Disclaimer: Not mine
There's really no excuse for this disgustingly late chapter. Sorry. Also, its been mentioned that I probably need a proofreader, and looking over some of the past chapters, I agree. Any volunteers?
*
Duo sighed, resting his head against the rough bark of the tree looming above him. His back ached, the muscles along his spine protesting the strain he'd been putting on them over the past few days.
He'd assumed that they'd be fighting pretty much the minute they got to the front. But they'd been in Yhman for almost a week now, and he hadn't even seen an Airmessens, let alone fought one.
No, for the last few days they'd been improving the camps defences, and while Duo was sore all over from hauling carts carrying building materials, it had been worth it to see Ariel toiling uphill, his usually perfect hair messy and dishevelled.
Heero had spent most of his time cloistered with a few other relatively important knights, and Trowa. Quatre, due to his slight frame, had been placed on kitchen duty. Duo wished he had too, but he was just tall enough to work with the heavy stuff.
Duo looked up as he heard boots churning the recently spread gravel. He watched through narrowed eyes as Andreguo stalked past, muttering to himself. So the bastard really is crazy, Duo thought.
For some unknown reason, Duo loathed Andreguo. He didn't know why, he just did. Everything about the man, from his smooth, charismatic voice, to his dull blue eyes, repelled him.
Duo's eyes followed the dark-haired man up the hill. Duo's curious nature came into play, as the braided squire silently rose, and followed, walking on the wilted and dry grass, instead of the gravel.
Andreguo stopped at the crest of the hill, looking out over the river from the edge of the defences. The hill he was on was adjacent to the hill on which Heero's tent was pitched, and when Andreguo swung around to stare at it, Duo had to duck suddenly under a friendly bush. He felt more than a bit stupid, but no one could see him anyway. He hoped.
From here, he could hear snatches of Andreguo's mumbling, as they were borne towards him by the wind.
"What does... think he's.... idiot! ... going to.... stupid... inane.... lapdogs. Think they'll... they? ... show them! Why... see that... too risky..."
Duo turned the words over in his mind, trying to fit the fragments into the bigger picture. But to no avail. All he could really gather was that Andreguo was really, really mad with someone. Which he could have done without hiding like a mouse behind a bush.
Andreguo was pacing, three steps to the east, turn, three steps to the west. His movements were short and angry. The man's lustreless eyes were flicking agitatedly over the scenery, as his hands fiddled nervously with a chain on his neck.
Duo slowly began to creep away, deciding he would learn nothing more here. His hand came down, and he winced as the point of a rock dug into his palm. Or at least, it should have been a rock. The glint of gold made Duo frown, as he worked the strange, five-pointed star out of the ground. The trinket was barely bigger than his thumbnail. It was roughly made, and some of the points were larger than others, but for all that, it still held a kind of elusive, glinting beauty, as it lay, muddy and smeared, in Duo's palm.
Duo tucked the star into his pocket, and continued on his sneaky little way. By the time he'd reached the camp, he'd already forgotten all about the thing.
*
Trowa frowned, as he ran his finger over the wooden shaft of the arrow. It had warped. No good for his purposes anymore.
Silently, he placed the useless arrow on the ground. He stretched, looking around. He had been out here for hours now, oiling his bowstring, fletching arrows and inspecting others. Trowa was an experienced fighter, and he could smell a battle on the wind.
Quatre, on the other hand, had no such sixth sense. The little prince was stretched out on the ground, his eyes closed and his body relaxed. Trowa spared a moment to observe the shimmer of sunlight on his golden hair. Quatre really was a gem. He would have all the girls flocking when they returned to court, any court. An unexpected stab of... something... shot through Trowa at the thought, but he refused to acknowledge or analyse it.
Trowa's thoughts moved on, pausing on the threat of battle hovering in his mind. He'd trained Quatre as well as he could, in the little time he'd had. The Sun of the Kallamunrah, Quatre's father, had only allowed Quatre to become a squire on the condition that he served the best. Trowa was one of the best, and the other two did not take squires. Or at least, Heero hadn't, and Trowa hadn't either. But Quatre had changed his mind.
As for the third, the Solitary Dragon was exactly what his name implied. A loner. Trowa had only met him once. His first, second and third impressions had been of dangerous grace. But his fourth impression was of deep, unbearable loneliness, so intrinsic that Wufei didn't even know it was there.
Trowa wondered idly whether he himself was like that. Or whether he had been, before Quatre. He hoped not. He prided himself on his awareness of his surroundings, and to miss something so blindingly obvious in himself would be unforgivable.
"Trowa." Came Heero's blank voice from behind him. Trowa stood and turned to face the knight. He arched an eyebrow in query. Heero turned on his heel and stalked away, trailed by a bewildered Trowa.
Heero stopped a few yards from the edge of camp, close enough to be fairly inconspicuous, but far enough that a casual listener wouldn't pick up their conversation.
"Andreguo has offered a thousand more men to the war effort." Heero said shortly. Trowa sucked his breath in. While a thousand men sounded nice and impressive, it really wasn't all that much. The disturbing thing was that Andreguo had earlier claimed he had no more men, when asked why his contribution to the war was so surprisingly low. The respective rulers were so desperate now, that they wouldn't question Andreguo's gift.
"Where?"
Heero's eyes narrowed. "Here. After our friend's little display the other day, I'm not happy with him controlling an extra thousand men."
Trowa nodded slowly.
Andreguo had a disturbing amount of control, not just over the Dastrane knights, but the entire camp. Whether he chose to exercise that control remained to be seen.
*
Ariel massaged his temples, as he stared in frustration at the open book before him. The silver haired youth growled as he flipped over another page. The sloping, cursive text refused to give up its secrets, instead choosing to weave itself into riddles.
Slender hands pushed the tome aside. 'Myrthian Lore' wasn't going to help him.
Ariel's interest lay in one particular legend. To be specific, the Chigowka, Myrthia's oldest legend. It was also one of the least remembered. The Chigowka was a mythical monster, hatched from a giant egg and doomed to wander the earth forever until it found its master. It was a shape-shifter, but favoured the form of a huge rainbow hawk with flashing eyes of fire and a tail like a waterfall. Ariel snorted. Honestly, all Myrthians must have their heads in the clouds if they believed this.
But Ariel had learnt the hard way that, while they were mostly fantasy and embellishments, some legends had more truth to them than he would like.
With a small sigh, the angelic boy stood, pushing through the tent flaps. Pausing just outside, he looked around. The simpering smiles of the whores across the walkway slipped past his eyes, as did the disapproving glares of several knights, and the over approving observations of others. His gaze locked instead onto the braided figure trotting up the hill towards the largest tent.
Ariel's gaze narrowed viciously. It didn't balance out, at least in his mind. How did Duo end up as a squire to Sir Heero? This just wasn't right. It didn't fit into his master plan. How was he supposed to become Sir Heero's protégé if he wasn't even his squire?
In Ariel's mind, the future was laid out in a straight line. He would excel at everything, marry a princess, and rule a country. It was that simple. He wasn't entirely sure what his adopted cuckoo of a cousin was doing in his plan, but he was not, repeat, not, going to let Duo screw up his future.
Ariel really did see Duo as a cuckoo, an egg laid in another bird's nest, which would eventually push out the other chicks. Duo had always been the family jewel, the beloved, clever, perfect son. He wasn't even noble. Lord Maxwell's two brothers and their families lived with the Lord at his castle, and because of that, Ariel could barely remember a day he had not been compared to Duo.
He remembered what he had overheard his mother – his own mother! - say to Lady Helen. 'I wish Ariel could be a bit friendlier. I don't understand why he's so different from Duo.' Lady Helen had nodded sympathetically.
Because they were the same age, Duo and Ariel were expected to be natural allies. Ariel, eager to prove his superiority, or at least his equality, had begun to blame Duo for everything.
After all, his life would have been perfect if that commoner hadn't stuck his nose into it. He would have been the beloved child, the special one. He wouldn't have been second best. No, not even that. His brother was second best. He came somewhere around fourth, or fifth. And for Ariel, that wasn't good enough.
Deep down, Ariel wasn't sure if he really hated Duo, or whether he just blamed the other for his own failings. In the middle of the night, doubt gnawed at him. Was it his own fault his parents preferred Duo over himself. Was the problem him, pushing others away? Was he really as dull as all that, compared to the flashing fire that was Duo?
But Ariel still clung desperately to one memory.
The shaman's eyes glittered above his half-mask, focussed on the nervous blonde before him. It was right that the boy should fear. This was his Naming Day, and was the time he would receive his name, his true name. Where this pale-skinned child came from, they no longer followed the old ways, perhaps never had. This boy was Nameless.
And Zaami the shaman was going to save the boy from his own anonymity.
Staring deeply into the shimmering blue eyes, Zaami brought his powers into play chanting softly. Then his voice whispered, to the Nameless One alone ; "Dark water, swift swallow, secret heart, slow burn, I name you Thowra!" [1]
Ariel slowly pulled himself out of his memories, wishing he could stay.
*
The slim, white cloaked figure sat astride his horse, his hidden eyes seeking out the little figures scurrying across the plain below the mountain. Behind them, he could see the funeral pyres blazing towards the sky, and smell the stench of roasting flesh even from his position on the mountainside.
The village was doomed. It's last pitiful defences had crumbled a few days earlier, and, pausing only to burn their dead, the villagers were fleeing.
The eyes narrowed. Justice must be found for this, but it could not be won here. The horse turned, and began a leisurely canter along the road, his rider sitting easily in the saddle.
*
Heero shifted, and the stones rattled under his feet. There had been no sign of Airmessens for days, and the men were becoming complacent. Heero, on the other hand, was like a cat on hot bricks. Something was up.
His attention was drawn to the sound of trumpets, as an ornamental red and gold coach wound towards him. Heero's eyebrows shot up at this fanciful, overwhelming display stopped right beside him, and three men dressed in.... gods, be merciful... pink livery. Heero had a feeling he knew who might be behind this.
The leading man, his eyes crazed and homicidal under the fluffy white plume erupting from his hat, presented Heero with a huge wicker basket.
"Her.... her... majesty..." he huffed, straining under the weight of the basket, "... felt you... might need these."
He unceremoniously dropped it, and bowed to Heero, before turning smartly on his heel, his face burning from the snickers all around him.
The coach sped away at top speed, although due to all the extra gilding on its exterior, not to mention the inside, it escaped at about walking pace.
Heero stared apprehensively down at the basket at his feet. Slowly, carefully, he reached for it, his hands closing around the handle. He glance dup, and his little audience gave him a nod of encouragement. He squared his shoulders, and flipped open the lid.
It was worse than he'd imagined. Worse than he'd ever imagined.
The inside was lined in some sort of soft, sheeny material. Bet you can't guess what colour it was. Inside lay an assortment of utterly useless trinkets, all bearing Relena's name or mark in some shape or form. A pretty glass bird, a little wooden squirrel. A necklace with Relena engraved into the gold.
Why me? Heero wondered.
Behind him, a braided figure stood in the meagre shadow of a scrawny tree. His amethyst eyes narrowed as he focused on the name, written on the necklace in Heero's hand.
Why can't she leave him alone? He wondered furiously. You've only met her once. Give her a chance, reasoned Lady Helen's voice.
Duo snorted. He didn't know why he was getting so worked up by this. It wasn't as though it in any way affected him.
I'm only being loyal to my knight master, Duo reassured himself.
*
Quatre sniffed, breathing in the scent of the bubbling stew. It was being produced en masse, to feed the thousands of mouths that were already clamouring for their dinner. The blonde prince's stomach growled and Quatre smiled a little guiltily at one of the chefs. The man smiled indulgently back, and slipped the adorable boy a piece of the lamb that hadn't already made its way into the pot.
Quatre smiled again in thanks, and strolled away, munching. Frowning suddenly, he paused. Ahead of him, alone by the tents, was a slender, silver blonde squire. Quatre stared openly as the youth's face came into view. He was beautiful.
A catlike face, and a deep green eye flashed before his mind for a moment, superimposing itself over the silver-haired boy's features.
Approaching the youth, he held out a hand. "I'm Quatre." He offered.
The youth arched one pale eyebrow. "Ariel." He said shortly, ignoring the outstretched hand. Not offended, Quatre withdrew his hand.
Where are you from?" he asked. Ariel glanced disparagingly at him, and away. "Dastrane, obviously. Maxwell."
"Duo comes from there!" Quatre said delightedly. "Any relation?"
If possible, the pale boy's aura became even colder. "Yes." He said shortly, pushing past Quatre.
Quatre watched his straight figure stalk away through the bustling people, his head tilted.
"What a strange person..." he mused.
*
[1] The name came from a book I used to love when I was little, called the Silver Brumby. Belongs to Elyne Mitchell, not me.