Two children sit in a large library-like room. One looks to be about five, and is sounding out words quietly from a large book. The other looks around twelve, and is reading his own book, good-naturedly correcting some of the girl's mispronouncings (A/N: Which isn't actually a word but mispronouncing is one so it's close enough). They are obviously sister and brother, both with gold hair and serious blue eyes.
Suddenly the girl looks up, and says, "'Tienne?"
He smiles at her, and says, "Yes, Dani?"
"Well, you gave me this book, about the Na-pole-onic wars, and I've been reading it, but, well, what's a war?"
The boy bursts into laughter, and then dodges the girl's slap. He looks over at her, still grinning, and says, "Dani, what page are you on?"
She looks for the number. "Twelve."
He attempts not to laugh some more, and instead snorts. "If you had told me that, it might be a lot easier to understand, Dani."
The girl glares at him, and then says, "But what is it?"
He sighs, serious again. "A war is blood, sweat, and tears."
"But isn't that life?"
The two stand up quickly, startled. The speaker is a dark-haired boy, about with wire-rimmed glasses.
The boy gets to him first, and the two hug. "Basile! How goes it, mon ami?"
The dark-haired boy smiles, and pushes his glasses up on his face, and says, "I'm quite well, Etienne. You appear well."
"I'm all right. I'm not sure Danielle is, though." The two look at her and laugh. She's glaring at them, her arms folded over her chest. She wants attention, obviously.
Basile gets down on one knee, so he's eye level with her, and says, "Bonsoir, Danielle. How are you, cherie?"
She grins, and throws her arms around him. "Basile! You're here!"
Eventually, the three head over to the chairs where Danielle and Etienne had been sitting a moment before. And Etienne remarks, "I don't know how you got in here without Marthe noticing."
Danielle snickers, and Basile rolls his eyes. "Help from my father, and some from Marcelin and Athena, who arrived at the same time I did."
Danielle grins. "Your father helped you?"
"Sadly, yes. Only he didn't know he was doing it. However, Marcelin did."
Etienne snorts. "Only because Marcelin wants Marthe for himself."
"And why did Athena do it?" Danielle asks
"Because, she hates Marthe with a vengeance. And she thinks she's about to die anyway," Basile says.
The siblings look at him, startled, and said in unison, "WHAT?"
"She suffers from strange bruises on her legs, and severe dizziness. No one's sure why."
"That's it?" Etienne asked.
"Well—" Basile wasn't sure how to put it. "She's weaker than she used to be. She can't run as far, or as fast—but she can still beat Marcelin, and that's saying something."
"Will she—"
"Basile!"
Basile closes his eyes. "Oh, merde."
Danielle giggles; Etienne burrows his face in his hands. They turn towards the door. Marthe, Danielle and Etienne's older sister, thirteen or so, was rushing forward, green eyes excited, skirts in hand. Marcelin came behind him, his twin sister Athena on his arm. The two looked more alike than Etienne and Danielle, plain, with dark hair, and large dark eyes as well. Marcelin gave the trio a resigned look, and then shrugs. "Sorry, Basile. I tried."
Marthe drags Basile off, Marcelin and Athena sit down, and the three talked until Basile got away. Danielle, however, was silent, only half-listening to the conversation, thinking about Basile's remark about war.
But isn't that life?
Her five-year-old brain could not grasp the thought. Life, yes, was blood, sweat, and tears, but war—if war was that, then war was a fight—but with dangerous weapons. And then war would be life. But you don't call life war, do you? Or war life?
The evening passed pleasantly, a Christmas gathering for three families. And it's not until the party is over that Danielle drags her brother back into the library.
"I don't get it. If war is blood, sweat, and tears, and life is blood, sweat, and tears, then wouldn't war be life?"
Etienne sighs. "War is more that those three things, it's fighting, and guns, and swords, and battles, and tactics, and logistics, and a lot of other things, but it's mostly blood, sweat, and tears. But then everything is."
Suddenly his whole form stiffens, and he stares rigidly at the fireplace as he thinks for a moment. Then he says, "Someday I'll fight the war to end all wars, Dani. And then there'll be less to cry about." He hugs himself fiercely.
Danielle was confused. "But if you fight a war to end all wars, 'Tienne, then wouldn't that be fighting in a war? And so you would be fighting a war, not ending them?"
Etienne stares at her. "You're a smart girl, Dani. Not all wars are physical. And, even if it is, isn't it better to fight one war and never have another than fight all the hundreds that might happen in the future?" He slumps again, suddenly, thought hitting him. It's almost as if his sister isn't sitting in the chair across from him. He stares into the fire, a hopeless look coming into his eyes. He hugs himself again, and murmurs, "But what if you lose, 'Tienne? What then?"
August 1832I jerk awake, the memory hitting me like a ton of bricks. That dream—that question. This is the What then? isn't it? It's been two months, and the dreams still come, nightmares. And I am the only one still alive.
Athena—dead of whatever plagued her in February 1821.
Marthe: Died in childbirth, 1828.
Marcelin: Dead at Etienne's feet.
Basile: Dead from three bayonet wounds in his chest.
And Etienne himself: Dead from eight bullet wounds, found pinned against a wall.
Three of them, dead from Etienne's war to end all wars. Leaving blood, sweat, and tears behind.
Blood, sweat, and tears isn't a war. It's what a war leaves behind.
It's interesting. Marthe died almost eight years after Athena's death. Then four years later, Marcelin, Basile, and Etienne die. Does that mean I'll die in two?