Disclaimer: Not mine
*
Quatre showed Duo to a wagon somewhere in the maze he optimistically called 'camp'. Duo thought that was asking a bit much of the little settlement. The place was little more than a rat's nest.
Rough-and-ready tents lined the dirt alleys, and mongrel dogs prowled between them. The whores and thieves that follow armies were present in abundance. Quatre pointedly ignored the leering men lounging around. Duo took the hint and did the same.
I am never going to remember this, Duo groaned inwardly, as Quatre rattled off a set of directions to find the medics tent, the mess area, the latrines, the Commander's tent for emergencies, and his and Trowa's tent.
Seeing the bemused look on his face, Quatre took pity on the long-haired squire. "Don't worry about it." He said. "You'll get it in no time, and I'll help you out until then. But be careful who you ask for directions. There are some people here that are even worse than Airmessens." He warned. Duo nodded.
A hand rested on his shoulder, and he spun around to face his knight-master. "This is Quatre, Heero." Duo said. Heero nodded in acknowledgement. "Trowa wants you." He said in his usual monotone. Duo snickered, as Quatre gave them both a bemused glance, and trotted off.
Heero frowned. "What are you laughing at?"
Duo was getting over it by now, and calming down. "I... That just sounded kind of dirty." He said with a grin. Heero raised an eyebrow, then shook his head, and walked past. But not before once again removing Duo's bag, and carrying it himself. Duo grabbed the rest of their gear from the wagon, and hurried after him.
Walking fast to keep up with the slightly taller youth, Duo relayed everything he could remember from Quatre's little lecture/pep talk. Heero absorbed the information without comment.
"Trowa says the Airmessens haven't moved since the Feast for Crows. Over the past few days they've seemed to be retreating." Duo glanced sharply at Heero.
"You don't believe that." He said. It wasn't a question. "No." Heero conceded.
"Where're we going?" Duo asked, changing the subject. Heero pointed ahead of them. "The Dastrane knight's camp is over here."
Duo frowned. "The countries have different camps?" he asked. Heero nodded. "Hastrosians don't get along with Fabrisians, Greyes consider Sanqs to be weak... there are so many minor rivalries, it was just easier for the camps to be separated."
"But... shouldn't we at least be trying to unite?"
Heero nodded. "The Airmessens may win due to human nature. We must let go of our rivalries if we are to win this war. If we are to win anything."
Duo nodded seriously. But he doubted people could ever truly be persuaded to put aside their generation-long grudges, for anything. As the foster child of the Lord and Lady of Maxwell, he had been carefully educated. That included the unofficial, unspoken laws. Such as the hatred between Hastros and Fabrisia, that had been going on for so long, no one could remember what it was about. It just was.
Duo sighed, looking around at the segmented camp. He'd known it would be dirty, and bloody. He'd known in his head. But still, it was a shock to see how wide the distance was, between this, and the ideas of his subconscious.
Hearing the dispirited sigh, Heero gingerly wrapped an arm around Duo's shoulders, juggling their bags to do so. Duo's eyes widened at the unusual gesture, but he accepted it gratefully.
The camp got no better as they entered the Dastrane area. In fact, there was little difference at all. As they entered the knights section, the whores became prettier and the thieves became more adept, but that was the extent of the change. That and the skanky dogs that prowled the camp became scarcer.
As they toiled up the muddy slope to the tent that had been set aside for them - or more specifically, Heero – a tall, thin man with an aristocratic nose approached them. "Sir Heero." He said reverently, bowing from the waist. Heero nodded in acknowledgement. "Sir Andreguo."
Duo's eyes narrowed as he watched the man pick his way back towards his own tent, like a stork walking through a marsh. An evil stork. Duo could feel Heero's tension, which only added to his own reservations about the tall man.
At the very back of their area, a comparatively large tent had been erected. It was to this one that Heero walked, followed by his trusty squire. Said trusty squire rolled his eyes as he spotted the blatantly conspicuous audience. It seemed everyone had found some task to busy themselves with near their tent. And all of them were shooting very obvious glances at the hero of the Western Kingdoms.
Behind him, Duo heard a shocked gasp. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes widened and he felt a surge of hatred as he spotted Ariel. Ariel was one of his younger cousins, a pale, platinum blonde youth with soulful blue eyes. He was beautiful; there was no other word for it. And he was a vindictive little bastard.
Ariel had never beaten Duo, or even touched him. He seemed to think the skin of a commoner, whether fostered or not, would taint him. So he found others ways to hurt Duo. Ariel's methods were ingenious, vicious, and undeniably Machiavellian [1].
At various intervals throughout Duo's childhood, Ariel had convinced everyone that Duo had set fire to the barn, stolen all the eggs from the castle hen house, let the bulls into the cows paddock, dyed little Francesca's white scarf red, and a literal pile of other things Duo didn't even want to think about.
Satisfaction crept through Duo, as he suddenly recalled something Ariel had once said.
"I'm going to be a knight. I'll be a squire to a famous knight first, like Heero Yuy, and then I'll beat them, and be knighted. You'll never be a squire at all."
A smug smile grew on Duo's lips, as he gazed at the stunned Ariel. "Hello, cousin." He called, before following Heero into the tent. One glance at Ariel's shocked, furious face, and Duo couldn't restrain his laughter.
Heero turned as he heard the peals of stifled laughter. But by now he knew better than to ask why Duo was laughing. It was just too perilous.
Duo met his gaze with an amused violet stare. "Revenge is sweet, huh Heero?"
Heero just shook his head. I give up.
*
Heero furiously fought the urge to yawn. If he had to listen to one more speech about how welcome he was, and how bravely they had fought in the Feast for Crows, he would tell them where they could shove their self-congratulatory drivel.
Another round of reluctant applause, and the final speaker stood. Heero gave an audible sigh of relief. Before he recognised the man; Andreguo.
Andreguo's speech began the same as the others, rambling on about how brave the soldiers had been, what a great sacrifice they'd all made, and how the dead would never be forgotten. But then the topic changed.
The dark-haired man began to speak of the Airmessens, their monstrosity, their cruelty, their hatred of humans. He spoke of the terrible retribution that would fall on the creatures, and of the rise of humanity against this evil.
With his speech, the atmosphere of the meeting changed. Instead of the slightly dull, dry aura, the gathering became angry, dangerous, and ready to do anything. By the end of the speech, more than half the assembly were on their feet, and Heero was sure a few of them were baying for blood. It would take less than a spark in a haystack to set this group off. And a group of incensed, powerful, deadly warriors is something to fear. Because incensed, powerful and deadly warriors don't think. They just act. And that was something to be avoided.
Heero grudgingly admitted that Andreguo was a talented speaker. He had manipulated some of the most powerful men in the kingdom as easily as a dog herds sheep. But herding them where? For what?
Heero's mind raced in circles, as he tried to figure out what Andreguo would gain from this. Perhaps he was just testing the water, trying the limits of his abilities, and of his control. Still there were less hazardous ways to do it.
With an uneasy frown, Heero watched as Andreguo bowed his way out of the centre of the circle to thunderous applause. This gathering consisted of Dastrane knights only. No squires, servants or soldiers. Duo and Quatre were both cleaning their knight-masters' armour. Trowa was sitting silently in his seat across the circle. For a moment, his jade eyes caught Heero's cerulean gaze. Trowa too, was wondering at Andreguo's motives.
Slowly, the gathering trickled out in twos and threes, all of them talking excitedly. Heero was one of the last to leave, and when he did rise, Trowa joined him. "What did you think of that little display?" Trowa asked quietly as they walked through the darkness towards the flickering lights of camp ahead.
"I'm not sure. He has impressive control. But there is no logical explanation or motive."
"Perhaps there is." Trowa suggested. "Maybe we're just not thinking laterally enough."
*
When they re-entered the camp, they were met by shining, squeaky clean armour, and two muddy, sooty squires. Heero had to forcibly hold back his laughter at the sight of Duo's bright eyes peering out of his nearly black face. White teeth gleamed as Duo grinned widely. "We were cleaning them, just like you asked, and then Quatre ran out of sand [2]. So we went to get some, and we fell into an old fire pit. There were no coals or anything in it, luckily, but we did get a bit dirty." Duo looked hopefully at Heero.
"There's only one fire pit in the camp, Duo. It's over there, in the Hastrosian area. Which is on the opposite side of the camp from the Dastrane equipment tent. You know, that structure where they keep the spare sand?" Heero said with a raised eyebrow. Duo gave a nervous laugh.
"We got lost?" he offered. Heero made no comment.
Quatre looked rather sheepishly at Trowa. "Sorry, Trowa." Trowa looked stern for a minute, before crumbling under the blue plea for forgiveness that passed as Quatre's eyes. "It's alright. Don't do it again." He said simply.
"You're getting soft, Trowa." Heero remarked. "I don't see you planning torture either." Trowa said flatly. Heero nodded.
Point for ol' One-eye, Duo thought.
"Was there anything interesting at the meeting?" Quatre inquired as he and Trowa retreated to their tent. Trowa nodded.
"Andreguo is stirring up trouble."
Quatre nodded thoughtfully, knowing that was all he was going to get out of the quiet youth. He had his own history with Andreguo.
The sand churns and sprays into the air as the horseman wheels his blood-bay mare, doubling back and galloping along his own tracks. He is fleeing from the massive horses galloping towards him, ridden by the dangerous men known as the Maguanac. His cloak whips back, and he rips it off, fearing that it will slow him down. He digs his heels into his poor horse, as his pursuers draw nearer.
Clenched tightly in one fist is a stone. But this is no ordinary pebble. It is the Kallamunrhah, the Heartstone of the people known as the Sons of the Sun. And clinging desperately onto the man's back is a small, golden-haired child. The First Son, prince of these people.
The man yells indistinctly as his horse stumbles. For a few moments, the horse slows. The child closes his eyes tightly, and takes this one chance. He leaps off the horse's back and rolls clear.
For a minute or two, the golden-haired boy lies curled up in the warm sand, his eyes still closed, thanking the Sun and Allah that there had not been rocks in his landing place. Then the thundering of heavy hooves draws his attention, and he sits up to see three of the huge horses detach themselves from the main party, who continue to chase the man on the fast horse.
With a distinct thump, one of the three dismounts and bends down to the First Son. "Master Quatre? Are you hurt?"
The golden prince shakes his head, accidentally spraying sand all over everything, which makes little difference, considering there is sand everywhere anyway. "I'm fine Rashid. Are they going to catch him?" Quatre asked.
"I hope so, little one."
But they never did catch the blood-bay mare. And her rider escaped with his precious cargo. The Kallamunrhah was still missing. But Quatre knew who had it.
On a formal visit with Trowa to Sir Andreguo's house, Quatre had gone to Andreguo's stables to fetch Trowa's horse. And in the stables, he had seen a very familiar blood-bay mare. She had been stabled at the back, half-hidden by a large haystack. It made no sense to try and hide a mare as speedy and obviously valuable as her. Andreguo was known for his racehorses, and this beauty must surely be the cream of the crop. This was why she had been lent to the man who had stolen the Heartstone.
But Quatre had no proof. There was no way he could make anyone other than himself believe that this was that same mare.
A slight smile graced Quatre's face, even as these dark thoughts slipped through his mind. The mare had had a foal. It had been almost grown then, ready to be broken. It was a beautiful colt, with deep wise eyes and a coat the same red hue of its mother. Its name was Sandrock.
*
Heero rolled over, rearranging his blankets. On the other side of the tent, he could hear Duo's even breathing. Yet for some reason, he was having trouble joining the braided baka in dream land. Disturbing thoughts were rambling though his head, bashing on the walls of his skull and ricocheting off other half-formed ideas.
Slowly, his training overwhelmed his agitated mind, and he slipped into an uneasy slumber. His dreams were wild and chaotic, full of things that lunged at him in the dark, and then withdrew, eyes that tried to tell him something, voices that whispered.
Duo gave a little groan as he awoke. It was still dark, although the tent seemed a little lighter to the east. He could see Heero's dim form rolled up in his tangled blankets. The dark haired boy mumbled something, and rolled over fretfully.
Lying on his back and staring up at the almost invisible canvas roof, Duo let out a quiet sigh. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to think of Maxwell.
Homesickness washed through him as he recalled the tangled, wild gardens, the low cottages of the village, Father Maxwell's deep voice and Solo's smile.
But Solo wouldn't smile any more. Solo was dead. A silent tear slipped down Duo's face as he recalled his big brother. Solo had been his idol, his role-model, his hero. Solo had defended him from his cousins. From those who said he had no right to live in Maxwell. From the world.
Solo was dead.
Duo swallowed, blinking when he felt wetness on his cheek. Boys don't cry, boys don't cry, he repeated silently. He tried to think of something else, anything else. But it was no use, and he fell back onto his mantra, over and over. Boys don't cry, boys don't cry, boys don't cry.
The three tears that had escaped slowly dried on his cheeks and Duo's eyes remained open as he stared blankly at the canvas above. There was definite light to the east now, and inside the tent everything was doused in a pale grey glow. Duo heard Heero begin to stir, and – knowing the insane hours Heero woke at – scrubbed furiously at his face the remove any evidence.
*
The pale youth sat quietly on his log, watching as the army cooks busied themselves around the fire. His big baby-blue eyes were alert, darting everywhere.
"Ariel..." came a timid voice. The blonde noble turned around, a small smirk on his face. The ginger-haired speaker nearly swooned. "Sir Bredingwhaith wants to see you." She simpered. Ariel stood with elegant grace, and walked towards her.
"Thankyou Maisy." He said huskily, giving her an almost seductive smiled. This time Maisy really did swoon. Ariel's smile became mocking, although the little maid did not see it.
The squire strode off into the camp.
*
[1] Machiavellian: 1 of or relating to the alleged political principles of Machiavelli; cunning, amoral, and opportunist
noun
2 a cunning, amoral, and opportunist person, esp. a politician
[2] Sand was used for cleaning rust off armour