Roughly One Year Prior to Part II
Snow fell from the sky, drifting lazily in the cool Vale winter air. Grey clouds blanketed over soft blue and everywhere Janus looked, people were getting into the Solstice spirit. Everyone except him. He hated this time of year. Since his time at military school in Mistral, he'd never understood holiday traditions. The Legion only had one tradition around the Solstice, and that was an annual dice game that often ended up sending half the troops to the infirmary.
Yet, as the white fluff blanketed everything, Janus felt like maybe there was more to the season than getting drunk and gambling away your small wages. His breath fogged as he tightened his grey peacoat around him. Shops of all sorts were peddling wreaths, trees, and other holiday decorations, and families and couples dotted the streets. Janus felt a small pang at that, but quickly shoved it down. There is one family—the legion. A Legionnaire has only one wife—his weapon.
As he kicked the snow down the street in this foreign nation, his thoughts turned to his new team. They'd only known each other for a semester, but, they were a solid unit. Even if Duncan and Lia brawled every other day. Valentine kept to himself, preferring to tinker with Tiny Tybalt, his lever-action shotgun-sword. That, at least, Janus could respect. He spent just as much time polishing and sharpening Rubicon. Something of a brotherhood had formed between the two swordsmen, despite their lack of words. There was an odd thing about Valentine, like the man was holding back. He approached every fight with glee, and was rarely serious. Janus hoped to the gods that he never saw Valentine angry.
Absentmindedly, he scratched at his arm, a habit leftover from receiving his tattoo—a laurel leaf frame with the letters IPQM and the symbol of a dove. Underneath that were twelve black marks, almost like a barcode, indicating years serving in the Legion. While it was unusual for someone so young to have served so long, it was not unheard of. Janus had been born into the Legion, or so he had been told. The Legion refused to speak of his parents, as they had been classified Absque Nomen, 'without name.'
When he was younger, this had bothered Janus. How dare the Legion blot out good soldiers like his parents! Yet, as he grew, he understood the necessity of it all, and had even had members of his own cohort declared Absque Nomen. It was a necessary evil, to preserve the honor of the Legion.
Janus laughed aloud, dryly, and without humor. "Glory only to the Emperor, right, Praetor Brutus?" To utter the name was dishonorable, but then again, everything about Janus' commanding officer had been honorable. His legacy could stand a little staining.
"Who're ye talkin' ta?" came a soft voice behind Janus.
He whirled around, reaching for Rubicon, only to remember he left it in his dorm. However, his caution was not necessary, as it was only his team leader. She had her hair up in a rare ponytail and her tanned cheeks were flushed with rosy color.
"Ave, team leader." The words came instinctively, but he managed to suppress the salute. Thankfully, he found himself doing that less and less, but still slipped up when someone surprised him.
"At ease, ya dafty." She giggled and Janus frowned slightly. The sound was...not unpleasant. "What ye doin' out in the cold wi'nae a scarf?" she asked. Janus noticed a thick band of red fabric in her hands.
"I had not thought about it. After wintering in Legion tents, the cold does not bother me anymore. We campaigned in Atlas once. Their winters put this to shame."
Opaelia raised an eyebrow. Janus only talked in full sentences around her, and she'd noticed. She stifled a grin and looped the fabric over the tall boy's neck, desperately resisting the urge to use the scarf as a bridle to pull him down to her and—Lia! Ge'hold o' yerself, ya numpty.
The awkward moment passed and Janus straightened, throwing the scarf tail behind him and adjusting it around his neck. It was warm.
"These people are strange," Janus remarked to himself, before remember his company. "What are the winters in Atlas like?"
A twinkle in her eye and she asked quietly, "I thought ye said ye been ta Atlas."
"With the Legion. In tents. Outside of cities." He slipped back into his broken speech, kicking the snow again.
"Colder," she said with a grin, "but we have our own traditions, too."
"Tell me." He said it almost like an order.
With a sly smile, she obliged. "Well, fer one, they stole the wreaths from our highland clans. The evergreen represents the lastin' circle o' life and death. Sometimes, they're made from holly, which represents perseverance through hard times. Even amid the thorns, ye can grow berries."
She looked up at Janus to see him staring at the difference market stands still open. Small fires contained in stylized barrels dotted the sidewalks. While technologically Vale could easily heat the streets with electric heaters, the fires seemed to be another strange tradition in this land. A small ghost of a smile danced across his grey lips briefly and Lia's heart felt like it had stopped for a moment. Then those piercing stormy grey eyes of his fell back to her.
"Thank you," he said, almost emotionlessly. He clasped a fist to an open palm, held it in front of his chest, and bowed in the Mistral style. "The scarf is...warm."
Lia smiled and began to reach out, but thought better of it. Her hand fell to her side and she nodded. "O' course. Stay...warm," she giggled again and turned back around.
After wandering around for a few more hours, she made her way back to the air-bus stop and took the ride back to Beacon. When she got to her dorm, she noticed that a simple evergreen wreath hung from the door. She smiled and touched the entwined pine branches.
What she did not expect was the sight inside. Strands of white and ice-blue lights laced across the ceiling, all meeting at the focal point in the center of the room. The beds had been rearranged to make way for a tree that was barely short enough to fit in the room. The lights from the ceiling all met at the top of the tree and wrapped around it, cocooning it in icy light. Where the white and blue hung from the ceiling, red lights lit up the tree from deep in its branches. Lia's hand flew to her mouth and she gasped, not at the tree, or the lights, or the rearrangement of the room without her permission, but to the simple holly wreath that dangled from the footboard of her bed. The red berries sat in contrast to the green leaves and small brown thorns. She looked around, but Duncan and Valentine were nowhere to be seen. Her eyes turned to the window, which they'd discovered early on led to a small balcony. Janus sat there, his face buried in the scarf, his eyes closed.
"Och!" cried Duncan as he shimmied past the pointed branches of the tree in the center of the room. "Who's brilliant idea?" he asked, sourly.
"Touch the tree, an' I keel-haul yer sorry arse!" came Lia's response from the tiny side-bathroom.
"Hurry up in'ere, ye troll. I's no' like any amount o' makeup is gonna make ya any less haggard!" He started knocking on the door repeatedly, wearing nothing but his long pajama bottoms. His hair fell loose around his neck, wavy and frizzy outside of the normal braided patterns.
The sliding door opened slightly and Duncan leaned in only to get a fist to the nose and the door slid shut again. Valentine laughed softly and went back to his weapon, dismantling it on his bed, polishing everything, then reassembling the complex device. He'd gotten it down to two minutes, and was going for one.
Janus simply shook his head, grabbed a duffle bag, picked up his scroll, and left, heading down to the public bathrooms.
With a huff, Duncan set his stuff down, and shouted, "Fine, ye bampot! Ye win!"
Awkwardly, he began to dress. Valentine quickly averted his eyes and went back to reassembling Tiny Tybalt. Val had been the first to be completely ready, choosing to wear the provided attire, for those without any formal dress to their names. Everyone had stared at him, the boy who always took the detention rather than wear the school uniform. He'd just grinned then grabbed the wrists of his suit top and yanked the entire sleeve off of each arm, revealing his muscular arms. The thick metal piercings in each shoulder were polished and gleaming, the screw holes oiled. He'd debated on whether or not to wear the giant spikes, but decided against it. Should he find himself in the mood, he didn't want to scare anyone away with the giant jewelry.
Duncan was muttering and cursing to himself as he slipped on the white collared shirt and tied the black tie around his neck. Then he slipped on the deep violet vest, buttoned it up, and finished with the suit jacket.
That's when it got awkward, and Valentine almost left the room. In highland tradition, the plaid kilt went on very last, so Duncan awkwardly shuffled out of his pajama pants and began to assemble the rest of the outfit, almost wishing he'd just stuck with the traditional Vale tuxedo.
After the hose, flashes, and brogues were assembled on his legs, he began to fiddle with the fly plaid and broach, making sure the fabric fell comfortable from his left shoulder. After the cape-like attire was attached successfully, he turned to the final pieces of his ensemble: the plaids.
He folded the fabric delicately, and gently. This was a sacred part of the traditional clothing, and he couldn't mess it up. Not that anyone would notice, he thought. Well...except for her...
Finally, he was ready, and he wrapped the fabric around himself before clipping it closed. He threaded the belt through the loops and fastened the clasp closed. Finally, the sporran—a thick leather pouch that dangled from the front of the kilt. He delicately threaded the sterling chains through the loops of the kilt, then fastened them behind him. The pouch wasn't overly ornate, but it was more than would be required for a school dance. He was immediately self-conscious of the gold and sterling silver trimming and fine horse hair tassels. The craftsmanship was excellent, and normally he wouldn't go all out but then...her.
He cleared his throat and Val turned his gaze back. "Nice!" he said simply, grinning. His exposed black-and-gold eye twinkled.
"Thank ye," he nodded respectfully at Val then turned his attention back to the bathroom door. "Now if SOMEONE would hurry their arse up in there!"
His shouting fell short as the door opened. There she stood, all five feet, five inches of her. Val and Duncan both had their mouths agape and Lia shuffled back and forth, nervously. "Stop starin', ye idjits..."
"Well," Duncan swallowed the lump in his throat, "least ye dinnae look like a troll anymore."
The last thing Duncan saw was a fist flying towards his eye.
Janus straightened his black swallowtail coat and rolled his shoulders. The rest of his team had already been shown in, according to the doorman. The crimson cape that dangled from his shoulders felt oddly awkward as he saw students around him dressed only in the provided formal dress, or in most of the girls' cases, simple dresses. He was way overdressed.
A Praetor must set an example, he reminded himself. Setting his face into an emotionless mask, he approached the doorman, who dramatically pulled the wide oak door open. The girl taking attendance was short and bubbly and talked too much. Janus quickly flashed his scroll and she took his name down. He then brushed past her and began the search for his team.
Valentine was the easiest to find, being the tallest student in the room, other than Janus himself. A slightly nicer-than-normal black bandana covered the boy's long brown hair, and his eyepatch's filigree was polished to a shine. The large hoops that dangled from his ears matched the golden twinkle in his eye.
"Ave, Praetor," he said quietly. Janus was grateful that someone around here knew the proper way to greet a commanding officer in the Legion.
"Ave, Escalus Valentine." Janus waited a moment, but it seemed the greeting was all Val was willing to do. The taller boy cleared his throat and looked around the dance hall, searching for everyone else.
"Dance floor," Val supplied, nodding his head towards the large, hardwood area of the floor occupied solely by couples dancing.
Couples whirled by and Janus' eyes searched and searched until, finally, he spotted Duncan's signature side-braids. They were far more elaborate than normal. Yet it wasn't Duncan that had Janus nearly gasping for air.
She stood as regal as a queen, her hands on his waist and shoulder. The long, black dress was gorgeous, consisting of a glossy silk strapless wrap that fell from her chest, parting at the left hip to reveal soft matte black satin beneath. Yet the dress was only the beginning, and Janus actually gasped as he saw her face. She never wore makeup, ever. She didn't need. it. Yet, her she was, with subtle hints of dark eyeliner and shadow. The red stripes of her clan marks were muted under a thin layer of foundation and blush. With her naturally tapered eyebrows and bright teal eyes, she really looked like one of the fabled highland ladies, said to be so fair as to cause wars.
Lia caught Janus staring, and her face reddened slightly. Duncan turned to see what had caught his partner's eye and excused himself, nodding to both Lia and Janus.
As Janus stepped closer, he saw the intricate curls and tiny white lilies woven into her creamy blonde hair. She smelled of cedar, sandalwood, and cypress. The scent aroused memories of walking through a forest, and Janus caught his mind wandering—a picture of them, together in a midnight wood.
With a shake of his head, he stood in front of her, and flashed a rare half smile. Her eyes roamed over his tall body, taking in the dark suit, glossy black boots, white dress gloves, and multiple medals that adorned his right breast. She reached out and touched one in particular—a black 'x' hanging from a red banner.
"For rising above and beyond the call of duty despite extreme circumstances," he explained quietly. "I received this after I chose to stay with the Legion after my parents' death and banishment." He reached out and brushed the dark silver pendant that dangled from her slender neck. The trio of teal stones set into dark silver the same color as his steel eyes... No, it couldn't be. He looked down into her eyes. "Ave, team leader," he whispered.
Pairs of students floated by to the melodic voice of the live singer. The song was slow and Janus gestured slightly. Lia nodded, "Aye. I'd love ta dance with ye."
The two took their place and Janus gently placed his hands upon her hips. She reached up and draped her arms over his shoulders and around his neck, grateful that she was wearing high heels.
As the song came to a close, Janus found himself unwilling to break away, even as some of the couples cleared off of the dance floor. The woman who was singing took a moment to drink some water while the next music track loaded. Janus' ears perked as he heard the familiar tune begin. The language was ancient, from some island between Atlas and Mistral. He remembered camping there during their Atlas campaign. The whole island was full of strong warriors who had driven the Grimm from their home by sheer force of will. Had they thirsted for it, war would've come easily for these people.
As it was, they were a loud, boisterous, but kind people. Janus had thoroughly enjoyed his days on that magical island where the woman were just as brazen as the men and could hold twice their liquor. Janus almost laughed as the song began to play and memories of his mother singing the same tune to him came forward.
Du kan om du vil
Ingen kan ta ditt valg
Bare plante tvil
Det er så mange veier å gå
Mange mål som kan nåes om du våger
Å tro på at du har det som skal til
Vi har alle tvil
Spørsmål om valg
Er dette det du vil
Det er så mange hensyn å ta
Mange strenger som drar hver sin retning
Frykten for feiltrinn kan mørklegge alt
Vi har alle tvil
Men det vakreste du har
Er et lys som skinner klart
Og det bor det inne i deg
Et kompass som lyser opp din natt
De vet ingenting
De har ingen svar
Det er det kun du som har
Det er så mange veier å gå
Mange mål som kan nåes om du våger
Å tro på at du har det som skal til
Vi har alle tvil
Men det vakreste du har
Er et lys som skinner klart
Og det bor det inne i deg
Et kompass som lyser opp din natt
Men det vakreste du har
Er et lys som skinner klart
Og det bor det inne i deg
Et kompass som lyser opp din natt
At the look on Lia's face, Janus leaned in, his lips almost against her neck, and began to sing the translation.
You can do it if you want
No one can take your choice
They only plant doubts
There are so many ways to go
Many goals that can be reached if you dare
Believe that you have what it takes
We all hold doubts
Fears about paths
Is this what you want?
There are so many concerns we have
Many strings going opposite ways
The fear of mistakes blinds you to everything
We all hold doubts
But the most beautiful thing you have
Is a light that shines brightly
And that lives inside
A compass that lights up your night
They know nothing
They have no answers
It is only you
There are so many ways to go
Many goals that can be reached if you dare
Believe that you'll have it all
We all hold doubts
But the most beautiful thing you have
Is a light that shines brightly
And that lives inside
A compass that lights up your night
For the most beautiful thing you have
Is a light that shines brightly
And that lives inside
A compass that lights up your night
Lia's eyes widened and watered slightly. Janus' voice was a soft baritone, and somehow was able to focus on the translation. The effect was a multi-lingual melody in either of her ears. The lyrics were as beautiful as the voices delivering them.
When the song was done, Lia asked quietly, "Did ye ever think ta be a singer instead o' a hunter?"
He just smiled at that. "The Legion is not one to shirk artists. We cultivate painters, musicians, authors, poets, and, yes, even singers. Nothing terrifies an enemy than a singing army." The way he said it was meant as a joke, but it had a kernel of truth. The Legion's battle songs would often end conflicts before the real fighting even began.
As the next several songs came and went, and even when they switched from the vocalist to a soundtrack, Lia and Janus just rocked back and forth gently on the dance floor, spinning ever so slowly. Neither of them wanted to let go and be the one to end the moment, so they didn't. Even when the faster, more upbeat songs came on, the just found themselves on the fringes of the floor, trying to keep out of the way.
Janus softly told stories of the Legion, and of his parents, while Lia recanted her days in the highlands and all the hell she raised with her cousins. Janus found himself falling in love with the soft, melodic, accented voice that passed between her full lips. The sudden desire to kiss her struck him like a punch in the gut, leaving him breathless.
She noticed.
"Are ye okay?" she asked, the worry in her voice made Janus weak at the knees. She was worried. For him!
"I am...okay," he said, slowly. "Actually," he straightened, took a step back, and offered his gloved hand. "I am better than 'okay.'"
She took his hand, her pulse fluttering in her throat as she stared up at him. This was not how she imagined the night going. This was not how she imagined...anything of romance. Raised around her rough cousins, it was learn quick or suffer defeat and ridicule. She prided herself on being a tough badass. This feeling, this weak-kneed nervousness, this was new to her.
And she loved it.
He led her out of the hall, up a few flights of stairs, and out onto a rooftop. The sky was gray with clouds, save for one small patch where the broken moon shone like a beacon of light. Soft snowflakes drifted in the air. They fell against Lia's hair and skin, melting against her warm flesh. She stared at Janus as he tilted his head skyward to catch the frosty precipitation on his cheeks. His pale skin flushed with red at the temperature change.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and lowered his gaze to the woman beside him. His hand still held hers.
Her lips parted slightly, the air steaming in front of her.
His heart raced. Years with the Legion had not prepared him for this. Right now he was pure instinct. Gently, he brushed his now bare knuckles against her warm, slender neck.
"Janus?" she breathed.
"Lia..." he said softly.
Slowly, he leaned in...
Author's Note: There you have my very first fluff piece written for Team OAQE of the "The White War Arc". I hope you all enjoyed it! This love qudrangle is going to be so much fun to write! Of course, myself and my co-author for this segment are very much in favor of what we're dubbing "Red Lily" (Janus/Lia), there's still a lot more to come for "Loch Ness" (Duncan/Lia) and "Italian Soda" (Val/Lia).
Hopefully, I'll have another Part II chapter up here soon. Work has me utterly exhausted. Hope you all are having a great holiday season!