The Shadowman
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
2,574
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
19
Views:
2,574
Reviews:
18
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter One
Title: The Shadowman
Author: Cold Silence
E-Mail: writer.coldsilence@gmail.com
Category: Alternate Universe. Medieval Times.
Pairings: Various. New pairings will be found here before every chapter.
Warnings: NC-17. Yaoi. OOC. (I'm trying to keep them IC, but I don't think I've succeeded.) Death. Squick. Incest. Rape.
Website: http://coldsilence.tumblr.com/post/433113072/index
Heero had a favorite story.
Once upon a time, a thousand years ago, there was a group of powerful warriors. Their skill lied in the art of weaponry, and it was said that to watch them fight was to see them dance. Grace belied great strength and accuracy, and all the stories spoke that every child of their clan was born with the ability to handle a certain weapon as if it was a part of them.
There wasn't a single boy in the village who didn't know the tale or fervently wish that they had this supernatural power. After all, who wouldn't want to be the greatest fighter among their peers? Not to mention how completely cool it would be. It was not unusual to see young boys playing with imaginary swords; living their fantasies through their sticks among the green fields. Unfortunately, once Heero had seen seventeen summers, it was obvious that he was a bit too old to believe in children's stories, and therefore could no longer engage in the innocent games of make believe. However, just because no one ever saw him playing anymore, it did not mean that he stopped dreaming.
"Taii!"
The butt end of his long staff pierced the empty space in front of him, a mere split second passing before he pivoted on his heels and reversed his grip on the piece of wood to stab in the opposite direction. In his mind's eye, Heero was wearing silver armor instead of the tattered short sleeved tunic and loose brown breeches that tucked into his sturdy black boots. His hands were wrapped around the bejeweled hilt of an enchanted sword in place of the shepherd's crook, and he was surrounded by evil enemies instead of a field of sheep.
His shifting and leaping caused the jagged forelocks of his earthen colored hair to whip every which way over prussian blue eyes. Pretending was a favorite pastime of his; a habit that should have died off sooner than his belief in fairytales. Nevertheless, he continued his fantasy because it was better than watching the boring sheep mill aimlessly about the pasture.
He finished with a flourish of his staff and a downwards slice that ended just a hair's breath away from hitting an ewe right between the eyes. The furry animal simply stared back with blank, dark eyes; its snout lifting and falling as it munched on a bit of grass. Its serenity seemed to mock the wiry boy who stood panting and staring down the length of wood at the annoyed sheep.
"Ore wa baka." (1)
He was glad no one was around to see his embaressed expression as he planted his shepherd's crook into the ground and leaned against it. From his place atop the grass covered hill, he could see miles into the Kingdom of Sanc, clear to where Castle Sandrock sat on a raised plateau and reached towards the heavens with its gold colored domes and peaks. At this distance, he couldn't make out the flags that flapped at the towers, but he knew that they bore a golden sun eclipsed by the round, black shadow of the moon against a field of violet. The signet of the House of Winner.
As far as he knew, Sanc was only recently conquered about 20 years before he was born. Their former king had put up a fight at first, but his father told him that the Shadowman brought forth an evil black wind that drove Sanc's army insane. They surrendered within three days, and nobody dared lift a hand against King Quatre Raberba Winner or his wife, Queen Relena Winner, evermore.
It was a castle painted white, but black would have suited its walls much better. People lived in fear of his rule, though in truth, King Winner had been just in his laws and generous to his subjects. Rumors and gossip flowed through the streets of black rituals performed in the temples, virgins sacrificed to the god of Death and stillborn children. Some said the King protected them against the monsters in the mountains, some said they obeyed him. However, no rumor was more shocking than the one about Her Majesty Relena being the King's sister. Scandalous! No doubt they were living beneath a very wicked and evil king. It was only a matter of time before he and his Shadowman descended to destroy them all.
Shaking his head, Heero tried to purge his mind of those dark thoughts and focus instead on something practical, like what chores remained for the day. Long hours beneath the hot sun and hard labor on the farm had sculpted the shepherd into a fine lad. Wiry, but muscled in all the right places, each movement of his arms caused sleek sinews to bounce beneath tanned skin. His father had begun to hint that he should start looking for a nice girl, and he found himself considering it.
His thoughts wandered while the sun sank into the horizon, causing his shadow to stretch like an elastic band. Sometimes, that was how he felt: like a piece of rubber stretched to its limits, ready to be released and catapulted into some unknown place. All his life, he had carried that kind of feeling inside of him, like there was something intrinsically important missing, something he was supposed to be reaching for, something he was supposed to do. Of course, those notions were absurd. He had everything he could ever want in his life: a roof over his head, food on the table, a farm to keep him busy during the hours of the day, and his father. Nevermind the fact that he was piss poor, he was happy. So why did he feel so hollow?
Lately, every time he looked at the castle, he could feel a sort of resonance; a returning echo that beckoned him to go there. "Stupidity," he would tell himself. "Too much pretending."
"Heero!"
A familiar voice tugged him out of his drifting thoughts. He tilted his head to peer down the slope of the hill, and sure enough, there was his best friend Trowa doing his best to make it look as if he wasn't running out of breath trudging up the incline. Only a few seasons older than Heero, the boy was surprisingly tall for his age, surpassing the shepherd by two and a half inches. His oversized overcoat, which once upon a time must have been navy blue, seemed to accentuate his lanky figure. Baggy black overalls were tucked into a pair of brown and worn knee high boots; Heero was almost certain that the suspenders were the only thing holding the pants up.
Trowa was somewhat better off then Heero monetary - wise. He earned his coin working at a nearby stable, where the occasional passing lord or lady would give him extra gold for his services every now and then. When he was surrounded by people of higher stature than his, he behaved as meekly as any other stablehand, and in truth, the sight of fine silks and elegant manners sometimes put him in a state of awe. Heero was one of the few people who he ever really acted like himself around, and he was always glad for a real person to talk to. Avoiding eye-contact all day and being treated like a footstool got old after a while.
"Konbanwa, Heero." (2) A knowing smile curled Trowa's lips. Tiny, and yet mocking just because of its minuscule size. "I came running because I saw something moving atop the hill. I thought maybe one of the sheep had gone rabid and attacked you."
Heero turned a sizzling glare in the other boy's direction. Trowa knew exactly what he had been doing, he just liked to rub it in his face sometimes. The two of them shared many secrets. Trowa knew of his love for dreaming; Heero knew the mystery of how his brown forelocks could stick way out over his face and end in spiky bangs. Amazing what sleeping in a pile of hay could do to your hair. Trowa never bothered to fix it in the mornings; in fact he used it to his advantage. With part of his hair curtaining one of his emerald green eyes, he could make faces at nobles all day without them being ever the wiser every time he turned to his left.
Unfazed by the glare, Trowa slipped one palm into the voluminous pockets of his overcoat and retrieved a piece of straw to stick between his teeth. Heero knew the signs, Trowa was about to talk his ear off about the horrible day he had dealing with the nobles. After lifting his staff from the ground, Heero tucked two fingers into his mouth and let out an ear splitting whistle. A mound of fur obediently raised off the ground and gave itself a bone jarring shake.
Wing wasn't the best looking of dogs. Simply brown and furry, one wouldn't guess at his intelligence at first. Heero had trained him as a pup, and he grew to be the most loyal and best sheep dog there ever was, in his opinion. He earned his strange name by leaping over the tall fence that penned the sheep at night, an incredible feat considering how small he was at the time. "That dog must grow wings when nobody's looking," his father once commented with a low chuckle.
While Wing gathered the straggling members of the herd, Trowa and Heero started down the slope towards their homes. Heero listened in companionable silence as Trowa did all the talking, occasionally emitting a low chuckle. He couldn't help the fact that he was always quiet; it was just that he never had anything to say. Working on the farm and tending the sheep was hardly an exciting life; not that he minded. So he listed to his lifelong friend speak as they descended the steep hill.
"I am positive nobles eat three times as much as a horse does. This woman's bum was so wide she couldn't fit in her saddle, and she complained the whole time that it was the stable's fault for making them so small--"
Heero laughed softly. If only those strange feelings would go away, life would be perfect.
--------------------------------------------------------
Right at this moment, Duo was suffering from the most heinous torture King Winner could ever hope to inflict on another person. He sat in a room which would have been cozy, had it not been overflowing with enough books, paper and odd trinkets here and there to make it look like a cross between a library and a junk yard. Seated at a small oak table, he fought a loosing struggle against the steady closing of his eyes and head dipping as waves of sleep tried to claim him.
The source of his agony was a scrawny old man standing a few feet in front of him; back turned to the lethargic Duo as he scratched a few notes on a blackboard with a bit of chalk. His reedy voice had somewhat of a dreamlike quality to it as he went over the wonders of economy, the rigid hierarchy between noble and peasant, and the distribution of power between kings and lords; almost as if he were enraptured in his own words. True enough, Tsubarov loved to teach; educating the young and impressionable and leading them towards bright futures was his goal in life.
The old man wore a rich satin cloak of blue that was outlined with white rabbit fur; its hem ending just behind the back of his calves - lending Duo a rather glorious view of his scrawny legs encased in white tights.
Why the HELL does he wear tights? Not only did that fashion statement die a decade ago, but if I have to stare at his chicken legs for five more minutes I'm going to go nuts.
"...and so, everything is connected, from the farmer and his goats to the merchants with their ships..."
The man turned around, eloquently waving his chalk in circular motions as he recited the day's lesson from an open book perched in his right hand. With his cloak thrown back over his shoulders, a full view of his outfit was shown: a matching blue vest was tugged over a creme colored shirt with lace falling at the collar and sleeves. Some sort of bulbous fabric, striped blue and white, billowed at his thighs. The young boy supposed that if Tsuberov ever fell into the moat, he'd be able to use his weird pants as a floatation device.
Innocence was never one of Duo's strongsuits. Sure, he could pull the look off by making his face blank and causing his wide, violet eyes to glisten and tremble as if he were on the verge of tears. Unfortunately, his well-practiced expression never worked. Whenever some mischief in the castle happened, all fingers pointed to Lord Duo. Who put pink dye in the shampoo reserved for guests? Duo. Who waxed the floor to the point that walking across would cost oneself life and limb? Duo. Who didn't flush the royal toilets? Duo. And who set Tsubarov's foot on fire? Duo.
Duo Duo Duo!! Everything was always his fault. Nevermind the fact that he was guilty for each crime; it was just appalling how they no longer gave him the benefit of the doubt. Especially his mentor Tsubarov, who thrust a smoldering foot accusingly in Duo's face.
"I will NOT have you flinging your black magic while I'm in the middle of my lessons, Duo!! I have schooled exactly three Shadowmen before you, and never in all my life have I ever had such a belligerent, irresponsible..."
"...foul mouthed fool child. Yah yah, same old spiel. Can we get this over with?" finished Duo in a bored voice. His violet eyes slid towards the large oak windows framing the cluttered room. The sky was becoming dark; the promise of night and shadows calling him into its embrace like a beacon. Evening always had the strange dual effect of exciting and comforting the young boy, but tonight was an exception. In the same way the moon brought in the tide, something was pulling him towards the bottom of the plateau, where the citizens of Sanc lived their everyday lives beneath the watchful eyes of the king.
"I suppose continuing today's lesson would be pointless, you've got that far off look in your eyes again." Tsuberov quietly shut the book he was lecturing from and placed it on the table in front of him. "What is it that has caught your fancy Lord Duo? That makes every day this week that your head has been in the clouds."
"I'm tired of this castle. Its so boooooring," answered Duo. As he spoke, he took a piece of paper and began folding it into sections. "We always do the same things every day. The only time I ever have any fun is when we're under attack. No one can take a joke." By the time he was nearing the end of his tirade, he had finished fashioning a paper airplane. He aimed it towards the windows, and in one throw, sent it hurtling outside into the night air. "I bet even the peasants have more fun than I do."
"The peasants?" Tsuberov paused in the gathering of his things to tilt his head to the side. "Oh yes, they're having their annual fair today to celebrate the harvest."
"See! Why don't we have fairs?"
"Because Duo." With books in hand, the old man turned a wry grin in his ward's direction. "You are a spoiled child."
Duo's chair scraped roughly against the wooden floor as he abruptly stood up. He was getting more restless with each passing moment, and his mentor wasn't helping one bit. Pausing in the middle of stalking from the room, he waited a couple seconds by the door with his head tilted to the side. Sure enough, the sound he was waiting for echoed through the halls.
"DUO!! You belligerent CHILD!"
A wicked grin took possession of Lord Duo's lips. Maybe it was a bit juvenile to set Tsuberov's other foot on fire, but it made him feel that much better. He whistled innocently as he made his way down the insanely long hallways of the castle, and began the nightly search for entertainment.
End Chapter One
--------------------------------------
(1) Ore wa baka: "I'm an idiot."
(2) Konbanwa: "Good Evening"
Author: Cold Silence
E-Mail: writer.coldsilence@gmail.com
Category: Alternate Universe. Medieval Times.
Pairings: Various. New pairings will be found here before every chapter.
Warnings: NC-17. Yaoi. OOC. (I'm trying to keep them IC, but I don't think I've succeeded.) Death. Squick. Incest. Rape.
Website: http://coldsilence.tumblr.com/post/433113072/index
The Shadowman
- Chapter One-
Heero had a favorite story.
Once upon a time, a thousand years ago, there was a group of powerful warriors. Their skill lied in the art of weaponry, and it was said that to watch them fight was to see them dance. Grace belied great strength and accuracy, and all the stories spoke that every child of their clan was born with the ability to handle a certain weapon as if it was a part of them.
There wasn't a single boy in the village who didn't know the tale or fervently wish that they had this supernatural power. After all, who wouldn't want to be the greatest fighter among their peers? Not to mention how completely cool it would be. It was not unusual to see young boys playing with imaginary swords; living their fantasies through their sticks among the green fields. Unfortunately, once Heero had seen seventeen summers, it was obvious that he was a bit too old to believe in children's stories, and therefore could no longer engage in the innocent games of make believe. However, just because no one ever saw him playing anymore, it did not mean that he stopped dreaming.
"Taii!"
The butt end of his long staff pierced the empty space in front of him, a mere split second passing before he pivoted on his heels and reversed his grip on the piece of wood to stab in the opposite direction. In his mind's eye, Heero was wearing silver armor instead of the tattered short sleeved tunic and loose brown breeches that tucked into his sturdy black boots. His hands were wrapped around the bejeweled hilt of an enchanted sword in place of the shepherd's crook, and he was surrounded by evil enemies instead of a field of sheep.
His shifting and leaping caused the jagged forelocks of his earthen colored hair to whip every which way over prussian blue eyes. Pretending was a favorite pastime of his; a habit that should have died off sooner than his belief in fairytales. Nevertheless, he continued his fantasy because it was better than watching the boring sheep mill aimlessly about the pasture.
He finished with a flourish of his staff and a downwards slice that ended just a hair's breath away from hitting an ewe right between the eyes. The furry animal simply stared back with blank, dark eyes; its snout lifting and falling as it munched on a bit of grass. Its serenity seemed to mock the wiry boy who stood panting and staring down the length of wood at the annoyed sheep.
"Ore wa baka." (1)
He was glad no one was around to see his embaressed expression as he planted his shepherd's crook into the ground and leaned against it. From his place atop the grass covered hill, he could see miles into the Kingdom of Sanc, clear to where Castle Sandrock sat on a raised plateau and reached towards the heavens with its gold colored domes and peaks. At this distance, he couldn't make out the flags that flapped at the towers, but he knew that they bore a golden sun eclipsed by the round, black shadow of the moon against a field of violet. The signet of the House of Winner.
As far as he knew, Sanc was only recently conquered about 20 years before he was born. Their former king had put up a fight at first, but his father told him that the Shadowman brought forth an evil black wind that drove Sanc's army insane. They surrendered within three days, and nobody dared lift a hand against King Quatre Raberba Winner or his wife, Queen Relena Winner, evermore.
It was a castle painted white, but black would have suited its walls much better. People lived in fear of his rule, though in truth, King Winner had been just in his laws and generous to his subjects. Rumors and gossip flowed through the streets of black rituals performed in the temples, virgins sacrificed to the god of Death and stillborn children. Some said the King protected them against the monsters in the mountains, some said they obeyed him. However, no rumor was more shocking than the one about Her Majesty Relena being the King's sister. Scandalous! No doubt they were living beneath a very wicked and evil king. It was only a matter of time before he and his Shadowman descended to destroy them all.
Shaking his head, Heero tried to purge his mind of those dark thoughts and focus instead on something practical, like what chores remained for the day. Long hours beneath the hot sun and hard labor on the farm had sculpted the shepherd into a fine lad. Wiry, but muscled in all the right places, each movement of his arms caused sleek sinews to bounce beneath tanned skin. His father had begun to hint that he should start looking for a nice girl, and he found himself considering it.
His thoughts wandered while the sun sank into the horizon, causing his shadow to stretch like an elastic band. Sometimes, that was how he felt: like a piece of rubber stretched to its limits, ready to be released and catapulted into some unknown place. All his life, he had carried that kind of feeling inside of him, like there was something intrinsically important missing, something he was supposed to be reaching for, something he was supposed to do. Of course, those notions were absurd. He had everything he could ever want in his life: a roof over his head, food on the table, a farm to keep him busy during the hours of the day, and his father. Nevermind the fact that he was piss poor, he was happy. So why did he feel so hollow?
Lately, every time he looked at the castle, he could feel a sort of resonance; a returning echo that beckoned him to go there. "Stupidity," he would tell himself. "Too much pretending."
"Heero!"
A familiar voice tugged him out of his drifting thoughts. He tilted his head to peer down the slope of the hill, and sure enough, there was his best friend Trowa doing his best to make it look as if he wasn't running out of breath trudging up the incline. Only a few seasons older than Heero, the boy was surprisingly tall for his age, surpassing the shepherd by two and a half inches. His oversized overcoat, which once upon a time must have been navy blue, seemed to accentuate his lanky figure. Baggy black overalls were tucked into a pair of brown and worn knee high boots; Heero was almost certain that the suspenders were the only thing holding the pants up.
Trowa was somewhat better off then Heero monetary - wise. He earned his coin working at a nearby stable, where the occasional passing lord or lady would give him extra gold for his services every now and then. When he was surrounded by people of higher stature than his, he behaved as meekly as any other stablehand, and in truth, the sight of fine silks and elegant manners sometimes put him in a state of awe. Heero was one of the few people who he ever really acted like himself around, and he was always glad for a real person to talk to. Avoiding eye-contact all day and being treated like a footstool got old after a while.
"Konbanwa, Heero." (2) A knowing smile curled Trowa's lips. Tiny, and yet mocking just because of its minuscule size. "I came running because I saw something moving atop the hill. I thought maybe one of the sheep had gone rabid and attacked you."
Heero turned a sizzling glare in the other boy's direction. Trowa knew exactly what he had been doing, he just liked to rub it in his face sometimes. The two of them shared many secrets. Trowa knew of his love for dreaming; Heero knew the mystery of how his brown forelocks could stick way out over his face and end in spiky bangs. Amazing what sleeping in a pile of hay could do to your hair. Trowa never bothered to fix it in the mornings; in fact he used it to his advantage. With part of his hair curtaining one of his emerald green eyes, he could make faces at nobles all day without them being ever the wiser every time he turned to his left.
Unfazed by the glare, Trowa slipped one palm into the voluminous pockets of his overcoat and retrieved a piece of straw to stick between his teeth. Heero knew the signs, Trowa was about to talk his ear off about the horrible day he had dealing with the nobles. After lifting his staff from the ground, Heero tucked two fingers into his mouth and let out an ear splitting whistle. A mound of fur obediently raised off the ground and gave itself a bone jarring shake.
Wing wasn't the best looking of dogs. Simply brown and furry, one wouldn't guess at his intelligence at first. Heero had trained him as a pup, and he grew to be the most loyal and best sheep dog there ever was, in his opinion. He earned his strange name by leaping over the tall fence that penned the sheep at night, an incredible feat considering how small he was at the time. "That dog must grow wings when nobody's looking," his father once commented with a low chuckle.
While Wing gathered the straggling members of the herd, Trowa and Heero started down the slope towards their homes. Heero listened in companionable silence as Trowa did all the talking, occasionally emitting a low chuckle. He couldn't help the fact that he was always quiet; it was just that he never had anything to say. Working on the farm and tending the sheep was hardly an exciting life; not that he minded. So he listed to his lifelong friend speak as they descended the steep hill.
"I am positive nobles eat three times as much as a horse does. This woman's bum was so wide she couldn't fit in her saddle, and she complained the whole time that it was the stable's fault for making them so small--"
Heero laughed softly. If only those strange feelings would go away, life would be perfect.
--------------------------------------------------------
Right at this moment, Duo was suffering from the most heinous torture King Winner could ever hope to inflict on another person. He sat in a room which would have been cozy, had it not been overflowing with enough books, paper and odd trinkets here and there to make it look like a cross between a library and a junk yard. Seated at a small oak table, he fought a loosing struggle against the steady closing of his eyes and head dipping as waves of sleep tried to claim him.
The source of his agony was a scrawny old man standing a few feet in front of him; back turned to the lethargic Duo as he scratched a few notes on a blackboard with a bit of chalk. His reedy voice had somewhat of a dreamlike quality to it as he went over the wonders of economy, the rigid hierarchy between noble and peasant, and the distribution of power between kings and lords; almost as if he were enraptured in his own words. True enough, Tsubarov loved to teach; educating the young and impressionable and leading them towards bright futures was his goal in life.
The old man wore a rich satin cloak of blue that was outlined with white rabbit fur; its hem ending just behind the back of his calves - lending Duo a rather glorious view of his scrawny legs encased in white tights.
Why the HELL does he wear tights? Not only did that fashion statement die a decade ago, but if I have to stare at his chicken legs for five more minutes I'm going to go nuts.
"...and so, everything is connected, from the farmer and his goats to the merchants with their ships..."
The man turned around, eloquently waving his chalk in circular motions as he recited the day's lesson from an open book perched in his right hand. With his cloak thrown back over his shoulders, a full view of his outfit was shown: a matching blue vest was tugged over a creme colored shirt with lace falling at the collar and sleeves. Some sort of bulbous fabric, striped blue and white, billowed at his thighs. The young boy supposed that if Tsuberov ever fell into the moat, he'd be able to use his weird pants as a floatation device.
Innocence was never one of Duo's strongsuits. Sure, he could pull the look off by making his face blank and causing his wide, violet eyes to glisten and tremble as if he were on the verge of tears. Unfortunately, his well-practiced expression never worked. Whenever some mischief in the castle happened, all fingers pointed to Lord Duo. Who put pink dye in the shampoo reserved for guests? Duo. Who waxed the floor to the point that walking across would cost oneself life and limb? Duo. Who didn't flush the royal toilets? Duo. And who set Tsubarov's foot on fire? Duo.
Duo Duo Duo!! Everything was always his fault. Nevermind the fact that he was guilty for each crime; it was just appalling how they no longer gave him the benefit of the doubt. Especially his mentor Tsubarov, who thrust a smoldering foot accusingly in Duo's face.
"I will NOT have you flinging your black magic while I'm in the middle of my lessons, Duo!! I have schooled exactly three Shadowmen before you, and never in all my life have I ever had such a belligerent, irresponsible..."
"...foul mouthed fool child. Yah yah, same old spiel. Can we get this over with?" finished Duo in a bored voice. His violet eyes slid towards the large oak windows framing the cluttered room. The sky was becoming dark; the promise of night and shadows calling him into its embrace like a beacon. Evening always had the strange dual effect of exciting and comforting the young boy, but tonight was an exception. In the same way the moon brought in the tide, something was pulling him towards the bottom of the plateau, where the citizens of Sanc lived their everyday lives beneath the watchful eyes of the king.
"I suppose continuing today's lesson would be pointless, you've got that far off look in your eyes again." Tsuberov quietly shut the book he was lecturing from and placed it on the table in front of him. "What is it that has caught your fancy Lord Duo? That makes every day this week that your head has been in the clouds."
"I'm tired of this castle. Its so boooooring," answered Duo. As he spoke, he took a piece of paper and began folding it into sections. "We always do the same things every day. The only time I ever have any fun is when we're under attack. No one can take a joke." By the time he was nearing the end of his tirade, he had finished fashioning a paper airplane. He aimed it towards the windows, and in one throw, sent it hurtling outside into the night air. "I bet even the peasants have more fun than I do."
"The peasants?" Tsuberov paused in the gathering of his things to tilt his head to the side. "Oh yes, they're having their annual fair today to celebrate the harvest."
"See! Why don't we have fairs?"
"Because Duo." With books in hand, the old man turned a wry grin in his ward's direction. "You are a spoiled child."
Duo's chair scraped roughly against the wooden floor as he abruptly stood up. He was getting more restless with each passing moment, and his mentor wasn't helping one bit. Pausing in the middle of stalking from the room, he waited a couple seconds by the door with his head tilted to the side. Sure enough, the sound he was waiting for echoed through the halls.
"DUO!! You belligerent CHILD!"
A wicked grin took possession of Lord Duo's lips. Maybe it was a bit juvenile to set Tsuberov's other foot on fire, but it made him feel that much better. He whistled innocently as he made his way down the insanely long hallways of the castle, and began the nightly search for entertainment.
End Chapter One
--------------------------------------
(1) Ore wa baka: "I'm an idiot."
(2) Konbanwa: "Good Evening"