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The Rookery was the highest part of the Western Citadel, Fort Ivory's lifeline to the outside world. Emblematic of the western complex's administrative role, it was not far down the steps from Commander Maxos' own office -- and the seasoned commander of the Order Militant fortress met them in the flights leading up to it. Maxos was a startlingly average-looking man, bald as an egg with a severe nose and heavily lined face, a close-trimmed, dark mustache sitting orderly and precise upon his upper lip, his cleft chin left bare and clean. The simple exterior hid a razor-sharp intellect, and a warrior born. Before being incapacitated in the siege, Maxos had lead from the front and was a dynamo with the cruel-looking war pick that even now, bounced at the hip of his battered, utilitarian armor.

"I see you've heard the hawks as well, Miss Shaw," the stern-eyed man said. A new, wicked scar gleamed on his scalp, running from just above his temple around the rim of his braincase -- the last evidence of the nearly-fatal, helmet-crushing bite a Ghul had landed on him during the siege; a terrible injury to his brain that had put him into a near-coma, an injury that had been healed by none other than the Lady in White herself.

"Aye, sir," Lidia said, drawing herself up a bit. She respected Maxos a great deal, and much of her cheek and wit left her in his presence, "Ye can jus' call me Lidia, ye dinnae need tae always call me 'Miss', sir."

"Nonsense, propriety is what separates us from the eyeless beasts, Miss Shaw," he responded with complete confidence, his laconic tone the only indicator that this was a repeat conversation between them.

"Sir," Gram saluted, trailing behind his lover slightly, getting a return as crisp as ever from Maxos, the man's bearing was easy rather than rigid, simply dutiful by nature.

"At you ease, Captain. I put you on leave for a reason," the Commander said, casting eyes between the two of them, "You've judged as rightly as I have this is likely your proper dispatch from the Motherhouse at Fairharbour."

"Stands to reason, sir." Gram answered, getting a nod from the stoic man, before he shrugged and gestured up the stairs.

"Ladies first, then."

Lidia grinned and moved past with a playful curtsy with the dangling ends of her jerkin, getting a little chuckle from the older man. The warmth of the people here continued to startle her, and it made the news that awaited them at the top of the stairs fill her with both the thrill of excitement and the inevitable dread of another hard goodbye.

"Will you be taking the main road down to Lachheim?" he asked Gram as the little changeling lead their trek, the central tower's spiraling staircase itself a defensive measure, Gram shook his head.

"No, neither of us has much desire to see the ruins again so soon... and Lidia has a detour or two planned for the Eastern Marches," the tall man explained, perhaps a touch more cryptically than needed, Lidia nodded, turning around to dance briefly backwards up the stairs, her spritely agility casually on display as she met Maxos' gaze once more.

"I nae ever left tae Heartlands 'afore, I 'ave respects tae pay 'afore I go," she said, turning back and jogging a few more steps up to keep ahead of the much taller men.

"It is a good and noble thing to put affairs in order before a journey. I would visit my children before each posting before they grew up, took to lives of their own," Maxos said, his pale blue eyes distant and warm, he was an older man; he spoke little of himself but everyone knew he'd been married, still wore the ring. Word was she'd died in the Grey Plagues, none felt keen to press the stern man on it.

The stairs opened up to a two-tiered turret at the top of the tower, the first floor was a wide, round room that occupied the full width of the tower, and in it were a myriad of shelves and slots near angled writing desks and a dozen or more scribes in various states of transcription, reading, and sorting of messages, plans, and reports -- the beating heart of the Fort's information network. It reminded her a bit of The Counthouse, all records and papers.

"Ah, Commander Maxos, truly White Glint's calls reach far and wide," a warm, if rough voice called as the trio made the landing. Where the Counthouse had been home to Kull and his excesses, the command post of Fort Ivory had Scribe Judeau.

Judeau frankly, scared Lidia. The man was preternaturally aware of his surroundings, had eyes like the hawks he tended -- White Glint, the queen of the local Rookery was his prize hatchling -- and Lidia wasn't entirely certain he was completely human. He had eyes so brilliantly green they nearly rivaled her own feline gaze with their inner fire, and his hair was such an intense color of black that it gleamed blue like a raven's wing in the passing light, save for the edges of his tightly-groomed beard and sideburns, which had gone salt-and-pepper with middle age that almost didn't show anywhere else. He wore it in the Lady's Tonsure, like most of the studious sorts did, and was similarly dressed in a simple monk's habit -- but at his side he wore a sword. They all did. Scribes they may be, but they were still Church Soldiers all.

"She is dutiful as her keeper, and just as hard to ignore," Maxos answered with a grin. He and Judeau were of an age with each other, and both had been at this posting for a very, very long time. While Gram may have taken over for military matters in Maxos' comatose state -- if anyone were to truly ask who was his second-in-command, it would be the intense master of the Rookery here.

"Come now, you never have to wait long for your mail do you?" he returned and gestured that they follow with a warm grin. Intensity aside, Judaeu was of a piece with the rest of the men of Fort Ivory -- doughty, strong and interminably warm inside and out.

The scriptorium was surprisingly airy, and not at all what Lidia had expected of a Church Fortification, if Bart were here he'd undoubtedly say something slightly pithy and insufferably humble about the many devotions of the faithful -- but it was one thing to see it in her adopted Big Brother, and quite another to simply live among it in all of its mundanity. The men here were all sharp-eyed, smart sorts, not at all the rough men-at-arms one would expect or the holier-than-thou sorts one ran into on pilgrimages or charity dispensations proselytizing towards the impoverished, sick, and lower class. And not all men -- There were a fair amount of women in the upper ranks of the church she'd come to know, Viconia was a rare steely bloom in Lachheim -- but in the wider stretch there was need for all of the faithful, and particularly here she often found many Darrowmite women in the scriptorium and its associated places -- tough, fighting lasses all of them, hailing from the Healing Church of Darrowmere and inspired by its many stories and scripture of the Horned Saint. They were all severe, dark-haired women with sharp noses, sharp eyes and warm smiles. She had been shocked to learn they were Nuns, each wore a close-fitting white wimple about their faces and throats -- frequently beneath a coat of mail and a rampant unicorn.

No, it was not merely a knot of tough, hard-eyed fighting men and stuffy priests -- it was more she'd come to understand: a community, a home, a place to seek protection, a place to seek comfort.

A family.

"White Glint handled my request?" Gram asked, the steely-eyed lancer seemed surprised, Judaeu simply turned those sharp green eyes on him with an incredulous smirk.

"A brother in arms wishes free time to be wed, I can think of no better use for the Queen of the Skies than such merry news," the severe scribe answered in a voice that thrummed with a faint Middlelands lilt -- and Lidia turned a bright and prompt shade of red.

"O-oh... ye knew?" she said, suddenly horrifically shy beneath the studious gazes of the scribes and nuns they passed, and getting naught in return but a ribald, warm laugh straight up from the scribe's belly.

"Of course, we knew the moment the Captain took to you like a lost pup. You are our little Bloodhound, it is only right you be wed to the Black Dog."

Gram found it was his turn to color slightly, 'Black Dog' was his own sort of title, the man's cold, dutiful nature and dogged determination had apparently earned him a bit of reputation even before their adventure between demesnes. Judaeu was a canny fellow, but his time among the hawks had lead him to see things as they did -- simple, sharp, and directly.

"All the same, I would have you know my gratitude. I do not do my duty in expectation of favors," Gram said tersely, getting an indelicate snort from Maxos.

"Captain, I hereby order you formally to accept our kindness as your brothers in faith and steel, under penalty of latrine duty," he said, his tone sharp and well... commanding. Guess the title wasn't just for show, "A week for each complaint."

Gram straightened at that, and there was a glint in his eyes as it took a moment to realize the jest, and yet he dipped his head graciously, "Sir, yes sir."

"Thank ye, both o' ye," Lidia chimed in quietly, bouncing up between the taller men with a bright smile; "It means tae world, honest."

The warm smiles she got in return were so perfectly, quintessentially Church Soldier, that she honestly could not imagine them responding in a different way.

They came to the edges of the turret, where four shallow stairwells wound up to the top of the wide central tower -- each at one of the cardinal directions. Ascending in order at the north staircase, they were greeted with the scent of down and leather -- and the wide reaching sprawl of the open sky.

The Rookery was majestic, the turret itself had been built to suit, and it spread before Lidia like a great granite bowl. There were dozens of roosts, each worn smooth around the entrances and edges by generations of massive wings and powerful claws, each setup at a similar cardinal direction, though here they split into the ordinal as well -- each way of the compass lay its own flight, specialized in the winds that carried thus. There were dozens of keepers, moving between with brooms and supplies, all wearing heavy leather gloves and aprons to protect against an accidental mauling at the talons of their powerful charges.

Ye gods, the hawks themselves. Lidia had never seen one up close, and to hear tell of them was to think them as mundane as any noble's hunting dog.

She had not been prepared for the reality of them, and as they came up the stairs -- the Queen of the Skies herself stood nearby, proud and true. A perfect example of the majesty and power of the species.

To start with, She was as large as Lidia just about -- not the tiny hawks and falcons one would see hunting rabbits and menacing squirrels -- Messenger Hawks were one and all, enormous creatures with wingspans long as two men laid head-to-foot with room to wiggle both fingers and toes, they had powerful hooked beaks and massive talons long as the wicked little knife Nazir wore on his belt, curved like it too. Their eyes were bright, imperious gold and their plumage had angular crests banded in gold, fawn, and bronze feathers that looked for all the world a headdress -- or a crown. The glimmering banding followed their wings with gleaming tips and bronzed pinons across bright white feathers that made them all appear to be spun fresh and living from living alloy and stone. They were not truly mortal beasts, and White Glint's eyes fixed on Lidia's with a studious intellect and a gleam far more human than animal. A shiver ran down her back, something primal. The feel of the gaze of an apex predator.

"My lady, the message if you please?" Judaeu said... to the bird, she was even more massive than the others that hopped and glided between roosts and perches, she held herself with... well there wasn't any other word than poise for it, a regal dignity that made it very aware she knew she was the Queen of this place and her people within it. Yet and still -- she responded. Bowing her head, she extended one leg, where the message tube was fastened -- as were her weapons. Massive, metallic caps clung to her claws, sharpened to a killing edge, reinforced across a leathery glove-like apparatus that ran up her leg and provided a surface to mount the scrollcase to. Armored and tough, it gave her weapons in a fight to protect her message at all costs -- even against the horrors the Empty Queen might send against them.

"Thank you, Lady," The scribe said, unhitching the scroll tube and bowing his head to her, giving her feather crest a gentle, almost fatherly caress that got a pleased click of her beak in response before she resumed her stately poise.

"A direct communique from the Abbey itself, the Lord Protector's seal even," Judeau observed with an impressed raise of his eyebrows; "Don't see so many of those cross my desk these days, a rare, powerful document you've got here."

"Oh, aye." Lidia agreed, peering at the ornate and yet still quite functional wax seal on the documents -- the packet itself was rolled in a proofed tube sealed at either end with iron-filled caps. "These sorts o' things were worth more tae Kull than gold nor silver, any wee scunner that could get grips on a bit o' official paper could earn them a cozy little bounty an' the eye o' the man himself."

"Speaking from experience?" Gram asked in a cool tone, the smile more in his words than on his face, Lidia turned a crooked grin on him.

"Aye, aye I am," she said smugly, "Once took a packet o' fancy scrips straight out o' the bag o' the visitin' Mistport ponces with their puffy pants and swagger," she said, and both Maxos and Judeau's eyes lit up with alarm, meeting across the middle distance.

"The Mistport Affair?"

"Indeed, seems that way."

Lidia's eyes got wide as even the great Hawk, White Glint increased its wary gaze down at her, the weight of the eyes upon the little thief oppressive for a moment. Judeau gave a half-hearted smile, shaking his head and smoothing his tonsure.

"Bear it no mind, little Bloodhound. You seem to just be personally responsible for one of the biggest headaches in military intelligence for the last few years."

"O-oh?" she asked, eyes a bit wide as they glanced between themselves.

"If it's the same envoy you speak of, then some years back there was a series of... illegal purchases, made with the coffer and coin of the Order Militant." Maxos stated, Judeau nodded.

"Odd stuff for the Churchman to want, spirits and vices, art, we started to get several incoming invoices from places of pleasure and prestige in Mistport for the Order Coffers." the scribe continued, gesturing them to follow once more down stairs, leaving the blue skies and their Queen to their repose.

"To make a long story short, we tracked the perpetrator back to a local Mistport Dandy of some low prestige and expensive tastes, whom had purchased for himself a signet ring made from one of our regional commander's own seal in quite a magnificent bit of forgery." he explained, guiding them through the quietly busy scriptorium once again -- the man's preternatural awareness letting him effortlessly continue his little lecture while navigating the many desks, shelves, and carts without even seeming to glance at them. "We'd never learned exactly how they'd gotten hands on the seals, we'd narrowed it down to the various shipping concerns that deal with supplying Order Militant daughter houses in the various provinces."

Lidia was somehow both horrified... and damned proud of herself in that moment -- she was pink with a blush but her teeth were bared in an impish grin as they all came to a stop around the large, angled desk that was exclusive to Master Scribe Judeau. Gram of all people, broke the silence.

"It seems my heart wasn't the first vital thing you've taken from the Church's pockets,"

Lidia's blush overtook her grin there, and she pulled her hood a bit low -- but the edge only left her smile, not the warmth.

"Fate is a curious thing, it likes to close little loops like that in the oddest ways," Judaeu noted as he produced a penknife, setting it to the wax seal across the middle quite pointedly, looking to Maxos.

"Oh by all means, you've always had the better voice for script." the commander said, finding a clearly-familiar chair near the desk and sinking into it, his armor creaking a bit as he did. Judaeu broke the seal with a practiced, negligent motion honed by decades of work with documents large and small and unrolled the parchment, his sharp eyes narrowing at the head of the page, he cleared his throat.

"From the desk of the Lord Protector, Baratus Ascalon, Perceptor of the Radiant Order and High Blade of Our Lady In White," he read formally, Judaeu's voice a smooth rolling timbre that would have been suited to a place of office. He was always a stickler for the particulars.

"I hereby personally approve the dispensation for leave from one Gram Baudelaire of the Third Ivory Spears regiment for a time no greater than one year. In addition, I provide an indulgence of an additional nine months to be dispensed as needed." Both Gram and Lidia paused, and the little changeling's face was the first to heat up as she realized the import of the time given, Maxos was smiling mildly from his chair as Judaeu continued in that sonorous voice.

"Until the Pale Dawn Calls Us," he seemingly concluded before raising his eyebrows and lowering his eyes; "Post-script: Knowing the man and woman in question, I imagine they are already present, Good Luck and Godspeed to you both." he said with a growing grin,

"Signed, Baratus." he concluded and dropped the page to the table, where Maxos fished it up and looked at it briefly with a smile.

"Well, that seems to be in order." He agreed, putting it on the table with both hands comfortably folded over his chest; "You Captain, are a free man for one year. I've drawn out your pay as ordered, and made it available to you at any of our daughter houses along the way."

"Thank you, sir." Gram said, but Lidia perked up.

"Pay?" she asked, and Maxos nodded,

"We are paid, child. Even the big heroes like Ser Bart draw a wage from which to live on."

Lidia blinked at that... well of course that made sense, how would they do anything without pocket money -- but it was strange to consider members of the Church being paid.

"Dinnae ye get free room an' board within' yer churches and functionaries and whatnot?" she asked, and Maxos nodded -- Scribe Judaeu taking the thread as he folded the letter on his desk.

"Indeed, and it is through the Church existing as an economic entity itself that we are able to provide the capital to absorb such loss through wages, I'm sure you likely saw Ser Bart open his purse a few times during your travels with them."

"Truth be told, we nae spent much time in Lachheim 'afore the... disaster," she said, shrugging her shoulders as it all made perfect sense to her -- she'd just never really stopped to think about it.

"I am not a rich man off my devotions all the same dear, but I do have some traveling money so we needs not make our bed under the stars unless you truly desire it." Gram said, and Maxos laughed.

"Lord knows we'd have less men-at-arms if they were expected to draw no fortune nor treasure from a life at war, it's a factor of morale. The little things improve the fighting man's spirit, and sometimes it is the normalcy of buying a pint down at the bar with his fellows." the stern commander said, getting an approving nod from the severe Master Scribe.

"Just so."

Lidia felt foolish, but none of the men around her pressed her for it, Gram's hand had found hers at his side and gently pulled her against his arm, visibly more relaxed and at ease. It was as if the letter from the Lord Protector had carried with it the rulebound weight of God itself -- which it dawned in that moment on the little changeling, that to Gram, lovely, dutiful, devoted Gram -- it very much had.

"Oh I suppose yer right, wouldn't be nae much o' a world worth fightin' for without a bit o' fun now an' again," she said, and the three men smiled at her knowingly.

"There's much more to running the Order Militant than sending men out to do heroic deeds, it comes down to us here in the scriptorium and many such places all across God's creation to keep this engine of mercy moving along at a good clip." he said, raising a finger pointedly, "Steel and Faith slay monsters, but it is the Quill and Parchment that build civilization."

"On the land that Steel and Faith so dutifully cleared for you to write comfortably upon," Maxos added with a wry little smile, the two men's eyes meeting with a gleam of familiarity. It only lasted a moment before the Commander clapped his hands together.

"Right, we all have much to do, running a fortress of thousands is not idle work." Maxos said, standing tall and nodding to Judeau, who simply nodded back and turned right round to work he had left moments before, "The pair of you are dismissed. I'm sure you have things to do," he said with a smile as he passed them, clapping Gram on the shoulder smartly as he left them with the scribes, vanishing down the stairs.

"Indeed, I have some preparations to make -- and a few letters to write." Gram mused, eyes on the middle distance. Lidia nodded, and her nose wrinkled.

"Aye, an' I cannae go a whit longer whatnot smellin' like th' Green an' failure," she mused, her too-sensitive nose made even her own odors more apparent, and the smell of sweat, leather and crushed grass was growing distressingly intense, let alone the still-present dampness as she shook her hair free of her hood. Gram smiled and reached into his shirt and drew out a handkerchief.

"My little Redcap has gone all soft on me," he mused to her as he drew her to face him, heedless of who might see and gently daubed the sweat from her face, she sighed at him and leaned heavily into his hand, giving him a rueful cat-eyed stare as she let him dote on her a moment.

"'Tis Naima and the Lady's fault, I ne'er would 'ave known how nice a bit o' bathin' and such could be if they hadn't come 'round all insistent about it," she sighed, cupping his own hands around her face.

"What terrible influences, truly," he mused back at her dryly, giving her face a final caress before simply tucking his kerchief into the neck of her jerkin, getting a little quiver and widening of her eyes as he did, "I won't keep you overlong then, I am a terrible bore when I write anyhow."

"Oh aye," she agreed in a small voice, turning towards the stairs as Gram turned and spoke in a quiet voice with one of the scribes, doubtlessly arranging his own hawk and route. Lidia twirled her fingers through his kerchief and smiled fondly as she left. He really was such a nice boy.

~ ~ ~

The baths were now one of her absolute favorite places, particularly as the summer heat warmed the region. Cool water was welcome reprieve away from the thick, sticky air of the northern summer. While Lidia wasn't the only woman here by far, Maxos and his boys had basically adopted her here in the Western Citadel, and she almost always could find one of the bathing tubs ready for her after morning drills -- isolated and private, they were really all such good boys.

Isolated and private was also exactly what she wanted, as the summer's heat had little to do with what warmed her blood, and she found her mind and body distressingly preoccupied with touching Gram, being near him. She was almost a little irritated with how much more she wanted him now that the leave order had come in.

"Ach, damned morals gettin' in the way of perfectly fine stoopid fookin' decisions," she groused to herself as she undressed, peeling away her sweaty, grass-stained clothing and wincing as she observed the large bruise where she'd been struck square in training. If it hadn't been for the padding of the glove spreading the force it could have been quite damaging. Peering at it, she peeled off the rest of her clothing, standing bare to see how far it stretched.

Lidia was by even her own reckoning a lean girl. She knew what most men in the Heartlands preferred was a woman of round hips and rounder bosoms, and her doe-like frame was hardly catching the eyes of many common lads. She had long legs and a svelte torso with slim, lithe limbs that now stood out with much more-defined muscles. The training she'd done combined with her already rough-and-tumble lifestyle had taken well to her sidheborn frame, but in many ways it'd only served to make her feel more boyish even if she didn't' look it, her small breasts and compact frame were shapely, but she was hardly so full and voluptuous as many, hardly a towering pillar of femininity like Viconia -- nor a tiny little goddess of curves like Naima either. Just a little Redcap.

That said, it wasn't like she disliked what she looked like, there were major benefits to her springy, compact frame. Many of which she deeply enjoyed, the lightness and gaiety of step, the flexibility and agility of her strange, pale body was a joy that did much to assuage the feeling of otherness. She wasn't ugly or mannish, her frame might not have fit the Reiklander ideal, but one would never mistake her for a boy again without extra effort to cover her hips and thighs, both of which were more noticeable with how toned she'd become. Her frame was its own brand of distinctly feminine now, filled-out by the needs of combat and struggle, rippling with that same almost feline musculature that she'd always had. Gram at least, seemed to like it... she felt his eyes on her, and it made his promise to keep her a maiden until their wedding night feel all the more genuine -- she could taste his desire for her when they kissed.

"God, far too good a man fer me," she groused at the growing... agitation, and ran her fingers through her hair with a groan, sliding over the lip of the bath into the warm water, the soreness of stretched muscles and bruised flesh bleeding away into the soothing liquid.

Gram was on her mind still. She drifted in the bath, reclining and propping her legs up on the tub -- the day was warm enough that she'd let the bath cool and enjoy the chill that came with it, it was not like she would be bothered for some time as midday patrols began. Yet it was still warm around her naked body, and so were her thoughts. She thought about the coming journey, of the time together with Gram, of his family... her family, maybe? That thought filled her with a thrill and trepidation all the same. A family of her own, a place to call home at last... the little things she'd always craved in the back of her mind. A giddy little smile played across her lips as she laid a damp cloth across her eyes and sank lower, simple and domestic thoughts running through her brain as she drifted. After having glimpsed the end of the world, even only in the dreaming demesne of a dead goddess -- she found herself desperately interested in the mundane happiness of hearth and home, the simplicity of normal was very appealing.

Her head tilted back as she sighed and let the steam pull more of the ache from her side, and her mind found a dozen different thoughts, all so happily, plainly mundane. Thoughts of her friends, of Naima's stern lectures on letters and writing, Bart's earnest smile, even Nazir's ever present singing... but her mind always roamed back to one place.

"Gram..." she murmured in her dozing state, those sharp canines catching her lower lip as her hands drifted along with her thoughts.

She found herself thinking of his eyes, his eyes and his hands. She never could get enough of either, both were so very intense, sharp and contrasting to her in all ways, even his paleness was opposite of her own, his skin cool and wintry and hers with the warm blush of spring beneath it eternal. His eyes, pale as arctic skies, always seemed to calm her with their intensity -- like the pressure of his gaze would weld her back together, his hands seemed made to mold her firmly to shape, dutiful, precise hands. Her own drifted across her body, to the places he would touch her -- her hips, arms, face -- drifting and stroking as she fell further into the deep, deep well that her love had drawn up. To the places she wished he would touch her.

Those inhuman fangs found her lip more firmly, biting down around a needy whimper as her fingers drifted across places made sensitive by solitude and want. A finger traced her collarbone down into the warm water, her mind dancing along the yearning sensation for it to be not hers, but his strong hands -- or better his soft lips and silken mustaches, sliding down her neck and across shivering shoulders -- into that delicate divot at the base of her throat, and lower still.

The first touch to her breast drew a shuddering inhale and a flicker of green eyes beneath the veiling, damp cloth. The warm water added to the drifting, imagined thrill of Gram's mouth exploring her, his hands roaming where his lips could not. Those sharp teeth worried at her lip around another mewling sound of need as her fingers ghosted across a nipple, grabbing and pinching ever so slightly -- her mind visualizing his own hungry teeth capturing the sensitive nub gently, delicately between them, her fingers doing the rest with a shiver and arch of delight.

"Lady's Teats..." she groaned, the irony drawing a little grin and giggle from her as both her own imagination and heart intertwined how Gram would respond to such things in so intimate a setting, and a fresh thrill ran through her -- fixated as she was upon him, it felt almost enough to be real in the warm, distant sea of sensation the baths offered, it was almost perfect... her nose twitched, the keen sidhe-given sense picking up a lure, a piece to make the last bit perfect. Her hand slunk out of the water and into her discarded clothing, and out came the handkerchief she'd taken from him, a fancy thing of silk and embroidered edges, soft and smooth -- and full to the seams with the _scent_of the man.

She pressed her face into it, eyes still obscured by the warm, damp cloth, body drifting weightless in the bath's welcoming embrace -- she herself, drifted. Letting the desires take her, the mental image painted out now even more solidly by her fae senses, she could practically _taste_him through the material, and she lay her cheek and nose into the folds of cloth, as her own fingers slunk lower towards folds of her own. Were it his lips that danced down the taut, quivering length of her torso, over her hips and down across the untouched expanse of her mons, her thighs quivering in the loose tangle of limbs that floated dreamily in the tub as her fingers found their way to her soft petals and swollen pearl -- so ardent in its need that it peeked free of her folds and twitched as her feather-light touch ghosted across it.

A gasp left her lips, sharp and sudden and her fingers jerked back -- too much, too fast. Her mind scrambled at the over-stimulation, but turning her face to the nestled handkerchief she breathed deeply through shuddering, trembling lips -- above, and below.

Immediately, she regained focus, toes curling and body arching in a singular deep breath, and her mind resolved again, coming down as her now-freed hand drifted down from her cheek where she'd held Gram's token to slip beneath the water, finding her breast once more and squeezing, gently kneading the sensitive mound as her hips undulated with want. Around the edges her fingers ghosted, stroking the borders of her folds, working more cautiously towards her center this time, the scent of her sweat and Gram's own mixing on the kerchief teased perfect images in her mind of his hands, his mouth, his body tangled with hers down there. Their efforts mingling together as her mind's eye craved the sensation as much as her physical body did, the sight, the taste, the smell of her lover around her, atop her -- inside her.

The first digit dipped past her nether lips and a fresh gasp found its way out of her, this one slow and bracing as she delved deeper. Her spine arched with a sensation of popping joints and impossible flexibility as her inner walls clenched greedily on the intrusion -- not what they wanted, but her quaking body accepted what it was offered eagerly. Her mind found rhythm with her fingers, and what her virgin mind could conjure of proper intimacy. She filled her head with kisses even as she filled her lower lips with her questing fingers, a soft moan exiting her mouth at the combination of remembered pleasure of Gram's mouth on hers and actual pleasure as one digit became two within her, spreading her tight innards around them with a hungry squeeze.

Desperation fed into her motions, and her glistening limbs writhed as the pleasure built, lost in her own little world of wants and needs fed by her unnatural senses -- taste, touch, smell and all were so intense to her, it made experiencing the world overwhelming, but not Gram, oh good, gentle, patient Gram. Her fingers quickened, her swollen nub no longer too much as her stroking dipped from her pouting opening and slid up along side it, stroking around it in firm, smooth circling motions that her hips followed in needy desire -- he'd be gentle, he'd be careful with her... her mind blotted out all external sensation, green eyes fluttering beneath the damp cloth as she breathed in his scent once more -- both hands now needed, she felt her peak building in frantic want.

"Oh, Please... please, please..." she whimpered into the soft silken square, feeling that familiar itch come to a head, her body arching up above the water's surface as she stretched to her limit, fingers of one hand working along her swollen pearl, and the other's delving between her puffy lips -- seeking out the places her body so urgently needed touched, the places she wished Gram to lay claim to. In her mind he did, a sensory-blotting series of flashes, mixed fantasy and reality -- a hot, sensual series of moments of flesh on flesh, hoarse voices, her own cries and her deepest, most treasured memories of the dark-haired man. His voice crawled through her mind with soft exhalations heard during kisses and gentle murmurs only for her, and as her peak climbed and the heavy hammering of her heart drove out all but the feelings of fingers, fantasy and the fluttering of her belly -- three little words remembered sounded like a bell in that torrent of lustful want. Three words whispered against lips hungrily, against ears dotingly, into her hair at quiet moments.

I love you.

Lidia bit down on her lip hard. Her sharp canines squelching the desire to shriek out her climax as her inner walls clamped with disappointed ardor at her fingers, her swollen nub visibly twitching and pulsing as her belly and thighs clenched with taut, glistening ripples of newly-toned muscle in time with her arching, overwhelming ecstasy. She bucked and rolled, riding out the waves of euphoria as her familiar fingers coaxed and wrung every possible drop of satisfaction out of that leg-shaking sensation, her head still swimming with conjured fantasy and rank, unfettered desire.

She came down slowly, and it left her muscles feeling heavy and slack, the now just-warm water's surface drawing her back in down to the neck as quiet, contented bliss drowned out the gnawing, chattering wants. She turned her face to the handkerchief again, nuzzling her cheek into it with a sigh. She was smitten, absolutely done-in by her love. Drunk on it, in a haze that lasted for minutes uncountable just drifting on the afterglow, her fingers tracing her folds and bare body with slowly fading aftershocks of pleasure until down, down she landed, soft as a feather and solid as lead.

"A lovestruck lil' girl, nae else tae call it..." she sighed into the silky square, letting her eyes flutter fully closed as she drifted in the cooling water for another long while before drawing herself back together, scrubbing, drying and dressing her trembling, satiated body. It wasn't a habit she had of letting her wants get the better of her, but lately she had found it harder to ignore, harder to simply 'put over there' as she was ordinarily capable. Gram drew her attention like a hot meal to the hungry, like a craving. Didn't rightly feel natural, but what about her life did? Was this what it was like for her mother? She had to meet her now, sooner than later. Surely she'd know.

It took her some few minutes to groom herself, she wasn't a pure lass, and this wasn't her first time wringing out lustful thoughts somewhere safe and alone... but lately, her mind had fogged true as gold anytime he'd raised her blood with his presence. Perhaps it was just giddy, girlhood crushes all come home to roost at once... but the fire she felt around him, something felt off. There was more there than just girlish desire.

"Ach, if only the Lady was 'ere, Cithara'd be able tae just look right in tae me stupid chest and figure out why my belly burns whenever I see him..." she groused out loud, fluffing her hair out of her collar again, newly-clad in one of the utilitarian dresses that Bart's mother, Eleni, had gifted her. It was barely more than a common kirtle and chemise, belted at the waist, the cloth a lovely green hue that matched her eyes and hair. Not at all formal nor embellished -- it was high-hemmed even, to allow for the utilitarian half-boots she always preferred -- but still very much a dress. Maybe it was the fading tickle of eros in her mind, but she wanted to be a bit more girly right now. It felt right.

Settling her hood about her shoulders, she tightened the girdle about her thin waist carefully -- the flesh there tender, and the_other_reason she'd opted to bring the loose, breezy dress rather than another jerkin or the like.She'd given the bruise on her belly a brief smear of Naima's wondrous little ointment -- which the alchemist had dutifully forced upon each of them at their parting -- and the wound would be gone by morning if not the next, but for the time being it would be tender. Better to wear something loose and comfortable for the time being.

Her last moment of privacy faded as she peered out, beyond the curtain. A tremble of latent vulnerability and desire went through her, a desire to steal back and dip deep back into that lurid place of quiet gasps and whispered words, to stay there until it was real. There, yes _there_was the girlish fantasies come to roost, and she blushed more for the silliness of the idea than the nature of her acts -- too long on the streets for her to be precious about pleasures of the flesh. Yet, this wasn't mere craving of sensation, something... more tugged at her.

Her eyes turned towards the tower unerringly -- and somehow, some deep part of her knew that Gram was in that specific direction, was it like this for all couples? Wasn't this what all those weepy shepherds and poets from Darrowmere wrote gushing poetry of? The string of fate bound between two lovers, pulling them invisibly closer? Did Bart feel this for Cithara? Naima for Rashid? That tug drew her attention like a lodestone, indiscernible _knowing_with no sound or sensation.

Gathering her things, and touching the last fluttering of rampant want quivering out in her lower belly, the little changeling went off to see. As good a reason as any to go find the love of her life, no?

~ ~ ~

Lidia passed through the Green on her way back from the baths, and hooked into the messhall again, really just an overlarge dining room with an equally overlarge -- and always busy -- kitchen. The goodmen on duty tending the stoves and stores recognized her as she bustled back into the kitchen with a smile, path dead-set for the stores.

"Ah, Lady Lidia, what can I do ye for?" came a familiar, matronly tone as she peeked into the larder, her head popping around the door with a bit of sausage already in her teeth.

"Oh, Mmnf, ah mohmenht," she slurred around a mouthful in a distinctly un-ladylike fashion before swallowing and smiling all fangs and glee at the woman. The goodwoman was the heart and soul of the middlelands here, dark hair, pale eyes and ruddy, sun-kissed skin on a frame of wide shoulders and thick-set hips. Age had grayed her black hair and lined her comely face, but Sister Brenan's beauty still shone through the framing of her wimple even with the sleeves of her habit rolled to the elbows. Like the cheeses and wines she stocked, age had simply added nuance to her appearance.

"A post-bath snack, is it?" she asked in a patient voice with an equally patient smile as Lidia blushed, her hands wrapped around an assortment of smoked meats and cheeses.

"Ah... o 'sorts, ye. I was hopin' tae bring some up tae Gram, he's writin' correspondence an' ye know how he gets about his letters," she said and the Sister nodded, putting her hands on her hips thoughtfully.

"He'll forget to eat any time his mind is elsewhere, it's a minor wonder he's as big as he is," she lilted softly, much of her Middlelands Brogue having been sanded smooth by decades of study, but it was there -- rooting her to this land she served. She eyed the changeling up a moment before nodding.

"Take the venison sausage, it's his favorite," she said with a firm sort of decisiveness. Sister Brenan would know, Sister Brenan _always_knew.

"Thank ye, sister," Lidia beamed around another mouthful of sausage, gathering a growing armload of snacks as Brenan stood there, arms crossed and an increasingly incredulous smile spread across her face. She cleared her throat, getting Lidia's attention after a moment -- one hand holding out a small, covered basket.

"Why not just take this?" she suggested gently, a genuinely amused smile on her lips as the eager little changeling took it with a meek little dip of her shoulders.

"Habits, ye know," she explained to a sage-like nod from the Churchwoman, tucking her bounty into the basket -- plus things handed out to her from Sister Brenan's gentle attention, soon her 'snack' of meat and cheese had blossomed to a little picnic lunch of a pair of meat pies, a half a loaf of crusty bread, and the venison sausage and cheese she'd already been helping herself to. Sister Brenan's mild expression hadn't changed, and she left the kitchen with a warm smile and wave -- Lidia seemed destined to be mothered no matter where she went, it wasn't all bad.

Basket in hand, she couldn't help but chuckle at the image she cut, looking down at herself, wearing the simple homespun dress, carrying a picnic basket full of delights to her studious lover -- she was _in_a weepy Darrowmite shepherd's poem. A grin creeping up her cheeks, she practically skipped up the stairs into the dormitories of the Western Citadel -- being part of a sappy love poem wasn't so bad really.

That odd feeling drew her rightly along up to the little dignitary's room she still shared with Gram, it'd become her little lovenest of sorts, bits and pieces of her life starting to spread across its various surfaces, a comb here, a teacup there, a familiar spot to hang her hood on the bedpost -- and Gram's broad, supple back facing her over the desk as she slid the door open. His quill paused in its scratching only a moment as he lifted his head to confirm her presence, his only response a little smile before the sharp scritching of nib resumed.

"How many drafts is that?" she asked as she set down the basket on the small table by the door, sliding up behind him to wrap her arms around his bare chest and bury her nose in the nape of his neck; the scent of the rosewater he was fond of washing himself in teasing her nose, and the fire in her belly cooling a bit as she simply held him close.

"The third, I have far too much to say," he admitted, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back into the crook of her neck, her fingers trailing down his bare torso, he'd be topless til the evening chill came as was his custom on these days. She did not complain, and even now she felt that burning heat in her lower belly vibrating as she held him close, just butterflies, right?

"You're wearing the dress I like," he commented quietly, his fingers trailing over the white sleeve of her garment, a fresh flush of delight pinked up her little face near his ear, and she grinned, her sharp fangs gleaming near his earlobe.

"Aye, the green one," she said, taking a moment to bite that presented appendage, her unrouged lips playing along the soft lobe of flesh before letting those inhumanly-sharp teeth alight upon it, drawing a gasp from the man... she shivered as he tilted his head away, exposing more of his neck and throat to her mouth, space it happily occupied at its own pace, she really hadn't intended to molest the pretty soldier at his desk, but the moment she laid her hands on him... it was like a compulsion, she just wanted to touch him, press herself to him... her mouth found his his neck again and those gleaming teeth sat above the thrumming beat of his pulse, the long gorgeous pillar of his throat... to perhaps, claim him. Mark him.

"You spoil me, but I'll never finish the letter at this rate, little Redcap," he breathed, quiet as anything, and her teeth stopped their predatory path down his neck, her mouth sealing gently around the spot at the base of his shoulder and laying her cheek against them, that thrumming fire in her abdomen simmering as she gave him a rueful smile, simply nestling her face against him.

"Perhaps a break? I'm clearly a mite peckish," she teased, giving his ear another little nip as she pulled away -- perhaps dragging her nails along his bare chest a little harder than she needed to, but the way he gently arched into the touch was a mark in the win column as far as she was concerned.

She dished out the haphazard meal, meat pies, cheeses and sausage, all ended up stacked half on his desk and half on the floor as she appropriated a section of his lap for herself, sitting comfortably on the rug, her arms splayed across his thighs -- head resting in his lap as she shared the meal with him.

"What are ye tellin' that takes so much paper, anyroad?" she asked around the last of her own meat pie, a fair share of the cheese and venison also having found its way to quiet the growling of her tummy, a page of the previous drafts in hand.

"It is not so much what as to the how," he explained, swallowing his own mouthful of the crumbly, savory pastry, "Much has happened in this last few scant months, even now I struggle to truly process that -- let alone render it into prose." he said, spreading his hand at the document she held, full of minor mistakes, and the heavy starts and stops that came from trying to simplify the insensible insanity they'd experienced together.

"A sight better than I'd manage, even with all o' Naima's help, my letters still nae look so much as words but bits o' chicken scratches," she admitted, laying the page back onto the desk and turning her eyes to his again, leaning back against his extended leg, a drowsiness falling over her with a full belly and nothing to demand her attention but her lover and his words.

"Perhaps, but it is much to sum up for a family I have not seen in some time, I feel that it would be untowards to leave out any of it, but least of all you," he said, sliding his fingers into her freshly-washed hair, making it her turn to arch up in a little bow of delight as his fingers worked over her scalp, dragging and caressing, sending little thrills down her spine to that fluttery place in her belly, "Perhaps that is it, everything else is immaterial."

"Glad tae be o' service," she purred, laying her face against his thigh as his free hand continued to caress her scalp and cheeks, her dress pooling around her sprawled form, legs akimbo as her eyes drifted closed, that thrumming heat low and satisfied now as she heard the pen begin its scratching anew. She smiled and pressed her face into his hip and let herself drowse there, a rare treat for the ever-ready little rogue, the right to simply be listless and lazy was like numbwine for many old, aggrieved hurts. She lost herself in the quiet companionship, a vital and treasured thing for her as she simply let herself be lulled to peace and idleness by the sound of pen on parchment and the settling of the great fortress.

Perhaps it had been minutes or hours, but after a fashion she heard the decisive stroke of a finished document, as he did most all things, Gram's penmanship was direct and deliberate. She peeked her head up to him looking down at the lectern speculatively, her eyes sought his, and he smiled and turned her towards the page.

Father,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have much of import to tell you, and wish you hale health to enjoy it. I write this ahead of my own travels, I have attained a leave of absence from the Order Militant's ranks to return home and put affairs in order.

You see father, I am in love.

She is a commoner, as I am a bastard, yet I would have her be mine as is proper in the home of our ancestors. She is with me now, and will be with me in some weeks time when I come to your doorstep to settle affairs and seek your blessing. I know you will love her as I have come to love her, she is the fire long missing from my heart. You were right, as always.

There is much more to tell, but her name is Lidia. She has green eyes, red hair, and a smile that gleams like fair treasure. I will save the rest for when we meet again. The hawk will precede us by some weeks, and well shall arrive with little circumstance -- pray, keep it between the family. I long to see my brothers and sister, but there are those I would not waste time dealing with.

With love,

Gram Guillaume __Vauquelin_ Baudelaire_

Lidia's eyes shone with wonder as she finished reading it, Gram was a _very_private person, and even a letter like this was a deeply personal thing, to have him simply allow her to read it was very special indeed. She grinned at him, eyes twinkling.

"Is that really ye middle names?" she teased him, earning a warm smile from the tall man.

"Multiple personal names is a common fashion among the Baronies, I once knew a man with seven names, each with four syllables or more." Gram explained, getting an incredulous expression as response.

"That's daffy is what it is, nae chance o' taken such a puff piece seriously," she said, getting a grunt of laconic amusement from the tall man.

"A sentiment my birth-father and you share," he said, and Lidia felt the chill in those words, she frowned and leaned against him.

"Dinnae mean tae make ye think o' him, loverboy," she said and he waved it away, smiling at her.

"Now, now, I am no weepy cadet or young broken-hearted bastard of poetry. I do not like him, but the mere shadow of his name does not darken my days, particularly when it is invoked by so bright a star in my skies," he purred at her, pulling her close now for a proper kiss, igniting that thrum in her lower belly anew as she eagerly paid apology for the invocation of his illegitimacy with her doting mouth and soothing tongue.

After a long, _long_intermission of intimacy, she sat astride his lap again, her face in his throat once more -- soft, wet, and red patches dotted the pale length of his neck and shoulders and her lips were flushed with the effort of making them, both practically panting as he cupped her face anew, stroking a thumb along her cheek.

"Whatever will I do with you, a hungry little Redcap loose in my bedroom?" he asked her, and she grinned up at him, devious fire in her cat-eyed gaze.

"I 'ave a couple ideas, but ye're firm-up tae make an honest woman o' me so I'll suggest more kisses, an' possibly sweets," she said with a wink.

"Insatiable," he accused her, the cool air hitting the places she had worried and doted upon with that hungry bow of a mouth; "I will have to bind you hand and foot to get a decent night's sleep at this rate."

"Ye dinnae 'ave tae go that far iffin' ye want tae tie me up," she purred in a low, dangerous tone, letting her fingers form into little raking claws down his chest, the smoldering look she gave him practically inhuman in its hunger before she broke with a giggle, giving him another wink.

"Nae, 'tis all jus' new tae me, new an' wonderful." she said, pressing her palms to his chest anew, feeling his breath and heartbeat beneath them; "Tae be touched, and tae touch... might be a bit indulgent, but ye dinnae seem tae mind..."

"It has a singularly potent appeal, yes." he said, capturing her fingers and drawing them to his mouth, kissing each knuckle one after another without breaking her gaze, she felt that thrum intensify and she once again had a sudden desire to simply _take_him right there... she could, she felt. She could spin him up so hard that she could squeeze her thighs about him, kiss him so deep and true that he could do naught _but_make love to her -- of that, she was confident in that moment.

Yet... it would be unsatisfying, as much as it would fulfill deep, primal needs -- it skipped past the needs of a very, very important part of it all: Gram. He wanted her as was proper, to wed her and make a proper woman of her, rings and dresses and chapel bells. A shiver traveled down her that had nothing to do with the heat in her abdomen or the tightness of her lover's trousers beneath her thighs.

Aye, that was the real pleasure she waited for. To belong somewhere, to someone, wholly and truly. Far better to wait until then, how her heart will sing for him in that fated hour when there was no barriers left between them, of flesh nor soul.

"Ye better get that bit o' writin' tae Judeau, ye know how he hates late additions," she murmured close to his lips, and he smiled.

"I should, yes. I will need my lap back first."

"In a minute, I'm busy with it."

She kissed him one more time, there was a need to it -- there were so many things she wished to give to him, to say, to communicate that she never learned to put words to. A kiss said them all, what a wonderful invention, a wonderful thing all their own. So simple, so perfect. A kiss said it all.

~ ~ ~

The next few days passed much the same way, preparations going along with no particular hurry and yet with inexorable speed. Lidia stole away with Gram whenever time and quiet allowed, delaying their departure a few more days, loathe to leave this safe, loving fortress of doughty good souls. She had never truly belonged anywhere, and yet here in this redoubt of rough men and hard-eyed common folk she felt at home -- would anyone or anywhere else ever be so accepting again?

So she distracted them from it for a time, it did not task her greatly to do so. Gram's flesh and form bare in as chaste a manner as she could manage, the little changeling giddily indulging in ten summers or more's lateness to love. She pulled him into nooks and alcoves, taking him in her hands and kissing him into insensitivity, pulling him down for embraces in quiet corners of the wall to watch the sunset. Stealing away from training to rough and tumble roll through the hayloft until his neck was a mess of red marks and his back red with grasping tracks of excited nails. She may be sworn to chastity, but she was not sworn to a world without pleasure -- and oh how she drank deep of the well of simple pleasures she had been long denied. To touch and be touched, to be held, kissed and made whole by the feel of another's hands upon your body. Gram's strong arms and steady hands held her together, and she clung tight to him in kind. She allowed herself to be just, happily, giddily in love for a while -- she had earned this, every kiss, caress, and quiet, whispered nothing gasped against throats and into ears. It seemed like nothing could breach this fortress of happiness.

It happened on the third day.

The green ran with the sound of practice swords, the hearty clack of wood and leather in the clash. Girlish laughter and joyous swearing intermingled with the din of battle, Lidia and Gram on either side of the sandy circle, the furious frenzy of cuts and evasions moving at a speed that had drawn a small crowd. Gram favored a spear, but he was trained in the traditional saber-fighting of the Darrowmite nobility as were all of his cavaliers -- and he was good. His form was crisp and measured, moving with a fluid, purposeful energy that met the clash with authority. His nickname of 'The Black Dog' made sense more in the crush of combat -- he was dogged and aggressive, moving around the reach of weapons and footwork like a hound on the hunt, sniping limbs and hands to make use of his greater reach and strength to pressure his opponent into openings. Lidia found it exhilarating.

He came at her with such authority, such aggression she felt her heart thrumming before they even came off the lines. He _hunted_her on that dueling sand, stalked and measured her and the thrill of that was greater than any cheap excitement she'd ever tasted stealing purses and running rooftops. He was not dueling her, he was not simply practicing with her -- this was a winnowing. He was demanding she prove herself, offering her challenge -- asking if she was good enough yet. In spite of it all, in spite of her craving of peace, of petty mundane life -- the wildness of her heart craved that challenge, and he gave it to her in these matches in spades.

Gram had her in weight, furthermore he had her in reach, training and experience, and it almost always resulted in these one-sided matches ending only one way -- but what the Black Dog of Fort Ivory did not have was the blood of the sidhe and an equal lifetime using it in unusual ways. Lidia's style of fighting had emerged clearly from the crucible of Gram's teachings and her own hardscrabble life. The curved practice sword leapt to cuts with aplomb, but unlike the measured, precise pace the tall man set -- Lidia moved with a surreal, boneless grace that seemed to allow her to drift in and between his slashes in ways that defied technique and entered the realm of the supernatural. The liquid-quick sidheborn girl still could not stand with him in a measured contest, he would invariably bully her to a standstill and simply dismantle her piece by piece, but she could keep up with the seasoned warrior by sheer hard-knock tenacity and quickness.

Once more they came together, Gram the aggressor but only by a beat, Lidia hard off the line with a snapping salvo of cuts and aggressive steps, the tempo of the saber fighter one that was won on bold moves and snap decisions, with an attack and defense often being one in the same. Gram answered with his trademark crispness and the pair's back and forth was so savage and erratic to the untrained eye it looked more like the pair were engaged in some brutal hacking dance. Gram drove her blade off-line and cut for her face, only for the lithe sidhe girl to bend out of the way and slap the cut aside and snip down at his heel, knee and belly in quick succession -- her footwork driving the cuts like he'd taught her, forcing Gram to dance back, weaving his blade in a quick half-moon sweep, swatting the last cut away.

"Oh I'm catchin' up," Lidia purred with wide cat-like eyes, dropping into a low stance from habit, the small girl making herself even smaller and more difficult for the larger opponent to hit, Gram's cool eyes remained focused but he allowed himself a terse smile.

"Not quite on-tempo still," was all he said and they were together again. The cut and clash was fierce and fluid, the two weaving around each other gamely, Gram much more clearly on the offensive now, the larger man as usual simply bullying her towards one side of the arena, cutting off her defenses with main force and reach, pressuring her like a real opponent would. Lidia wasn't given many openings to turn her greater speed to her advantage, all attempts to simply weave and wend around his blade met with a firm reprise and a lashing cut for an extremity or its own explosive counter. Lidia was almost entirely on her back foot as she stayed in, meeting him with winding, flowing parries -- the motions of offense and defense both involving deliberate, aggressive use of the whole body. Each cut and deflection came from the feet and was driven by rotation of hips, trunk and shoulders in precise, snapping motions that almost seemed exaggerated -- if it wasn't for how even the blunted practice wasters buzzed angrily through the air with the sheer spring-like momentum of each unleashed action. This was not light sparring, both wore the padded doublets and gloves for training, but even with that protection touches scored here would leave deep bruises or loosen teeth. It was real enough but for the bleeding.

"Oh I'll get on tempo," she hissed in a dangerous tone as they closed again, once more the little changeling's unusual viewpoints creating opportunities, she began to harry him in another combination -- the pair's wasters cracking together with visceral force -- but each of her movements pushed her off-line, circling back and forth to his flanks, harrying him back and forth and interminably closing the distance, getting inside his reach. Gram was no blushing novice, and he met her asymmetrical assault without giving ground, pushing right back at her with counter cuts that foiled each new flickering attack, but didn't stop her inexorable advance -- the little changeling had heeded her lessons well and was driving her footwork ably.

The tall cavalier lashed out with a brutal one-two moulinet; rolling his shoulder and trunk into the cut to get its signature, circular slash, the return stroke snapping high at her face. Lidia slapped the first cut away, but she simply was nowhere to be seen when the upward slice split the air -- the little changely had dove straight down, her legs leading as if she were to simply slide between his own.

Yet that was not Lidia's goal.

The tiny changeling entangled her limbs with his, torquing her body unnaturally in such a way that wound her legs up around his own, her shoulders braced on the ground as she gave a cry and swung her body, using his own as her fulcrum, her tight-tangled legs locking on either side of his hips as she twisted with all her might.

Gram to his credit, did set his stance with intent to resist her, but Lidia's wiry frame was inhumanly flexible and both gravity and leverage were on her side of the sudden grapple. His balance faltered as she twisted his legs out of alignment and his form crumpled, the maneuver swinging the tall Darrowmite heavily to the ground in a wrenching motion that had Lidia come up on top, straddling his waist and bringing her practice blade to his throat, her bright green eyes wide and her fierce fangs gleaming as she grinned with triumph.

"Got ye," she crowed quietly as the crowd went silent, and Gram grinned at her.

"As with all things, we would have gone together," he said softly, and there was a faint tapping noise of wood on cloth. Glancing down, Lidia saw that Gram had twisted himself as he fell -- so his own wooden blade was squarely across her belly in what would have been a gutting stroke -- both of them joining the other in death were it live steel.

A cheer went up, hoots and shouts of chagrin and triumph mixing as backs were slapped and coins changed hands, Lidia couldn't help but grin and drove her mouth down at his, kissing the tall soldier firmly and hungrily right on the mouth, surprising them both with the gusto in which she drank him down right there in public -- that fire in her lower abdomen suddenly a blazing star as she just... needed to express it, to taste him in that moment of joy, her smile gleaming as she came back, leaving the man's eyes dazed and glassy.

"Better than a thwack with a waster, aye?" she teased him and he grinned drunkenly as she swung her hips off him, pulling the tall man to his feet as that burning desire thrummed in her belly, her eyes drawing to his mouth again as she considered climbing up and giving him another kiss...

"It will... linger..." he gasped and there was a stumble to his steps, that glassy-eyed look intensified and a sort of confusion fell over the man's face as he faltered, his stride crumpling as he quite simply and unceremoniously collapsed to the sand like a puppet with cut strings.

"Gram?" she asked, a grin on her lips at first, surely he was playing... but he lie there too still, his limbs in a tangle unnatural and slack. Fear boiled up in her guts and the smile left her face.

"GRAM!"

She didn't remember much of the rest, the thump of her waster hitting the sands, followed by her knees as she hurled herself down to him, her hands feeling his face, shaking him and turning his glassy, distant eyes to her own.

"Gram, GRAM! Nae, speak tae me!" she wailed and suddenly strong hands joined hers, righting Gram's shallow, staring face. Martin's scarred visage met her gaze over his fallen captain's body, his hands running along the man's pallid face.

"Lady's Teats, he's cold as ice. His lips are blue, BRING A LITTER!" he bellowed, Gram's cool body seeming already quite dead, that burning in Lidia's belly seeming spiteful in its thrumming now, setting a gross twisting counterpoint to the coil of icy fear in her gut, the two sensations squirming around in a nauseating mix.

"I dinnae hit him that hard!" she cried, her hands on his face, the scene out of her nightmares, remembering how she'd found her father -- just like this, cold and blue, fading out with a smile on his face. Tears welled in her eyes and she dragged him closer, and as she did the tall Cavalier's body seemed to further visibly pale. Martin's eyes flickered back and forth over the vibrant young woman and the waning shadow of his commander, realization ran across his gaze.

"Lidia... Lidia let him go," he said cautiously, slowly but firmly putting his hands on her own, working them free of Gram's padded doublet, "Lidia I need you to let him go."

"I cannae jus'..." she spat in defiance, but as she drew her hand from his cheek... a clear, pale hand print stood out on his flesh, paler than the surrounding flesh, slowly warming as her skin left his. Her words died in her throat with a sound of primal misery, and she flung herself back from the man she loved, kicking her heels in the sand as she kept pushing back until her spine hit one of the posts at the edge of the sandy circle. Tears stung her eyes, blurred her vision and her breath came in panicked, gasping hitches. Martin's gaze was steady, and as she slid away -- Gram's chest heaved in a breath.

"Get Sister Brenan, it's sidhe sorcery," the scarred young man said, his ruined features full of concern as Gram blearily struggled to rise, clearly confused and weak. The crowd turned their gaze to Lidia, some eyes accusing, others fearful. Lead filled her belly.

"Nae... nae it cannae be..." she whimpered, looking down at her hands, at how the warmth returned to his cheeks as she grew more distant.

"... Me?"

A sob choked its way out of her throat as the calls rang out around her, and she hurled herself through the crowd, shoving and pushing past. Tears glittered on her cheeks as she ran, ran from the light, from the eyes and cries. She ran, the only trail she left was a rapidly-drying patter of teardrops on stone.

Anywhere but here. Anything but this.