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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 11th - [b]A time where the birds still sang their lullabies[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	The rainfall continued to pepper the fields surrounding Amone, and the trees that were once used to bring life to Amone's surrounding forestry were drowned in the one thing they were fruitful in. There was a bitter spite in the striking precipitation that fell unto the world. Most of the other officers had already gone inside, enjoying their funny little expensive meals from within their more prestigious dugouts than those found in the common soldier's hands. Even though he'd been brought up by aristocracy and wealth, there was nothing more sickly than its presence on the working man's battlefield, being an exclusive commodity for those brought into positions of power, most of which were yet to directly kill a man or woman themselves. It was a lot better than when the war first started, and that almost every officer within the Federation was from a position of wealth and power. Now it was a meritocracy, and that was where Alexander himself shone best. Achievements meant promotions, not notoriety. If it was that way, the lack of truth around Middleton's name back home would've been enough to propel him to a higher status by now, but he rejected it. Now, he was a Captain, one that had fallen from grace. The worst part of it all was the fact that part of him was still self-aware of the monster he'd become, seeing that his mind was brought to its knees and forced to lick the dirt off of corruption's steel-toe capped boots, doused in a sludge commonly found at the bottom of the regular Europan trench. It must be nice, having the ability to shove a stuffed lamb or recently carved chicken put down onto a grand plate before you, smiling as the men outside freeze or starve on just their small rations. Whilst the common eye saw the insane Captain as distrusting of his own men, it was far from the truth. The Captain loved them all. He would never admit it. His future self would always deny such feelings, but the past Alexander that once roamed the world would look upon the men and women who served under his command with a beaming smile and raise a glass to them, yelling a great [i]Cheero[/i] as they too shared a similar glee. Those giddy days were gone, weren't they though. Those days were nothing more than a fragile void waiting to be recovered by the blissful embrace of death itself. How unfair life had become...

	Alexander didn't write home anymore. There was little care left. Viscount Oscar Middleton would've received letters regularly from William, the older and more respected brother of Alexander's tarnished consensus. Even with the name of a false hero that spread throughout the civie-streets of the Federation, both the Viscount and Lady that called themselves his parents would never give him the pat on the back, or the hug of appreciation. Love was not a word his family used often to describe how much Alexander actually meant to them. An after thought. A waste of resources. A failed prospect that didn't meet the expectations of their enriched ideologies. Two of the Viscount's other songs were killed in the earlier years of the conflict. The eldest, Henry, was murdered in 1913EC aboard the [b]HRS Francis Drake[/b], a royal dreadnought that was finally destroyed at Heligoland Peak. Down with the ship, they said. Bartholomew, on the other hand, was killed at the fateful Maren River crossing. Very early war, in that case. It pained Alexander to even consider writing to his own home, knowing his words would forever disappoint his father just for simply existing themselves. William occasionally sent letters to Alexander under strict circumstances, but responses were hard to give back to him due to the sporadic movement and schedules of the Captain's own career.

	His mind had been stuck in one place for the last three days, since he'd arrived at Amone. This was the border to Assen, his homeland. Just under a year ago, he was here once more, fighting within his beloved 21st Edinburgh Fusiliers. It was a shame that the stench of the red-rainwater dew was still stuck thickly within his memory. It had given him the brash hatred towards the Vinlander generals and their glorification of the war. Sure, they were volunteers to prepare the United States themselves for a potential entry into the war, but it was far too dangerous to assign them to what was the last ditch effort at holding on to Assen. Alexander thought that every day was worse than the last after that early November morning. Storming the fortification lines that were now only 13 or so miles away from where he stood today, here just outside of Amone, thousands of men and women who followed and trusted him were cut down in violent waves without any sort of repent. The chain of command kept sending more and more into the fray, and it was close to even having Lucia sent out there. The world crumbled around Alexander when he climbed out of his trench, stumbling across the [url=https://steemitimages.com/DQmeo4ZFWW7JjpZKQgnF5ALtpXiSkcRg4kQgPaGbrghnoVZ/zonnebeke.jpg]devastated land[/url]. Bodies were at every metre, and for once the Imperials seemed to take pity on him, crying his eyes out as he gathered one identity disk after another, watching the bodies of those who he called his friends before. Hundreds of thousands of them. All covered in blood, mucus, spit and decay. Half of the bodies weren't identifiable. Some thought it was the most tragic scene to withhold on the war. [i]The Man who Waltzed the Graveyard[/i], as the event became known as. One 1st Lieutenant, breaking down into endless streams of tears until his mind broke whilst he walked amongst all the dead who trusted him.

	It wasn't just his mind that changed that day, nor his attitude towards how he would've contained his anger, but there was someone else who was badly inflicted. Lucia. She'd been under his protection for around a year by then, hiding amongst his sleeves and away from the frontline combat. Without much prejudice, the research and original reason of their meeting had become one of a fatherly complex. Lucia was the light to his world. She wasn't a lover, nor was she a fighter. She was Lucia. The days were silent, with him making sure officers didn't get their grubby hands onto her whenever they wanted extra hands on call. No rifle was placed into her hand with the intention of killing another human, not then or ever. The only time he let her strike anger out was when a rat or two scoffed at her meals and threatened to pass infection around the trenches, to which she happily saw the challenge to kill it. Other soldiers looked at her like she was a useless piece of baggage, but with what Alexander knew, she was more than that. And before that early November morning, she wasn't just a project to him. There was something about how they used to talk and smile that really made her special...[/color]

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[color=A9FF7D][b]"Lieutenant, is it okay to eat the extra food? Wouldn't the old officer-man get angry at us again?"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Her sweet little cheeks puffed out eagerly as ignored her hesitation to eat, placing the pieces of freshly sliced bread into her gaping mouth. A small giggle came about as she continued to load her painfully hungry stomach up with the bakery products recently donated to her by Corporal White, a familiar face in the NCO dugout. As Lucia blissfully brought out that honest question, slightly concerned about her own reputation amongst the 21st Edinburgh Fusilier's ranks with high command, Alexander smiled lovingly to himself, extending out his open palm to ruffle up her dainty, crystal white hair. With her helmet taken off, she was far more free to express her childhood. It was lucky that she was gifted these extra rations, especially seeing as she was the most popular icon within the regiment, almost as if she were a mascot of the sorts. Once Alexander's faint hand scruffed up her hair once more, she began to chuckle again, even with her mouth full. The two shared a joyful laugh together as she sat up onto her own bed, still trying to get used to the uncomfortable spring mattresses the army had provided them. Finally, Alexander spoke by continuing to button up her sleeves, adjusting her uniform to be more presentable for the outside world of their dugout.[/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"If it's okay with me, then it is okay for you. You deserve it. You're a big girl, remember."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]They shared another mutual smile together as she opened her mouth greatly, taking another bite out of her slices whilst making strange feline-like noises for her appreciation of its soft, fluffy texture. Whilst it wasn't warm, it was far better than anything she'd managed to eat in recent months, or even years, considering the conditions of the trenches. Time and time again, Alexander tried to sneak her food from the officer's mess halls back at the regimental headquarters, but was unable to every single time. Every day Lucia yearned to eat some form of hot roast, trying to imitate the noises of the animal she playfully chewed upon to make everyone around her laugh.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"I can't believe you're fifteen now, Lucia. That's a big number, you know. That's 5475 days on Europan soil, alive and breathing. Call yourself a lucky girl, wouldn't you?"[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	Lucia beamed as she looked over to the bedside table. Well, it was more of an old ammunition box that was put beside her bed, imitating that of a chest of draws or something. Atop of it was usually a candle, but that had been moved aside for the makeshift cards and paper messages given to her on the special morning of her life's anniversary. From the aforementioned Corporal White's small snapshot roll-film that his camera had made, one of himself, Alexander and Lucia herself sat atop of an artillery gun, to the hundreds of messages written out by C and B company. She glimmered at the hopeful addresses given to her, and they were all there: Private Mason, who still was always given the chance to cook and brew tea for the officers, the Jefferson brothers, the 'Lads of the Emma-Gees' (a select collective of privates all from the machine gun squads, who always were known for their bright smiles), the beauty of the west 'Sergeant Amanda Brown' and all the other names could be seen signing piece by piece. Lucia, for the first time in a long time, truly felt loved and appreciated, completely under the care of her own regiment and compassionate Lieutenant before her.

	For a moment, her mind went into a small drift, as it always did. Her understanding of the world was still majorly minuscule in comparison to the common soldier, but her friends and seemingly adopted family on the frontlines gave her all the appropriate information they could whenever she needed it. Alexander smirked and tried desperately to conceal his own chuckle when she pulled her thinking face, always seeing how innocently childish it was of her to do so. Either way, she eventually pouted before grinning herself, and Lucia finally managed to formulate the moment's next big question.[/color]

[color=A9FF7D][b]"Why don't the Officer's like to hang out with us? Mr Richards from the Em...uhh...Em...Emma..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]She stumbled on her words, pulling another confused pout as she tried to remember the informal name for their collective friendship circle. Lucia's eyes darted towards for a helpful push in the right direction, before her own mind figured it out herself, treating it as if it were a brand now achievement to be proud of.[/color] [color=A9FF7D][b]"The Emma-Gees, that's it! Well, he said that the officers didn't think you were nice and kind, or that you should be a bit meaner like the Colonel."[/b][/color]

[color=0AB100][b]"Bah, those old coots couldn't get any fun unless it were paid for in huge sums of cash. They seem to like to party, but not with those who didn't hold a candle to their rather [i]formal upbringings[/i]."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Lucia, once again, giggled at his almost mocking tone of their richness. It always struck her the right way when he disregarded the aristocracy that he'd been brought up with for the benefit of his own soldiers, finding comfort and a sense of belonging within their ranks, even as an officer of high regard and authority. Alexander placed a hand gently on her cheek as they both smiled into one another's faces, much like that of a father and daughter.[/color] [color=0AB100][b]"But you have us, the 21st. We're all here for you, and we hope we made you have the best birthday a girl could ask for. Looks like we'll have a lot to do for your 16th, won't we, little Lucia?"[/b][/color]

[color=A9FF7D][b]"There's one way to make it better, without much effort..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Before Alexander could question what she meant, right after tilting his head, Lucia spread out her arms and wrapped the around her guardian, beaming brightly into his heart as she glistened on that birthday night.[/color] [color=A9FF7D][b]"Just let us continue to be happy together, Mr Middleton. Just let us be happy."[/b][/color]

[color=Silver]	A tear came to Alexander's eye as he felt the surge of paternal love soar wildly through his mind. He couldn't control the emotions at hand. Nothing could ever bring such a beautiful moment ever to shame. There was no wrong in the world with her around. These two were going to be together forever, as a father and daughter figure in one another's own innocent eyes, just trying to get by and survive the war. With their minds put to rest, Middleton nodded, mouthing out the words that he promised to forever take care of her, and to never let harm come in her way. And with that, he thought to himself that whatever he did, it was for her own life, for her own brilliance. Even if there was still a different reason for why these two had met in the first place, and that his research would have to continue regardless, at least he could love her as the daughter he would never have. He would never lose her, and she would never lose him.[/color]

[centre][color=Gray]But she did.[/color]
[color=Black]She lost him forever.[/color][/centre]