It's exposition time! Also, some atmosphere, and some character development/fluff. I'm at band camp right now, so I'm seriously strapped for time – but hopefully, this will be impressive enough… the history wasn't hard to write, and the character-to-character dialogue is simplistic, instead mainly being spoken through body language, histories, and small actions – after all, what does it say of a Gallian militiawoman to be caring for an Imperial soldier?

******************************************************************************

The next morning, the two of them traveled in silence down the winding dirt road from their side by side. Cold winter air swept through bare, wind-stripped trees spotted the mountains around them, mountains that prevented them from seeing any further than a few hundred feet in any given direction at a time, giving the romantic impression of being far, far away from civilization.

The truth was much less picturesque. A mere three minutes' travel – Isara walking, Celes determinedly wheeling himself up and down the slopes with his own hands – brought them into view of the closest cabin, a wood-sided building of the same type of construction as their own home for the time being. It was of a modest size, to be expected from a farmer, with smoke lazily drifting from its single chimney. There was no activity outside in the yard, but that was to be expected given the time of year. If not in the cabin itself, the family would be in the village center for something slightly more entertaining to do, or out in the wilds gathering supplies, more out of boredom than necessity.

As they continued towards the village center, they passed by several similar buildings. Fallow fields that would be growing food crops – not cash crops, given their distance from civilization – could be seen terraced into the mountainsides.

"Really, Celes," Isara finally asked, "do you know why the Empire invaded Fhirald in the first place? It seems so… empty."

"Just the border of Fhirald," he said brusquely, saving his air for movement. Due to the heavy-duty construction of the wheelchair, although he never had to worry about getting stuck or flipping, it added a lot of weight compared to those found in hospitals. Combined with the weight of the unused motors, he literally struggled with every stroke – but he refused to let Isara push him. "Interior is more fertile, but mainly good industry."

"Industry? Just what does Fhirald have?" she asked curiously.

"Metal ores everywhere. Not much ragnite, though."

"Really? Everywhere?"

"Everywhere," he confirmed. "Hills and mountains, iron, copper, tin… everything."

She nodded, thinking on how she had been acquiring her ore locally. "They don't mine the mountains, though."

"Why, when hills…" He broke off, gasping for air, although the broken statement was enough to confirm her question. He'd stayed silent before because he didn't have air to talk with – even this much was too much.

Isara looked at him with a judging eye, then suddenly stopped in her tracks. Before Celes could stop with her, she'd grabbed the two handles and started pushing, the sudden change in speed throwing him back into his seat.

"Hey…!"

"You can't talk and push yourslef the same time," she said harshly. "I need to learn more about this place if we're going to stay here any longer."

He turned back and scowled at her, still unable to piece together full sentences. "Come on… later?"

"You'll look bad if you look so flustered going into town as well," she explained, a bit sheepishly, casting her eyes downward.

Celes resignedly sat himself back down, although his furrowed brow showed her that he still wasn't pleased about the situation. "I'll look like someone who can't take care of himself if you push me in."

"Wasn't it the same with the motor?"

That comment made him turn back and scowl again. "What do you get out of it?" he demanded.

"… I want to."

Had he not instantly spun forward in his own embarassment, he would have caught the flush of her cheeks. "Damn you," he muttered, albeit in a good-natured way. Before she could be offended, he explained, "Playing the one card I can't refuse."

The admission almost made her trip over her own feet, but she recovered, smiling. "Anyways," she said hastily, changing the subject, "more about Fhirald."

"The people are, for the most part, spirited, almost arrogant, independent, risk-takers… and kind of masochistic."

"... I kind of noticed that," she offered, thinking of how long it had taken for people to begrudgingly let her pick through their scrap, even when none of them had known how to utilize it anyways. Some of them had even been throwing away easily repairable devices that could have been fixed by any one with an elementary understanding of ragnite technology.

He smiled, although she couldn't see. "Apparently, according to Lieutenant Karst – " A thousand thoughts ran through his head, doubting his decision to desert, but who cared? He was dead to them, anyways – "it made the Fhirald campaign a real meat grinder. Let's just say that when every person down to the child is willing to resist an invader, weighing their life against those of the Empire's soldiers and always finding it in favor of them –"

"Was it always?" She found that hard to believe. "You said there wasn't much ragnite. Ragnite ordnance, ragnoline for vehicles, ragnite cells for circuitry… surely the Empire's military was superior in that sector."

Celes nodded from his seat, but explained. "Ragnite ordnance isn't useful except in pitched battle, as are heavy vehicles and advanced technology. Fhiraldians don't fight pitched battles, and therefore ragnite is not a particularly large advantage over them. They actually had superior firearms, what with their superior mineral resources – did you know that the weapon we know as the ZM MP was actually a Fhiraldian invention? Zechmeister, or ZM Corp, practically quadrupled in worth after they adopted the design for themselves, once the country was pacified – well, mostly," he added.

Isara made an unhappy noise, still unconvinced. "So, how'd they lose then?"

Celes sighed. "Tactical superiority can still fall victim to the deadweight of bureaucracy. The Fhiraldian military, instead of supporting their irregulars – which consisted of practically everyone – fight their own battles and push out the invader, they tried to create a regular army instead."

"Oh."

"Oh is right. That army, disorganized and less trained than the Imperial one, quickly lost the key and only real battles of the war. A certain General Radi Jaeger – "

Isara paused her steps, mind churning. "Isn't he one of the generals under Maximillian, invading us – Gallia?" she added, almost forgetting that Celes was an Imperial and not from the same country as her. It was silly, she thought, that two people from different nations could end up relying on each other to survive and yet politics ordered them to shoot each other –

"Yes, it is," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "He took control – after much of the less competent brass had gotten themselves killed in those battles – and promptly disbanded the army and returned to irregular action, but by then the Empire had made it too far. Once they made it to the industrial heart of Fhirald and cut off all supplies, the insurgency died, and, formally, Jaeger was captured – although it really was more like him offering himself up."

"Why would he do that?" she asked, picking up the pace once more. Another cabin rolled by, this one with several Fhiraldians doing – something – in the yard, perhaps preparing some decoration for the festival given the gaudy colors involved. Before she could tell, though, trees and then a hillside came between them, and they were moving away.

He smirked, thinking. "He's a bit… perhaps we can say that he should have been six or seven hundred years ago."

"What?" She wrinkled her brow in confusion.

"He has these ideas of how war should be fought. No, not on a physical level with soldiers, or guns, or tanks, but on a moral level. Overall, he did his best to respect and meet with his foe on honorable terms."

"… and he was leading an insurgency?"

The smirk flowered into a full chuckle. "Well, he did his best. The ragnite advantage was what he cited most of the time. And besides, there were plenty of other areas in which he could show honor. Jaeger actually had the Imperial general, Berthold Gregor, at his mercy after a particularly successful raid before the disastrous attempts at an army – speaking of which, that's where Gregor got the leg wound… well, I guess that doesn't matter too much."

"We dropped that bastard into the canyon," Isara growled, perhaps with too much venom to be tactful.

If it wasn't, though, Celes gave no sign, actually agreeing with her. "We heard about that – it was about time. I'd expect nothing less of the Gallian militia."

She felt herself smile a bit sheepishly with pride as he went on giving her the history. "Gregor should have withdrawn after those first defeats, but he blindly and stupidly pressed on anyways. It was the Fhiraldian brass's own meddling that doomed them; they served Gregor's specialty, pitched warfare."

"What happened to Gregor?"

"… um… you killed him?" He was practically giggling – the whole situation seemed a bit too surreal. A Gallian talking with an Imperial about past wars, when the two of them were technically at war right then and there.

She could only laugh with him, but quickly cleared up her point. "No, I mean, before that, but after Fhirald."

"Well, the fact that he won anyways was kept him in power, and gave him several honors to boot. Of course, that gave him a fat head in Gallia… probably got him killed."

Isara sighed, walking a bit faster – the frequency of cabins was increasing, and soon the village center would be in view. "Why are we still talking about a dead man?"

"… you asked?"

"Not really, you just kept on lecturing like a professor who's the head of modern history," she joked again, adopting a sarcastic tone. "Speaking of which," she mused, "how do you know so much about this? You seem to be awfully well versed."

He exhaled sharply, his temper flaring – evidently, the sarcasm had flown right over his head. "I was an Imperial soldier, Corporal Isara Gunther of Gallia." She gasped – he hadn't referred her to that before. "If that fact bothers you, you can –"

It was then that their dependence on each other, both past and present, hit him, and he broke off angrily, unable to form a coherent threat. As the village came into view, clusters of rough shops and residences were laid out in random patterns below the two of them from their viewpoint on the side of one of countless hills.

In this view, Isara felt her pace come to a surprised halt. Celes roughly grabbed the wheels of the chair, trying to push himself away from her –

"Wait!" she called. Instinctively, he stopped, turning back, although the cold irritation bordering on full anger in his single eye caught her as well.

"What?" he snapped at her.

For a moment, she just stood there, eyes downcast, cheeks flaming. Celes hissed, "If you've something to say – "

"I don't mind."

That took him by surprise; releasing one wheel, he spun the other to turn himself around. Neither of them had words for a bit, but eventually Isara started to try and explain. "I just – " Just what? She really had nothing to say.

Fortunately, her companion's mood quickly adjusted to hers, as he wheeled himself around once more, obviously embarrassed. "Forget it," he groaned. "Just… get me down there."

"Of course." His acceptance of her favor made her want to hop with glee – but why?

Atmosphere restored, she stepped forward and resumed, taking them into the hamlet together.

******************************************************************************

This is the part where you leave your review about the direction of the story. I'm not going to throw them into any overtly stressful situations for a LONG time, so don't worry. I got sick and tired of that about the same time you did.

That being said, I want to hear about where you want to see the characters go. With such richly established (I hope) backgrounds, it would be nice if you threw in your own input…

GREEN BUTTON. NOW. HULK SMASH.