Title: Break
Rating: R
Genres: Drama
Warnings: Implicit shonen-ai. Mild profanity. Violence. Mentions of NCS, associated with Underage.
Pairings: Dragonslayers/Dilandau, undertones of Miguel/Dalet

Etc: Character peice. Loyalty. Trust. Dilandau demonstrates his hold over his Dragonslayers (and their hold over him).

The NCS warning comes into effect in this chapter.

For the record, I suck at dialogue. One day, I will properly edit. One painful day.

Part 3

There was a dead man on the floor.

There was a dead man on the floor.

The near hysterical laughter I felt bubbling inside me died when I saw the sword. It had an emblem on it.

Only nobles had swords with emblems on them.

It was suddenly, in one clear moment, that I had an epiphany: I realised I was the leader of a pack of idiots.

Guimel had been cleaning off his blade with a blanket in slow, methodical movements. Something about his tense but impassive posture made me feel... apprehensive, I suppose. Dalet was leaning against the windowsill having a cigarette, arms loosely folded across his chest, eyes unusually blank as he regarded the body dispassionately.

The light was dim, music loud downstairs, and they probably had too much to drink, so my arrival wasn't noticed. In seconds, I realised that something was wrong-- aside from the body, that was incidental-- but from reading their body language I could tell that they were... not themselves. Was it the mead? Were they high on opium again?! No... Dalet's eyes were too clear for that. I observed them a moment longer, wondering how two highly trained Dragonslayers could be so disconnected as to let someone sneak up on them like this.

Of course, Shesta had to cough discreetly, ruining any chance I had to study their postures further. Their reactions were immediate. Guimel sheathed his blade so quickly that I was surprised he didn't accidentally stab himself in the leg, and Dalet hastily threw his cigarette out the window as he sprang to his feet.

To hell with subtly then, I'll find out the direct way.

"Master Dilandau," they greeted at the same time, voices flat.

Their faces were masks, and perhaps to the observation of others it would have seemed that they feared little, but I had seen them at their basest emotions so their masks were lost on me.

Again, it struck me that their stances were all wrong; their forms were too stiff, eyes too vacant.

There's no adrenaline, I thought with sudden clarity. I knew how my Slayers acted to deal with the effects of adrenaline before and after each mission, Guimel and Dalet were loud and vivacious, not aloof and tense like Miguel or Gatti, or edgy like Shesta, or unruffled like the battle veterans Ryuon or Kagero.

I glanced down briefly at the body.

"A nobleman," the words felt tasteless in my mouth, even as cold fury slowly crept up my spine. "A nobleman! Do you twits have any idea--?"

I made the mistake of properly looking at the insignia on the sword. It was like a garland, circular in design, thick lines carved into the very hilt, and happened to be shockingly familiar.

The barrage of thoughts caught me short.

The Ashland House. The sons of Ashland served directly under the Emperor's Generals.

I couldn't protect them from the wrath of Ashland. Even the Emperor knew better than to dismiss his most loyal subjects.

"Ashland," I said, fury suddenly washed away by a numbness I couldn't begin to explain.

Guimel and Dalet flinched ever so slightly, but nothing seemed forthcoming. Guimel lowered his eyes, blue eyes unnaturally intense, while Dalet glared at some unknown point behind me, jaw set in such a way that told me it would take the Sorcerers themselves to make him talk.

Why, though? What was wrong with this scene? What would provoke them so that they would kill a nobleman?

That's when I heard it.

A whimper.

I glanced down at the body, startled, wondering if he was still alive and if I had to finish what those two idiots started. There was no point in killing halfway, especially not a son of Ashland.

I blinked, surprised but somehow pleased when the nobleman didn't move. Of course he wouldn't still be alive. Guimel was as efficient at killing with one clean stroke as Gatti was. The thought was laced with pride.

There, I listened. A moan, softer, but loud in the silence of the room.

I saw Dalet's jaw tighten, but there was no other reaction. His self-control was too tight, but Guimel's was not. Guimel's hands curled into fists at his sides, shoulders tensing. He glared down at the body in such a way that it was surprising that the body didn't spontaneously combust.

I found them to be interesting reactions and nodded to Gatti. "Find what's making that noise," I told him.

"Hai," Gatti, businesslike in demeanour, moved along the side of the room, hand on the hilt of his sword.

I stared stonily at Guimel and Dalet, silently daring them to move and give themselves away. To their credit, they did nothing, although their bodies grew rigid.

A small noise.

Gatti's head snapped to the direction, and in long strides he headed towards a dark corner of the room. He jerked something small from behind the armoire, throwing it to the ground in front of him for all of us to see.

It was small and round, curled in a protective little ball. It was whimpering faintly. It took me a moment to realise what I was staring at. It was a young girl, no older than ten, maybe, judging by her diminutive size, and streaks of red hair veiling her face.

I blinked. "Who the hell is this?"

There was a momentary silence, everyone turning to Dalet and Guimel for clarification.

"The noble was a pedophile, sir," Shesta explained somewhere behind me, seeing as how neither Guimel nor Dalet would speak. "They found him raping her."

The girl moaned wordlessly from her place, pathetically feeble, as if the words were swords wounding her.

The air seemed to change, deforming the situation.

Guimel lowered his eyes, the blazing fire there doused. His hands trembled but were abruptly stilled. Dalet let a glimmer of loathing show through his eyes before it disappeared behind the ice of his frozen eyes.

The others were motionless, mute.

I turned back to the girl.

Streaks of auburn hair, bruises along the pale arms and legs, and dark patches on her torn dress, which I belatedly realised was blood. Gods, a child.

"Dada," the girl whimpered. "Mama..."

"Shesta," I said quietly, unwilling to feel anything because I already knew of her fate. Rage couldn't help here.

He looked up, waiting for an order.

"Get the girl out of here," I waved vaguely at the unsoiled blankets, knowing he would understand. "Use the way back. Wait there with the girl. Have no one see you."

Shesta nodded, taking one of the blankets where the young girl had only recently been violated on, and listened to him murmur to her reassuringly. She didn't respond to him. It didn't take long to realise she was broken, in shock and disconnected from reality. I had seen a few others the way she was now, soldiers who couldn't handle blood and carnage. I had always despised them, but she was only a child.

Weren't we only children when we began training? Aren't we children still? I pushed the uncomfortable thoughts away.

We watched him as he gently wrapped the blanket around her, watched as he lifted her in his arms, watched him wince when she cried out and clawed at him, in pain and afraid. No one moved to help him. He calmed her with a few words, "I'll take you to your dada." When she subsided after a few sobs, Shesta took her away, disappearing down the hallway in opposite direction of the bar.

Once they were gone, I steeled myself for the next step of the strategy already fully formed in my head. There was no other way. I expected that Dalet and Guimel would understand the reasons, but somewhere knew they wouldn't.

They weren't like Miguel or Gatti.

I turned to the two in question, feeling their uncertainty despite that their faces were like stone.

"I suppose you consider yourselves heroes now," I said evenly, though my insides felt like they were being compressed. "It won't last long."

I didn't want to look at them when I issued the orders to execute my plan. I turned before I could see their expressions.

"Kagero, Ryuon," I gave the body a savage kick. "Remove this revolting thing from my sight. Throw him out in some alleyway. Remove anything that might be valuable so the authorities will think he was robbed. Be discreet, I don't want this mess being connected to us."

They made confirmatory sounds, moving together to deal with the body. They buttoned his rumpled clothing first, heaving him up by his arms and legs. There was a pool of blood on the floor where he had lain.

"Gatti."

"Sir?"

"Have the stable master prepare the horses. We will be returning to the base shortly. Take your horse and Miguel's to the back of this shithole."

He acknowledged my order, unquestioning, and faded in the darkness of the hallways silently, save for the sound of his boots scraping across the floor. I watched him go, feeling strangely cold. I didn't know what to make of it, so I pushed it away.

I turned to issue my final command. I found Miguel staring intently at Dalet, who avoided the gaze with a certain disregard that I couldn't readily identify. There was some private significance about the look that eluded me.

I mentally shook myself. It didn't concern me.

"Miguel," I said firmly.

He looked up at me, face perfectly unchanged but he didn't look at me the same way as he had Dalet. I found that strange and I didn't like it.

"Listen closely," I said with a steel edge, indicating that it was imperative he do exactly as I said. "There's a channel we passed when we rode here. Do you remember it?"

"Of course, sir. It's less than a quarter of a mile off the main road."

I nodded. "Gatti will be at the back with Shesta, waiting with the horses. Take the girl and send Shesta to the stables. Have Gatti accompany you to the channel. Kill the girl there and return to the base."

I thought I could hear the very air freeze behind me in Dalet and Guimel's collective shock at the words.

Even Miguel, who hid his emotions well, stared at me, clearly startled.

"You can't do that!" Guimel finally stuttered, voice taken by a rising horror. "She's just a baby!"

Miguel and I turned to stare at him. His eyes were wide with alarm, face pale, looking as though he believed he'd heard wrong. His eyes turned to me, pleading.

I couldn't stand the pitiful gaze.

I looked away, snorting. "She may be a child, but she's old enough to recognise who we are. Once the shock wears off, do you think she'll still keep quiet about this mess? 'I was raped, but the Dragonslayers saved me'? Can you imagine?" I laughed bitterly. "The insignia on his sword is known by everyone in this city, do you think it escaped the girl's attention? The Ashland House runs this city. Now one of their own lies dead while we were here on the very nighttheir kinsman was killed?"

"Who would believe her?" Dalet took a step forward, voice sharp and honed like a blade.

"Rumours like that spread like wildfire, and who's to say it won't reach the Ashland family? Do you think they'll let this go without investigating who was the perpetrator? Kill her now and there is no risk of them finding out."

Dalet shook his head, clearly not comprehending what I just said. "She's nothing but a lowly peasant. The words of a little beggar couldn't sway a house such as Ashland to anything but contempt!"

"But the seeds of distrust would already be planted in those rumours! It's not a matter of who would believe the wench or not. Ashland is a proud and powerful family, one that could destroy you both if they even got wind of it. The Emperor would even allow it if it would please them!"

Guimel was shaking. "That's not a good enough reason! She's just a little girl! She didn't do anything to deserve this!"

"No, she didn't," I agreed, reining in my anger. "But she's become involved in something that shouldn't have happened. I can't risk her having us connected to the death of an Ashland son!"

They still didn't understand what I was trying to do, still too mired in whatever emotional web the girl caught them in. I never had anyone challenge my orders. I wanted very badly to hit them, but I knew it would do nothing except send them over the edge and, though it stung to admit it, I didn't know what they would do, but I did know what they were capable of. They were potentially dangerous in their mental states. Even Miguel realised it and discreetly took a step closer to me, hand on hilt, ready to defend me if needed. Guimel was too distraught to notice, but Dalet did. His eyes blazed in anger at Miguel, but it didn't even seem to faze Miguel. The look clearly said Traitor.

Guimel was treacherously close to unsheathing his blade. "You can't do this!"

"Yes, I can," I replied coldly. "And I am."

"No!"

Miguel was dangerously tense beside me, a coil ready to spring at the hostility.

I steeled my voice. "We need no witnesses. She must die. Otherwise it puts all the Dragonslayers under jeopardy. Don't you fucking understand that?"

"Even you aren't so cold-hearted as to kill an innocent child!" Dalet wasn't too far behind Guimel, and I feared his words were true. "There must be another way!"

"There is no other way!" I roared, patience fracturing. "Would you rather have me take her to the Sorcerers?! Would you have me condemn her to such a life to ensure her silence?! Which is worse? Choose! I'll gladly send her to them if it would satisfy you!"

Their mouths clamped shut in shock, eyes wide at the words.

"Go, Lavariel," I snapped. "Don't make me repeat my orders."

His eyes riveted, as though unwilling to look away from Guimel and Dalet. He relaxed marginally when their hands left their swords, heads lowering in defeat.

"Miguel," I growled warningly.

Miguel studied my face for a moment, and I wondered if my thoughts were visible on my face, before he averted his eyes at my glare. "Yes, sir," Miguel bowed slightly and left, following where Shesta had gone only minutes before.

I turned back to my two remaining Slayers, glowering with challenge, but they wouldn't even look at me.

They almost attacked me. The thought was clear. They were willing to challenge me over the life of a girl they don't even know. Me.

I wanted, for one hysterical and livid moment, to hurt them. I wanted them to suffer-- in a fundamental way that didn't include physical pain.

"You could save her, you know," I watched them stiffen at the words. "Just as you had tonight. But you would have to get through me and kill the others to do it. Is she worth it?"

I relished the look of distress that flashed across their faces. I wanted more of that.

"Are you so righteous now, that you would challenge my judgement, my decisions? I would have you both stripped of your rank and killed to have the gall to risk the lives of your unit. You may not think much of us, but we consider both of you as our blood, our brothers, and I can't even trust you to put aside your petty emotions for their safety."

I could see how the words effected them, cutting them a little deeper each time. I wanted them to bleed until there was nothing left but desolation.

"The Emperor would crucify all of us for the enjoyment of the Ashland House and replace us like we never even existed, because we mean nothing to the Empire if we can't fight and bleed and die for it. Do you know why? Because unlike you two, we know what loyalty is. We live and breathe and sacrifice for it. We would all die with you willingly and without question, because that's what devotion is."

"Master Dilandau," Dalet whispered, eyes dark with some emotion I couldn't define.

I didn't want to hear it.

"I would rather die than betray either of you. And this... this is how you repay me?!"

"Master Dilandau!" Guimel was suddenly on his knees, eyes suspiciously bright with some terrible emotion.

Dalet followed suit, looking desolate and aggrieved, and trembled before me, so ashamed that he couldn't even glance up at me.

"Forgive us, Master Dilandau!"

I revelled in their agony, drank it in and savoured it like a fine wine. It wasn't enough. It only added to their repulsion.

I turned away, unable to look at them anymore.

"Is she worth it?" I asked quietly this time, unexpectedly feeling exhausted. "Is she worth the lives of your brothers?"

"No, Master Dilandau!"

"Forgive us, Master Dilandau, it will never happen again!"

I couldn't be near them anymore. They made me sick. I wanted to ride away from this place and bury the memory of this night.

"Do you still think of yourselves as heroes?"

There was no answer to that as I walked out the door.