Post your fanfiction here

[Paola]

Well, I got my answer.

*updates death count*

[Satoshi]

Hahaha.. Chad is now rotting.. ;D

[Beta Food At School]

That must stink, i'll put more of my fanfiction when I get home

[TerranigmaFreak (admin)]

Remind me not to get on Paola's bad side...

[SummerWolf]

Made while bored.

Once upon a Fanfiction

The young dancer stared at the parchment in her hand with dismay.

It was a beautiful day as usual in Nodion, with plenty of sunlight, cool breezes and Aless to last for much longer than twenty four hours. They’d made plans to ride into the country and had themselves a little picnic in the afternoon, before retiring incognito in one of the villages and enjoy a little normal dinner. The plans were perfect, though Lynn had a sneaking doubt that Aless’s chances of pulling off the unassuming traveller act were less than perfect, as he did resemble his late father quite a lot. But it looked like a lot of fun, and she was rather looking forward to it.

That was before the parchment came.

The enclosed letter had been in Nanna’s handwriting with the seal of Lenster’s royal house stamped on it, as verified by Delmud, so it couldn’t have been a prank. And once poor Aless had read the contents of the parchment, he literally had to be carried off the to family physician and hadn’t recovered since.

Nanna’s anguished letter explained enough, but the parchment was absolutely horrifying.

“I am queen,” Lynn steeled herself, crunching the thing in her fist. “I have to remain sane for Aless’s sake, and deal with this for him. And moreso,” she paused, looking straight at the sky. “I’m probably one of the few capable of beating some sense into this madness.”

So it was that the former dancer (she still danced for the populace occasionally, the Nodion’s master of etiquettes frowned upon such behaviour) stormed off to the study and began to draft a letter addressed to Barhara. Lakche most likely knew, but some accord had to be reached and for that, they had to pull together. It was the only way one could make some sense out of this mess.

---------------

Eda sighed as she took off from the top of Nodion’s Dragon Post, the official Agustrian hub for Thracia’s newly commissioned Dragon Service. She never really liked the duty, even though the reasons for it were clear.

As the unified Thracia was having troubles with its monetary and provisionary standings, torn by war and lack of crops for the barren Thracian half, the ruling council had proposed an idea. The ‘Lenster Half’ had to supply the other half with food and other provisions, but the Thracian forces had nothing to give back as mercenaries were useless without wars. And with the crusaders ruling literally every significant houses, the chances of that happening were just about as good as a Dragon Rider surviving the Ichieval.

That was when somebody---Eda was sure he was Lenster born, surely no self-respecting Thracian and especially Lord Arion wouldn’t have thought of that---proposed the idea of commercial flights.

The way in or out of Thracia was restricted by the Yied desert and the mountainous climes of the southern part, he said, and there was literallly no quick and safe transport between any countries in the Jugdral continent. Caravan routes existed, but the lone traveler would’ve had a snowball’s chance in Velthomer against the bandits who rampage those. Commercial dragon transport, as well as a true courier system to better send news around, he reasoned, would benefit everyone as well as earning revenue, boosting local Thracian commerce, serve as an intelligence-gathering network and establishing a business monopoly. It was the ultimate multi-target shot.

So far so good. The idea went through, but nobody mentioned the integrity of the Dragon Knights.

Eda sighed again. Lady Althena and Lord Arion probably protested and failed to convinced the others---rulers of the petty dukedoms inside the established nation---and the Dragon Service was formed. Dean was lucky to have been assigned to Lenster, the ‘main base’ of operations, but she was sent here to the significantly colder lands of Agustria.

The Dragon Knight glanced at today’s list of passengers and transports. An old woman to Edda, a minstrel to Chalphy, a crate to Freege and a personal letter from Lady Lynn to Lady Lakche and Lady Nanna. She’d drop all of them at Jungby and let her correspondence take it from there, as Grandbell was his coverage, not hers.

Then the letter fell out of its holder on the dragon’s neck. Eda cried in alarm as she reached to grab it just before it was blown out of reach. Losing letters from queens wasn’t a good idea to improve one’s paycheck.

Before she tucked it back into the document case, the dragon made an abrupt bank as it found a better thermal. The old woman screeched, the minstrel clutched his lute, the crate’s contents lurched under the dragon’s talons, and the seal on the letter came apart from the sheer force of the wind.

Eda’s eyes involuntarily swooped over the contents, and her world was never the same again.

[SummerWolf]

Once upon a fanfiction part 2

Lenster was grey and gloom on that particular day with storm clouds flaring, blaring and otherwise threatening on the horizon.

From the vantage point of his bed, Leaf wasn’t feeling much better. It’d been a terrible day, what with that parchment and all. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t persuade Fin, Nanna, Althena---or anyone else, now that he thought of it---that it wasn’t true. The young king had absolutely no idea where the confounded thing came from, otherwise the persona involved would most likely enjoy a long and tortuous death. He already had come up with some ideas.

The mere thought of Nanna made him cringe. Dear Narga, what was he supposed to do? It took an entire platoon to get her off his heels after the terrible parchment arrived, and Leaf had the nagging suspicion that said platoon was more willing to side with Nanna than with him.

The boy moaned as he covered his face in his hands. He’d fallen ill since receiving that abomination, and still nobody believed him. Althena---dear sister Althena, only reunited and reacquainted with recently---had been avoiding him, Fin suddenly had an excuse to go looking for Lachesis, Nanna wanted to kill him, hard-to-befriend Arion shunned him and all of his friends and allies had mysteriously gone missing except for Asvel, and seeing him now would only make what’s left of his integrity deteriorate more. He couldn’t even get a letter out to faraway friends to warn them before it’s too late.

There was a series of knocks on the door, and a maid entered bearing a cart full of medicines. “From your physician, my Lord,” she announced gravely, trying hard not let the queer look in her eyes slip.

Leaf saw it anyway. He wasn’t a master knight for nothing. “Thank you,” the young king replied, taking the packets of grinded herbs and poured them into a glass of water. Grabbing a stirring stick from the cart, he nodded leave to the maid.

She left, but not without giving him one last queer look.

The boy sighed, stirring the contents of the glass absentmindedly. He probably would be getting those for months to come, assuming he lived that long. A few hours ago Carrion (as one of the last knights on duty, and he looked as uncomfortable as he could) informed him that Nanna was seen trying to climb to his windows. She was locked up now, but there was no telling if and when she would escape and what she had in mind for him when she does. He only knew that it didn’t look very pleasant.

The medicine had now settled, and Leaf stared dubiously at the foul-looking, foul-smelling broth. He closed his eyes, mustered up some courage with visions of murderous Nanna, and took a sip. It was equally foul-tasting, which was saying a lot. Leaf cringed, then forced himself to swallow down the whole glass. Bad. He felt like his stomach was roaring in disgust, threatening to throw it all back out, and it was all he could do to keep it down.

Lying down on the bed and pulling his sheets over him, Leaf wondered if they would ever get out of this one alive.

“If I ever know the identity of that godforsaken fool, he’d get a death far worse than Yurius could give,” Leaf, master knight, King of Lenster, cousin to the King of Grandbell, muttered as his eyelids closed his world vanished away into a dream.



EDIT: Author's note: All right, I do have a few names here (synthie, bardi, Alvein), but otherwise all Leaf/Celis craziness writers will be appreciated if they would show themselves...

[SummerWolf]

Once upon a Fanfiction, Third Installment

The King of Grandbell was running for his life.

In his youth, Celice used to spar with Shannan and the Isaacian twins every day for as long as he could remember. He believed—used to believe---that he knew every intricacy of their shooting stars, the range of every upward thrusts and jumping slashes. That knowledge was particularly being put to the test today as the young man found himself under the hot pursuit of none other than his beloved and deadly fiancée, Lakche the Isaacian Swordmistress.

And, much to his chagrin, Celice found that he was on the losing side.

Mentally cursing himself for giving her a replica of his master’s key to the household, the Light Inheritor dashed madly through marble hallways, jumped up a drainage pipe and climbed to a secluded spot on the roof. He couldn’t hide in rooms, Lakche had the key, and most of the really good hiding places were founded out some hours ago as she hunted him down. The roof...the roof was the only place left. If he could only transport around like his brother!

Sometimes being magic-illiterate has its additional downsides.

Grabbing the ledge with one hand, Celice hurled himself up, panting. He had to hide. Facing Yurius or Alvis was much, much better than an enraged Lakche. At least then he didn’t have his swords locked up in a case without the keys.

“And it’s all because of that confounded parchment,” the young king muttered between clenched teeth, balling his hand into a fist. That confounded parchment indeed...he still couldn’t believe Lakche and Yuria would actually hunt him down for that piece of foul nonsense...his sister was using the extremely dangerous Narga spell against him, and it was good that she didn’t share Lakche’s uncanny intuition for sniffing out hiding places. Must’ve been her Dozel heritage.

Celice covered his forehead with a hand. What could’ve prompted whoever made that rumor to do so was beyond his reasoning, and as he spent the few moments of peace contemplating his next course of action, he wondered whether Leaf was faring as bad as he did.

He didn’t have much time to wonder, though, as a window above him suddenly flung open and he heard a high-pitched cry “There he is, Miss Lakche! Over there!”

He recognized the voice as Yuria’s. Wonderful. Now both of them were teaming up against him.

Leaping down from the ledge, Celice ran as fast as he can toward the relative safety beyond the palace walls. It was by pure luck that Yuria chose to call Lakche---most probably because a bloody death is much more spectacular than Narga’s clean spell---and gave him a running chance. At least, beyond the walls, there were people. He could at least try the ‘hide a tree in the forest’ tactics Oyfaye taught him long ago, and might even find a cheap sword---Celice wasn’t really picky at this point---to defend himself with.

And that plan might’ve worked if he didn’t find himself running straight into said Oyfaye…strutting down the main gates head, looking very purple. The last time he’d seen the man looking like that was when Skashaher accidentally tripped over a carpet while holding a sword, and the trajectory of his fall happened to cross that of Oyfaye’s favourite memento cloak. That was around ninety demerits, Celice recalled, a horrifying sum that still haunted Skashaher’s nightmares, if his midnight mutterings were any indication. He wondered what sort of fell events would’ve put that look on the strategist’s face again this time, but whatever it was, it was serious enough to prompt the long ride from Chalphy, since Leaf hadn’t send his dragons to station here yet. Celice contemplated going up to him and pleaded about the situation. The man might be able to help him, somehow.

That was when he noticed a crumpled piece of parchment clutched in Oyfaye’s trembling hand.

Celice paled. It was turning to be very, very bad indeed.

----------

[SummerWolf]

“Lady Nanna, a letter has arrived from Nodion,” Carrion said, knocking at the girl’s door. He still felt somewhat out of sorts with the present situation. It was strange in the first place to see the Young Master engaged and made King at an age when he himself was still scrubbing the rust off the Lanzenritter’s armors, and the whole affair got incredibly complicated with the arrival of the parchment. Nobody knew who sent it or why, but once it came the gutter press was fueled beyond imagining, and courtly life was never the same since. He couldn’t blame Princess Althena for shying away, or Fin for excusing himself. Carrion had had the same thoughts for a few times ever since it began.

There was no answer, so he rapped at the door again. “Lady Nanna?”

Silence, and then a scuffling of feet. The knight waited patiently as the sounds that suspiciously seemed like the moving large of fencing dummies ceased and a red-eyed Nanna answered the door.

“Sir Carrion? W--what do you wish of me?” she asked, rubbing her eyes gingerly. Carrion felt bad for her. She was so very young, albeit a few months older than the prince. A mere girl when without her sword and armor, and no girl of this age should face such a terrible event.

“One of our dragon knights have returned just this moment, and he brought this message from the Nodion queen,” Carrion answered, producing a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

Nanna stared at the letter peculiarly. It was strange. The seal of House Nodion has been ripped apart, and the paper looked more crumpled than it ought to in its travels. She gave the knight a questioning look.

Carrion shrugged. “He said it was a transportation accident and nothing more. I don’t know much about the matter, but it seems you’ll have to take him at his word, my Lady.”

The blonde Princess of Nodion nodded. “Thank you, sir. If I may--?”

The question wasn’t a question, really. The older knight bowed and left the betrothed of Lenster’s king to her business, striding down the corridor. Things were getting stranger by the day, and on some odd hours Carrion’d ask himself for how long they’d be able to stay sane in the face of such happenings.

Then he chanced upon young Asvel, looking troubled as he walked the palace’s hallways. It wasn’t very often that the young mage would tear himself away from his busy life for a visit, and it wasn’t very often that he’d bear an expression that more closely resembled someone who’d just discovered he’d been turned into stone.

“Greetings, Master Asvel,” Carrion called, trying to sound as cheerful as he could manage. No reason to worry people right and left. “What brings you all the way to the palace? It’s not every day that you would drop by...the king would be happy to see you.”

The dreaded look on the young mage’s face suggested otherwise as he looked up to face Carrion. It was then that the knight noticed that Asvel was holding a battered piece of parchment.

“That?” He pointed at the offending object, throwing a questioning look at the boy. “Is that the one that’s been wreaking havoc with the royal peace and quiet lately? If that is the case---“

Asvel shook his head violently, green-blue hair tossing like a whirlwind. He looked like he was about to cry. “No,” the mage managed a croak. “It’s not about Leaf. I was shocked with that rumor, but this---“

His voice deteriorated into incomprehensible sobbings as he crumpled down on his knees, tugging at the Carrion’s tunic as he uttered his next words. “It’s Sir Sety. Please, Sir Carrion, I beg of you. Send a dragon to Silesia...please! Sir Sety---he has to be warned…this…this…”

What followed was unintelligible, but Carrion understood anyway. His face paled.

Something was happening across the face of Jugdral, and he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like it very much.

[Bardiche]

I'm enjoying the fics so far (No really, I am!), but before I do anything else, I have a few words to say in my defense. *coughs*

I wasn't always a Leif/Selis fan. I just happen to be living proof of what happens when someone as demented as I hangs around two certain unnamed fanatics for too long. Besides, were it not those two, I'd think that my craziness would have latched onto ANY RANDOM COUPLE, so it's just an odd coincidence that I'm part of that specific brigade. ^_^;

And now that I've said that, proceed with the mur-*is shot*

[SummerWolf]

That's all right. I wasn't a Leaf and Celice writer before I came upon this place either. It's a matter of the now. *grins*

On a note, I'm writing this story on a day-to-day basis, which means that everything goes completely on a whim. Just so you know. Oh, and Eda is modeled after Althena, since I don't really know her that well.

Once upon a Fanfiction, Fourth Installment

Delmud was feeling particularly bad that day.

He stared into an empty iron pot. Yes, what else to lighten up a horrid experience than an hour or so in the kitchen? Contrary to everyone’s belief (he still remembered the shocked faces of sister and father when he presented them with a victory feast at the liberation of Lenster); the Prince of Nodion was actually a very good cook. One Prince of Light had once commented in his younger years that Delmud’s spatula skills were nothing short of a virtuoso performance.

But of course, Queen Lynn had taken it upon herself to learn how to cook that day as well, in order to fasten the healing processes King Aless was now going through. Delmud suspected that the brown patches of what used to be food that was sent up to the Royal Suite was a pretty testimony to the his cousin’s well-being, and he couldn’t help but snicker when he saw it. Poor Aless would be lucky if he could toss around in his nightmare.

But he wasn’t snickering when he’d found that everything was gone. The ingredients, the provisions, everything. Apparently, Her Majesty had drained the entire warehouse dry in order to make an arguably edible lump of brown.

The blonde grimaced, running a hand through his hair. In addition to what the master chef would undoubtedly have to say about this, the affair with the parchment was resurfacing through his mind again. And that couldn’t possibly be good. Not ever. Especially to all who’d fought in the Last Crusade, as the common folk now called it. They themselves opted to refer to it as ‘That Huge Freaking Mess’. All the crusaders knew the selfless, clueless Celice and the ever-polite, unconfident Leaf personally, and while Delmud would go so far as to admit that the rumor had a twisted sort of merit, the mere thought of it was unthinkable.

Especially now that the latter prince was engaged to his long-lost sister.

Delmud clenched his fist slightly as he rose, trying to shake the thoughts away with less success than he’d like. If what the parchment said was true, Tailfing or no Tailfing, Lenster or Grandbell, both of the people involved would have hell to pay. The blood of those who held the Demon Sword could be quite murderous at times.

The young prince, as most of the palace staff liked to call him---to his face, he’d heard that his nickname in the gossip circles somehow involved onions---strode down the hallways to the sound of hammering. Nodion’s castle was going through a good amount of renovations to replace what was lost, and because Lynn had some knowledge of art direction. Some places that were left to rot in the long years under Alvis were torn down and rebuilt from scratch, and from the looks of it, differed wildly from the original designs. He wondered, at times, whether mother would be able to recognize it if she was still around.

[SummerWolf]

He was about to turn a corner when the knight ran into Eda the Dragon Knight, looking somewhat disturbed. She didn’t appear to even notice him as she walked by, muttering something under her breath.

Delmud frowned. He knew little of Eda during the time they spent together in Leaf’s forces, but from what he did know, it wasn’t like her. The young woman was rather practical in Thracian fashion and never someone to overreact to something minor. It was possible that she….no, better to not dwell on it. The parchment was sent for Aless’s eyes only, and only he and a selected few were privy to its contents, as havoc would ensure otherwise if the news got out of hand. It was impossible.

Still...

The young man turned and quickened his pace to catch up with Eda. The annoying little voice in the back of his head was screaming all sorts of warnings, and however annoying it was, it’d saved his life in countless occasions. Delmud would be a fool to not listen to it.

“Lady Eda,” he called as soon as the Dragon Knight came into view. Better to ask her and end any lingering doubts.

Eda turned, irritated, to the owner of the voice, thinking that it was supposedly one of those Agustrian lackwits determined to give her flowers again, and was surprised when the person she faced was none other than Delmud, the old comrade-in-arms and currently one of the resident royalty.

“Delmud? What business do you have with me?” Eda asked, her eyes narrowing. He usually wasn’t someone who’d stop any random girl in the hallways, and in the light of recent discoveries, it didn’t bode well. As a close confidant of Lord Aless, the man must’ve known about the parchment and if he did, there’s a good chance that this is about it.

On the other side of the hallway, Delmud forced down an inward chuckle. So exactly like a Thracian, that, never caring an itch about honorifics. He recalled Leaf’s sister as being pretty much the same, not really all that formal with anyone, but never really meant to disrespect either. Sometimes he felt talking to the master of etiquettes to be much harder, even though he never really tried to strike up a conversation with Eda or Dean. “Not really a business, Eda,” he replied, slipping into casual mode as he strode toward her. “But is it just me, or have you just walked by looking like you’re still up in the clouds? You’re usually much more alert than that.”

Eda snorted. “I’m fine, if that’s what you mean. Thank you for asking.”

Delmud stared. Eda was actually looking like she’s annoyed. “No, I…I mean well yes, but you look like something is bothering you.”

The dragon knight stiffened visibly as she thought of a suitable reply. Delmud made a mental note to remember her reaction well. “Something came up,” she admitted. “A letter t---I mean a letter from Dean. Apparently something’s bothering him, and I’m...preoccupied about that,” Eda finished. “Does that answer your question?”

Well, it made sense, but the little voice was still ringing klaxons all over. “What’s wrong with you, Eda?” he demanded. “You’re talking like I stole your dragon and drowned it in Orga Bay or something. I was just asking.”

The expression on her face was tremendously fascinating at that point. “Just leave me alone!” Eda practically screamed in his face, then turned the corner and made off before he could counter with anything.

The young man frowned. Something strange was definitely going on.

“Shut up, voice. Like I didn’t know that.”

[SummerWolf]

Once upon a Fanfiction, bringing you Installment Five

The wind was blowing through her home’s drafty halls, the winds that brought change and despair, as well as hope and rejuvenation. Freege, located close to the sea’s inlet, received pleasant breezes and wonderful weather throughout the year, with no draughts or major disasters. It was even said that before the war, the dukedom was a popular tourist spot due to its long beaches and proximity to the ultimate shopping center at Barhara.

Teeny wasn’t in any state to enjoy her environs, however. Clutching one particular parchment in her hands, the mage fighter felt like she wanted to cry and break the furniture at the same time. It was with great restraint that she’d managed to sit down calmly and try to let her frustration and anger simmer off with time. Somehow that method seemed to be overrated, as it wasn’t working as well as it should.

Sety. Her beloved Sety. She’d actually trusted him, left him in their separate ways to govern Freege and make it into a place her parents would’ve been proud of. He went to Silesia and sent letters, which gladdened Teeny enough that she was contented with living apart until everything settled down, when she’d be free to fly to him. And Sety betrayed that trust.

Anger swelled inside of her like it never did before. She knew that her mother had a quick temper from the servants, and she’d experienced Arthur’s fury before, but she never knew what that was. The anger of being harmed and unquenchable rage were…two very different things, now that she’d learned. That sort of anger would compell one to destroy, hurt, maim and obiliterate everything in sight until it was gone, and Teeny was going through it. She’d been living her life so quietly before that she was quite surprised to learn that she even had the ability.

Absently, Teeny tossed the parchment into the air and watched as it floated on the wind. Such a little thing. So fragile, yet it cut deeper and more painfully than any swords ever made.

“Trone,” she whispered softly, and watched as lightning tore the parchment into crisp little pieces, leaving only ashes falling to the carpeted floor.

The girl got up, adjusting her Freege black cloak around her shoulders, and looked at her reflection in the window. It was not different from Ishtar’s, now that she thought about it. Touching a fingertip to her mirror self’s, Teeny wondered how her cousin felt when Prince Yurius changed. She remembered vividly the day when Ishtar came bouncing back home and told her she’d met the Imperial Prince on a trip to Velthomer, and how kind and cute he was. Was it a feeling of betrayal and loss as she felt now? Or was it a deeper pain that turned into unbearable love?

Whatever it was, she could not do the same.

Lifting her finger from the glass panes, Teeny parted from the window and walked down the corridors, thinking. She was angry, yet...how could she be so sure that it wasn’t a lie? That parchment could’ve been an elaborate prank to discredit Sety---she knew there were people who were less than happy with his ascendancy to the throne---and considering that Lord Celice received something of similar ilk a little earlier, it wasn’t such a far-fetched possibility. And Lord Leaf...there were many disgruntled Thracian nobles who’d do the same.

But there was a possibility that it contained a grain of truth. She’d heard her beloved mentioned the mage brigade he was with many times, and each time he talked about his young apprentice a certain smile would lit up his face as if in fondness. It could be, after all, that the parchment was simply stating facts that they themselves had overlooked. Somehow, Teeny had to find a way to prove or disprove it. The easiest would be to go to Silesia and confront Sety about it, but in the case that the rumors were true; the possibilities of him confessing it were slim. She was rather at a loss about what to do.

The winds tossed her silvery ponytails as if in comfort, but it only served to fuel her silent wrath. The winds from the sea, from across the sea, from Silesia. If only she could ride them there in this instant.

Teeny paused. Couldn’t she?

Stopping only to give a few short instructions to cousin Linda, Teeny took to the stables and shot out to Velthomer.

[SummerWolf]

Once upon a Fanfiction, Hexainstallmentus

“You’re requesting what, Carrion?” Leaf asked dubiously, still staring at the form document in his hand.

The knight stood before the end of his sickbed, looking slightly indignant. Leaf thought it was a little odd, for he was ever the polite, unobtrusive man, never trying to draw any attention to himself. “It’s all in the papers, sire,” he said, hands still crossed behind his back in military fashion. “A dispatch to Silesia, and with good cause.”

The young man frowned. He was feeling a little better that day, in spite of the creeping dread that something was bound to go wrong again somehow, it was good enough to start receiving people again. Carrion was his first audience in the day, and things were already turning toward the unexpected. “A dragon dispatch…? And what’s this good cause, Carrion?”

Carrion tensed visibly, obviously discomfited. “Er...well, my lord, young Master Asvel came here a while ago. You were informed of that, am I correct?”

Leaf nodded. “I’m still a bit miffed that he didn’t even drop by to see me. What about it?”

It took many moments and many embarrassed coughs for the knight’s reply to come out, and the boy king of Lenster immediately understood why when he heard it. “Young Master Asvel…he was, uh, disturbed, about a certain rumor,” he haltingly replied. “It…concerns a parchment…and Lord Sety, the current king of Silesia.”

Daylight dawned in the swamp. “I…understand,” Leaf answered, and knowing that he really did, felt something halfway between heartfelt sympathy and sardonic mirth. Sety and Asvel...no wonder why Carrion was very determined to get that dragon dispatch. Practically everyone who’d served under him on the war admired Sety and liked his apprentice to some degree, and it was utter irony that he be partial to the same fate as himself and Celice. “I’ll see if I can’t work something out with Althena,” he told the knight, inwardly glad for some official reason to get talking with his sister again. “Rest assured, Carrion, I’ll certainly try my best to help Lord Sety out of this particular predicament.”

The older man gave him a wry smile and bowed. As he was going to open the door, Leaf called. “A minute, if you will.”

“Sire?”

Leaf had begun rummaging through the personal chest he kept beside his nightstand. “Do you think everyone will be fine with running this place for a few weeks? You know, Xavier, Linoan, Miranda, Arion---keep the other nobles from each other’s neck for a while?”

Carrion scratched his chin thoughtfully before nodding. “I think that’d be possible, my lord. But may I ask why you’re curious about the matter?”

A bit more effort on the rummaging part produced the desired results: Buried under layers of maps, mementos, letters and all sorts of knick-knacks were a few spell books, his mother’s light sword and his own silver claymore, bought late in the campaign. Taking up the first blade and unsheathing it to the glorious rays of the sun, Leaf grinned as he turned toward the knight. “I’m thinking of going along, that’s why.”

--------------------------------------------

For a moment, Celice was safe. Oyfaye had confronted the rampaging Lakche and bade her to cool off and wait while he sorted some reason out of his young master, saving his life in the process. The paladin was one mustache short for it, however, and he seemed to be taking the situation with ill grace, requiring nearly three days before his anger simmered down enough to request a talk with the king. Coupled that fact with the parchment that had made its way to the table before him, and Celice was having second thoughts about his future, if not immediate, well-being.

He was sitting in his office, in his own chair, at his own work table, but somehow the king felt like a little six-year-old again as he quivered before a positively purple paladin who looked as if he’d like nothing more than to sacrifice the young man to Loputous. He still remembered that time when he and Lakche stole Oyfaye’s iron cutter and took to the arena. It was around a hundred and a half demerits, and fat chance that he would forget it.

“My lord, do you realize the impact of what you have done?” Oyfaye began in a grave, carefully controlled tone. It usually meant trouble, if experience was any judge...but then again, you don’t really need the experience.

[SummerWolf]

“I didn’t---” Celice opened his mouth to reply, but the deadly glare of the paladin stopped him short.

“I didn’t tell you to speak,” he said indignantly as he paced around the room, trying to arrange jumbled thoughts into some sort of order. Celice wondered why he had to take this and squirm in the chair like a guilty child when he wasn’t guilty---and in his own palace, even. Wasn’t he the master of the household the last time he checked?

Do you want to deal with Lakche? The little voice in the back of his mind questioned. The king grimaced. The voice was usually right.

Oyfaye had stopped his pacing when Celice was still in the middle of his thinking, and his deep, grim voice shook the latter out of his self-indulging. “That---foolishness you were involved in,” the paladin said, taking in breaths so sharp it sounded like hisses. “Nearly cost us a dozen treaties. We’re lucky Miletos doesn’t cut connections right away, and I think most of the Verdane lords are seriously contemplating diplomatic silence if not for Lord Faval, bless his soul,” he continued, taking on the old exhausted parent tone. “I would not mind your choice of partners even once, Lord Celice, if you would only----“

That did it. Celice jumped up on his feet. It was too much, he couldn’t hear one accusation more, or he’d go insane. “How many times, Oyfaye? How many times do I have to tell everyone?” the boy shouted, his voice rising to unforeseen heights. “There is nothing between me and Leaf except our friendship, and anyone who says otherwise is an inbred liar! Why can’t anyone believe me!?”

“You’re telling me to believe that the parchment---“

“---is incredulous,” Celice finished, folding his arms indignantly. Oyfaye often said that the young Lord Sigurd was a stubborn boy, as well as Lady Ethlinn, and that Celice was more like the soft, sensitive Diadora than his father. Well, today he would prove the older man wrong.

“The rumor would not start without some merit,” the paladin said, scratching what remained of his moustache. “And while it might be true or it might not, the fact is it has damaged Grandbell’s reputation beyond measure,” Oyfaye sighed. “Your father would---“

“---believe me when I say I’m perfectly innocent.”

“---get a hiveful of headaches, and would most likely sentence you to a work camp,” Oyfaye continued, heedless of the interruption. “This is not just you and your troubles, my Lord. It’s escalated to the level of an international incident, and ordinary folk are being pulled in it! How can you be so irresponsible? I won’t be surprised if Lenster and Thracia cancel their treaties tomorrow morning on grounds that you’ve dishonored their king.”

“Leaf or the others won’t do that,” Celice countered, feeling a bit weak. He’d never thought of that...funny how peace could, in a way, be far more complicated than wars. Back then, there were thoughts of how the people they fought suffered, but it usually boiled down to whacking a sword over someone’s head. Peace was different, and he wasn’t taught of how to deal with it when there was no enemy to be seen.

Oyfaye gave him an incredulous stare. “I trust they won’t, my young king, but there are plenty more to Thracia than your comrades, and it’s them who’ll start the treaty-breaking, I’m afraid. I expect all our old allies to be significant affected by this...parchment, and their political standings would definitely weaken, whether it was true or not,” he sighed again, covering his face with his hands. “What should we do, my Lord?”

“What would you have me do?” Celice asked quietly, spreading his hands. It wasn’t really even a question.

As a long silence fell in the blue and white of the king’s offices, the racket that occurred in the front yard was another story. Dragon wings beat the stagnant air like hummingbirds, its cries raking the skies as its rider sought to bring it down in the crowded court. Pedestrians, who had never before seen the flying beast, yelled and ran for cover as the first dragon dispatch to Barhara landed in the green gardens and training grounds of the castle.

The dragon wore the crest of Jungby’s Post on its forehead, and the letter slightly sticking out from its holder on its neck bore the green lion-and-swords seal of Nodion.

[SummerWolf]

Presenting part seven...the short and dangerous one. Let me know if you have qualms.

The characters used in this story are fictional. Any correlations, coincidences etc. to real life figures and events are purely unintentional.

Once Upon a Fanfiction, Seventh Time


“Young Celice is a hero, a Crusader of men
he’d championed light and served good cause,
since he’s as young as ten.
With his sword and polished steel he struck the Dark Lord down,
Its black wings burned and Celice won for his struggles a crown.
Now from the war scorched lands a lasting peace was brought
Under the combined promises of lords in high honor wrought,
Lord Celice wooed the fair Lakche, Isaac’s sword maiden
To be the rose on Grandbell’s throne until their time doth end…”

Zynthe winced. Now, if that wasn’t an example of a bard gone horribly wrong, she didn’t know what was. The voice was off-key, the wording off the mark, and the tune just flat out below average. It was a wonder the proprietor of Kapathogia’s tavern didn’t throw the minstrel out of the establishment on grounds of causing ear bleeds.

And glancing at the redhead bard sitting on the opposite end of the long table, she realized that Bardi was having the same thoughts.

“Horrible,” the latter voiced, chokingly downing her juice tankard.

Zynthe nodded in agreement. “Whoever just sang that needs a few hours under the Verdane Lake. It might help his voice.”

“It’s really a good thing Alven and Iria are out shopping at the market fair. They have rather strong opinions on badly written songs like this, and you know how impulsive those two get,” Bardi commented mildly, signaling the barmaid for a refill for her juice. Being the minstrel for their own traveling troupe, the redhead had quite a good ear for mismatching notes herself but Bardi being Bardi, the girl was on the shy side of things and would rather stay out of verbal sparring matches. The two knights, on the other hand, could’ve taken careers as professional drama critics.

“Alven is quite mellow,” Zynthe noted, absentmindedly stirring her broth. It was something that Iria ordered before she and the good-humored Master Knight went out on a shopping spree, saying that there was a quality lance sale somewhere down the tents in the Dainwrath square. Something that smelled like wine with too many days in the sun and looked the part to boot.

Bardi shook her head vigorously. “He’s got too much of Ness’s influence. We’d be in trouble if that...tumbled mass of vocal chords doesn’t step down from the stage before they’re back.”

“You care to replace him? I’ve got the script for our next performance ready,” the other girl suggested, producing a score of parchments from her knapsack. They used to be quite expensive back in the day, but the rapid ascent of paper as a writing device made procuring the outclassed parchment material relatively easy.

“No,” the redhead answered, looking horrified. “I can’t take the stage from someone who’s already performing. That’s not good business etiquette.”

“But a good business practice. Let the better get the lion’s share,” Zynthe said, but tucking the parchment back where they were kept nonetheless. She looked up and grinned back at her minstrel companion. “I like this writing business. It’s fun, it’s absurd, and it’s incredible to be spreading the joy to the masses and watching the reactions of the audience.”

”Which, in this case, happens to be...”

Zynthe grinned again. “That, Bardi dear, is absolutely my point.”

The minstrel had just finished his singing with a round of modest applause, which troubled both of them greatly, and he stepped down from the raised plane used for the stage. Zynthe motioned to her partner if she wanted to go next and got a no for an answer, so she sat down and contented herself on stirring the broth in her cup. Within a few hours, Iria and Alven should be back from their shopping trip.

That would be when the real fun would begin.


Author's Note:
Bardi - Class Bard
Zynthe - Class Sage
Iria - Class Lance Knight
Alven - Class Master Knight