Chapter Text
Too Many Days
Said Prince of many names and not quite enough hair to tie through the knot-work of his throne was currently riding fast over the countryside, Epyon flaring her ears to the side and kicking up a great cloud of mustard coloured dust. The expedition was long out of the forest and was now travelling through the eastern regions of Medi. Treize could tell from the dust trail that his friend wasn't exactly taking the most direct route back to the caravan. The landscape consisted of low, rolling hills, some blanketed with bright crops and vineyards, Yellow houses with mossy patina sat surrounded by the perpetual autumn colours of the grasses, weathered fences, and tall, narrow trees. Watching the return of Epyon and her rider in the distance, Treize noted that if his fair-complexioned friend were to fall off of his horse he might not be found again.
Treize turned his attention back to the caravan while his friend zig-zagged his way towards them.
“You certainly didn't get me a leisure horse, Treize.”
Hearing his friend's voice behind him, Treize turned to see Zechs walk Epyon up to the caravan where men were making efforts to make themselves busy or, forgoing the effort, just leaning up against the stationary carts and wagons. Even Duo lay stretched across a load, his side and elbow propped on a few boxes and his head cradled lazily on his palm. His eyes were open though, and he watched the exchange between the two nobleman with an ear habitually used to picking information.
Treize was surprised to note his friend was panting, and Epyon wasn't fresh as a daisy either as she picked her way over to the water troughs. Zechs snatched a bucket off the ground and promptly doused himself with the water before too many horses had gotten to it. Treize merely stood and looked bemused and Zechs let him wait while he wrung the excess water out of his hair and shirt before giving his “report.”
“The town isn't far. It's a fair size; smith, woodworkers, a few shops. There is a pubic house run by two women, seem nice. They'll be expecting us.”
“I'm sure they will,” Treize said with a wry smile as he noticed the faces of several men perk up at the word “town” and several more at the word “women.”
“Alright.” Treize merely had to give a particular wave of his hand and the crew began to strap and rig the horses and carts for one more leg of travel, once more eager to do so.
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Relena was sitting back with her cup of tea, the last of the pot, when Pagan returned to see to his princess. On her face was a content, nearly smug smile as she looked out the window. On the desk the map she had requested was now stuck with a multitude of pins, one for each gift, each proposal, each letter, each wish, adulation, salutation, sonnet, invitation, inquiry about the weather, and remark upon per person. Some countries were more inundated with others as to be barely seen on the map but for their vague shape in a forest of pins.
“A productive afternoon, princess?”
Relena turned, her smile even brighter. “Yes Pagan. She put her teacup down. I've decided that, since I am soon of age where I am eligible to seek a husband, I shall begin to entertain suitors.”
Pagan's eyebrows went up in some shock, which only turned Relena's smile into a meaningful grin.
“Starting,” she continued. “with them.” She put her finger square on the map, an island country to the south east where not a single pin was to be found.