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PART ONE: DREAMS

The darkness was nearly total, a primeval sort of blackness that was unlike the moon-bathed night nor the ebon-gray shadows of well-run tunnels. This was darkness. Pure, elemental darkness.

Lidia's sidheborn gaze was not totally blinded by the all-encompassing pall -- but it was close. The hazy blackness came like rolling fog at the edges of her preternatural senses, she often wondered how regular humans even _managed_with the dull perceptions of the common man. Her ears twitched at subtle changes in the flow of the air, and her wide, glowing green eyes turned the slightest ribbon of light into the soft glow of a candle. Yet it was neither of those gifted senses that lead her on this mission: it was _the smell._The vinegar-stink of Ghuls was thick in the blackness, like a visible trail left in smears and wafting vapors, she honed in on it through the inky gloom, and her innards rebelled violently.

"Lady's Grace, it's like midnight on a black stallion's ass in here," came a complaint, the good-natured grousing stirring the heart to ignore the twists of her stomach. Friends were nearby, she was not alone in the darkness.

"Aye, Franc. You'd know a thing or two about horse's asses," answered a good-natured jibe to the opposite side, and several voices murmured in muted laughter. Stealth wasn't a concern. The rattle of harness and kit was none-too-quiet in the pall, and the press of bodies was a beacon to anyone -- or anything -- with keener senses than average.

"You lot will never let me live that down will you?" Francois groused, but even in the near-total darkness, Lidia could see the vague white gleam of his teeth as he grinned, "One ornery stallion makes off with my trousers while I'm changing and it's a whole to do."

"The sight of you chasing a prancing warhorse in full tack naked from the waist-down will pass into legend before you do," another voice in the dark snickered, getting a fresh round of quiet laughter. Lidia grinned herself, feeling oddly at-home among the soldiers, but something gnawed at her as she swiveled her gleaming green eyes back to the darkness, several steps ahead of the main group, something was_wrong._ The fetid stink of musk and brackish humors was strong around them, too strong for the usual paths of traversal the monsters left. It was thick, cloying, Lidia's guts twisted in revulsion -- and sudden fear, as it dawned on her why.

"EYES UP, THEY'RE FOOKIN' ALL AROUND US!"

Her voice was hoarse, and the silence was shattered by the clatter of harness and the scrape of steel on stone, but her voice came too late, her hesitation their undoing. A muffled curse was the only warning as the attack came, the shattering of a lantern hitting the floor -- burning, but still hooded -- was loud as a thundercrack. The fires leapt on the spreading oil, illuminating horrors.

Teeth. Teeth and talons in the darkness. Francois' cries found her ears, and the darkness simply nipped his head from his shoulders, the stump of his neck fountaining gore as his body went eerily slack to the ground. Pale claws lunged from the black, ripping, tearing, snatching people -- or worse, limbs -- back into the darker recesses. Gil, blonde and pale stumbled holding the ruins of his gorget, his throat laid open to gleaming white bone before mercifully falling limp. Lidia saw Giles, doughty, tough Giles stumble to the ground and drag himself forward on the gushing stump of a missing leg -- bitten clean off at the knee -- before he was buried in shadowy forms, biting, ripping. Feasting.

Bedlam broke out, the clatter and clash of combat in the flickering dark. Weapons found their marks and the screams of the dying were joined by those of their friend's killers. There was chaos in the close quarters, chaos and fear. The blackness lunged at her with a hooting, inhuman cry, snapping jaws wide, snatching claws darting quick.

She screamed. The men screamed. The darkness engulfed her with hot, wet pain.

~ ~ ~

Lidia shot upright, teeth clenched in cold-sweat terror. She had long ago learned not to scream from nightmares. Screaming in the dark only let the monsters know where you were, instead, pointed canine teeth clamped tightly and eyes bulging -- she huffed and wheezed through her rictus of horror, her body damp and limbs trembling with the terror of the dream.

A dream. Just a bad dream.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she shuddered there in the darkness for a moment, green eyes wide and luminous as her mind played the last moments over and over again in an anxious panic, her hands drifted over her face. Over the scar from the bridge of her nose, down her left cheek. Where the Ghul's claws had raked through her hood when it bowled her over. Where Francois had died, along with a half dozen others. A silent sob took her shoulders as she wiped her tear-streaked face. Francois, Gally, Dermont, Giles, Oliver, Addison and even little blonde Gil, barely there a month. His first posting. She bit her lip hard as that memory forked itself into the hideous puppet that Mihai had made of him. Horrors upon horrors assailed her mind, and she drew her breath in deep and held it -- letting her heart slow.

She was in Fort Ivory, and she was safe. Her conscious mind slowly stepped down firmly on the gibbering terror of the nightmare and its cold-sweat panic. She was safe, Bart had been in the Glade for but a week, the memories of the siege clawing up in the absence of her friends.

Yet, she was not alone.

Heart slowed, she lay back into the blankets, and put her arms around Gram. The tall cavalier was still asleep, their shared bed large and comfortable, the little changeling having ensconced herself between him and the far wall -- a childhood habit. She lay her cool cheek against his bare chest, her own nightgown clinging to her as she closed her eyes and listened to his heart. They were still chaste, but he had taken her to his bed and his arms on Bart's wedding night, and she'd deigned to stay there ever since. Of course she coaxed him into a _great deal_of kissing and warm embraces -- but she respected his desires to marry her and make her a proper woman, before making her _his_woman. Truly as she lay there, she _wanted_to jump his bones... but she really, truly wanted just to be close to him.

"Bad dream?" came his soft baritone, and she smiled against his chest. Damned light sleepers.

"A bit o' one," she answered, putting her nose in the hollow of his collarbone, breathing in deep.

"The caves, again?" he asked, and his large, long-fingered hands found her hair. She nodded. Gram's arms went around her, and she shivered in delight as he rolled over, making that safe, secure little niche all the moreso. He always knew exactly how to comfort her.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" he ventured, and her breath hitched against his chest. He always asked, and she always said no... maybe this time?

"It's nae yer problem, loverboy," she murmured quietly; "Jus' a scared little girl, that's all."

"You know I won't accept that," the tall man murmured down into her hair, it had grown longer still, now bouncing just below her jawline in its raucous refusal to be tamed. She smiled in spite of herself and pulled him closer.

"Nae, nae ye won't, ye fookin' bully," she murmured cheekily and fell silent for a long moment, listening to his heart and his breathing, taking a deep inhale of his scent. Her senses were sharp, far beyond that of her fellows, or so she was told -- it wasn't like she had any comparisons to make -- and it made the little nuances of his smell stand out. The ever-present undertones of steel and leather he couldn't quite scrub out, the oil he put in his mustaches, the pleasant scent of flesh and cloth together, that unavoidable masculine musk of work and toil that had always been a comfort to her -- all wrapped up into a singular, multi-faceted aroma that just _was_Gram.

"It... I know it was nae my fault... but 'twas a lil', ye know?" she murmured, and Gram's body language became immediately attentive. She felt his fingers in her hair and closed her eyes, letting herself carefully back to the darkness of the dream. "In th' dark and deep like that... was supposed tae be my realm, my place o' power. But I nae was ready, not for th' true deep, deep black o' that place."

"You speak of the ambush in the east breach," Gram stated knowingly, and she gave a mute little nod. He of course, had been there when it happened. His flashing blade had slain many, and her own had gutted the creature who's claws had scarred her face -- but a precious handful of young men were snuffed out in the press, seven she knew by name. Seven she'd let down.

"I dinnae know what it meant, but I should 'ave," she protested, the darkness of his embrace momentarily full of those gleaming, gnashing teeth. She shuddered. "Twas common sense, I should 'ave raised hell as soon as I smelled th' reek comin' from all sides, nae just th' front," she complained, old, well-cried tears springing anew in her luminous green eyes at the freshly-opened memory. "I should 'ave been better."

"Who is to say if that would have changed anything, Little Redcap," Gram murmured to her, stroking her hair; "All of those men sold their lives dearly in that horrible place, they went in with faith and steel. You know that."

"Aye, aye I do," she agreed, nodding into his chest. The second man she'd made habit of hugging, he wasn't as burly as Bart, but she could fit her arms around him _just_so -- and she liked that. Her fingers met at the tips around his muscular back and she breathed a deep, shuddering breath, heart thumping against his own. "It's jus'... I still see 'em, th' boys an' the dyin'... I dream o' it and the fear, the feelin' o' being hunted like an animal comes floodin' back... an'... an' even though I 'ave seen things that make th' pissy lil' ambush in those fookin' caves seem like sissy kid stuff... it haunts me. I keep seein' Franc's head jus'... just _gone..."_she breathed in, swallowing a sob against his chest.

"I cannae stop seein' it. I 'ad the fookin' Empty Queen stare at my soul, but it's seein' little Gil in my heart o' hearts with his throat torn out, ne'er tae hear his pretty singin' voice again that wakes me in th' night..."

Gram's strong arms were like tight, binding iron, wrapping around her as she fell into a new bout of sobbing, holding her tight -- holding her together.

"It will fade, with time, we do not get to choose what hurts us in the crush of battle. For many, it is the little horrors that linger longest, you are not alone," he said to her in a voice as steady and stoic as the stones of the fortress itself. She clung to that foundation, and her sobs petered out as she held him close. "Have faith, Little Redcap. Those men rest now in Godhome, their suffering done, their reward eternal."

"Aye... aye they best be," she said, wiping her eyes. "Gil was made fer the Lord's choir up high."

"He was too good for this world, I regret not knowing him better."

"Aye, aye me too loverboy, me too."

The changeling shivered, burrowing down against him now that the panic had faded and her heart ached just a little less. Her sweat-damp nightgown clung to her, chilling her with the cool air of the fortress. Like clockwork, the heavy blanket was drawn up around her, Gram's familiar presence redoubling its intimacy as he cradled her against his chest.

Then, he began to sing.

Gram's bearing was cool, and his heart may have been ensconced in a throne of ice to most -- but his voice, God and Heaven his _voice._Lidia closed her eyes as he sang to her, a soft little lullaby she had grown fond of, a song he had told her was sung to him as a boy. She had learned some of the lyrics, the Darrowmite tongue difficult for her rough, Middlelands brogue... but she could pick out her favorite stanza as she sang it softly to her ear, drowsing softly back to sleep:

Sing little nightingale, sing, you who has a joyous heart

You have a heart for laughing... mine can only cry.

As she drifted back away, safe in her lover's embrace, she promised herself that someday, somehow... she'd give him a joyous heart, just like he had made hers.

~ ~ ~

The sun broke early over Fort Ivory, and it felt as if she had just dropped to sleep when Lidia found the bed empty with warm, eager sunlight filtering in through the thin arrow-slit windows of the visitor's quarters. Commander Maxos still considered her a 'dignitary' despite her protestations, and for their visit had put them in the same spartan but stately quarters she, Bart, and the others had been in during their first visit... only some few months past. Felt like decades. Shite.

Closing her eyes against the slight glare, she gave a jaw-cracking yawn that exposed every one of her too-straight teeth and their fiercely-pointed canines. An accompanying catlike stretch bent her sidheborn spine at a nearly inhumanly supple angle, pushing her bare body against the thin nightgown suggestively before she flopped over one side of the bed, cheek against Gram's pillow and arm dangling to the floor.

"Get a good show, loverboy?" she teased, where she herself was given a good eyeful. Gram was still bare to the waist save the loose linen breeches he wore to bed with her, down on the rug across the cool stone floor -- hands flat, back straight, vigorously doing press-ups. The tall, lithe warrior's body was well-matched to her tastes indeed, and she enjoyed his morning workouts, watching his powerful, whip-like muscles bunch and stretch. She must look for all the world like a cat pondering a bowl of cream, slitted feline eyes and pointy teeth included.

Gram to his credit, grinned at her. It was a private, personal expression she was one of few people to ever see -- oh sure he smiled, but that grin with the twinkle of delight behind his cold eyes was just for her.

"As always, spectacular," he said, leaning down into another press, his back bunching into a sleek, glistening 'V' of sinew that made her smile turn a bit wicked.

"Aye, the view from up here ain't half bad," she agreed, dragging her fingers across the floor where her arm dangled in little winsome patterns. She breathed in deep his scent on the pillows, in the air as he worked. God's Blood, she loved him. Loved looking at him, loved touching him, loved every little bit of him. It was going to drive her crazy, and she was gonna laugh gaily the whole way down.

"I live but to serve," the warrior answered, transitioning to single-handed presses, folding his off arm behind his back and continuing. He didn't need to do the advanced workout -- he was showing off, just a little, for her. She knew it because Gram was many things, but a braggart was not one of them. He was doing it because he knew she liked it. That little bit extra put a song in her heart.

"Yer a terrible man tae give me such a bounty an' make me wait tae claim it," she purred at him, earning another gleaming-eyed grin from the man as he pointedly shifted arms once more, the little changeling's legs and toes winding in the bedding as she watched him finish slowly, standing up back-lit by the window to stretch out his limbs with pops and cracks of night-stiff joints limbering up.

"Ah, but the anticipated treat is all the sweeter than the common daily fare, no?" he chided her playfully, and a warm blush filled her cheeks as she watched him transition to his next exercise, leaping straight up to catch one of the crossbeams above them, pulling himself up to the chin and slowly lowering back down. She tucked her chin into her hands happily.

"Aye, aye, ye know I know," she groused at him with a playful out-thrust of her tongue; "Ye're just so goddamned _handsome_all my stored-up girly crushes are comin' out all at once."

"I will endeavor to live up to the expectation," Gram noted in a strained voice as he continued to bob up and down, letting her continue to ogle him -- which she shamelessly did, who else was here but God and maybe the Lady? She would check up on them to make sure she was loved.

"Oh nae need tae worry on that accord, ye've already kicked down the gates o' hell wit' me, an' slew a whole pile o' demons. I'm thinkin' ye're pretty alright far as girly crushes go." She cast a deliberate wink at him, her gaze softening from its ferocious avarice to a warm contentment as he let go, dropping nimbly back to the floor and walking over to her.

He kissed her. To call it something so simple was actually quite nice, a simple little kiss. But it was more than simple, for he kissed her like he was afraid she'd fly away, vanish into the morning sun like a dream, she raised herself up as he cupped her face, and his mouth found hers. The softness of his mustaches and lips contrasted with the rough stubble yet-unshaven, the taste of his mouth warm and inviting, and his rough, calloused hands gentle and reassuring. Aye, just a simple kiss. Perfection.

"Well, if I meet standards, come Little Redcap, it's time for prayers."

Lidia grinned and shuffled out of bed, Gram and her sitting together on the warm rug as he lead her through the morning devotions as he always did -- her brogue stammered on a few of the recitations of the Tongue of Angels, but he as always was patient. Prayers to the Lady and God, she hadn't prayed before... but now? Aye now it seemed appropriate. Now she knew the Lady was listening, if only a scoche. Small reasons, yes, but she was a small creature still -- and having met The Lady, she knew such small steps were cared for. Loved, even.

The devotions were not all that long, or even demanding, and the little changeling could not deny she felt more centered and prepared for the day afterwards. She opened her eyes to the sunlight and Gram's face, and felt contentment she would have all the time in the world to do that again, and again, and again -- and a little gush of renewed girly giddiness. Better reel it in a bit, she'd be fawning like a lovelorn shepherdess if she let herself dwell too long on it.

"C'mon loverboy, ye may be happy with tea an' devotions, but iffin' I dinnae get some coffee and bacon in me before too long I'll start in on ye," she said, grinning at him with those too-sharp, inhuman canines. She used to be ashamed of them, but she found she enjoyed the dangerous gleam in his eye when she showed off, just a bit. Much like his secret smile, these features were only for him now. She liked that quite a lot.

"As you wish," he said, pulling her to her feet and gamely drawing the divider -- something he had requested for her personally -- across the room, shielding her modesty from his gaze. She smiled as they both changed. This had been their morning rhythm for a week or so now, waiting on various messenger hawks and confirmations before Gram was free to leave on their journey... and some degree of dilly-dallying on her own part. She'd grown fond of the men of Fort Ivory, Commander Maxos and his boys were stout, good lads and had done fair and honest by her, and it was one last goodbye she was holding off making.

"Have you given much thought to my proposal?" Gram asked her as he tied back his hair, Lidia fluffing her own red mane up from the collar of her ever-present hood. She'd never been parted from it since she was a wee lass, and today would be no different.

"Aye, an' I still think it's bloody well awkward," she said, pushing the divider aside, already dressed in her usual garb of loose breeches, soft boots and a sleeveless jerkin with her red hood for accent. She liked the dresses Mrs. Mueller had given her, but she felt a touch shy still wearing them around people who'd seen her draw steel on ungodly horrors.

"Awkward or not, you have to meet my parents eventually if I am to wed you," Gram countered, wearing his own casual clothing, a simple white hunter's doublet over breeches and boots. Commander Maxos had decreed him off duty regardless of whether or not the approval had come through from The Abbey -- by force -- and grudgingly Gram had relented from his duties during their layover in the great redoubt. "I daresay after the circumstances of my birth, bringing home a changeling will be a refreshing sort of drama."

"Oh wunnderful," Lidia drawled laconically at him, sashaying forward to straighten his collar, "I'm a wee little bit o' theater for your family, erry'one come gawk at the sidhe girl, isn't she weird?" she chortled with an exaggerated wide-eyed stare before she leaned up on tiptoes -- and pulled him down by his now-straight collar -- and kissed him warmly on the mouth. She made it linger, just enough that she loathed to break it, and then smiled up at him from that intimate distance.

"... However, iffin' I'm gonna be your wife and see if this fairy-made womb can pop out dozens o' little steely-eyed babes... I am gonna 'ave tae know who tae call their grans, ye?" she said, and Gram's face beamed at her with unabashed joy; warmth and love flowing over his frosty features like the winter's last rime pouring off a springtime statue. He swept her up in his arms, spinning her gaily around the room -- and it was his turn to kiss her.

Gram had two ways of kissing she'd discovered. One was the gentle, soft, stately things he gave her in quiet moments or in public places. The second? The second was one of these. He _devoured_her, his mouth eating up every inch of her own it could, seeking and soothing every need and want she'd ever had for intimacy, every dream of a dark, daring prince come to save her in one, wet, lurid, sensuous sensation. Her toes curled in her boots and her eyes fluttered closed as she met the kiss with interest, her body growing hot and her breath coming short and fast as they finally broke away, panting and wanting with flames of passion freshly fanned -- but she smiled at him over a bit lip, her little canines showing over their soft pink.

"You know just the right things to say... for an unlettered Little Redcap," he said to her, and she laughed and cupped his cheeks.

"An ye know just the right things tae say yerself... for a great, big, stodgy ol' churchy," she responded, getting another genuine smile from him.

"We'll set off as soon as we get word. I'll write father this evening, and the letter will beat us there," he said, his voice calm as ever -- but Lidia had come to know him well, and she could feel his excitement as much as he endeavored to restrain it. She couldn't help but smile.

"Ye were waitin' like a boy on his nameday fer that, weren't ye?" she asked him, and he grinned at her, giving her one last spin before setting her lightly on her feet.

"Yes, yes I was. I know you're frightened of the idea, but my family will love you," he said, taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently; "Because I love you, and that is no small thing."

"Aye, 'tis the grandest thing in all o' the world," she said, taking his hand and cupping it to her cheek. She could stay like this, day in and out, with him and this place forever... but she knew he wanted -- needed -- more from her. More that she was terrified, but at the same time very happy to give.

"How long 'as it been since ye've seen yer family?" she asked.

"Years. I do not go home often, on account of duty, and familial... tensions."

"Tensions?" she asked, and he nodded.

"My mother, as you know. Her absence pains father, and though he loves me deeply, any fool can see that -- I do not relish reminding him of her with my presence."

"Oh darlin'..." she crooned and stroked his arm, the phrase sounding a bit silly coming out of her lips rather than the Lady's, but one did not get to choose their influences easily, "I ne'er met the man an' I can tell from how ye look when ye speak o' him... that dinnae matter a whit," she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

"Take me home, loverboy. I cannae wait tae see it."

Gram's smile was brighter than the morning sun, and she gladly warmed herself in its glow.

~ ~ ~

The pair ended up in the mess hall, and this was where things found their stride. Laughter and good-natured ribbing echoed off the walls of the vaulted ceilings. Despite Gram's state of discharge, the men still deferred to him by rank and loyalty. Lidia was used to a certain degree of loyal underlings, having spent many of her formative years in Kull's underground court -- but the men of Fort Ivory were different. Gram's men looked at him with respect and kindness, there was not fear or ambition in their gaze. They were all a lot like Bart, really. Big, earnest, salt-of-the-earth men, the common clay of Northsea. She found herself easily at home among them, and they welcomed her into the fold.

Gram may have been off duty, but there was a certain amount of rigidity you simply couldn't iron out of soldiers, and as they approached their usual section of the mess -- populated by the contingent of Ivory Spears, Gram's own command -- he still pointedly clicked his heels together loudly at the head of the table. A bright-eyed blonde man with a savage series of scars ruining half his otherwise beautiful Reiklander features looked up, his chest swelled under his armor and a grin spread across his features. Martin, Gram's second-in-command.

"ATTENTION!" the brawny youth called, and it was Lidia's turn to grin as all of the men dropped what they were doing, some with food still in their mouths, and snapped upright, saluting Gram with a clang of breastplates ringing out down the mess, some light chuckles from other tables as well. The tall Darrowmite's features remained cool and he raised his chin at the men with a note of pride.

"At ease, it is only breakfast."

A ripple of laughter went down the line of armored men as they all fell back to their meals, Martin standing and procuring two chairs for Gram and Lidia, seeing to his Captain as was proper. Lidia smiled at him as he seated her -- she liked Martin, he was an earnest, strict man with a soft heart. Everything was always in its place around him.

"Thank ye, Martin. Yer a treasure," she said, and leaned up and gave him a little peck on one cheek and a companionable pat on the other, her lips landing on the gnarled scars. He smiled at her and pointedly moved away as he did.

"Careful, Ma'am. Too early for duels of honor and I don't think I could beat the Captain regardless," he quipped, Gram's shoulders rocking in a silent chuckle at that.

"Bear it no mind, Lieutenant, I shan't draw steel over minor quibbles of honor, however if you forgot my tea I may require satisfaction." he said, an arch of his eyebrow -- serious on any other face -- comical on his, causing Martin to smile broadly with a nod.

"And the Bloodhound wants her coffee, yessir!" he said with another salute. Lidia sighed and leaned on the table. That was Martin, honor and duty before anything else.

"We need tae find him a pretty lil' thing, he's tae good fer ye," Lidia murmured to Gram, getting a faint smile from the Captain as two of the stewards brought them both plates -- the messhall wasn't a typical soldier's canteen, it was staffed and run by the goodmen and goodwomen of the Fort's little internal hamlet, all genuine salt-of-the-earth Heartlands folk, smiles and sun-tanned skin all around. She could feel the almost familial relationship they had with the soldiers, and she thanked her server with a smile and a little squeeze of his arm, getting a fatherly wink in return. She truly loved this weird little ingot of stone walls, steely men and soft hearts.

"Martin is wedded to his duty, and clearly it is a warm and comfortable bedfellow," Gram said with an astute little nod as he tucked into his meal, Lidia rarely could pick out many instances of his highborn upbringing -- but she always could when he ate. Oh sure, he was posh of speech and tight in the arse, but so were common soldiers in the Order Militant, Gram ate like a nobleman, careful, almost dainty motions that came from lessons on manners and station. Lidia on the other hand, ate like she was starving. The little changeling's body always seemed to be running hot, and even young as a wee lass she remembered eating as much as a boy half again her size. The years of scavving and scraping on the streets hadn't helped that -- when there was food, she ate. Nobody could take it from you if it was in your stomach.

"Here you are, Captain, Ma'am," Martin said a few moments later, two steaming clay mugs in his hands, setting them down before them both, Lidia eagerly scooped hers up, the earthy, nutty scent of the common soldier's coffee making her slitted pupils dilate in visible delight. A sip and a shiver, just sweet enough and a bit of cream.

"Yer a saint, Martin," she purred at him, practically winding around the mug in between bites of bacon and savory porridge. The fare was common enough, oatcakes, cheese, porridge, hashed potatoes and rashers of bacon abounded the tables -- common and _delicious._The porridge was warm and savory, flavored with salt, spices and drippings from the bacon itself, the dense little oatcakes were drizzled with butter and honey for sweetness, and the potatoes were crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle, fried in the same drippings before coming to their plates. The cheese was like the rest of the fare, made here in the hamlet; the familiar pale, sharp wheels she'd eaten with her father in the Middlelands, firm and with a heady tang to them that paired well with everything. Martin grinned at her as he set the other mug before Gram.

"It is the eternal goal, Ma'am," the scarred man said with a tip of his head at his commander, who nodded pleasantly, giving his tea a confident sip.

"Exemplary as always, Lieutenant, please return to your meal at your leisure," he said with a curt nod, Martin clicking his heels in acknowledgment and going back to the other end of the table, where everyone else had already fully resumed their meals. Soldiers were big men, even the smaller side of the troops were half-again as big as Lidia, they needed the fuel.

Silence reigned except the clink of dishes and distant conversation, in spite of how starved she was for both food and the warmth of a home, Lidia loved the quiet of their meals. She fell into the companionable silence with delight, eating and soaking in the last bits of time here she would get -- part of her feared she may never see this place again.

"Don't overfill yourself, Little Recap," Gram cautioned her as she cleaned her plate and eyed another hunk of cheese with a predatory gleam -- a stare with extra edge thanks to her inhuman green eyes -- the little changeling twisting back to him as he daubed his mustache clean with a napkin; "Just because we are off duty does not mean you are free from drills."

"Oh," Lidia answered mutely, making a bit of a bitter face. She'd learned that lesson the hard way; Gram wasn't a delicate teacher, and she'd learned rapidly that a too-full stomach was a ticket to vomiting, sickness, and misery after being ridden down under his able, but merciless tutelage. "Ye... maybe I'll skip seconds."

Gram smiled knowingly, sipping his tea.

~ ~ ~

The Green was a very mundane name for a fairly extraordinary place, much like the rest of Fort Ivory. Humble names for things grand in scale, a lot like the men who manned it, Lidia thought so at least. It was an extensive area of grassy knoll, rutted dirt tracks and occasional cobbles. The place where all training, gaiety and sportsmanship of many sorts occurred. It was immense, filling out a huge section of the Western Citadel's inner redoubt. Large enough Lidia wagered gamely that she could fit all of Tanner Street and its assorted building into the space and have room for most of the river too... or you could have. Bitter thought, that.

"Again!" Gram barked at her, they were at the far western end of the green along the wall, where sat an array of dummies, targets, and training stones for lifting and throwing -- a collection of men exercising and sharpening skills with blade, bow and lance. The thunder of hooves sounded on one of the rutted tracks and the clash of practice lances on swinging targets, matching the clash of steel and leather from footmen at work, Lidia included. Sweat beaded on her brow as she held the heavy practice sword, its curved blade more closely matching one of the Ivory Spears's sabers than her Messer, but it suited her fine. Gram hefted his arm, lashed to it was a thick padded sleeve of leather, wood, and wool, with a large target sewn into one end. "Your tempo is dragging, tighter this time."

Lidia snarled a bit, the little changeling centering herself on the line as Gram braced himself and then shifted the arm, exposing the target. Forward she lunged, fast -- faster really than even she expected to be -- and out lashed the saber, striking the round target with a meaty thwack of hardwood on hide. As soon as she'd struck, he shifted the target, moving back deftly, barking another wordless shout at her -- and she swung at that as well. So they went down the line, Gram giving her targets at vital points for cuts -- Knees, belly, throat, arms -- and she struck them, a practice method to tighten her technique, to make her think fluidly rather than follow rote forms. As well of course, to beat down upon her for failure.

Gram barked another shout of command and dipped the target down again to his knee dramatically from the higher target near his throat -- and Lidia overcompensated -- twisting too hard, too fast. She swung short and her blade whiffed past without making contact, overbalancing her and opening her belly. Gram's arm shot out, and the padded target thumped hard and unyielding into her exposed side, the larger man not pulling the swing one iota as he did, practically bouncing her guts off the inside of her belly as her eyes bulged and she went down in a heap, gasping and shaky in the knees.

"Your tempo is dragging still," Gram observed to her dispassionately as she spat a mouthful of salty drool and shook off the maddening urge to upend her breakfast onto the grass -- very glad she'd opted to skip seconds.

"How fast do ye expect me tae be?!" she snapped a bit testily, gritting her teeth as the pain and tingling numbness faded, getting Gram to raise an eyebrow at her, cowing the little changeling -- the whole reason he hit her was those outbursts. The anger at being struck, the loss of control from outrage. He was quite lovingly beating it out of her. She appreciated it... just not in the moment it happened.

"It is not your speed it is your tempo," he corrected, relaxing his stance as he let her catch her breath, "You are quick as a dart-lizard, but you over-commit, overexert. Your tempo is off, you leave yourself open too long before or after a cut," he explained, hefting the gloves pointedly; "Ghuls are much more ferocious than I, though perhaps not quite as cunning."

"Ye dinnae have tae tell me twice," she observed sourly rubbing absently at the scar across her cheek. She knew that well enough. Gram extended his hand to her after a moment, and she let him haul her to her feet -- a task he did with little thought, Gram might not be as brawny as Bart or Rashid were, but he was twice her size and the wee girl's slightness made popping her back to standing as easy as righting a fallen chair. She smiled at him, a brief flash of desire darkening her eyes... as much as it hurt to get belted for failure, she liked that he could lift her about so. She'd come to understand why the Lady enjoyed being small.

"Snapping motions, remember the cuts come from the feet and drive from the body," he instructed, setting her square and adjusting her stance, "Never compromise your footwork for power, the blade will do the work, your feet will ground the effort."

As usual, Lidia nodded, the anger at the blow bled away with the tingling pain. Gram was strict and he was brutal -- but he was very able. He walked her through the cut she'd bungled in slow motion, showing her exactly where she'd compromised her stance trying to catch up to the target. The little changeling as always, rose gamely to the challenge -- and soon the crack of wood on leather was loud and sharp once more

The stirring practice session was brought to a close by a piercing cry from above. Lidia paused, drawing back as Gram turned his eyes to the sky -- the little changeling taking a moment to cheekily poke the distracted cavalier in the belly with her wooden training blade, getting a jolt out of him and a matching rueful smile as she turned her own gaze skywards.

"I wager that's the news, aye?" she asked him, and he nodded, pulling his arm from the battered leather target-glove.

"Indeed. They are off-schedule for regular reports," the tall man said, optimism gleaming in his eyes.

"Ye ready fer another adventure, loverboy?" she asked, and as their eyes met, there was excitement and uncertainty in equal measure in both their gazes, the pair's hands linking together reflexively as they stood closer.

"Yes, I believe I am," he answered after a moment's uncharacteristic hesitation, Lidia smiled and bit her lip, looking up to watch the arrow-like avians arc towards the top of the tower. Her own fears warred for purchase inside of her, old, familiar claws of doubt dragging their sharp points over familiar furrows in her heart -- but this time, she wasn't alone. This time, the burden was shared. She squeezed Gram's hand tightly.

"C'mon loverboy, let's meet 'em up in the roost. I cannae wait fer the Commander's boy tae get 'em!" she said, and with a rare, earnest smile, the tall man pulled her along with him.

"Let's."

Never alone again.