Post by Bakura on Aug 10, 2006 16:03:54 GMT -5
-Chapter Three-
“Sinister Plans ah' Brewing”
In the heart of England within the palace of the former royal family, the candidate for the thrown of England (elected by a majority of the white rose Crusaders), King Richard III’s eye-brows raised slightly, when Malik Ishtar (A/N 1) kneeled before him, his sword (sheathed at his side) lightly hitting the edge of the stone ground, making a slightly diminutive scraping sound. Smirking slightly, Richard thought to himself, Heh—how “graceful.” Then, after a moment or two of watching the middle-eastern man pay his deepest respect to the ruler of England, the false king smiled broadly and moved his hand in a way that suggested that the man before him now had permission to rise.
As Malik rose from his long, rather extended bow and rose before the candidate for the Crusader’s highest level of power, two other men watched the two from the sidelines, each one staring at them, dully yet with some form of cynicism. After all, it was quite amusing watching the king make a fool out of himself.
The first of these two men was clad in armor, sporting the shape of what appeared to be a glorious white armored dragon, with a magnificent pine colored cloak falling out from underneath it, falling somewhere near his heels. He had chestnut brown hair, with silky bangs that fell over parts of his eyes (which were a royal, sharp, cobalt blue color) and face, that was regarding the scene before him with boredom and pessimism. Besides him, was a man (slightly taller) who was clad in an outfit of red and gold, which was accompanied by maroon pants and tall black, equitation boots. Like his partner before him, he was also in possession of yet another pine-colored cloak, which fell back behind his shoulders and reaches the area just above his calves He had long, glorious moon-light colored hair which fell over his shoulders and down his beck, as well as glinting vermillion colored eyes (the left actually covered by a layer of his brilliant platinum silver locks) that watched the scene before him with some quaint form of amusement.
As Malik delivered his report back to the king, the silver haired man suddenly turned towards his partner and mused, “So, dear old Sir Rosenkreuz—how close are you to finding the whereabouts of Henry Tudor, hmmm?”
“I thought that was your job.”
“True—but it would never hurt to have a friend on the out-side, in case I should ever seen assistance. What do you say, Seto-boy?”
The man (Rosenkreuz) looked out at his partner and glared. He hated it when people called him “Seto.” It was as if it made mockery of his title. He then grunted once, looked back at the scene before them and asked, unable to hide the malevolent contempt in his voice, “Stanley? Has anyone ever told you that you have a knack for annoying people?”
Thomas Stanley, the Vice Admiral of the Rose Crusaders, smirked slightly, before he closed his eyes, looked away, shrugged and commented, “More then once—obviously!” He then looked at Rosenkreuz out of the corner of his eye, and asked, “I’m quite curious though, why would you ask such a thing of me?”
Rosenkreuz looked away and murmured, “That is of no concern to you. Though, with your permission, suppose I could ask you this question. Well?”
Thomas, more then ready to accept a challenge from the mere boy behind him, opened his eyes and commented, while moving his hand slightly in a suggestive way, “Go right on ahead, my dear friend…”
Rosenkreuz, opened his eyes, and paused for a moment, as if he were thinking of a good way to deliver his next phrase. That didn’t take too long, for he looked at the man besides him, and questioned superciliously, “Done. Might I question the very reason as to “why” not- one of those so-called people has ever told you to hold your miserable tongue in the dealings of such frivolous and menial words that you deliver upon them?”
Thomas Stanley chuckled for a moment (yes, he had been expecting a comment like that) before he looked off and drawled, while holding his hands out and shrugging, “You know, Rosenkreuz, that little concept has never crossed my mind. I wasn’t aware that I was looked upon in such a shameless way!” (A/N 2)
Rosenkreuz merely rolled his eyes (this conversation wasn’t going well at all) before looked out ahead of him and folded his arms across his chest. He then stood up straight, explained with slightly a growling voice, “I will only say this once more, Stanley: Meddle in my affairs again and you’ll only get yourself into more trouble than you are now.”
At this, Thomas narrowed his eyes slightly, having a slight idea where his dear comrade was going with this. Rosenkreuz then turned all the way to look at him and sneered, “Have you even found a proper fiancée yet? You know that if you don’t produce an heir within the next few years, the so-called “Flag of Crawford” that we Rose Crusaders worship and ride beneath will be meaningless and will hereby no longer have its place among our class. So, instead of tormenting me, I recommend that you get busy…”
Thomas Stanley snarled slightly, and made a move to say more, but was cut short of words when Rosenkreuz continued.
“Also—at the rate you’re going, my dear Thomas—you may have gotten lucky at first, but I think it’s going to be a long, long time before you’ll find anyone else who will accept you, none the less suit your needs.”
After these malice-ridden words were spoken, an ugly look appeared on Thomas’s face, making him look something like a monster or some other dangerous beast below the equator. He then stepped forward slightly (Rosenkreuz smirking briefly) before he growled, “If you da—“
“What? Are you absolutely positive?”
At that moment, both Rosenkreuz and Thomas looked back at the king, and saw that he was now sitting forward from his chair, with a somewhat of a fearful yet at the same time, a desperate look. This made Rosenkreuz raise his eyes, while Thomas Stanley stared at the situation with some form of worry.
Malik bowed and reported, “Yes, sire… We have received word that Henry Tudor has sent an holy man to our lands. They plan to summon a powerful knight from a time further than ours. He should be arriving in the sacred ground sometime during this evening…”
The king remained speechless for a moment (not believing that such a thing could be so), but Rosenkreuz suddenly smirked and let out a small laugh. He placed his hands on his hips, and shook his head as he laughed, finding this situation all too precious. This was not taken lightly. At the sound of his subject’s unruly laughter, King Richard turned towards Rosenkreuz and asked, with a tone that sounded somewhat irked or fet up in some minor way, “Is there something you wish to add to this—Sir Rosenkreuz?”
Rosenkreuz stopped laughing instantly, yet all the while, looked at the king disparagingly. He then brought his hand out to the side and explained, “My lord, forgive me for my so-called “impudence”—but honestly! Not only is this concept completely ludicrous—but in the bizarre even that it did happen, it is merely nothing to worry about. My men could flatten any knight from any time. It wouldn’t matter if the poor fool was strong, intelligent, or whatever you’d hope not to see in him, but in the end, he could never stand up against the fury and the strength of my greatest armies! Do you see my point, Sire?”
After Rosenkreuz had finished, Richard then slowly looked back at Malik, and raised an eyebrow—as if suggesting how the runt had managed to get him so worked up about something that seemed fairly as easy to conquer over as Rosenkreuz said. However, Malik’s grave expression (which had remained, for the most, unchanged) didn’t falter, as he looked up at the king and said, “It isn’t as simple as that, Sire. This is a more serious threat than we could have ever anticipated.”
Rosenkreuz merely scoffed (Rosenkreuz did make a brilliant argument) but Stanley was in no place to believe the word of the King’s Secretary of Dense. He looked up at the young soldier and demanded, “Oh really? Why is that?”
Malik hesitated for a moment, before he said quietly, his gaze remaining motionless yet austere, “Because the Lancastrians aren’t as foolish as that. They aren’t sending for some any old knight from the mere future. My allies have told me the news, swearing on the book of “God” himself, with eyes as fearful and as worried as children, that they have heard word that the Lancastrians are now calling for none other than the esteemed and invincible Rose Duelist!”
At that moment, King Richard’s narrow face paled to a major degree, all color vanishing from it within the time limit of a few simple seconds, and Stanley’s jaw dropped.
That… That couldn’t be true… Could it? Thomas continued to contemplate on this new information, but the King Richard was not as settle as the sophisticated knight beside him. His hand tightened against the arm rest of his throne, before he suddenly cried out, unable to stop himself, “No! No—that can’t be! Tell me it’s not true! Tell me now!”
Malik shook for a moment, but then bowed his head down, quietly, not saying anything further. As he did, Richard’s mouth opened and closed constantly, as if he was lost for words. Not a word was spoken through the court for a long time. There was not very much else to say—and quite frankly, there was nothing that could be done about it either. After all, how could they stand against the will and the hand of God himself?
After a long period of his suppressed silence, Thomas Stanley bit his lip and murmured, breaking the highly uncomfortable silence, “If… They should succeed… What on Earth are we supposed to do. We can’t fight against anyone who stands side by side with Fate itself. In addition, it’s impossible to defeat such an entity in possession of such a purely unadulterated form of incomparable power…”
A few seconds following this, the unsettling silence took up its reign again, the only sounds in the entire courtroom being the sounds coming from outside the walls, as people walked to a from within the palace boundaries. However, within a half a minute following the rule of the quiet—the uncomfortable moment was finally broken—from the most unexpected person imaginable.
“… … …That would be because we won’t have to.”
“What?”
All heads in the room then turned towards Rosenkreuz, and all took notice of the curiously ingenious sparkle in his eyes. Richard III looked at him, skeptically, before he demanded, leaning forward slightly in his throne, “What the—What is this lunacy that you speak of, Sir Rosenkreuz?”
Rosenkreuz smirked for a moment (something obviously circulating in his mind in the quickest possible speed) before he stepped forward, approaching the throne of Richard himself. As he did, the king felt somewhat uncomfortable. The esteemed second in command obviously had something in mind—something that he wasn’t aware of—and this worried him. What was he thinking? What was this boy planning? Rosenkreuz then finally stepped up beside him, and stared down at him, his eyes boring into his, remaining motionless for some time following his halt. The king gulped for a moment, not knowing what to expect.
Then, quite swiftly, he drew his sword from his sheath and the King cried out in terror, wondering if the man before him was really crazy enough to do it. Malik’s eyes widened to the highest possible limit, while Stanley cried out, “Rosenkreuz! What in god’s name are you—“
But he didn’t finish, for Rosenkreuz suddenly stepped forward, and changed the position of the sword, from a position of the middle top offense, to—
What happened next, shocked the three of them. Rosenkreuz released most of his strength from the sword, and he laid the middle of the blade so it rested in the palm of his hand, and shifted his other hand so it held the handle out horizontally as well. He then kneeled forward and held it out towards the king, as if he was presenting the balanced weapon to him. At this point, Richard calmed down (slightly, though), and stared at him, utterly confused with what his secretary of defense meant by all this.
Rosenkreuz bowed his head before the king, and stated, calmly yet with some dose of a suave tone of voice, “With your permission, my majesty—I will head to the holy ground and there I will seek out the dreaded warrior. When he appears, I shall recruit the legendary Rose Duelist to our side—and by doing that, our victory and your future reign will be assured…”
The king’s eyes widened at this offer, and Malik and Stanley gaped at this too, not knowing what to expect. Then, after mentally rationalizing this new information in his head, Thomas stepped forward and shouted out, unable to stop himself, “Ridiculous! What makes you think the accursed Rose Duelist will chose our side!”
Rosenkreuz looked back at Stanley, and glared for a moment—as if daring him to say anything further. A moment following that, he looked back at King Richard, smirked and stated passively, “Why wouldn’t he? Henry Tudor is all the way in France—away from the holy ground where the duelist will soon arrive! He wouldn’t dare come himself, which means he will most likely send one of his miserable servants to recruit him. Once I appear—the duelist will obviously see that in order to go back to the very place he came from, he’ll need better men and more resources—which we will be happy to provide once he arrives. He’ll see who desperate Henry Tudor really is, and with that in mind, he will see that we are the real ticket’s for his return.”
As this information was gently passed over, it settled into Richard’s mind quite snuggly and without much difficulty, and with that, it didn’t take too long for the dreaded man to decide. He casually leaned back in his throne, and drawled to the knight, “Very well,” he agreed. He then pointed directly into the knight’s direction and stated, staring straight at him, “Rosenkreuz—you will now disembark to the holy land. Find this Rose Duelist and recruit him—by any means necessary. If he resists—I assume you know exactly what to do…”
Rosenkreuz slowly looked up, and a devious smirk appeared in the middle of his rather dashing features. At last, he thought to himself. It’s all coming together. He then bowed once more and declared, “A just order, your highness. I will carry out your orders at once…” He then cast a glance over at Malik, and commanded, “Go to the Stable Boy’s quarters—tell them to saddle up Burst Stream! I don’t have time to waste!” (A/N 3)
Malik bowed and stated, “Yes sir…” With that, he stood up from his kneeling position, and ran off towards the exit, Rosenkreuz merely smirking when he saw this take place. After Malik had gone, he then looked back at the King (shooting a brief side glance at Thomas Stanley, who had a suspicious look on his face) before he commented in a high-spirited voice, “Well… I best be off…”
With that, he stood up, re-sheathed his sword, slipping it quite efficiently into his scabbard, and turned heel, storming off towards the exit of the throne room, his cloak billowing out behind him as he walked. When he finally left the grounds, the rather large doors closing behind him (creating a huge, strong sounding booming sound as they shut) Thomas Stanley looked at Richard III, and raised an eyebrow. He then asked, sounding slightly tired while shifting his weight to his other foot, “Are you sure about this, my Liege?”
The king looked at him and stared at him, confused. He shook his head briefly, sending any doubt he had away instantly, before he stated, snobbishly, “Of course I am sure! Rosenkreuz is going off to recruit the esteemed duelist—just like he said. You really think I’d send the man off if I didn’t trust him to do my bidding? Do you take me for a fool, Sir Thomas?”
The silver haired man narrowed his eyes (boy, was his leader full of himself) before he took a breath, and stated calmly, “No Sire. I’m just a little concerned about his motives. This seems somewhat out of place, if you don’t mind me saying so. I do believe that he may have other reasons for—“
“What’s that?” snapped the king, leaning forward in his throne slightly. “Are you suggesting that I perhaps made the wrong decision?”
Thomas Stanley’s nose wrinkled, liking this conversation less and less (d**nit! Where were Rosenkreuz and Malik when he needed those little bastards?) and continued, with a voice that sounded as if it was slowly loosing patience, yet all the while maintained his believed level of respect, “No, sir. I just think that—“
He said no more than that. For the king then rose from his chair, held out his finger, and threatened his Vice Admiral, his face turning a deadly shade of reddish purple, “One more word, Stanley—and you will wish that you would have never been born. Sir Rosenkreuz is going to recruit the warrior, and with that, Henry Tudor and his influence over my country will be annihilated at long last!”
Thomas Stanley merely narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything else. He bowed his head (that was all he could do right now) and stood up, making a motion to leave the room, however, as he did, the king then leant back in his seat and suddenly sneered, stopping Sir Thomas Stanley in his tracks, “Oh yes, Sir Thomas? I could have sworn that finding and killing Henry Tudor was your job. Am I no correct…? Don’t tell me—that you have had a change of heart on your assignment, hmm?”
Thomas Stanley looked at him, quietly, and said, “Of course not… Your Highness!” It was increasingly difficult to remain loyal to the guy sitting before him, and all the while, Thomas thought to himself, Hmph… And this is the fool who is supposed to run the country. Heh, liberty be d**ned!
But what the king spoke next lost all consideration that the man before him had. He closed his eyes and drawled, “And also—have you found yourself a new wife yet? Or are you still mourning for the loss of her and your… erm… accident?”
He did not answer that question. And he didn’t need too—he knew perfectly well that the king was still taunting him from his latest loss. Thomas Stanley’s fist tightened and his eye twitched, but he said not a word. For he knew that if he said anything further, that despite the level of power he had obtained through his years of service to the Rose Crusaders, one ill-fated comment towards the potential king and it cost him his head.
Then, not staying for even a second longer, the silver haired man spun around, his cape whisking to side for a brief moment, and began to storm out of the room, a look of pure unadulterated malice and anger covering the full of his face, his eyes glinting ferociously as he left the room.
Once he did, and when he was well out of sound range of the king’s ear, he kicked a nearby suit of armor, and continued on his way, breathing through clenched teeth, his eyes burning with something akin to evil. Was it in the very nature of that presumptuous bastard bring up that most unwanted memory. It was only little less than a year ago when his wife had died while giving birth to what turned out to be a miscarriage—yet he still continued to taunt and tease him for that. (A/N 4) Still… Why did everyone proceed to blame him? Wasn’t it always the woman’s fault if something went wrong at birth? It was always the case with dogs, wasn’t it? He then shook his head, not believing that he would think of such a thing. He shouldn’t blame his great love as he did. It wasn’t her fault. If anything, it was his own—for being unable to restrain his sexual appetite during the course of what would become a fatal pregnancy. He had been such a fool—to think that his wife could still please him while awaiting what could have possibly become the happiest moment of his life.
Still… That lousy, impudent, blundering IDIOT! How dare he bring up and stir such unpleasant memories to him. Rosenkreuz was already bad enough (but he could take things from people like him) but from him? He may be the future king of their land—but he had absolutely no right to provoke him like that. EVER!
As he continued to storm through the hallway, (several people dodging to the nearest room, in an attempt to get out of his way) he thought, in the darkest corners of his mind. Laugh while you can, you pompous imbecile, he thought to himself. For Rosenkreuz isn’t the only man here with a plan to eliminate your reign.
“Sinister Plans ah' Brewing”
In the heart of England within the palace of the former royal family, the candidate for the thrown of England (elected by a majority of the white rose Crusaders), King Richard III’s eye-brows raised slightly, when Malik Ishtar (A/N 1) kneeled before him, his sword (sheathed at his side) lightly hitting the edge of the stone ground, making a slightly diminutive scraping sound. Smirking slightly, Richard thought to himself, Heh—how “graceful.” Then, after a moment or two of watching the middle-eastern man pay his deepest respect to the ruler of England, the false king smiled broadly and moved his hand in a way that suggested that the man before him now had permission to rise.
As Malik rose from his long, rather extended bow and rose before the candidate for the Crusader’s highest level of power, two other men watched the two from the sidelines, each one staring at them, dully yet with some form of cynicism. After all, it was quite amusing watching the king make a fool out of himself.
The first of these two men was clad in armor, sporting the shape of what appeared to be a glorious white armored dragon, with a magnificent pine colored cloak falling out from underneath it, falling somewhere near his heels. He had chestnut brown hair, with silky bangs that fell over parts of his eyes (which were a royal, sharp, cobalt blue color) and face, that was regarding the scene before him with boredom and pessimism. Besides him, was a man (slightly taller) who was clad in an outfit of red and gold, which was accompanied by maroon pants and tall black, equitation boots. Like his partner before him, he was also in possession of yet another pine-colored cloak, which fell back behind his shoulders and reaches the area just above his calves He had long, glorious moon-light colored hair which fell over his shoulders and down his beck, as well as glinting vermillion colored eyes (the left actually covered by a layer of his brilliant platinum silver locks) that watched the scene before him with some quaint form of amusement.
As Malik delivered his report back to the king, the silver haired man suddenly turned towards his partner and mused, “So, dear old Sir Rosenkreuz—how close are you to finding the whereabouts of Henry Tudor, hmmm?”
“I thought that was your job.”
“True—but it would never hurt to have a friend on the out-side, in case I should ever seen assistance. What do you say, Seto-boy?”
The man (Rosenkreuz) looked out at his partner and glared. He hated it when people called him “Seto.” It was as if it made mockery of his title. He then grunted once, looked back at the scene before them and asked, unable to hide the malevolent contempt in his voice, “Stanley? Has anyone ever told you that you have a knack for annoying people?”
Thomas Stanley, the Vice Admiral of the Rose Crusaders, smirked slightly, before he closed his eyes, looked away, shrugged and commented, “More then once—obviously!” He then looked at Rosenkreuz out of the corner of his eye, and asked, “I’m quite curious though, why would you ask such a thing of me?”
Rosenkreuz looked away and murmured, “That is of no concern to you. Though, with your permission, suppose I could ask you this question. Well?”
Thomas, more then ready to accept a challenge from the mere boy behind him, opened his eyes and commented, while moving his hand slightly in a suggestive way, “Go right on ahead, my dear friend…”
Rosenkreuz, opened his eyes, and paused for a moment, as if he were thinking of a good way to deliver his next phrase. That didn’t take too long, for he looked at the man besides him, and questioned superciliously, “Done. Might I question the very reason as to “why” not- one of those so-called people has ever told you to hold your miserable tongue in the dealings of such frivolous and menial words that you deliver upon them?”
Thomas Stanley chuckled for a moment (yes, he had been expecting a comment like that) before he looked off and drawled, while holding his hands out and shrugging, “You know, Rosenkreuz, that little concept has never crossed my mind. I wasn’t aware that I was looked upon in such a shameless way!” (A/N 2)
Rosenkreuz merely rolled his eyes (this conversation wasn’t going well at all) before looked out ahead of him and folded his arms across his chest. He then stood up straight, explained with slightly a growling voice, “I will only say this once more, Stanley: Meddle in my affairs again and you’ll only get yourself into more trouble than you are now.”
At this, Thomas narrowed his eyes slightly, having a slight idea where his dear comrade was going with this. Rosenkreuz then turned all the way to look at him and sneered, “Have you even found a proper fiancée yet? You know that if you don’t produce an heir within the next few years, the so-called “Flag of Crawford” that we Rose Crusaders worship and ride beneath will be meaningless and will hereby no longer have its place among our class. So, instead of tormenting me, I recommend that you get busy…”
Thomas Stanley snarled slightly, and made a move to say more, but was cut short of words when Rosenkreuz continued.
“Also—at the rate you’re going, my dear Thomas—you may have gotten lucky at first, but I think it’s going to be a long, long time before you’ll find anyone else who will accept you, none the less suit your needs.”
After these malice-ridden words were spoken, an ugly look appeared on Thomas’s face, making him look something like a monster or some other dangerous beast below the equator. He then stepped forward slightly (Rosenkreuz smirking briefly) before he growled, “If you da—“
“What? Are you absolutely positive?”
At that moment, both Rosenkreuz and Thomas looked back at the king, and saw that he was now sitting forward from his chair, with a somewhat of a fearful yet at the same time, a desperate look. This made Rosenkreuz raise his eyes, while Thomas Stanley stared at the situation with some form of worry.
Malik bowed and reported, “Yes, sire… We have received word that Henry Tudor has sent an holy man to our lands. They plan to summon a powerful knight from a time further than ours. He should be arriving in the sacred ground sometime during this evening…”
The king remained speechless for a moment (not believing that such a thing could be so), but Rosenkreuz suddenly smirked and let out a small laugh. He placed his hands on his hips, and shook his head as he laughed, finding this situation all too precious. This was not taken lightly. At the sound of his subject’s unruly laughter, King Richard turned towards Rosenkreuz and asked, with a tone that sounded somewhat irked or fet up in some minor way, “Is there something you wish to add to this—Sir Rosenkreuz?”
Rosenkreuz stopped laughing instantly, yet all the while, looked at the king disparagingly. He then brought his hand out to the side and explained, “My lord, forgive me for my so-called “impudence”—but honestly! Not only is this concept completely ludicrous—but in the bizarre even that it did happen, it is merely nothing to worry about. My men could flatten any knight from any time. It wouldn’t matter if the poor fool was strong, intelligent, or whatever you’d hope not to see in him, but in the end, he could never stand up against the fury and the strength of my greatest armies! Do you see my point, Sire?”
After Rosenkreuz had finished, Richard then slowly looked back at Malik, and raised an eyebrow—as if suggesting how the runt had managed to get him so worked up about something that seemed fairly as easy to conquer over as Rosenkreuz said. However, Malik’s grave expression (which had remained, for the most, unchanged) didn’t falter, as he looked up at the king and said, “It isn’t as simple as that, Sire. This is a more serious threat than we could have ever anticipated.”
Rosenkreuz merely scoffed (Rosenkreuz did make a brilliant argument) but Stanley was in no place to believe the word of the King’s Secretary of Dense. He looked up at the young soldier and demanded, “Oh really? Why is that?”
Malik hesitated for a moment, before he said quietly, his gaze remaining motionless yet austere, “Because the Lancastrians aren’t as foolish as that. They aren’t sending for some any old knight from the mere future. My allies have told me the news, swearing on the book of “God” himself, with eyes as fearful and as worried as children, that they have heard word that the Lancastrians are now calling for none other than the esteemed and invincible Rose Duelist!”
At that moment, King Richard’s narrow face paled to a major degree, all color vanishing from it within the time limit of a few simple seconds, and Stanley’s jaw dropped.
That… That couldn’t be true… Could it? Thomas continued to contemplate on this new information, but the King Richard was not as settle as the sophisticated knight beside him. His hand tightened against the arm rest of his throne, before he suddenly cried out, unable to stop himself, “No! No—that can’t be! Tell me it’s not true! Tell me now!”
Malik shook for a moment, but then bowed his head down, quietly, not saying anything further. As he did, Richard’s mouth opened and closed constantly, as if he was lost for words. Not a word was spoken through the court for a long time. There was not very much else to say—and quite frankly, there was nothing that could be done about it either. After all, how could they stand against the will and the hand of God himself?
After a long period of his suppressed silence, Thomas Stanley bit his lip and murmured, breaking the highly uncomfortable silence, “If… They should succeed… What on Earth are we supposed to do. We can’t fight against anyone who stands side by side with Fate itself. In addition, it’s impossible to defeat such an entity in possession of such a purely unadulterated form of incomparable power…”
A few seconds following this, the unsettling silence took up its reign again, the only sounds in the entire courtroom being the sounds coming from outside the walls, as people walked to a from within the palace boundaries. However, within a half a minute following the rule of the quiet—the uncomfortable moment was finally broken—from the most unexpected person imaginable.
“… … …That would be because we won’t have to.”
“What?”
All heads in the room then turned towards Rosenkreuz, and all took notice of the curiously ingenious sparkle in his eyes. Richard III looked at him, skeptically, before he demanded, leaning forward slightly in his throne, “What the—What is this lunacy that you speak of, Sir Rosenkreuz?”
Rosenkreuz smirked for a moment (something obviously circulating in his mind in the quickest possible speed) before he stepped forward, approaching the throne of Richard himself. As he did, the king felt somewhat uncomfortable. The esteemed second in command obviously had something in mind—something that he wasn’t aware of—and this worried him. What was he thinking? What was this boy planning? Rosenkreuz then finally stepped up beside him, and stared down at him, his eyes boring into his, remaining motionless for some time following his halt. The king gulped for a moment, not knowing what to expect.
Then, quite swiftly, he drew his sword from his sheath and the King cried out in terror, wondering if the man before him was really crazy enough to do it. Malik’s eyes widened to the highest possible limit, while Stanley cried out, “Rosenkreuz! What in god’s name are you—“
But he didn’t finish, for Rosenkreuz suddenly stepped forward, and changed the position of the sword, from a position of the middle top offense, to—
What happened next, shocked the three of them. Rosenkreuz released most of his strength from the sword, and he laid the middle of the blade so it rested in the palm of his hand, and shifted his other hand so it held the handle out horizontally as well. He then kneeled forward and held it out towards the king, as if he was presenting the balanced weapon to him. At this point, Richard calmed down (slightly, though), and stared at him, utterly confused with what his secretary of defense meant by all this.
Rosenkreuz bowed his head before the king, and stated, calmly yet with some dose of a suave tone of voice, “With your permission, my majesty—I will head to the holy ground and there I will seek out the dreaded warrior. When he appears, I shall recruit the legendary Rose Duelist to our side—and by doing that, our victory and your future reign will be assured…”
The king’s eyes widened at this offer, and Malik and Stanley gaped at this too, not knowing what to expect. Then, after mentally rationalizing this new information in his head, Thomas stepped forward and shouted out, unable to stop himself, “Ridiculous! What makes you think the accursed Rose Duelist will chose our side!”
Rosenkreuz looked back at Stanley, and glared for a moment—as if daring him to say anything further. A moment following that, he looked back at King Richard, smirked and stated passively, “Why wouldn’t he? Henry Tudor is all the way in France—away from the holy ground where the duelist will soon arrive! He wouldn’t dare come himself, which means he will most likely send one of his miserable servants to recruit him. Once I appear—the duelist will obviously see that in order to go back to the very place he came from, he’ll need better men and more resources—which we will be happy to provide once he arrives. He’ll see who desperate Henry Tudor really is, and with that in mind, he will see that we are the real ticket’s for his return.”
As this information was gently passed over, it settled into Richard’s mind quite snuggly and without much difficulty, and with that, it didn’t take too long for the dreaded man to decide. He casually leaned back in his throne, and drawled to the knight, “Very well,” he agreed. He then pointed directly into the knight’s direction and stated, staring straight at him, “Rosenkreuz—you will now disembark to the holy land. Find this Rose Duelist and recruit him—by any means necessary. If he resists—I assume you know exactly what to do…”
Rosenkreuz slowly looked up, and a devious smirk appeared in the middle of his rather dashing features. At last, he thought to himself. It’s all coming together. He then bowed once more and declared, “A just order, your highness. I will carry out your orders at once…” He then cast a glance over at Malik, and commanded, “Go to the Stable Boy’s quarters—tell them to saddle up Burst Stream! I don’t have time to waste!” (A/N 3)
Malik bowed and stated, “Yes sir…” With that, he stood up from his kneeling position, and ran off towards the exit, Rosenkreuz merely smirking when he saw this take place. After Malik had gone, he then looked back at the King (shooting a brief side glance at Thomas Stanley, who had a suspicious look on his face) before he commented in a high-spirited voice, “Well… I best be off…”
With that, he stood up, re-sheathed his sword, slipping it quite efficiently into his scabbard, and turned heel, storming off towards the exit of the throne room, his cloak billowing out behind him as he walked. When he finally left the grounds, the rather large doors closing behind him (creating a huge, strong sounding booming sound as they shut) Thomas Stanley looked at Richard III, and raised an eyebrow. He then asked, sounding slightly tired while shifting his weight to his other foot, “Are you sure about this, my Liege?”
The king looked at him and stared at him, confused. He shook his head briefly, sending any doubt he had away instantly, before he stated, snobbishly, “Of course I am sure! Rosenkreuz is going off to recruit the esteemed duelist—just like he said. You really think I’d send the man off if I didn’t trust him to do my bidding? Do you take me for a fool, Sir Thomas?”
The silver haired man narrowed his eyes (boy, was his leader full of himself) before he took a breath, and stated calmly, “No Sire. I’m just a little concerned about his motives. This seems somewhat out of place, if you don’t mind me saying so. I do believe that he may have other reasons for—“
“What’s that?” snapped the king, leaning forward in his throne slightly. “Are you suggesting that I perhaps made the wrong decision?”
Thomas Stanley’s nose wrinkled, liking this conversation less and less (d**nit! Where were Rosenkreuz and Malik when he needed those little bastards?) and continued, with a voice that sounded as if it was slowly loosing patience, yet all the while maintained his believed level of respect, “No, sir. I just think that—“
He said no more than that. For the king then rose from his chair, held out his finger, and threatened his Vice Admiral, his face turning a deadly shade of reddish purple, “One more word, Stanley—and you will wish that you would have never been born. Sir Rosenkreuz is going to recruit the warrior, and with that, Henry Tudor and his influence over my country will be annihilated at long last!”
Thomas Stanley merely narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything else. He bowed his head (that was all he could do right now) and stood up, making a motion to leave the room, however, as he did, the king then leant back in his seat and suddenly sneered, stopping Sir Thomas Stanley in his tracks, “Oh yes, Sir Thomas? I could have sworn that finding and killing Henry Tudor was your job. Am I no correct…? Don’t tell me—that you have had a change of heart on your assignment, hmm?”
Thomas Stanley looked at him, quietly, and said, “Of course not… Your Highness!” It was increasingly difficult to remain loyal to the guy sitting before him, and all the while, Thomas thought to himself, Hmph… And this is the fool who is supposed to run the country. Heh, liberty be d**ned!
But what the king spoke next lost all consideration that the man before him had. He closed his eyes and drawled, “And also—have you found yourself a new wife yet? Or are you still mourning for the loss of her and your… erm… accident?”
He did not answer that question. And he didn’t need too—he knew perfectly well that the king was still taunting him from his latest loss. Thomas Stanley’s fist tightened and his eye twitched, but he said not a word. For he knew that if he said anything further, that despite the level of power he had obtained through his years of service to the Rose Crusaders, one ill-fated comment towards the potential king and it cost him his head.
Then, not staying for even a second longer, the silver haired man spun around, his cape whisking to side for a brief moment, and began to storm out of the room, a look of pure unadulterated malice and anger covering the full of his face, his eyes glinting ferociously as he left the room.
Once he did, and when he was well out of sound range of the king’s ear, he kicked a nearby suit of armor, and continued on his way, breathing through clenched teeth, his eyes burning with something akin to evil. Was it in the very nature of that presumptuous bastard bring up that most unwanted memory. It was only little less than a year ago when his wife had died while giving birth to what turned out to be a miscarriage—yet he still continued to taunt and tease him for that. (A/N 4) Still… Why did everyone proceed to blame him? Wasn’t it always the woman’s fault if something went wrong at birth? It was always the case with dogs, wasn’t it? He then shook his head, not believing that he would think of such a thing. He shouldn’t blame his great love as he did. It wasn’t her fault. If anything, it was his own—for being unable to restrain his sexual appetite during the course of what would become a fatal pregnancy. He had been such a fool—to think that his wife could still please him while awaiting what could have possibly become the happiest moment of his life.
Still… That lousy, impudent, blundering IDIOT! How dare he bring up and stir such unpleasant memories to him. Rosenkreuz was already bad enough (but he could take things from people like him) but from him? He may be the future king of their land—but he had absolutely no right to provoke him like that. EVER!
As he continued to storm through the hallway, (several people dodging to the nearest room, in an attempt to get out of his way) he thought, in the darkest corners of his mind. Laugh while you can, you pompous imbecile, he thought to himself. For Rosenkreuz isn’t the only man here with a plan to eliminate your reign.