Aya stood over the silent bed, his face, for once, not angry or dark. It wore a shadowed look, one of memories and sadness.
The girl lying in the bed was silent and unmoving. The only movements Aya saw was her chest as she breathed. Every morning, before anybody else woke up, when the sun was just rising, he stole out of the castle via his window and went to the church. There he would kneel and pray for this girl's life. He prayed to God that she continued on living, as she had lived every day since the one day that had put her into the silent, sleeping state she was trapped in now. He prayed to God that one day she would wake up.
He prayed to God, every morning, that one day his sister would prove that she was alive.
Oh, he knew she was alive; but this state she was in certainly said she wasn't going to go on like this for the rest of her life. As he gently brushed a few strands of hair off her closed eyes, the line of the poem Crawford had sent him sneered through his mind.
Your sister, among those first to die…
Aya growled. It had been Crawford who did this. Crawford sent the assassin. Crawford sent the poison. Crawford caused this terrible curse to break free of the surface and steal into Aya's life.
He remembered it like it was yesterday; how the two of them, Aya and his sister, had walked down the hall to go eat. He hadn't been hungry. His sister looked up from her plate.
"Not hungry?" she asked, smiling. Aya looked up.
"....No, not really." He pushed the plate toward her. "Would you like a taste?"
"Sure!" she'd responded. Her fork reached out, touched the food, pulled a tiny bit to her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, then looked thoughtful.
"How was it?" She was silent. Then, a grin spread across her perfect features.
"Delicious!" Aya smiled a tiny bit and pulled the plate back, wondering if he should eat it or not. His sister stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"To see my new foal, silly!" She'd laughed at his stupidity and walked off down the hall. Aya watched her. She walked so smoothly, with such perfect grace and beauty. She should rule, not me, he thought. Shortly after he chased her down, deciding to come with her to visit the horses; he thought his horse needed a good brushing.
As they talked, Aya noticed his sister's steps suddenly falter. She coughed, choked, and her eyes grew wide.
"I……I……" Aya looked at her.
"What? What is it?" His sister continued to stare straight ahead.
Then she collapsed. Her legs gave out and she fell to the marble floor. Aya caught her before she could land, and kneeled down with her in his arms.
What happened next, the memories were vague. People had come. They had taken her from him. When he saw her next, she was lying in a bed, with the greatest magician around sitting next to her bed. He was old, and frail, with a white beard and white hair.
"She has been poisoned," said the old man. Aya's eyes grew wide with terror.
"What?! Poisoned?!!! Does that mean…is she…" His voice faltered as he looked at his beautiful sister's still body in the bed.
"No," said the old man, shaking his head slightly. "She is not dead. Only sleeping. Whatever poison she received was only in a small dose."
Aya shuddered, then ran from the room with one hand clasped over his mouth. It had been him. He had poisoned her. By giving her the food he was not hungry for. That tiny bite had put her to sleep.
He threw up in his room, in the sink. And he stood there, not fighting back the tears that streamed down his face. Asleep. Dead. There was little difference in those words right now. Was she ever going to wake up..?
He shook his head. No. He was not going to remember those few tortured weeks he'd spent trying to find out who did this. Wary, hanging on every word about his sister, waiting to find out who did it…
Only to find out it was his neighbor. Crawford.
The two countries had been teetering dangerously on the edge of war. This was the last straw for Aya, and he'd plunged both countries into war. Now they were fighting. They had been fighting for just over a year now. Aya continually had the urge to charge into Crawford's country himself, draw his sword, and run the man through.
But would it hurt her…
He left the room and returned to his throne. Just as he got there, he saw Manx standing next to the gold and black gilt chair.
"Manx..?" She looked him straight in the eye.
"I have bad news."
"….what?"
"One of your smaller villages has been taken over by Crawford." Her gaze penetrated Aya's violet one. He didn't move for the sudden shock of hearing those words. "His three Knights took it early this morning, by surprise force and surrounding the people."
"Couldn't they escape by the bridge?" Aya choked out.
"It was destroyed first." Manx looked out one of the slim windows. "Then they charged from the front, and finally from the forest. As usual, the only messenger to escape was slain, and the church was burned to the ground."
"…" Aya stood still for a moment, then sat down in his throne. He ran a hand through his hair. How could this have happened?! Right under his nose…
"What are you planning to do?" asked Manx.
"Increase the amount of soldiers in every village, no matter how remote. I want that place back."
"That will be hard," Manx said. "The bridge has been rebuilt and every person who passes there is checked by Crawford's men." Aya snarled, and Manx took it as an invitation to leave. She knew better than to hang around when Aya was this angry.
And across the river, across another country, Crawford snickered in his throne. He'd received word that the little village was his now, and Aya had probably gotten word of it. Crawford dearly hoped the man was seething, looking for revenge. It would be fun to fight him again.
He'd been pleased at how fast Nagi had gotten the village under his control; he'd given them a week and they'd finished it in two days. Speed is good.
Crawford left the room and headed to his bedroom. A small but luxurious room far in the back of the castle, in the dead center, almost. It was safest there. He could escape at a moment's notice because of an underground passage. It had been there before he'd ascended to the throne.
As he sat down on a chair in his room, about to plan out his next moves in capturing Aya's country, everything flashed black and red. He stopped breathing. It felt like he was drowning. Everything around him looked like it was behind seen behind swirling glass, or a twisted mirror, or water. Everything was up in flames, white flames, instead of red ones. Black stones were burning. He saw bodies. Six bodies.
Suddenly the curtain of water lifted. He saw that the burning stones around him were like the black stones of his castle, and the six bodies were those of his Knights and Aya's Knights. All six were unconscious, badly hurt, and sprawled across the ground like they had just been in a fierce battle.
He was holding his sword. He glared and whirled, trying to see anything around him except the burning black and white and the possibly dead bodies of the six men around him.
Footsteps echoed around him. Crawford turned to face the source of the sound, and saw a body, a person, walking toward him. Dressed in white. Gripping a silver sword. Who was this?
The sword was pulled entirely from it's sheathe, and the figure charged, red hair whipping wildly around violet eyes –
And suddenly it was over. Crawford was back in his chair, bent over, trying to breathe. He drew in his breath, scowled, and sat up. Another vision.
Red hair? Violet eyes? A silver sword, thinner than any sword he'd ever seen before? Was it possible that this was Aya? Had he just forseen his own death, mirrored in the shining blade of the man who held it?
Crawford leaned back and pondered. The last time he'd seen Aya was years and years ago, back when they were both children. He'd only been a prince then, and maybe not the first in line; his father had taken him over to Aya's father's country to work out a peace treaty.
He followed his father, not wanting to be here, even less wanting to see his 'rivals' set out as his allies. He'd been taught all his life not to trust people who wore too much white, and this entire place was decked in it!
They entered the throne room. It had less white, some red, and some gray stone, but still no black to remind him of his home. It had been a long journey over here, and he'd felt sick halfway through. Now he felt surrounded, enclosed, trapped, by all this white.
As his father positioned him next to him, Crawford looked around. This room was bigger than the others. He moved only his eyes, and then his eyes landed on the boy standing next to the throne. Red hair, violet eyes, and a dark expression. This boy also wore white, like almost everybody else in the room. Next to the boy, who looked about Crawford's age, was a little girl with blue hair. She was smiling, looking at him with friendship and kindness.
It was after all the delegations and boring stuff were over that the three young children were left alone. Crawford wanted to leave. Badly. It was boring enough having these two happy-go-lucky brats around. But did that little girl have to keep asking him if he wanted to play?
His father came in the room, and as he was about to leave, he turned around halfway and gave the two other kids a death glare. The girl ran to her brother, who in turn, held her and glared back at the exiting Crawford.
When he'd received word that Aya's sister, the little blue-haired brat, had been put into deep sleep and not killed by the poison, he had the assassin executed. Of course, it wasn't all the assassin's fault; maybe Aya hadn't been hungry that day. Well, it drove Aya to the point of war, which was Crawford's second hope.
Aya seethed in his room.
Crawford planned the next attack in his room.
Omi and Ken were busy grooming the horses, and Yohji was outside flirting with some of the maids.
Nagi was working on a map of the continent in his room, and Schuldich and Farfello were arguing over who got to lead the next attack, when it came.
And walking on Aya's side of the river was a mysterious, cloaked figure, who's face was not visible except for a smirk on the mouth.