A Kindred Spirit

[Altamira]

A crest was etched upon the green-dyed wood before her, golden swirls and archaic letters encompassing a larger, central, spade-like symbol. Long had Cadenza been curious about what was concealed behind the ornate door, but even as a teacher’s assistant she had never had a satisfactory reason to justify opening it. Multitudes of students, staff members, and various other witnesses roamed the halls at all hours. It seemed there was never a convenient time to enter. Never---until that day.

The gypsy’s sister Vivace, an expert in fire magic, was coincidentally paying a visit to her little sibling during the same day on which a massive wildfire erupted in one of the Dome’s largest gardens. While water mages and teachers rushed to douse the flames, and students and other residents of the Dome rushed to gawk at the spectacle, the two women surreptitiously made their way to the mysterious green door. The eldest sister melted the lock with a plume of white fire, and after giving her younger sibling instructions, thrust her forward into the pale sunlight inside.

“A wealthy kingdom lies behind this door,” Vivace had said, “Algretta’s research confirms it. When you return, I expect to hear that there has been a severe decline in number of their riches.” Put in lame man’s terms, Cadenza was expected to rob the royalty that lived behind the door, because they were expected to have many precious items. Some of which, Vivace had elaborated, could not be found in their dimension, and with that explanation it became evident that the gypsy was using the Dome to travel because of its strange ability to be in any dimension at any given time.

Cadenza stumbled into the warm midday glow and righted herself on her feet with the aid of a tall oak tree. On the horizon she could make out the faint silhouettes of men on horseback. Judging from the atmospheric sounds of clanging metal and battle cries, it was obvious what was transpiring on those faraway hills. It was the gypsy’s greatest fear—war.

In her peripheral vision, she became vaguely aware of another horse and rider trotting up behind her.

A rich, masculine voice called out to her moments later, with genuine concern apparent in the tone. “My lady,” the voice’s owner said, “you are dreadfully close to a dangerous battle. Are thou lost?”
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OoC: This introduction is short in comparision to the later parts I have planned. I'm not sure of how many parts there will be altogether, but expect it to be longer than my last character fiction piece Bittersweet. This story will involve both Cadenza and Hunter (if you couldn't already tell from that last line. )

[Altamira]

OoC: Yes, I'm picking this piece back up. This story sort of needs to be told.

As far as Cadenza's timeline goes, this piece comes after "Reasons and Motives" and before "Her Rebellion". As for Hunter, this comes after "The Witch and the Unsuspecting Wormhole".

BiC:
At the first sight of the man, Cadenza was rendered breathless. Soon after, expletives flew to her lips. Sweet gods, he looks like…

The man, confused, repeated his question, “Are you lost, milady?”

“No, I’m not lost,” a bewildered Cadenza snapped back.

The man seemed undaunted by her tone, and regarded her with the same polite concern and curiosity from before. “Why then, pray tell, does a lady wander so near to a field of battle?”

The gypsy didn’t respond readily. The resemblance of his face...it was too striking for her to get over. Curses, look away from him, you idiot. she told herself. Lie. “I’m part of a dance troupe,” she said after a hesitant moment. “My sisters and I were traveling through this region when we got separated. I came here searching for them, but have had no luck.”

The man just smiled and nodded. Cadenza would have considered the smile patronizing from anyone else, but his didn’t bother her. It was almost…charming. That notion bothered her even more.

“Dancing troupe?” he repeated thoughtfully, as if the term was vaguely familiar to him. “I do believe I have heard word of a dance troupe with a performing engagement in Greyshire.”

Cadenza felt herself smirk inwardly. Too easy. “Yes, that is my troupe,” she replied. “I should probably be heading off now to reunite with them.”

At that statement, the man’s eyes widened. “You intend to walk the distance to Greyshire, milady? It is quite a many miles. A long trip indeed, even on horseback.”

The gypsy gave a noncommittal shrug. “Do I have a choice?” she asked. Part of her hoped he wouldn’t have an answer for that question, because frankly wherever this Greyshire was, she’d rather make the trip there alone then deign to ask for assistance.

The man considered the situation as Cadenza already began walking off. Before she was out of sight however, he shouted, “Await me, milady! Await me in the nearby city of Saint Rudolph’s, disguised as an Augustan! I shall take you to Greyshire when this battle is settled!”

Cadenza cursed silently and spun around. “What?” she barked back. “By that time I could walk to this Greyshire twice!”

“No, no!” he called desperately, “Augusta’s forces are weakening! Their stamina is waning! We shall end this soon!”

The gypsy growled low in her throat. This man just wouldn’t leave her be. Soldiers and their blasted sense of chivalry, she thought, snarling. Stupid soldiers and my fondness of them. To the man, she yelled, “Really, I don’t need some knight in shining armor to whisk me away to Greyshire! I can handle myself!”

The man had no response for this. From the way she carried herself, he could tell she was no mere dancer. No—this woman was a fighter, she had had her hands drenched in another’s blood before. And yet…he couldn’t let her just go off on her own in the middle of a war. Acting on impulse, he delivered a swift but gentle kick to Mannie’s side and the mare took off, galloping towards Cadenza at near full speed. When she was within arm’s reach, Hunter reached down with a strong hand and whipped her up onto Mannie’s back behind him.

As he suspected, the woman had quickly realized what had transpired, her mind easily able to follow the quick flow of events as one could in a fight. She adeptly adjusted to Mannie’s rhythm and pacing, and righted herself on the horse, settling into a proper riding stance.

“You’re taking this whole chivalry thing a bit too far, Prince Charming!” Cadenza told the man over the wind and hoofbeats. “Not every woman wants to be swept off her feet!”

Even as she said the words as harshly as she could, she could feel the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. This man was assertive and strong. She could respect that.

He didn’t respond directly to her words, instead offering his name and directions, “I am Commander Hunter Merridale, milady. I suggest you hold on a bit tighter, as we will be picking up additional speed now.”

The gypsy complied and took firmer grasp of Mannie’s saddle, reluctant to hold onto Hunter himself. Just as reluctantly, she decided to surrender--as she considered it--her own name, “I’m Cadenza Madrigal.”

Hunter nodded to acknowledge her response, but made no further comments. The two rode on in silence for a time, the only sounds those of Mannie’s percussive hoofbeats.

Dun-ka-dunk. Dun-ka-dunk.

Gazing upon Hunter, Cadenza could hear the blood pulsing in her ears taking on the same cadence.

Dun-ka-dunk. Dun-ka-dunk.

The rhythm began to lull her, inviting reverie. In her mind, the gypsy was no longer riding with a medieval soldier, but rather her soldier: the raven-haired, grayish blue-eyed idealist with a face that reminded her of the commander she was with now. She was riding with him on his majestic, black steed, galloping through the cobblestone streets of Blancwood. Her heart was beating faster and faster along with his. They were soaring together.

Mannie came to an abrupt stop, and Cadenza was jolted out of her daydream unceremoniously. She shook her head to clear her mind, scolding herself for letting her attention slip so easily.

After a second, Hunter spoke up. “We’ve arrived at our camp," he announced. “Allow me to check in with my comrades and then I shall find a suitable place at which you can wait.”

Cadenza nodded wordlessly and slid down off Mannie’s back. She glanced around the camp, taking in the whole scene. ...So this is a war camp.

As Hunter and the gypsy advanced towards a cluster of soldiers gathered in the center of camp, a man clad in glistening armor burst from inside a medical tent, evidently in a state of alarm. “Prince Hunter! Oh thank heavens you’re here!” he cried, grabbing the commander and shaking him wildly by the shoulders.

Cadenza’s breath came out as a soft gasp at the title.

Hunter sighed, feeling the woman’s eyes on his back as her glance immediately shot over to him. He gave a slight nod in answer to her unvoiced question, a question he had heard countless times, and was, to be blunt, tired of hearing---You’re a prince?

[Altamira]

Cadenza held Hunter’s gaze for a tense moment. He…he must be the prince of the kingdom I’ve been sent to rob, the gypsy realized, unsure of her stance on her task now. Do I dare anger Vivace and leave him be?

The panicked man interrupted once again, oblivious to the pair’s wordless exchange, “Prince, prince!” he shouted, waving his arms around to regain the man’s attention. “Prince, our left flank has been overtaken by Augustan forces, hidden in the wood!”

Under his thin veil of impassivity, Cadenza could see how the news had pained the commander. His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles white.

“Bloody hell,” Hunter muttered under his breath. Absorbing the full meaning and impact of the information, he hung his head low, biting his lower lip to temper whatever feelings it stirred within him. Then louder, he said, “I take it that Saint Rudolph’s has been reclaimed by the enemy?”

The soldier nodded. “Yessir. And two-hundred of our men killed in the struggle.”

Cadenza’s face remained emotionless, but she felt her heart sink irresistibly at the number. T-two hundred? Two hundred, potentially just like...

The tinny song of a blade being drawn off to her left caught her attention, causing her head to jerk towards the source of the noise. She was admittedly surprised to see “Prince Charming”, as she had called him earlier, now holding a long spear with great confidence. His face had become exponentially more serious and stolid.

“I will take all in condition to fight,” he proclaimed, firmly and resolutely. “We will rescue the left flank, as it is the direst of our problems now. Send reconnaissance to Saint Rudolph’s. If the situation there is too poor as to be irrevocable, Augusta shall be permitted to keep it for now.”

The man nodded again, and left after a reverent salute to carry out the prince’s orders.

Hunter then turned to Cadenza, and bowed at the waist. “I must take my leave now, milady, but I am afraid hiding you in Saint Rudolph’s is no longer a viable option. Please, if you would, await me in the cowhide tent at the northeastern end of our encampment. A handful of men stationed there to watch over this area will provide you with food, company, and protection.”

The gypsy didn’t seem thrilled at the idea, but she nodded and headed off to the tent as he had requested.

Satisfied that she was safe and would wait for him, Hunter turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

“All who are capable, let us move out!” he called, raising his spear in the air to rally the men. With a unanimous battle cry, they mounted their horses and rode away.

[Altamira]

Cadenza strode through the gathering area and past the makeshift stables, sidestepping the pits of long-extinguished bonfires and dodging the few horsemen lagging behind. She had mentally counted off each soldier she had seen leave, making a point of noting each one’s face. If they were reported to be defeated and dead later on in the day, she thought, someone would remember them. She would vow to remember each and every one of them.

And as much as she tried to maintain her cold demeanor about it, she felt her heart going out to the youngest of them; the men that were truly still boys deep down inside, wholly unprepared for the brutality of war. Boys who still believed that man was innately benign, and that no one man earnestly wished to harm another. She almost felt compelled to weep for their loss of innocence. Even if they returned alive, they would never be the same.

The gypsy finally reached the tent after the last of the stragglers had rode by her, and she adopted a bored, withdrawn, and unaffected look before she entered. She didn’t need to make any friends here, she reasoned. She had already made the mistake of letting herself become slightly attached to the prince.

Three men immediately glanced up at her when she walked inside. One portly man with a dimwitted look in his eyes was tinkering with some primitive gadget made of wood. The other two, standing off to the corner, seemed to be engaged in private discussion. The first, who was markedly austere in his manner, had wrinkles around his mouth from frowning so often, and the other, who was seemingly his opposite, had been making light of some grave situation, from what Cadenza had overheard before she had entered.

The dimwitted one was the first to speak to her. “You the lady I heard the commander brought?”

Cadenza furrowed her brow. The word “lady” evoked a different connotation to her when someone who gave off the sort of impression the man gave said it. And it wasn’t the sort of “lady” idea she wanted to be associated with. “What…sort of lady do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

“I mean woman. Like any normal woman. What you think I mean?”

The gypsy shook her head. “Nothing, nothing. That’s the sort of lady I thought you meant.”

The man just shot her back a confused look.

Cadenza sighed and sat down on a bale of hay near the tent entrance. “So…” she started, trying to break the awkward silence that had followed. “…what are your names?”

“Hildegard,” the sober man said, deadpan.

“Peter,” his companion answered, waving genially.

“Bo,” the oaf uttered.

“Bo’s real name is Borrof,” Peter explained, laughing a little. “We shortened it to Bo so he would remember it.”

Cadenza rolled her eyes. Of course. I would be stuck with the guy who couldn’t remember his own name.

[Altamira]

Cadenza watched Bo bungle with his gadget in silence. Every so often he would glance up curiously at her quiver, then avert his eyes quickly whenever Cadenza took notice. He looked away so swiftly and reflexively that it was almost as if he were scalded and recoiling away from something unbearably hot.

After a few more minutes of this, the gypsy finally snapped. "What!? What is so damn amazing about my quiver that you have to peek at it every other second?"

Bo hesitated to speak. He looked to Hildegard and Peter for help, but found none. "I...I was just wonderin'... what was in it."

Cadenza narrowed her eyes at Bo. She absolutely could not stand someone who was both unintelligent and inquisitive. "Arrows," she replied coldly.

Bo frowned in a childish manner. "Oh...okay...I was only a'wonderin'."

The woman snarled slightly, but said nothing more.

A long silence followed.

Then, on a wild impulse, Bo lunged forward at Cadenza and with his heavy hands reached for the quiver on her back. Before he had realized it, the woman's slender fingers had a firm hold on his wrist, nearly tight enough to cut off his circulation. One thumb danced dangerous circles around one of Bo's pressure points.

"Let go," Cadenza warned.

With childlike persistence, he bit his lip and pressed on, trying to take the arrows out of the quiver. Cadenza's thumb stopped encircling the pressure point, and instead lay there, pushing with only a small, cautioning portion of its strength.

"I told you to let go."

Hildegard watched emotionlessly. His friend Peter was nervously swaying from left to right, worrying about both Bo and the gypsy.

"Don't hurt each other," Peter pleaded, more to himself as a hope than anything else.

Bo attempted shaking Cadenza's grip from his arm, and consequently shook the quiver he was holding onto, dumping out the contents onto the hard floor of compacted mud. A two-way radio landed with a thud and began emitting static.

Suddenly, Cadenza released Bo and snatched the radio up off the floor, messing with the dials and buttons until it let out a soft beep and powered down. She then spun towards the large man, teeth gritted.

"Do you know what you just did?" she fumed.

Bo's bottom lip quivered in guilty fear. "N-n-no."

"You just let my sisters know where I am. Nowhere near where I should be. I--we--could be in serious trouble."
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Peter had to restrain Cadenza from practically strangling Bo. After countless explanations, he still could not comprehend what he had done wrong.

"Let me spell this out for you: they...will...kill...us," the woman said, in a condescending and slow voice.

Bo's jaw dropped once the statement sunk in. "...K-kill us?" he stuttered.

"Straight out, no mercy kill us."

The large oaf swallowed hard and looked to Hildegard once again for solace. And once again, his plea was only met with a cold, hard stare.

Peter, however, stepped into the conversation now. He had released Cadenza, and seemed to be in a state of disgusted disbelief at her last remark. "Thy own kin would kill you?"

The question brought a scoff from the gypsy. They clearly have not met any true killer. How naive, she thought. Aloud she replied, "Without hesitation," and a bitter smile crossed her lips.

"That's...that's awful," Peter cried. "Why...why thy sisters art far worse than the king and queen!"

"Worse than...the king and queen?"

"Oh, Their Majesties were terrible to Hunter. Tried to control every little aspect of his life--he could not bear it any longer! On the day of his wedding, the culmination of an arranged marriage, he fled and declared his autonomy from them, and has defended it since that day, two years ago!"

"He...disobeyed them and freed himself? Is that...not against culture, not against the society's mutual beliefs?"

"Normally, one would become an outcast after such an act, but the prince...with his infectious charm and admirable bravery and sense of honor...the nation could not bring itself to hate him. No...the army has, in fact, grown to respect him even more since then."

The gypsy regarded this news with a nod and thoughtful silence.

Before leaving her side to tend to Bo, Peter said, "It's an inspiring tale, isn't it? Almost makes an oppressed person hope for their own freedom."

Unlike Bo, Cadenza could easily grasp the man's implication.

[Altamira]

The sun was going to rest, taking with it the vital yellows and oranges that had dominated the hue of the skies that day. The trees; the hills; the entire encampment was bathed in stark shadows, the silhouettes of the tents and other shelters blacker than the darkest coal. The soldiers left behind now more so felt another's presence rather than saw their body. Only the whites of their eyes stood out in the melancholy haze that had overtaken Augusta.

The dun-colored cowhide tent in the northeastern edge had hours ago fallen silent after the brief conflict between Bo and the woman. Hildegard and Cadenza were the only that remained awake now, the former performing his duty by keeping watch, and the latter too distrustful to sleep in the same tent with Bo after the incident. Hildegard also had an inkling, however, that she was staying up to ensure that the sisters she spoke of didn't catch her off her guard. He chose not to voice this hunch.

"Shouldn't they have sent word back by now?" the woman asked, referring to the soldiers that had gone on the rescue mission. In the strange dusky gloom, where things were felt primarily, and one's other senses seemed dampened, Hildegard felt her words stirring the air before he could hear them.

He merely nodded his head in answer. It was difficult for Cadenza to make out his response visually, but she could perceive the undulations; the gentle fluctuations in the air.

She was about to follow up her question when both her and Hildegard's attention was immediately drawn to a faint vibration in the wind, and tremors in the ground. Minutes later, hoofbeats could be heard approaching. By Cadenza's judgment, they were advancing in the direction of the encampment.

A great deal of commotion ensued in the following moments. Medical officers conversed with whoever had arrived in low tones. The pace of Hildegard's heart beside the gypsy audibly picked up by a couple of beats. Footsteps came towards the cowhide tent.

A trembling voice called to Hildegard: “C-can you open up, Lieutenant? We need to talk.”

One of Hildegard’s steady hands cut through the foggy twilight, and undid the ties keeping the tent door closed. It then reached out and pulled the owner of the shaky voice inside.

The speaker was revealed to be a young man, with fresh wounds running along his back and arms. When the lieutenant had seized him and pulled him inside, his rattled nerves had made his face blanch.

“What’s wrong?” Hildegard demanded of him.

“T-t-the rescue…it didn’t go as planned, sir. And the prince, he…he…”

“Out with it, man!” Hildegard urged.

“He’s hurt! The medic that was with us does not think he will make it!”

Hildegard cursed under his breath, casting his glance away from the boy and towards the floor. When he finally looked back, his eyes were blazing with vigor. “Well, what the devil can we do then!?” he asked sharply. With his head turned slightly skyward as it was, it seemed more like he was asking the Lord than asking the boy.

The timid young man shook his head forlornly. “I don’t know, sir,” he muttered, “I don’t know…”

Even in the fog, Cadenza could feel the striking intensity of the men’s emotions. She appeared quite placid herself, and imagined if the two soldiers could even see her, then some part of them must be outraged at her for looking so calm.

She sighed and stood. The men sensed her movements before seeing them take place, and so they were already staring intently at her when she had risen to her full height.

“You’re all weak,” she declared brusquely, not even returning their stares. “You should have been expecting the worst. If the man is so important, then you shouldn’t have endangered him.”

The younger man gasped, presumably at her callousness, but Cadenza didn’t care. She--and Hildegard from what she could ascertain from his reaction--knew that there was at least some truth in what she had said. The soldiers had to submit that Choras had not sent along enough troops for such an endeavor.

While the two men exchanged glances, the gypsy drew her peacock feathers from her hair and walked out. The younger man chased after her, followed hesitantly by the lieutenant.

“Just what do you intend to do?” the boy called to her while she was still within earshot.

“Salvage this mess,” Cadenza shouted back over her shoulder. If it’s possible.

[Altamira]

Augusta Fields rumbled with the sounds of dun horses and mustangs, and wailed with the cries of men and boys. The intermingling of these noises sent a cold chill through Cadenza's small frame as she neared the woods where Augustan forces had felled a vast number of the stoutest Choras patriots.

Her peacock feathers grasped tightly by her graceful fingers, she surveyed the grounds for the tallest of trees from which to attack. One thick-trunked pine that poked out over the tops of its neighbors, like a great, needle-adorned spire won her favor, and she dashed up to it with the agility of a renowned gymnast or sprinter. Holding the feathers between gritted teeth, she climbed the sturdy trunk and launched herself up into the large branches, keeping an eye out for Augustans below as she did so. Once perched atop one of the strong boughs, amongst the aromatic, viridian needles and cones, she drew her feathers, now in her hands once again, closer to her rouge lips and spread them like a fan, beginning an incantation that had saved her life on many occasions. She had neither the time nor the energy for Mesmerize, she deduced, so it was to be her Enchantment spell that paralyzed the Augustan forces and gave Hildegard and the boy trailing behind her time to rescue the prince and his comrades.

As she chanted, the worry of being accused of witchcraft came to her mind, but the sharp-minded gypsy promptly laid the concern to rest. They would have to be fools to condemn someone who just saved their hides, she assured herself. Betrayal doesn’t seem to be the prince’s game, at least.

Scores of men bearing Augusta’s coat-of-arms became captivated by the spell, mindlessly drawing closer to its mysterious source like a sailor allured by the song of an insidious siren. They groped about in the dark gloom, proceeding deeper and deeper into Cadenza’s trap. With a swift movement of the woman’s arm, the soldiers, once brimming and vital in their youth felt a strange, creeping numbness climb up their bodies, rendering them immobile. As they stood huddled together, dumbfounded by their sudden weakness, Hildegard and the meek young soldier began ushering Choras soldiers back to camp, and carrying those who could not move on their own.

While they did so, Cadenza took aim, her keen vision finding an opening in the foggy twilight to the Augustan captain, and shot him dead, eliciting a gasp from all who were present to witness it. The men watched helplessly as their leader fell in a pool of blood, an arrow at his throat.

“Phantoms of the night…” one uttered, “Dealing out retribution for our wrongdoings.”

They all shared a quiet moment, thinking back on all of the innocent young boys from Choras who they had killed in their raids. A question ran through all of their minds: When would it all end?

Cadenza bowed her head in reverence for the necessary, but still lamentable death of the soldier, and then silently back into the dark night the gypsy crept, leaping from treetop to treetop until she reached the Choras army’s encampment and the cowhide tent where she was to be waiting. She sensed Hildegard in the misty dusk when he entered, and he gave her a meaningful nod.

“He’s alive.”

[Altamira]

Cadenza’s eyelids felt too heavy with sleep to open, but a nagging puff of warm air hovering over her right side was about to override her languor. It was soft but consistent, and beyond her control to stop, as much as she wanted it to cease. Why can’t I just will it to stop? That would be so much easier… She furrowed her brow, shutting her eyes tighter. It’s probably just that idiot Bo gawking at me anyway.

She kept her eyes shut tight for several minutes, although the purpose was moot; she clearly would be gaining no further rest that morning. The puffing was growing closer, and soon she felt a hand resting upon her shoulder, shaking her slightly every few minutes.

After several moments of this without end, she finally snapped. “What!? What in the hell do you want!?”

Her eyes shot open to see Peter’s smiling, ferret-like face looming over her. Even with her angry remarks, he grinned at her amiably. “I’m sorry to wake you, milady, but the prince requests an audience with you.”

Cadenza groaned, and out of the corner of her eye glimpsed a rare smile from Hildegard, undoubtedly at the stark and almost humorous contrast between Peter and her attitudes. With much more coaxing and pestering, Peter, along with the help of the timid young soldier, Gentree, from the night before, was able to convince Cadenza to leave the tent and visit Hunter in the medical area.

The woman stalked out in a huff, cursing the whole course of events since her arrival in Medina. There was the problem of her mission from Vivace, the completion of which now seemed improbable, and the matter of a clingy prince who might still charge her for witchcraft, if he was a fool. Coupled with the conflicting thoughts and emotions now swimming in her head about rebellion, and it all made for a rather unpleasant time for the gypsy indeed. She made her way quickly through the central area of the encampment, covered with prints of horse hooves and leather boots. On her left, the tall figure of the medical tent resolved behind the numerous, lesser tents. Taking care not to get her arrows stuck in the fabric, she weaved between the dwellings, dodging the few soldiers who had woken early.

Soon, she arrived at the medical tent, and as she leaned forward to undo the clasps which shut the opening, a nurse emerged from inside.

“He’ll be glad to see you, Miss.”

Cadenza wanted to scoff at that, but she restrained herself. Nodding her head in acknowledgement to the nurse, she stepped inside.

There, laying upon a bed of hay in dwindling candlelight was Hunter, sallow-faced and bruised all over. At the sound of the gypsy’s entrance, he had hefted himself onto his side to see her and cried out in the resulting pain of the exertion to move.

“I do not look too pleasing, do I?”

The woman shrugged. “Hardly matters to me anyway, Prince.”

A faint smile crossed the man’s lips. “Pray tell me, my friend, what ever on Medina did you do to halt the Augustans? It was as singular a maneuver as I have ever had the privilege to see.”

Cadenza shook her head. “No, no, you couldn’t understand it. You’re better off not knowing.” She turned to leave, but could hear Hunter rustling in the hay behind her, trying to stand up.

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” she advised.

“Please, Cadenza,” he pleaded, “be honest with me. You used some form of magic, didn’t you?”

[Altamira]

"I stress that you shouldn't exert yourself, Prince, neither physically nor with that penetrating charm of yours. Do I seem a person that would become candid with another so easily?"

Hunter was at a loss for words, and uttered the nonsensical sounds of one who had been caught off guard and was in such an awkward state. Inevitably, he found himself mumbling a “no" in defeat.

Cadenza seemed to smile bitterly at the reply. "Good," she said, nodding. "That's the impression I should give off. I didn't come here to make friends, Merridale. I only saved you because you're a soldier, and not an entirely spineless one. Think nothing more of it."

The injured commander was compelled to ask what bearing his being a soldier had on the matter, but he could see that Cadenza wouldn't share that information with him. Something in her strong, aloof manner, however, also compelled him to try and get to know the woman better. Often in his experience, when one was as closed off as she was, there was a great, heart-wrenching reason that that person kept cold in their breast, and he admired that self-restraint and fortitude. In the case of Hildegard, he had discovered that the lieutenant had selflessly accepted the position of caretaker in his household after losing his parents in the war, and he put up a firm facade so that his many younger siblings had a stable emotional base. His respect for the man, after learning that intimate secret, had soared to heights he once thought hardly imaginable.

And so, at Cadenza's dismissive words, he forced himself onto his feet and grabbed the woman, spinning her around to look her straight in the eyes as he suppressed cries of pain. Then he said, with a great seriousness and sincerity, "Lady Madrigal, you have my deepest thanks, no matter what your motives were. And I hope that someday, I shall prove myself worthy enough to have you share with me thy reasons."

"Worthy?" Cadenza repeated, the incredulous tone of her voice belying the emotionless mask she had been wearing. She shook the man off, and averted her gaze from his face, her own expression looking distinctly downcast. "You're high above my level in virtue or righteousness, Prince. You have no idea just how high, really."

Hunter tried to nudge the woman's chin back up to meet his gaze, but met much resistance. "Why won't thou look me in the eye? Do my wounds offend?"

The question was met with a stifled grimace from the gypsy. Wounds on that face do--in a way that you wouldn't understand. It's...it's like seeing cuts and bruises on his face. And that I cannot take.

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OoC: That was one of the most uninspired posts ever. To anyone who bothered to read that, I apologize profusely.

[Altamira]

Things in Medina had reached quite the jagged tor as of late, Cadenza found herself suddenly thinking, fighting off Hunter's attempts to make her simply look him in the eye. Vivace was going to reprimand her sorely for her failure to even enter the royal city of Renamor, let alone ransack it, and she had clearly outed herself as a magic-wielder by succumbing to a single moment of sympathy for the plight of the Choras soldiers. And then there was this, her present predicament; a man who so hauntingly resembled her departed love, only peculiarly with different coloring, and perhaps with a touch more realism in his view of the world. It was like staring back at a mirror image of him nonetheless--had Rubato migrated miles upon miles north on her own Earth, she had no doubt that Paris' bronzed skin would have lightened to Hunter's fair tone, and even his raven-colored hair honeyed to Hunter's lustrous light brown. The only discrepancy remaining would have been her darling's striking blue-gray eyes, and in her estimation, no one would ever recapture that splendor, no matter how much they mirrored Paris in every other conceivable way.

With that reassurance firmly grasped in her mind, she forced herself to meet Hunter's gaze, feeling her heart clench as she looked into the hazel depths of his eyes.

Hunter smiled in response. "I'm...I'm glad you have found the courage to look me in the eye, milady." Wording his next statement as gently as he could, he asked, "Whatever was the offending aspect before?"

"You reminded me of someone I knew," Cadenza whispered, surprised by the earnestness of her own voice. Acceptance was blossoming within her, she felt, both for this commander and the state of her mission. And someday, she told herself, acceptance for her loss would follow. "That someone was a person I never wished to see hurt."

The prince nodded in dawning comprehension. He withdrew his bruised hand from Cadenza's flushed cheek, and with some difficulty took up a seat on the hay towards the sloping back of the tent to rest his injured legs once again.

"You're not going to question me further about what I did to stop the Augustans?" the gypsy asked, a bit surprised by the courtesy being shown to her.

Hunter shook his head. "No, dear Cadenza, the matter is no longer of importance. Rather, I'd like to inquire instead as to whether you would join us in supper tonight before you head wherever you may."

A second time, Cadenza found herself taken a little aback by, to her, what had been an unexpected response from the prince. "You're not insistent on escorting me to Greyshire anymore?"

"No, I could see before that you did not desire my help, and I have since then seen you are more than capable of defending yourself, my friend. If you wish it, I shall leave you be."

"T-thank you," Cadenza said, somewhat hesitantly. She turned to leave, feeling strangely uncomfortable in the presence of a kindness she wasn't accustomed to, but before placing a single slippered foot outside, she felt compelled to call back, "I'll join you all for dinner."

A small smile appeared on Hunter's lips at her words.

Satisfied with her decision, Cadenza nodded inwardly, assuring herself that she had made the correct choices during her time on Medina. With some of her uneasiness placated, she headed back to the cowhide tent for rest, and perhaps even a little conversation with the soldiers she had silently dubbed "The Three Stooges".

[Altamira]

They sat around a campfire, crackling and lively with splendid orange wisps extending to the cool evening sky, as they ate assorted finger-foods from small bowls hewn of wood. Patiently, the huddled group awaited their commander's arrival, exchanging words now and again in low, quiet voices. It was somewhat of a solemn affair, a last banquet of sorts in honor of all of their fallen brothers. The boy Gentree was weeping, silently and with his chest jerking, and a few were there to console him, but all others wore brooding, and to a degree, impassive faces.

Cadenza sat, cross-legged, next to Hildegard and Peter, the former with his face set in his usual austere expression, and yet occasionally stealing a concerned glance at young Gentree, and the latter guarding his dinner from attempts by Bo to pilfer a crust of bread or drumstick of turkey. Looking from dark-haired Hildegard to the crying young man, she began to see a slight family resemblance; a similarity in the nose and the set of their brows, and likewise a sameness in the broad shoulders and prominence of their chins. She hadn't noticed it before, during the panic in the tent when she had first seen lieutenant and private together, but now it was hard to miss the great possibility that the two were first-cousins, at the very least.

Peter seemed to catch onto the woman's extrospective observations, and gave a small smile. "Seen it now, Miss Madrigal? This tough one here-" he patted Hildegard lightly on the shoulder, "-and that wee, emotional lad over there-" he jerked a thumb towards Gentree, "-are indeed, related. You may have been misled, however, to think them cousins, because of the disparity in the surnames. But in fact, the two are brothers."

Cadenza blinked in mild incredulity. "Are they? Then why the difference?"

"That," said Peter, looking pointedly at Hildegard, "I'll let my friend the lieutenant here explain."

The somber man glared bullets at Peter, but after a brief stare-down with his friend, loosened his rigid posture noticeably and parted his lips to speak. "I...I knew they would not let me lead the battalion my brother was in if they knew us to be related. I would--as they phrased it--"pay special attention" to my brother, and treat him better than the other soldiers. Supposedly pull strings to get him treated medically before the others; get him extra rations; give him easier and less dangerous missions.

"I asserted that I would not do those things, but they would not concede--I knew this, I had seen this situation before with a comrade of mine and his brother. And so, that I may lead his battalion and watch over him, I had him change his surname before enlisting. His truest name is Neville Hildegard, but here, he's another man, Neville Gentree, and I can keep him safe."

Cadenza nodded approvingly. "Your care for your brother is admirable."

Hildegard coughed lightly at this, and the gypsy could see he had done it to stifle an oncoming smile. Rising to his feet, he excused himself and went to comfort his sobbing younger brother.

Peter and the woman sat for some time afterwards in silence, finishing their suppers. Out of the corner of her eye, Cadenza could see Peter smiling conspicuously at her, with his warm brown eyes leading over every now and then to the two brothers. Knowing what the looks and grin implied, the gypsy busied herself with the cleaning of her bowl to avoid conversation.

Despite her attempts, conversation came nevertheless. "You and your sisters don't get along like them, do ye?" Peter asked, a knowing grin on his shrewd and weaselly face. Under his affable and light-hearted manner, there seemed to always be that keenness and wit about him.

"No," Cadenza said, deciding to simply humor the man who seemed to want to play counselor.

"Why do you suppose that is, milady? You appear to be an upstanding and pleasant young woman."

Cadenza restrained the urge to scoff at his assessment of her. "Egos, my friend. Egos, and differing views and goals for life are what I've come to attribute it to."

Peter muttered a thoughtful sound. " 'Tis a shame," he said, and a little to Cadenza's surprise, he let the subject drop at that.

A murmur began to run throughout the crowd not long after silence had fallen again. Through the triangular gaps in the tents and trees, the silhouette of the prince with an entourage of two soldiers could be seen, a large flag in one of their strong hands dancing in the autumn breeze. Once they were within meters of the robust campfire's bright range of light, several seated men recognized the flag they held as bearing the Augustan coat-of-arms.

"At half-pole," one soldier observed aloud, "that means they surrendered."

A wave of relief and pride washed over the group at this. Some men embraced briefly in the excitement, others shook hands zealously, and still others gave small cheers of joy.

Smiling softly at this, Hunter began to speak. "Yes, my dear fellows and comrades, you see by the symbolic trophy of victory I hold in my humble hands here that we have triumphed over the stout and quite formidable Augustans of the northeast. It was thanks to brave efforts from soldiers like Lieutenant Lesley Hildegard, Sergeant Clark Henning, and countless privates like Officers Peter Warren, Borrof Slovsky, and Neville Gentree, that we have persevered and survived through this bloody ordeal. I would also like to give my deepest gratitude to one extraordinary woman..." Hunter's eyes fell upon Cadenza at this, and the woman winced inwardly, but he continued undaunted, "...Miss Cadenza Madrigal, for her great service to Choras and aid in the defeat of our resolute enemies. Now, after such a long battle, may we all sit down and enjoy the modest feast we have prepared. Eat and lift your spirits, my men!"

A unanimous cheer sounded throughout the mass of soldiers, and the smell of liquor began to waft out and pervade the encampment. The prince, grabbing hold of a wineskin for himself, took a seat on an oaken stump beside Cadenza and offered her a drink.

"We will miss you when you leave, milady," he said, trying his best to make the remark sound like more of a formality than it truly was. He was evidently a touch embarrassed to admit to missing someone.

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Eh, you might see me again, Prince. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll be in need of a soldier's help."

[Altamira]

Under the cover of the once foggy and uncertain, but now starlit and jubilant night, Cadenza scurried out of the Choras encampment, feet beating upon the sodden ground in time with the snores of sleeping soldiers. A steady rain was falling, dousing the gypsy and making her hair run down her shoulders like a roll of cascading black silk. Haphazardly tying it back into a bun, she came to a skidding stop when she had reached the sheer trunk of the great oak tree, where the door to the Dome stood.

It appeared far more modest and inconspicuous as she approached, like an oblong shape that had been cut naturally from the wood, but upon the touch of her hand on the knob, the door suddenly blossomed with verdant color; the golden swirls worked their majestic way through the surface, arching and whirling in whimsical patterns; the archaic letters spelled out words extolling honor and strength and virtue. When, in shock, Cadenza drew her stunned cold hand away, the final piece that had made it differ from the door of the Dome, the spade-like crest, emblazoned itself upon the oak.

The woman stumbled back, taking in the sight quietly and with wide, wild eyes for a long and wholly surreal moment. She gave a start at the sound of footsteps creeping through the nearby grass, and spun around with her heart beating quickly. The sounds came closer, until finally, a face could be seen in the twinkling lights of the sky.

"T-that door, milady, what is it?"

There was no mistaking the voice, even without a glance at the face. Cadenza breathed out a short sigh of relief; the feeling was dampened only by the realization that the prince now had seen the door to the Dome.

"It's my way back home," the woman said, feeling uncannily like a thief caught.

Hunter's face seemed to droop dejectedly upon his chest. "It is as I thought, then; you were never going to Greyshire. You...you were too unlike the women here, I felt that in my bones."

"Then, I assume they must all be polite and charming, hm?" the woman said with a smirk, "Because sorry, dear, but I'm truly not as nice as you may have thought. And I don't have time to sit and talk here with you."

At that, the gypsy took firm hold of the doorknob once again, and gave it a turn, but before opening it, thought to call back: "You'd best look away, prince. I don't think you can handle seeing what's on the other side."

Hunter did as she said and shielded his eyes with an iron-clad arm, remaining speechless as sound and light poured in from the fantastic open doorway and bathed one of the fields of Medina in its awe-inspiring mystery. His breath rushed out of his lungs to greet the bracing gust, and was then abruptly ushered back into his stalwart body as the great door shut once again.

When he opened his eyes once more, they quested about in vain for the woman, only to fix upon a rectangle of lavender paper pinned to the door. The commander strode up tentatively, and ripped the note from its trappings. It read:

It was magic, my friend. Magic undid the Augustans tonight. Beyond the door through which I leave, it's a common enough thing. Your world should learn to embrace it.

Tell Hildegard and Peter that they have my thanks. You can consider yourself thanked to some degree as well, if that cheers you up.

- Cadenza Madrigal--the gypsy
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...And that's the end! I didn't love this last post, but meh. Hopefully someone read this whole piece and liked it, but all that aside, it needed to be told for certain things to make sense, and now it has been finished.

[Awkin]

I liked it... I was reading it as it was written. In this drought of updates to the webcomic I read, regular updates really are a blessing.

To look at, the plot is nothing. Cadenza meets Hunter, Hunter goes to war, Cadenza is placed with [¿loonies?], Cadenza hears Hunter is injured, Cadenza uses magic for the greater good, Hunter finds out -- everyone has a bun.

But it's told in such an intruiging way, and with such depth, that I find myself feeling attached to Borrof, I find myself sympathising with the characters... and that's what a story is about. Well done!