.
He looked around his chambers, and moved to open his curtains. For some reason he found the darkness of the room unnerving. The light of the now setting sun bathed everything in a warm golden glow as he quickly opened the drapes of both huge windows of the sitting room. Leaning on one of the window frames, Allen brought a slightly shaking hand to his forehead, warm against the cold sheen of sweat now present there.
Allen was abruptly brought back from his reflections by the sound of running footsteps in the hallway outside his door. He left the window and began to make his way towards the door to see what the problem was when whoever was in the hall began banging on the door and jiggling the knob.
"Commander!" It was Gaddes's voice, "Allen, are you alright?!" He sounded very concerned, even using the knight's first name. Allen quickly strode over, unlocked the door and flung it open, only to be roughly knocked to the floor by someone. He looked up at his attacker, and Gaddes looked down at him, obviously very embarrassed.
"Sorry Boss," He said nervously, as he disentangled himself from his commander. "We heard you yell, and we thought something was wrong, and when you didn't answer right away we tried the latch, but it was locked so we were going to break the door down incase you were hurt or anything, and that's when you opened the door. . ."
"Whoa, take it easy," Allen said to his second in command, who apparently had quite a scare, "No harm done." Allen got quickly to his feet and looked into the hallway. Reeden, Kio, Pyle, Oruto, Katz and Teo were all jammed into the area of the hall directly in front of his doorway, quite a feat considering the relative width of the corridor compared to Kio's girth alone. They all began sheathing their blades, swords, daggers, throwing knives, etc, when they saw that he was unhurt, a huge amount of weaponry. How loudly could he have cried out?
Turning back to the still embarrassed Gaddes, Allen tried to keep down a smirk as he asked, "So, what exactly did you guys hear? A guymelef breaking through my window? Or perhaps a small army of mercenaries, come to kill me in my sleep?"
"Well Commander," Gaddes began, trying very hard not to meet Allen's gaze, "We were all downstairs, having just come back from town, it's our day off, and well, we had gone into the city for some fun, anyway we were heading down to our rooms, we heard you yell. It was like nothing we had ever heard before, bloodcurdling really. . .What happened anyhow, if you don't mind me asking sir?"
Allen's grin left his face, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, breath coming slowly. Then suddenly, his eyes focused on Gaddes again, a small smile returning to his paled face, though never reaching his eyes.
"A dream, just a bad dream. . ." He said, quietly. Then, "What time is it? I must have dozed off. It was late afternoon, last I remember."
"It's 'bout nineteen hundred, boss" Reeden called out from the hall.
"Nineteen hundred!" Allen said, slight panic in his voice "I've only got a quarter glass to get ready for dinner," He muttered something under his breath, and then, "Alright, if you guys are done gawking. . ." before he had finished the oaken door was closed in his face and he heard seven sets of footsteps, and several grunts and curses, as his crew all tried to leave the cramped hallway at once.
Allen sighed, bringing his hand up to his temples, when he remembered what he had to do. Dinner. He looked down, noticing that he was still in sweat stained training clothes, and, much to his distress, that he smelled.
Well, ten blasted glass of training will do that to a person. . . He thought irritably. He would have to bathe, better to be late for diner than to smell like carrion. He hoped that his guests would understand.
Treading quickly through his small study, and into his personal bath, Allen removed his soiled shirt, throwing it hastily into a corner of the blue tiled room. Eyes roaming the small room, passing over the small privy, the slightly chipped porcelain sink, the large mirror above it, they finally came to rest on the large white tub in the far corner. He did not have time to call a servant with hot water, having to settle instead with bathing in room temperature water from the large jug beside the sink, normally used for washing hands and faces. Stripping off breeches and small clothes, the golden-haired knight stepped into the empty tub, lifting the porcelain jug above his chest and pouring about a fourth of its contents over his body. Grabbing a small bar of spiced soap from a small shelf behind him, Allen worked a light lather over his body, then proceeded to rinse himself off with about half of the remaining contents of the water jug. He could not risk wetting his hair, it would not dry in time, and give him the appearance of a drowned cat, so after stepping out of the tub and wrapping a large blue towel around his waist, Allen made his way over to the sink and mirror, and picked up a small glass bottle from the basin's rim. Unscrewing the cap, Allen poured a few drops of the light coloured liquid within onto his hands, then proceeded to run them through his long, thick hair. The smell of sandalwood was distinct, strong, but not overpowering, and masked the scent of his sweat well. Allen then grabbed the large wooden brush from its place beside the bottle of cologne and pulled it swiftly through his golden strands, getting rid of the slight bed-head he had acquired from his nap. This done, Allen splashed his face with a bit of the remaining water, then quickly made his way out of the bathroom and into his bedchambers, opening the medium-sized wardrobe and grabbed the clean uniform therein.
Dropping the towel from his waist, Allen hastily pulled on a fresh pair of small clothes, followed in turn by the dark blue, slightly snug breeches, then a light cotton shirt, white as snow, with its thrice damned leg o' mutton sleeves, Allen was sure were designed by someone with a truly sick sense of humor. He then pulled up the doublet-like portion of his outfit, which was actually an extension of his pants, and fastened each of the shoulder clasps and the front buttons. His skirt was secured next, as he rushed out of his bedroom and back into the sitting room, where his sword and boots awaited him. After clipping the baldrick about his waist, though leaving the sword and scabbard behind, and tugging on the brown leather boots, Allen nearly flew out into the hallway, dashing down the long staircase, adjusting his cravat and pulling on his gloves on the way. He might just make it in time.
He finally approached the large oak doors which led into the dinning room, pausing before them to shift his belt and run a hand through his hair one more time, Allen let out a breath and slowly pushed open the portal. Three sets of eyes turned to focus on his entrance, and Allen smiled,
"Hello," He said
AN/ Can you say "zero editing". . . there, I knew you could! Oh, who is Allen seeing for dinner? What is Allen's skirty thing really called? Why are you still reading this? These questions are among many others soon to be answered, (or not) so stay tuned!
