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“NO, NO YE PROMISED... YE PROMISED YE RAT FOOKIN' BASTARD YE PROMISED ME!"

The girl's screams rang out from a throat so hoarse blood flecked her lips, screaming herself nearly mute with rage, loss, agony as she watched Bart's form crumple beneath Parias' blade, gushing blood… so, so much blood. She was nearly over the wall in spite of the clash and roar of battle around her, scrambling in a mad, wild-eyed frenzy towards where her Big Brother laid at the mercy of a monster, both slowly disappearing further and further into the trees. She very nearly made it as a pair of strong hands grabbed her about the middle, and another arrested her movement with a handful of her cloak and garb, pulling her back from the brink.

“NO! NO, BART!" She shrieked, mad and unhinged she began to lash about at those whom held her with fists, nails, and even teeth. Working her way free to a fusillade of curses from those struck, clawed or bitten, she lunged for the wall again, raw, unfettered murder on her mind before another pair of strong hands grasped her at the very last moment, snatching her back mid-leap from the parapet, one arm around her middle, the other crossed firmly over her chest. She screamed something inarticulate, pure fury and the rage of loss driving her, she snapped her teeth down into the bare, calloused hand across her chest, biting down true and deep with her sidheborn fangs and too-sharp teeth. She felt the flesh cut, the taste and sickly texture of blood flooded her mouth as she drove them deeper in rage, directing all of it at this man so foolish as to stop her, to handle her bare-handed. A hiss of pain was what she got back, and the voice above her did no so much bellow as raise his voice above the din like a trumpet.

“Get them back from the walls! Defensive positions! Into the breech! Seal it up by God or we'll lose the entire citadel!" The voice was crisp, commanding, and clear — it put the steel back into the spines of the surrounding men even as he wrestled her back from the edge of the parapet, her inhuman canines digging all the deeper as she thrashed uselessly against the soldier's iron-like grasp. She bit harder, snarling through tears as she was dragged back and a voice came to her — close to her ear, quiet and tense with pain.

“I need that hand, if you're quite finished worrying at me like a little Redcap stumbled out of the wood."

She froze, there was pain in that voice, obviously — but it was calm, assertive and… understanding. She sobbed a bit, and the taste of blood suddenly was overwhelming, gagging her and she pulled her teeth from his hand, spitting and retching a bit as her ire petered out into agonized despair.

“He… he…" she sobbed, her voice coming in sucking gasps as tears poured down her cheeks and blood down her mouth; “He… promised… he promised he'd take care o' me… an'… an'…" she cut off in another wail as she doubled over. The feeling of loss fresh in her mind, cutting open new and old wounds all at once. Around them was chaos, the fighting persisted and the men-at-arms made to shore up their cracked defenses, the army outside was rushing the walls now and the din of battle was a growing roar in her ears as she stared off towards that opening in the trees, towards the still-visible, too-long smear of blood…

“He… he… promised…" she moaned piteously, chest hiccuping with desperate sobs as she sank down to her knees, teeth gnashing as she screwed her eyes shut, burying her face in her hands as a new wave of terror and loathing washed over her. He couldn't leave her alone again...

“Knight-Brothers of the order do not die easily," the man said as he laid his hands on her again — gently this time, in spite of the bleeding gash where she'd bitten him. He squeezed her shoulders and she felt more than saw him kneel, his voice close to her ear again so to be heard over the renewed crash of combat; “Take heart, he would not be the first of The Radiant Order to seem slain only to rise again in spite of injury," he continued and his tone was comforting in it's pragmatism and certainty, “They are a sturdy lot, the Lady makes them so."

Lidia sobbed and turned her face up to the man, tears and blood smearing her along with the remains of the muck and grime they'd concealed themselves with. He was handsome, she thought at once, his face visible behind a raised visor. Strong Darrowmite features looked down at her, a straight, hawkish nose, sharp cheekbones and a sturdy chin complete with a cleft complimented his drooping mustaches well. Bright blue eyes gleamed under heavy, dark brows — eyes that widened noticeably as they met her own, their too-large, almond-shaped depths slit up the middle like a cat painting her as always as the other.

“It seems Little Redcap was a prophetic appellation," he said after a moment, and she couldn't help but laugh a little, chest heaving with silent sobs as her grief boiled up out of her in a constant pouring of tears.

“A-aye… nae th' first time I been called that…" she said, memories of her little gang, the Tanner Street Redcaps, readily coming to mind… along with the grief of their loss as well. She may be the very last of them left.

“Very well, then it suits you, Little Redcap," he said, eyes looking up and flicking about wildly; “My name is Gram, titles and rank are all a bit much for this moment," he added, extending his hand, the bloodied one — the four deep punctures where her sidheborne fangs had sliced into his flesh oozing even as he smiled, “It's dangerous here, let me take you somewhere safer,"

She stared at that hand, realizing he'd taken his gauntlets off so as not to hurt her, spying them tucked into his belt, quite a risk to avoid harming her — one he'd paid for. That shook her well enough out of the despairing malaise that had settled over her mind, and with a wet sniffle, she nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull her away from the din of battle and the screams of the damned and dying…

~ ~ ~

Sunlight warmed her face, stirring her from slumber, the dreamy memories fading with a familiar ache, a pang of despair remembered washing through her as she slowly came back. Pain lanced through her head and she winced — and a familiar hand laid across her cheek, now with four, neat little scars in the back of it. A tremble of pleasure ran through her as that now-beloved hand slid down her cheek and along her jawline, parting the mess of red hair away from her face.

Gram. Sweet, dependable Gram.

“Hey there, loverboy…" she whispered weakly, smiling up at him. The cart rocked beneath them, the two riding in the back of it alone, Martin and the Sisters sitting near the reins or walking ahead. They were mostly clear of the wood, and far afield of Baba Yaga's domain, as the summer sun poured through the rare gaps in the tall canopy.

“Hey there, Little Redcap," he said, stroking her cheek again. Her hand caught his, and drew the scarred limb back to her lips, where she kissed them fondly, looking up at him around his half-curled fingers with luminous green eyes.

“This lil' tangle seems a mite familiar," she teased softly, the dreamy atmosphere cracking as she saw the strange egg swaying at his breast, reality crystallizing around her with inexorable weight. Gram was not having it, and with a single smile — he pushed the pressures of the world back just a bit longer.

“A thousand similar moments in a scant few months, all of them precious," he agreed, caressing her face with both hands now, cupping her cheeks as she looked up from where her head rested in his lap, a shudder ran through her and she let her eyes flutter back closed — and she simply allowed him to touch her. It was as intimate as anything if not as much as she'd like, his gentle, calloused fingers cupped her cheeks, stroked down her cheekbones and throat. Simply feeling her, touching her with a simplicity that made her heart ache.

She'd done it. She'd saved him, even if only for a while. Her reward was this: his hands upon her flesh again, safe from whatever curses nested in her misbegotten flesh. Flesh he loved, flesh he treasured.

She lay there with him like that for a long while, and the sunbeams became more common as they reached the further edges of the primeval forest. She saw none of it but bits between slitted eyes, her senses focused on the man who held her, but reality would intrude as she shifted slowly around to rest against him, cheek on his chest, fingers laced with his. She glanced down and noticed her trousers were gone, replaced with an ill-fitting pair from the extra garments brought for Gram.

“Ah there was… an accident, when Baba Yaga worked her magic upon you. Brenan and the Sisters dressed you while Martin helped me put things in order," Gram explained, and she blushed brightly with embarrassment, groaning and burying her face in his neck.

“Oh ye gods I pissed meself in front o' the man I love an' a fookin' fairy queen."

“To be fair, she had just pulled part of your immortal soul out of your mouth."

Lidia only groaned louder at that, kicking her feet in a little childish fit of frustration as she peered up at him from around the shielding cloth of his collar, hideously embarrassed. Still, he smiled at her and only gave her a wink.

“Once, when I was a boy, all fresh and bright-eyed, I went out for a ride before lunch. It was a hot summer day on the steppes, so I brought a whole skin of water, drank the entire thing while I bounced and jounced in a saddle for what felt like hours across our lands," he began, threading his free hand around her, stroking it through her hair as they pulled themselves into a closer, intimate clutch.

“I returned home expecting a meal and some news from my father — and instead was greeted by total bedlam, there was an Imperial Envoy out before our estate, apparently a surprise inspection of the border territories and their facilities for tax and records," he said, and Lidia's eyes widened a bit, “So I was shuttled off, bladder full to dress and then stand at attention like a good nobleman's son for the entire ordeal as we were weighed and measured as a Barony in the eyes of the Imperial Treasury."

“Oh no," The little changeling gasped, and Gram grinned at her ruefully.

“Three hours I stood in attendance with a whole skin of water trying to make its way out of me, heavy formal wear and tight hose making it five times worse. By then I couldn't manage it, and my will gave out."

“… ye pissed yerself in front of an Imperial Envoy…"

“And my father, mother, brothers, the Captain of the House Guard, and at least a dozen servants, all got to watch me darken my hose with a completely straight face, and then quietly ask to be excused."

“Dinnae ye think tae ask before?" she queried, and he laughed.

“Oh Darrowmite court affairs are not to be put off, and the Imperial Treasury is a den of small men whom think themselves terribly important, we were to all stand at attention in his presence as he and his agents made a record of our resources and affairs, so we did not engage in any skullduggery in our father's name," he explained with a snort.

“An' ye want tae make me part o' this lovely system?" she asked with mock offense in her tone, the tall Nobleman smiling back at her.

“Well, it cannot be that much worse than having your soul yanked out your mouth."

She laughed, the first genuine laughter she'd managed since he collapsed. Silvery, joyous, and true.

“While you were unconscious, Baba Yaga explained a few things to me," Gram said, pulling her close to him in their ride, in the far distance beyond the trees, Lidia could see the gleaming white walls of Fort Ivory just peeking through the boughs, safety and security promised by their immovable stone.

“Oh aye?" she asked him, nuzzling her cheek into his shoulder and letting out a deep, long-held breath as her whole body seemed to relax. He had that affect on her, always, since the early days of misery and despair, Gram's stolid presence was a rock she could lean upon.

“Indeed, namely that she had undone a binding on you, traumatic as it was. We will find your mother in the far wood of my homeland, where she dwells with the rest of the Seelie Sidhe Courts. The binding would have apparently, let your mother simply do away with your free will and is what had coaxed you into such… actions, that lead me to my current state." he explained, looking idly down at the egg-shaped amulet about his neck.

“That… explains a thing or two, ye…" she said, her fingers tracing over the egg, her mind so very sure she could feel it… move, turn beneath her hands. What a poor creature, unloved, unwanted… born to die, as the witch had said. Lidia felt a haunting sort of kinship with the thing, and it made her guts cold.

“Hey, loverboy," she breathed suddenly, eyes flicking up from the concerning talisman, her gaze full of trepidation and temptation in equal amounts, fear and hunger warring on her tongue as she slid her hand higher, tugging gently at the collar of his shirt, “Kiss me."

That moment of hesitation was mutual, and the pair locked eyes as they had many times before at that intimate distance. This was it, the test in earnest — she had touched and dwelled with him without harm, but could she taste of him without it as well? She felt his heartbeat speed up, heard his breath hitch slightly, caught the faint flick of his tongue as he moistened those soft, pouty lips… she still had all the same attentive, supernatural awareness of him she now knew to be literal predatory instinct… but did her lips carry poison upon them still?

That moment, was still only a moment. Gram seized her in a gentle but quite unbreakable embrace, and did not just kiss her as much as he enmeshed his mouth with her own, devoured her. He stole her breath with the soft invasion of his tongue and the immovable, intimate strength of his arms… and for the first time, she felt not the gnawing, mad-eyed desire. Not the addling, craving hunger, the burning atop her womb like a thing in heat… all her life what she had felt as correct — what desire was to her — fell away. In it's place was a wet, warm, lurid sensation that climbed like lazy butterflies from that familiar low place in her belly up to her heart, mind, fingers and toes. A slow, tingling desire that smoldered within her like Baba Yaga's great stove instead of a raging wildfire. Warming. Patient. Was this how he felt? How normal people felt? The sensation was wondrous, warm, and enrapturing, free of the giddy madness that had seemed to possess her before. Her breath left her again in a soft gasp of delight in between kisses, and she pulled him closer. She wanted more… more of this delightful, freeing, normal love.

Gram readily gave her all she could ask for, and in the cart ahead Martin and the sisters pointedly turned their eyes from the couple as the true, golden rays of the sun streamed down, the party breaking free of the fae wood's grasp into the Concourse once more.

Even the sun did not begrudge the couple their joy.

~ ~ ~

The situation was related more or less as a whole to Brenan and the sisters — and then Commander Maxos over the coming few days. The severe man seemed as concerned for Lidia's well-being as he had for his soldier and friend — a fact that had served to further endear the men of this foreboding edifice to her a little bit more. Lachheim might be gone, but maybe home could still be built elsewhere.

“I wish I had more to offer you than the freedom I have already granted," the stern man said as they sat at midday meal together. They had spent a few days making sure both of the fateful pair had recovered from their ordeal, and truth be told such rest had been needed — Lidia herself had fallen into a complete stupor of fatigue as soon as she'd been allowed to stop moving, and had slept quite contentedly for nearly a full day.

“Ye've done more then enough, Sir," Lidia said, getting a tight but doting smile from the man, mostly hidden in the stiff brush of his mustache. The midday meal was something of a feast, Sister Brenan having apparently chosen to either exorcise her demons or simply celebrate two saved lives via her kitchen and it's contents, the past few days had seen inspired but modest meals replacing much of their solid, savory staples. The food at the fort was never bad, but there was simply more love in the mix, all the little extras held back 'just in case' brought to bear. Soldiers filed in and it was like the palpable joy of the kitchen wafted out on the scents of it's cookery, and it was like watching years slough off each man, whether in from long watch or early training, the love in the mess hall was thick as spring mist.

“We're set to leave in the morning," Gram chimed in from next to her, they were inseparable again, both having brushed against the sharp edge of mortality, even now Lidia's hand had idly found Gram's beneath the table, their fingers tangled together as they ate.

“Yes, it wouldn't do to waste time in the circumstances," Maxos agreed, Gram shaking his head, those pale blue eyes steady.

“I don't intend to rush about, a season is long and if it is all I will have then I will have that season's memories to keep for eternity," he stated with a hint of defiance in his voice, Lidia felt his fingers tighten beneath the table, “I simply intend to make good time."

“What the pretty man is sayin' is that we're gonna be makin' for 'is family lands right quick, nae reason to dally when there's so much tae do." she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek fondly, the tall man's face was suddenly grave.

“Yes, and here I had thought the hardest news I'd have to break was that I was in love with a peasant girl,"

“There's far too much lovelorn poetry about pretty shepherd girls in the Darrowmite canon for me to believe Miss Shaw would present all that much challenge for your family," Maxos protested mildly, getting a crooked smile from Gram in return. The two men engaged in a quiet discussion of military means, Gram's family responsibilities at the head of the topic — and Lidia used it and her empty bowl as a reason to slip away, her fingers leaving his only reluctantly as she drew his gaze but a moment from Maxos, a twinkle showing in his eye. Aye, that put a tingle in her belly still. All was in working order.

The food on offer was a rich, savory stew — as before, the food was never poor in Fort Ivory, but it was still built to feed the literal army stationed there. Soups, breads, and pies were often the staples that held the meals here together, rich grains and mashes as well. This one had chunks of salt pork and fresh venison, and a medley of delicious root vegetables and savory spices that had her mouth watering anew as she made her way to the kitchen once more.

It was much as she'd left it many times before, steam and vapors putting a pleasant haze of cookery and its scents in the air, maids and scullery boys here and there taking dishes and minding meals, and at the center of it all was Sister Brenan, gamely seeing to the kneading and pounding of dough that wouldS go into the next round of baking in the massive brick ovens that occupied a large section of the back wall, all leading up to the heavy stone chimney that all of the hearths, ovens, and cookfires fed into.

“Come to raid the larders again have ye?" Brenan's voice came as the little redhead stole into the kitchen, caught with her hand in the massive cauldron still simmering over the fire, ladling out another portion of the savory stew for herself.

“Cannae help me nature," she said cheerfully, eagerly blowing the steam off another heavy spoonful of gravy and meat, Brenan giving a lopsided smile and silently gesturing for one of the many kitchen maids to step in, picking up where she had left off with the dough.

“Once a thief, always a thief? I can't say I agree with that sentiment," the older woman said, her careworn face gentle as Lidia wolfed down another spoonful — she was really quite famished, her tiny body struggling to replace its drained reserves. The little changeling shrugged.

“Gram's a soldier, ne'er been nothin' else, Bart th' same, as it goes down the list o' people I've met. Nae sense in defyin' yer make," she hedged, and Brenan signed, a bit of disappointment in her eyes as she wiped flour and flecks of gummy dough from her hands.

“I see it different. I see a tiny thief that came into the walls of my home, and left something else. I don't know what yet, but ye're hardly just some petty cutpurse, nor do I believe that's ever what you were meant for," she said, and Lidia stiffened a bit… there was a comfort in resigning herself to being what she was, and Brenan seemed dead-set against it. Frustration surged in her, and she swallowed it with another mouthful of stew. Brenan seemed content to leave it be as the two met eyes for a moment, and Lidia spoke up in a quiet tone, barely audible over the ruckus of the kitchens.

“Why'd ye do it?"

The question was vague, but the pair of women knew immediately of which she spoke, Brenan's pale eyes flicked between the little changeling and her own staff and shook her head,

“Not here, come along… I'm due a moment's rest anyways," she said, touching the woman kneading the dough's arm and quietly murmuring a few directions to her before meeting Lidia's eyes once more and gesturing with her chin to follow.

They exited out of the back into the green via the same route the maids and goodmen used to bring stock to the larder, Lidia with bowl still in hand, and Brenan pausing to take a small pouch from he belt, out of which she tipped a long-stemmed pipe — and all at once, despite her hunger tasking her, Lidia realized it'd been an awful long time since she'd had a smoke. Everything had been so busy, so often at toil or terror she'd never really found time to unwind as she once had. Brenan caught her gaze, lighting the pipe with the dank, heady scent of the pipeweed catching the nose as it caught. She puffed it hard once and found a seat near the outer wall of the kitchens, a timeworn bench that clearly had seen her sit there many times over the many, many years. She offered the pipe to the little changeling as she sat, exhaling a cloud of dense smoke as she leaned back, eyes closing.

“I don't have an easy answer for ye, Lidia," Brenan said as the little redhead juggled her bowl, spoon, and the pipe until she had found her seat, taking a long drag off the pale, handmade stem of the pipe. It was rustic and simple, appropriately humble in design for the down-to-earth Sister. The instant rush of mild euphoria between her eyes spurred her already intense hunger as her body and shoulders relaxed, unkinking knots she wasn't aware she still had. A sigh left her with the smoke as the faint buzz coursed through her, the Sister taking her pipe back.

“Try me, I've seen more than me share o' impossible things," Lidia countered, getting a rueful smile out of Brenan with a little nod as she drew her own puff.

“I suppose ye have, that's remiss of me. I reckon I still see ye as a girl more than a canny adventurer," she admitted, gently peeling her wimple back to mop at her brow. Brenan's salt-and pepper hair blended to a uniform gray like steel fresh-cooled from the quench, and it was kept in a short, chin-length cut that was almost militaristic in it's utility, falling about her face neatly, it served to make her look twenty years younger — her strong features and full lips lending a dramatic flare to the severe cut's silhouette.

“I suppose the easiest way to say it is ye gave me an excuse I long prayed for," she said, her habit hanging around her shoulders, head and soul both bare as she spoke, “I'd longed for a reason to leave, to close the covers on the story of my brother and our fates, but I always found myself drawn back, to these lands, to the men of them," she said, taking another drag as her eyes followed the curve of the green to where young, doughty men trained and practiced, “All young, brash, and brave just like he was."

“Ye saw yer brother in the boys o' the Fort," Lidia surmised, and Brenan smiled with a nod,

“In part, not just the fort. The Heartlands, the North in particular. I was born and raised in a little hamlet to west of here, far out into the edges of empire, the frontier lands," she said, watching those men mount horses and take to the lists, passing her pipe back to Lidia, “My home is in the very dirt here, the grass, trees, the birds and bucks of the woods — and yes, even the Unseelie and their depredations — all part of home."

Lidia took a drag again, feeling that pressure pass through her again, lessening as she exhaled, the herb's mild euphoric qualities doing naught but taking the edge from them both — and the pain from much of the memories, she nodded as she considered her stew in her bowl, stirring it in idle thought.

“Lachheim was like that tae me," Lidia answered, “Always 'ad a chance to go elsewhere, Kull would 'ave pulled strings and cut throats tae give me anywhere in his reach I wanted tae be… but Lachheim was home, the stones, alleys an' dark places one an' all," she said, and understanding dawned on her as Brenan took her pipe back.

“And now, it's gone and ye are forced to face the world at large."

Lidia nodded, biting her lip in thought, Brenan returned the gesture.

“That is what ye have offered me, and what I took. I burned those ties, burned them as sure as Lachheim did, and I did it for the right reasons," she said, turning her gaze from the tilting men-at-arms to the tiny changeling at her side, a lopsided smile creeping up her lips.

“The sake of a good boy, and the girl who loves him."

Lidia was struck silent by that again, it wasn't unusual for people to call her such things — but rare in it's own way, a simple girl. Not a half-breed, not a changeling, not even Gram's much-beloved 'Little Redcap', all were ways people saw the differences she carried, even if in reverence. Not Brenan, to the iron-gray old Sister, she was just a girl, as much as any of her own kin. Tears brimmed on the little woman's green eyes and she bit her lip to swallow a sob as she put her bowl aside and pressed herself into the older woman's arms, squeezing her tightly.

“Thank ye, Sister," she managed, choking back a quiet little sob and curling her fingers in her flour-dusted dress. Brenan's voice caught in a faint 'Ah!' of surprise, but she returned the embrace after only a moment's shock, gathering the tiny changeling in her arms and smiling down into her raucous red hair — it had grown a bit more, and now danced about her neck as she pulled back from the sudden hug, her cheeks pink with a tinge of embarrassment, tears of joy glimmering like jewels beneath her shining, catlike eyes, “I ne'er had much o' a mother, an' now I've found two or three o' ye willin' tae make up the difference." Brenan could only smile.

“Every little girl needs a mother, don't forget that when it's ye turn," she said, touching Lidia's belly with a smile and a wink, sending a new flush through the girl's cheeks, “Someone has to show ye how to do it, that monster that birthed you is a terrible example."

“An Alchemist, A Baker, a Unicorn an' a Sister o' th' Church…" she said, settling back into her side of the bench, wiping her eyes, “Aye, I could do for worse examples."

Brenan's laughter was soft, ringed with smoke from her pipe as she turned her own glimmering eyes back to the far rolling hills beyond the walls, “Perhaps it's time for me to go as well. I've raised more than my share of young, bright-eyed bucks in shining steel, maybe I can find the time to raise one in swaddling cloth, I'm not that old just yet." she mused with a little chuckle, Lidia grinned at that brightly.

“Ah've seen my share o' miracles in the last little bit, I think th' world has room fer one more."

The older woman smiled, it was warm and genuine as she settled back, both women falling silent save for the clink of Lidia's spoon. This was what home felt like, well and true. This was home, for one more night at least.

~ ~ ~

The light of dawn broke gaily over the fort. The night had been one of revelry and celebration, the men drinking toasts to their captain and his return from death — to his fairy bride, their own little sister to a man. It whirled by in a blur of dancing, singing and drink. All felt an infectious delight fill their souls, as if the land itself celebrated with them — and deep within the Glade, they were more right than they could know.

The sun's lazy glow crept into Lidia and Gram's shared bedchamber for a final time, and it illuminated a body arched in delight. Sheets twisted taunt, tangled in fingers grasping for purchase whilst adrift in a sea of delight. Lidia's body arched in a pretty bow of ecstasy, much of her clothing lay in a tangle upon the floor, wearing naught but her smallclothes and the short shrift to cover her modest breasts — but every bare stretch of flesh was alight with pleasure. Gram lay atop her, naked to the waist and hair undone as his mouth found every hollow and curve of her bare belly, kissing and mouthing, long black hair pooling across her stomach and hips like a waterfall of ebon silk, every glance she managed to spare him as he indulged himself in her a smoldering, quaking thing.

“Oh Gram…" she breathed, arching again as his mouth caressed her belly button, her toes twisting in the bedding and her sharp teeth flashing against her lip in a worrying gnaw of barely-contained pleasure — oh it felt different now, as the kisses had before, the touch and press of flesh to flesh with her beloved was a new, wonderful. Where before she felt like she was burning up, catching fire like a black powder bomb — now she felt as if she were melting, the hunger not gone, but tempered and smoothed into her like the beat of her heart, or the draw of her breath, no longer alien and ravenous, she savored him in ways she never had before, even such barely-chaste necking as this had drenched her smallclothes and fogged her mind with delight. She felt his smile rather than saw it as he drew his mouth lower, kissing and mouthing along her hipbones, his teeth finding soft places to leave nips and tugs of flesh, her skin wet with his saliva and the sudor of her own quivering want.

“In my drifting dreams as I lay dying…" he breathed against her, his words hot against her skin, tickling down between her thighs as his strong hands grasped her; “I thought only of this, of our moments together, your touch, your taste…" his tongue ran low, daringly into her waistband, drawing a needy moan of protest as her legs spread reflexively, drawing him close to her, between them as he raised his face to hers, “I was no longer content to die a soldier, I wanted, I desired."

Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him against her, his own needy arousal tenting against her sodden underclothes as she answered him with a hunger kiss, tongue seeking his as her lips devoured his own. Fire ignited behind her eyes, and her belly no longer burned like fever, but ached with an all-too-natural want, a want far easier to ignore but far more delicious to tease. She ground against him, drawing a moan of needy want from him as she teased his turgid need with her soft nethers, only two thin layers of fabric barring them from each other as she clung close to him, gasping as her own sensitive button pressed hard to his wanting length.

“I'm yer's loverboy, heart, body n' soul an' every bit o' me in between… Lady's Teats I'm wetter than the tunnels in rainy season…" she hissed, and he laughed softly against her lips.

“Language," he chided her playfully, going back in for another kiss as the pair moved as one, the couple tangling together, tossing and rolling until Lidia came up atop him straddling his hips, her fingers spread across his bare, muscular chest — the amulet laying there, a new fixture to her beloved's bare body, and a reminder of the ticking clock on their love. Content to ignore it for now, the flushed little changeling rolled her hips atop him, swirling her sodden underclothes across his hidden length with a series of small gasps… they were treading closer and closer to the line, passion daring faith and propriety to hold the line against it. How she wanted him, she had never felt the touch of a man deep inside, naught but her own flesh had ever properly caressed her, and that want filled her from toes to crown — but the look of love in his eyes as he gazed up at her held her in check. He wanted her too, she could feel that, the hidden girth throbbing against her equally concealed folds tantalized her with curiosity and need, the sheer shape of him promised pleasure the likes of which she could only imagine — and imagine it she would, rolling her hips particularly hard, causing the tall soldier to take his turn arching his back and finding the sheets with powerful fingers. God and Heaven, he was beautiful.

“I dreamed of you, like this…" he gasped after a moment's self control, eyes glassy with need, his hands slid up her hips to lay flat on her belly; “… round, with child. Looking upon me with those beautiful eyes full of love, and a promise of days yet to come," he all but whispered, and the touch of his hands over her womb, what had once thrummed with atavistic, predatory hunger — now sang in her blood with patient anticipation, oh how she wanted that too — to grow round and full with his children, to be a mother. An ache set in that had nothing to do with the throbbing between her thighs, and she drew his hands up her body, cupping them about her face as she continued to gently roll her hips across him, causing him to arch his back and roll his eyes skywards with a soft gasp of need.

“I'll give ye a boy, a proper lad tae raise as yer dad did ye…" she breathed with quiet vulnerability; “A son tae grow up strong and true, with your gorgeous hair…" she continued, pressing down hard against him, and he moaned, meeting her gaze as she kissed his fingers.

“… And your beautiful eyes, and god willing that smile…" he added, and her heart fluttered.

“Mind yer tongue, loverboy… or I may give in tae me nature an' 'ave ye put the lad in me now…" she threatened with a swirl of her hips that drew a wet spot out against his own brief underclothes.

“An awful tease, you get that from your mother…" he taunted her back, to which she smiled wickedly and leaned down to kiss him once more, passion filling the tangle of lips and tongues, how she loved this man. A thing she'd never thought possible, a thing she'd quietly dreamed of as a girl, a knight in shining armor come to take her away. Heaven.

“God and Lady protect me… “Gram groaned as their lips parted once more, her turn to smother him in pleasure, her mouth found his throat, and she let her sharp teeth alight upon it, nipping and mouthing over the sensitive, vulnerable throb of his pulse, a primal desire to… mark him anew entering her mind, perhaps human, perhaps not, but the way his armor shed beneath her — his stoic demeanor melting to that of an untried, quivering young boy — it fired her passions and spurred her on. Her nails traced lines down his chest, the smooth, narrow path of hair leading towards his belly drawing a shiver from her. She loved that he was so… masculine, some part of her demanded that of her mate. His square jaw, hairy chest, and yes — the drooping mustaches that teased and tickled her every time he kissed her, be it her lips, throat… or other, more intimate places. She buried her nose in the hollow of his throat, and breathed deep. He smelled good, the scents of their ardor, and an aroma that was uniquely his — one she could pick out from rooms away, tracking him like the Bloodhound they all loved her for. A shiver ran through her from the tip of her nose down to the wetness between her thighs in another little gyration as she dug her nails lightly into his chest over his flat, powerful pectorals, pulling a hiss of surprise and delight from him.

“Ain't nae one here tae protect ye from me, loverboy. Yer all mine…" she teased for effect, her mouth flowing further down, mimicking how he'd made her quiver and quail beneath him, her lips were the softer though, and she was all that much more devastating in their use, tracing his ribs, even going as far as to catch one of his nipples in her sharp teeth, tugging it and eliciting a sudden moan from him that was anything but masculine, a boyish whimper of need that was gratifying as any kiss. His hands found her hair, large and strong, they tangled in her red locks and she stiffened with a little moan as she mouthed down to his own bellybutton, looking up at him with those intense, cat-like eyes aglow from within the tangled morass of her playfully tousled red locks. She could feel him beneath her chest now, his need throbbed tangibly against her chest, just over her heart.

“Ye're so hard…" she breathed to him, pressing the softness of her chest through her shrift onto the throbbing need in his own smallclothes, her eyes not leaving his face as he shivered in place, trapped beneath her tender ministrations as surely as if she'd pinned him by main force.

“Lady preserve me…" he began, and she cackled softly, pursing her lips against his bare belly,

“Oh nae sense prayin' tae her, she's on my side…" she grinned, and the light blasphemy put a little fire in his eyes — as they both knew this to be true. They had spent time with Cithara, and the fires of her passion were clear even in the most chaste moments with Bart. The pair lay like that a long moment, Gram's arousal throbbing through the thin linen barrier against her heart, how easy it would be to just… “Mmn… I love th' way ye look like this, all…" she trailed off as she ran her tongue across his solar plexus to a rewarding shudder, “… Needy…" she cooed and lay there just a moment longer, desire warring with her promises for a last little battle, before she drew away, brushing her hair back behind her head as she exhaled a deep breath.

“Makes a girl feel wanted," she said with a wink and a fang-edged smile as she framed her face in her hands, looking down at the trembling, desirous mess she'd left of her beloved. Her heart sang, and her resolve to fix this hardened anew. She'd give him that son, a dozen if she could. She'd make sure they had all the time in the world to make love, make a family, make a future.

“Better get movin', long way tae go loverboy…" she said and slid away from him, but her fingers trailed down his hip to only barely stop before the needy bulge in his smallclothes, she bit her lip at him and cast him a wink, “Think o' me while ye deal with this, I know I'll be thinkin' o' ye in the bath the same," she cooed and slid from the bed, wearing her sweat-gleaming skin and tousled hair like a grand gown. His gaze made her feel whole.

“Naturally," he managed after a moment, brushing his own hair from his face as she gathered her clothes and dressed. He watched her through the divider, and she gave him a lovely show of peeling out of her damp underclothes and slipping into a comfortable homespun dress. Boldly she walked over to him, and dropped her underclothes upon his bare chest, leaning down to press her lips to his in a long, indulgent kiss, coming back with his handkerchief in hand from his effects on the end table. Wickedly she pressed her nose into it and breathed deep his ingrained scent from it with a shiver and visible dilation of those feline eyes. The man trembled openly at that naked display of want, taking her own smallclothes tentatively in his fingers as she cast him a wink and slid from their shared room.

“Dinnae be too long, loverboy… but long enough," she teased, and shut the door behind her.

Perhaps she was a touch wicked.

~ ~ ~

After longer in the bath than perhaps planned, and a few select fantasies explored — the couple joined once more at the green, Lidia's eyes gleaming with freshly-cooled desire and just a smidge of leftover mischief — and in return she recognized the cool fire behind Gram's own bright gaze, it wasn't a traditional way to handle one's passions before being wed, but they'd managed.

What surprised her, was Gram's attire — gone was the usual simple hunter's shirt, boots and hose he favored when they were casual, instead he wore a loose, flowing ensemble comprised of billowing trousers of a vivid, merry red, tucked into supple, well-heeled riding boots and strapped around the waist with the same bright yellow sash she'd seen often with his armor. The sash was tied artfully over a wide girdle that ascended up much of his middle, leaving his chest clad in a loose white shirt, embroidered with intricate threaded patterns of blue, red and yellow down the front of either side of the thick bone buttons that secured it, left open midway up to his throat, the sleeves tightly cinched with similarly embroidered cuffs at the wrists. His amulet danced across his mostly-bare chest, and the girdle was host to an affair of typical accessories, a wide pouch at the forefront, and a knife tucked in the front, with his familiar saber hanging at his hip. His gait was loose and airy, free of much of his usual military stiffness, legs making great strides to meet her across the green, his hair free and blowing in the morning breeze. The sight of him made her breath catch in her throat, new desire building in her as he strode up to her with his arms wide, a thin but warm smile on his chiseled features as he swept her up into his arms, spinning her about with ease.

“Ye look… amazin'!" she breathed as he set her down, the little changeling had chosen one of the simple sets of trousers, soft boots and a long, loose-fitting blouse that he liked — and of course, her ever-present red hood. She loved to wear dresses and skirts for him, but the idea of riding a horse in such things sounded like a nightmare to her.

“I rarely have dispensation to wear my cultural attire — but how often does a man ride home, with his wife-to-be on his arm?" he asked with that same soft smile. Gram's face rarely showed the kinds of emotion others did, but he saved all his smiles for her — and she treasured each of them.

“But ye dinnae wear it for Bart's wedding, nor when we were in Fairharbour?" she quizzed, and he raised one eyebrow at her stoically.

“It is difficult to wear attire in Fairharbour that is locked in a chest here in Fort Ivory."

“Oh," she said dumbly, coloring a bit at the obvious answer; “I suppose it is."

“Moreover, I prefer the Heartlands attire while I am here, I dress as my men do. It promotes unity and brotherhood among us," he explained, reaching up to brush a stray strand of her red mane back from her eyes, staring down into them a moment, “But I need not worry about such things with you, and would instead dress myself on this journey as I would have you see me."

“I cannae argue with the look," she said softly, sliding her hands up the clothing, it was all fine of make and well-stitched, and suited him to a thread. It made his tall, whip-like build look even taller, his arms strong and his shoulders broad. He looked wild and ferocious, the persona he wore on the battlefield tamed and tangled in embroidery and pleats. “Ye look good… good enough tae eat…"

“Haven't we had enough of that already, Little Redcap?" he quipped, and she grinned at him pointedly — with pointed teeth besides.

“What's one more wee little nibble?"

She leaned up on her toes, her own boots creaking as she pressed her lips to his in a brief, winsome kiss, smiling against his lips as their noses touched. He was taking her home, what a thought. She was giddy at the very idea.

“There you two are, I thought I'd have to roust you out of your lovenest personally," came a familiar voice, Lidia turning with a smile to find Martin jogging up to them, in his usual uniform, white surcoat blazing in the sun, the spiraling horn proud and prominent on his breast.

“It is often difficult to leave such a comely embrace, but I managed," Gram answered him, clasping the scar-faced man's arm as he and Lidia broke apart, the blonde soldier returning it with his usual crooked grin. He smiled despite the damage to his face, and Lidia thought that somehow made him beautiful still.

“We've loaded both your horses, Bayard is already champing his bit, you know how he hates to sit tacked and loaded with nowhere to go," Martin said, turning to walk with them as they moved towards the main concourse, passing an unusually few people. Must be on patrol, Lidia reasoning silently as Gram chuckled.

“He is a task-focused steed, it is why we work well together," the taller man answered and Martin snorted with mild derision.

“That and he'll set teeth to anyone else trying to ride him, however did you tame that monster?" he asked idly, and Gram answered with a shrug.

“He bit me once. I bit him back. We decided the entire affair was silly after a few minutes and he opted to simply heed my wishes."

Lidia's stifled laughter followed them around the green as they made their way to the concourse, passing a few grooms in the stables, nodding and waving as they went by. Everyone knew everyone else, even with the massive standing army at the fort, one didn't live so close to others without learning names and faces, even if just in passing. Lidia waved back, Gram and Martin discussing some odds and ends of their preparations for the journey.

“I went ahead to make sure your arms and armor were included in your supplies, but found you had beaten me to the task," Martin said, and Gram shrugged with a little arch of his eyebrows.

“We're venturing off to find a wicked fairy queen, I wager being wrapped in steel will be a boon at some point," he answered and turned a kind eye on the man; “Besides, my father will doubtlessly wish to see me in full panoply at least once. He's very proud."

“He should be, it's been a privilege to serve with you," Martin answered with the casual camaraderie they always shared. Gram did not accept such familiarity from many of his troops, but Martin could always speak truth to his Captain without fear.

“I can think o' a few other reasons tae be proud," Lidia added, sliding her hand into Gram's as Martin smiled at them both, “Ye did tell him ye saved th' Lady and th' world, right?"

“I mentioned it in passing, ink is expensive and the hawks have a limited capacity," Gram hedged, and Lidia smirked at him,

“Oh aye? Is that shyness in the Black Dog I see?" she teased him, and Gram avoided her gaze pointedly as they met the gates to the concourse.

“I am not prone to boasts, best to hear the details from my own lips rather than a dry bit of parchment," he said with a touch of finality, and she turned her smug grin up at him without fear.

“Sure, loverboy. Jus' dinnae forget tae be proud yerself," she said, squeezing his hand; “Ah'm plenty proud fer both o' us, an' I know the Lady is as well. Bart told me so, an' I dinnae think that great big hayseed knows how tae lie."

“God's own truth," Martin said, reaching out a hand and drawing the inset door open for the pair, to which they both walked through and paused with wide-eyed alarm.

The concourse was full. Nearly every member of the citadel — and each and every one of the Ivory Spears, sat in attendance, only when the Lady and her party had set off to challenge Mihai and his dark plans had she seen it fuller. Commander Maxos, Sister Brenan and Scribe Judaeu stood waiting near their horses — a simply white palfrey named Mist she'd grown fond of, and the great, mighty Bayard.

They'd come to see them off, that much was clear. Tears sprang fresh to Lidia's eyes and she squeezed Gram's hand anew.

“All o' this for one wee redcap?" she asked no one in particular. Gram's gentle return squeeze was the answer she needed.

“Now you can see why I came to find the both of you with such urgency,” Martin said dryly, his scarred face a bit fraught as he found his place, ghosting past Gram to where their horses stood, casually relieving a groom and checking the two horse’s tack. Martin was Gram’s second, and he took that place very seriously. Maxos stood there obtrusively out of armor, Lidia had to pause for a moment and really think to recall the last time she saw the severe Commander out of steel, but today he stood in a simple double and surcoat, seeming a great deal… gentler, absent the steel around him. His intense features softening along with his outline into a comfortable solidity.

The crowd itself was like that, her eyes cast across them wide and full. Dappled shade filled the concourse, the summer’s beginning had come with the erection of a series of long fluttering awnings emblazoned with the Lady’s symbol, and they created a cool, cozy atmosphere around the long crowd of tough men-at-arms in their casual uniforms. A wall of white surcoats and friendly faces, but little in the way of arms nor armor, the common folk were here too, the scribes from the stacks as well as many cooks and grooms whom she had spent time with.

“We rarely send family off without a proper goodbye,” Maxos said quietly, in the softest voice she’d ever heard from the habitually stern man, Judeau smiled at that, folding his hands inside of the sleeves of his loose scribe robes, still stained with ink from his tasks.

“We have many who come and go, a port of call within an ocean of grass but a port all the same, but few are those who stay long both within our walls — and our hearts.”

“Fewer still who fight for our home as if it were theirs, owing it no fealty or reverence,” Brenan added, picking up the thread from the scribe with a familiar smile now, one she shared with the tightly-groomed man.

“It is not a proper military honors, for you are not of The Lady’s Service, but all who stand here have come to hold you and our stalwart Captain Baudelaire dear,” Maxos continued, tucking his thumbs in his belt in a grandfatherly fashion, “And we would see you from our lands as a family.”

The assembled men at arms raised their fists as one then in a ‘HOOAH’ of assent, echoed unevenly by the common folk alike. Lidia felt her eyes misting up again as she clung tight to Gram’s frame for support, her legs felt unsure and she’d hate to stumble in the face of such alien kindness.

“Ye… ye’ve all been so kind tae me,” she said to Maxos, to the crowd. The concourse’s solid walls letting her soft voice echo easily to its ends, “Nae ever ‘afore had anyone been so kind tae me, even Bart an’ I were snippin’ and bitin’ at eachother on first meetin’… but ye just took me in,” she said and wrapped her fingers around Gram’s hand — the one that still bore the well-healed scars of her teeth from their first meeting.

“Even though I bit an’ kicked th’ whole way.”

“We trust our own, and when the Black Dog of Fort Ivory took your heart and hopes as his own, it was all we needed,” Maxos answered plainly with a smile, and Lidia’s misty eyes turned to full runnels of tears down either cheek. She pushed away from Gram and wrapped her arms around the stoic commander in a very improper hug — but she didn’t care one whit. She squeezed tight and to her surprise, he squeezed her back.

“We will all miss you, little Bloodhound. Your smile and earnest joy has been a great boon to many old veterans, and friend to young recruits,” He said just for her, wiping her tears away, “You remind many of us of sisters and daughters left behind, and the just nature of our cause.”

“The Lady Herself blesses few people so directly, we are a generation of soldiers most privileged by her return to the world,” Judeau added, “In two hundred years and some besides has she stayed alone in the Sidhewood, seeing naught but Knight-Brothers and the Fae. Now, she emerges and naught only blesses the world with her presence — but our brother and his beloved distinctly,” he said and raised that intense green gaze a bit, warmth in those calculating eyes, “Nay child, we are only as kind as our Lady, our exemplar in all things. She loves you, so we can do no less.”

“It is fine to be special, dear one. Ye are simply living in auspicious times, in the wake of auspicious creatures,” Brenan agreed, smiling at her as well, “Truly, the world is changing, things are in motion — and even the blind can see ye will play further part, so good hearts are charged to cherish these precious people.” she said, stepping forward to cup her and Gram’s cheek alike.

“Ye are loved for who and what ye are, and nothing can rob ye of that.”

Another cheer rose from the crowd behind them, and Lidia’s face turned rosy with embarrassed glee as she looked to the small army of men and women. Aye, she’d been part of all their lives in the siege and the time betwixt, faster friends she had not made, and warmer still their love for it was given with nothing asked in return — a rarity in the thief’s brief, bitter life.

“You are a hero, Little Redcap, I fear your time in Ser Bart’s shadow has dimmed your view of your own radiance,” came the words from of all people, Gram. She had no words for that, only a deeper blush and to lean on his chest, looking up at him with a smile. A familiar, delicate cough caught their attention.

“As much as I am loathe for them to leave as the rest, for fear of speaking out of turn — if we stand here all day they will never make it before the end of summer,” came Martin’s voice, holding the reins of Mist and Bayard pointedly before adding, “Commander, sir.”

“Of course, look at us, caught up in the heroism of youth and circumstance,” Maxos said ruefully, shoulders shaking with a quiet chuckle as he stepped aside, letting Martin lead their mounts over.

Bayard was quite a sight, even here out of his tack for war and harnessed for a simple ride, the war horse was massive, broad across the chest nearly as she was tall, with hooves the size of dinner plates and a head the size of her torso. His dark bay coat was like fresh cinnamon, and his mane and points both a deep, glossy black. He also did not particularly like anyone, a testament to Martin’s way with horses: Bayard was as like to bite as he was anything, an ill-tempered, aggressive beast — he was however, extremely intelligent and very loyal, just like his rider. A matched set. Gram took the reigns from Martin with a nod and met the massive beast’s gaze for a moment, the rider and mount communing in that way only man and animal could, before Bayard simply bumped his head against the cavalier’s and relaxed. Gram nodded and turned to take Mist’s reins as well.

“The lady’s mount,” he said with some exaggeration that made her grin at him, Mist was the opposite of Bayard, small, dainty and fluid, she was a riding palfrey that ended up here by way of the common folk, and Lidia adored her, eagerly cupping the mare’s face and getting a puff of breath and a nicker as the gentle mare recognized her, letting Gram help her swing into the saddle with ease.

“We of course, will guide you to the edge of our territory, as is proper,” Martin said, and outside of the gates rode into assembly Gram’s own unit of Ivory Spears, appearing from the edges of the gates in two rows of gleaming armor and barding, spears held high, pennants whipping in the summer breeze. A horse absent its rider stood ready at one end, Martin’s own dapple-gray stallion, Mick, easily recognizable. Gram smiled and swung himself to his own saddle,

“We will not be taking the main roads, we’ve opted instead to cut southeast through the Eastern Marches, closer to my own lands,” Gram stated, settling himself into Bayard’s saddle as the big stallion grunted and stood proud — ever the duty-driven creature.

“An’ me own as well,” Lidia mused, “I grew up in abouts the edges o’ the wood tae th’ east, ‘ave nae been back since I was numberin’ my summers on one hand.”

“A lonely ride,” Martin noted, and the look on his scarred face caught Lidia’s eye, with the unspoken words of And one that avoids the gutted remains of Lachheim, she knew he’d understand. Martin had been able to read her well from the start, and doubtlessly Gram had spoken of her aversion to seeing her home so ravaged after their time in the Queen’s Demesne.

“A quiet ride. I feel I have had more than my share of excitement for a fortnight or two,” Gram corrected him, getting a grin from his scar-faced friend,

“What, don’t want to stop for a spot of heroism or two on your way to get hitched? Wedding vows and derring-do?” Martin teased as he checked over the horses tack one more time, Gram snorted.

“Did you forget we have to treat with another faerie of considerable power? I will take my respite where I find it,” Martin’s chuckle was the only answer they got.

The pair trotted out down the rows of gleaming, armored soldiers happily, Lidia was still not as sure on a horse as she’d like, but Mist was a gentle, easygoing sort who did much of the work for her, happy to follow a step behind Bayard as the proud stallion chose their path. At the end of the row, Martin joined them, mounted up with a bark of command.

“FORM UP!”

With a resounding ‘HOOAH’ of assent, the spearmen fell in behind them as an honor guard, Maxos, Judeau, and Brenan standing at the head of the crowd of common folk and men-at-arms as they waved at their dear friends. Calls came from familiar voices, men and women they had spent time with:

“Don’t be away too long!”

“Dinnae ferget tae eat well!”

“Be brave!”

“Be happy!”

The cries blended together with quiet cheers, Lidia twisting in her saddle to wave at them with tear-streaked cheeks gleaming in the summer sunlight. She would miss them as well, as anyone who left home should. That filled her with resolve she’d never known, a foundation she’d lacked until this most auspicious of years.

Home. No matter what happened, she would always have a home here as well. Who can ask for more?

~ ~ ~

The couple and their escorts made good time across the now-green fields outside of the Fort, and it took naught but an hour or two of a comfortable canter before they reached the edge of the patrols, Martin and company reining in and halting the march.

“Would that we could go with you, each of us to a man would ride into the Black Forest to make war upon this fell creature whom has cursed you so,” He said to Lidia, but his smile was tight, “We cannot however, we are wise enough to know that would be declaring war on the Seelie as a whole, and that would damn you as well as keeping you.”

“Yer a good man, yer all good men,” she said, raising her voice for the benefit of the riders, “Keep th’ wee folk safe an’ sound fer me while we’re away, yeah?”

“Of course,” Martin said with absolute sincerity, turning his gaze to Gram, who grasped him over the saddle in a fierce hug.

“I will see you again, worry not. You are in command for now, a role that suits you,” he said, and the scarred man shook his head.

“Nay, I am far better suited to follow orders than lead, but I will do my best to emulate your example in your absence,” he said, with his ever-present humility. Lidia found she was deeply attracted to this trait, so common among the Radiant Order: humility. Men of her world were boastful braggarts or conniving schemers, and she’d been lead to believe the Lady’s Men were high-minded snoots and puritanical scolds, never had she imagined they would be so… humble. Simple, good men all that asked naught of her but honest words and a gentle heart.

“Such are the words of a leader,” Gram retorted in a tone that said plainly this was not the first time they’d had this discussion, truly Lidia had been there for one of what she presumed were many such discussions about Martin gaining his own command. The rejoinder was always the same.

“Perhaps someday,” came the standard answer from the scar-faced man, raising his chin, “You have developed a terrible habit of making us watch you ride alone into various hells, I’d kindly ask you to stop if I thought it would change such things.”

“Perhaps someday,” Gram answered in kind, getting a smile and another firm embrace from his second-in-command.

They left the Ivory Spears there, and the men stayed for a long while until the rolling hills, dales, and sharp spears of shattered stone blocked out the last waving pennant.