Who knew that spending your spare afternoon watching the Sharpe box set would give you story ideas? Lol.

Warnings: Cloud is a bit of an ass! Lol, okay not a bit, a big of an ass(LOL!).

The Strifes of War

Prologue

The peaceful night was shattered by the sudden boom of a cannon. The air instantly became clouded with smoke shielding soldiers from the enemy eyes as the second cannon went off. Within the moment, the opposing side began with the returning fire.

It had been this sound that had awoken him from his light slumber and causing him to sit bolt upright, the knife he kept under his pillow held firmly in his hand and ready to strike.

"Major Strife?" came a voice, which caused his head to whip around sharply. He visibly relaxed as he recognised the black-haired man before him.

"What is it Commander Biggs?"

"The troops are about to begin their charge Sir. They are estimated to cross into enemy territory within twenty minutes. Do you want them to take any prisoners?"

"No," the Major replied coldly. "We don't have time for prisoners."

"Yes Sir," answered Biggs, giving a salute as he continued. "Permission to leave Sir."

"Granted."

Biggs nodded and turned sharply on his heel to exit the tent. With a tired sigh, Major Strife pulled his army shirt over his head and stood up. Glancing towards his Buster Sword in the corner, he pulled on his gloves and tied the sword's sheath to his back. With an almost loving touch, he took the sword and sheathed it carefully before stepping into the night.

Instantly, his soldiers came to attention and awaited his orders. His hard stare looked down the line of the army before he took his position at the front of the flank. Unsheathing his sword, he held it up to his face for a second before lowering it in one swift movement. The reaction was immediate. His entire army began to charge the fields towards their enemy, weapons ready and bodies set to kill. With a cold and detached look in his eyes, Major Strife followed his men into the heat of battle.

The battle had lasted for hours and now his victorious army headed back across the blood-soaked field towards their camp. But still, Major Strife was in an irritable mood. He always hated when battles lasted longer than needed. It wasted time and energy that needn't be wasted and this day had been no exception.

"Major Strife Sir!" Biggs called from the distance, causing the Major to stop in his tracks and give an annoyed sigh.

"What?" he snarled as he turned to face the other man but stopped suddenly. There, held firmly by the commander's grip around her wrist, was a young woman who couldn't have been much older than twenty. Her long chestnut hair was strewn all over her dirt-covered face, the braid that had previously held it all but loose. Slowly, her gaze met his, her bright green eyes sparkling in anger and hate.

"What is the meaning of this Commander?" Strife muttered, finally turning his gaze away from the prisoner.

"We found her when we were taking weapons from the dead Sir," Biggs explained. "Seems like she had been posing as a man and snuck off in to the army."

"Is that so?" he replied thoughtfully, turning back to the woman, expecting her to confirm. But she just continued to glare with utter resentment.

"We thought you'd want to…take her…Sir," the Commander added. The Major glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and the slightest smirk at what was being implied. The prisoner was practically shaking with anger.

Without a word, the Major stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the woman's waist. Biggs automatically let go of her wrist and Strife lifted her effortlessly over his shoulder, earning a startled squeak from the woman. The shock only lasted for a second before she began screaming, squirming in his grip and punching his back, an action that proved useless since the Major couldn't feel the girl's hits through his armour.

"Stand guard Biggs, in case she tries to escape."

"Yes Sir!"

He entered his tent and almost instantly dumped the woman on his makeshift bed of blankets. She landed with an 'oof', her arms flailing in front of her to break her fall. Seething, she whirled around to face him.

"How dare you!" she hissed. "You think you can do this? I swear when I get back home I'll make sure that you are…!"

"Oh for God's sake," he scoffed as he undid his boots. "Firstly, I'm not interested thank you very much. Secondly, you can throw any thoughts of you going back to your home out of the window because it's not happening for a long time, understand?"

"I wish you had just killed me," she muttered, turning away from him and staring at the wall of the tent with complete loathing.

"They should have," Strife replied, suddenly picking her up and placing her on his jacket on the floor. "I ordered them to take no prisoners."

"What do you think you are playing at?" she snapped, ignoring his previous answer.
"Prisoners don't get any rewards I'm afraid," he muttered, lying back and grabbing her bag of belongings. Carelessly, he tipped it upside down and allowed the contents to spill onto the blankets.

"Don't you dare!"

He ignored her and rifled through the things before him, his hand hovering above a silver necklace with a small image engraved on it. Curiously, he picked it up and held it up to his eyes. It was a picture of two large oak trees standing opposite each other and seperatedbythe infamous White Materia. His eyebrows raised and he looked at his prisoner. She swallowed thickly, her eyes, which had been fixed on the pendent, slowly raised to his and were filled with fear for the first time.

"Well, it's a good thing we didn't kill you," he said. "Members of Royal families often get good results in wars wouldn't you agree, Princess Aerith?"