oi. I did some fixing, and I hope it shows up. going to have more very soon for certain. And I'm still looking for a site that would like to host my story. I get very few responses *tear*. this will be finished soon, I think, unless I get all long winded *smile* .Enjoy on, my spirits.
Kitten
__________
Somewhere to the northeast of Calais, Lucrezia Noin pulled on her dark blue coat of office and tugged on her clean satin gloves. Even as she did this, she was stalking down the dirt hallways highlighted orange-yellow by the sun filtering through the tough tent canvas. She emptied her lungs in a short breath and tossed her hair from her eyes with a small shake of her head. Anywhere else but here, she would have been self conscious of the gesture, but here, every time saving device counted. She knew she had only a limited amount of time to get to Calais before it was destroyed, and became a bastion of strength for the rebellion.
She felt a pain in her chest as she thought of the army of children that had dragged itself to the castle, those who weren't wailing for thier parents as grim and as stoic as the people that had raised them. Orphans, they expected to be, she thought, and resisted the need to bury her face in her cool satin covered hands. She settled that sadness in her heart and changed it anger. It was her greatest wish to tear off the finery and have it out with the general who had brought war to their kingdom again, after all the misery it had caused last time. She coud not, however, until she made it to battle with this barbarian rebel. Then, the finery would be torn apart in its own way, she smiled. The sooner they reached Calais, the sooner that would happen, and it would all be over, either one way or another, and Noin knew the people of Calais better than anyone. her own soldiers, suffering so much loss after the last war, set a town nearby Noin's chosen Duchy, and raised families with the comfort of their fellows around them, when all of their homes and families had been burned away. Calais was a symbol to her. The people, the town, were important, because they had lost everything. Like Noin. Like the children. Like Heero...
She, thanks to combination of factors, did not even need to duck to exit the long tunnel of tent and enter a brief moment of sunlight before burying again in the canvas caverns that made up the camp of her army for the protection of the king and the Dukedom. She frowned to herself as she walked into the rather cramped tent holding the council table they had dragged into the field in order to allow the seven or six other 'generals' that would be serving under her. In her secret heart of hearts, she felt more for the Dukedom than the King or his country, and buried even deeper in that second heart was the desire that all her soldiers feel the same way. No one would loose his life for King Treize, but she knew the boy and family they would loose their lives for.
The generals stood, giving her the unusual courtesy of being able to see them all stand crooked beside their chairs as they ducked the roof of the tent for the lady general. The frown must have scared them, she reasoned as she shook her first general's hand and sat down, thereby granting them all permission to squeeze back down uncomfortably. She had to admit it was amusing to watch some of the more self-conscious generals and those who had 'let themselves go' get back into their chairs with added attempts at maintaining dignity. She thanked whatever small soldier had put her chair near the door rather than at the back of the tent, as was traditional.
As usual, her opening speech was short, but it was unusually terse, and it reflected in the faces of her more youthful generals. She had only a little time to reach Calais before the town and its peoples were doomed, not to mention any soldier that tried to save the fortified town. As much as she had faith in the town, she would not underestimate her enemy, and she trusted the judgement of the people in calais almost better than her own.
Even as the council progressed she felt herself fidgeting in unusual ways. She was short tempered and impatient, at least outside of battle, she knew well enough, but it seemed as if something pressed on her back, pushing her farther from her goal as she sat here. In a way it was maddening in itself, however, she wasn't a general because she gave things up to blind fate and luck. The healthy soldier knew his luck and made the rest.
With little reluctance she took her analytical mind away from the generals' talk of tactics and put it to her agitation. It was nothing natural for her to be so concerned. She felt something stabbing at her, prodding the back of her mind like an angry child with a toy sword. Something was wrong!
And then, she knew.
Her instinct was bothering her; her battle instinct. She snapped alert in an instant and turned her head just enough to catch the assassin behind her, dressed as a regular soldier in her army standing guard. Noin wondered how long she had been sitting there, waiting to thrust a knife in her back, as She stood, throwing back her chair, and spinning to meet and apprehend her intended assassin. The girl in the soldier's costume screamed, her generals stood, Noin grabbed the girl's knife and elbowed her across the face, sending the would be assassin to the ground. Noin stood over her opponent as her generals scrambled to get near and see. Soldiers had gathered in a small, loose circle as well, and she was glad to see more than a few had a distinct look of disgust on their faces.
She glared at her assassin, "Rebel."
The assassin glared up at her, then spit on the ground, creating a rather large red spot to her side,
"There would be no need to assassinate if you would simply give in to the rebel plot. We have suffered enough under King Treize."
"You know that's a lie, rebel propaganda. King Treize's reign has only disintegrated in these last years."
Her generals seemed shocked, but not totally put off by her slight treason. The rebel glared at her, but her eyes showed intelligence. She knew. Noin narrowed her eyes.
"That's enough of this. You will neither assassinate me, nor return with useful tactical information. You won't be killed until you've had trial outside the miliatary. We will house you, assassin, but we won't house you well."
The soldiers all grumbled or cheered agreements as they hurried to do what was ordered. She relied on and trusted her soldiers, they would do nothing she wouldn't approve of. Her generals each gave her a congratulations or a look of amazement.
And then, there was a scream from the far part of the camp. Noin stared off into the horizon where the scream eminated, echoed, and died like the daylight. The assassin was dead, by her own knife. For a moment, calm reigned, then mild chaos usurped it as they dealt with the assassin's sudden unexpected mood. The guards that had taken the assassin away came back to Noin for orders, sincere looks of apology in their faces and regret in their hearts for failing their general, but not a word of apology or excuse escaped their lips.
Their words were echoes, like the echoes of the scream, that Noin didn't really hear or need to hear. She told them what to do, rearranged her camp into its former order, and dismissed her generals. Noin kept her disciplined posture until she was certain the excitement had died down, and her generals had reentered their tents. She walked to the tunnel that led to her tent and turned a cloth lined corner before allowing herself to admit to the cold shaking at the center of her chest. She leaned against a sturdy tent pole and covered her face with her hand, wrapping the other arm around her body. Some felt the urge to breathe too deeply, but refrained, only allowing a slight shake. Slowly, she stood away and regained her calm. With a sad sigh, she rubbed her face with a gloved hand and wished for once, she didn't have to wear a mask.
______________
It was approaching dusk before Rohan came anywhere near the cause of the massive dust cloud that had loomed on the far road. From his vantage in the woods, he could easily watch while having at least cover from any cursory glance his traveling company's scouts might throw in his direction. He felt no sense of danger in his woods, and neither made a conscious effort to control the sounds his light feet made, nor spent any time preoccupying himself with whether or not he could be seen through some leafless area while he watched. He had, in fact, taken out a piece of the traveling bread the green eyed boy had given him and been spit soaking it into softness as he went, nibbling a bite between avoiding branches.
He crunched through the forest towards the darkening camp, and had thoughts of hot soup and a spare tent as he surveyed the great encampment. But even as he salivated as the smell of roasting hare reached him, he blushed and flinched away from the thoughts of having to speak to people, particularly road weary and rough men as he saw before him.
It seemed almost fated luck for orphan Rohan to be the one passing the rebel General's war band this night, since as they neared Calais the blood thirst and restlessness that she had sought in her soldiers began to manifest stronger with each step. The general was a canny woman, and though the wandering orphan's eyes looked hungrily over the great spread of tents and fires with the thoroughness of a buzzard before a battlefield, he saw no weapons, no armor, not even a single whetting stone scraping tirelessly at a dinner knife like a dwarvish miner scraped rock for gems.
Several times Roahn's resolve to avoid people wavered as he sucked at the dry corner of his kindly given traveling bread. He strode through the woods like a racoon, the trees' innocent thief, unworried and daring and innocent, only wary of a wary predator, growing ever neared the bonfire closest the woods. He quietly stuffed the last of his bread into his cheek and worked it into softness as he reached the barest edge of his cover. He could feel the heat from the flickering firelight, and the nervous absence of life from this very small portion of the forest as he reached out to brush aside the last of the branches in his path.
He heard a chitter in the trees and halted, glancing up at an actual racoon sitting up in the branches of the tree beside him. It cocked its head, black eyes alight with borrowed firelight, and stared at him. Rohan felt a spasm in the small of his back and lowered his face, letting his hand fall back a small way as horrible doubts and memories flooded past him, crippling his momentary bravery with ashamed fear. Just as his hand dropped back from the curtain of leaves before him, he hear the unnatural crash of an arrow whipping past the chittering racoon, who gazed curiously out towards the campsite before bounding away through the branches. Seized by the same instinct as the racoon, Rohan stepped away from the forest edge and heard a guffaw, before another arrow whizzed past his hip and into a tree. Quickly he ducked back, taking to an animalistic crouch and staring towards the camp.
"Almost got that une, blighted thing. Woulda made a fancy meat 'pon th' spit, eh?"
"'jou'd think, but na, they don' make as good a meal as ya think."
The voices came close, but nowhere near the forest.
"'Sa shame ya let th'arrows go like that, though, ya ain' gonna get me near tha gen's tent. They's a lost bunch."
"'Tis her tent, iddin't it? Damn, me, if she wouldn' be all th' hot kinds of mad if she saw that."
Rohan didn't care to be shot at anymore than he had to, and as much as he knew of slang and curses and the words of drunken men, he could not not understand what the shooters were saying. He left their conversation and crept quietly towards the shadow that the nearby tent cast on the already dark forest and crouched there, listening for signs of total abandonment.
As he listened with sharp, tuned ears, he heard nothing but the fading of the earlier conversation and an absolute sort of silence that only occurs when the animals have left the forest.
And then, he heard a quiet, deep laugh.
He tensed, listening carefully, and heard it again along with an indeterminate rustling. A few impassioned moments later, he the pleasured sound of someone meeting flesh with flesh and blushed to his ears, almost losing his balance as he resisted the instinct to run away in proper modesty. He heard again the laugh, definitely effeminate, definitely occupied.
For a few moments he listened in embarrassed silence, then the sound stopped, and there came the ambiguous rustling again, before a quiet and clear voice,
"we will see battle tomorrow. Noin won't know what hit her quiet soldier's town. Her camp will barely be erected before we're there. We will secure our freedom, darling."
The voice was impassioned and female, though hardly like any he'd heard before. It was...possessed, and though there was no response from whoever her companion was, she continued almost as if they'd spoken,
"Yes, a secure camp tonight. I can hardly wait, you know, hardly wait at all."
He spied carefully and managed to watch the silhouettes showing through the tent dimly and stretched into deformity, but still valuable. What he saw confused him, and the conversation confused him more, but was there for him to do? He heard only the loudest parts of their conversation. He scooted forward slowly, inch by inch, to try and listen. He knew the soldier's town. It was where he was supposed to pass the night, but the delays on the road would prevent him from reaching there when he was supposed to the next afternoon. They must be close, but why so many people traveling so quickly towards it? The way he understood it the soldier's town was a small, unpretty place, not worth much of a stop except for a night at a good tavern and inn.
Slowly, his creeping eavesdropping brought him to the edge of the forest, where he saw a lump of shadow that hadn't moved since he'd first started watching form into a standing man and shrink oddly out of sight. He waited, tensed for a moment like a dog on it's haunches, ready to run, until he was certain the shadow wasn't coming around to drag him from the forest, then slowly came forward until he was just at the base of the tent, and the quiet, confident woman's voice wavered back into hearing range, barely above a whisper.
"I'll have it, and then, to the castle," there came a small laugh, "And long live the king, but can anyone else manage to outrun me?"
The laugh came again, loudly this time, and so disturbing that Rohan started out of his half crouch and turned to run for the forest. Unfortunately, he was stopped before he'd even taken a step by a silent, stolid figure clothed in the blackness of the night. He felt himself begin to shake, but calmed it, staring up into calm, dark eyes.
Kitten
__________
Somewhere to the northeast of Calais, Lucrezia Noin pulled on her dark blue coat of office and tugged on her clean satin gloves. Even as she did this, she was stalking down the dirt hallways highlighted orange-yellow by the sun filtering through the tough tent canvas. She emptied her lungs in a short breath and tossed her hair from her eyes with a small shake of her head. Anywhere else but here, she would have been self conscious of the gesture, but here, every time saving device counted. She knew she had only a limited amount of time to get to Calais before it was destroyed, and became a bastion of strength for the rebellion.
She felt a pain in her chest as she thought of the army of children that had dragged itself to the castle, those who weren't wailing for thier parents as grim and as stoic as the people that had raised them. Orphans, they expected to be, she thought, and resisted the need to bury her face in her cool satin covered hands. She settled that sadness in her heart and changed it anger. It was her greatest wish to tear off the finery and have it out with the general who had brought war to their kingdom again, after all the misery it had caused last time. She coud not, however, until she made it to battle with this barbarian rebel. Then, the finery would be torn apart in its own way, she smiled. The sooner they reached Calais, the sooner that would happen, and it would all be over, either one way or another, and Noin knew the people of Calais better than anyone. her own soldiers, suffering so much loss after the last war, set a town nearby Noin's chosen Duchy, and raised families with the comfort of their fellows around them, when all of their homes and families had been burned away. Calais was a symbol to her. The people, the town, were important, because they had lost everything. Like Noin. Like the children. Like Heero...
She, thanks to combination of factors, did not even need to duck to exit the long tunnel of tent and enter a brief moment of sunlight before burying again in the canvas caverns that made up the camp of her army for the protection of the king and the Dukedom. She frowned to herself as she walked into the rather cramped tent holding the council table they had dragged into the field in order to allow the seven or six other 'generals' that would be serving under her. In her secret heart of hearts, she felt more for the Dukedom than the King or his country, and buried even deeper in that second heart was the desire that all her soldiers feel the same way. No one would loose his life for King Treize, but she knew the boy and family they would loose their lives for.
The generals stood, giving her the unusual courtesy of being able to see them all stand crooked beside their chairs as they ducked the roof of the tent for the lady general. The frown must have scared them, she reasoned as she shook her first general's hand and sat down, thereby granting them all permission to squeeze back down uncomfortably. She had to admit it was amusing to watch some of the more self-conscious generals and those who had 'let themselves go' get back into their chairs with added attempts at maintaining dignity. She thanked whatever small soldier had put her chair near the door rather than at the back of the tent, as was traditional.
As usual, her opening speech was short, but it was unusually terse, and it reflected in the faces of her more youthful generals. She had only a little time to reach Calais before the town and its peoples were doomed, not to mention any soldier that tried to save the fortified town. As much as she had faith in the town, she would not underestimate her enemy, and she trusted the judgement of the people in calais almost better than her own.
Even as the council progressed she felt herself fidgeting in unusual ways. She was short tempered and impatient, at least outside of battle, she knew well enough, but it seemed as if something pressed on her back, pushing her farther from her goal as she sat here. In a way it was maddening in itself, however, she wasn't a general because she gave things up to blind fate and luck. The healthy soldier knew his luck and made the rest.
With little reluctance she took her analytical mind away from the generals' talk of tactics and put it to her agitation. It was nothing natural for her to be so concerned. She felt something stabbing at her, prodding the back of her mind like an angry child with a toy sword. Something was wrong!
And then, she knew.
Her instinct was bothering her; her battle instinct. She snapped alert in an instant and turned her head just enough to catch the assassin behind her, dressed as a regular soldier in her army standing guard. Noin wondered how long she had been sitting there, waiting to thrust a knife in her back, as She stood, throwing back her chair, and spinning to meet and apprehend her intended assassin. The girl in the soldier's costume screamed, her generals stood, Noin grabbed the girl's knife and elbowed her across the face, sending the would be assassin to the ground. Noin stood over her opponent as her generals scrambled to get near and see. Soldiers had gathered in a small, loose circle as well, and she was glad to see more than a few had a distinct look of disgust on their faces.
She glared at her assassin, "Rebel."
The assassin glared up at her, then spit on the ground, creating a rather large red spot to her side,
"There would be no need to assassinate if you would simply give in to the rebel plot. We have suffered enough under King Treize."
"You know that's a lie, rebel propaganda. King Treize's reign has only disintegrated in these last years."
Her generals seemed shocked, but not totally put off by her slight treason. The rebel glared at her, but her eyes showed intelligence. She knew. Noin narrowed her eyes.
"That's enough of this. You will neither assassinate me, nor return with useful tactical information. You won't be killed until you've had trial outside the miliatary. We will house you, assassin, but we won't house you well."
The soldiers all grumbled or cheered agreements as they hurried to do what was ordered. She relied on and trusted her soldiers, they would do nothing she wouldn't approve of. Her generals each gave her a congratulations or a look of amazement.
And then, there was a scream from the far part of the camp. Noin stared off into the horizon where the scream eminated, echoed, and died like the daylight. The assassin was dead, by her own knife. For a moment, calm reigned, then mild chaos usurped it as they dealt with the assassin's sudden unexpected mood. The guards that had taken the assassin away came back to Noin for orders, sincere looks of apology in their faces and regret in their hearts for failing their general, but not a word of apology or excuse escaped their lips.
Their words were echoes, like the echoes of the scream, that Noin didn't really hear or need to hear. She told them what to do, rearranged her camp into its former order, and dismissed her generals. Noin kept her disciplined posture until she was certain the excitement had died down, and her generals had reentered their tents. She walked to the tunnel that led to her tent and turned a cloth lined corner before allowing herself to admit to the cold shaking at the center of her chest. She leaned against a sturdy tent pole and covered her face with her hand, wrapping the other arm around her body. Some felt the urge to breathe too deeply, but refrained, only allowing a slight shake. Slowly, she stood away and regained her calm. With a sad sigh, she rubbed her face with a gloved hand and wished for once, she didn't have to wear a mask.
______________
It was approaching dusk before Rohan came anywhere near the cause of the massive dust cloud that had loomed on the far road. From his vantage in the woods, he could easily watch while having at least cover from any cursory glance his traveling company's scouts might throw in his direction. He felt no sense of danger in his woods, and neither made a conscious effort to control the sounds his light feet made, nor spent any time preoccupying himself with whether or not he could be seen through some leafless area while he watched. He had, in fact, taken out a piece of the traveling bread the green eyed boy had given him and been spit soaking it into softness as he went, nibbling a bite between avoiding branches.
He crunched through the forest towards the darkening camp, and had thoughts of hot soup and a spare tent as he surveyed the great encampment. But even as he salivated as the smell of roasting hare reached him, he blushed and flinched away from the thoughts of having to speak to people, particularly road weary and rough men as he saw before him.
It seemed almost fated luck for orphan Rohan to be the one passing the rebel General's war band this night, since as they neared Calais the blood thirst and restlessness that she had sought in her soldiers began to manifest stronger with each step. The general was a canny woman, and though the wandering orphan's eyes looked hungrily over the great spread of tents and fires with the thoroughness of a buzzard before a battlefield, he saw no weapons, no armor, not even a single whetting stone scraping tirelessly at a dinner knife like a dwarvish miner scraped rock for gems.
Several times Roahn's resolve to avoid people wavered as he sucked at the dry corner of his kindly given traveling bread. He strode through the woods like a racoon, the trees' innocent thief, unworried and daring and innocent, only wary of a wary predator, growing ever neared the bonfire closest the woods. He quietly stuffed the last of his bread into his cheek and worked it into softness as he reached the barest edge of his cover. He could feel the heat from the flickering firelight, and the nervous absence of life from this very small portion of the forest as he reached out to brush aside the last of the branches in his path.
He heard a chitter in the trees and halted, glancing up at an actual racoon sitting up in the branches of the tree beside him. It cocked its head, black eyes alight with borrowed firelight, and stared at him. Rohan felt a spasm in the small of his back and lowered his face, letting his hand fall back a small way as horrible doubts and memories flooded past him, crippling his momentary bravery with ashamed fear. Just as his hand dropped back from the curtain of leaves before him, he hear the unnatural crash of an arrow whipping past the chittering racoon, who gazed curiously out towards the campsite before bounding away through the branches. Seized by the same instinct as the racoon, Rohan stepped away from the forest edge and heard a guffaw, before another arrow whizzed past his hip and into a tree. Quickly he ducked back, taking to an animalistic crouch and staring towards the camp.
"Almost got that une, blighted thing. Woulda made a fancy meat 'pon th' spit, eh?"
"'jou'd think, but na, they don' make as good a meal as ya think."
The voices came close, but nowhere near the forest.
"'Sa shame ya let th'arrows go like that, though, ya ain' gonna get me near tha gen's tent. They's a lost bunch."
"'Tis her tent, iddin't it? Damn, me, if she wouldn' be all th' hot kinds of mad if she saw that."
Rohan didn't care to be shot at anymore than he had to, and as much as he knew of slang and curses and the words of drunken men, he could not not understand what the shooters were saying. He left their conversation and crept quietly towards the shadow that the nearby tent cast on the already dark forest and crouched there, listening for signs of total abandonment.
As he listened with sharp, tuned ears, he heard nothing but the fading of the earlier conversation and an absolute sort of silence that only occurs when the animals have left the forest.
And then, he heard a quiet, deep laugh.
He tensed, listening carefully, and heard it again along with an indeterminate rustling. A few impassioned moments later, he the pleasured sound of someone meeting flesh with flesh and blushed to his ears, almost losing his balance as he resisted the instinct to run away in proper modesty. He heard again the laugh, definitely effeminate, definitely occupied.
For a few moments he listened in embarrassed silence, then the sound stopped, and there came the ambiguous rustling again, before a quiet and clear voice,
"we will see battle tomorrow. Noin won't know what hit her quiet soldier's town. Her camp will barely be erected before we're there. We will secure our freedom, darling."
The voice was impassioned and female, though hardly like any he'd heard before. It was...possessed, and though there was no response from whoever her companion was, she continued almost as if they'd spoken,
"Yes, a secure camp tonight. I can hardly wait, you know, hardly wait at all."
He spied carefully and managed to watch the silhouettes showing through the tent dimly and stretched into deformity, but still valuable. What he saw confused him, and the conversation confused him more, but was there for him to do? He heard only the loudest parts of their conversation. He scooted forward slowly, inch by inch, to try and listen. He knew the soldier's town. It was where he was supposed to pass the night, but the delays on the road would prevent him from reaching there when he was supposed to the next afternoon. They must be close, but why so many people traveling so quickly towards it? The way he understood it the soldier's town was a small, unpretty place, not worth much of a stop except for a night at a good tavern and inn.
Slowly, his creeping eavesdropping brought him to the edge of the forest, where he saw a lump of shadow that hadn't moved since he'd first started watching form into a standing man and shrink oddly out of sight. He waited, tensed for a moment like a dog on it's haunches, ready to run, until he was certain the shadow wasn't coming around to drag him from the forest, then slowly came forward until he was just at the base of the tent, and the quiet, confident woman's voice wavered back into hearing range, barely above a whisper.
"I'll have it, and then, to the castle," there came a small laugh, "And long live the king, but can anyone else manage to outrun me?"
The laugh came again, loudly this time, and so disturbing that Rohan started out of his half crouch and turned to run for the forest. Unfortunately, he was stopped before he'd even taken a step by a silent, stolid figure clothed in the blackness of the night. He felt himself begin to shake, but calmed it, staring up into calm, dark eyes.