"Battle, battle, everywhere, and not a drop to drink,"
the blonde haired revolutionary laughed deeply, the sound as rewarding a mixture and vintage as the wine swirling gently in her appropriated glass. He stoic companion was at her side as ever, his own glass half raised to his lips, but not even the slightest movement of liquid betrayed any tip of the glass towards a drink. He stared ahead, simply unmoving as ever as she bit her lip in slight contemplation of the things they could do at this very moment. She managed to restrain herself and keep her free hand on the arm of her chair as she refocused the fragmented portions of her mind on the situation at hand. Her wicked smile however, stayed rigidly put, assisted by the sparkling garnet liquid she had taken from the town's deepest wine cellars.
"I will have to thank the church for this fine entertainment, don't you think?" she asked no one in particular.
Her silent companion's gaze didn't even waver from it's position. The mercenary general in front of her shifted in his chair, no doubt assured by now that he had entered a bad deal that he may not be able to negotiate out of. Being reminded of his presence threw her into a bad mood, at least, in the sense that it was bad for others. She swirled her glass and laughed a little more, leaning forward in her seat,
"You know, general, this town could bleed me all the wine in the world, sweat me a thousand tons of gold, and scream me every tome of knowledge in the world," she leaned back, "But nothing, nothing they could do would ever equal the scream of steel, the sweat of leather armor, and the blood of a hundred hundred men in heated battle before me."
She raised her hands, almost heedless of the wine and smiled deeply again,
"The cacophony of battle is a symphony no man could write for me. There is nothing so beautiful in the world as the sound of man as a beast of conflict."
Seeming to regain herself, she lowered her arms lazily to the arms of the chair and sipped her wine, half closed eyes burning with waiting delight. The mercenary general shifted, and knew his deeds now.
"A hundred hundred men will join your battle tonight, Madame,"
"And a hundred hundred men will fight against us and die."
She smiled, raising her glass in mock salute, as he stood, clutching his helmet like a fearful housewife. He gave a short bow and exited. Quietly, she went back to contemplating her mission and her accomplishments this far. Outside she could hear her soldiers behaving noisily and it made her smile. Everyone had their piece of this town to take home. She scooted in her cushioned seat and ran a hand over the finely carved wooden arm. She could thank the bishop at a later date for permanent loan of his chair, and explain the pitiful demise of the monk that guarded it. She could also thank the church's wine cellar as well as the local's contributions to her poor thirsty entourage. This town was so hospitable, she smiled. There was a scream from outside and her smile widened. If she was lucky one of her soldiers would be too tired to fight tomorrow, and she would have to make an example. Oh, no, not even her own soldiers were immune to her. She smiled again, thinking of general's exit, and slowly reached her empty hand over to her companion's staunch thigh. She ran an appraising hand over it and chuckled, leaning her head back, and returning to her previous thoughts.
The battle would begin tomorrow for Calais.
____________________
Lucrezia Noin watched Heero Yuy leave on his horse, unaware as ever. The nurse and servants were hardly in attention at all, and as Yuy faded from sight, she focused more and more on what this tiding could be, coming her way. She waited, still with uncharacteristic patience caused by her preoccupying thoughts, until the messenger she had seen galloping madly over Heero Yuy's shoulder and under Lady Po's nose came into focus. As she had feared. Bad tidings. The messenger was bedraggled, torn and bleeding. His horse was frothed over, and bloodied spit dripped from its mouth; its eyes were rimmed with white from battle maddened fear. She waited until he stopped, dropping from the saddle and letting the horse stamp and rave behind him. He stumbled up to her, voice chocked with dust from the road,
"Lady Noin, battle, on the Western fronts. They've reached High Terrace."
He stumbled forward, and finally caught her arm, leaning heavily on her for support. She did not move. Her face was grim. She could still see the clouds of dust raised by her best tactician's departure. The messenger stared up at her, filthy brown with dirt, and staring with black rimmed eyes.
She nodded, "So. It's finally come."
The messenger looked up at her again, and stood back on weak legs. He stood straight and saluted, murmuring sharply,
"General."
Lucrazia Noin let her head fall until she could see the tips of her well shined boots. The horse calmed itself, sniffling for water and food. It's come, She thought. And she'd just lost her best asset, and best friend.
____________________
"Calais?"
Asked the messenger boy, staring at them with wide, dark eyes. The green-eyed boy nodded, subconsciously shielding his companion from the messenger's view.
The messenger shook his head and pointed, "It can't be, sir, the road to Calais leads that way," he cast his eyes down and fidgeted speaking softly in that deceptive voice that gave the green eyed boy confidence in his future as a messenger, "and the front moves away, the front always moves away from the forest."
The green eyed boy nodded, giving the road an appraising look. Briefly, the messenger saw the figure in brown behind him peek his head around the slim green eyed boy as if to look at him, but it quickly ducked back, making the messenger's curiosity peak to uncertain levels.
"Yes. The road bends mid way to avoid a sand swamp and goes over the rock hills. It is an undefendable pass."
He paused again and stared down the road. The messenger leaned ever so gently to the side and lifted his chin to see if he could catch another glance at the brown robed figure. The figure in the robe shifted back agian, as if avoiding him, but then poked the hooded head out again and stared back at him with blank darkness. He blinked, and lifted his hand instinctively in front of his chest licking his nervously dried lips. The green eyed boy turned and he quickly snapped back to attention.
"The front moves, as you said," the green eyed boy said quietly and reached into his satchel, pulling out a loaf of bread which he split and gave half to the messenger in a common gesture of goodwill.
The messenger took it happily and began to chew on the fairly tough traveling ration, "I can take a message there if you like, sir. I will be in Calais in no more than half a day."
The green eyed boy's intense visible eye gazed at him with an eerie, undefinable certainty behind them,
"What is your name, boy?"
The messenger looked up from his bread and swallowed his bite, his eyes glinted in something of a defensive pride that was easily recognized as nervous and instinctive,
"My name is Rohan. I come from the Deep Woods."
The green eyed boy nodded and turned away once again. The messenger took the opportunity to lean around and look at the brown cloaked figure once again. The figure shied less than before, but stayed within the protective cover of the green eyed boy's body. Rohan smiled and brought his hand up again, this time, to curl his fingers in a slight wave. The brown rags shifted oddly, as if the figure had tilted its head, but before he could estimate, the green eyed boy turned around again and he snapped back to attention.
"Well, Rohan, you are a good messenger for the Deep Woods."
Rohan gleamed with pride.
"If you must go to Calais you must hurry, and keep my words. Go the woods you know, you will have time to see enough pave-stones later."
He broke off a bit more of the chunk fo bread, and gave a bit to the rags behind him. Rohan did not even see a hand peek out before the rations disappeared. The green eyed boy took off his satchel and opened it, handing Rohan a small white sack.
"We go to the castle."
Rohan nodded, and stowed away the sack in his own satchel. He felt his usual nervousness around people, but felt, somehow, different for this time. He fidgeted more, looking at the ground as the green eyed boy gave him a parting gesture and the two moved a few steps away.
"Wait!"
He cried, turning to the two again. He quickly threw his eyes to the ground and nodded again in an abbreviated bow. The green eyed boy looked at him with utter calm and readiness as he looked up again.
"I wish...if, maybe, you see my friend at the castle, you could give him word...that...we're all well. And that I...wish him the best...and..." he paused, staring at the ground and scuffing one boot with the other, "he is missed in the Deep Woods. Please tell Duo Maxwell. Should you see him."
The green eyed boy spoke clearly, "Duo Maxwell."
For a moment it seemed as if the slightest smile graced the quiet face, but the green eyed boy and his companion moved on, "Trust Nine, Rohan. And stay well. Duo Maxwell will hear of you. I promise."
Rohan watched the retreating back of the green eyed boy in something of a wonder. His feet felt a little numb, and his fingers stiff, the effects of his fear wearing off. He swallowed and shook his head, shaking his shaggy black hair from his eyes. He looked up, to see that the brown cloaks had paused in the road, and now faced him, for what he could tell. Slowly, the sleeve raised and a small pale hand poked out over his chest. The fingers curved in a small wave, and pale blonde hair and blue eyes shone briefly, showing an unspoken understanding. Rohan felt his weight lighten ever so slightly as he watched the two turn and leave down the road for the castle. He turned away and looked down his own road, trying to achieve some sense of what the green-eyed boy had spoke of, and had seen. He found himself at a loss, and merely began to put one foot before the other, eyes on the hardened path ahead of him and hand clutching the satchel slung over his shoulder. He didn't know what the green eyed boy had meant, but he was certain of his words. He'd never heard a more true promise in his entire life.
_____________________
AN: Well wasn't that interesting... *buying time* I still have parts, so expect some updates fairly regularly. This story is weird. I hoped you liked this chapter, considering it didn't have and Duo part in it, and I wonder how many of you already know who everybody is O.O . Anyone want to make a guess *evil laugh*? Well, my spirits, I do hope you enjoy the story. and thanks to my reviewer, Kayla! I promise there is more, I just don't know what it's about O.O . Heh heh. I keep changing the stupid summary, I don't think I'm very good at them*sigh*. And what do you think of the formatting? Doin' it all myself now *sigh* stupid thingy. Anyway, best of luck, my spirits.
Kitten
the blonde haired revolutionary laughed deeply, the sound as rewarding a mixture and vintage as the wine swirling gently in her appropriated glass. He stoic companion was at her side as ever, his own glass half raised to his lips, but not even the slightest movement of liquid betrayed any tip of the glass towards a drink. He stared ahead, simply unmoving as ever as she bit her lip in slight contemplation of the things they could do at this very moment. She managed to restrain herself and keep her free hand on the arm of her chair as she refocused the fragmented portions of her mind on the situation at hand. Her wicked smile however, stayed rigidly put, assisted by the sparkling garnet liquid she had taken from the town's deepest wine cellars.
"I will have to thank the church for this fine entertainment, don't you think?" she asked no one in particular.
Her silent companion's gaze didn't even waver from it's position. The mercenary general in front of her shifted in his chair, no doubt assured by now that he had entered a bad deal that he may not be able to negotiate out of. Being reminded of his presence threw her into a bad mood, at least, in the sense that it was bad for others. She swirled her glass and laughed a little more, leaning forward in her seat,
"You know, general, this town could bleed me all the wine in the world, sweat me a thousand tons of gold, and scream me every tome of knowledge in the world," she leaned back, "But nothing, nothing they could do would ever equal the scream of steel, the sweat of leather armor, and the blood of a hundred hundred men in heated battle before me."
She raised her hands, almost heedless of the wine and smiled deeply again,
"The cacophony of battle is a symphony no man could write for me. There is nothing so beautiful in the world as the sound of man as a beast of conflict."
Seeming to regain herself, she lowered her arms lazily to the arms of the chair and sipped her wine, half closed eyes burning with waiting delight. The mercenary general shifted, and knew his deeds now.
"A hundred hundred men will join your battle tonight, Madame,"
"And a hundred hundred men will fight against us and die."
She smiled, raising her glass in mock salute, as he stood, clutching his helmet like a fearful housewife. He gave a short bow and exited. Quietly, she went back to contemplating her mission and her accomplishments this far. Outside she could hear her soldiers behaving noisily and it made her smile. Everyone had their piece of this town to take home. She scooted in her cushioned seat and ran a hand over the finely carved wooden arm. She could thank the bishop at a later date for permanent loan of his chair, and explain the pitiful demise of the monk that guarded it. She could also thank the church's wine cellar as well as the local's contributions to her poor thirsty entourage. This town was so hospitable, she smiled. There was a scream from outside and her smile widened. If she was lucky one of her soldiers would be too tired to fight tomorrow, and she would have to make an example. Oh, no, not even her own soldiers were immune to her. She smiled again, thinking of general's exit, and slowly reached her empty hand over to her companion's staunch thigh. She ran an appraising hand over it and chuckled, leaning her head back, and returning to her previous thoughts.
The battle would begin tomorrow for Calais.
____________________
Lucrezia Noin watched Heero Yuy leave on his horse, unaware as ever. The nurse and servants were hardly in attention at all, and as Yuy faded from sight, she focused more and more on what this tiding could be, coming her way. She waited, still with uncharacteristic patience caused by her preoccupying thoughts, until the messenger she had seen galloping madly over Heero Yuy's shoulder and under Lady Po's nose came into focus. As she had feared. Bad tidings. The messenger was bedraggled, torn and bleeding. His horse was frothed over, and bloodied spit dripped from its mouth; its eyes were rimmed with white from battle maddened fear. She waited until he stopped, dropping from the saddle and letting the horse stamp and rave behind him. He stumbled up to her, voice chocked with dust from the road,
"Lady Noin, battle, on the Western fronts. They've reached High Terrace."
He stumbled forward, and finally caught her arm, leaning heavily on her for support. She did not move. Her face was grim. She could still see the clouds of dust raised by her best tactician's departure. The messenger stared up at her, filthy brown with dirt, and staring with black rimmed eyes.
She nodded, "So. It's finally come."
The messenger looked up at her again, and stood back on weak legs. He stood straight and saluted, murmuring sharply,
"General."
Lucrazia Noin let her head fall until she could see the tips of her well shined boots. The horse calmed itself, sniffling for water and food. It's come, She thought. And she'd just lost her best asset, and best friend.
____________________
"Calais?"
Asked the messenger boy, staring at them with wide, dark eyes. The green-eyed boy nodded, subconsciously shielding his companion from the messenger's view.
The messenger shook his head and pointed, "It can't be, sir, the road to Calais leads that way," he cast his eyes down and fidgeted speaking softly in that deceptive voice that gave the green eyed boy confidence in his future as a messenger, "and the front moves away, the front always moves away from the forest."
The green eyed boy nodded, giving the road an appraising look. Briefly, the messenger saw the figure in brown behind him peek his head around the slim green eyed boy as if to look at him, but it quickly ducked back, making the messenger's curiosity peak to uncertain levels.
"Yes. The road bends mid way to avoid a sand swamp and goes over the rock hills. It is an undefendable pass."
He paused again and stared down the road. The messenger leaned ever so gently to the side and lifted his chin to see if he could catch another glance at the brown robed figure. The figure in the robe shifted back agian, as if avoiding him, but then poked the hooded head out again and stared back at him with blank darkness. He blinked, and lifted his hand instinctively in front of his chest licking his nervously dried lips. The green eyed boy turned and he quickly snapped back to attention.
"The front moves, as you said," the green eyed boy said quietly and reached into his satchel, pulling out a loaf of bread which he split and gave half to the messenger in a common gesture of goodwill.
The messenger took it happily and began to chew on the fairly tough traveling ration, "I can take a message there if you like, sir. I will be in Calais in no more than half a day."
The green eyed boy's intense visible eye gazed at him with an eerie, undefinable certainty behind them,
"What is your name, boy?"
The messenger looked up from his bread and swallowed his bite, his eyes glinted in something of a defensive pride that was easily recognized as nervous and instinctive,
"My name is Rohan. I come from the Deep Woods."
The green eyed boy nodded and turned away once again. The messenger took the opportunity to lean around and look at the brown cloaked figure once again. The figure shied less than before, but stayed within the protective cover of the green eyed boy's body. Rohan smiled and brought his hand up again, this time, to curl his fingers in a slight wave. The brown rags shifted oddly, as if the figure had tilted its head, but before he could estimate, the green eyed boy turned around again and he snapped back to attention.
"Well, Rohan, you are a good messenger for the Deep Woods."
Rohan gleamed with pride.
"If you must go to Calais you must hurry, and keep my words. Go the woods you know, you will have time to see enough pave-stones later."
He broke off a bit more of the chunk fo bread, and gave a bit to the rags behind him. Rohan did not even see a hand peek out before the rations disappeared. The green eyed boy took off his satchel and opened it, handing Rohan a small white sack.
"We go to the castle."
Rohan nodded, and stowed away the sack in his own satchel. He felt his usual nervousness around people, but felt, somehow, different for this time. He fidgeted more, looking at the ground as the green eyed boy gave him a parting gesture and the two moved a few steps away.
"Wait!"
He cried, turning to the two again. He quickly threw his eyes to the ground and nodded again in an abbreviated bow. The green eyed boy looked at him with utter calm and readiness as he looked up again.
"I wish...if, maybe, you see my friend at the castle, you could give him word...that...we're all well. And that I...wish him the best...and..." he paused, staring at the ground and scuffing one boot with the other, "he is missed in the Deep Woods. Please tell Duo Maxwell. Should you see him."
The green eyed boy spoke clearly, "Duo Maxwell."
For a moment it seemed as if the slightest smile graced the quiet face, but the green eyed boy and his companion moved on, "Trust Nine, Rohan. And stay well. Duo Maxwell will hear of you. I promise."
Rohan watched the retreating back of the green eyed boy in something of a wonder. His feet felt a little numb, and his fingers stiff, the effects of his fear wearing off. He swallowed and shook his head, shaking his shaggy black hair from his eyes. He looked up, to see that the brown cloaks had paused in the road, and now faced him, for what he could tell. Slowly, the sleeve raised and a small pale hand poked out over his chest. The fingers curved in a small wave, and pale blonde hair and blue eyes shone briefly, showing an unspoken understanding. Rohan felt his weight lighten ever so slightly as he watched the two turn and leave down the road for the castle. He turned away and looked down his own road, trying to achieve some sense of what the green-eyed boy had spoke of, and had seen. He found himself at a loss, and merely began to put one foot before the other, eyes on the hardened path ahead of him and hand clutching the satchel slung over his shoulder. He didn't know what the green eyed boy had meant, but he was certain of his words. He'd never heard a more true promise in his entire life.
_____________________
AN: Well wasn't that interesting... *buying time* I still have parts, so expect some updates fairly regularly. This story is weird. I hoped you liked this chapter, considering it didn't have and Duo part in it, and I wonder how many of you already know who everybody is O.O . Anyone want to make a guess *evil laugh*? Well, my spirits, I do hope you enjoy the story. and thanks to my reviewer, Kayla! I promise there is more, I just don't know what it's about O.O . Heh heh. I keep changing the stupid summary, I don't think I'm very good at them*sigh*. And what do you think of the formatting? Doin' it all myself now *sigh* stupid thingy. Anyway, best of luck, my spirits.
Kitten