XX Royal Lies [Alura and Koti~] IC M

[Koti~]

Rated M for adult themes, alcohol, drug use, and violence.

OOC (https://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=96104)

Early Morning

8 years.

I had been 8 years since he had witnessed his family killed, and Damanius had gone into hiding as Diana. The take over by Sinal had been ruthless and efficient, his strange new magic of fire and thunder having torn through the troops and even castle walls had been nearly unstoppable. The screams still echoed in his mind, the vision of flying bodies etched into his eyes anytime he closed his eyes. Damanius allowed a sigh to slip out as he sat in front of the mirror, allowing his maid, Grueta, to apply the fresh layer of makeup to his face, the image in front of him having grown into comfort for so long. Today was a day that would leave a mark in history, for the better or worse, as both panic and hope burned deep in his eyes. News of the announcement had already been spread through the kingdom, but today would be the official announcement.

“Now, do ye remember ya part?” Grueta asked him, drawing his attention away from the less than pleasant thoughts. With a sigh, Damanius nodded his head, keeping the movement subtle and soft as the finishing touches were applied to his eyes and lips, washing away the traces of himself again. While Sinal had been the one to spread the news, it would be his words that sealed the message out to the kingdom. It wouldn’t be until noon that the announcement was made, but already he could feel his stomach twisting into knots. Already he knew, today was his chance to escape the castle proper. During major events, security had always been light on the outer edges, and today would be even more so with how world breaking this would be.

“Grueta, promise me, no matter what, you’ll stay safe.” Damanius made the older woman promise him. The woman, startled by the seriousness in his eyes, gave him a minute nod. The two had become close as family, sharing a secret that would have killed them both. Damanius knew that she would be left behind tonight, but there was no way the both of them could escape together. The punishment she had endured from his own misgivings had left her hobbled and scarred. He held her hands tight to his, feeling the missing fingers with a heavy heart as he let silence comfort them both for a moment, before the guard called them to the courtyard. Giving her a tight hug that surprised the old maid, Diana moved from the chair, Damanius buried once more as she answered the guards' summons. It was time to put on a show again.

Noon, City Square

“People of Hymnascal, may I introduce your King, Sinal Balaser.” The herald called into the waiting crows that had gathered around the raised Dias, drawing quiet discontent from the crowd. The mad king took no time taking the stage, his heavy armor glinting in the sunlight as he moved to the center, his hand resting upon the sword at his side. He smiled down at them, cold and harsh as he allowed them to soak in his presence.

“My loving people of Hymnascal, I come bearing great news for you all. Over the past few months, I have been hinting at news that would bring great peace to this broken land. Many have been spreading the rumors of a princess of the late king Aminan. I wish to confirm that these rumors are true, but that is not the announcement I have gathered you here to say. To mark this momentous day, I shall let the princess herself make the announcement. If you would please, Princess Diana.” Sinal spoke the last part to the carriage still waiting in the guarded envoy.

Diana let out a held sigh, steeling her nerves as the driver opened the door, flooding the carriage with light, mixed with the crisp air of fall. Building herself up, she allowed herself to be guided out, one hand holding up her dress so she could step out, the other taking the offered assistance of the guard. She stood tall, her jaw set with a polite smile as she looked upon her people for the first time in ages. Her eyes locked with several of them as she moved forward, registering both shock, hope, joy, and dismay. Already she could feel the anguish and dismay at the announcement she would make, but didn’t dare breath a word as she moved onto the dias. She took her place besides the bastard and rested her hand gently upon his own, repressing a shudder at the intimate gesture.

“My dear subjects, I am Princess Diana, daughter of the late king Aminan and his Royal Mistress. I beg your forgiveness as to my secrecy, but it was done with the utmost care to not bring shame upon the late king and current king.” She began, eyes roving the people, feeling bile rise to her throat as she lied about her heritage and father.

“I come before you all today with an announcement. In three months from the day, on the eve of my 17th birthday, the king and I shall be united as a couple under the blessings of the church and our lord.” She began, already having to raise her voice as dissent and anguish washed over the crowd, several people letting their rage known with vicious words and gestures.

“As the last living child of King Aminan, our union shall bring the lineage of Sinal and Aminan into one, bringing the..” The words barely left her mouth as the rock nicked her scalp, pain pulsing through her as the crowd grew even more violent, the words sickening them. Pandemonium broke out then as more people began to take up the response, stones and other projectiles joining the air targeting the two of them. Diana didn’t let this phase her as the kings men moved then, several ushering her back into the carriage while others began moving into the crowds, striking down those who had started the actions, scattering the crowd as the royal procession began. Diana dabbed carefully at the bleeding spot that now dotted her head, feeling that the announcement had gone well enough, trying to shut out the cries of panic and pain that swam around her as they moved.

That evening, Engagement Party

The smells of rich food and heavy music flooded the castle grounds, a huge party having been announced in celebration of her engagement to the King. Diana sat quietly in the chair, following decorum as she looked out upon the people, forming allies looking for riches, and new faces there for the hope of gaining favor of the king. She could still feel the pulsing pain in her forehead, a white cloth having been applied tactfully to the spot that she had been hit. Her fingers rested in her lap, coiled tight as she watched the people moving around her, false laughter broken by the consumption of food. The night air could be seen through the open castle walls, the firelight spilling out onto the grounds, competing with the half moon to light the night.


“Your majesty, if you pardon my absence, but I feel I must lie down.” Diana finally began her move, looking to the rather sauced man sitting in the large chair next to her. He looked to her, lecherous eyes, roving her body through the liquor.

“Are you still fearful of the people who attacked you earlier? Fear not my sweet rose, those men have been punished dutifully for attacking.”He spoke to her, resting a hand upon her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her collar bone. It took unimaginable willpower to resist socking the man hard in the throat.

“It is not that, your majesty. The blow has still left me disorientated, and my vision has begun to swim with the sounds and sights around me. I beg your forgiveness, but I do not feel well.” She lied while letting out a soft groan, both at his tightening fingers and heated breath that had moved to close for comfort.

“Ah, my apologies.”

“You, servant child, escort my lady to her chambers to rest. Make sure no one disturbs her rest.” Sinal demanded of a nearby servant, snapping his fingers to get the girl to move. She responded quickly, taking Diana’s hand in offer and helped guide her through the well lit castle to her room. Diana was quick to dismiss the woman once they entered her room, requesting silence as the woman left her, closing the door tight and locking it, caution having born the need.

From there, Damanius moved, steady feet striding to the dresser as he pulled the bundle of needs he had secured earlier, a satchel of gold and jewels from the kingdom's treasury, knowing they would not be missed. An oiled bow and new arrows sat in a leather tube hidden behind his dresser as he began slipping out of the tight fitting dress, feeling the chilled air strike his form. Tonight, with his presence now announced to the kingdom, was his chance to escape. Knowing that he couldn’t reveal his true self to the world, Damanius began pulling the riding dress quickly into place, a deep blue that would blend well enough into the darkness, hoping to rely on drunken guards and the passing clouds to allow him the cover to make it to the southern wall.

“Ancestors, please watch over Grueta and me as I leave this accursed place. Most importantly, do not let harm befall her for my actions tonight.” Damanius allowed himself a small prayer as he moved to the castle window, looking to the long drop. Pulling the bundled sheets he had been sneaking from the castle laundry, he let the tied ends fall to the ground before securing it to the sill. While not the best climber, and even more so in a dress such as this, he made his descent to the ground, his plans now in full swing for his escape.

[Alura]

Noon, City Square
A splinter of wood dangling between her lips, Horatia Hast leaned her elbows back against the low stone wall that cordoned off the large castle square from a notary and merchant buildings allowed to operate within the country's seat around a secondary courtyard. Of the small group with her, one of them let out a derisive hiss of air between his teeth and another snorted. The fourth remained silent, but he was no fonder of the Usurper King than the rest of their quartet. Rolling her head to crack her neck, the woman stood and watched with narrowed eyes as the royal procession moved away. She took particular note of the number of guards and other soldiers who moved with them. A considerable obstacle, to be sure, but most of them had grown somehow cruel and soft together under the new king's leadership. They sparred with each other and often their 'fights' were only with those non-combatants who put up little in the way of real resistance. She wondered with a little thrill how they would fare against their own band, against someone willing to really fight back...

"Come on, Ratty. If you stare any harder you'll start more fires than the Witch King."

Throwing a punch into the meat of the towering speaker's shoulder, Horatia squinted. "Call me 'Ray', Brand, or you'll be speaking through a bloody lip."

Smirking down at the hazel-eyed woman's threat, he huffed a laugh as she shrugged deeper into her leather coat and smoothed her hair with her fingers. Her eyes shot to the others smothering their laughter with a heavy glare. "That goes for all of you."

The man on the end seated up on the same stone wall chuckled out loud and Horatia furrowed her brow and moved to step around their mountainous companion who raised an arm between them as the woman's fingers closed around the seated man's collar.

"Oh, come on, Riga's been needling me all day. A little rearranging can only improve that ugly face of his."

Riga gasped and made to grapple her from the wall, but Brand intervened and pushed them apart despite the slaps and pinches they aimed at one another.

From his casual stance near them, Alfson Beck let out a long-suffering sigh and nodded his head towards the dais. "King's about to speak."

Straightening up smartly, they all resumed their sober watch from the wall at the backs of the crowd. One stoic merchant eyed them disapprovingly and had the nerve to make a shush sound at them. Horatia raised her brows and took a step forward in response, but the man turned around quickly and guided his wife further into the sea of people milling about the platform. Rolling his eyes, Alfson tapped her shoulder to indicate Horatia should fall back in line against the wall.

"At this rate the guards will throw us out like drunkards before we've even heard what they have to say. Pull it together: this is too important to ruin."

Sulking, Riga pulled his cap down low over his eyes and Horatia pulled at her queue in annoyance. Brand merely folded his massive arms and watched the Usurper rise to speak over the heads of the crowd.

“My loving people of Hymnascal, I come bearing great news for you all. Over the past few months, I have been hinting at news that would bring great peace to this broken land. Many have been spreading the rumors of a princess of the late king Aminan. I wish to confirm that these rumors are true, but that is not the announcement I have gathered you here to say. To mark this momentous day, I shall let the princess herself make the announcement. If you would please, Princess Diana.”

The splinter fell from Horatia's lips and the little band exchanged amazed looks. It was true then... the rumours were true after all. The princess was alive. Her eyes were riveted to the girl as she spoke, along with the rest of the assembly. When she spoke of marriage, the crowd began to shift and roll like a mob. The horsewoman's own hands balled into fists. Surely this was Sinal's doing. A sobering quiet had fallen across their lively group in the middle of the angry shouts and jeers surrounding them, but the princess continued.

“As the last living child of King Aminan, our union shall bring the lineage of Sinal and Aminan into one, bringing the..”

Lunging forward as a rock grazed the princess, Horatia's arms pinwheeled as Brand caught the back of her coat and hauled her backwards.

"Not yet," Alfson hissed in her ear. "Get yourself under control, Ray. You do no one any good if you give away our intent before the right moment to strike. We'll get her." He patted her shoulder reassuringly, "We just need a little patience."

"We've been patient, or else what's all this waiting for... A rock might well be the best of it before those tin knights ever decide to move. The time is now, Alfson!"

Jabbing a finger into her sternum, Alfson pointed to the four corners of the square and to the overlooks swarming with guards. The king's men were already moving, breaking up the gathering and arresting or bludgeoning those holding sticks and stones. "It's suicide now. We move when it's time and not a moment before."

Slapping his hand away with the back of her forearm, Horatia shrugged her coat out of Brand's grasp as well and raised her hands in surrender.

"Fine." Scanning the chaos around them, she realised they were probably right. Even if they managed to get close in the distractions around them it was unlikely they could retrieve the princess from the mass of fighters now covering and surrounding the dais. "Alright."

Riga threw an arm over her shoulder and began chatting about one of the wine merchants whose shop surrounded the courtyard they strolled across on retreat, but Horatia turned to look over her shoulder once more as the princess was ushered off the platform. She'd be damned if that manipulative despot ever sat the throne through the blood of the slain king. For their people, and for all those who had died to hold the blessed line in power. Alfson slapped her back as he passed her to walk beside Brand, trading an understanding look. She flushed slightly. At this age, she'd thought she'd mastered herself. She knew they had all come to the castle town for the same reasons, and that they were all dedicated. If Alfson said it wasn't time, then it was because he saw another opportunity on the horizon. She'd be patient. Blowing out the last of her frustration in a breath, she lifted her right arm around Riga companionably and darted her left hand to pinch him in the side. He yelped mid-sentence and laughed as he doubled over, "Damn it, Ratty!"

"Sorry, Rigsley, but you left yourself open again."

Their name calling devolved into good-natured scuffling as they followed the other two members of their band to meet with the old knights. They'd said there was something they needed done tonight that required not just their little quartet, but all of the members of the resistance who had joined them. Perhaps with the location of the princess confirmed, they would finally get to see all of their planning start to pay off. The horsewoman was more than ready to shed the long inactivity and set about some real work.



That evening, Engagement Party
If only she had known what that 'real work' would entail, perhaps she would have been more understanding with the wait. As it happened, Horatia would as soon have dived into the midst of the royal guards in the city square that afternoon than donned this particular disguise for the engagement ball. Not that it was entirely a disguise, really. Her father was still a favourite of the Duchess and did make appearances to support her when requested. As a result, he felt that his daughter could use more opportunities to mingle in polite society, which in turn gave the Resistance the perfect cover to insert her along with a few other minor families into the guest lists. Once in a great while he'd mutter about her finding a good, sensible match; but by and large they had plenty else to argue over and his disillusionment with marriage among other things in their kingdom made him ambivalent enough about the matter that he did not often find it worth discussing.

Other Resistance members had been planted amongst the pages and other servants who waited upon the prattling nobility that paraded under the nose of Sinal Balaser and his minions. They kept surreptitiously wary eyes on the princess and the attendees around them for any signs of trouble. The servant who poured the king's wine, for example gripped the pitcher a little more roughly than necessary as the king laid a hand on the only clear hereditary heir to the Hymnascal throne. Alfson's lips pressed into a thin smile as he poured another blood-red cup at the Usurper's elbow and kept his gaze lowered with feigned respect.

Having endured the endless teasing of her peers, Horatia by contrast had attired herself in the summer-yellow colours of the duchy her family was beholden to and even accepted - reluctantly - the golden jewelry her mother had worn on such occasions. A heavy ametrine stone cut beautifully nestled above the cut over her dress and the small coins stamped with her family's crest dangled from her ears and glinted from the matching pins in her dark hair. It was all heavy and unwieldy - she had even had to ride side-saddle to keep up appearances, which had somehow been the greatest offense of all.

Her sun-darkened skin was a stark contrast to most of the finer ladies, but she stayed near behind the Duchess and quietly kept watch with the others. When the princess retired, she looked about for the others. Brand would be impersonating a guard near one of the gates and Riga was off somewhere joking and charming his way through the evening like a proper page. She should have come as a page. Her eyes caught Alfson's between the immense hairstyles of some of the most formidable noble ladies and he cocked his head to one of the doors to the room indicating she should follow the princess and her escort. Casting about for one of the others, they were annoyingly absent in the finery and opulence of the invitees.

Drifting quietly from the Duchess's party as the older woman regaled a laughing collection of notables with tales of the rooster that had recently run loose through her estate manor, terrorising the inhabitants, Horatia stepped past the two stiffly-armoured men who guarded the corridor. It stretched off in both directions with some doors dotted by equally silent sentinels. It was impossible to say which were the mad king's men and which were theirs behind the shadowy visors.

Taking a leaf from Riga's book, Horatia allowed herself to drift a little, finding drunkenness quite easy to fake while weighed down by what she assumed was ample fabric to dress an entire chamber. Leaning around the corner at the end of the hall, she noticed the light held aloft by the princess's servant grow faint around the next intersection of corridors. Noticing that the guards seemed almost to disappear this far into the residential quarters of the castle, she slipped around the corner and scooped her skirts into her arms to quicken the pace.

She could see the dismissed maid leave what she assumed was the princess's chamber as soon as she came around the final turn - only to be delayed by running into the Earl of Swelter's middle son who seemed both inebriated and keen for a private conversation with any pretty thing in a dress he could corner. Batting him playfully back, she smiled at the thought of breaking his nose. What was he even doing here? Sniffing around the princess's rooms most likely. She brushed his familiar hand from her shoulder and side-stepped as he leaned in to admire her necklace. After what seemed like forever, when cracking him across the nose quickly started to filter to the top of Horatia's resolution strategies, a door opened and closed. She leaned past him to crane her neck to the left of the princess's door as a giggle trailed back to them.

"Oh, my! Is that Lady Tinan without her corset?"

This scandalous suggestion drew away his attention and she called, "Right behind you!" as he staggered away to inspect this phenomenon for himself. All things considered it wasn't the smoothest distraction, but she was not gifted with the charm Riga possessed. Knocking at the chamber door, she waited quietly. When there was silence, she knocked again. At the third rapping, when there was no response she feared that somehow something had gone wrong. Drawing a thin blade from her boot, Horatia threw the lock of the heavy door after a few frustrating minutes of fumbling and shouldered her way into the room.

"Princess?"

There was no response. In fact, the room was empty. Furrowing her brow, she wondered if she had somehow mistaken the door? How was that possible? She shivered in the cold air of the room a moment before she realised that it was a draft that chilled her. Shutting the door and barring it, she stepped further into the room. "Hello?"

Still nothing. Moving to the window, she looked out into the night, stars drifting in the wind that whipped along the stone walls of the castle. The sound of a shoe scraping rock caused her to glance down. What she saw caused her to gasp. The princess was suspended from the sill by a string of knotted bedclothes. Face paling a little, Horatia felt the world tilt. What could have possessed a princess to do this sort of thing? It was far too dangerous. She didn't want to distract the royal climber who was nearly to the ground, but she had to do something. Even if she reached the ground, what then? Where was she going? There were guards at every gate - she'd never make it unless Brand saw her first. There was no time to find Riga or warn Alfson. A gentle knock sounded at the door and Horatia stepped onto the sill, resigning herself. Calling out would give them both away, and staying put would only get her caught.

Hand over hand Horatia lowered herself, hissing a whisper now and again to the princess to "Wait!" while throwing worried looks above her at the empty room. She doubted the lock would fare any better against someone even moderately stronger or more adept at lock-picking than her basic skills.

[Koti~]

Damanius would have been on the ground if not for the sounds of leather against stone, the last section of bedsheets rattling in her hands. His eyes darted upwards, panic filling his mind as he spied the woman now shuffling down the same rope he had just used. His mind filtered out the woman's words as he ran through every idea he could, his hands gripping the sheet tight. Who was this mysterious woman now following him. It was clear that she didn’t belong to Sinal, as the alarm would have been sounded. Was she here to try and kill him, a member from the crowd earlier that was pissed at the idea of Diana marrying Sinal? Maybe one of the nobles from the party that wanted to steal her for their own gain in power?

A very small part of his mind thought it could be someone wanting to help him, going by the desperation she commanded that she wait. It was an idea that was quickly smothered under years of paranoia and panic. He forced his body to move, loosening the grip upon the rope and dropping the last few feet, allowing the shock to run through his body before pushing off the ground, not trusting his voice to send the woman scattering back up the rope. Already crossing the grounds by himself would be tricky, but he knew these grounds for nearly a decade. He had them mapped in his head, the path of the guards as worn into his mind as the path they actually tred.

He needed to get to the southern wall, but with a trail, there was no hope of making it safely. He cursed himself silently that he had not thought of bringing his blade with, worried that the hefty metal would slow him as he spurred himself onwards, feeling as though he had yet to regain his footing from the fall. There was a good two bells before the shift in the guards, and the lighter skeleton crew would make escaping through his route feasible. The muckers door, narrow to allow one man abreast move from the southern stables into the area beyond. It was kept guarded by at least one man, as the door was kept unlocked to allow the workmen slip in and out without disturbing the king. He had learned of this place when he was but 6, and not even the Usurper king had bothered locking it. What royal in their sane mind would use such a door.

Upon hitting the wall though, he knew his only chance of driving the woman away was to fight her off. The woman's dress would make it harder to maneuver about and avoid arrows aimed at her. Second, with his back against the inner wall of the courtyard, he knew the shadows would leave him mostly hidden from their view, while the woman would be completely exposed in the yards. With practiced ease, he pulled out the bow that rested inside its container, tensioning it and drawing an arrow with ease. Slipping two into his front grip and notching the third, he pulled it taught with a deep breath, steeling his nerves as he faced the woman, leveling the arrow at her chest.


“Just leave me alone and return to the party. I’ve not let this chance come to not kill another.” Diana whispered loud enough for her words to carry, narrowing her eyes and tightening her fingers along the warm bow, holding her body firm and strong.

In his mind though, he was panicking. A dead body would draw the guards like moths to the flame. The alarm would sound, the entire grounds would lock down, and his chance to escape would be foiled. Grueta and that lowly maid would be punished for trying to aide in the princesses escape. Even worse, a guard would probably be posted by her room, if not fitted with iron to lock her in completely. It would be three months of dread leading up to his eventual death when the truth was discovered upon the wedding night.

Those fears were waylaid by one truth though, one that honestly stayed his hands. The act of killing another human was easy to do. He dreamt many a night of killing the sick bastard who had taken away his family for months on end. From a dagger across the throat, to even more brutal of having him drawn and quartered across the kingdom, head raised on a pike to parade around town for months.

This though, was different, an innocent woman driven by another nobles goals, or her own delirium for power. Just another pawn upon the chess field, hapless in his eyes other than a sure foot and worried glances back to his former room. Could he truthfully rob another of life, much as he had lost so much. As much as he wanted to deny his own emotions, to let them burn away and kill this woman for following him, there was no amount of mental fortitude that could allow him to easily kill this woman.

He guessed it was the one thing separating him from the Usurper king.

“Just act as you’ve never seen me, and return to whatever noble that has pulled you into this game of power that you can’t fully grasp.” Diana ordered the woman again, shifting her feet to better offset her balance. She tried to clear her mind as much as she could, thinking this person in front of her was nothing more than a bullseye to be speared in the center, a target to practice. She would have to kill at some point, so why not on the night of her escape. Let the king himself know that she was not some hapless pawn, that he had underestimated her desires to see the man burn in hell eternal.

[Alura]

If anything her warnings only spurred the princess to move more quickly. Her heart dropped into her stomach as the royal released her makeshift rope and dropped to the ground fully. It hadn't been far, but it was still enough to turn an ankle or break something if she was not careful. If anything happened to her...

Mind buzzing as she made decent time toward the end of the rope, the idea of jumping the rest of the way crossed her thoughts. Horatia did not trust herself to make a clean landing wound up in finery as she was and kept her steady progress.

When the princess recovered from her landing, she shot off across the grounds at a speed Horatia did not at all anticipate. Excellent, now she was afraid and on the run. Rolling her eyes, the cavalier wondered what sort of idiot assassin would come dressed as she had. Her sigh was deep as she finally managed to land on the lawn, gathering up her skirts and breaking into a run after the scurrying noble. She wanted to shout again, but did not for fear that someone beside the fleeing princess would hear her.

For a moment they scurried together apace, one giving chase to the other across the night-darkened landscaping until they moved nearer the stable yards. To the casual observer, which seemed blessedly absent, it might have looked something like a noblewoman in a deep blue riding dress being pursued hotly by a strange, buttery-yellow emu muttering curses under its breath and screeching inelegantly every time it stumbled over the unknown paths in the dark.

If she ever wore another gown or pair of thin, dainty boots in her lifetime, she hoped someone did the decent thing and set her on fire. Fortunately, despite the wild inconvenience of apparel and the speedy flight of her quarry, Horatia finally managed to draw in closer as the princess ran into a wall. It was exactly the sort of foolishness she might've expected from the fleeing bride-to-be, until she wheeled about - armed! - and demanded that she leave her and return to the celebration.

"Your Majesty!" Horatia breathed in what could have been pride as much as shock. The turn was so unexpected that she went from angrily trying to untangle her skirts to a fit of snickering.

"Really? Do you always take aim at those trying to help you? What sort of a fool girl runs off in the middle of the night when the castle guards are at least doubled. If you try to step one foot outside the wrong point, you'll be worse than fucked."

She reconsidered her phrasing based off of the impending nuptials and made an effort to straighten her expression. "You'll be worse than married, Your Majesty. And where will you go, even if you make it outside the gates? You need friends on the outside." She recovered lamely, trying to take a step forward and side-stepping awkwardly as a pebble added a sharp nuisance to the skirts twisting around her. Perhaps she was not the best suited to lecturing another woman on her ill-advised choices, but there it was.

Bowing forward a bit and shuffling towards the wall beside Princess Diana, Horatia leaned against it and hefted her skirts up to unwind them roughly. "How do you bloody run in these, anyway? Gods, you were like a damned arrow yourself. I'm cinched seven ways to hell here. It's like someone stitched bedsheets from creeping vines!"

Again it dawned on her who she was addressing. Shaking out the last of the recalcitrant clothing, she spread her hands in apology.

"Forgive me, Highness. This is not how I imagined this meeting. Normally Alfson handles these sorts of... You know, you'll understand better when you meet him. It will all be better once you meet the others." Kneeling and dropping her head, Horatia did her best imitation of Alfson. "Please allow me to escort you to safety. We can hide you until you are ready to return to claim your birthright. We have been waiting, hoping the rumours were true. More importantly, we can reunite you with the rest of your supporters."

It was a lot of rebellion to be throwing into the cold air of the castle premises, but it beat an arrow to the heart. She already counted herself lucky that the princess did not seem overly jumpy about letting fly despite her recent flight and her back quite literally to the wall. Drawing the thin blade from her boot again, she laid it at the princess's feet in lieu of a sword. "You only need to accept our aid and you can be free, acknowledged for who you rightfully are, tonight."

[Koti~]

"Really? Do you always take aim at those trying to help you? What sort of a fool girl runs off in the middle of the night when the castle guards are at least doubled. If you try to step one foot outside the wrong point, you'll be worse than fucked."

Damanius bit his lip, more than eager to rip into the woman who addressed him as such, taken by her harsh words. He didn’t start though, giving the woman a chance to respond, and keeping his distance a fair bit at the woman moved towards the wall, fidgeting with the skirts of her dress. A small part of his mind could understand how frustrating those were to get set in the right place.

"You'll be worse than married, Your Majesty. And where will you go, even if you make it outside the gates? You need friends on the outside."

Those words made him lessen the grip upon his bow, feeling the words cut deeper than he had thought they could. It was true, that even if he managed to escape properly, there would be the problem of finding allies that would help his cause instead of their own. Friends was a concept that he didn’t care for at all, knowing that the few people he had even dared call friends betrayed him for ill gains, and family was beyond precious as only one was left for him to protect. The bow went slack as he looked around the grounds, running in his head just how long he had left.

Glancing at the moon, he knew it was not long before the patrol would be out, the shift changes taking place. Even if he ran, it would be risky to make the door, and that was if he could ditch this woman now. His mind worked frantically, ignoring the woman as he scanned the guards, watching for the subtle changes in the routes as the next round of soldiers and guards would come. He let the woman prattle on herself as he tried to judge the distance, knowing that his window grew smaller still as he wasted time on this woman.

His eyes fixed back on her as her words took his attention, the mess of her dress fixed again.

"Forgive me, Highness. This is not how I imagined this meeting. Normally Alfson handles these sorts of... You know, you'll understand better when you meet him. It will all be better once you meet the others. Please allow me to escort you to safety. We can hide you until you are ready to return to claim your birthright. We have been waiting, hoping the rumour's were true. More importantly, we can reunite you with the rest of your supporters. You only need to accept our aid and you can be free, acknowledged for who you rightfully are, tonight."

The woman's words drew him up short, looking down upon the short blade she laid between them, an offering he had seen other knights and nobles present to both the bastard king, and his father before him. It left a sour taste in his mouth, and even more confusion with him. She spoke of supporters who wished to protect him until he could reclaim his birthright, and laying their hopes on rumors. The simple idea of another basing their entire hopeful future on simple rumors were alien to his logical thoughts. Even more was even the thought of having supporters. The knowledge of Diana were bare at the start, and even now they only knew of her by the announcement made where he had planned to marry Sinal. Even now his mind didn’t give up the ticking window growing ever shorter as he stood there, baffled and perplexed by this woman.

The instinct to run, to stick with the layered plans that he had spent so long working on when Sinal had announced his plans to marry Diana.

The barest ideas of where he would even go from there to recruit allies and soldiers enough to take down the bastard that sat in his fathers throne.

The woman now offering the service of unknown supporters and safety that held just as much possibilities of a clear glass of water to him. All as his mind kept working the time it would take it get to the muckers doorway.

“Guar, damn it you wench of a woman. Months spent pouring over all the movements and actions of guards, fucking wasted!” Diana swore quietly, dropping the bow to her side as she turned her back upon them, anger coloring her words as she let the anger bubble through her, knowing that the chance to escape was now gone.

“Do you think me an invalide without a shred of damn sense, that I decided upon waking today that I would run away without a fucking care or thought?” She kept at it, letting the words drop as she worked the bow and arrows back into their tube, letting her shoulders slump some as she let the anger work through her a few minutes longer. A small numbness began building in the back of her throat as she strode the distance between them, picking up the blade and raising it to eye level, testing the weight of the blade. It was thin, a wisp of steel, much lighter than the steel she had handled before.

“I will accept neither your aid, nor your apology yet. I have no reason yet to trust you or those who you work for, as you have shown only the need of your words in the moment. Escort me away from this gilded grave and I will grant you your apology so long you don’t betray me.” She spoke softer than, the harshness softened to a tempered voice, a calmness brought about by years of caution and betrayal. As long as the woman could still get her out of this place, she would follow her.

“From there, I will see if your aid is what I desire.” She spoke softer then, a hesitant hopefulness in her tones, something she had not had dared for in so long.

"First though.. what name shall I address you by?"

[Alura]

Horatia was not certain what she had expected out of the heir, but it was not what she was seeing tonight. Indeed, if anyone had told her that she would one day be tearing across the gardens in a festive gown and bad footwear in an effort to wrangle such a wayward filly, she would have laughed in their face. It still seemed a little funny now, almost, if it weren't so exasperating.

As she pondered these things, kneeling in the dirt, Horatia wondered if the princess had forgotten her presence. Tilting her head slightly to look up from the corner of her vision, she saw the other woman frowning, apparently from either deep thought or displeasure. She did not have to wonder long.

Through the muttering and cursing under her breath, and the accompanying sound of an arrow re-entering its leather quiver, the princess continued airing her annoyance.

"Do you think me an invalide without a shred of damn sense, that I decided upon waking today that I would run away without a fucking care or thought?”

“I will accept neither your aid, nor your apology yet.

Sitting up and rocking back onto her heels, Horatia pursed her lips. Hadn't she done that correctly? She had seen likewise other such promises, pledges of fealty. It was an uncommon thing to be rejected, and she really did not care for the royal's tone. Her teeth on edge, she began to rise, dusting off stray blades of grass and bits of earth from her.

"I have no reason yet to trust you or those who you work for, as you have shown only the need of your words in the moment. Escort me away from this gilded grave and I will grant you your apology so long you don’t betray me.”

The Duchess Epona was a relatively fair-minded and considerably bold character at court despite her conformity to all of the expected rules. Her productive farmlands and renowned horse breeders gave her some measure of security despite the change of leadership that had been ushered in at the deposition of King Aminan. Because of this, equally colourful language was not an entirely foreign concept. Still, that made it no less a surprise that it came from no less rare a mouth than that of Princess Diana.

The horsewoman's initial response was, predictably, anger. All of their planning forced waiting to rescue her if she surfaced and a lecture on this girl's impeccable planning was the result? She parted her lips to fire back a retort on sodding best-laid plans thrown off by a single party-goer, but gave it a second thought. She had only just embarrassed herself in the castle square earlier in the day and had no desire to feel that again so soon after the lesson. Besides, she knew exactly how it felt to be isolated, to feel powerless. This girl must be about the age she had been when the Usurper had... Her eyes softened and she swallowed her outrage.

“From there, I will see if your aid is what I desire.”

Horatia stepped forward and gingerly reached to pluck her blade back from the princess's hand. Not that she suspected she might use it, but more because... well, better to be safe. Sheathing it once again in her boot, she lifted Princess Diana's hand on the back of her own and bowed over it before rising nearly nose-to-nose to whisper conspiratorially. "I am Horatia. We go!"

With that, she clasped the princess's hand in her own and scooped up those damned skirts to propel them quickly back across the grounds, careful not to follow the exact path they had come. When they neared the stables again, Horatia released Diana's hand and pulled the shawl that wrapped her shoulders, draping it over the other woman's hair to help shield her face.

"One moment, don't move." She crouched and started to move away before backtracking to lean in to whisper again. "And bloody well don't run." So saying, she darted around the edge of the main stables towards the campfires and tents the attendants from many of the guests had raised for the celebrations. Ostlers and pages milled about, squires running drink between the largest tents emblazoned with the crests of the less important knights who had not merited rooms within the castle - or those who insisted it better suited them. A well-aimed stone flung at one of the passing ostlers earned her a glare before he recognised her. Squinting, he moved towards her with a laugh.

"Ray? What are you wearing?"

"Oh, come off it, Jonas. Things are moving a bit ahead. We have to go now. Where's Capilet?"

"Left the saddle on 'im like you asked, M'Lady." The man with the reluctant moustache grinned, enjoying the sneer he received for his jibe. Nodding off to the pied tent to their right, he thrust his thumb over his shoulder behind him. "Sword's in the tent. Didn't want to risk it. Reach under the edge. I'll send him back this way. Better be quick, don't want people to think you're sneaking off to meet your knight in shini- Oh, who's your friend?"

Grin broadening, he lifted his chin and winked, waggling his fingers in greeting to Diana before combing his straw-coloured hair - whether to tame it or to show off the arm well-muscled from labouring was anyone's guess.

"It's Riga, you dolt." His fellow rebel bit out impatiently.

Jonas sucked his teeth and immediately cleared his throat. "Best be about it."

Horatia rolled her eyes at his departing back and quickly made up the distance to the tent, groping underneath the edge and pulling away her sheathed sword. Tucking it discreetly in the folds of those damned skirts, she quickly made her way back to Diana about the time Capilet nosed past the stables. With a quiet, musical whistle she called to him, and he snorted and moved to them quickly. Thrusting her sheathed sword into place where it could easily be drawn, she mounted, tucking her hand and bending to extend an elbow to assist the princess.

"Time to go. Hurry up behind me, we haven't got much time before they realise Brand isn't who he is pretending to be."

[Koti~]

Damanius was surprised at the womans adherence to following the pomp of the castle etiquette. It was strange to see both the roughness of man in this woman with her words and actions, yet the common care of a lesser noble woman. He didn’t have to wait long to hear the womans name, Horatia, and felt something stir in his mind. The woman had to have some sort of noble lineage to enter here, or enough favors to enter the party. From the elaborate dress yet lack of comfort in movement pointed to the latter. He didn’t have long to ponder this as their hands intertwined and they were off, following a much different trail than what he had begun. Panic bloomed through adrenaline as they neared the main stables, wondering if he should have stuck to his first plan, when she released his hand.

He blinked a bit in surprise as the woman's shawl was draped over his head, instructions laid out to stay put and not run. A retort of that plan having already been ruined was on his lips moments before he was abandoned to himself away from the light. Already used to hiding himself, he began working the shall through his hair, turning the simple cloth into a headdress that covered his hair.

His nerves had not yet settled as he began studying the grounds, taking in everything he could. Counting tents and those milling about, the bored guards looking over the festive foods and luscious women. The lands were never short of young nobles looking to impress their equals or better with scant ladies draped like jewelry across them. The scent of intoxicating wine and roasted meats split the more subtle of the topiary and gardens meant to welcome all who may enter. Even with the memories of the place, he could still see the carnage that had bathed this place so long ago.

Reality quickly reclaimed Damanius as his attention was brought back as Horatia rejoined him, noting the crease of her skirts, and the barest shift in weight. When her arms moved again, he was surprised to see the sword handle resting above the fabric, surprised by the weapon there. Had he misjudged this woman more than believed. To be gifted with a sword was more than most women ever earned, even further adding to that niggling thoughts in the back of his mind. He didn’t dwell much on it as Horatia let out a simple musical whistle, drawing up a rather sturdy horse. The ease as she mounted the horse was a bit of a sting as she settled herself down before offering an elbow, beckoning them to mount quickly.

Time seemed to freeze for the moment, his heart pounding loudly in his ears now. While he would never admit it even to himself, he was truthfully scared of this moment. All these years kept in here, having to walk the halls where his family had been killed. Castle walls that housed the bastard around every corner had been his world. There was some security in the knowledge of what he would be facing every day, even if he had to walk around as though a dagger was pressed into his spine.


Now though, an offered elbow promised to remove him from that world. To break apart what had been his entire world, thrust him into the unknown that awaited just beyond the circle. Diana had been allowed into parts of the city proper, it had always been by carriage and armed men. There was no space for him to breath by himself. This now was different, worlds away from what he had ever been through before.

Diana moved through, grasping the elbow and scrambling upon the horse with the grace of a blind infant. She situated herself as best she could behind the woman, unaccustomed to the girth of the creature as she moved up close to Horatia. She instinctively wrapped her arms around her waist, holding tightly as she kept her head up, not wanting to miss a moment of this. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves burning through her, wanting to show her strength in front of mounting fear.

“Fair it to say.. I’ve never ridden before.” She spoke softly, feeling the need to say something as she tried to relax tensed muscles, though her eyes showed determination to move forward.

[Alura]

In the quiet minutes as Horatia waited for the princess, wary of her darting off again, the adrenaline rushing through her seemed to throw strange details into focus. The way the yellow scarf covered the girl's red hair, how her soft brown eyes were wide and reflected the flickers of torch light that glimmered between the tents: it was all thrown into relief in those heartbeats before the royal finally gripped her elbow and struggled as Horatia pulled her up behind her, careful she didn't unseat herself in the process of catching her balance.

Turning her head and resting her hand over Diana's wrist for a moment, Horatia warned her, "Hold to me and don't let go no matter what happens. Keep your face hidden. I'll get you away safe."

Nodding in what she hoped was a reassuring way, the horsewoman thanked that loon Riga for having the sense to trade her side saddle for something more sensible before stabling the steed. Breathing out a tense breath, she could feel Capilet jig beneath them. He felt her mood and the nervous energy infected him also. With a light touch of her heels to his sides, he was off like a lance, eating up the ground as they made a course for the eastern gate.

It was more likely to be guarded and not so inconspicuous as the muckers' gate, but there were at least two Resistance men there. It would be open for the festivities and Brand would help them move through. Illness, she had already decided, that would be their excuse. A little strange for two ladies to be out in such a fashion, but with enough wine consumed and a little luck they should be able to pass as two minor patrician daughters off for home with one of them a little too overwhelmed by her first party.

Slowing their pace as they neared the gates, Horatia straightened and moved smartly. She could feel the princess's heartbeat at her back and forced an easy smile onto her face as they continued through the gate. As they passed through, one of the armoured men moved in their path, holding a hand up to halt them. Reining in her mount, the cavalier complied.

"Good evening," He began, "Where might you be off to unescorted?"

Gentling her voice and laughing lightly, Horatia combed her hands through Capilet's mane and canted her head towards the figure behind her. "Afraid little Rhiannon's not used to the excitement of these parties, Sir. You know how the young overextend themselves sometimes. Poor angel."

Sure to use a flattering term of address for the guard, she patted the princess's leg affectionately.

"How far do you go?"

"To the Lady Marwen's residence in the town, just a little way. I hoped to put her to bed in the castle, but you know how... restless things can be."

Chuckling, the guard nodded. "Just a moment and I'll have one of my men escort you. You!"

"Oh," Lifting a hand in protest, it died on her lips as the massive frame of her friend hulked into the light from the sconces that burned along the walls. Could their luck really be so good?

"Really, it's not necessary."

"Nonsense! I'd never forgive myself if two sweet ladies came to harm."

Moving near the guard bowed over her hand, his lips grazing it a little against propriety. Flushing and withdrawing her hand as quickly as she could without seeming rude, she batted her lashes and inclined her head to him graciously. "Really, you are too accommodating, Sir."

Likely half-sunk in the same wine that moved about the stable yards and castle halls, he smiled magnanimously and moved away as the big man accepted her reins from her hands and began to lead Capilet into the night beyond the gates.

She let out a breath she did not realise she had been holding as a voice barked out for them to stop. With effort she kept her spine loose as her fingers felt for the sword hilt near to hand. Brand slowly sauntered around in his heavy armour to look behind him as she turned to look back as well. The man who seemed to be the captain of the watch for the castle guard was drawing near them again.

[Koti~]

More than happy to bury his face into Horatia’s back, Damanius focused on keeping his breathing slow and steady. The nerves in his body had reached their pitch, so remaining silent was the easiest part as his supports talked with the guard, making lies as easily has he told them. He was built up to be nothing more than a young girl having come to party, getting drunk on mulberry and ale. Hearing Horatia speak so kindly was a bit strange, though a small comfort as her hand patted his leg, a comfort he had only felt from Grueta was a bit strange. It helped him relax some.

When orders came for an escort, Damanius felt his stomach bottom out in fear. It would mean having to keep his head buried the entire time, and if any of the guards got a good look at him, the chance would be over. Even as Horatia welcomed the soldier, he didn’t feel relaxed, despite the woman's words. Lying was an art form that he had built over the years, but confidence was hard earned, and his strung nerves would make it even harder to remain calm in the stress. He took his cues from his rider though, and just tried to stay relaxed though as the two exchanged pleasantries. If the woman guiding him right now was calm, he would have to act it as well.

He let out a soft sigh as the small party finally began moving forward, a jittery feeling growing in his stomach as they began moving again. The eastern gates loomed ahead, his fingers shaking lightly as they moved closer, the last moments of living inside this castle were finally ahead, and he would finally be free of it. Would it really be that easy? Were they just going to walk out of this place without a single guard stopping him? A simple horse ride into the night, a party behind him that was celebrating the coronation between Princess Diana and the King? All those years spent dreaming of this, and waking moments spent planning his escape.

And they were just going to walk out of this place?

“Hold a moment.”

Damanius swore under his breath. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. The captain was approaching them once more, the sound of his boots heavy in the night air. Damanius could feel the tension between all three, wondering what had drawn his attention once again. Fearful of being seen, he waited, one hand slipping free of Horatia’s waist towards where he could remember the dagger being hidden away. He could feel her shift, a quiet gesture to hold her steady, to not act in haste.

“Sorry to trouble you once again, but troubling news. It seems someone has broken into the royal treasury. I know you wish to see this young woman safe and resting, but I must insist on allowing us to search you.” The captain spoke, causing Damanius to swear and tense. He knew they were at risk then, the gems and coin he had stashed away would be a dead give away.

Would now be a good chance to strike? Render them dead and be branded both a robber and killer? Sure, they might be hunted, but he would be hunted by daylight regardless, so this wouldn’t be a hard risk. His eyes stared at the back of the woman, hand moving again to draw the blade Horatia had hidden, hoping the woman was ready to move as well. It was only the words of their escort stopping him from moving further.

“I shall do it captain. We don’t need any thieves getting away.” Brand spoke, moving himself between the captain and towards Diana. The guard whispered carefully, promising to be gentle as he began feeling along her body, checking the folds of her clothes carefully. Diana began to panic, fearful every second that this night would find worse than just the gems he had stored away. She needed to act, needing to find some way to stall him quickly. The panic and anxiety had frozen her body, her unmoved hand digging tight into Horatia as he looked to Brand, the pure fear echoing in her every movement. She willed everything she could for the man to finish now, to stop from getting any closer! She almost drew the blade there as Brand's hands rested around her waist. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to draw the blade, slit this man's throat, and force this woman to ride forward, questions be damned. Her fingers were just a mere skirt twitch away from yanking the dagger free, tension heavy in her body as she felt her world tilt horribly, vertigo beginning to grip her even as Brands hands moved onwards, traveling down her thighs now.

From his heightened panic though, he more felt the subtle shift in the air. Music had died out, though the others had remained so focused on the two girls they had yet to notice. Damanius felt his world freeze as the tension in the air seemed to shift suddenly. It was just as Brand had finished with his body and moved onwards to Horatia that the first sound of a gong broke the suddenly silent air. All heads save one turned back towards the castle, becoming frozen in confusion as the second gong sounded.

The captain was the first to move, though only by a few seconds. He turned to the three of them, his hand gripping tight onto the hilt of his sword as he began moving with even more urgency than before.

“I’m sorry, but I will not be able to let you leave ton-” Were the only words spoken before Damanius moved next, adrenaline and terror forcing his limbs. He knew that gong, having heard it twice before in his life.

Both had been sounded when he had tried to escape prior, on much less successful attempts to leave. The gong rang for a second time as he moved then. His hand yanked the dagger clean of its hold, not caring for the drag against skin as he twisted in his seat. Years practiced as a marksman made for practiced ease, and the closeness the man had made the shot easier as even more soldiers had begun pouring from the castle doors, the gates beginning to close upon the third.

Damanius didn’t have time to process the dead captain, dagger hilt protruding from his throat on the lucky shot fueled by pure terror. Damanius locked eyes for a scant second with the guard Brand, panic meeting pure shock. Sucking in breath, he pulled back and let loose a strike, feeling pain echo as his fist cracked against the side of the mans helm. It forced the man down, pure shock mixing with blistering pain looking to them.

“RUN!” Diana bellowed at Horatia, knowing that it wouldn’t take long before the gates closed completely. She wouldn’t allow her chance to slip by again, as there would be no other chance after this.

[Alura]

“Sorry to trouble you once again, but troubling news."

Horatia smiled as sweetly as if her teeth were made of sugar, hoping the gesture gave off an intimation of having nothing to hide.

"It seems someone has broken into the royal treasury. I know you wish to see this young woman safe and resting, but I must insist on allowing us to search you.”

Lips parted to spin a gentle protest, Brand saved them by offering to perform the search himself. Unable to communicate with the princess without raising more suspicion, the horsewoman only smiled and waved a hand lightly, her fingers easing from the hilt of the sword shielded by her gown. She maintained the smile with teeth clenching as the other woman's fingers dug into her. She could only hope her nerves would hold. The silence behind her could mean anything.

Horatia had noticed the music's end also, Capilet's snort of unease reflecting her own feeling. It was nearly impossible to mask such things from the horse. With a quick glance back towards the silence, Horatia smiled at Brand. His eyes held the same tightness around the corners that hers must, but she knew that hurrying would only implicate him also - not to mention give them all away. She was not to have long to dwell on that consideration, however, as the strange sound of a gong reverberated through the quiet night air.

"Well, what on earth could that-" Horatia would never get the chance to finish the thought, as the second strike of the gong pealed out loudly. What happened next, was the complete reversal of their fortunes. The captain began to move and she willed herself not to look at the big man at her side.

“I’m sorry, but I will not be able to let you leave ton-”

Little used to carrying others beyond his rider, Capilet tried to rear as the movement behind Horatia brought an end to the captain's speech. Her attention momentarily drawn away to soothe him was a moment too late to even dream of intervening in the man's death. When her head swiveled, he was gurgling and clawing at the blade in his eye. Brow furrowing in confusion, she craned to look at Diana open-mouthed. The princess was not looking at her, and the tide of soldiers suddenly rising from the castle became the more apparent issue.

The slump of Brand's massive body caused her to shout, "Stop!" It was no use to the mountain of armour he had become, groaning as he staggered to his knees beside them. Capilet whinnied and Horatia quickly recovered his reins, Diana's command deafening behind her. The princess's arms were tight around her so she had no fear of her falling as she pressed her lips into a hard line and urged her horse.

It took little encouragement for him to bolt, kicking through the downed Brand who tried to roll clear as they passed. They flew through the last gate, picking up speed as they bore down on the castle town.

No help for it, no help for it now. Horatia's mind was in tumult. Can't go back to the tavern now. Ignatio's? No... No, that needs to remain a secret. If anyone sees us. These damned clothes, they'll recognise us easily. Further... Whittling through their options, she clattered through side courtyards and avoided the square, narrowly missing drunkards and other late strollers of the town. Mud, small stones, and worse pelted back, the hems of their gowns heavy with it as they took the back alleys favoured by the poor and seedy. Not home. I wore the Duchess of Epona's colours, so they may look for us there. What will they do to father if they notice me missing? Maybe nothing... You go off a lot, and he has no idea... He likely had some idea, but despite their sometimes stormy relationship the Usurper would be the last he would sell his kin to willingly. Willie's out, still in the duchy. Old Byron.

"Old Byron." She blurted the name out to no one in particular, and it was snatched into the wind and out of hearing to anyone but herself. Her destination set, she left the wild interlacing through byways and headed for the nearest town gate. She could get them out of the town by more subtle methods, but that would require giving away information critical to the Resistance. It was up to them to get themselves somewhere the princess could wait until the others could reconcile the changes to their plans. It was a considerable ride - they would be hard pressed to reach it before morning - but unavoidable. He could keep the girl safe if she could get them off the roads by morning, when no doubt the inquiries and patrols would start.

All streaming tail and thundering hooves, Capilet responded and thrust through the side gates of the town. No doubt those would be shuttered also, but for tonight they had managed to outpace the guards even with their delay. They did not stop for the sleeping watchman to rouse himself, nor his young assistant to hurry himself from wherever he'd slunk off to under the carelessness of his master. Gone beyond recapturing, they fled into the main road off on their way further east and away from Horatia's home territories. When they had put some distance between them and the town, Horatia slowed their course only long enough to turn back to the princess.

"We have a long night ahead of us and a hard ride before morning. If the patrols start while we are still on the road and they find us..." She did not finish what Diana had clearly already puzzled out for herself. "We'll leave the road at the next village and forge the river's tributary there. We'll never cross the river as we are, so we'll have to risk the bridge. If we press we should get there in time."

She looked back once more and tried to read the other woman's face in the dark. "You'll be safe."

With that, she bent forward and Capilet surged beneath them, a dark spot in the night. When they reached the little sleeping village, Horatia guided them from the easy journey along the road and through the edge of the woodlands, tracing back their path and even jumping the low fence of a pasture to confuse their own trail with the startled horses. They had startled at the intrusion and candlelight had flickered in the village, but they were gone before they were seen. The sleepy farmer, assuming a small animal had disturbed them simply scratched his chin and returned to bed after a quick turn about the land.

When they had gone far enough that it felt like there was nothing but sweetgrass and meadow surrounding them, they ventured towards the growing sound of running water. The small tributary was easily crossed, hardly a stream. A frog croaked a deep warning bass and splashed into the waters as they passed. It might have been enchanting if not for the desperation of the journey. Unable to cross the broader river garbed as they were with a horse into the reckoning, Horatia turned them to walk along the water's edge until they reached the Broad Bridge, named very unimaginatively as precisely what it was.

They reached the other side as the night started to fade into deep grey and purple. By the time they passed the mill town and two other villages that separated them from safety, the blue-grey of impending dawn was upon them. Driving them from the road, the last leg of their journey took them to a friary secluded from the nearest village by pine woods and the large, forking eastern-most tributaries of the great river they had crossed along the Broad Bridge.

Shivering with cold and sore, Horatia surrendered her sword to the portly man all robed in brown who silently came to them and turned to Diana. "Give him your weapons. All of them."

Running her hands along Capilet's coat, she whispered to him as she had through the night, thanking him and promising to repay him for a job well done. Tired and run out, he bowed his head under her praise.

As a second resident of the friary dressed the same as the first approached them with a pitcher in his hands, he gestured for them to follow.

"Go," the cavalier urged the princess. "Eat something. They'll give you bread, clothes. I must tend to Capilet and I'll follow. You're safe here."

It might have been helpful to advise the princess that the brothers had all taken a vow of silence, but by the time the idea rolled through her sluggish brain, Capilet had already allowed himself to be led away and they were nearing the stables.

It was some time before Horatia resurfaced again and entered the hall with a roaring fire and a long, plain table where bread, cheese, and a venison stew had been set out for them. Her soiled yellow skirts muddied the floor as she stepped inside, eager to occupy one of the table's long benches nearest the fire. As the heavy door began to close and her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she let out the first truly easy breath since she had left the engagement party.

[Koti~]

Damanius couldn’t think.

The jolt of the horse kept breaking through his mind, his entire body twitching as the thud of horseshoes on the cobble broke any thought had tried to hold. His mind was no better than a sieve at the moment, flashing between the face of the guard, the downed man he had struck, and the sensations of the horse beneath him. His body was locked rigid against Horatia, letting her lead them through the town. Muck and stone pelted his body and dress, the blanket beneath him heated with the constant sway of muscle beneath him. Each shout from the drunkards and stragglers was just another alarm in his ears, trying to listen for the rush of guards or horses. It was a complete jumbled mess to his senses, so all he did was bury his face into the woman's back, trying to catch his breath against everything in the world.

There was a brief moment when the horse beneath him slowed, forcing him to look about in panic, having been dead to the world during their frantic dash through the city. They had come to the countryside, the sounds of the city far off, and the world at odds with his mind. Horatia spoke to him, letting them know of the long ride ahead and that she would be safe. Damanius tried to relay understanding, but the brief respite of the hard ride only let his mind focus for a few minutes, not sure just what his eyes relayed before they were off again. Dwelling some on her words though, he felt himself reflexively tighten his grip against Horatia as they took off again, the heat from below growing intensely as the sleeping world blurred around him.

Damanius tried to block the rest of the world, tense muscles starting to shake from his grip upon his rider as the horse moved beneath him, the thud of Capiluts hooves lessened just a small amount due to the change of the ground. He wanted to be thankful for it, but even then he could feel sweat beading his body, and the jumped fence forced a grunt of pain from him. So lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t even register when they slowed, the world turning lighter as Horatia finally spoke again. They were stopped in front of a rather humble building, nestled into the surrounding woods as the man waited patiently. It took a few moments for Damanius to realize what he was waiting for, and even further for his body to unwind enough to hand over the tube that contained his bow and arrow, feeling both numb to the world, yet acutely aware of every sore and stiff joint in his body.

When the second man came to lead them to possible food, Damanius was more than pleased to be off the beast, dropping from his hind quarters with the grace of a newborn duck. Another groan of displeasure escaped him as the monk helped him to his feet, Horatia urging him to follow with the promise of food and clothing. Damanius nodded numbly as he allowed the monk to lead the way, his pace generously slow for him to hobble along with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Kind sir.. Do you have a place I can freshen up and relieve myself?” Diana asked as other demands suddenly made their needs known. She was given a curt nod in before the man beckoned her to follow through the slowly lit hallways, her feet echoing loudly through the cobbled halls. He led her to a small room, a large basin sitting with water being fed from the local tributary and a stove sitting beneath it, the fire banked with low coals. Thanking the man profusely and accepting the offering of clothes, Diana closed the door, letting a long held sigh pass through, dragging every sore muscle and locked joint back to the forefront, slumping against the door as her mind was finally able to lock back into some sort of stable though, taking stock of everything her body was screaming at her.

She moved gingerly, tossing some of the stocked wood carefully into the embers, watching the kindling take hold and spread slowly. She moved then to start pulling the clothing from her body, having to struggle through shaking limbs as the layers fell from him, slowly leaving him standing in nothing by his underthings and banded material against his body. He looked to his legs, grimacing at the angry red strips along his legs, some of the skin having blistered from just how tight he had been holding onto Capilut the entire time. He groaned as he ran his fingers against them, finding a mixture of sweat and ammonia, and thankfully no blood despite the wounds. He checked the bandings against his privates, grimacing at the darkened material that took up a small section of them.

“Cursed body, I am not a wee infant. I have shamed … shamed myself.” He grumbled to himself, not able to find the energy to berate himself as he carefully dipped down into the heating water, shivering as the still cold water touched his sweat drenched body. He couldn’t even hate himself as he allowed himself to sit for just the moment, letting the steady rising heat work through him. Despite the relief he could feel, the pain and images stuck in his head didn’t let him rest like he wished. Even with the long hours and exhaustion dragging at him physically, he couldn’t let himself drift off. The captains face still played in those few seconds, shock in the dead mans eyes turning to realization and shock as death took him. He could recall everything from his face, the short cropped brown hair that framed him, to the wellkept beard that covered his chin. The deep blue eyes that were wide with anguish, his gurgled voice echoing around the bubbling-

The knock at the door forced a shout of surprise from him, quickly turning to stare at the wooden frame, every nerve alight waiting to see who would enter. Another three knocked sounded through before he could hear the whisper of leather as the intruder left. Finding himself panting a bit, he had forgotten how long he had been resting in the water and slowly got out, having to fight the urge to pace as he banked the fire and moved to the door. The monks had respected his wishes, leaving fresh cloth bandages and extremely modest clothing, something he had seen peasant children wear very long ago.


It took longer for Diana to emerge back into the main hall, the scent of food calling her. Her hair, freed from its braid, fell in waves around him, framing his face and offset by the brown robes. She walked gingerly, feeling the rough cotton against her bruises and worn skin jarred by each rough movement. It was unsettling as she looked up to see Horatia having entered as well, the quiet serenity offset with the tumult thoughts still burning through her mind, flickering back constantly to the dead captain as she moved to the food, her stomach giving a roll of queasiness at the rich broth and cheese wedges awaited them. She waited for the moment, expecting something from the woman, or at least some noise to break the quiet tension that was growing in her mind, burning through her thoughts as she finally took a bench, looking uneasily at the food. The silence was irritating her, even further as her body protested the hard wood beneath her. It was almost suffocating, so detached from the panicked flight from just mere moments before. She looked towards Horatia, noting the almost relaxed and happy visage of her body, eying the food laid before them. Something itched at the back of her mind, and before she could compose herself, her mouth spoke first, jumping from her spot, the wooden bench dropping with a loud bang from the sudden action.

“We should be dead. Every action we took tonight failed miserably, and cost an innocent man his life! How can you stand there, looking as though you’ve more care for the simple cheeses than the dead man we’ve left behind?”

“How is it then that we managed to succeed then?! How in the gods grace are we standing here, peaceful and free as though that frantic dash for our lives did not just occur mere moments before!”

“Why aren’t you saying anything?! I fucked us over! I killed that man for my own selfish wants in the moment and struck down your friend, and yet you still, you still brought me here, protected me. I killed that man!” Diana stared at Horatia, huffing some as he realized he had given the woman no chance to really speak to her defense. Before she ever allowed the woman to speak, she sunk back to the ground, feeling all her tension bleed from her, leaving her hollowed like a bowl.

“I fucked up… and killed that innocent man. I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I screamed at you. We should not have managed to get free.” Diana spoke with a hollow voice, unable to muster much more than exhaustion as the shock of the night finally left her, replaced by pure exhaustion behind her. She was angry with herself, her mind having not come to terms with her newfound freedom having cost another life, one she had taken by her own hands.

Suddenly sleep sounded exceptional to her.

[Alura]

As Horatia's eyes made out the finer detail beyond the shapes of the sparse furnishings and the roar of the fire, she noted the princess's return to the company of their silent hosts. Her eyes passed over her only a moment before she shuffled her way with a slight squelch in her steps to ease herself onto a bench before the fire. She sat there, drying slowly and letting the flames burn off the chill around her. Heavy-lidded eyes considered them in silence.

She thought of the Band of Horses. A silly name, and one the more serious old guard members of the Resistance tended to mock mercilessly. Really, though, it mattered little to them. They were as close to blood as water could be, and had proven themselves to each other countless times over. She could not say if it were quick thinking or panic on the girl's part, but injuring Brand would likely save his life... That is, assuming the Usurper was not keen to behead those who let the princess slip away.

Swallowing convulsively, she shifted in her seat. Alfson was clever, and in a good position not to be discovered. He had been by the king's side at the party and in the sight of everyone there could be little reason to suspect him. Riga on the other hand... Flighty, sticky-fingered Riga... Her brows knit with concern. He was smart enough to see danger, but his penchant for taking risks to outmatch his prior mad adventures had a way of pinning him with the consequences. He had luck, no one could question that, but if he had pilfered anything the night of the engagement celebrations would they discover him and punish him for that even if they had no idea of his involvement with the Resistance. Would they torture him, to find out more?

Leave the girl with Byron, go find him. No, you know it is too far and you cannot leave her. What if the patrols come calling. Her thoughts went to war, her body itching for action despite the exhaustion she felt. She was used to rough riding and days between points of civilisation were little to her. It was another thing entirely to go flat out as far and as long as they had without a rest even for the horse's sake. She would have to trust that the others could see themselves out of the situation - or that the other members present had helped them escape. If any of the other three were found out, the Usurper's men would no doubt realise there was something more afoot than a runaway bride who had robbed the family coffers. That was another thing that would merit discussing, she was sure. The most likely thief was sitting behind her staring at the meal prepared for them as much as eating it. That was a matter for Alfson to unravel.

Running her tongue along the sharp points of her upper teeth, she realised that she had been staring off for too long. The tension in the air suddenly dawned on her and she swiveled her head on her sore neck to see the girl. She had more to do before she slept, despite how heavy her eyes felt. She hitched the palm-sized pot she had carried with her on her return from the stables and set it beside her as she stood to sit properly, facing the food and the princess.

Forcing a smile onto her face, she slapped her palms together and chafed the still damp skin. Bowing her head over her hands, she actually offered up a small prayer for her friends. With a little luck Jonas had warned Riga away and those that could not blend well enough had made it through the muckers' gate the princess had tried. Old Byron would lend her a messenger to send to the town, someone unobtrusive.

When her head lifted, she inhaled the richness of the stew and ladled a bowlful quickly, tearing away bread and allowing her to eat as if she had never seen food. The food was good, and generous, and most importantly nourishing. While they had this reprieve they should use it, recover as quickly as they could in case they needed to move again to a place far less accommodating. The warmth of the meal eased her nerves as it lifted her spirits, the calm of the friary seeping through the worry that clouded her mind.

She slurped the last of her stew and took more, skewering a morsel of cheese to savour as she ripped away another hunk of bread and, noticing Diana's stare, offered it to her wordlessly as she eyed a bowl of apples the friars had left for them.

The report of the bench against the stone floor caused her to half-stand, bread falling as she snatched a knife from the table. Realising it was only the princess's upturned bench and noticing the disapproving look of the two nearest brothers, she pointedly put the blade down again as words seemed to pour out of the other woman. Disbelief, anger, regret, shock: all of it mingled through the rebuke Diana leveled. As the princess continued, Horatia sank back into her seat, palms resting on the wood of the long table worn smooth with years of use. She simply listened, the vestiges of her smile still clinging to her lips.

Her eyes were pitying as Diana seemed to wind herself a bit, trailing off as she turned her accusations against herself. It was a hard thing, to kill someone. Not something that you forgot. She wanted to tell her that it was alright, that it was necessary. She wanted to say it would get easier, but knew that it should not... There were many things she thought to say, but many things that the girl would have to learn for herself and Horatia knew that she was not the one to teach her.

As the shock fled the girl, her limbs seemed to go limp. She had been coursing with the thrill of the night and now that the tension had broken she was like a marionette without her strings. Taking a slow, deep breath, Horatia finished swallowing the mouthful she had taken before the royal came uncorked. Her steps were determined and her pace unhurried as she squelched her way all the way around the table to where the girl sat and grabbed her by the elbow, guiding her back to her feet with a strong arm. With her steady enough on her feet, she bent and righted the bench.

"Sit." She waited until she was obeyed to take an apple from the bowl and set it before the girl with a ripe thump. "Try to eat something." She threw the abandoned hunk of bread onto the beaten pewter trencher and filled the girl's cup with the spiced wine the friars had given them to warm them. Setting it beside the food, she waved her hand and began her slow shuffle back to her seat as she continued to speak. "The wine will steady you."

When she retook her seat, she collected the little pot that had been hidden from view and plunked it between them, pushing it forward with her index finger. "Salve, for the sores."

Sniffing and scrubbing the back of her hand against her nose, Horatia surveyed the food again before meeting Diana's gaze.

"No one is going to blame you for doing what needed to be done to escape. Keeping you alive is something we would all give our own to accomplish, even Brand." She said it as much for herself as the girl, concern lancing through her as she thought of the lash of Capilet's hooves in the chaos of their flight. She took a shaky breath and carried forward to say, "If anyone is at fault, it is mine. You should know, Your Majesty, that the captain of the guard will not be the last death. In fact, he is only the first. Some of them will be our own. Some of them will be caught between the Usurper and the Resistance. That is the nature of war. The only thing that you can do is make certain that when you sit on your throne you remember all of the lives we take and have taken. That is the cost of your reign."

Scratching a bite on her shoulder, Horatia opened her mouth to excuse herself when a big man barreled through the far entrance to the room on the opposite side that Horatia herself had entered. He was perhaps in his fifties with a barrel of a chest over a belly nearly as broad, both vying for attention from the heavy beard that curled from his chin and hid his lips. His brows were like two fall leaves, curling on themselves below a greying tangle of dark hair. Despite his age, hid well-fed appearance and hawkish, glinting eyes belied a quick wit and good health to match his love of leisure. When he spoke, his voice was craggy and carried the thick accents of the northern territories.

"The world must be on its ear when sense comes out of that mouth." He sounded gruff, but he was smiling below the beard. He made his way towards the women, holding his palms to the fire and looking at the princess warmly before turning his attention back to the horsewoman. "What in damnation are you wearing? Deciding to become a real woman finally are we? Shango finally talk you around to marrying one of those dog-faced sons of Carlisle's?"

The nearest friar rolled his eyes, disapproving but well aware that the jovial old knight was far from concerned about the preferences of the brothers. Horatia herself winced in exasperation.

"Hello, Byron. Nothing so drastic, I assure you." She rose respectfully, though he motioned her to sit and heaved himself on to the bench next to the princess. He wreathed his arm around her back like a favourite uncle - which he was to many of the wild youths who had formed Horatia's childhood troupe - and patted her shoulder reassuringly.

"And who might this enchanting young woman be?" His eyes ran over her, not in the lecherous way of some, but in an appraising, far-seeing way, as if he knew her secrets and could see through private thoughts.

A little concerned that his natural and well-meaning familiarity would be poorly received by Diana, she replied, "Princess Diana, please allow me to introduce to you Lord Byron Hathaway, former Duke of Oren and one of the Knight Commanders of the late King Aminan."

"Lord Byron, may I present to you the Lady Diana, Princess of Hymnascal and heir presumptive."

The man's heavy brows rose to the thick curls that overhung his forehead as he turned his grey eyes to study Diana again, voice smiling. "Yes, yes, I should have seen the resemblance. Striking. You're nearly the spit of him." Rising, he lowered himself heavily, relying on his grip upon the long table. In his struggle to lower himself the hem of the simple trousers he wore below his straining tunic lifted enough to reveal that his right leg was wooden. Inclining his head, he greeted her formally, before struggling with standing. Horatia rose to aid him, but he swatted her away and proudly attended himself.

Jerking his head towards the hall from which Diana had emerged before the meal he sat himself again and patted the royal's hand. "Off with you and out of that gown, Girl. You look like a fish who's found himself on land. I'll show the girl to the cottage after she's eaten. You know the one, same as that great lout Brand half-knocked the roof from when ... oh, nevermind, shoo."

With a last look between the two to make certain there would be no trouble, Horatia nodded and drug her weary feet to bathe and dress, enduring the final insult as she nearly tripped over the dirty hem of her skirts as she stepped free of the hall.

Turning back to Diana with amusement in his eyes, Byron gently pushed the food before the princess nearer to her.

"Best to eat up... Sounds as though you've had a night of it. A little of the wine will help you sleep."

Serving himself some stew to keep her company, he blew across his spoon to cool it before taking a bite. "Mmm, delicious as always, Brother!" he said, presumably to one of the many monks around him. In fact, he knew who they were but often made such statements to whichever responded. Which was typically none of them, as they had learned to ignore him ages ago when he first began his reclusion into sanctuary with them. Inclining his head towards Diana and dropping his voice, he explained, "It's not as though any of them will respond anyway."

Shifting the contents of his bowl, he leaned an elbow onto the table. "Before you retire, you must tell me a bit about how you came to be in Horatia's company. Oh, I've heard the rumours, but of all the things that girl has dragged to my door you are by far, if you'll pardon my saying it, the most exceptional."

His sparkling grey eyes turned to her expectantly.

[Koti~]

Damanius found comfort in Horatia’s words. He knew that was right about the war, and that the captain would not be the only innocent man who would die to seat him on the throne. The harsh words were a great comfort as he happily plucked the small pot closer, having the dignity to not rush off and apply it now. He stared down at the spiced wine, his stomach not at the point of wanting to eat, but knowing it would be best to have something to at least steady him. The last he had eaten was at the party that was hours behind them, and the rush to get themselves free would catch up before long. He cupped the fragrant wine and took a cautious sip from it.

And then another longer draw of the wine, feeling the spice sufuse through his weary body, much like the heat from the fireplace nearby. It was somewhat calming as he allowed his thoughts to return to the woman's words, blaming herself for what happened. Already a protest started upon her lips moments before the far door swung open, allowing for just a moment what she thought was a bear. His body was too weary though to react more than his mouth hanging open, his fingers tightening around the bowl of wine. The man made short work of getting closer to the girl, insulting Horatia as he made way to the fire. Damanius could tell the man was jesting the girl, the good natured man smiling as he stood in front of the fire. Something about the large man drew vague memories into the back of his mind as the man moved closer.

The warmth of the man enveloped him as he wrapped an arm around her, bringing with it the scent of some sort of soap and .. hay? He couldn’t properly place it, but it both put him at ease, and dregged up meager tension that his body could muster. His eyes moved to meet him, locking eyes with the man for the brief seconds, and the look he saw terrified him. The age of the man had not diminished the wise look nestled in the face of hair as he could feel the man scouring his body. It was much like when his own family could look upon him and know when he had done wrong. He would have had more protection just standing nude in front of him, or at least that was the feeling mustered from the look. His eyes darted back down to the cup quickly, having to bite his lip to hide the minor tremble as a cold sweat covered the back of his neck, a sour taste coating the back of his throat before Horatia was able to break his attention.

Lord Byron Hathaway. The name echoed through his mind as he was introduced himself, finding it hard to speak his affirmation. He did pay courtesy as he looked to the man, noting his wooden leg as the man gave a deep bow, something common he had seen before in the throne room as knights bowed to the king. He nodded his head in acceptance, still not yet trusting his words yet as the man pulled himself back up with pride. The determination to show his loyalty under his own strength was so very calming from his mind, yet those eyes held truth beyond what he could grasp himself, that feeling deep back in his mind. Byron sent Horatia packing as Damanius finally took a bite of apple, something to settle his stomach more than just the spice that warmed his cheeks. Byron served himself the stew, sitting next to her again and laying a comforted hand against his with a reassuring pat. The man was at complete odds. Just knowing that he used to work at the castle was grating on his nerves, and his long gaze just made him feel as though all his layers were being peeled away.

"Before you retire, you must tell me a bit about how you came to be in Horatia's company. Oh, I've heard the rumours, but of all the things that girl has dragged to my door you are by far, if you'll pardon my saying it, the most exceptional."

Diana let out a whispered sigh, feeling herself sink into herself as the man gazed at her, eyes looking to hear the adventurous tales of the night. Giving herself a moment, she worked over a bite of cheese, working herself up towards reliving the night again. Silence hung like comfort around him as they both ate noisily, a sharp contrast to the brothers nearby. Draining the last of her wine, she offered up her cup to be refilled while taking a deep breath to steady herself.

“It started this morning with the announcement of my engagement to Sinal..” She started, letting the memories speak most of her words. It was amusing watching the man react, laughing at the thought of her climbing down the castle walls, to feigned shock at her drawing a bow on Horatia. He was the perfect audience to her story, reacting in such ways that even Diana felt a bit of tension unwind from her, feeling as though the harrowing night had been a grand adventure of fantasy. She could even see the tightness around his eyes when hearing about the death of the captain, yet doubled down on the words Horatia spoke, assuring her that war was a mess to all parties. They were never as pretty or glorious as the stories he had told.

“Well, you have certainly had your fill of a long night. I am pleased to know that you are safe and unharmed, for the most part.” His words were comforting to hear, bringing a genuine smile to her, small though it was. Her cheeks were rosy with the heat from the fire, and having had another two cups. She nodded, having finished off the apple handed to her, still munching on the cheese wedge that she had managed to grab. Less from wishing to remain ladylike, it was brought around her stomach that had yet to settle.

“Before we retire, Lord Byron, when did you work for my father?” Diana asked, watching him carefully for his reaction. His face lit up with a sorrowful joy as he looked upwards, gazing into the distance as he reminisced in silence.

“King Aminan was a strong man, yet few knew he was just. I served under his reign for two decades of my life, my service coming to an end when I lost my leg to disease, a war wound rotting the flesh. I still regret that I had not been there to defend his majesty, wishing I had been able to do something for the man.” He spoke somberly, yet not damping the mood.

“Ah~!” Diana let out a gasp as it finally clicked for her, and both joy and panic shot through her body, though heavy lidded eyes and clouded thoughts muddled the reaction.

“You tutored my eldest, Prince Casian.” Diana spoke, getting a chuckle from the man. She knew him as well as she could. Lord Byron had been the first prince’s weapons tutor, having to retire though when Diana had been around two. Damanius had been nothing more than a pudgy thing inside the nursery, though the few times he had been with his mother.

“You got old.” She said bluntly, though it gained a chuckle from the older man as he looked upon her.

“Yes, age does that. Though I think I have managed rather well despite the chaos.” Byron responded with a light hearted smile, pushing away the bowl and cup. He stood, assisting her up onto her own feet. Having allowed herself to ease away the tension fully from the night, and with the help of wine, nothing sounded better than sleep at the moment, her stiff joints more than ready to just collapse into anything that resembled a bed.

“Seems now would be a good time to retire for the time being. Sleep is a commodity we can enjoy for only so long, so let’s get you to the cottage and to bed. I do apologise if the rooms are not to your standards.” He spoke jovially, offering an arm to support as they made their way into the early dawn. Damanius had a small moment of worry as his fogged mind thought to Horatia, but he reasoned that the woman knew this man and supposedly the cottage he spoke of, and would at some point join them.

For now, his mind focused only on sleep.

[Alura]

Horatia shuffled down the same path Diana had taken, sunlight streaming through the high windows despite her fatigue telling her it should be dark. She arrived at the wash room and closed the door, for a moment simply standing in the dark. Her hands balled into fists. She was not one to reflect on moments already past, but she wondered if her actions had caused the undoing of their plans this night past. She could accept any consequence to herself for her own actions, and it was true enough that her merry band of friends had borne their consequences together before, but... Her nose stung and her eyes shimmered in the low light hidden by the heating bath. She had to trust that the trio she had left behind would be able to cover each other again. She had known the stakes involved in throwing in their lot with the Resistance nearer the castle, but it had not been until the moment the captain of the guard had moved to detain them and she and Brand had been pitted on opposite sides that she realised precisely what that meant. It was not simply a matter of taking lives and having them taken as she had said to Diana. There might come a time when they would face each other and, to preserve their greater aims, be forced to fight and die at the hands of a friend.

Her breath hitched into a sniffle and she dashed away two hot tears in annoyance. No use crying about the reality of things.

Tilting her head to crack her neck and immediately regretting it, Horatia contorted to undo the many fastens of her gown and the underpinnings it required. For each layer removed she felt like a new woman and when her ribs were unbound she gasped in air and leaned a hand against the wall, dizziness swirling away her rational thoughts. How this had become an acceptable mode of dress she would never understand, but she was thankful that she had found a way to disregard it routinely.

Staggering forward and kicking the hateful yellow mass at her feet aside, she practically drowned herself in the bath, working the sweat and dust from her hair. Wriggling her toes, she tested her aching muscles before allowing herself to simply absorb the warmth of the bath. It was with great pleasure that she noted the barest whiff of vinegar and realised that someone had left a pitcher of old wine for her.

Amberlin, she thought with a smile. Having known her since childhood and, unlike his old commander Byron, having forsaken the sword for the simple life of a friar when he took his vows, must have been the culprit. She worked it through her hair and poured it over her skin, letting the prickling liquid eat away the dirt she could not work clean with her fingers alone. She let it sink in, growling softly as it found a few blisters and bruises of her own. It particularly stung along the shallow cut the dragged dagger the princess had pulled had left along her leg.

When she had rinsed away the last of the wine and lavender soap that had chased away the harrowing night's remnants, she twisted out her hair and curled herself in a bath sheet. The prospect of the short walk out to the cottage they had been allowed seemed like a great undertaking. The central hall, bath, and chapel where they had been taken to recover sat on the center of a heavily-forested parcel of land that had many such small cottages and shrines branching out through it towards the nearest villages - which were not very near at all. The brothers had once traveled far and wide to give aid and advice to the people, but under the Usurper's rule had become withdrawn and provided aid and sanctuary to some of those poor exiles from King Aminan's reign. It made them a natural friend of the Resistance, though none of them made that well known. The Usurper King perhaps did not think fondly of the friars, but whether he feared or simply thought nothing of them, he had never interfered with the running of the friary. When he had stolen the throne and they had been overwhelmed with orphans and refugees from the castle and its adjoining town, the brothers had taken their vow of silence ostensibly for their faith: but it was a shield behind which they also did their part toward restoring the blessed, rightful rule - or at least someone ordained for it, which they did not believe Sinal Balaser to be. Old Byron had joined them, seeing in the building of the friary an opportunity to serve the people where his amputated leg had left him unable to serve in the actual fighting surrounding his old liege.

Well-tailored breeches hugged her form, a simple linen short tunic loosely falling to her hips. She had left clothing here on one of her many visits before, thankfully. Her mother's necklace hung heavily against her chest, and as she eased the gold earrings and hair pins into a small pouch wrapped in a scrap of silk, noting with a pang of guilt that one of the hair pins was missing from their number. Her father would be heart-broken.

When she had borrowed the pouch, she had also taken the summer yellow gown and made straight for the fire in the hall. Amberlin had stopped her, and made a face at her. She supposed if none of the wayward individuals who passed through the friary doors had any use for it, the material might be worth something in such an unusual dye. The brothers were scrupulous about making use of all they had, so she gave it over to them knowing that they would make the most of it. No doubt they would clean and mend Diana's own riding dress and return it to her before they departed - whenever that might be.

That taken care of, she gripped her belt and boots in one hand, unruly waves of dark hair still dripping slightly with damp and stockings clinging to little pieces of straw and grass as she stepped through the heavy doors through which Old Byron and Diana had passed on their way towards the cottage. The early morning light was hazed by the mists rising from the waters, but the scent of the trees was cool and fresh from it. The chill in the air roused her senses and she took in her surroundings as she passed - the smoke rising above the hall and the dampened sounds of footfalls out of sight as the friars moved about their morning routines. There was canting from the chapel, rhythmic and deep. Despite the brothers' vow of silence they had sympathetic friars and monks from other territories and monasteries who visited them frequently, sharing news of the world and lending their skills and prayers to the work they undertook. Far more in Byron's school of the practical, she still found comfort in the placid air the prayers imparted to the quiet morning.

When she arrived at the cottage, pine needles swept back from the door, Old Byron leaned against the stone wall with a pipe between his teeth. He had bid goodnight - albeit it was morning - to the exhausted princess and parted with her at the door. Smoke rose from the fire the brothers had left burning for warmth.

Pulling up short, Horatia shuffled as though she were half her age again trying to explain away some mischief her quartet of friends had managed. His usually laughing tone was serious as he asked her about the night. She told him what she knew of the others, of her concerns for Riga, and asked him what he thought of Brand's position. She told him about the castle square and the announcement of Balaser's betrothal. A man of action as was she, he had the wisdom of time and experience to settle him a bit and allow him a longer view of things that the woman lacked.

He puffed thoughtfully, then lifted a gnarled brow and stepped forward to rest a hand on her shoulder. "If the girl had been caught that would have been the end of it. You did well to keep her with you. My old men will do what they can for the others, and I suspect if you have all managed to keep from hanging or beheading til now you will all slip free of it this time as well."

His strong fingers were warm and as they squeezed her shoulder, she swallowed. She wished she had been quicker, or simply bowled the captain of the guard at his first words. It would have prevented Diana's shock, and Brand still would have been clear. She wondered if that would have made them any less suspicious as potential thieves. She blew out a breath, surprised that there was some relief.

"Rest up... I've been meaning to send Joaquim to fetch some things from Castle Town. I think I'll go have him check in at Ignatio's."

She nodded her understanding and thanks. He would send the boy to gather news and make contact with the Resistance leaders. They might know the fate of the others within two or three days. The waiting would be -

Horatia's thoughts were interrupted by a resounding slap across the back of her newly-washed head. Her hand flew reflexively to cradle the site of the blow as she cried, "Och!"

As he stumped away from her he did not bother to look back as he called back, "How you allowed her to risk her neck climbing bedclothes is beyond me: just try not to take an arrow from any other tender young girls while I'm away."

Scowling at his back, she watched him leave to have Joaquim brought from the closest village. She had no need to duck as she pressed into the door of the small cottage, making every effort to be quiet. The floorboards shuffled and creaked lightly and she set her boots by the door, belt draped carelessly on the back of one of the two wooden chairs that squeezed along a squat barrel that served as a table. Pulling one of the furs from the bed covered in a patchwork of blankets and more of the tanned skins, she leaned near to the princess to make sure that she slept. Her long hair fell over her face and with a thin, calloused finger, Horatia brushed it behind her ear. She wondered if she had been this afraid when Balaser had brought his fire and thundering chaos to the castle.

As her eyes studied the sleeping face, breath held for fear of disturbing her, she thought probably she had been more afraid. Afraid and angry. She had lost most of her family in the conflict, and the pair of them that remained had never entirely recovered. Perhaps it would be different for Diana. When cornered she had defended herself. Whoever sat the throne of Hymnascal would need that spine if they intended not only to defend their right to rule - but to defend a kingdom still ill at ease under the mistreatment of the Interloper. Hope and concern intermingling in her expression, Horatia pulled the blankets over the other woman's shoulders and tiptoed across the firelight to wrap herself in the fur and lie across the entrance. Birds chirruped lightly alongside the wind that blew through the trees and the tributaries that bubble along, lulling her quickly into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[Koti~]

Castle grounds, Eastern Gates, Night


Despite having rolled to the side, Capulit had managed to strike his side, knocking the wind from Brands chest. He swore mentally, clutching at his side as he watched the three of them escape moments before the gate closed, the guards by the doors shocked. The soldiers from the castle doors made their way into the yards, breaking into groups as they scoured the courtyard, detaining the lesser folks who had begun to panic from the noise. Brand just laid back, sucking in the air while trying to figure out what had possessed the princess to act so violently, and even more running ideas of how he would lie his way out of this.

“Soldiers! To the eastern gate!” He shouted finally into the night, managing to force himself upright and looking to the dead body of the captain, blood seeping into the muddied ground. He staggered on the feet, watching the soldiers draw short as they finally spied the dead body. Sending a short prayer that Horatia would be smart enough to leave the town behind, he turned to the soldiers at the gates.

“Gather up any able riders and horses, the princess escaped through the gates!” Brand shouted for them to hear, pointing to the closed gates that the guards were scrambling to push open. Brand hobbled over to the nearest wall and slumped down, his world swimming and dancing as he slid down the storm side. He struggled to pull the dented metal off his chest, grunting at the warmth of blood along his side. He inspected his side by the torchlight, looking at the gash that rippled from below his rib to the start of his hip. It was shallow thankfully, and he praised Horatia for being able to avoid killing him while pushing forward. Letting the other guards take to the streets on the horses, he let the night swallow him and rested.

Castle halls, Before Daybreak

Sinal Balaser was seething with anger, listening to the reports that the princess and her captors had yet to be dug up. His blood boiled as he clenched his fists, listening to the guards whine their excuses of having let the woman escape into the night air with not a single one of them being able to stop them. The barest scrap of news had left him raging internally, displeased that his guards had been unable to stop a two single women from escaping, only knowing that the horse rider had worn a dress of summer yellow.

“Shango the second, The color of your lands are summer yellow, are they not? Tell me, what reason did your daughter enter this castle?” The man demanded of the older knight who was now kneeled in front of him.

“I am sorry, your majesty, but she did not tell me her intentions tonight, other than wanting to come to the ball. I cannot-”

“Silence! You expect me to believe you had no knowledge about this? Your daughter has taken captive Princess Diana, murdered the captain of my guards, and escaped into the nights. I find this rather hard to accept that you played no part in this.” Sinal bellowed at the man, drawing himself upright and stomping down the steps to the throne. He stopped before the man and lifted him, anger burning deep in his eyes. They stared at each other, Sinal trying to gain any info from the old knight. Letting out a yell of frustration, the Usurper tossed the man from his sight.

“I shall have the information that I want! For your betrayal, I hereby strip you of your title and claim your lands under the name of King Sinal. Guards, lock this man up and glean any information you can for where his Daughter would have fled to. I do not believe that you have no idea where your whore of a daughter would have gone.” Sinal demanded of his soldiers, moving back to his throne and taking his throne. He waved his hand, motioning for the guards to bring in the next person who he had wanted to talk with.

“You have summoned me, your majesty?” Grueta bowed low to the king, shaken that her charge had actually managed to escape the castle, yet was now worried for their health and well-being.

“Tell me this, Grueta. What did Princess Diana tell you about her plans tonight.” He demanded of her, fingers digging back into the woods.

“What do you mean, your majesty?” Grueta asked, confusion coloring her eyes, drawing the wrath of the king.

“Do not pettle this senility. Today was the first time that Princess Diana had been outside these castle walls. Yet, already the people had a plan in place to capture her. You were her closest maid, she relied on you for everything. Tell me what you know.” He spoke harshly, hands curling into fists while affixing her with eyes filled with pure malice.

“I swear your majesty, she told me nothing of this night.”Grueta responded, a tremor of fear passing through her. Her words only upset the king more, who pushed himself free of the throne and descended the stairs, making little time over to the old maid. He swung, catching the woman on the jaw with the back of his gauntlet, sending her to the ground with a dull crunch.

“I will not hear your lies!” He roared down at her, staring down at her.

“I swear your majesty! She did not tell me anything.” Grueta spoke in her defense, cowering on the ground while gripping her jaw, pain shooting stars into her eyes. Sinal lifted her off the ground and bodily threw her, watching her skid across the ground, crying out in pain as her body bounced on the stone.

“ENOUGH. I will not listen to your lies! You have remained steadfast to the princess, never once to me. I have let you stay because she relied on you heavily, and you were nothing more than an annoyance. Now, I will tolerate you no longer. You shall bare your shame and treason to the world for the sins of Princess Diana.” Sinal spoke loudly, summoning over the guards to pick up the old woman.

“You shall be stripped bare and staked to the castle walls, a sign for any who might think of turning against me. Guards, go!” He shouted, listening as the woman began to cry out for forgiveness, repeating over and over that she knew nothing of them.

“Send in the eastern guards.” Sinal spoke, not even returning to his throne.

Brand led the other three soldiers with him towards the throne, swallowing his rage at how he had treated Horatia’s father and the elderly woman, yet played the dutiful soldier. The three of them dropped to their knees in front of the king, a sign of feality as they awaited.

“You three disappoint me. A woman and child, one sheltered her entire life, managed to escape with ease through your gates with ease. I have no reason to not just behead you here, to end your lives and uselessness to me.” Sinal spoke, glaring down at the three men. None dared look up to the king, but all three tensed, rigid under their armor. He paced around them, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Yet, you did bring me news of the woman, and I can understand your shock. Not even I was aware of the strength of the Princess and that whore woman. For that, I shall show you some mercy. You may stand.” He spoke, tucking his hands under his arms, taking the throne again as the guards looked upon him with hope and gratitude.

“You shall be flogged for a count of 40, then locked in the stockage for 3 days. If you are truly repentant and loyal, then may God seem fit that you will live, and the princess is returned swiftly to us. You are dismissed.” He commanded his men, more of his soldiers encircling the 4 men to escort them to the gaols to await the start of dawn.

Sinal let out a sigh, rage still bubbling as all he could do was wait, his other captains already combing the city and preparing search parties to go around to the other local towns, ready to find his runaway bride.


Monastery, Midday

“Ah, squire Joaquim. A pleasure to see you again.” Byrom spoke jovially as he was working around the grounds, helping the brothers around the grounds as he could. The young man smiled and saluted the old knight, an eager squire who was unfit for the battlefield. The man had taken to Byron like flies to vinegar, eager to prove his worth despite his knock knees and gnarled hand. While not the sharpest blade, he was diligent and was the best as a courier, as most didn’t even bother passing an eye at the young boy.

“You summoned me, Lord Byrom?” He spoke with a small hitch in his voice, standing straight and beaming with pride at his title. It was honorary, and he knew nothing really came with it, but it was a source of pride for him.

“Yes, I have been meaning to send you into the castle town, as I am running low on several supplies. I have prepared a scroll and shall have a carriage arranged to transport both you and the goods here and back.” Byron spoke, handing over the scroll to the young man, letting him accept it gracefully. Bryon stood then, clasping the man on the soldier.

“Now, no dillying around with the young ladies, despite those devilish looks of yours, I am needing those supplies and any news you can bring to me. I do have one request off the scroll that I wish you to ask the tavern keeper at Ignatio’s. As him whe in the blazes he’s going to sell some Chateau Romani. I have been craving that sweet beverage for ages.” He relayed to the young man, watching his eyes light with determination.

“Yes sir! Chateau Romani.” He repeated back with pride, before being sent off back into town, his hobbled half step echoing along the ground. Byron waited for the boy to vanish around the corner before moving then. He would need to prepare his home for guests, his code having been sent along. Joaquim knew nothing of the resistance inner workings, yet was an integral spy and courier of information. He knew nothing of the codes and keys he ferried across the lands, meaning any guards that would dare question him would think him nothing more than the weakling being sent on an errand. It was a cruel fate to play, but it was better than anything else, and the boy felt pride in being useful to the men who had helped raise him, and his master Byron who took to teaching him how to wield a blade with great patience.

Castle Gaol, Torture Room, Midday

The echo of broken bones bounced around the small room, Sinal standing against the door as the men broke Shango’s hand, the man grunting in pain. He watched the man, having spent the better of his morning prying the man for any information he could, seething with anger. The man was either belligerent about protecting his daughter, or truly knew nothing. He was desperate for any information, his search parties having turned up nothing. Even the reprise of those being punished had done little to sooth his anger.

“Now again. Where would she have taken the princess. I already have men heading to overturn your manse and the stable grounds, so don’t expect her to be able to hide there.” Sinal spoke again, moving up to the edge of the table, looking down at the sweat covered man, his right arm mangled and broken in several places, blood puckering the skin.

“I swear I know nothing. She had only asked to attend the ball, that was all.” Shango gasped out, his voice hitched with pain, the sweat coating his forehead as he tried to avoid moving his right arm, despite the men standing nearby. He signalled to the guard again, watching them wrench the left arm up higher through the crusher, watching with a grim snarl as the stone was hammered down, hearing another crunch as his wrist was shattered against the stone bench. Shango groaned out in pain, heaving up an empty stomach from the pain that wracked his body.

“You are a stubborn old man. You’ve already lost your land, your title, and yet you still protect your daughter. I must commend your determination, but condone your brash idiocy. Just tell me what I wish to know, and you may survive this day.” Sinal spoke, leaning against the table with a sickly smile, trying to play into the mans hope for relief.

“There is nothing to tell you. Not that I would if there was.” Shango spoke, knowing that even if he was let free, there was nothing he could do. The broken bones along his arms would leave him a beggar at the mercy of men, and it was a miserable end for the old knight. He had grown into a husk of his former self, wishing nothing more than to live a quiet life. His wife had already been claimed, his eldest son killed in the takeover, and even his daughter having thrown in her lot with the resistance. A chuckle escaped him, feeling as though he had been put to shame by even his daughter, the image of fire and grit as his late wife.

“Do what you wish to me, but there is nothing I can tell you, you despicable bastard.” Shango didn’t know if it was the pain that was breaking his judgement, or he felt the desire to end things on his own terms, but he knew he wasn’t going to last the night. He might as well speak his mind.

“You will never hold the throne, and I know the princess will raise an army to remove that shriveled head from that rotted neck.” He spat at the king, giving him a toothy grin while speaking, a fire in his gut that had been nothing but kindling. Sinal stared at the man with rage, ready to strike the fool across the jaw for his insolence, but he knew that it would only please the man.

“Your head will roll for those words cur.” Sinal spoke, motioning for the guards to grab the man. They moved, then, having to take time and saddle up the horses and summon the executioner.

The sun had crested into the afternoon as they passed through the northern gates, the body of Grueta pinned above the doors, barely alive and body on display for all to see, baring her shame to the world. Trumpeters heralded the call for people to come as Shango the second was forced to stumble behind the horse he had been forcibly tied to, broken bones grating along his arms. They dragged him to the executioner's block, waiting until the citizens had gathered round with pity in their eyes at the old lord.

“People of Hymnascal! Before you lies a traitor, one who harbored the people who had plotted and kidnapped the princess from her castle tonight. Let him be a reminder to all those who wish to protect these types of people!” King Sinal shouted to the people, before nodding to the axeman. He agreed before raising the axe, letting the people watch before bringing it down with a heavy thud, followed by the rattle of the basket at the base.

“Any traitors will meet the executioner's blade when they are caught. Not even the nobles shall be spared this fate. Any who have information come forth and serve your king to help us return the princess safely to her home!” He ordered the people before moving to return to the castle, leaving the body of Shango the second to be cleaned up by the guards as he rode in silent frustrations.

[Alura]

Day 1 [Day of Engagement Party] - Castle Stables, Early Morning

Riga was a slick-fingered miscreant from quite a young age. Perhaps the most charismatic of his little quartet, he delighted in acquiring whatever caught his interest. It could as soon be an old boot abandoned in the rain as a fine jewel, or really anything in between. It was a matter of skill in some ways, sleight of hand that needed honing. On the other end, he kept a wary eye out for those who had grown aware of his habits. This narrowly saved him on the night of the engagement celebration for King Balaser and his princess. Unexpected gongs could rarely be a good thing, and that is how the Lady Dowry's favourite ostrich feather somehow became wedged inside a priceless vase next to a few loose coins, an ivory comb carved with the crest of House Marwen, an unbroken wishbone, a little silver key, and the blue ribbon one of the Lord Arden's nieces had been wearing laced through her curls.

Innocuous as those might seem, no thievery was good thievery when there was a hunt on for thieves. Having divested himself of the evidence, Riga nearly tripped over a scampering messenger as he trotted across the open castle grounds towards the largest of the stables. It took some hunting amidst the chaos, knights clambouring about in all states of dress and undress with pages and squires tripping over themselves behind them - horses expressing their displeasure with a nip here and a trodding on of toes there. Jonas raked his fingers through his hair, sweat beading at his temples and rolling down his throat as he stopped to speak with Riga in their guises as simple servant and ostler.

"Look, if this is about earlier, I thought you were a girl. You were wearing her headscarf an-!"

Riga waved a hand impatiently, "Not to worry, Jonas. Wait - headscarf?"

Jonas eyed him uneasily, and after a moment of perplexed silence, they both seemed to silently agree to move forward.

"What was it you wanted?"

"Oh, right, sorry. What's all this then?"

"Princess has run off it seems. Having nightmares maybe."

Riga's brows arched nearly into his hairline. "Is she just, terrible timing."

"Mm." Grunted Jonas in agreement.

"Well listen, in that case I had best see what use I can be inside. You already send -?"

"Yes, already."

"Excellent." He started to walk off and fell back a pace, as though struck by another idea, "Oh, and one more thing."

"Yar?"

"Be careful will you. Looks like the dun horse might be a little lame. Best to see him back to the trader, don't you think?"

"Right you are."

That settled, Riga moved along and kept watch through the chaos seething inside the stone structure as he evaded the stampeding footfalls of the soldiers issuing out from it. He had no idea at the time what might be happening, but as he met the eyes of Alfson through one of the grand entrances to the large throne room where celebration had been replaced by silent and concerned guests, he flitted off to find the other two of their number.



Day 1 - Ignatio's, Night

Cloak far too big for him, the boy Jonas had sent as a messenger passed through the gates of the castle unimpeded. It was something of a small miracle, considering that in an effort to find accomplices of the escaped Princess Diana, the castle and its grounds were being sealed tight. One of the last to leave, along with a pregnant maid that one of the guards had pitied, he escorted the woman as far as her home on the northern residences where some of the castle servants made their homes before breaking away and turning towards Ignatio's.

When he went to the merchant's residence he was advised that the trade magnate was detained on business at his main headquarters within the town. Having been successful as a horse merchant, Ignatio had grown the family business into trades of all sorts - exotic luxury and finery that made him a perennial favourite even in a time of such political unrest. No one wanted to be on the outs with Ignatio. Still, he had crafted a sterling public persona and used his wiles to turn the best of every situation while allowing those who did business with him to also feel like they had won. He had charm to spare. Despite this, he was a sensible man. War abroad was good for business, but unrest at home was quite the opposite. And, truth be told, he did have a bit of a soft spot for his home territories and King Aminan. Some of his first contracts were with the royal family, and they had garnered interest from other quarters so that his well-deserved and self-created reputation could burgeon at a much faster rate. He had made the most of the opportunity, but Ignatio had liked the spirit of the reigning family. This new Sinal Balaser, the Usurper, asked for much and offered little beyond uncertainty and fear.

Serving as a pillar of the community in addition to his official duties, it was not uncommon for the townspeople to address their concerns to him before the knights or petitions to the castle directly. This served to increase his power, while taking petty squabbling and complaints out of the king's presence - something King Balaser seemed content to allow if it meant he did not have to listen to the inane braying of the townspeople and the peasantry who lived beyond the walls. He was known also for his lavish events, sometimes holding minor feasts in honour of the town and country traditions and sometimes hosting extravagant entertainment for those of his own social strata. He was a well-known friend to both the holy and the scholarly, and enjoyed a generally comfortable lifestyle.

There was another side to the man, however. The mask he wore had become a careful guise. His network of horse traders and riders, couriers had become the main route of the royal communications and with it much of the word that left the castle played directly into the hands of the de facto spymaster of the country. Shrewd and calculating, Ignatio had converted his own holdings into a quiet network leveraging the foundlings and infirm of the castle and surrounding areas into a veritable army of watchers. Little happened without Ignatio's knowledge, and because of this he was invaluable to the Resistance and deeply entrenched in the schemings of the old knights who led the movement. It was natural that Horatia's little band of friends should work with him closely - in fact, many of Horatia's work for the Resistance had been through him - as it was his trade to know a good horse and those of any use at managing them for a given task.

Thus, the messenger boy made directly for him upon slipping free of the castle and arrived at the great door of the palatial merchant's holdings within the town limits out of breath and huffing in the great courtyard beyond the main castle town square. The heavy wooden doors were partially open and light spilled across the cobbles as the scents of hay and oil rolled through the air and mingled with his sweat. Nearly doubled, one of the merchant's aides noticed him and grabbed him by the collar, helping him towards the stables lining one side of the great complex. It was one of the two largest holdings within the town and far from Ignatio's only property. Still, it would not do to associate openly with all of the riffraff of the place, so his trusted aides helped suss out trouble and news. The man had never outgrown his roots, however, building himself by his own hands - so he insisted on speaking with messengers himself whenever possible to avoid any miscommunications.

As he finished overlooking a manifest and tapped his knuckles against the chest of another merchant who was looking off at a tottering barrel of oil perched beside a swinging lantern to hand the documents back with his signature, Ignatio himself walked after his aide through the criss-cross of people still about their work so late into the night and wandered through a maze of low ceilings and thick wooden beams until he passed into the offices he kept for himself with a little shingle that advertised his services in gold. It was nearly dark compared to the warm bustle of the warehouse as both his office as the desks of his clerks were largely unused this time of night. The boy had been given a pint of beer and was swallowing it, nearly having caught his breath.

"Tell him what you told me." The aide urged.

"M'Lord, Jonas sends word what 'as happens at the castle, Sir. Won't let 'em leave, the guests. Says they'll keep 'til 'Er Majesty, the Princess is found, doesn't he? Barely made it out with the gates closing."

"Get to it," the aide nudged his thin shoulders. "Then we'll find you some supper."

"Jonas says to tell you 'She's been taken with a nightmare', Sir. That's all 'e said."

Ignatio's face never budged, but the shock rocked him. So it's underway at last, is it? May we be equal to it.

Offering a silent hope that those planted within the castle walls would remain undiscovered, he nodded to the boy and passed him a gold coin. Drawing back the aide a moment he whispered, "Not here. Take the boy to Tabitha's for a meal and a drink, will you? Best he not be seen here again tonight - nor you."

With a grunt of acknowledgement the man escorted the messenger out from the place and Ignatio set about gathering a slew of other runners in all shapes and walks to carry the word to the others. It would not be safe to gather the Resistance leaders tonight - nor likely until the inquiries had concluded, as the castle that seemed to loom larger over the town would have its eyes hawkishly on any such activities. He hoped, however, to have word on who else might be riding with Horatia and her runaway bride tonight.

A faint smile lifted the edge of his mouth. He might've known the first match would have been struck by the impetuous rider. He only hoped she knew what she had bitten off when it came to the king, young enough yet not always to see the line between foolishness and bravery.



Day 2 - Castle Stockades, Early Afternoon

Feeling the pounding of his head with every step, there was still a lightness as if Brand's gut had unclenched at the word that they would be punished by humiliation and allowed to be retained in-service. At least, the one of their three-man watch remaining who had been Resistance members paid in service for the night. It was not what he had hoped he would be doing today, but it beat the alternative. He shuffled on the platform, arms freed in order to remove his armour from him. Though the same steps were taken with the others, the men who carried out the king's orders seemed a little disinclined to jostle him roughly the way they had his companions. Even injured and unarmed he was an enormous fighter and not the sort of person anyone wanted to anger unnecessarily.

Shouldering his way forward towards the stockades, Brand bent and was practically kneeling due to his greater height. They had had to adjust for him already, but there seemed to be little interest in belabouring the punishment. Some of the servants walked past, a few nobles who were no doubt not entirely willing guests. Their eyes brushed by and Brand could feel them any time someone passed the little side yard dedicated to such penalties, but the tension from the night before was still simply too much for them to dwell on the men held here. There were a few others, their crimes uncertain - and equally uncertain was it that they had committed any crime at all.

Uncomfortable already, Brand's joints and muscles ached from the awkward positioning and his lips were chapped with thirst. It had been a long night and the sun was unforgivingly harsh despite the chill in the air. His head was splitting and he was almost certain he'd broken a rib or two in Capilet's escape. He consoled himself that they had done their duty, though. So close to perfect.

He sighed and a guard turned his eyes on him sympathetically. No one liked to punish their own, but no one would dare stay their hand with the mood the king was in... so the man lashed him again, raking a back already pulped and lacerated from the forty he had received. He felt weak, nauseous, but he struggled to master himself and went quiet. He was sorry for the maid who had gone before the king before he and his two companions, but tried to remind himself that they did these things so that such treatments would end.

Brand heard one of the other guards who had been beaten and placed in the stocks faint again. He had been the only one of the three to keep his feet in the flogging - and one of them had been thin and on edge before it began. He hoped for the man's family that he would last it out, but he had simply hung bleeding and unconscious when last Brand had caught a glimpse of him. Grim times, indeed.

A familiar shadow crossed the courtyard and Brand felt a surge of new strength. At least, he thought gratefully, he had proof another of their number was still alive and uncaptured. He let slip a silent prayer that the other two were whole, and that Horatia and the princess would continue to evade the king's clutches.

Riga had not found Brand in the tumult of the ruined engagement party, though seeing the men from the eastern gate carrying the body of one of their number he felt his heart drop for a moment. Too small to be Brand. The big man limped along, but had not seemed in dire danger. Brand had not seem him and Riga would see neither Alfson or Brand again until the following afternoon, when he crossed the yard holding the stocks and blended with a few other servants as they carried vegetables toward the kitchens to help feed the unexpected slew of guests the castle was now responsible to feed until the king's pleasure was to release them. He hoped his silent support was noted, but his eyes narrowed slightly despite the soft gossip of his fellow servants as they finally crossed the threshold back into the castle itself. There were rumours of an execution in the wings. He could only hope that the princess had not been recaptured - and that if she had the Resistance was ready to move. Of Horatia there had been no sign, and between Jonas' cryptic information and Alfson's calm, he hoped that was a good indication that he knew more of what was happening... though Alfson was always calm.



Day 2 - Castle Execution Yard, Afternoon

Ignatio was a cautious man, ostensibly a well-respected merchant who dealt in luxury textiles and hard-to-obtain exotica from far and wide. Despite his standing, his absence had been noted from the king's engagement party. Oh, he had certainly supplied a few of the more choice delicacies they had enjoyed, but the king's moods were fickle. He had graciously accepted Ignatio's absence, but had sent a summons to him alongside those to any other absent members of the upper echelon of society - merchant, scholar, and noble, in order to "make clear the obligations of those who have been gifted their lands, titles, and wealth at the pleasure of the crown".

Whatever he might have thought that to mean, Ignatio was not prepared for the sight that greeted him upon reaching Castle Square. The dais that had been erected for the engagement announcement had been half-torn down and then hastily reconstructed in order to allow for a procession. As he looked about the crowd around him, a few of his aides and other associates half-encircling him, he saw that even the elderly and reclusive of the nobility had joined them. Elward the Scholar, Danbury the Younger, as well as an assortment of disheveled-looking merchants who seemed to be at odds with the abrupt call away from their duties. Even the reclusive, unfortunate, perpetually stone-faced daughter of the ruby-draped Lady Goron stood beside her jovial mother looking as sour as usual despite seeming otherwise in good spirits. Ignatio kept his signature half-smile, hands folded calmly as he waited to see what the procession now almost upon them might bring.

Around Ignatio in the crowd, though he did not see them all others of the Resistance were mingling. Jonas led one of the horses en route to the square, a royal livery hastily thrown over to disguise his sweat-stained ostler's garments. Riga stalked through the crowd, having accompanied the growing number of servants, pages, and other castle staff drawn to the excitement. He found a spot near where he and the others had watched the engagement announcements only a day before and shuffled in the fresh straw that had not been swept away in order to lay down new. His stomach knotted into a tangle. His eyes were drawn to the approaching somber parade, noting that a weary Duchess Epona rode at the king's side, face drawn and ashen. His brow furrowed. Why had she been chosen to ride beside him as opposed to his closer allies in other houses? The knot turned to thorns and dug into him, heart thudding as a sense of wrong settled over him.

The rest seemed to suddenly become slowed in time, each motion and word hanging in air as if by some misty magic. Horror and curiosity and fear froze them all. Slowly the procession ended, the riders dismounting and the Lady Epona helped down to stand at the edge of the dais by the executioner. The nobles faces reflected her own attempt at stoicism despite the pallour that had fallen over her. Shango, Horatia's father was led behind a horse, his noble lineage and generations of long service to the throne of Hymnascal cast aside as he was led in a manner far ill-befitting him to the place of his execution. Even prisoners of war were afforded a measure more honour to walk the way on their own legs. The faces about the square were taught, the hearts of the Resistance assembled crying for justice.

Far beyond the way in the distance, Grueta hung above the gates like an obscene omen of what was to come, body bared to the ravages of the sky and land, to the eyes of those who wished not to see the king's cruelty unavoidably fixed large over his own gates. Bile rose in Riga's throat. Ignatio's eyes hardened like obsidian, sharp and angry over his easy half-smile and relaxed face. Jonas knuckles were white along the lead as he guided the horse that brought the disgraced man forward and he gave him his arm to help him to the stair to climb. A soldier roughly jostled him upward, but he kept his footing and shuffled as upright as he could, face set against the axe. The king could say what he would: the nobility of his line was in chivalry of spirit. No decree, no torment could strip that dignity from him.

Refusing to bend the knee at the command of the Great Interloper, he stood tall until he was forced to kneel, dragged at the hands of the castle guard. That moment, the step forward of the guards, the rough hands, Jonas stepping back with the horse as his face was cast in pity and shame. The swell of the crowd and the pity in the eyes of those who, even if they had not been fast friends of the broken minor noble, respected him even in animosity as an upright man pulsed like a heartbeat. That pulse reverberated through them all, broken by the king's accusation.

“People of Hymnascal! Before you lies a traitor, one who harbored the people who had plotted and kidnapped the princess from her castle tonight. Let him be a reminder to all those who wish to protect these types of people!”

The air was taut, punctuated finally by the irreversible fall of the axe.

“Any traitors will meet the executioner's blade when they are caught. Not even the nobles shall be spared this fate. Any who have information come forth and serve your king to help us return the princess safely to her home!” He ordered the people before moving to return to the castle, leaving the body of Shango the second to be cleaned up by the guards as he rode in silent frustrations.

Not even the nobles... the unthinkable, spilling blessed blood in the same way he had opened the veins of King Aminan.

Engulfed by rage, one of the Resistance members threw back his cloak and hefted a heavy stone, hurling it at the Usurper. "HAIL TO THE TRUE KING! HAIL TO KING AMINAN! HAIL TO THE PRINCESS DIANA!"

The crowd seemed to turn as one, eyes fixing on the man who defiantly drew his sword and fought back against the guards who moved quickly to stifle him, archers taking aim from the overlooks to silence him should he somehow evade the men on foot.

Ignatio's own guards moved to aid the royal soldiers, a few hanging back with the merchant's aides to defend him in case of any threat. The crowd parted, too afraid to act. The Resistance were silent, unable to intervene without exposing more of themselves. The man fought bravely until, slumped between two soldiers he was thrown over a horse to be taken back to the castle and, no doubt, interrogated. One of the old knights amidst the crowd pulled his greying beard and watched disapprovingly as he balled his hand into a fist.

Soon.

The square was quickly cleared, some of those present being escorted back to the castle - as with the Duchess Epona whose skirts were now stained with the blood of her vassal. When she arrived back to her chambers at the castle, she fainted dead away and remained there, seeing only her ladies.

Riga inserted himself into the clean up and cleared away the castle square, even managing a bribe to smuggle away the body of the executed knight. As dusk drew the silky, star-sewn burial veil of night across Hymnascal, he managed to have a cart secret him away to Ignatio's. This was the price of the throne, he told himself, a lump in his throat as he considered what his friend had already lost - what they all had. The last of a line with no son to carry on their name. Sniffing, he kept his head down and made for the Owl & Thistle to bury his misery in drink.



Day 2 - The Friary, Afternoon

Horatia bolted upright as if she had been struck by lightning. Hair a wild mane framing her olive face, lips parted in a half-strangled cry. Her heart raced in her chest and for a moment the daylight lancing through the windows and gaps in the wooden door of the little stone cottage confused her. She had forgotten where she was, panic painted across her face and an agony like a knife. She could not remember her dream - in fact, she had been certain she had not dreamed at all, and yet... It was almost as if someone had called to her, but no matter how she strained to hear nothing came. Unease crept over her spine and she slid into a seated position, walking her back up the wall as she tried to keep quiet. The princess still seemed to be sleeping, no doubt exhausted from her journey.

Keeping the fur she had slept in wrapped about her shoulders, Horatia creaked open the door and eased outside, gently closing it again. Her bare feet prickled in the straw the brothers used to line the paths, soft moss, seeds, and grasses blending with the cool of the soil as she moved over them. The sun was starting to fall again from its zenith and while her body was still a bit stiff and sore she felt recovered. The dark half-moons under her eyes now had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. Looking around, she noted the smoke rising from the chimney as the brothers began preparing supper for the evening. Her hand flew to cradle the heavy stone suspended from her throat.

Just a long night, that's all. Keep moving and things will right themselves soon. No doubt the others are having all the fun preparing to launch the Resistance's long-laid plans. Alfson is probably in his element winding up schemes while Brand and Riga are waiting for the real fighting to begin...

Her usual assurances to herself seemed lackluster in the afternoon light, so she wound her way through the trees and enjoyed the walk to the meadow amidst the sea of trees that the friary used for its horses. There was something fresh about the air here, clean and bright. Wildflowers dotted up along the fencing, the majestic creatures within its bounds idling, grazing, and running at their leisure. Lifting herself up, she sat astride the gate with hands bracing the post. Capilet, seeing her, moved to her side and she smiled at him, her fingers combing between his ears and along his neck. Pressing her forehead to him, she whispered promises and secrets as she always had and he understood in his way - if not the words, then the heart behind them. She lifted an apple she had taken from the bowl on the little table of the cottage to him, holding it steady as he enjoyed the treat.

Her eyelids felt heavy still, but her spirits rose a bit knowing Capilet was well. After some time had passed and perhaps sensing the change in her himself, he moved off to roam and she watched the muscular lines of his form as he explored the meadow. She lost herself in the clouds and the quiet sound, much like waves crashing on shore, as the trees rustled their leaves and swayed their boughs above her. The snap of a twig caught her ear and she startled to attention, fingers nearly dropping her from where she had leaned far back from her perch to view the sky stretching over the field.

[Koti~]

Freedom was painful, and confusing. Sleep had been a blessed dreamless affair, his mind and body too exhausted to drag up unpleasant memories. He didn’t stir once with the coming and going of Horatia, dead to the world as he lay on the bed, just letting consciousness be slowly dragged back to him with the need for food and to move.

Damanius let out the most uncomfortable groan in his life as he began to stir from his near dead sleep. He shifted, feeling the fur blanket fall around him, blinking like an owl as he pushed himself up carefully, careful not to shift his legs more than needed. His eyes traveled the cozy room, taking in the bare room, a far cry from the luxury stone and velvet sheets that he had grown accustomed to. He didn’t fight the smile that broke his lips as he just sat there, surveying the sparse living quarters, eyeing the dimming fire and the splayed clothes and dusty boots at the entrance. He wasn’t sure who had entered the room, but his mind was already beginning to niggle him about that. He tried his best to quash that feeling that settled in his stomach, shifting carefully to the edge without letting out any grimace of pain.

Carefully he managed to place himself on the edge of the bed and grabbed the small pot that the girl, Horatia was her name, had given him. That night seemed long past, a night that dragged on longer than his day. A soft hiccup broke him as the face of the guard flashed across his mind, the rest of the memories bubbling up as he began a sort of awkward hobble to the door, to double check that it was as secured to his liking. With the room secured, he finally opened the pot, taking a whiff of the paste inside. Allowing himself a smile he worked the hem of the robes up high enough. Blanching at the darkening spots along his inner thigh, Damanius began generally applying the paste to the spots.

*Sweet merciful god~* Damanius mentally moaned as he felt the effects take place, along with the general motions just soothing to his abused thighs. He sat there, just soaking in the momentary bliss, letting the joy of the moment wash over him for the time being. Damanius’ relief was broken by a rapping on the door, startling the young man to jump up, a grimace painting his face.

“Please wait, I am rather.. Indecent.” Diana spoke, trying to calm her beating heart while freeing the robe around her waist, letting it slip. No response was given, drawing her up short as another knock sounded from the door. Paranoia spoke of worse things before she fully recalled where she was and let out a breath of annoyance to herself while moving towards the door. Flicking hair back into place, she moved to the door and opened it, smiling politely at the brother standing in front of her.

Without a word spoken, he offered up the riding dress, a fresh scent of pollen and the woods covered the dress. Diana picked it up, allowing it to unfurl into the wind. She looked it over, noting the surprisingly high detail of the repair as she ran her fingers over it, noting the thin white threads that repaired the small pocked holes that rocks had punctured into it. On matching sides were the same threading, adding the small detail to keep it looking regal and planned, instead of a simple patch. Even her personal tailor had not shown this level of dedication to craft.

“Thank you Brother. This is a wonderful repair.” Diana offered up as she turned to the man. He smiled and bowed deep to her, taking praise in stride as he motioned back to the smoke rising from the main hall. Cupping his hands together, he made the motion of drinking from a bowl and motioned back to the hall before bowing again to excuse him. Diana took that as a sign for dinner and promised to follow soon. She had thoughts to hunt down Horatia, but the thought of food broke that. Besides, the peace she could feel at the moment was comforting after the strain of the night.

A break away from that woman would also allow him to distance himself from what had happened. Deciding to forgo shoes, he took one last look around the room before heading out, deciding to remain in the robes. He didn’t feel like taking the hassle of putting on the riding dress. Moving from the cottage, Damanius made his way towards the hall, judging his steps against the prickly ground. Accustomed to wearing shoes so often, the packed dirt and scattered straw both itching and tickling his feet. He couldn’t help the smile that broke upon his face while walking, just soaking in the feeling. He felt lighter than he had in ages. Cautiousness and paranoia still dogged his steps, but the simple joy of walking without having to dart around guards or skitter past the servants left a light feeling in his chest, a weight off his shoulders.

‘I could get used to this.’ Damanius thought while walking towards the path, picking up speed some as his destination became more of suggestion as he explored the feeling of freedom. The relief granted by the paste was fueling that feeling as he began darting around, just stretching his legs more than anything. He knew it was extremely out of character that he presented to the world, but he cared not for it. It had been sheer ages since he had been able to just enjoy his surroundings. There was no guise to keep, no darkness lurking in the stones or halls. For once, there was just him and the land. He allowed himself that luxury in the moment, just stretching and testing his bounds of just trying to let himself be himself, despite constantly reminding himself that he was acting a fool.


Monastery Stable Grounds

Amberlin raised a hand in greeting, stopping the momentary work of picking straw from his habit, the soft rustle of his sandals on the ground his only real approach. He carried the scent of the farm animals they tended, a basket of fresh fruit and even some eggs nestled in a simple brown cloth. He had spotted her approach earlier, had studied her movements for the brief moments as she had sought Capilut for comfort. While he didn’t know the story of before, having been away from the table when the women rode in, he could still remember the stress of hard rides and long nights.

Setting the basket down, he bowed to her, a formal greeting before righting himself, turning to watch Capilut for a few moments. Amberlin, while very content with his life, didn’t mind the thought of riding again, taking joy in working with the animals and even the stray horse of travelers that came across the grounds. He turned fully to look to Horatia, studying her like a father watches over their child, trying to glean what was on their mind without even a spoken word. Reaching down, he plucked an apple from the basket, offering it up with an upturned eyebrow and inquisitive look, as to ask what was on her mind.

[Alura]

Day 2 - The Friary, Late Afternoon

With a sad smile, Horatia accepted the proffered apple, turning it in her fingers.

"Do you ever miss it, Amberlin?" She asked the silent man. "Riding, the camaraderie of the men? My father said you were one of the fiercest fighters among King Aminan's knights, but that you were also one of the most just. He said sometimes young men would come just to train under you."

She regarded his own wistful smile for a moment before turning her face towards the sinking sun, shoulders sinking as well as she sighed.

"I'm worried we haven't heard word back yet. Old Byron said two or three days, but you know how he is, bless him. He'll see the silver lining in every dark cloud until it tarnishes around him and then be thankful for the cover and the rain. Part of his charm."

Amberlin couldn't resist a cough that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. He knew Byron perhaps best of all. All living, at least. Setting his work aside, he moved to pat her leg, leaning against the fence as they watched the horses together.

"You know I met Riga when we were living at the castle town before..." She hesitated, then continued without finishing the thought they both understood. "My brother and I practically lived in the castle itself, running through its halls with the other children. He was just 'Lord Vorsyth's son' then. Strange, only child. I thought he was more tightly laced than Lady Marwen's corsets. Then one day, I caught him on the edge of the grounds with a tin cup full of ladies' jewelry. He'd been collecting earrings to get all of the colours. We fought over it and I told him he should return them. We both had black eyes for a week and bloody noses to boot, though I'm certain he had the worst end of things." Her lips twitched in annoyance. She'd given as good as she'd gotten, but being a little boy had made his punishment heavier.

"It made no sense, really, his father could've afforded many times over what he had taken, but he said that these were different because they had stories attached. People gifted them, they had meaning. And they were pretty." Horatia laughed, "Such a strange boy. But we talked while we waited for our punishments to be handed down and by the end of it we were friends.

"The girls liked him, though. The older he got, he showed off his treasures, or gifted them. Once he accidentally gifted one of them back her mother's necklace. You should've seen the upset it caused, Amberlin. That woman was more bull than human, ha! When her daughter told her how she'd come by the necklace Riga's father... Well, he wasn't an affectionate father, but he did end Riga's thieving for a while. Until he met Arletta. I've never seen a man more moon-struck - he talks about her still. She kissed him once, I think, outside the kitchens at one of the castle masquerades. He was worthless a fortnight before he could pull his head far enough out of the clouds to get anything done.

"Beautiful woman. Not noble, though, Arletta... He'd run away with her if she'd let him, I think. Just as well for us she doesn't think it right, I suppose. Besides, his father would do worse than break her heart if he knew." She finished her ramble softly, "I hope he is with her now."

"If they caught him with anything on his person... Or if Brand was given away - Amberlin, even if he is well, will they let him live for letting us escape? Alfson is clever, I think he'll be safe. How will he get out of the castle unnoticed, though? He's gotten himself too close for it to go unnoticed. Were we too impatient?"

She rubbed the back of her neck and swung her leg back over the fence. When her feet touched the ground cooling further as the sun died, the friar rested a hand on her shoulder. The warmth was reassuring and her eyes prickled, but she sniffed and blinked upwards. She knew that she had gone on about nothing, that Riga's misspent youth was meaningless to either of their lives now. What she did not say was that the strange noble boy had also seen her lose control of the horse she had tried to sneak out from the stables to go off on her own adventure not a week after their fight, furious that she was not also being sent off as a ward to learn to fight as Riga would be within the coming days. Across the wood where the king's men hunted deer and rabbit she had gone, until it had gone bad. Tree limbs had torn the ribbons from her hair, berating her, scratching her body as she tried to tuck her head down to avoid them. It had turned into a bit of a panic before Riga had seen her and had caught up to help. Despite the chaos, she had loved the freedom - and had only doubled her time towards mastering horsemanship and care from that day.

All that Riga had learned under the tutelage of the family to which he'd been sent as ward were passed on to her, and they'd staged mock battles and sparred through the years far more like brothers than a proper noble gentleman and a lesser girl who should have been learning to manage a household and courting a husband. The first day she had eschewed gowns and slippers for more practical breeches and riding boots, some of their number had hurled insults, and a few had walked away from the training yard. He'd taken one look at her, smiled, and gone forward as if she had always arrived that way.

She loved all of her friends and they would all do the best they could for each other, but Riga was her oldest friend and had been almost like a brother, especially... Especially when her brother had fallen during the usurpation. They had learned tricks to riding and grown together, thick as thieves and twice as much trouble. When they had met again after the king's fall, angry and restless, it was only naturally they had fallen back in together and eventually joined the wild band of youths that had created their quartet and the little pocket of resistance that was now infusing the old knight's organised Resistance at the castle town with life.

As she picked up some of the brother's load, Amberlin waved her away and took it back, indicating she should go put on some shoes before joining them for the evening meal. She studied him a moment, then threw her arms around his neck, hugging him with a sniffle. He stiffened a moment, then smiled down at her.

When Horatia moved off, apple crunching through the darkening light, he watched the light filtering across the meadow and her receding form before turning back toward the chapel himself, his mouth set in a determined line.

The woman herself creaked back through the cottage door to find the place empty. She shuffled about, throwing the blankets and furs into some sort of tidiness before securing her belt and tugging on her boots. One hand shifted to push back her sword so that she could tie her laces when she laughed at herself for forgetting all weapons were handed to the brothers upon arrival. Poking one finger lightly into the empty place she kept her dagger, she felt thankful that it was plain. No crest, no maker's mark, no emblem of her family or the Lady Epona's coat-of-arms. It would not be traced back to them when it was retrieved from the dead captain.

Swallowing, she wondered what her father would have to say about the business. No doubt he'd level ultimatums as he always tried to do. This was "the final straw", this was "unbefitting a lady of her station", and such and so forth. They would argue, she would leave, then they would dine together before the moon ran another cycle. Their rows were like seasons, intense and blustering and drifting away when it mattered or when a thaw set in... The joy was rarer the older she grew, though unknown to her it was fear that pushed her father to fight with her over the path she was choosing.

Soldiers fought, and soldiers died. They had already lost so much that the thought of losing his only child, his only remaining family was unbearable to him. He had done his best to keep them away, in the quiet lands their family had been given generations past for their service, to keep them safe. Still, she would not be quiet and with his wife lost to him there was no gentle mediation to stand between his grief and worry and the headstrong anger of his daughter. His own efforts to guide her back to something approaching an acceptable course, to shout her into line, had only served to goad her further apart from him. He'd as soon have shouted the wind out of blowing.

As Horatia walked toward the smoke rising above the kitchens, she was blissfully unaware of the dealings at the castle square decked out for execution. Unaware of the intentions of her father despite their differences and their shared, yet separate grief. She only hoped she had not stepped too far across the line for him to forgive her, though he'd not say it, by allowing her home as he always did. Would they speak of trade with Ignatio, of horses and the textiles some of the women who worked the land beside their husbands had taken up when her own mother could no longer manage it, of the coin and its uses to the estate, and the taxes owed to the duchy and the crown?

A touch of homesickness curled in her belly and she promised herself that she would visit him as soon as the princess was in the hands of the old knights of the Resistance and the trio left behind in the castle were safe. The horsewoman slid her tongue around her mouth, savouring the pleasant sweetness left behind by the apple that Amberlin had given her. Her stomach rumbled, urging her to hurry.

When she shoved the heavy wooden door to the same hall where she and Diana had dined that morning, the chill outside immediately began to thaw in the warm air that carried the scents of freshly baked bread and soup. The friars had brought leek, potato, parsley and rosemary from their little farm along with a bit of wild thyme and they bubbled together in a heavy pot. There was even fresh butter laid out with the apples Amberlin had collected, pitchers of wine and ale ready to warm them with the hearty meal. It reminded Horatia of how much she enjoyed visiting when she could.

Old Byron was seated in the midst of a knot of brothers, regaling them with tales perhaps slightly more than half true. They listened, some raptly and some rolling their eyes, but none moved away or seemed to resent his boisterous presence. The visiting monks and a traveler or two sat near their number, appreciative of the good food as well.

Collecting another apple and taking a firm bite, Horatia propped it against the side of the bowl of stew one of the friar's handed her. Wedging herself in beside the princess, she nodded to the other woman. Her eyes checked over her face for any signs of pain before digging into the food as if she had a hole for a stomach.

Between bites she managed, "Rest well-?" She hesitated, noting the travelers. "Rest well, My Lady?"

Tucking up one knee, she half-turned so that her knee was pressing into the princess's thigh, carrying her bowl with her to continue to eat. "Seems Old Byron is too busy with his stories for much news."

She wondered how badly their night flight had treated the girl. She should really learn to ride, and perhaps that would fill some of their time waiting here. Then again, if Diana broke her neck in a fall Byron would have her own hide for leather - and she didn't even dare think what the others would say. She did seem like a decent hand with that blade, though... Dense as she could be when it came to delicate affairs, Horatia mulled over a way to bring up that fact without referencing the death of the captain of the guards again.

Pouring them both a cup of the simple ale two of the brothers were well-known for brewing, she tapped hers to Diana's and held it aloft.

"To new beginnings."

[Koti~]

CASTLE GROUNDS
WIZARDS KEEP
LATE NIGHT

Sinal strode around the tower, grumbling deeply to himself as he watched the man at the other table work, a bubbling cauldron set in the firepit. He was the one man who had yet to fail him, and the only person who he allowed for a callous nature between them. Between them both sat a long table, various vials and powders scattered about the heavy table, a map of the lands placed between them. The man, Ganondorf, was at work with a certain powder, a bright mixture he was handling carefully as he moved it around the table. Sinal watched the man, studying the strange mixture that the old man worked upon, letting his silence hover between them like a laden cow. He dare not disturb the man just yet.

Finally the wizened man placed the powder into a glass vial and sealed it with wax before letting out a sigh of relief. It was slipped into the most recent mixture of other vials before he took off the leather gloves he had been working with. Atop it was a blanket of cloth before the entire thing was sealed with a wooden lid that was held down tight with leather. No bigger than a boot, the box was set upon the table in front of the king, plain as the day could see.

“So, that is it? The serum is ready?” Sinal finally asked, his frenetic pacing having stopped at the edge of the table. He was given a grin in return before finally motioning the man to speak.

“Yes, your majesty. I need subjects to test it on, but just a few pinches mixed into the person's food will cause them to spill their guts and reveal their truths. Anything you wish to know will be yours like ripened fruit. It’s quite the little joy I must say. Made of a mixture of nocturne pox and fungi, the person will be unable to hide anything from you. No more than three pinches should be enough, less you wish the target to spill more than their words.” He spoke, chuckling at the cruel intentions. Sinal looked to the man with a disgusted look, though tossed the gold coins upon the table and picked up the box.

“So, are the whispers true though? The peasants have been speaking of a missing bride.” Ganondorf spoke as he returned to the cauldron, stirring it with a heavy metal spoon. Sinal let a growl rumble through his chest as the loose lips of the men, yet let out a side.

“She was spirited away from me, yes. None have come forth to speak of her, and those that I have tried to force are either to dumb to remember anything, or tightlipped. This serum should get them speaking the truth soon enough though. REgardless, your services have been well accepted wizard. I shall see that one of the street women are brought up soon for your reward.” He spoke, a cruel grin appearing as he looked to the box cradled in his arm. He was out of there soon though, closing the door behind him. The old man unnerved even himself, yet his strange tonics and powders had gotten him into his seat. The black powder the man had brought with him from the east had been like a sign to him, the raw destructive power higher than any catapult could ever manage, and much easier to sneak into places without the enemy knowing it.

ROYAL BEDROOM

“Servant, fetch me the crier boy, I have a message that needs to be sent.” Sinal ordered after having changed his outfit, doffing the regal attire from the party before and affixing the gold embroidered outfit of his family crest, affixed with the sapphire gems holding his cape in place. He had hidden the box of serum away, already plotting on who to use the material on first. It would need to be someone that he could test the serum on successfully and its limits.

“You called for me, your majesty?” The young boy spoke, kneeling at the door after announcing himself. Sinal turned to look at the scrawny boy, giving him the same look one gives to a cockroach. Clearing his throat, he motioned the boy to follow him.

“Send a message out to the lands. Any who can give me information about the princess or her rider will be granted 1,000 gold coins for their information, as long as it can be held true. Any who lie or their information doesn’t pan out will see themselves thrown into the gallows until the princess is returned to me.” Sinal spoke, stopping onto to make sure the boy was following closely behind him.

“As well, any who can bring me the princess and the rider shall see them granted a fiefdom and the rank of nobility for their services.” Sinal added onto that, his scowl turning into a cruel smile. While he knew the peasants despised him, the most poor would not turn down the chance to enter the upper echelon of nobility and the wealth that provided. They may hate him, but even the stout heart of gold could be broken by the promises of riches.


MONASTERY MAIN HALL

Damanius had taken the time to make himself presentable once he reached the main door, puffing a bit from the excursion. There was little he could do about the flyaway hair, but it was a minor annoyance in the tidal waves of scents coming from the halls. It was paltry from the food he had been raised upon in the castle, but there was something different about this. Opening the door, he smiled as the warmth washed over him, brushing away the cold that had steadily crept up his body. The brothers gave him minor acknowledgement with their bows before returning to their meals. Damanius was just as willing to allow the silence and sneak off with a bowl of food before a booming voice grabbed him, accompanied by a rather hefty arm.

“Ah, so you do live after all? I’ll have to have Horatia ride harder than that!” Byron spoke, letting out a chuckle at his own humor as Damanius jumped from the sudden weight and words. He turned his face up to look at the older gentleman, responding with a polite smile.

“Sir Byron, it is a pleasure to see you again. I appreciate your concern, but I just desire to grab some food and retire the..” Diana began before getting a clap on the shoulder, the shock making her go quiet in surprise.

“Nonsense, that is no way to enjoy a meal. Come sit with the others, let me regale you with tales you unheard of.” He spoke jovially before leaning down close enough.

“Besides, it may do you good to listen to others and be with the common folk. You’ve been locked away for far too long.” He spoke carefully to her before guiding her over to the semi circle of people that were already nestled in, some travelers speaking of the rough roads and troubles of travel. Diana only gave a half nod while allowing Byron to take the empty bowl and return it filled with the strong stew and even some of the ale from the locals.

“Sorry about the disturbance my friends, I was just greeting my niece here. Troubling ride in from the night, though not as bad as her mother was.” He spoke loudly as he reclaimed the seat at the front, getting a few laughs from the men as focus was drawn back to him.

Damanius sat and worked on his stew, more focused on the food rather than the stories, his hunger heavy as he worked through the soup, the ale strong enough to make him choke on the taste upon a first swig. He found himself focused on the stories just as raptly as the others around Byron, amazed at the visages it painted for him. He knew the words were only half true, yet it was such a shift from before that it felt like listening to his father regale him in stories of their campaigns upon the war trails, the different knights who served under him and the feats of strength he had seen.

So wrapped up in the stories, Damanius didn’t even notice Horatia settling down next to him until she addressed him, her voice just about a whisper to not draw attention. He turned to study her for a moment before responding with a shrug of his shoulders.

“To new beginnings.” She spoke, taking a swig of the ale and letting out a pleased sigh. Diana looked to her mug and then to Horatia, the guilt from before being replaced with some form of understanding. Both were stuck here now, their actions the night prior have landed them attached at the hip as Diana shifted herself to grant Horatia some more room, as much as she could on the small space upon the bench.

“Thank you for the medicine. It was most … relieving.” Diana spoke, a tinge of pain reminding her of the soreness of her thighs. She had to resist the urge to sooth her thighs as she finished off the stew, letting a comfortable silence fill between them as she set the bowl down. Her hands wrapped around the ale mug while listening to Byron delve into another story of his, a wealth of stories and humor. She looked to Horatia, studying her.

Even for a lesser lady, Horatia carried herself like a proper knight, the opposite of himself. While the woman carried herself with pride and strength, he had allowed others to carry him. He wished they could trade roles, she the strong prince that could rally the armies to conquer the king, while he would just be the lady in waiting, gifted with soft words. She surprisingly, was everything he was not. He needed to fix that, especially if he wanted people to honestly take him seriously.

“I have.. A request to make of you. I want to be able to show people my strength when I go to reclaim my rightful seat. I can’t do that looking like a hapless child holding onto the back of a woman for support. If possible, can you teach me to ride a horse?” Diana spoke, feeling a bit foolish for having to make the request. She knew it should have been something she had learned much earlier in life, but none of her tutors thought it a worthy pursuit. Once Sinal had taken over, there was even less time to even think about it.

[Alura]

Day 2 - The Friary, Late Afternoon

Shrugging off the thanks, Horatia took another swallow of ale and grinned knowingly. "Imagine you're broken in harder than the horse at the pace we kept. Glad it helped."

The fineness of the Diana's speech was something that Horatia had lost over the years... or at least, that's what she hoped. It was good to be able to blend in where needed, but nobility was often far from noble, and she was not yet sure if the princess would prove to be the image of her father that Byron seemed to take her for or another spoiled aristocrat simpering about without any real use. Still, the image of her rounding with bow drawn flashed across her mind and her lips turned up faintly. Perhaps, even if she was a little impulsive, her instincts were good. There were many routes to success, something she herself knew well. Sometimes the ugliest was the necessary - or simply the most obvious. The death of the captain of the guard was the result of an impetuous action, but it had well-served them. At least, she thought she saw the reasons for it and hoped that it would. It was far from the first time such a thing had been done by a youth in a shaky position.

Drawing a breath and crunching another bite of apple, Horatia narrowed her eyes at Diana appraisingly. She liked that the girl had asked of her own accord... Her eyes slid to Byron, considering what the man might think. As long as it didn't kill her and she was mostly in one piece, he might allow it. What Byron did not know usually did not hurt him, either... With a gulp, she flexed a shoulder in quiet agreement.

"Depends on you. Depends on the horse. I can keep you in the saddle, but whether it's tied into place or on your own strength," She repeated, "Will depend on you. You have to make me a promise, though: no running away. With patrols out, there are even odds they would recapture you before we would find you. You might get some foolish idea that that's necessary at some point, but I assure you that your odds of survival are much higher with us than without us.

"No time like the present to learn. Meet me at the meadow after they light the lanterns for midnight mass. If you are serious, that is." They would see if she was. No one could control their origins, where they started in life and how they arrived to the portal into adulthood. What they did when they came to that threshold was the beginning of defining who they would be. Diana was young, and she had a sword over her head already, though whether she quite realised yet what the Resistance would ask of her, what the people needed from her, was anyone's guess. She seemed bright enough, healthy enough despite a lack of sunshine and open air. Maybe there was hope she could be more than a figurehead.

Catching Byron's gaze, Horatia dipped her eyes below the rim of her cup and pretended not to see the look he was giving her. In the back of her mind she was still marking time. Joaquim was still gone, and she wondered what was keeping him.

[Koti~]

“I will keep that promise, though I make no such vows about the horse.” Diana spoke at an attempt to make a joke. She was thankful that the girl was willing to teach her, to help her grow from just a simple treasure locked away. Her eyes drifted to Byron, who was looking at them with a mixture of curiosity and something else, like a parent watching their kid to prevent them from trying something stupid. She couldn’t hold the gaze as she finished off her current mug of ale, looking into its depths before letting out a sigh.

A steady silence fell between them, Damanius unable to place the feelings bubbling between them. It was like a tick in the back of his head, a need to fill the silence that sat heavy between them, yet feeling unable to start on a topic. He still didn’t want to talk about the night prior, and nothing about the place had grabbed her yet to really talk about. Most of the others had moved on, the few brothers that had come in late eating in silence while the travelers headed to the cottages they had purchased for the night. His meal was gone, and he sat, clutching the empty mug as he just let the world move about him, letting the quiet thicken like a cotton blanket.

“You two could make a drowned man look pleased.” Byron spoke as he moved to speak with them, his voice a bit raspy from his tales. Throwing back the rest of his ale, he let out a rather loud sigh and settled into the bench, looking the two of them over for a while longer. Damanius could feel himself shrinking into himself, trying to pull himself up to a better feeling, yet it was hard to come by. He was content with how things were, but felt a bit of unease that seemed to lurk just out of view.

“Look, ya can’t waste your time just starin at the sun until things happen, both of ya.” Byron spoke, pointing a finger at the both of them. Damanius began to speak back to him, but the old knight held up a finger to silence them.

“Listen, let me tell you a story about your father, the late king. I think it suits both of you rather well.” Byron spoke, shifting a bit closer while looking heaven bound. Damanius remained silent while Byron set himself up for another long story. The jovial storyman from prior had been set aside for a more serious knight, one who still longed for the glory of his youth.

“Your father, may his spirit rest with God, was a shrewd man, though knew how to address his people. This was before your second sister was born, Kokiri was born. We were on a campaign to address the southern borders and the threat of invasion. We had come to the local inn and retired there for the night, on the third day of the trail. Most knights were tired and ready for a good meal.” Byron spoke, giving himself a thoughtful pat on his stomach.

“I don’t remember this one.” Diana spoke, trying to scrub through all she could remember of her lessons. All of her fathers campaigns had been implanted into her, from quelling the emerald tides from the east, to governing the lands. The fact that one of the campaigns would be left out either meant the mission was a complete disgrace, or a sordid affair best forgotten.

“It was a meager one. Most of the dealings with the south were never written down due to how simple they were. Only a show of force was enough to keep them quiet. Now hush and let me tell my story.” Byron spoke to her, shushing her. Damanius felt slightly indignant at being told off like a child, but he would hold in his tongue for now.

“Regardless, during the evening meal, a local jester had begun his words. He began upon the king, roasting him with words I would dare not speak. Shango and I, both having followed the king to the pub, had moved to silence the man for daring to speak against the king.” Byron spoke, a twisty smile curling his lips. Damanius sat in mild shock, knowing that insulting the king was about a sentence to the gaols, or even worse. His father was a strong man, never to suffer a fool that dared mock him.

“Before we could so much as draw our blades, Aminan moved in, staying us as he moved in. The jester turned whiter than a ghost, dropping to his knees as the king stood over him. He waited a moment before pulling up the man, giving him the goofiest grin I thought possible.”

“‘You got it all wrong, Jester. It was a mackerel that had managed to knock me off the boat, not a tuna. At least tell it right!’ He corrected the man, moments before the rest of the room burst into laughter as he moved to return to his seat.” Byron spoke, letting out a deep chuckle at the memory.

“So, of course in shock I asked him, ‘King Aminan, how could you let him off so easily, even as he insults you,’ To which, his response still shocks me.

‘Never be ashamed of what has brought you here, nor worry what past you carry. Those who judge you will neither pity or praise you if you hide from all that you have done. If I am to be judged by the people, I will let them know I am not a folly to tomfoolery like the rest of them.’

“What… what does that even mean? He corrected a jester's tale about a bad fishing trip, and that his was response?” Dianaspoke, a puzzled look across his face as she glanced between the two of them while trying to figure out his meaning. She had remembered several of the lessons her father had spoken to her, most of them sensible and straightforward. This was as straight as an arrow in a windstorm.

“You have more brains than smarts, don’t you? King Aminan was never ashamed of his past and actions, knowing that everything he had done was all he could in the heart of the moment. Hold yourself with pride and humility, for your actions were done for what was needed.” Byron spoke, looking between the both of them so they could soak up his words.

“Now, by your leave, I will retire to rest. Unlike the two of you who slept the day away, some of us had to actually work.” Byron spoke back in his jovial tones, smiling at the two of them before excusing himself from the table.

“...I feel more confused than before.” Diana spoke rather bluntly as she watched him hobble through the main doors, leaving a sour taste in her mouth, yet more puzzled than anything else.

ON THE ROAD

Joaquim held onto the side of the wagon, the moon hiding behind the clouds, obscuring their road travels. The wagon driver and guard had just crossed through the next town, a short ride into the castle town. He had persuaded the men to ride through the night, knowing that Sir Byron wanted them back as soon as he could. Even more, if he could reach them early enough, it would leave enough time to enjoy some of the more pleasant sights. More so, the roads had been unpleasant to them since passing the first town.

Guards had been posted both at the entrances of the town, stopping any and all who traveled through. The wagon had nearly been torn apart while they dug through anything they could. Apparently, the men were looking for a kidnapper and noblewoman, the princess of the late king no less! Joaquin didn’t even know one had still lived, and the news that she had been captured had him worried yet very excited. Already he was fantasizing what the young woman must have looked like, thinking of what this could mean to the current king. While he was no fan of king Sinal, he didn’t dare speak out against him. Those were the whispers between the riders and himself, just pondering what the princess must look like, and what that meant for the current King.

[Alura]

Day 2 - The Friary, Evening

A few forlorn apple cores stood in a row near Horatia's elbow and she poured herself another cup of ale, head a little fuzzy from the drink. She knew that the relief was temporary, but between the firelight and the burning liquid her muscles had unknotted a bit and her mind had been able to move on to more than just worry. She hated sitting still like this, but waiting is what Alfson would do she thought. When the action was somewhere else and you had something you needed to keep hidden, it was best to keep out of sight.

It was like that time they had lightened one of King Sinal's supply carts of a couple of bushels of autumn-ripe apples and a kenning of sugar. It did little as far as resistance was concerned, but the little cakes that had been made of the stolen supplies were somehow sweeter for the little victory. Byron had allowed many things, but thievery and other unbecoming, even criminal activities he had squelched. At least, mostly. It was in large part due to his meddling that they had steered away from a more unscrupulous path in the end. They might not always see eye to eye, but he always steered them true when they listened to him.

When the man himself came to them and poked at their attitudes, Horatia laughed at Diana's attempt to interrupt before straightening herself on the bench and refilling their cups. Once the old man launched himself into a tale there was little on earth that could interrupt him. She rolled her eyes behind the pitcher to Diana and set it aside, batting her lashes innocently at Byron.

"Rest him!" Horatia said, lifting her cup before drinking when the old knight mentioned the late king. Despite her flippant attitude, she found herself caught up in the man's story as he mentioned their campaign, leaning in a little despite herself. Her smirk when Diana was reprimanded was a bit like a barn cat who had just eaten a mouse, well pleased not to be the brunt of Byron's telling off for once.

At the mention of her father, though, her attention was totally recaptured. Her father rarely spoke of his time in service to King Aminan, not the way he had when she was a child. Such things were, she supposed, different to him now. In many ways the fall of the king, the loss of his father and son followed quickly by his wife had broken him.

Laughing loudly at the picture of King Aminan being knocked from his bark by a mackerel, Horatia elbowed Diana's arm amiably, eyes half-closed as her smile widened. She kept chuckling as Byron continued, pausing to turn her laughter on Diana when she questioned the moral of the story, wiping a little twinkling tear from the corner of her eye and folding an arm across her stomach as if it would hold in the stitch from her laughing.

It was hardly the first time Byron had accused someone of being a few horses shy of a cart, but at least he thought Diana had brains.

"Don't feel badly. He usually tells me I've smarts, but even the smartest ass is still an ass." Horatia snorted, nearly spitting out the sip of ale she had taken in the process, and wiped the dribble away with the back of her wrist still crowing.

Dipping a half-hearted bow with hand over heart at the man, Horatia watched him retire with sparkling eyes, coughing faintly. "Oh, Byron," she said softly to his retreating form. One thumbnail scratched at the long board absently.

“...I feel more confused than before.”

Giggling at Diana's admission, Horatia shook her head softly.

"It's simple, really, when you think about it. Some people, like Alfson - I so wish you'd met him first - are good at thinking. They take their time and can see far, almost like they know what people will do before they do it. Some people are good at doing. That's us, maybe. Old Byron seems to think so, anyway. You see a problem, you solve it. As far as I'm concerned it's the best way to be." Annoyed, she rubbed the back of her neck and sighed.

"You are going to have a lot to do going forward, too much to worry about where you've been. People are going to have a lot of questions about who you are, where you came from... Some, even in the Resistance, may want proof that you are who you claim to be and not some puppet Sinal threw a fine gown on and called a princess of Hymnascal. That's just the beginning of it, I'd wager. I can't help you with those things, but Byron can even if it's in parables.

"Maybe Ignatio. He'll know what you should say and," She waved a hand over the young woman still wrapped in brown friar's robes, "How you should... do princess... ness." She trailed off, entirely out of her depth, and tried to mask it behind another drink of the ale she had meant to stop drinking.

"He is right, though... Byron, I mean. Waiting isn't for everyone. Plenty to be doing while we are here. Look, I..." Fumbling for words, she took another steadying drink before setting it aside and using her hands to talk. "I don't really know how this should work. I suppose I should be bowing and scraping every time you enter a room, but that's just going to take too much time and effort we won't always have likely. So how about this. When we can I'll call you 'Your Majesty' and when others we don't trust are around I'll call you 'Rhiannon'... No, wait, better not. If someone remembers... maybe best we just avoid that. Diana, Byron's niece will do, I suppose. 'Your Majesty' and 'Diana'. Until we get you back to the castle, for a proper coronation let's just skip the kneeling and ring kissing and 'by your leave' bit, fair?"

Holding out her hand as if they were striking a trade agreement, she lifted her brows expectantly.




Day 2 - Castle Kitchens, Evening

Alfson was not always calm. Tonight in particular his mind was reeling as he moved at a measured clip along the corridors of the drafty castle. Rumour was as deadly as truth since the king had sent out his bounty on convincing tales. People were turning in their own families, their own sisters for their own estates. Second, third sons were giddy with the possibilities, dispossessed cousins coming out of the very woodwork to point fingers at aunts and women who had not looked favourably upon their romantic overtures. Fishwives and wise women from villages far and wide were brought forward and accused. Disgruntled farmers claimed their wives of fifteen years were secretly yellow-clad horsewomen in disguise.

The women were not alone. A few enterprising men sought to undo their competitors in love and business by proposing that they, disguised as a woman in yellow, made off with the Princess Diana after secretly wooing her away from her engagement. This rumour was also the one the Resistance chose to fan, planting the seed of the idea that it was ludicrous a woman would be capable of managing such a feat. What a shame the old Knight Hast had to die for the actions of a wild, lovesick youth to steal away the king's bride.

Of the princess herself, there were ladies flocking to the castle in hopes of claiming the crown for themselves, insisting that they were Princess Diana despite the fact that some had the weathered hands and dark features of the common folk. They came in all ages, all sizes, all manner of dress - all willing to marry King Balaser if only he would just believe them to be his missing bride.

Alfson himself had whispered in a few ears here and there. The value of servants could never be understated. The aides, the ladies who attended their mistresses, the body servants, the messengers, the cooks - all ruled their tiny kingdoms within the walls of the castle and beyond, and spread news around and outward from there, radiating it through the castle town. His handsome face, slim frame equal to the elegance of riding, and quiet demeanor made Alfson a perfect match as he darted amongst the most elegant of the castle's servants, those who served directly the king and his retinue themselves. Despite the pride of place and arguably the relative safety of his position, he had slept little knowing that every action now could ripple into catastrophic consequences for those of them still here at the heart of the Usurper king's displeasure.

For this reason, he had collected droplets of news like a tree in drought and now headed towards the scullery where he was due to meet Ignatio's adoptive niece, his contact to the outside world. Ducking below the narrow door, the last dark liquid of the wine he had served the king swirling against the silver of the pitcher, he stepped to one side. Women with skirts belted up for ease of movement with their heavy, dirty work moved about running heavy pots to scrub clean while others cleaned and peeled vegetables. A few were separating linens for laundering, ruddy-faced with hands nearly as red. From among them, standing near the cool breeze let in through the open door framing the amber twilight in the little kitchen courtyard and gardens was a woman in pale grey, the ringlets of her hair slipping their confinement piled atop her head. She bent close to one of the girls who had a handful of dripping forks half-wrapped in her apron. With a nod, the girl skirted around the woman and moved towards the larger kitchens where the cooks and kitchen maids were busy at work.

A smile broke across the woman's face as she turned and saw Alfson, hands folded primly. She was every bit as lovely as she had been when Riga had met her, and Arletta was the sort of beauty who was none the wiser to it no matter how she was praised. Waving him nearer and taking the pitcher from him, she greeted him pleasantly and offered him ale. Accepting, he pretended to stay a moment to rest in her company while she leaned a hip against a low wooden counter patiently. She managed the scullery and saw to it that things flowed smoothly into the kitchens, and despite her sweet nature somehow managed to do it well. He had never met someone in such a position who wasn't chasing about beating people with spoons and shoes. Then again, he had not spent time in many kitchens. His smile was half for her and half for home, remembering the ill-tempered cook who had given him the rough side of a spoon plenty of times - yet always gave him a bite to eat despite the grumbling. He had survived on that grudging allowance for longer than he cared to remember.

Arletta touched his arm softly, recalling him from his thoughts. "I trust you are well, Alfie?"

Alfson lowered his voice, taking her hand as he explained to her the state of things. Of Brand he knew the details in full, having stood out of sight but near enough at hand he could bring refreshment to the king if required. Of Riga, Arletta herself was able to give some insight, as he had stopped by the kitchens to speak with her when he had gone to see Brand in the stocks. Her cheeks flushed, and she told Alfson that Riga had said he was going to the execution. Their expressions both darkened, and he took a deep drink of the offered ale, feeling the burn of the rough quality all the way down.

"Listen, Arletta. I should return to my duties, but if you don't mind I'd like to send my regards to your uncle. Do you think that you could share them for me?"

Arletta nodded, understanding that the messages she carried for her uncle were something more than they seemed, but not entirely understanding what they meant most of the time. She smiled, confirmed her memory, and even accepted a letter from Alfson. It was a risk to send it with her, but he had taken special pains so that if anyone were to find it, it would seem like a folded blank piece of parchment and nothing more. Bowing over her hand, Alfson drank the last of his ale and turned away to collect a new pitcher of wine and a clean towel. He returned to his place and continued the evening quite like any other, bracing himself for the long night to come.

[Koti~]

MONASTERY HALLS

“I don’t think Diana would work well either, as the moment they hear the name and see me, it’ll be a dead give away.” Diana responded as she looked to Horatia. She had gotten accustomed to people bowing to her, but she did agree that it would also be a dead give away if they ever got to a castle. In truth, they had been in such a panic to escape and get here, the lack of greeting had barely been noticed for her, and while she should feel insulted, it wasn’t a big enough problem for her. She tapped her chin while allowing the silence to stretch between them already. A name to hide herself, one that would be different enough to not draw attention, yet one they would easily remember at all times.

“Maron could work. It was the name of my sister's maid.” Diana decided upon, giving a half smile at the memory, an older lady that was rather pleasing to be around, yet rather stern when needed. It had always been a treat to harass her when the two had played around, a woman who just didn’t give enough care about protocol to be bowing every time when having to deal with them.

“I think you would have liked her more brash side.” Diana spoke as she reached out, taking Horatias hand in her own. She could feel the strength behind the rough skin, a contrast to her rather light hand as they settled upon the agreement. Now that it had been settled, Diana finally picked herself up and cleared away the mug and food she had been nibbling on in the last bit.

“Now that the names are taken care of, I need to go change. Robes don’t seem the most pleasant thing to ride around in. We should also inform Sir Byron so he doesn’t blurt something out. He would be pleased to know his niece Maron is here to stay for a while.” Diana spoke as she left the room, having to take a few measured steps at the start. The ale had been much stronger than any wine she had before, and she could still feel the warmth still resting in her cheeks from the drink.

The night air was a welcome sting to his face as Damanius found himself momentarily alone, giving a half choked sigh. He mostly blamed the alcohol, but the memories of his sister were starting to float through his mind, and the happier times back in the castle he had when free from his lessons. They had been quite the fun time, terrorizing the servants and just causing general mischief. He had been the more gullible one, and Kokiri was more than pleasing to take advantage of it to try and sneak away as many sweets she could. The last he could remember of her was when she had been sent to an academy for proper ladies, and then the news of her place being burned to the ground just days before the invasion in the capitol.

Damanius slapped the sides of his face before darting off to the cottage, letting the cold wind burn his face as he moved to change into the riding dress that had already been repaired for him. Entering the room, he was quick to barricade it and let out a sigh. There was no reason to dwell on the ghosts of his past and focus on moving forward, as Byron had said. He had some time before heading to the stable, and even worse it would take time to get properly dressed, so he had time to get back into a good shape of mind.

[Alura]

Day 2 - Friary Cottage, Evening
Shaking on the names and manner of address settled between them, Horatia nodded, "Maron it is! Has a ring to it. Sounds like someone who doesn't deal in nonsense."

Despite their agreement just past to be informal, the older woman was quick to take the cup and other leavings of the meal from Diana's hands and wave her off... Informal didn't mean she'd have a princess doing the scrubbing in her presence. Byron would give her more than a slap across the skull for something that egregious.

Bobbing her head as Diana turned a bit unsteadily to go, Horatia rubbed the back of her skull as if she'd already been slapped. She caught up their cups in one hand, balancing a bowl and trencher with the apple cores in the other hand as she wobbled toward the kitchen where a few of the brothers were still tending to the business of tidying behind the others. She spoke with them a few minutes idly, but the one-sided conversation did little to soothe her nerves.

She could not have said why they were singing. Perhaps the combination of worry over her friends left behind and the potential the princess might break her neck riding tonight, but she did feel it was a good way to learn. "Nothing for it but to do it," she mumbled to the friars who had long since tuned out her slightly slurring speech.

Snagging a bottle of wine on her way out of the kitchens, she shifted her eyes around, smug at her success as she followed behind into the night beyond the hall. She found Byron smoking a pipe outside of his own cottage in conversation with one of the travelers who had passed by on his own way to rest. Feeling a little off put by the presence of the stranger, she laughed at Byron's jesting and told him after a brief time that she would be checking his niece Maron was settled in to sleep. He lifted a brow, but nodded his understanding. When he saw the cork of the wine bottle peeking from under the leather coat she had pulled over her tunic before supper he tried to chide her, but she easily danced out of reach and off into the night with an impish chuckle trailing behind her like child of the Lost Woods as she slunk amongst the trees.

When she arrived at the temporary haven she shared with Princess Diana, she rapped her knuckles at the heavy wooden door and called her name softly, but there was no answer.

"Diana? I've gone to see Byron and he's excited about his niece Maron staying a while as you thought he would be."

She waited a moment before rapping more firmly and tried the door: it was barricaded. A stroke of panic sliced through the haze of drink while it clung just enough not to entirely puzzle out that a barricade from within was more likely to be the Princess own doing than not... Glancing about her looking for any signs that someone else had come that way, she shouldered into the door, resorting to kicking at it. With a running start, she shoulder-checked it again and finally burst through, wielding the wine bottle like a weapon and looking about wildly for any hidden danger.

"Diana?!"

[Koti~]

COTTAGE

Damanius gave small blessings for his years of practice. Getting dressed into the outfit was more troublesome than anything else, and being tipsy was not helping him out at the moment. He had managed to get most of the delicates on, including most of the corset that came with it. Fumbling with the upper ties, he had just enough wherewithal to hear Horatia begin banging on the door and not completely freeze. He was still holding his breath to make sure the corset sat right on his body and had thus been unable to respond. Just as he had been about to finish the last of the strings, the door burst open, sending the chair and dresser he had used to block it skittering across the floor.

A small squeak of surprise escaped him as he grabbed the dress from the beds post and cover himself with it, panic coursing through him from the sudden shock of the intrusion. He dare not speak for the moment while staring wide eyed at Horatia, surprised mostly by the strength of the woman. While he knew the barricade wouldn’t hold against soldiers, having Horatia break it down was surprising. Just what was this woman made of. He glanced down to the wine bottle grasped in her hand, ready to strike down any who might bash down those wanting to harm Diana. A growl rippled through while his face turned red, both at annoyance at being seen in such a state of undress, and the fact that he may have just been caught not a few moments earlier. Having himself exposed so soon was not what he hoped for.

He would need to drive her out, and thankfully her drunken stupor would help himself out. Most normal people would consider two women seeing each other barely dressed would be natural, even with reservations. Damanius was used to only one woman seeing him in the nude, but she had been left in the castle, and Horatia was not that Grueta. He began working himself up, letting his mind work through the words in the few sparse moments from Horatias forced entrance and her crying out his name.

“I am getting dressed! These doors do not lock, and I prefer to have my privacy! You do not just get to barge in here without my allowance!” Diana shrieked, glaring daggers into the womans as she reached beneath and grabbed one of her shoes she had left nearby. Without letting the dress drop from covering her form, she tossed it with all the might she could, aiming to peg the woman square between the eyes.

“Get out! Get out!” Diana screeched at her, tossing a second shoe at her once the first had found its hopeful mark. A pillow followed shortly as she did all she could to chase the drunken woman from the room. While she was assured that everything of Damanius had been hidden by garment and banding, there was no reason to take extra risk. Besides that, she still felt uncomfortable being equivalent nude in front of another.

[Alura]

Day 2 - Friary Cottage, Evening

It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the firelight from the little hearth in the cottage, her eyes brushing over Diana's form to see if there was trouble. None found, it took her mind a moment to take over for the heart still pounding in her chest. She felt a little strange standing at the door holding the wine bottle aloft, but looked at the chair with a now-broken back and the off-kilter little dressing table in confusion and blinked. She returned her gaze to the other woman.

Diana's embarrassment was mostly hidden in the red-yellow glow of the low light and Horatia's mouth gaped a little as she tried to puzzle out why the door had been barricaded in the first place.

"Diana," She began more softly, "Are you alright? What on earth are you-?"

Her words were lost in the sudden outburst from the noble. Horatia's cheeks flushed angrily at the talk of allowance. What a pompous thing to say! "Allowing" her to enter her own room.

"Oh, pardon me if the finer accommodations of the friary in the middle of the woods that we escaped to because you stabbed a man through the eye doesn't meet with your approval, Your Ma-Och!" Horatia managed to dodge back and turn her face away in time to take the shoe sharply across the temple instead of square in the face. Her arm had not come up quick enough to dodge the attack. She staggered back into the door, blinking and letting out an angry sound at the impact. Kneeing the corner of the dressing table as the shoe plunked to the floor, her temper flared. Scooping up the impromptu projectile without releasing the wine bottle, Horatia flung it back at the princess's chest.

Since the woman was still screeching and seemed not to be in any danger, Horatia ducked back into the night air, kicking the door shut with an angry crash behind her and rumbling, "Rabid, feral little monster!" The door gapped a bit, wedged by the chair back, but she hardly noticed.

Her hand went to her reddening temple. "With a shoe, a damned shoe!"

Horatia shouted back through the mostly closed door, "Did you learn etiquette with a pack of wolves?! You bark as much as you blood bite, you... you brat!"

She carried on muttering under her breath as she stalked off towards the meadows. "Not sharing the damned wine, that's for certain. Chateau Romani and all. Mongrel!"

[Koti~]

Damanius took the time to make sure the door was properly closed, still full of anger, and now nursing a sore spot on his chest. He had taken it to far, but such was his need to protect his secrets. Besides, it had been ingrained that unless you were of royal blood, you waited until cleared to enter if no danger was present. A sigh let himself as he sat on the edge of the bed, dress draped across his knees while giving himself some time to calm his nerves. The risk of almost getting caught had left him racing.

"I'll have to apologize." Damanius let out in a minor huff as he went back to the act of getting dressed. His mind was already at work planning out what to say, while finding no rush to go and hunt her down. They already had plans to meet up for his training tonight, so that would be the best time to speak his mind, and hopefully the time to herself would be enough to calm down her anger. He took the remaining time for himself, just working around the room and letting himself adjust everything he needed, including a fresh coating of the paste for his thighs. That was the only part he was truthfully worried about for this entire thing.

MIDNIGHT FRIARY STABLES

Diana approached the stable fences, having to carefully pick her way through the path. The moon above provided plenty of light to see well enough through the grounds, but hidden shadows lurked everywhere for the unprepared. She took her time, her nerves catching up with her now. While excitement was there to push her forward, nerves stymied her in approach. Her first goal though was to apologize to her impromptu teacher for the lessons. It took a moment of hunting, but she soon found herself at the fence line and nearby Horatia.

"I wish to apologize for my actions earlier. I acted most unbecoming of my position and was cruel with my words. I was raised with the notion that none were to enter my dwelling without my acceptance or approval, nor have I ever been put into a position to share a room with another. I acted out of shock and poor taste, and hope that you accept my apology." Diana said with as much poise and humility as she could muster, the words rehearsed yet sincere. She curtsied at the end and waited for the response from Horatia, wondering how the woman would react.

Horatia saw Diana's approach from atop Capilet, her fists curled into his mane, but she took another turn around the meadow before they moved near the fence line. Throwing a leg over, she hefted herself atop the fence and crouched, balancing a calf against the near fencepost as Capilet made a little turn and came to whuffle her hair and drape over her shoulder in anticipation of a chunk of carrot she had tucked into her belt. No one would miss it from the kitchen garden. Biting off a large piece, she offered it to him broodily.

When the princess apologised, she pursed her lips, pride more wounded than her head. With a deep sigh, she exhaled with a tremour of annoyance.

"I shouldn't have shouted anyway. I apologise for frightening you... and for what I said. None of this is your fault, and I know that." Her nose was scrunched up as if it pained her to say as much. "I thought you might be in trouble, that's all."

Biting off another piece of carrot, the silence that fell between them was punctuated by the chewing of the horse. Finally, Horatia cleared her throat.

"Didn't think you'd actually come. Wine by that tree if you care for a drink." She waved a hand towards a heavy pine, adding the warning, "Mind the chickens. Sometimes they get out and they like to harrass people they run into along the paths..."


"Thank you for the offer, but I will decline for now. It may not be best to mix drinking and riding into one. Though it may ease the pain later." Diana responded with a light shiver, glad to not have run into any of the chickens so far. As for not having been expected, did Horatia not think her strong enough? She needed to learn this, and if showing her dedication to it meant being awake at midnight to learn it, then she would.

"Not like I would get much sleep anyway." Diana mumbled to herself as she joined Horatia on the other side of the fence, careful to not get caught on it. Once over though, she observed Capilet for the few moments.

"It's going to take some time getting used to the differences, wont it?" Diana asked after a few moments, motioning between them before waving her hand wide. Things out here were much different than in the castle, and with the need to keep her hidden, a lot more would change. Would they do their best to keep her secured away, just like she had been prior, or would she be treated just as another woman, meant for cleaning and house workings around the place. She didn't even know have the stuff she would need to be able to do any of it and pass off as even a hand maiden.

Shrugging off the refusal, Horatia jumped from the fence and watched the exchange between the princess and the horse. She nodded agreement as she made a soft sound and, swatted Capilet gently on the rump. He went off to enjoy the night while he could. He should have been stabled, but she liked to let him roam when she could.

"Life is different inside the castle, I expect. Assuming you've always been at the castle? How long did Balaser have you? All this time?"

Her mind boggled at the idea that they had so badly miscalculated, had all truly believed his line had been obliterated when the castle fell to the Usurper and the power of his fighters. Her grandfather would have been as mortified as the old knights were now.

"Or were you kept somewhere else, hidden?" Turning her face, she took a few steps away and indicated that Diana should follow her. "Let's walk and talk."

Holding a leather strip between her teeth as she listened, the woman bunched her hair up in her fingers, combing it back before securing it with that scrap instead of a more traditional ribbon. She rolled up the sleeves of her shirt to expose her forearms, and nodded her head towards the stables on the far end of the meadow. "Time to find your horse."

"He .. kept me in the castle towers. I had access to the grounds, but when I tried running the first few times, that was restricted. There were only so many tunnels I could try and sneak through, using mostly servant halls and such to move around." Diana spoke, trying to quash the uneasy bile that rose through her stomach. She didn't want to start going through all those memories just yet, nor ever. Eventually people would want to hear it, but tonight would not be it.

For the most part.

"He kept my survival a secret. Said he had plans for my lineage and bloodline that would... disgrace my fathers line." Diana spoke the last part in a whisper. She had no desire to know the mans full extent of what he had planned to do to them, but the look he had given them made her skin pale. Putting that out in the air made it all the more real to be telling her story, but it wasn't for sympathy.

Maybe she spoke it for someone else to share in her misery? Or even to let others know the true depravity of the man. A small part hinted that it was so she didn't have to burden herself with the horror alone.

"Regardless. How do I go about finding me a horse? Don't we just pick one that I can ride and go from there?" Diana asked her, having to keep up with a mild jog to the woman.

At the talk of lineage and bloodlines, Horatia's nostrils flared, though she did not press further. There were some things women simply knew and there was no need to belabour it. With a little luck, the Usurper would not survive his own violence: what was one more wound to the mortal one they planned to inflict. It was too generous, perhaps, that the honour of the chivalrous code of the old knights was just, but not cruel. Despite all he had done and forced others to suffer, like the tender young Diana, when it came to it his end was meant to be relatively easy.

Clearing her throat a bit to break the tension that hung between herself and Diana who seemed, as Horatia regarded her over her shoulder, a bit lost in her own thoughts despite their brisk pace; she shifted the tone of the conversation intentionally.

"It's good you considered different ways of escape. You must have mapped it out through the years: surely there are none better to help navigate the castle itself than its mistress. Even Balaser will have no idea of the tunnels and passages you must have discovered, particularly if those who served your father within the castle are still loyal to you."

True, they had not set her free, but fear was a powerful motivator. They would have witnessed first-hand the power of Sinal Balaser's fighting force and doubtless been unequal to fighting against it alone. They were simple folk: nobles sent as wards or handmaidens, servants from the town and farmlands beyond who had come for a better life. They were not soldiers. Had they helped Diana in their own ways?

"Mm," Horatia's lips curved upward at the question. "Well, sometimes they find you as much as you find them." Leaning into the heavy stable door already ajar, Horatia waved an arm inside. Lantern light illuminated the stables gently, nodding heads and curious, soft eyes regarded the pair. "For tonight, I would recommend Morgan."

Stepping along, the horsewoman stopped before a stall containing a small, grey horse with small ears and expressive eyes. Its muzzle and legs looked like they had been dipped in ash, dark tail matching them as it swished softly at their approach. Shades of grey gave its coat depth of shadow in the amber light.

Reaching up, Horatia brushed her calloused, slender fingers along its muzzle and tucked stray locks of its sooty mane towards one swivelling ear.

"Morgan, meet Princess Diana. Princess Diana, mild Maid Morgan." Her smile was soft and genuine, in her element away from people more than with them. Horses, no matter how tame, were wild things, and she loved that element of their nature even if she might not have been able to put that sentiment into words.

Stepping back, she turned to the other woman. "You should open the gate and speak with her. Smoothest ride in the friary stables, maybe this end of Hymnascal. She can carry you through a forest or over a brook like air. If she'll have you. Oh!"

Reaching to her belt, Horatia shared a second carrot with the other woman.

Diana glanced between the carrot and Horatia, a look of utter lack of faith in the woman. She was honestly demanding that she, the princess of the kingdom, not even to speak of Damanius, to talk to a horse?! Did she just want her to play at a fool for her own amusement? She wanted to retort as such, but bit her tongue. It would be ill to speak in such rough words for how recently they made amends from their prior fight. If Horatia tried to make fun of her for it, she would claim the woman to drunk to remember right.

She approached Morgan though, tentative yet certain about herself. Diana would not cower before an animal, and she could see the elegance in the girl. She looked like smoke and ash made solid, the animal much shorter than Capilet, yet her eyes studied the woman who had entered her stall, until she focused on the carrot instead. Taking a deep breath to steady herself some, she stepped into the stable proper, shifting aside hay and moving close to the horse.

"Greetings Morgan, it a joy to make your acquaintance. I bring a carrot for you." Diana approached her like she would a visiting noble, thought added the second part as she stepped forward, watching the mare. Morgan, with patience, moved forward to snack on the carrot, allowing Diana to place her hand carefully on her. Diana felt both silly and glad that the interaction had gone mostly smooth, until she had moved further down and mostly out of view of the girl. She was greeted with a loud huff and shake of her head, making Diana dart back some in caution more than anything else.

Looping her arms over the stall door, Horatia allowed it to swing wider under her weight, watching the interaction with bemusement. She cast her mind back to the first time she had laid eyes on Capilet, surly and dark like a thundercloud. He had given the trainers in their family stables fits, more so than the usual stallions. His ill temper had nearly cost him more than his jewels, and she had decided that they would be fast friends. It had not been easy, convincing him of it: nothing easy was worth having, though, Horatia felt. She had saved him and he had repaid that friendship many times over their time together.

Eyes refocusing on the princess feeding the carrot to the little mare, she grinned as Morgan whuffed and then nipped at it in a genteel fashion. After deciding that Diana was trustworthy, she set about polishing off the carrot with relish. A few apples and they would be inseparable. Moragan ought to be perfect, she thought. Gaited and gentler to ride than Capilet or war-trained horses of which there were a few lingering in these stables from knights-turned-brothers, she would make a suitable mount for both a novice rider and a royal who might be more precious about jostling. And, Horatia allowed to herself, it might also make for a gentler recovery from Diana's initial bolt to the friary.

"Well, what do you think? Will she do?" Diana had said she knew little of horses, so perhaps she would not have a strong opinion. Still, there was an importance in bonding. That's how the horsewoman felt, at least. She had spent more time with horses than training riders. In fact, she could not recall ever really spending time with anyone who was not at least passingly familiar with riding. Still, the girl had quick enough reflexes that she ought to catch on and if not... well, there were always carriages for the silver spoons.

Pulling some of the waiting tack from the wall, the cavalier braced a saddle along her upper arm and shoulder, lifting a brow. They would only have a little time for riding by the time they sorted out the finer points of preparing horse and rider if they were also to allow for how to care for a horse once that was done. There was, Horatia supposed, little substitution for practice when it came to that bit. What she could share was how to properly care for a mount. She did wonder if the princess would retain any of it when she inevitably took her throne. Still, that was fitting in the end. It would be a strange thing for a queen to saddle her own horse. Curious that she wished to learn to ride now, but to be encouraged. Perhaps even to be admired.

The carrot consumed, Morgan was nuzzling inquisitively, tickling Diana's outstretched fingers as she looked for more.

"She seems pleasant enough. I was thinking of one more impressive such as Capilet, but having one to start my training on seems best." Diana mused as she stood next to the horse, gently running her fingers through it's mane. The well mannered beast seemed more than content to the affection, more than likely looking for more treats that may be coming. She was somewhat reminded of the stable cats that usually roamed the castle grounds. The thought of the horses slinking around looking for scraps of food humorous.

"So, what is the next step." Diana asked while watching Horatia gather up the saddle and bits for the horse. Morgan watched the horsewoman girl gather up the stuff and gave a huff of her head, half annoyed to be saddled up so late, but more willing if treats were involved.

Horatia's eyes flickered with pride at the complimentary mention of Capilet.

For a split moment, she toyed with the idea of allowing Diana to try her hand at riding him. Knowing the most probable outcome, she reined in the idea with a chuckle, one arm cradling her ribs. She could still remember the pain and discomfort of breaking them.

"He threw me more times than I can remember in the beginning, and I have the scars to prove it, Your Majesty. Byron would skin me alive if I let you loose on a stallion your first lesson, set aside one like him.

"Try not to think too unkindly of Morgan. She may not seem as flash, but good control and an even stride can be as good for parading as riding. Better to have a well-mannered mare who cares to follow your lead than one who will leave you on your head in the street. Hard to make a good entrance from the dirt, even more so unconscious or with a broken neck.

"Trustworthy girl also, good to get you to safety if something were to go wrong, though I dare say at this point she'd turn herself back to the friary as home. You could do worse."

Smiling, she dropped her feet back to the hay and moved around to point out some of the other qualities of the smaller horse. Diana had not been wrong about the greedy girl's search for treats, the creature whuffling and pressing her muzzle into the princess's hands searchingly, ears swiveling faintly as she felt Diana's caresses.

"If things go well you likely won't need to do the work on your own, Your Majesty, but there is always the chance you may find yourself in a situation where you will need to care for your horse and yourself unassisted. If that were to happen, it is better that you know how rather than try to fumble through it. That sort of thing can injure the horse as much as it can injure you.

"I don't claim to be a riding instructor so much as I work with the horses, just to be clear. Still, if you want to ride - even if you don't have to do - my opinion is that there is value in building that relationship by managing their care yourself. It's like any kind of relationship, really. You wouldn't send a servant to marry your future husband and you shouldn't send one to build trust with your mount."

Pausing to consider the comparison and realising it was a fairly pointless one, she nonetheless leaned into it, wishing for the hundred-and-twelfth time that Alfson was there to mediate. She spent a fair bit of time showing Diana how to prepare a horse for riding, what each of the pieces of tack were meant to accomplish, and reiterated that horses were intelligent creatures.

"If your heart is racing and you think you have yourself under control, a horse will let you know quickly whether or not that's true. They see how you feel, they can feel it in how you sit and your other body language. If you let your nerves run then they will let theirs loose also. The point isn't to force the horse to do what you want, it's to ease them into it and cooperate. Otherwise you'd have as much success as trying to drag one behind you."

That mental image also made her laugh lightly. "Alright, Your Majesty," she began, handing Diana the lead line to guide the fortunately un-catlike Morgan after them. Scooping up a heavy wooden stepping stool and strolling up the line of stalls back towards the edge of the meadow where a little platform stood to help novices, drunkards, women in heavy skirts and rotund brothers mount up with ease; Horatia settled the stool in the little strip of cleared and compact earth nearby instead of going to it, tamping her heel onto it. "Bring her near side around here and let's see about getting you seated. Remember, take your time, easy does it. If you become frustrated then your horse will also."

The cavalier patted her left thigh to indicate which side Diana should bring flush with the mounting block.

Diana followed all the instructions as best she could, despite the long night. Being walked through every piece of equipment while thinking over Horatias words made sense. Even if the horse was mild from what she expected, it was better than nothing. Just the act of riding in, dressed in regalia and ready to claim the throne would be enough to turn several people. Her hands never left the horses mane as she worked, if only to help associate with Morgan, while also keeping her own nerves in check. Morgan was mostly calm while hunting for her treats, taking it all in stride.

The comment about sending a servant to marry a future husband caught a snicker from Diana, the humor in her mind. If she could honestly allow someone else to marry for them, it would make life easier. Horatia was true though, and letting someone else take care of her problems would be a bad idea. The citizens and nobles would be looking upon them to see that things went right, and to heal a kingdom torn apart by the bastard king. Right now though, she needed to stay focused on the idea of learning to ride a horse.

"Come along Morgan." Diana spoke softly while wrapping her hands around the reigns. She moved the two of them, keeping pace with the horse as they moved towards Horatia. It was a relaxing feel, yet was playing with her nerves greatly. She did her best to keep them in check, but the moment was slowly creeping closer to actually riding a horse, and the last she wanted to do was make a fool of herself. Even if she did expect to do so. The offer of wine was sounding ever more appealing to let the alcohol dull her nervous energy.

"Even if you are not a trainer, you speak with just as much joy as them. Makes me think some of the archery trainer I had. He was one of the older guards at the castle, working under Sinal at the time though. He trained me in secret on how to use a bow and arrow, taking time and effort to make sure I understood everything, despite some of his stuff making no sense." Diana spoke, reminicing on better memories to just try and steady her nerves. Reaching the stool with Morgan settled correctly, albeit disappointed at the lack of more carrots, Diana looked to Horatia for the next action.

Cocking her head to one side, Horatia, gently took the lead back from Diana and moved to hold Morgan. Fortunately she was a patient horse, and despite the faint annoyance anyone would feel at being kept up at this hour as the princess has noted, was even-tempered.

"I like them." With that simple enough comment, Horatia smiled at Diana's shared experience. "Good of him to teach you. Must've been a good tutor. You looked ready to needle all-comers with your bow the night we met."

Laughing softly, she caught Diana's eye and nodded to Morgan. "With that sort of skill you will be more use than I am in the saddle before time for your coronation. Marksmanship was never my strong suit. Give me a spear or a lance over a bow any day!

"Alright, watch me and then it will be down to you."

Exaggerating her movements, Horatia stepped up to the mounting block and held the reins in one hand with her foot stepping up to the stirrup. After a brief pause, she lifted her body and threw her leg over in a smooth motion. From there, she tapped her heels gently and gave a soft command for Morgan to move. The horse complied, evenly moving off and allowing herself to be directed by the gentle pressure of her rider back to the mounting block. Horatia threw her leg back over and slid back to earth.

Horatia retained hold of the lead rope, but proffered the reins to Diana. "Your turn. Just repeat the same commands, gentle pressure with your thighs and light taps of the heel as needed as you saw. No need to kick or dig into her. You may feel a touch unsteady, but as long as you settle well you should be in little danger of a fall."

"You may do well with a spear and Capilet. Could easily break through most armor and soldiers with just his muscle alone." Diana spoke as she moved up to the block, her moment finally come. She had intently watched all of Horatias movements, watching her guide Morgan around in a gentle loop with simple pressure of her heels and soft words to guide Morgan. It was like watching a dance, though much less about precision, and more about guiding. Diana already knew she would be completely lost if she had to do it on an actual war horse.

Now that it was her turn, she didn't know how well she would do. Getting herself onto Morgan proved to be a bit of a trial just to swing over. The first time she hoped up on the stirrup nearly lost her balance and had to steady back onto the stool. The second she had better balance, yet she hadn't swung her leg far enough to only rest her leg onto the side. The third time she swung it over the horse, though had to straggle a bit enough to sit just right. Diana felt some embarrassment that it took three times to get onto the horse, but that would have to pass for the moment.

"Okay, then. So, forward Morgan." Diana commanded as she tapped the horse in the side, holding the reigns...

and getting nowhere.

Diana glanced down towards Morgan, staring at the horse and waiting for the horse to move forward while looking to Horatia and trying to gauge what she had done wrong. She had ordered the horse forward and tapped it on the sides as the other woman had done. Diana grumbled as she took hold of the reigns in both hands and gave a much sharper tap into the sides while ordering the horse forward again. Morgan gave a whiney of annoyance and shuffled to the side, jostling her rider as they finally began to move from the stand.

Capilet was certainly a hellion, and Horatia was pleased the princess thought so highly of him. She smiled to Diana, the other woman's attention turned to Morgan and the prospect of getting herself up into the saddle. With restraint, the horsewoman managed to stand still and let the other woman sort herself out... She would have intervened if needed or if asked, but there was also no need to get in the way of Diana's trial and error. It was how they all learned, really. Stroking Morgan's nose, she spoke to her softly, soothing her as the horse stood patiently.

When Diana conquered the first step toward actually riding, Horatia nodded approvingly. When the other woman went nowhere quickly, it was all she could do to blank her face clear of her amusement.

"Tch," She added her mild annoyance to the horses as she held the lead and stepped into the center of the circular path she had traveled so that there was a tether back to her should anything go wrong with Diana's inaugural ride. "Easy does it. Lean into her and use your legs. You want to indicate what you are doing, not goad her. Good."

As the princess and her shadowy grey companion began their first turn, Horatia held the line but did nothing to interfere. "Good, good. Make sure to guide her into a turn. Just keep that pace for now. Get a feel for it and we'll have you galloping in no time."

It was the same sort of ride children might enjoy at a holiday, but for the life of her Horatia could not remember attending one of those. Not in ages. Breathing in the night air, she exhaled wistfully. It was a nice night, despite all that had happened. The angry squall of a number of chickens carried from far off, no doubt blustering at a wayward boot that had braved the path to the privy in the dark and made an unfortunate misstep.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel .. rather silly, to be frank." Diana spoke as she took the moments to look towards Horatia, just trying to get used to the sway of Morgan. It was a steady movement, a back and forth shifting of her legs and thighs, yet without the footfall to accompany it. She could almost relate this to riding in a carriage, the rock of the road bouncing her about, yet this was much different. She did her best to keep her legs relaxed so as to not press deeper into the horse when not needed. Last thing the two of them needed was to go shooting off with reckless abandon.

"In truth, it feels a bit ... surreal. Between the steady motion of Morgan and the patchwork of the ground, I feel like I am being moved back and forth on a rocker, yet side to side. Its a bit calmer than last nights run, but a bit hard to place mentally. I enjoy it some, but it feels different." Diana spoke, feeling a bit more relaxed. Just having the time to put her thoughts into words helped her. It was a habit she had picked up while living this duel life. Just having some way to put her thoughts into actual words just helped make sense of the world. She never really dealt with emotions and illogical people well, so speaking her mind helped force the world into some sort of order.

"I will say though, it is a lot easier than I had expected. I was nervous this was going to be a giant blunder and I would have ended up on my rear more than anything, but in truth, it's not that difficult once you actually get started." Diana finished up, reaching down to pat Morgan on the side of the neck as she moved to turn Morgan, a bit rougher than the horse liked, but handled with nothing more than a snort and shake of her head.

Horatia smiled as Diana made her way along. "That will pass with time."

She left her to take a few turns, quietly observing as the princess found a rhythm with Morgan. When she spoke again, Horatia grinned. "Good! You're right of course... sometimes the most difficult thing is to begin. You showed up, that's the first bit. It is getting late, though. We should get Morgan to bed so that we can do the same."

She came around and guided horse and rider back to the mounting block, offering a hand and a knee in case Diana needed assistance with the dismount.

They would need to lead the horse back to her stable and remove the saddle before grooming her properly. Once that was done they could put their second and far calmer night at the friary behind them. Eyes growing heavy suddenly, Horatia stifled a yawn. She'd need to retrieve the wine from under the tree on the way.

"True, getting some sleep while we can is good." Diana spoke as she was led back to the block. Wanting to prove that she had some skill, she moved herself and swung herself free... missing the block and planting herself onto the ground with a rough 'oof' as she landed. Blinking both in mild annoyance and feeling the blood rush to her face, Diana quickly righted herself and dusted herself, pointedly ignoring Horatia for the moment.

"Thank you for the lessons, Horatia. I will find some way to repay you for them in the future." Diana spoke as she moved back over to Morgan, taking the reigns in hands and gently patting Morgan on the nose.

"I thank you as well Morgan, for being patient with me. I don't get the whole talking to you, but I do believe this is right." Diana spoke as she patted the horse on the side. Letting out her own yawn, she began helping guide Morgan into the stables and into her own stall, doing what she could to help unsaddle the girl and following the instructions with proper aftercare of the horse.

Horatia hid a grin behind her arm at Diana's rough landing, patting Morgan's neck. As dismounts went it could have been far worse, and the fact that the princess was so calm was a good sign. Some people, those who had little experience of the large animals, were brave until it came time to mount them. Once they were actually riding alone - assuming they made it that far - nerves sometimes got the better of them. It was good that none of that seemed to bother Diana, and it affirmed what Horatia had hoped. She had not only seen herself to the stables in the dead of night to a relative stranger, she had been eager to go above what was asked of her to learn. She would, Horatia imagined, be just fine with a little time and practice.

She nodded agreement at the mention of sleep and in reply to the other woman's thanks. "Learn well and don't embarrass me when you rule. That's the best thing you might give." Perhaps, she thought, she did channel a bit of Old Byron at times.

Regarding Diana and Morgan as they spoke, she saw the fine little horse's eyes regard the princess intelligently.

"Horses are one of the most loyal creatures you'll find, Your Majesty. They listen, but they never share it and they would never betray you." She swirled her hand through the oats she added to the feed for Morgan. Her eyes darkened, thinking of the war horses that might give everything for their riders, wondering for a moment if the Resistance would face battles the old guard had already lost in the taking of Hymnascal. There was still much to do to unseat the Usurper, and many powerful members of his army who were rumoured to possess more than human skill. Still, it was far too late and distant yet to lose sleep over it tonight. She forced herself to smile again and waved the princess off.

"Nearly finished here. I should make sure Capilet hasn't gotten up to trouble. You can have the cottage tonight. I've found some where else to bed down for the night. Pleasant sleep. Mind the chickens."

"Thank you. Don't forget the wine. I promise to do everything I can to save this kingdom." Diana spoke as she helped the last little bit with Morgan, praising the girl a bit more before letting out a massive yawn. With the excitement and nerves of learning to ride a horse properly, she was not feeling extremely tired. Giving a polite curtzy to Horatia, she headed back towards the cabin, careful to avoid the aggrivated chicken coot while she moved into the night.

It wasn't long before Damanius found himself alone in the cottage, quickly scuttling the heavy dresses and disrobing to his undergarments. Checking the door was secured as he could, he found himself quickly asleep in the bed, already out before he even hit the pillow.

[Alura]

Day 3 - Friary Stables, Early Morning

Looking slightly offended at the idea that she would ever abandon a good bottle of wine alone in the woods, Horatia nodded her thanks and smiled. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

No, not a friend she reminded herself, sniffing lightly as the back of her wrist reflexively brushed away a tickle of hay. Despite the hot water they'd found themselves in, she genuinely felt she understood the girls actions and reactions. If she had been in her position, truth be told, she was not sure she could have successfully freed herself from the castle. She was competent enough to get outside of the castle itself, and made it to the wall alone. As easy as it was to say, Horatia remembered what Diana had muttered about tracking the guard movements and all of her careful planning. She had taken well-considered action, perhaps not entirely unburdened by hot temperament, but not breaking under pressure.

There were a hundred ways that night could have gone, much like this one tonight under the stars. Diana had met them both equally and moved through them with more than flying colours. Perhaps if she could carry that forward well, she would be an admirable queen. Horatia would feel better to have her friends' opinions on the girl, but Old Byron seemed fond of her and she found herself thinking again of home. While she murmured to Capilet and prepared his stall, she thought of the family estate and of the days before the Usurper. She thought of her grandfather, who had always favoured her despite her being a girl. She thought of her strong, but warm mother weaving for market and the busy atmosphere and joy that had gone in to planning the shop in Castle Town. She had been young enough not to remember details, but she remembered her mother smiling and turning with open arms in the sunlight from an open window.

Horatia's face fell a little. She could barely remember her face now. It seemed like too important a thing to forget, but it had been so long since she had seen her face, set aside the family portrait hung in their estate and the one of her mother that her father so loved. Anxious tendrils curled around the back of her neck and she shivered. She had been gone a while, in truth. Even when she was there she was not really present. Now, though, with Diana the end was in sight. She could already see the fall of the Great Interloper, could begin to imagine the faint shape of life beyond it in the same murky outlines of her mother's face.

Maybe her father would finally shake himself out of his daze as well. They had both been suspended in some ways, but maybe that could change. Taking a deep breath and rubbing Capilet's nose fondly, Horatia made the trek to retrieve the bottle of wine, taking a sip before corking it and nestling down into the pile of straw she had built up near Capilet and covered loosely with a saddle blanket. The princess was a guide star for far more people than she might realise. Not quite the travel companion one would choose for hard rides to hidden locations, but not so bad really, once you overlooked the little tantrum at the cottage.

Some of that was just the way of royals, she supposed. Nobles had their foibles also, and she remembered some of the etiquette she brushed aside even though it was never as stifling for her as she imagined it must be for the other woman.

Drifting in the warm comfort of wine and the nearness of Capilet, the horsewoman swirled around her thoughts and impressions with her hopes for the future, slowly pulling her coat closer about her and passing into sleep.



Day 2 - Castle Walls & Stockades, Midnight

The stroke of cool weather flooded the plains rising up to the castle town and the castle that rose above it. The rain showers that had begun off and on had left the previously chill air humid, and a sort of muted damp seemed to stifle the land. In the castle, all but the most devoted or terrified servants slept, including those who served the Resistance.

A soft shift began in the gloaming, something hardly observed by most even as it happened around them. Those waiting servants in the castle, even who worked against the Great Interloper, had no idea of what the morning would bring. Guards and ostlers, a page or two, even the odd knight, began to slip away out of sight.

They were so few and so subtle that just before midnight watch was called there had been no alarm, no concern sparked at all. Through the humid mists steaming up from the high road to the castle's main gates came a band of horsemen - perhaps two dozen - robed all in dark astride mounts with hooves padded and wrapped to muffle the sound of their approach. The result was something like distant thunder rolling toward the castle. The archers threw back their cloaks first to reveal clothing dyed just as black beneath, merging them into the inky dark of night.

The pages and servants who had slipped away inside the castle provided distractions to the guards ready to be relieved of their watches, easily leading them away with the promise of drink or entertainment. The lights were snuffed so that their work was hidden unless one were to know to look for them. The first arrows loosed dispatched the few remaining guards, and the deadly horsemen entered the castle grounds ready to quiet any others awake and walking where they should not be at this hour.

While they made their sweep, others lowered the body of poor Grueta and wrapped her in a sheet. If she lived, they had planned to take her to a physician loyal to the Resistance. If not, then her remains were to be taken and given a proper, respectable burial. A few of those about the stable yards defected to their side, likely fearing a true invasion had begun, but most slept - fortunate, for that was where the greatest risk of fighting had been.

In Grueta's place, a magpie was nailed, its wings spread as an ill omen, a warning.

The silent riders removed those in the stocks, hurrying from their imprisonment and helping the men then barely able to walk onto horses brought for the purpose - if they could ride. The third member of the eastern guards the night of Diana's disappearance was thrown across a saddle tied and gagged. He would be, the old knights had decided, given the opportunity to join the Resistance or else... Well, there could be no witnesses or loose lips. One of the archers dipped an oil-drenched cloth wrapped about the tip of an arrow into one of the last torches lit in the little yard and sent it arcing into the dais where the men had been held. The wood kindled up into flames easily. The sand laid out for the execution of those not worth making examples of would keep it from spreading too far, but this would, they hoped, set an example for the king to observe.

Long shadows bending grotesquely over the cobbled stone paths through the castle grounds, the riders dispatched the guards coming to their posts. Time was growing even shorter, but the bodies were neatly laid out crown-to-toe in a line along the carefully tended grasses, as ineffective as toy soldiers set aside from play. There were far more soldiers to be had within the castle. Knights slept nearer the stables or within the thick stone wall of the main structure itself. A barracks had been erected by the Usurper that had not existed in the true king's time - something the Castle Town hated far more than it benefited from as a result. Still, bent intently to their purpose, the horsemen lowered the king's pennant from where it flew above the main watch tower and raised in its place the crest of King Aminan and his line. They could not take the castle tonight, but this first foray they would leave their mark.

Mischief done, the ghostly black riders faded into the dark, skimming from their work within the castle's high walls. Riga pulled down the black scarf wrapped about his throat, grinning to one of the other riders who nodded in return, and they went to ground in the castle town. Some of them would be gone by morning: and there would be more work to do at the dawn, but their part was finished for now.

There had been no interruption, no flaw in the plan, so that their silent doings seemed to stretch on far longer than the brief span they had occupied in reality. They left in their wake a few scattered guards dead along with their row of fallen soldiers beneath the billow emblem of the true king, the smolder of the wooden stocks, and the magpie. It would be nearly morning before discovery, the next watch lazing to their places immediately flying towards panicked confusion as they began to see what had been done under their noses. Somehow, impossibly, the evidence of a battle appeared that most within the castle had not even realised they were fighting. It was laid out plainly in the stark grey before the dawn, giving hope to those under the oppression of the Interloper and worry to those who had chosen to serve him.

Now, they would see what Sinal the Pretender would do with their message:

Your days are numbered, and we are counting.



Day 3 - The Owl & Thistle, Morning

When not at the castle, the lovely Tabitha could be found at the little inn and tavern her adoptive uncle had assisted her with obtaining. She held the purse strings even if Olivia Dade spent most of her time running the place. The two women got on well, Tabitha younger and mild-mannered while Olivia was older, protective, and not one to take lip off of soldier or civilian alike. She was also one of the best brewers this side of the Broad Bridge. The wooden tables, chairs, and bar were polished to a shine. The cups were clean, the floor neatly swept clear.

Daylight spilled into the common room like paint when a few of the dark riders appeared. They had stripped away their black robes and clothes and sent them with couriers for burning, replacing them with the simple fabrics and drab browns most commonly seen amongst visitors to the town. A merry fire lit at all hours in Ignatio's warehouse had gluttonously consumed any trace of conspiracy for all of them, at least. Still, Olivia's sharp eyes noted who they were and she nodded to herself. She was perhaps once a handsome woman, but if so there was little grace remaining to her. Her face was chapped and Her husband had been a simple foot soldier in the brief and ultimately doomed efforts to prevent Balaser's overthrow of King Aminan. He had been a simple farmer and a good man, and until that day all Olivia had wanted was an equally simple life with good crops and the hard-working man she had loved since the day she met him at Maypole decades before... They had had one child - a girl who had died during an outbreak of fever quite young. In so much adversity one might think the woman would have come undone. Not Olivia. She picked herself up, brushed herself off, and set about the business of elevating her own community. They were not soldiers or fighters, but they cared about the taxation, about the casual overexpectations of the new, so-called "king".

To most eyes Olivia was nothing but a plain-faced, aging woman from the farmlands who tended bar. In fact, she was one of the keystones of the Resistance. There were few so well known beyond the castle town as she, and well-respected by the people who lived day to day under the thumb of Balaser. They were unarmed, simple peasants to most, but they outnumbered fighting forces heavily and they were all angry. She was a soothing voice, a voice of reason, but underneath it all she was just as angry and just as ready for the justice swiftly coming to hand. As handy in a row as she was tending those who frequented the custom house portion of the establishment she now ran, most people respected her enough not to run afoul of her. Those who did very often found themselves out of Ignatio's good graces as well.

Clapping his hand onto the shoulder of the taller Alfson, Riga cracked a grin and leaned against the counter towards Olivia.

She gave a fond smile to the grinning Riga and passed him a cup of beer. His grin broadened as he winked, "Still the only woman for me, Ollie."

She rolled her eyes and laughed, but her cheeks tinged red as she swatted the much older man with the tail of the cloth she was using to mop up stray droplets of beer from the bar. Even Alfson smiled, nodding to her and inquiring after the children. She took foundlings and the unfortunate of the city under her wing and helped them find placements and kept them fed, something near and dear to her. She caught him up on the idle gossip of the city as she readied a meal for those arriving, excusing herself only when the smell of freshly baked bread began to waft through the room. Some inns bought their bread from the bakers within the city, but she trusted few people with the art of yeast beyond herself. A few smiling faces bobbed around the room, accepting the custom of guests and weaving in and out of the kitchens as the slow trickle of life began to flow into the day.

A few messenger boys weaved amongst the guests, waiting for notes and letters to be composed and returned along with a fat coin for the boy doing the delivering. Two or three of the men who pressed into the room separated from their companions and moved towards one of the small, private rooms Tabitha let for suppers. They were most often levied by merchants and those with the coin to entertain guests in peace, and today Riga and Alfson paid Olivia for a simple meal with beer before ducking out of sight behind the other men. A few stately knights of the old guard sat around the table disguised as well as they could be as peasants. There was something fine about their appearance and the way they carried themselves that was largely unmistakable. All but Berant, that is. The lanky knight was as slippery as a bard, somehow managing to fold and warp himself into whatever character he chose. It had made him popular with both Ignatio and the children Olivia tended who loved his stories.

One or two of the others who joined them were compatriots of the old knights, but had been hardly older than Riga and Alfson at the time of the coup. They had the unmerited swagger and confidence that many of the riders' own number also possessed. Untested, as Byron liked to remind them all. Riga wondered if he would say the same after the princess's escape and the raid on the castle. Things were really beginning to move, and he wondered also how Horatia was faring with a bratty noble in her sights. She was probably the least patient of their quartet. Too bad he hadn't found the princess first. He was sure he could find the patience to spend time roaming the forests and streams with a beautiful princess on his arm.

Alfson could not have possibly known Riga's thoughts, but the sharp elbow that interrupted his daydreaming seemed to indicate he might have all the same. Lifting one brow a bit at his friend's drifting attention, Alfson seated himself at the table while Riga propped himself against a nearby wall.

A gruff voice complained of the lateness of the hour.

"Give him time, Cairn," replied Berant lightly. "It would be foolish of him to rush as visible as he is. We have the luxury of being relatively unknown these days."

The seated knight grumbled to the lanky one nearby, but said nothing further. It was perhaps a quarter of an hour when the door opened and in stepped Ignatio and one of his aides, trailed by Old Byron's man, Joaquim. The aide leaned beside Riga, nodding a greeting. The younger man grinned another Riga grin. Joaquim sat near to Ignatio's hand, clearly chuffed to be among the number of those afforded a seat at the table. Olivia came, bringing their meal and refilling cups before leaving a pitcher of ale and one of fresh milk.

After good-natured banter and a little friendly sniping had passed and each had had a bite to eat, Ignatio dabbed at his lips before waving a hand about the room. "A little bird has suggested there might have been some mice taking advantage of an unwary cat in the night. I can't say I understand such things. Giving away the element of surprise is a bit of an overstep." Alfson nodded once silently from beside him. "I suggest any among you who has business in town conclude it and move along. Those who remain until the situation favours such little creatures will need to be particularly careful."

The gruff old knight Cairn folded his arms, but slowly nodded as well. "You aren't the only one with plans, Ignatio, much as you might fancy you are. It was necessary. We've lost enough that all good men count."

Ignatio gave a magnanimous shrug with an expression that suggested he was unconvinced this had been the best course. "As you say. Now that the kettle has been upset, what is the intention going forward?"

Leaning over a map of the castle and adjacent town, Ignatio, Joaquim, and the Horsemen present listened as the knights took turns walking through the plans for the Resistance. After a few days time, when the king had stewed - and possibly raged - against their warning, it should be time to strike. By then they should have rallied their supporters from the far corners of Hymnascal and made ready to retake the throne. Before another full moon, King Aminan's house would once more be restored to the throne if their reckoning was right. There were things yet to address. Their cleverest minds had been hard at work to counter the might and weapons who some even yet believed to be magic.

When questions had been asked and details clarified, the maps and plans were burned, the ashes swept up into a motley assortment of pouches to be taken away and disposed of elsewhere. As this was done, Ignatio clapped a hand on Joaquim's shoulder and gave him an encouraging nod. "Joaquim came to purchase Chateau Romani, a very fine year, for his master and your former commander, Byron. He has a very interesting tale to tell about our wayward Mare and the little filly she has adopted."

Joaquim straightened his spine and nodded, recounting to them what little he knew of Horatia's visit. He did not have the full picture, but he was aware of a sense of importance that the news be delivered. Ignatio nodded approvingly and after some discussion about those retained from the workings of the night, it was agreed that letters would be sent from those who would remain and that Riga and Brand would escort the body of the late Shango Hast to his daughter. It would be impossible to rest him in the family crypts immediately, but after the Usurper was overthrown he might be reinterred with the honours he was due.

Riga stopped Alfson mid-letter to inquire what he was doing. With a sad little smile, Alfson explained that he would be remaining with the old knights as an advisor of sorts. With Ignatio too high profile and most of the knights known to the king, he was in a unique position to act as both spy and council member to the Resistance heads. Riga knew he was well-suited to the task, but the idea of the four of them continuing apart sat badly with him. Still, he nodded and accepted Alfson's letters to Byron and Horatia. To Joaquim, Ignatio entrusted his own letter for Byron alongside one from Cairn.

The knights were the first to leave, rising and excusing themselves before one or two at a time vacating the inn by different doors. After some time had passed, Alfson rose and joined the messenger boy headed to the castle himself, with a last farewell to Riga. He wished that he could speak with Brand again, but there was not time enough for that. Tabitha entered as he was going, nodding and smiling before floating back to the room with her adopted Uncle and the remnants of the clandestine meeting. She helped Olivia clear away and spoke light-heartedly despite the tension in the air. She would go about life as she always had, having little reason to hide. She made sure to include a basket of sweet jam and tarts, savoury and sweet, for Joaquim and the other men on their return journey to the friary, and kissed her uncle on the cheek before leaving again.

It had felt more a rat-race than anything to do with mice, though the mouse hunt Balaser would launch would no doubt be memorable as well. Riga kicked a stone along the cobbled street into the earthen alley as he made his way along to the square where Ignatio's warehouse sat. The man had remained behind, playing ever bit the patron of the place and joking with Olivia and the other patrons who he plied with bread and drink. There was little unusual about the morning in almost every way, except that beneath it all nearly everything was changing.

All too soon he had wandered through the stables, assisting Joaquim and loading up the cart with crates of wine and all the other items that Old Byron had asked him to obtain. Dutiful as always, the man had done an excellent job and was, by all accounts, a decent haggler when he put his mind to it. Brand's heavy frame sat atop his mountain of a mount, while Riga rode his own horse and led a laden mount behind him. Joaquim settled himself into the seat of the carriage and expertly navigated the tight streets towards freedom. When they reached the open road, having had no real trouble doing so, Riga glanced back once more at the gates to the town. So much had happened over such a small span of time. They had waited, they had been ready for this fight for so long... yet now that it was on them the air felt close and the tension of waiting for Balaser to react was like waiting for a lightning strike. His brows knit considering Ignatio's words. Regardless of the plan, they had kicked the hornet's nest. The next time, they would smoke Balaser from the comfort of the throne room to engage them.

Brand's attention was on the carriage before them, the shrouded body of the last appointed knight of the Hast line hidden within. He was a man of few words, but even his typical gentle optimism was blunted by the knowledge of what they went to do. War was inevitable. Death would be inevitable also. That was all a consideration for another day, albeit a day soon coming. What lay before them on the road to the friary was the last bit of their little band's youth. Things would change, had already begun to do so. What this would mean for them, he couldn't say, but with Alfson left behind at the leading edge of the Resistance and Horatia ahead forced to play the waiting game, perhaps opposite to their preferences, this could only add to their troubles. He thought of the flash of Diana he had seen, their brief encounter the night of her escape and dearly hoped that she would prove the answer to the problem of kingship.



Day 3 - Castle Halls, Mid-Morning

A page ran nimbly through the tense castle halls, whispering around every corner quieting at any hint of news. Eyes followed him, and he felt skittish as the shadows dancing in torchlight seemed to stalk him from room to room. When he reached the throne room, he held a quick conversation with the Herald of Arms who blanched and shoved the boy forward. Resisting the push, he felt the King's beckon dig into his chest like a hook, sending his heart pulsing in his throat and his thin legs shaking as he obeyed the command to move near. He knelt, and as he repeated the message his young voice broke:

"Archers, Your Majesty, in the night. The watchmen said they came out of the mists in the dark and... None of the prisoners on the walls survived."

There had been a minor raid earlier in the day, which had been crushed by the knights and guards loyal to the king. Those who survived had been tortured, their broken bodies stripped as they were hung alongside Diana's servant, Grueta, from the high turrets of the castle's imposing walls. His message had been received; and the response was clear. They would come, would take aim at his throne in the dark if they could not wage war openly against him in the light. There was no army for the Great Usurper to conquer, only the unseen Resistance who could be anyone and anywhere at any time, dogging his treacherous steps like wolves awaiting his fall.

Lip curling back in a sneer, the king's advisor began to wave the boy away.

"There's more," he started with a hoarse shift of octaves. The advisor shot him a warning glance, but the king waved impatiently for him to continue.

"Spit it out, then, brat."

"S-Sire, the three men who survived the attack on the eastern gates have disappeared with the others commanded to the stockade. They... Th-they left them burning with..." He hesitated, afraid of his next words.

"Out with it!" The king slapped his palm on to the wooden arm of the ancient throne, his large frame and war-like countenance at odds with the delicate craftsmanship and care that had gone into creating Hymnascal's seat of power.

"There was a figure burning atop the platform where the stockades were placed. The whole platform seems to have burned up with it and the figure... was dressed in an imitation of your armour and wearing... a fool's crown."

Its flopping felted points had been fixed with jingling bells that had tinkled in the side court as the flames shifted the smoking air. The boy swallowed again, thinking of the men covering their faces with damp cloths as they stamped out the last embers in the charred black-grey remains carcass of the raised stockade platform.

As the boy's message had been delivered, a very tall man in Balaser's colours had made his way bowing on the fringes of the various clingers-on and advisors who ranged about the room observing. Appearing at the king's elbow at nearly the same moment was Alfson, pouring a cup and stepping back respectfully as the royal taster passed the cup onward to the king.

"I'm afraid there's more, Your Majesty," Entoned the tall, thin man, throat bobbing as he cleared it and hesitated a moment. He stepped quickly beside the messenger. "Regarding the ahhh... goings-on this night passed. There seems to be some uncertainty about where it has gone and when it was last seen, but it would appear that the head and body of the late Shango Hast is missing."

One of the king's advisors raised a question, "Missing? Taken?"

"I would not presume to know, My Lord. When the square was cleared and everything was taken off for burning one of the carts seemed to be missing. The knight commander ordered the night soil carts and other trade carts from the town be searched, but the missing cart was not found. It is presumed that whoever has the cart was responsible for removing the remains."

The shuffling of feet resounded in the quiet that followed his words, and everyone turned to see a sheepish groundskeeper twisting his hat in his hands. "Y'Majesty, ah, there's something you might wish to see. The woman, Grueta is gone, but something was left in her place..."

The gasps around the court were audible, and the whispers began to rise like a tide behind columns and under tapestries, quickly carried through the halls and beyond by the wagging tongues of noble and servant alike. The cart was, of course, in a thousand pieces and burned up through the night over sympathetic hearths.

[Koti~]

FRIARY COTTAGE, EARLY MORNING

Damanius didn’t sleep well, despite the exhaustion he felt in his body. Waking up, every joint in his body felt still and delayed, like he was submerged under water. Even the struggle to push the heavy blankets off him as he sat up, letting the surroundings soak in. The budding headache behind his eyes didn’t help matters as he pushed himself off the bed, figuring the ale from last night had much to play in his grogginess, not helped along by the completely destroyed sleep schedule. Letting out a yawn that rolled through his body, Damanius waited by the bedside, watching the door for a moment, pondering what lay beyond it. The last night and day, stretching for what felt like months, had left him unsure of approaching the door. Beyond it held once again his freedom, and despite the joy he already felt yesterday, now it lay as quiet. The feelings were still there, eager and ready for him to take apart in it.

Most of all though, he wanted to enjoy the quiet. It was a strange feeling, both a desire to be around others and celebrate his release of the castle, to wanting nothing to do with others, to savor the sun by himself. Letting another yawn roll through him, Damanius set about the small cottage, glad for the silence as he took the arduous task of dressing himself, setting everything back into place. He took into granted just how much Grueta really helped him, letting his mind drift back to her presence for the moment. She would never have replaced his mother and father, nor did she come close to his siblings when it came to family. She was family though, in an odd sense to him. Always there, a warm hand to guide him along. He pushed back the memories of the two of them, not wanting to voice any worries he had. They would be back to rescue her, and reclaim his throne. When it came time to reveal himself, he would make sure she was there, to be rewarded for all of her services and aid during those 8 years in the castle.

Diana held a hand to her stomach as it rumbled, feeling both a queasy rumble through her pairing annoyingly with a parched throat. Deciding that the world was no longer going to wait, Diana pushed her way out into the yard, taking the first few steps as she shielded her eyes from the sunlight, cursing the night of drinking prior, just in time to nearly collide with one of the brothers. She was quick to stammer out an apology as the brother bowed to her, motioning towards the mess hall, the thin wisps of smoke signalling the morning mass. She responded in kind that she would be there, not feeling any need to rush for anything other than food. The thought of hunting down Horatia crossed her mind, but between last night and the fight in the cottage, decided it be best to let them both approach the day as needed. Diana wanted to enjoy these moments as she could, akin to the center of the storm. They had pushed through the worst of it, and right now they were staring down the eye of the tornado, and who knew what devastation lay in wait past them.


CASTLE WALL, NOON

“Get that damn sight off my castle walls! Burn the bodies, and drown the ashes in filth!” Sinal ordered his men, hatred intense enough to scare even the bravest of his soldiers. He turned back to the magpie, knowing its meaning well enough. The situation was all wrong, and he was being played for a fool! His blood boiled as he strode past his men, sun burning high in the sky as he felt the weight of his armor. The kidnapping of the princess was now more than some group wanting to parlay power. The message was laid bare, and he was more than willing to respond with complete destruction of this wasteland of a town. Despite his rage though, he knew better than to act on impulse. This wasn’t a coup from an allied nation, nor was this enemy from afar.

It was a parasite from the inside.

Followers of the bastard king Aminan, more than likely the old knights who had enjoyed the comforts of nobility and power they had wielded from before. Frustrated from losing their precious idiot of a king, unable to flaunt their ranks to the common folk and rabble of the borders, they wanted the old ways back.

Sinal could still see the gleam of their teeth, riding atop prised horses as they watched over the southern border towns, slaying any peasant or knight who dared stand against them. How they had torched his homelands, salted the earth and poisoned the rivers when they fought for their own lands. The king had defiled his lands, and he would do everything to defile his history, even if it meant sowing himself into the bastard daughter of the Royal Mistress. He cared not for her, wanting to use her as nothing more than a street wretch, to bare him a son, then dispose of her corpse in the streets.

WIZARDS TOWER, MID AFTERNOON

“Ganondorf!” Sinal bellowed, pounding his way up the stairs, cutting the screams of a missing servant girl short. He took no time ascending the stairs, climbing through the tower grounds and eventually making his way towards the chambers. Not bothering to await the opening door, Sinal barged in, barely glancing his eyes across the defiled woman, shallow cuts splattering her chest as the wizard was busy adjusting himself.

“Your Majesty, it is rare to see you so soon. May I ask, what brings you up here so soon?” The old man asked, dabbing away the sweat from his forehead and laying down the thin blades that he had been toying with. Sinal glared at the woman, disgusted by the woman's sight and the pity she begged of him.

“Cover you shame, for I have a request. Your fetcher, the strange young girl I know you employ. I have need of her skills.” He spoke, motioning a hand towards the small chamber off to the side. Ganondorf frowned, grabbing a heavy blanket and tossing it over the weeping woman, shuffling his robe as he moved towards the door. Producing a set of keys, he unlocked the door and let it swing open, the soft lights playing through the covered windows.

A thin woman stepped out, looking no older than the princess herself, yet unnerving herself. Baring the darkened skin of a southern commoner, she fixed her one good eye upon the king, dropping quickly to the ground in a deep bow. Her long red hair splayed out beneath her, the tiny frame unwilling to move as she awaited.

“Rise Nabooru, the king has need of your services.” Ganondorf commanded, stepping back and giving Sinal room to move in. The man did so, looking down on the pathetic misery of the woman. He believed her and the old wizard related, their eyes holding the same color and their skin similar in tone. The girl was unnerving though, almost dead silent and frail, yet hiding a ferocity that frightened even him. He had seen first hand this woman fight, taking down a full armored knight with nothing but a dagger and her bare hands. Blending well into the background, Nabooru was hard to pick out of a line up, yet her one eye seemed to peer straight through you.

“I need information from the rabble, and from one no one would expect. My knights have failed me, and even the peasant filth dare challenge me. To make a move now would be signing even more over, and I must be cautious. You can move where I cannot.” Sinal demanded of the child, looking to her for any signs of betrayal. She looked up, then, understanding in that dead eyed gaze that held him for but a moment.

Slipping a small pouch from his pocket, he leaned down to the woman, holding it for her to grasp.

“This here is a very powerful drug. Just one pinch, and people will spill their secrets to you. Find any who harbor ill will against me, and find who dare try and kill me.” Sinal ordered her, dropping the pouch into her hands and studying the acceptance in her eyes. With the mission given, Sinal left, leaving the two of them to their whims. As he approached the final door, he could just hear the screams starting up again as he left the tower.


TOWN SQUARE, MID AFTERNOON

“Here ye, here ye! By order of King Sinal, a curfew shall be started by the setting of the sun today. In response to the kidnapping of Princess Diana, and the threats on the life of King Sinal, any who are out beyond the setting sun shall be held in the gaols to await judgement.” The local crier began, gathering the attention of several people already.

“Furthermore, any carriages and personages attempting to leave or enter the city must request permission from the captain of the guard, and must remain inside the castle barracks during their stay other than for trade or work. All shall be required to bring their own lodgings and comforts for their stay. Any found breaking these rules shall be sentenced to a fortnight in the gaols until the completion of the barracks. So says his majesty, King Simal!” The crier finished his proclamations, rolling up the scroll work as several people began to voice their opinions about the rules. Many spoke harshly before the soldiers began to break up the rabble, now wearing war time gear, shields now resting on their arms as security was tightened around the castle grounds.

EARLY EVENING, OWL AND THISTLE THRESHOLD

“Please, please can you let me in?” A timid voice called from the door, frantic pounding at the wooden grain of the door. The voice called out louder as one could hear the heavy steps of the soldiers getting closer, before one of the waitresses opened the door, the frail form of Nabooru standing at the entrance, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, clutching a small loaf of bread and two gold coins.

“This way! I saw the girl escape down the alley!” The sounds of soldiers could be heard, drawing Nabooru's attention for just a moment, panic clear in the one eye not covered in bandages. The maid, her heart aching for the young woman barely out of childhood, motioned her inside, quietly closing the door as she ushered the young woman inside.

“My dear, what has happened to you. You look moments from deaths grasp.” The maid asked the young girl, setting about cleaning the girl free of the smudge and dirt that clung to her face. The girl stood still, a small squeak and whimper as she was busied over, still clutching onto the bread and coin as though it was her very life, not trusting herself just yet to speak. It took a while for the girl to find her tongue, her body having relaxed enough to ease the tension of the room.

“I, I just recently entered the town, as my Ma and Pa were killed … when the king … when he …” Nabooru spoke, her voice cracking with hiccups and threatening tears in the corners of her eyes.

“Easy, dear, easy. It seems you’ve been on the streets some time. You must be one smart girl to have survived this long.” The maid spoke, praising the young girl as she pulled over a kitchen stool for her to sit on.

“I .. I’ve been surviving off scraps and what I can get from the bushs. I … I found the coins alone, and thought I could use them to buy some fresh apples, but .. those guards started harassing me, demanding the coins and trying to throw me .. into jail.. Ididnothingwrong,Iswear! I found these.” Nabooru spoke quickly, her voice running into a jumbled mess of sound at the end. The maid, heart aching for the girl, shushed her while offering a cup of fresh water to soothe her.

“I know, I know. There should be no reason to throw such a sweet girl like you in jail. Come now, I know just who you need to meet.” The woman spoke, taking the young girls hand and leading her further into the building, giving the girl a reassuring smile as they moved through the mostly empty tavern, the local drunkards and plenty of patrons resting about the place.

It didn’t take much time before they stood before another bedroom turned office, a gentle knock as they opened the door.

“Sorry to bother you so late Olivia, but .. I have someone here you should meet. I don’t mean to barge in like this, but I couldn’t help myself.” She spoke with a deep curtsy, motioning the young woman inside.

“Hi miss Olivia, I’m sorry for disturbing you. My name is Nabooru.” The girl spoke, trying her best to mimic the maids movements, looking to the older woman with her one single eye.

FRIARY, MAIN HALL, LATE EVENING

Damanius sipped on his glass of wine, having enjoyed his day mostly in peace. He had come across Horatia at several points during the day, but he declined her presence, wishing for nothing more today than to be with his thoughts. Already he had plans of the future running through his mind, trying to put everything in place to return the kingdom to its former glory. They had given him plenty of problem, unwilling to put anything to parchment just yet, as not even the next day seemed set in stone.

His head lifted as he heard the approach of horses and carriage, Old Byron having been absent since the afternoon. Joaquim had urged the team to move through the day, riding the high of having met so many knights of old tampered by the daunting news he had to bear to Horatia and the princess. He feared the horse riders anger, and wished any but himself would have to deliver the news this day. Thankfully he had Brand and Riga there, glad that they would be able to soften the anger that was sure to come.

This was not going to be a good night…

[Alura]

Day 3 - The Friary, Early Morning

Blearily blinking herself awake in the nascent light of day, Horatia breathed in the smell of hay and horses that hung like a blanket woven of the morning mists. A heavy weight sat on her chest and she snorted to find one of the cats that skulked about snagging fat mice and squirrels curled on top of her, its whiskers tickling her exposed throat. It stretched as she did, both for a moment made all of lolling tongues and pointed mitts before she rolled and deposited her uninvited companion into the straw. It was a simple matter to tidy away her makeshift bed, Capilet eyeing the feline that slunk its way off to its hunting with suspicion as she did so.

Combing fingers through her wild hair, Horatia greeted the horse, patting his neck and leaning into him. It was far from the worst beginning to a day, and despite the lateness of retiring she felt infused with energy. A man or two from the friary moved about the stables tending to the other horses stabled there and one of them lifted a brow and shook his head as she passed by looking as rumpled as an old jute sack with remnants of hay poking from it. She stumbled in the direction of the nearest stream, intent on washing up and too impatient to wait for hot water that might not be prepared so early in the day in the main hall itself with so much other work underway.

She had found her way along the unmarked but well-worn path easily, startling a little as she found Byron leaning against a tree smoking a pipe.

"Afraid of having your vices confiscated again, Old Man?"

"Amberlin seems to think his new-found piety somehow erases my memory of him prior to his vows." Byron groused good-naturedly, blowing out a ring of smoke with a huff.

"Amberlin wants a long and healthy life for you, perhaps as revenge. Maybe not so pious after all, now you mention."

Byron chuckled and Horatia smiled, both knowing Amberlin had always been as good a man as he was a fair-minded knight.

Chafing her arm through the sleeve of her coat, Horatia dug the toe of one boot into the dirt of the path and ducked her head. "Why out so far, though? You smoke at your cottage all the time..."

He tapped the bowl thoughtfully and took another long draw before replying, "Bit of a walk never killed anyone yet that I know."

"Mm." She agreed, allowing a moment of silence to pass between them before jerking a thumb towards the sound of water over stone not all that far from them. "Off for a bit, wash up before breakfast."

He nodded and she shifted her weight, peeling away toward the direction she had indicated. After a few steps, he called her name and she stopped, twisting the top half of her body to look back at him. Something in his expression made her turn all the way around and walk back to him. "Hm?"

Chewing her lip and tugging her long sleeves over her hands nervously at his delay, she finally gave a nervous laugh and tucked some of her unruly hair behind one ear. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Shrugging his broad shoulders, he dumped the contents of the pipe bowl and stood tall as he scraped at the deposit with his boot. "Oh, just could use some help with a few things today. Joaquim'll be back with supplies from Castle Town soon and might need some hands to unload also. Don't want to impose on our hosts."

Byron regularly imposed on their hosts, so Horatia tilted her chin and pulled a face, laughing easily. "Right you are. I don't know why you are being so odd about it. Something else I should know?"

The man glanced up at the canopy of trees above them before bringing his gaze back to hers, seeming more reflective today than usual. It was an unusual mood, but perhaps he had simply had too much wine the prior evening as he spun his yarns. Still, when he spoke again it was Horatia's turn to be reflective, "The world is about to grow smaller, Girl. You never really understand that until you've traveled beyond our borders. Serving the crown... There is a lot of sacrifice, but a lot of knowledge as well. Experience can be a hard teacher, but if you can hold to your convictions they will see you through to the end of anything. Do you understand?"

Horatia narrowed her eyes a little and gave her head a little shake. "No, not really. Am I meant to?"

Byron smiled at himself deprecatingly and shook his head. "I suppose not, no. Only... Try to remember it. Placing a crown on the girl's head will be more difficult than just killing one man. It's important for a man to know why he does the things that he does. Hard enough to live a code, even when things are simple. A country is one body of many people and there are many who would take the crown for themselves, each with their own reasons - not all right and not all wrong. Many people might see Balaser as just one bad seed in the same apple: there is no guarantee Diana will prove any better. There will be times when being 'right' is impossible. When she - or you - will make a decision that you must carry out even if you do not agree with it. When it is your responsibility, when you are one of the knights that keep her on the throne, you will need a better reason than legacy to defend her. Why is she any better than Balaser?"

Expression mildly offended and confused at the implication of something so treasonous from the stalwart man, Horatia parted her lips to retort before he waved her again to silence. "You think you know a lot, but trust an old man who has experienced many things and lived it. We tell the stories people want to remember and keep the rest of them to ourselves: but there are five tragedies to every one of the glory tales we share. It will be a hard life and the work will only begin when King Aminan's heir is enthroned. Even royals make mistakes. Especially royals. Know yourself, what you believe in and why you conduct yourself the way you do. It will give you a measure of confidence to continue forward when there seems to be no path and allow you to act when things seem to go against you."

He scratched his chin. "What your grandfather and father and bro-"

"Easy-" Horatia warned.

"What your brother chose," Byron insisted softly. "All of it is a part of who you have become, but they cannot be the definition of who you are any more than you could be that for each of them. You have your mother's temper, but not her sense at times."

"Byron, why are we doing this now? Don't we have enough going on to stand about gabbing on chivalry and codes of conduct and knightly duty before half the damned larks have even started singing?" Balling her hands into fists, she scowled. "Have you heard something back from the Town already? Is Joaquim at his village?"

Byron shook his head. "Nothing like that and I think you know I'd say it if so. Just a feeling in the gut. Even if all of the news from Castle Town is good, when the fighting starts there won't always be time to think: so think now."

Confused about the serious tenor of his conversation and annoyed at having her calm morning invaded with such strange advisements, Horatia breathed out in frustration, doing her best to muffle the edge of a laugh. "Alright then, Uncle. Unknown news may be good or bad. When Diana is queen, hold my breath to be knighted and then do my job 'confidently and actively'. Glad we managed to hammer that out."

Shaking his head, Byron waved a hand at her and let out his own sigh. "Mmhm. Think on it, Horatia."

"Alright, Uncle."

They stared at each other for a moment, his face a well of compassion and hers a half-facetious, half-suspicious sketch of thin amusement. It was, perhaps, a conversation nearly every person would have at least once in their life with an elder. Good intentions on all sides, but the two were simply unable to bridge their positions in conversation. She knew he must be worried, to speak like this, something more than his usual advice. For now, however, it was entirely lost on her and try as she might it made her defensive.

He, for his part, saw that today or someday soon the reality of battle, perhaps of war, would be upon them. He hoped she would not allow her temper to lead her head away from the rest of her purely because of a rash decision. Following one's own heart was for young lovers and fools, not knights - not that it had a habit of panning out for anyone. She would no doubt have taken issue with the comparison, but the same stubborn streak that made her tenacious also made her reckless. He hoped she might find a better balance before it sent her on a course behind her brother. They had been close, and he had been valiant: neither of which brought her comfort. In fact, despite the many years they had known one another he could not recall her ever mentioning his name or the man at all.

The horsewoman waited politely as he tucked his pipe into a pouch and began his uneven walk back towards the friary cottages. She tried to read his meaning in his departing back, but the more she thought about it the more puzzled she became. Blowing out a breath as he rounded a curve in the path, she tramped onward to the stream where she scrubbed away her irritation and rinsed it from her hair in the cool waters.

She was much refreshed when she returned to the hall, and nodded good morning to the princess who seemed wrapped in her own thoughts also. What was happening around the place that everyone was suddenly so pensive? She ate more than her fill, palming a couple of apples for Capilet and Morgan when Byron found her again and instructed her to go collect tallow from the neighboring village and a few commissions from the blacksmith there. She carried a knife and some line with the intention of stopping by the tributary for a bit of fishing before her return. Perhaps it would improve her mood and allow Capilet to have his fill of the watercress that grew up around the spot.



Day 3 - Castle Town Square

One of Ignatio's aides, the same who had attended him that morning in the little secret gathering in the Owl & Thistle, bent to speak to two urchins who scattered off in two directions on their way to share the news. The hawk-like eyes and perennially calm expression never waivered, but he moved carefully nearer and gave the hint of a bow to the highest ranking member of the guard he could see and extended the offer of his master's table and the promise of good drink to the man and his men that evening. Ignatio was well-known for being a generous host and, the aide hoped, his loyalty to the will of the Usurper-King would be apparent by his calm support of the newly-instated defenses.



Day 3 - Owl & Thistle, Early Evening

Olivia was drying her hands on a cloth she kept tucked at her apron when one of the maids rapped at her door. She turned as the woman entered, brows drawn a little as she let herself in and lifting slightly as the child appeared beside her.

A half-eaten plate of food stood on a table behind her that also held the current records like the tally and supply books. A small bag of coins spilled onto the table, possibly in preparation for paying out the staff. She glanced to the maid and said, "I thought you had gone home. Not safe to go out again now."

Lowering herself to the eye level of Nabooru, Olivia rested her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Let's have a look at you then, Nabooru." She regarded the bandaging on the girl's face with a frown.

"What happened here, Child? Are you lost?" Looking over the girl's head she addressed the maid, "Go fetch her something to eat from the larder. Bit of butter left for her bread and you might take a bit of the porridge as well. Won't be any milk 'til morning, but water down some wine for her."

She looked back to Nabooru who she had not yet given time enough to answer her and added. "Rooms are full tonight, but you can stay with one of the maids and her little girl until the curfew lifts and we'll find you something better to eat in the morning."

She raised her voice after the maid, "And fetch an extra blanket! She'll stay in with Zora and her daughter Ruto to sleep for now."

Rising back to her own height, Olivia placed her hands on her hips and looked down at the child expectantly. "Well, let's have it then. Are y'runnin' away from someone? Anyone in the town we can help you back to tomorrow?" Her questions were blunt, but her eyes were kind as they were sharp.




Day 3 - Friary Main Hall, Late Evening

When Horatia returned to the friary, dusk was already settling in over the trees. She had not meant to be away so long, but it seemed that Byron had had more business to be managed in the village than he had let on, which required her to spend most of the day running about on errands and waiting for the tradesmen to complete their tasks. When she had finally gotten free she had purchased some sugar beets and a handful of blackberries and enjoyed the luxury with Capilet on the banks of the tributary. The fishing had not been particularly good, but a few middling-sized bream had been baited by the fat brown worms she had scrounged for the purpose.

Abandoning the pole she had cut from soft wood and winding the line away for later use after she had caught herself nodding off in the grass, she had set their course for the brothers' home and arrived to the smoke curling from the kitchens. The scent of meat pies made her mouth water, and she quickly tended to Capilet and left him with the last beet as she headed back to the hall. The brothers had been hard at work, the meat pies accompanied by soup, cheese, cabbage, and even little apple cakes accompanying what appeared to be a sort of quiche. It was as good a feast as any festival and she looked around anticipating Joaquim and Byron. Byron stood near the fire with one hand leaning heavily on the mantel, having made his way in far later than usual and saying little. Her eyes glanced over Diana who still seemed preoccupied, nursing her wine.

Navigating the working friars, Horatia set her fish atop a table proudly and was quickly and silently chided for it. She was directed outside the little side door leading into the kitchen where she perched on a little stool and began to clean her catch so that the brothers could add it to their preparations. Her stomach growled and she glanced through the open door at the hurrying cooks like a feral cat being denied scraps. Amberlin, noticing it, paused only a moment before walking on and laughing quietly. Horatia just watched his receding back pitifully, her stomach complaining again.

Byron rolled his fingers together and took a deep drink of ale as he gazed into the fire. He had expected it might take some time for Joaquim to make it back to them, but it was far later than he anticipated. The friars had delayed their welcome reception as long as they could, but he had granted them leave to go ahead with them. Even if the youth had not returned, there needed to be something to lift the flagging mood within the little settlement. He turned to seat himself, pausing only to refill Diana's wine with a fatherly smile. His fingers plucked an apple from the bowl and he bit into it as a bowl of soup was served to him. In short order, Diana had been served also and Horatia had been allowed to wash up and join them after her contribution to the meal was ended. A boiled fish accompanied by a few small potatoes was placed before them.

They ate in relative silence, Byron unusually lost in his own thoughts and Horatia happy with the day and uncertain how to break the quiet after the morning's unusual encounter with the man as she shoveled food into her at her usual timbre. Setting aside his bowl and reaching for one of the little apple cakes, Byron smiled and opened his mouth to address Diana. His effort was delayed as the door of the hall flew open and a friar came rushing into the room, eyes roaming those gathered. The travelers had left their company earlier in the day leaving only familiar faces in the holy place, but something in the man's look was a little less than the usual calm for which the brothers were renowned. When he finally caught Byron's eye, they exchanged a quiet look before the larger man rose and followed the robed brother back into the dark. Horatia had stopped chewing with her mouth still half-full and gazed after them for a moment before glancing at Diana and rising, leaving the rest of her food untouched as she dusted off her hands and loped out behind them. Beyond Byron she could see a large man mounted beside Byron's carriage and the smaller frame with a swagger that could only belong to Riga.

She let out a low, hooting bird call and waited. For a long moment there was no response, and she cocked her head, breaking into a grin as she picked up her pace. She darted between Byron and the friar, throwing an arm around Riga's shoulders and mussing his hair. When she finally saw his face in the faint light from the hall, her smile faded. She looked around her, seeing Joaquim lowering himself to the ground with them and Brand looming familiarly beside them. Her heart swelled to see them safe, but she noted Alfson's absence.

"Is Alfson at the village? What's with the long faces? You've all had longer rides." She tried to force a grin back to her face, but Riga's protracted silence spoke volumes and Byron had yet to speak as well. She scratched her chin nervously. "If you're that exhausted I'm sure I can manage carrying a few things into the hall. Getting a little slow in your old age, hm?”

“Have to set up in a different cottage, though. Outranked by another guest."

Horatia knew that she was running on, but despite being aware of it she suddenly couldn't stop speaking. Something told her that when she did, someone else might actually begin, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that to happen.

[Koti~]

OWL & THISTLE, EVENING

“No.. I have no one to return to. They … they were killed when the king took over.” Nabooru spoke, her voice breaking into little sobs as she clutched the coins tighter, her eyes roving around the room, trained much like urchins looking for a safe place to settle for the night. She took in everything, from the leftover food, the tally of books, and even the bag of coins splayed on the table. To so carelessly leave such belongings out in the open, even when just working with a child, was sloppy. All the better for Nabooru, as no one really doubts children, especially those running from the guards, no homes to return to. Children truly were the greatest spies, as they could be anywhere and everywhere, and yet blend with the background with ease.

“Porridge and wine? No no, I don’t really need all that, its too much.” Nabooru was quick to try and dismiss the favor, yet the grumbling of her stomach betrayed her, forcing a deep blush upon the lady's face. She looked down to the coin and bread, trying to hide her embarrassment and weakness she let slip from her.

“Thank you… and the guards were chasing me, claiming me a thief. I swear, I didn’t steal this gold, I found it in the gutters. I didn’t steal nothing.” Nabooru spoke, looking up to Olivia with the most sincere gaze she could muster, a pout of resentment turning her lip before she turned to the door, the maid from before returning with a steamy bowl of porridge, a plate carrying that golden yellow cream of butter, and a small mug for her. Beckoning the girl over, Nabooru was quick to move over, eyeing the spread of food like a king his treasure.

“This .. this is too much. Please, here!” Nabooru offered the two coins to Olivia, wanting to repay the kindness so readily offered, head bowed in grace as she felt her stomach rumble once more, hungrily licking her lips as she awaited Olivia’s words.


FRIARY GROUNDS


Diana was quick to join the group, caution halting her steps just shy of Byron as she watched Horatia greet the men, a clear joy in her actions upon meeting them. She watched as that flame of happiness flickered in her eyes, a worried look passed around the two men she was flanked by, Joaquim adding a shadowy presence that did little to ease the growing tension. She could tell when horrible news was quick approaching, and even more the unease that hung in the air like morning fog. Taking a deeper breath, she stepped forward to the ground, a soft clear of her throat gaining all eyes upon her. She shuddered mentally as the men focused on her, relief clear for but a moment as she gave them a clean break from the tension. Horatia would hate her for it, but it was better to get the men talking more than anything else.

“I assume you two are part of the resistance and had a hand in getting me out of the castle, for that, you have my gratitude. As for you sire, I remember you well, and I apologize for striking you down without warning. I had feared for my safety and freedom, and did what I thought best in the moment.” Diana spoke, curtsying to the two men. They both for a moment beamed with pride before Riga shifted his eyes between her and Brand, a mirthless smile crouching on his face.

“Wait, this is the princess that felled the mighty Brand? She’s barely half your height and nowhere near your weight?” Riga spoke, finally glad to have a break in the tension as he let out a deep laugh, poking at Brands expense, hearing a few chuckles that joined around him.

“Hey, don’t doubt her, Riga. She has quite the hook on her. Please forgive him, your majesty, for he has the same smarts as the common sewage rat.” Brand spoke, bowing to the princess as Riga let out a wounded ‘hey!’ in retort, yet all in good jest. The two were glad for the minor distraction from Horatia’s questions, taking any advantage they could to not talk about the pressing weight on their backs. Diana brushed off the words though, having broken the tension some in the air. Trying to hide the pride that she felt from their compliments, her eyes studied them, noting just how tense they had remained. Despite the ease in the air, she knew there was more than just a long ride weighing down the men more than a heavy rain. Her mind raced to the commoners and city, already panicking over the peasants and what her actions must have caused.

“Alfson has remained behind at the kingdom, an inside man working for Ignatio and Olivia. He knows the risks, but he knew that he was the best to remain there.” Riga spoke up, feeling like he could finally speak his mind, at least in the small hopes. He knew it would do little to ease the woman, as they had planned for them all to return here, yet fate and war had intervened in the best laid plans of more powerful people. He began to speak again, drawing breath mere moments before Diana cut in, drawing him up short.


“Tell me, what has happened since I was taken from the Castle grounds. What has happened to my people?” Diana asked the two of them, watching them sober up hard, reality slapping them in the face. Joaquim was the first to make his move, having heard plenty of the stories and tales. He may be the best to tell the tales, though everything else would be left for the proper men to speak.

“The kingdom is … faring poorly, your Majesty. The king has truly gone mad at having his bride stolen from him. Sinal has been hauling in noble and peasants alike, questioning them who have the smallest shred of new of your whereabouts, or of Horatia. Even more, he has offered a reward of 1000 gold to any who bring him news of either of you, and a fiefdom for those who can return the two of you back to the castle. Almost all beggars without remorse have been combing every inch they can to find even a small clue for you.” Joaquim started, trying to remain on the lighter side of the daunting tales of the Castle. He could already see the pain and anger behind Diana’s eyes, hurt at what the king had done to her people. He swallowed a suddenly dry throat and continued.

“The … the men who were guarding the gates, they .. they had been punished by being placed in the stockades and flogged, deemed to stay there for three days with no food or water. I am glad to say that they survived. Mostly.” Joaquim added, his words ending abruptly, unable to continue with the information. He wanted to speak more, but his eyes shifted between the woman, suddenly afraid of what his words would do to these two women. His mouth opened and closed, a few starting words and breaths began, yet nothing could start.


“Maybe we should find a place to sit and a drink. These men have had a long-.” Byron had begun, trying to ease the men towards the main hall, yet stymied by Diana's hand, raised in defiance as she fixed her eyes to the men. She could see it in their body, the news they wished not to share, and even more, the anger and sadness that would follow it.

“No. You men are not telling it all. Tell me everything this man has done. I have sworn to end this man and bring honor to those who have fought besides me, no matter the cost. We will not move until I hear it all.” Diana spoke, mustering up all the courage and command she could throw in her voice. The men were drawn up short, looking down to the princess both in shock and pride. The princess had spine, a much different presence than from when they had first seen her at the city square and even more at the castle gates.

“Your majesty, I must ask that we at least let them rest-.” Byron began again, yet was ceremoniously drawn short by a glare from Diana, knowing that angering her further was not a wise choice. He decided to remain silent and stood upright, crossing his arms in annoyed compliance as he let out a deep held sigh.

“Yes.. of course your Majesty.” Brand was the first to cave, steeling his nerves for the news he had to deliver.

“Joaquim speaks true though. My fellow knights and I had been forced to the stockades after the king detested us for letting you through. It was a price more than worth paying for your freedom, so please do not fret on that. I can assure you the other men will live beyond this, despite the grueling punishment.” Brand spoke, waving off any future apologies she may try and pass to them.

“The bastard had truly lost his mind though. Your personal maid … was punished unjustly for our efforts. She had been .. staked to the walls nude. Regrettably, she did not survive.” He continued, glancing his eyes to the skies as he tried to purge the image from his mind, already balking at the sight when the resistance had pulled her from the walls. He had no idea how long she had managed to survive on the wall, but knew the woman had suffered more than needed.

“And … I’m sorry Horatia. The king knew that it was your family that had helped the princess escape, and your father was the first to be dragged off. He would have made you proud, not once letting slip anything about you or what he knew.”

“The king did not take that well. He .. um .. there is no easy way to say this, but he had your father dragged to the square by horse and denounced his nobility before … I’m sorry Horatia, but there was nothing we could do to save him. Your father fell to the axe, yet not without showing his pride to the people and his hatred for the king.” Brand finished, letting the words sit heavy in the world. The tension had hit its peak, none of the men daring speak now, watching Horatia for her reaction.

What they hadn’t expected though was the heavy thud of Diana falling to her knees, skin pale as bones and eyes fixed beyond the veil. A tremble of a word sat on her lips, tears unburdened in her eyes as she slumped forward, catching herself with her hands as a tremble overtook her.


Inside, Damanius and Diana were at war with each other. Emotions rode over them, seething hatred to Sinal bastard as Diana cursed him mentally with every word she could conjure. Grief and loss fought together for Diana as she felt as though the hand of the devil had gutted her, leaving nothing but a deep cold that froze her bones. Anguish brought them together, binding them in a spiraling darkness as sound was replaced by a single keening ring, high pitched and blocking out everything. Their vision swam with tears and encroaching darkness as she stared fixated upon the ground, looking beyond its well work tracks into the deep abyss below.

For to the world, Damanius had truly died, known to live only to himself. Grueta had been his last comfort, the only person who knew who he really was, who had kept him safe for these last eight years. The one person he hoped to see most when he returned triumphant to the throne, beg forgiveness for all the foolish things he had ever done. Yet even now, Sinal had robbed him of that. One could not beg a spirit for forgiveness, nor pay respects to a woman left bare to the world, shaming her to all that walked the castle walls. He had been given time to grieve the loss of his family, able to speak words of comfort with them before they were killed. All he had with Grueta was a promise unkept to even himself. He hadn’t been able to say goodbye, and that was robbed from him.

Sinal had taken everything from him. His home, his family, his kingdom, and even now, his only friend and most trusted person. There was nothing left for Damanius, save a goal and a lie. A lie that had been forced to him for the sake of survival, and a goal that only came from his duty as the prince. Those facts did little to comfort him as his vision tunneled deeper into the ground, ignorant to the world behind him.

… Their voice spoke to them, a soft whisper barely heard.

‘He has stolen everything.’

‘He has dragged our family through the mud.’

‘He has soiled our home, desecrated our fathers room, and fouled the air with his sins.’

‘HE.’

‘MUST’

‘PAY…’

‘Pay…. Pay.. Pay for his sins with blood. Pay for every second stolen. Pay with pain for every breath he draws! PAY AS EVERY BONE IS BROKEN AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN!! PAY WHILE BLED DRY! HUNG UPON THE WALLS TO BURN UPON THE PYRE!!! PAY AS HIS FLESH IS SEARED RED, BLOOD BOILED IN HIS VEINS!!!! ORGANS FLAYED AND SPEARED UNTIL ALL HE KNOWS IS PAIN!!’


A wash of red flowed through them, anger and rage gnawing and consuming any thought and hatred as it, sending limbs a tremble with fury unchecked. Their minds locked upon that mantra, ‘make him pay’ over and over, stoking the roaring flames, hot enough to engulf logic and reason, to push past ideals and thoughts. They let themselves be consumed in the flames, let it harden their bones and flesh, a rage so bright it blotted out the son. There was no Diana nor Damanius.

There was only rage.

A thirst so consuming it would drain the seas, a need for bloodshed so strong that the individuals were lost in that seething, writhing, burning, consuming flame. Warping them into a twisted scream of pain and anger, blurring emotions into a mass of directed rage, all aimed upon one single, unhinged idea.

“HE MUST PAY!”


Diana screamed her lungs out, the words ripping through her and into the night sky. Her body shot upright, head thrown back in a scream louder than a demon possessed, strong enough to stir even the dead as her head snapped forward, eye dilated as she focused down the road, looking miles ahead towards the castle. Towards the man who had taken everything from her. The bastard who sat upon their throne, mocking them with every breath he stole.

“HE WILL PAY IN BLOOD!!” Diana screamed in pure rage, the world around her consumed in the relentless blaze, her vision tunneling as it blotted out everything before her. Her legs moved first, the heavy thud against the ground rippling through her being as she took off, wind needling her flesh as he bolted into the night, each impact upon the ground pushing her forward, each shockwave that pulsed through her body a repeat of that same mantra, driving her forward. Pushing her onwards with each step, an unrelenting fuel of desire and bloodlust forcing air through her.

She would make that man pay with her own hands, to watch him bled dry in front her. She would kill that man tonight!

[Alura]

Day 3 - Owl & Thistle, Evening

Olivia regarded the girl, her eyes studying her clothing, her bandages and her face. "That's quite a long time to be out on your own. Who's been looking after you? Any other friends you've met who might need looking after as well? Not a good time to be out there with a curfew on, is it?"

"Oh, nonsense," the big woman began as she patted Nabooru's shoulder and began to guide her towards the small table and drew out a chair for her. "You just sit right here and eat what we give you now. Just a bite and some sleep. We'll find you a bath in the morning as well when we can draw water properly for it. Still a bit of lavender saved back that'll set you to rights quick as a wink."

Moving to a set of shelves outfitted with something similar to a small apothecary's chest, she rummaged about for the dried herb. Taking up a small sachet of it, she removed her apron and folded it neatly atop the edge of the table. Her worn hands rested on the scarred wood as she studied her visitor, fingers curled around the little bundle of lavender. Before she could continue, the maid was already back and serving the girl.

"No one here intends to ask you your business, Child. Stealing is not to be encouraged, but it's hard times for foundlings and orphans alike. We measure those we meet by who they show us they are rather than what others say about them." Olivia reached out and patted the girl's hand, placing the bound lavender in her small palm and wrapping Nabooru's smaller fingers around the coins. "You just place this under your head and it'll give you pleasant sleep as well, eh? Hold on to it for me 'til morning." Her smile softened in her weather-lined face.

"We don't take coin from those who ask us for help. Eat up and get to bed soon as you can. We'll speak again in the morning and see about finding you somewhere better to stay in the town. If we are lucky we might be granted travel papers to take you to Lilybrooke. If you want to go, that is. Cleaner air, better for children to grow up in the open than the town. I know that may seem like a lot to discuss tonight, so never you mind your pretty head over it, Child."

She smiled and patted her hand again affectionately, rising and scooping up the records and the coins. The records were settled onto the same shelf from which she had taken the herbs and the coins she carried along with the apron as she headed toward the door. "Help her get settled in, will you? Once she is comfortable let's clear away the commons. I suppose we'll have to think of some way to manage our regular sots while the ban is in place."

The maid signaled her understanding and with a slight grin and a nod to the pair, Olivia went on her way. There was plenty to be done, but for now the night would keep them confined.



Day 3 - Friary Grounds, Night

Brand was not one to hold a grudge, and easily forgave the princess, though he did flush slightly at Riga's goading. Horatia stood between them, uneasy eyes shifting around their little circle. For all the world it might seem like typical teasing, Riga had been far too gentle. He also had not even bothered to flirt with the woman - a princess at that - right before his face. She wished she could stop the flow of conversation, but it was good news to see them, to know they were well. She tried on a smile, but it only seemed to half take.

"You let him stay-?" Horatia had barely begun to chide the others even as Riga began speaking to counter her protest. Diana's measured, but firm voice cut through the prelude to their bickering.

“Tell me, what has happened since I was taken from the Castle grounds. What has happened to my people?”

The horsewoman wriggled her nose in annoyance and tucked her hands under her arms to listen. When Joaquim spoke of the reward, she scoffed, looking between Riga and Brand to see if what he said was true. They did not make any move to correct him, and when they were told of the floggings, Brand simply raised his head and remained silent. Horatia fell back a step, pacing a little and combing her hands through her hair to vent her agitation.

The princess made sense. Diana was the lynchpin in Balaser's plans to further humiliate the kingdom and bring it under his control. It was no surprise that they had guessed at Diana's disguise, but how had they seen through hers? She was one of a hundred women in silks and brocades and other rich fabrics. Who beyond her own people, the Resistance, would even have remembered her? She felt her heart drop into her stomach. If they had known who she was before the reward was offered and the interrogations began, how had Riga, Brand, and Alfson managed to escape? What of those who knew their families from court? Were any of them safe? And where was the Duchess Epona who she had stood beside through the night? Where was...

She gripped her hands into fists at Diana's words, a chill running the length of her spine as she looked across the profiles of her friends and the worried face of Joaquim. The princess seemed collected as she spoke, but the reactions around them seemed to bear up what she said. Byron's compliance was blood-curdling.

For a moment - gods forgive her - Horatia had felt a brief relief at the news of Grueta. She had thought it might be something worse. All lives lost in these efforts would be mourned, but a maid the princess likely barely remembered would, she hoped, be bearable to the other woman. She lifted her eyes sympathetically toward Diana, but before she could make any move to console her, Brand continued and her heart plummeted again.

She turned to Brand with her nose stinging before he had even managed to fully share the news, willing her ears to make out the suddenly strange warble of words that morphed on his lips. She watched his face, but what he said barely penetrated, though their meaning slowly broke through the haze her mind tried to pull around her like a shield. She shook her head, the act somehow not changing the things he had spoken.

"He... he didn't know anything." Horatia spluttered hoarsely, looking around at the others in disbelief. "He-"

Diana's outburst had the immediate effect of silencing those gathered around her. Even Byron watched as she seemed to wrestle with herself, murmuring curses low until they exploded from her in a hideous scream. Joaquim fell back a step and the brother who had summoned Byron made a gesture of blessing. Before any of the others who stood both horrified and fascinated by the princess's turmoil could react, she had streaked off through the night still fuming.

The silence stretched on until the crickets began to sing and with a faint shuffle on the dry path, Horatia caused them to go still once more.

"You were there." She said tentatively, voice raw and faint.

"What?" Riga asked. "You," She said, looking to Brand. "You said you heard him. You know what he said when... when..." Her throat convulsed and her nostrils flared as she looked between then, a stab of betrayal lancing through the hurt and confusion.

"Yes, but we did what we could. I promise you. I promise, Horatia. Look," Riga interjected, waving to the cart. Horatia looked at him wide-eyed, her own pulse like thunder as she turned and made her way stiffly to the back of the carriage where wine and other goods were stacked and tied. Amongst the supplies was, surreally, the long linen-wrapped outline of a figure. A torch was held over so that she could see, but she could not have said who held it. She took a shaky breath and reached forward, pulling the covering away and unwinding the sheet enough to see the drawn, still face of her father. The weight was light in her hands as she cradled his head and her stomach lurched as she realised the full impact of what she had been told. Beheaded, an axe. He had not even been given a proper death.

Her head barely cleared the side of the cart before she lost the uneasy contents of her stomach. A hand tried to touch her back and more whispered words swirled around her, but she threw her arm sharply to force them away and heard nothing but the high drone of her own blood rushing, head pounding and spinning. Spitting and wiping her mouth she ran her free hand through her hair and rocked onto her heels with a whimper.

Forgive me. I'm so sorry. Forgive me. The words beat a tattoo in her mind and the lethargy in her movements worried the friends who hung about her as real as shadows to her at that moment. In her narrowed world, she was alone.

She fell forward onto her knees, forehead resting on the feet of the fallen knight. For a span that seemed an eternity she felt limp, lifeless. Her shoulders shook, but she made barely a sound. She had ended her own line. She had been careless, impatient. She should have known it was not the way to address this, running off in the heart of the lion's den. If she had followed the plan, if she had simply let the princess go or remained with the Lady Epona then none of this would have happened. One of the others would have found Diana. Or perhaps she simply had not been meant to be found. Horatia had ruined it all. She had ruined everything. The interaction at the gate had doomed them. She should have waited in the room... Done something, anything differently. And now... Now it could never be undone. Had her father really ever asked so much of her?

She thought that her heart would stop. She wished that it would. She had promised herself that she would never feel this way again. Never cry over things that could not be changed, over those who had left her. He had faded long before, never truly recovering the death of her mother and brother, but much as they loved each other they had repelled one another - perhaps too much alike to share the same space comfortably. She should have been the one to fold. She would do it now, if only that were a choice. Her mind jumped across a hundred memories, the last lingering on his surprise and delight when she had asked to attend the engagement with him, of his expression when she had worn her mother's ornaments.

The heels of her hands slammed into the bed of the cart and she blew out a heartbroken breath. She had done this. Where had the rest of them been? Riga was supposed to remain within sight of her that night. Alfson had seen it all, had watched her go and said nothing - encouraged her even! What good were his schemes when they ended this way? She replayed every moment of that night, then back again to when her father had escorted her inside the castle, smiling as she hadn't seen him smile in years. He had seemed so proud, happy. She had lost one of the hairpins he had given her along with her mother's necklace and earrings, a sin that seemed unforgivable now. She slammed her hands into the bed again, levering her body up and from the cart. It was all her fault.

"Tend to him, then. What are you waiting for?" She snapped to the brother waiting near Byron. He responded quickly, going to fetch a few others. For many years they had provided burial rites and the like for the surrounding villages. She knew of course, as it finally sank in that he had been stripped of his rank as much as the family's sword which he had worn to the celebrations, that she could not take him home. She had failed him, had been everything he feared she might become and then killed him as surely as if she had done it with her own hands. After all of this, she could not even pay him the respect of a proper burial in his familial lands. Balaser had murdered him, but she had delivered him to the executioner herself.

Sniffing and dashing a wrist across her face to hide any tears despite her red eyes, she staggered a little. She placed her hands on her hips and tried to breathe, but it was almost as if all the air in the world was gone and she struggled to do such a small thing. She paced, and as she paced she grew more angry. She could not afford to do it again, not like... She couldn't let herself fall there. So she lashed out, doing anything to avoid the dreadful, cold quiet. She knew that she was out of turn, but she barreled into her hurt and it overflowed towards those around her.

"Should get after her." Byron tried his usual way of dealing with the woman, but it missed its mark.

"Oh, yes. Is this what comes of the 'what manner of man' speech, hm? Be ready to chase screaming princesses down the high road in the dead of night. Don't ask questions, just do! That's me. That's Horatia, the idiot. Wet nurse of the last shred of hope for the resistance. Future knight of nothing! Shield bearer with no name! Excellent, great!"

"Well, Uncle, I've thought about it. Do you know what sort of man I want to be? The man I've paid in blood to be. They've told us to be patient. I've been patient. They've told us to wait, so I've waited. I've waited so long here, for days, with no word that they-" Her voice broke and she swallowed, stabbing her arm towards the cart. "We'll all be dead by the time the old knights hobble off their widening asses and actually do something. For what? What is it all for if none of us live to even get her to a coronation, let alone see what comes after it? You fetch her, Old Man."

Lips quavering as hot tears threatened her vision again, she jabbed a finger into the air towards her long-time mentor. "You watch her, while we finally do something about this bastard Balaser. No more waiting."

Riga held up a hand to touch her shoulder in an effort to intervene as she stepped towards Byron. She lowered her eyes to the hand, knowing that this sort of behaviour was exactly the problem she created. She always made things worse... Her eyes lifted and met Riga's and in that moment her target shifted, mind letting go of its warnings. Before he could dodge she swung and caught him full across the socket of his left eye, lunging after so that they both went down in a flurry of fists in the dust. He managed to get on top of her, but she angled her hips and regained the advantage, raining down sharp blows as he struggled in the dirt. He kept his arms up, but at some point stopped throwing back. Brand, grunting from his healing wounds, tried to pull her off of her friend; but it took Amberlin to aid him in pulling the brawling pair apart. Horatia managed a parting kick to the stomach that doubled Riga and he leaned back against the cart nursing it and gasping as his eye began to swell and blood dripped from his nose. Horatia had a gash across the cheek and two split lips that matched her raw knuckles, but she looked as though she could breathe fire as she accused him from where she struggled against the surprisingly strong friar's restraint.

"Where were you, Riga? You chase every skirt you see, but missed the princess leaving the engagement feast? Too busy collecting feathers and paste? I hope they were worth it."

Riga rolled his tongue around his mouth, but stayed silent.

"No? Who was it then? That sweet, daft little kitchen maid who doesn't have the time of day for a thief like you?"

"Leave it."

"Like you left an innocent man to die?! A man who practically raised you, you ungrateful!" She spat blood into the dirt at his feet to conclude her accusation.

Her breath caught in a sob and her body sagged a moment. She struggled again abruptly, managing to get under Amberlin's hold, leaving her coat in his hands as she and Riga flew back into each other. Prepared for their spat, it was an easier job of separating them again, both looking even more disheveled and bloody for it. When it was clear the fight was ended, they were released and they stood face to face in tense silence. Horatia snatched her coat and jabbed a finger into Riga's chest, eyes blurry with tears and teeth gritting as she spoke in a low gravelly voice only for his ears.

"I will never forgive you, you miserable, worthless rake."

She glared over his shoulder, skewering Brand with the same quiet anger. Shouldering past Riga roughly and ignoring Byron's voice, Horatia did not look back as she headed resolutely toward the stables shouting, "Amberlin, bring me my sword!"

Amberlin was silent, and when she turned he was looking to Byron for approval. "Bring me my godsdamned sword, Amberlin, or when I find it we'll make sure your oaths of silence and celibacy are permanent."

Amblerin did not fear such a thing from the woman, but with a deep sigh, Byron nodded behind her departing back. If she were going to get herself into trouble, better at least that she was armed to defend herself if it came to it.

As the brothers carried away Shango Hast's body for preparation, another saddled Byron's horse. To his credit and despite his long travel, Joaquim valiantly offered to ride along with him and bring a spare horse for the princess. Surely she had not gotten far. Patrols this far along the high road were rare, but not impossible. They only hoped their luck held.

Before Byron and his little search party could get underway, Capilet blew past like the north wind with Horatia high in the stirrups and headed for the road leading to the outer territories of Hymnascal. Riga watched her departure and spit angrily in her wake, torn between riding after her and remaining. Byron laid a hand on his shoulder and the younger man sighed before surrendering both horse and weapons to the friars. Brand did the same and the two went to find their cottage as Byron's search began. It was a bad turn of events when their little party was cracking before the true fighting had even begun.

Byron lifted his head as he led his party, suspecting that Horatia would return to them in time to bury her father. She was wild, but she was loyal when it came to it. He waved to one of the brothers who had accompanied them and pointed ahead along the road where he thought he saw a figure. "The princess?"

The monk, who was a competent horseman in his own right eased ahead of the group in an effort to draw even with her. The rest quickly caught up and Byron offered a tentative, “My Lady… Your Majesty?”

[Koti~]

SOMEWHERE ON THE ROADS

Rage had only fueled him so long, pushing him further and further down the road. Anger and determination kept him going longer, a steady dip in speed as he pushed onward, tears having dried up as he moved, the cold night air stinging the salty trails left on his skin. His thoughts had turned into a jumbled mess, his desire for revenge tempered by the limits he could move. No human could run on anger alone, and despite the distance, Damanius and Diana were reaching their limits. They continued to power through the building pain, not heeding the pain in their feet, nor the groan of their shifting bones as they continued to ran, their determination focused and pushing every emotion towards one goal.

Not even when forced off the road by Horatia and Capilet, did they dare stop, ignoring the furious rider in their own red haze. Time had lost meaning as she stumbled and jogged through the grassy side, chest heaving in desperate attempts to collect air. She didn’t even stir when Byron had pulled up close to her, calling out to her as she continued to drive forward. She moved through and around the riders even when the brother tried to stymie her momentum, sharp eyes of malice driving them back just enough. Nor did Byron attempt yet to stop her, figuring it best to allow the princess to burn herself out, save a patrol that would force his hand.

Diana didn’t last much longer, a small divot in the ground catching her foot. She stumbled, flailing her arms with flagging strength before falling to her knees, catching herself with her arms alone. The men drew up tight to her, each ready to move in as Byron dismounted, hurrying over to check that the woman had not been injured badly. He made it just a few seconds before Diana’s head shot up, puffy red eyes glaring pure malice into his soul.

“LEAVE ME!” She screamed at him, voice hoarse as she struggled to even out her breathing, chest heaving painfully in a broken rhythm as she rested on hands and knees. Her body trembled with pain and exhaustion combined, pain rumbling through her feet in a steadily increasing attentive need. She didn’t bother with it, struggling between her need to heave up her last meal, and trying to catch even the smallest breath.

“It’s my fault… It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have done this.” She began, her voice fractured as she slumped into herself, shrinking into a ball of pain and misery. There was nothing left for her, just an empty throne ruled by a bastard king. Only her sense of duty and broken desire for revenge and bloodshed now resided in her, a raw feeling that left her jagged and broken within. She valiantly failed to push herself upright, her legs having given out from exhaustion and barely unable to support her weight.

“Your Majesty, you must stop thinking like that. None of this is truly your fault, but the fault of --” Byron moved to comfort her, approaching her like a wild bear cornered. He knew the fury of women when angered, yet never truly expected it from a noble woman. They held themselves with poise and grace, never letting their nobility falter in public. Horatia’s rage was something he could come to grip with, yet Diana was an unknown, and that made him wary.

“YES IT IS! Every time I do ANYTHING! Some else suffers! People have died for my name! People have died for what I have done, families torn apart, and innocent people slaughtered for nothing!” Diana screamed, her voice much tamer than before, ringing raw and hollow into the night as she stared deep into the ground.

“You cannot think like that, Your Majesty. This is the cost of war, people will--” He tried to start again, but was cut short with another glare, this one filled with cold hatred at his very words.

“THIS IS NO WAR! This … this is a mindless slaughter at the hands of a bastard! I’ve read the stories, heard the tales of great conquest and hard fought battles uphill. I HAVE SEEN THE FALLEN SOLDIERS! I HAVE SEEN WAR!” Diana screamed, throwing all her rage and hatred into the man, fresh tears streaming down her face.

“This … this is nothing more than old men looking to find the honor and glory they left on the ground 8 years ago, and young men with their pride in their hands willing to die upon a blade for their praise! Every move I have made, every attempt to escape, has caused another to suffer. Now … I have caused the death of a noble, of a friends father who had nothing to do with any of this … and my last family member, a woman with no legacy to leave …. They are dead because I let the resistance bring me here.” Diana spoke, her voice fractured as she stared at her hands, unwilling or unable to move just yet.

“If this is war, then why did they have to die for us. Why do the commoners have to suffer and bleed for my sakes, and all I do is sit back, like some delicate china that needs to be protected.” Diana whispered, letting anger whittle down into pity and despair for her own states.

“I should have done something more … fought against him or something. I sat by for eight years, and even longer, and let others suffer for me, for my ignorance.” She continued to berate herself, agreeing with Damanius that those 8 years of waiting were worthless, guilt riding high as her vision swam watery and black.

“Don’t think like that my lady. People know that you will return to take the throne. The battlefield is no place for a queen.” Byron spoke, feeling brave enough to move closer, gently laying a hand in comfort on Diana’s shoulder. A mental sigh escaped him as he wasn't immediately thrown off, glad his words had sunk in some. He moved closer, another hand moving to help her upright. She barely contested the help, allowing herself to be guided onto Morgan, the smoke gray horse that Joaquim had brought with for the woman to ride.

“We’ll get back to the monastery and have someone treat your wounds.” Byron offered up quietly, noting the small trails of blood from various rocks having broken the skin, gravel and dirt stuck to the bottoms. Diana barely acknowledged him as the small party turned, a much slower trot as Joaquim handed the lead to Byron, allowing him to guide Morgan as Diana slumped motionless in the saddle.

Inside though, Damanius was fuming with anger. He wanted more to scream, to fight and lash out, but more than anything, to redeem himself. Diana had worked too well, and now he would be forced to watch others die as the knights took their time. He had been moved from one gilded cage of finery and decadence, to a cage of duty and responsibility. He felt bile rise through his body, both a visceral need to hurl as he clutched onto the reins. His mind didn’t remain silent though, burning through the mistakes he had made, and the pain he had caused by letting others decide what was best for them all.

He had to take charge, to force these people to listen to him, to march himself onto the field and challenge this man who burned and destroyed his legacy. No knights of old would pity him, they would trumpet their praise and glory as he was placed back on the throne. Damanius couldn’t stomach that idea, knowing it would be bathed in the blood of innocent lives, as the knights sat on their laurels and waited, poking away at the king while others bled in his response. He knew Sinal would continue to kill soldiers and civilians alike, snapping out at any who dare oppose him, and destroy those who would speak against him, regardless.

“This .. won’t go on. The resistance is not who I need.” Diana whispered mentally as she was assisted back to the cottage she had been given earlier. The brothers had already attended to her feet, washing and dressing them up. Despite the exhaustion settling deep in her bones, sleep never came to her, and she knew why. Already her mind was at work, picking through her actions and needs while she mentally moved forward, leadened arms and legs barely keeping her upright as she let her mind burn a path forward. She would need allies first, and an army second. Only two people came to mind for that, yet neither in reach. She would have to wait for the first to return, and would venture to the second after.

When Horatia returned, hopefully alive, Diana would do her damndest to convince the woman to take her to the north, to the Subrosian mountain men. They had been allies before, but with Sinals takeover, they had been cut off from the rest. Diana sat curled up on the bed, legs curled under her as she forbade any to come in, letting resentment at her weakness, and determination keep her awake and lying in wait. She had no idea how long it would be, but she had waited long enough, let others do everything for her.

It was time to take command.

[Alura]

As Old Byron had anticipated, Horatia did return within the allotted sennight for the funeral of her father. She knew that burial could not wait and the habits of the brothers enough not to tempt fate. What Byron had not predicted, perhaps, was the manner of her return. She had been of much the same mind as Princess Diana in her refusal to wait any longer to spring to the attack against the Usurper King. The woman had ridden hard and far, and the strain of her efforts reflected in the feverish eyes that floated above the dark half-moons that spoke of sleep that would not come. Her time away had been spent in pursuit of a singular purpose: to prepare and make her peace for war. Through the haze of grief and regret that wrapped like fog around her brain, that alone remained fixed and clear.

She had gone through the provinces, beyond most of the villages, until she had reached the outer edges of the kingdom's maps. There she found the Armen territories. The Armen House was old and far-branching, but even many of the noble families might easily forget of their existence. While their coffers were considerable, most prefered the life of ploughshare over sword. However, their love of peaceful life did not change that their holdings were positioned in the precarious borderlands of Hymnascal. For this reason many were well familiar with combat and were known for their skill with pole, pike, and sword. They were the first line of defense for the realm and their lineage was well-favoured by the common people as men who had raised themselves to prominence on their own merit from the peasantry.

What many also forgot, if they ever knew, was that once upon a time a skilled rider had saved the life of a young farmer-turned-foot soldier in a war nearly as well forgotten. That poor youth had gone on to become the patriarch of the Armen family, using the rewards of his service to king and country to invest in his family's holdings and expand them into an agricultural empire. Horatia's great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather had been the horseman, and before Hymnascal was little more than a thought had helped to establish the Armen legacy. They had become such fast friends that the Hast of eld had even helped Armen clear lands and fend off counter-claimants to the holdings that by the time of the King Aminan had flourished with vegetation and livestock and brought healthy and prosperous trade to the simple foot soldier's line. In many ways they had exceeded the successes of Horatia's family.

She had gone to them upon leaving her father's body at the holy enclave between the rivers and invoked the promise that their founder had made: to repay protection and aid as it had been paid to them and remain a fast ally of the Hasts, if and when ever the Hast descendants might call upon it. Similarly, the Hasts were prepared to lend their skill with horses and arms to any conflict the Armens might wish not to meet alone. While the Hasts lineage was composed of knight after parading knight, it was a rare thing for one of the pacific Armen men to bother with such an honour. They were so far removed - happily so - from the influence of castle life, that it was little to them the turnings and vacillations of the royals and their simpering aristocracy.

When Horatia had arrived to them and given her news, she had feared that the Armens might not answer her call to arms. Had it not been for Oren Armen she was unsure if the eldest members of the household would have heard her at all, in fact. Still, he was one of the rare knights and, despite his current service, was elated to hear the rumours of the princess confirmed. He had been one of the young knights who had sworn his allegiance to the Usurper, more concerned with swearing fealty to the throne and less about who sat upon it. Those youths, barely of an age to serve as real soldiers, had retained their lives for their oaths given to Balaser. Still, even here so far away from the Castle Town the reputation and impact of the false king could be felt.

Horatia had spent time in the villages between the friary and the centre of the Armen estates, garnering support slowly with the promise of vengeance for those who had been lost in the overthrow of the rightful king and reward for those who cast off his over-reaching policies. Many felt as her father had, that the affairs of the crown were for those of rarer blood than they. Some, however, those of her own generation, saw in it a mixture of adventure and righteousness: a chance to win glory and perhaps even to reform the manner of governance.

When she was not avoiding sleep and in conversations with the tradespeople and men of fighting age, Horatia spent her time in the growing camp with Oren brushing up on her sword skills. He had mocked her for being rusty, and she had taken it silently. She did not flail back or laugh, either of which he might have expected from her. Whether at the death of her father or her break with the old knights into the new resistance, a change had begun in the woman. He said nothing, but entertained her sudden interest in swordplay. As a knight sworn to Balaser, his involvement was tantamount to treason. Still, he acted in good faith and honoured the old pacts before the promise he had made to the king under duress - though it was something he conveniently did not send word of to the king. When the castle was locked up tight and the castle town put under restrictions, Oren had been away in his familial lands to usher in the birth of his first child with his wife Nadine. It was a pity to draw him away from the joy surrounding the boy's birth, but necessary.

It was with all of this jumble about her that Horatia returned to the friary with a small army of tents and soldiers who made their camp near the high road before the path turned toward the little hall and chapel where the brothers and Old Byron made their home. Horatia rode the rest of the way with Oren and two tradesmen - one of whom she had commissioned to create a replica of her father's sword and shield to be placed with his body until she could restore his own and see him home. It would not be ready in time for... Well, she would do what she could.

Brushing the thought away she reined in Capilet and deposited herself on the ground. Her footfalls were echoed by her companions dismounting as well. Riga was the first to see them from where he leaned against the stone wall of the friary hall, surprise lifting his brows as he came forward to greet the others. Byron and Brand quickly followed and met with the hollow-eyed, intense young woman who only days before had been too busy stuffing apple cakes down her gullet to hold a serious conversation. It felt like an eternity to her. It was all still disjointed, none of the pieces quite fitting together.

Horatia handed Capilet's reins to the brother who came to her, nodding to him as he moved towards the stables, but looked to the second brother who held his hands out for her weapons for a long moment before giving her head a shake. The brother hesitated, but Byron moved forward and laid a hand on his shoulder with a nod. The older man said yet to his old protegee, a little quicker to interpret the situation than the younger men present. Horatia raised her voice and called after Riga, "Marchain is in the camp. He sends his regards and says something about your being a debtor. If any wandering silver has made it into your possession you might want to settle accounts before he comes to settle them for you."

Riga turned only to give a grin that was half-grimace before slinking off sheepishly. Marchain was an old friend, but Riga had actually left a bit of an unpaid wager between them. It would be good to see the man, despite the oddity of seeing him here.

Turning her head back to her mentor, Horatia and Byron sized each other up quietly before he finally asked, "How far have you gone, then, Horatia?"

In answer, she held out a hand and accepted a heavy coin purse and a scrap of fabric from one of the tradesmen with Oren. Allowing it to drop heavily into Byron's outstretched hand, she gave a little nod. "The Usurper sends his regards and wishes to make a donation to the work of the brothers. He made a similar donation to our efforts as well."

Old Byron seemed suddenly a little older, the scrap under his thumb bearing the mark of a captain of the patrols Balaser had sent on their interrogations along the high roads and settlements beyond the castle walls. Horatia's gaze was impassive as she saw the realisation dawn. It might have made her laugh once, and she had often been amused at her own mischief. This was not mischief, though, a rowdy trick she and Riga and Alfson had concocted, no. This was an open declaration of war.

"What now?"

"Now we ready for a fight. We shall not trouble you or the brothers long. A small detachment will remain in case of trouble and only for defense, but they will stay out of the friary grounds and garb themselves as brothers. They will respect all rules, save the demand to disarm. Until I am killed or Balaser is dead my sword stays at my side. I can't expect any less from those who fight with me. They have been instructed not to brandish or draw a weapon unless they are attacked first."

Byron clearly was not best pleased with the idea, but it was clear that arguing with Horatia now would yield little result. Scratching his chin, Byron waved a hand around her little entourage. "You'll need feed for the horses I expect. Let's see what you've got and what you need."

They already had a quartermaster, but Horatia knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth and nodded to Oren and the tradesman to accompany the man. She ducked into the hall and searched for Amberlin. She found him in the little chapel in prayer - a place she had rarely gone of all the times she had visited, and they spoke quietly for some time. It was late in the night before she had scrubbed the dirt of travel from her and attired herself to bear final witness to her father's funerary rites. His bones had been prepared for burial and so for later transport, and were arranged with flowers and the stand-in sword and shield she had commissioned.

Hollow-eyed still, Horatia found herself shoulder to shoulder between the companions of her youth, absent only Alfson, staring at the altar. The yellow gown she had worn to steal away a princess hugged her frame, a little looser for her lack of appetite and single-mindedness. Her mothers necklace around her neck with hair swept up and adorned with pins. One of the village women had even managed ribbon and flowers that matched those surrounding her father. She felt small, like a child. As she gazed on the outline where eyes had been that watched her grow, lips that smiled and scowled as he argued with her by turns. She would take him laughing or shouting now for anything in the world. Her lips twitch, face fallen as they just stood, just witnessed. Letting out a shaky breath, she felt the familiar ache between her eyes that had followed her. She would do what she could.

Candles burned in rows in the front of the little chapel and along the windows like holiday mass and finally, after a long while, Horatia really saw them. The room felt close and hot, the lights suddenly too bright. With tentative steps she moved to the altar and knelt in prayer before rising to brush the back of her hand through the air as if she might stroke the familiar cheek that had dimpled in amusement at her only weeks before. Teardrops slipped through her lashes, falling in two lines before falling to the silk of her gown. With one last look, she straightened, hand falling to the hilt of the sword belted at her waist true to her word, and left her last traces of youth amidst the bones and flowers.

[Koti~]

For two days straight, Diana did not sleep, driven by smoldering fury and guilt. The weight of her life had begun to collapse on her, and the dull ache that followed her muscles didn’t abate. She didn’t know if it was due to her exhaustion, or the pain that wracked her chest whenever she tried to breath, but her mind kept burning away; flowing with ideas and plans and acts of violence and revenge. She needed to keep going, to push herself in repentance for everything, and to find somehow to fix all of this. She couldn’t

… no…

Wouldn’t allow more people to die for her, to let others blood be shed for her actions. So, instead, she listened, she questioned, and she learned. She talked with Riga and Brand, listened to the stories that Byron told all travelers, and read the histories that Amberlin had written for her requests. She studied them for everything that she could get out of them, writing them down for reference later. Diana didn’t care about the stories, nor the heroics they claimed for them. What she was after, was battle, was how they fought. Diana and Damanius had never seen a battlefield, and their father had never instructed them on it, training them in information about politics and numbers, having been chosen for the life of a scholar. He needed to make plans, to study and exploit his enemy weaknesses. Writing and detailing is what he knew best, and it would be what he would carry out.

When no new stories were forthcoming, he sequestered himself away, barring the door to all. He didn’t leave the cottage during the day, sleep evading him like the plague as he worked, his only demands being for ink and parchment. He spent hours on end, resorting to candlelight as he worked from memory, drawing maps of the castle, scribbling and tracing back over again as he worked. He had spent years studying the castle grounds, learning the guards patterns and all his routes needed. Even before, he had wandered the halls, testing the stone for the servant passages, hidden alcoves and byways to let the servants remain hidden and out of sight. Those were the hardest to recall, but he poured over them, the scratch of his quill echoing his own breathing as he worked tirelessly.

When not drawing, he was writing, putting to parchment everything he knew of the grounds. Of the weapons the guards were equipped. The larders and stock of the kitchen. Water reserves and the winery in the basement. Anything that could be used to turn a battle, any piece of information he could drag from his head. It didn’t matter what importance it had, from the simple fact of a window being just a few inches higher than its brothers, to the fact that the throne room had no more than 3 separate entrances that could be used, outside of the main hall one and the grand chambers behind it. Anything that he could drag from his skull went down to paper. The piles of parchment decorated the cottage walls, permeating the air with drying ink as they were tacked to the wall by bits of wood, or anything he could use to hold it in place. The scraps that were ruined by exhaustion and tears were kindling for the fireplace as he worked.

During the night though, he would emerge, dead-eyed the world as his mind just couldn’t find peace. He was driven by determination, by fuel to prove that he existed, by a single promise that was his tether to the world. He would steal away to the stables, silently avoiding waking the brothers as he rode with Morgan, bullheaded to learn to ride with ease. The lack of Horatia had begun to dawn on him, someone who he had begun to rely on with some degree since having been pulled from the castle. He didn’t care how much Morgan would buck him off, or the number of carrots he needed to bribe the old mare with, but he would learn. While no where near the mastery of Horatia, the two had grown closer as allies, as by the 7th night, Diana was able to ride the horse at a decent trot without risking falling down, despite the heavy darkness under her eyes, or the numerous times she had nodded off while riding.

Diana had remained sequestered away for the entire time Horatia was gone, letting guilt finally eat away and leave her raw inside, burning with the need for the destruction of the man who had stolen everything from him. To see him bled dry for everything he had taken from his people, those innocent who had been punished for his own actions, or inactions at this point. No plan was violent and gruesome enough yet, and every plan was poured over, counters and responses poured over until Damanius felt as though he stood before a chasm, ready to throw his life in with the devil if it meant saving his people and the death of Sinal.

All had begun to worry about her, from the feverish exhaustion that followed her, to the stiff pain of muscles that had yet to find sleep. They tried to intervene, to pull her away from the cottage for even moments to rest and recover, but she drove them away with the fury of a devil. They couldn’t say what had taken hold of the once sweet princess, but they dare not pull her away, for fear mostly of being struck again.

~~~

“Done… it’s done.” Diana finally spoke out, her voice broken as she sat back on the small chair, the last piece of furniture not covered in scrolls and parchment. The stench of ink and ask filled the room, the flickering candles the only source of light as curtains had been drawn shut. She wiped her forehead, smearing ink and sweat across her skin while peering down at the plans. Her eyes traced the lines of men staked out, wrapping around the castle walls with stills of flames burning away at the stone. She could picture it in hazy images, watching the men camped out in the hovels and homes abandoned by her people, letting the king burn himself out. Ruse upon diversions lined the sides, written in the neatest script she could still manage as she felt her fingers shake, the stale crusts of bread laying besides wine that she had stolen from the larders.

Her grand scheme was finished, written with every piece of knowledge she could garble together, to turn the haystack into a readable bale that would make sense to any man or woman. She had the groundwork started, and was now faced with the next task. While she could plan and write, an army she did not make. She would need one loyal to her, not to the throne or her father. The men under the old crown were wasting their time, telling her time and again that she need just wait while they cleared the way for her. What good would that do, to just tear down one man to replace with another they know nothing about. Where would be the faith in her, if not for the honor and glory of the old knights who had already fled once from the man's forces.

Fate would gift her that day though, as she finally emerged from the room, blinking in the pain of the sunlight. She looked down the robe she still had on, smeared with ink splatters and stale wine when she had drifted off in the chair. Time held no real meaning to her though as she hobbled off, bruised flesh from her recent ride and weary bones dogging her step as the sounds of thunderous hoofbeats had brought her about. She was slow to approach, wary from her own self isolationism while she approached the people now milling not far from the main road. It was a gift she had never expected, and could tell right away who had brought her chance. She watched in burning joy as Capilet was taken to rest, the other men of the army milling about as she caught the tail ends of Horatia entering the chambers where her father had been entombed for his rest. She could hide the joy that broke her face, letting it wash away the gnawing hunger and thirst as she picked up the pace.

She fell into a broken run, pain buried under her joy as she rushed to the chambers, her pace slowed enjoy that Horatia would be granted more than enough time to pay her farewells. Diana found the woman shortly after, and with no hesitation, ran full force into her, wrapping arms around the woman as her body sagged with physical relief, to see a face she had been hoping would survive.

“We .. need to talk..” Diana spoke, her voice echoing hollow and broken, her throat raw with the alcohol and lack of sleep. Fate had given her a chance to seize command and take control of her fate, and she was not going to throw away her shot.

“I have plans … to kill the king, and save… my .. people. I need … your army. I told you .. once that.i would listen to your leaders. Before I would join .. The resistance is not for me, they waste time . while others die for me. I will take action. Come hell or high waters, I will see the man dead by my hands, but I need. An army.” Diana spoke to her, having to force her throat to work as she had yet to move, a mixture of relief and her body having finally given out on her, the edges of exhaustion playing on her hard.

[Alura]

As she left the little chapel, the night breezes fanned the heat from her cheeks and caused a draft to eddy about the little chapel. The candles through the windows dipped and danced in response, a few guttering to nothing. The brothers would be her father's caretaker for now, until it was time to take him home. Horatia would have to put such things out of her mind and continue to focus on the tasks at hand. As she walked, the footfalls of Brand and Riga soon following along the dirt paths, a light sound of movement preceded a running set of footfalls outside of their own. Tensing, Horatia readied herself to draw her blade, jaw tightening.

As she came around the bend, bedraggled from her seclusion and looking more haunted than Horatia herself, Diana flung herself out of the dark and wrapped her arms around the soldier. Startled, Horatia quickly removed her hand from her weapon and held it awkwardly aloft for a moment before allowing her arm to circle around the princess's shoulders. Her breath hitched and the burn of tears stung her nose for a moment before she blinked, clearing her throat and stiffening her spine. Byron was right about one thing at least: they were not children anymore.

The horsewoman would have asked Diana to walk with her, but the state of the woman made it seem ill advised and so she called to one of the brothers for food and clothing to be readied for the princess and for one of the boys with the encampment to bring one of the village women to help look after her. One hand bracing Diana's upper arm steadyingly, Horatia released her and gave her a nod.

"We have much to discuss, Majesty, but it will keep while you eat and bathe." A middle-aged, motherly woman with her grey hair in the thick plait was bustling towards them with an intent look fixed on the princess along with a warm smile. "Amarie will see you sorted properly and serve as your handmaiden of sorts until we have you back to the castle. When you've a good night's sleep, come see me at daybreak. I'll be in the tent with Brand in front of it: can't miss him. You can tell me your plans and perhaps you will be interested to hear ours also. On one thing at least, we are agreed: Sinal Balaser cannot be left on the throne of Hymnascal any longer."

Wrapping her arms about the weakened young princess, Amarie began to chatter to her in the way that mother's do, guiding her towards the dining common gently.

[Koti~]

“No!”

That one single word stopped Amarie, a voice burning with conviction and lust. Diana drew herself tall, unconsciously leaning against the woman to steady herself as she struggled to keep calm. Frayed nerves and raw emotions kept the wobbly girl from falling over, just shy of being blown over by a stiff breeze. While the thought of a hot bath and meal were more than the most pleasing thoughts of running Sinal through with a rust pike, she couldn’t stop, couldn’t let another guide her away any longer. It was her time to take charge, even as her mind cautioned against such reckless actions.

“Your majesty, please. You are nearly dead on your feet and smell of the dead. At least let me make you presentable-”

“That is not what I have objected to Amarie. Horatia, I will not be pawned off to another hand while others busy themselves with war. We will talk tonight, before I ever rest again. I will speak to your generals before I lose another day, before this kingdom loses another person in my absence of the throne.” Diana spoke with iron in her voice, despite the hoarse cracks and dips. With sleep deprived eyes and hunger driven body, she looked like a woman possessed, a force ready to unleash feral hell upon those who may levee a blade at her. She stared directly into Horatias vision, not allowing herself to waver as she allowed her words to sink in, despite the objections of those around her.

“Your Majesty!” Amarie spoke, ready to scold the uppity princess into something more befitting one of her position. Diana held up a hand to silence the woman yet again, almost falling over in the process as she lost some of her support. Still she did not let her dignity waver in this regard, allowing her body a few moments to regain her stance.

“Call your generals to the tent tonight, and I will meet with them before the midnight bell. While I tend to my needs, I will have one of the brothers gather all the scrolls that I have in the cottage. Promise me that you will not sneak off while I do so.” Diana spoke, letting herself relax into the older womans grip again, the tension in the area easing some as the princess allowed her new handmaiden guide her towards the bathhouse, intent on making the future ruler a small bit presentable once again.

“Ya know, she can be quite imposing for one of her stature.” Brand was the first to really break the silence, watching Amarie quietly berate the princess for her current state of appearance. Riga chuckled himself and let loose a soft whistle.

“With how sheltered she’s been most of her life, she has some real fire to her when it’s needed. May god bless any man brave enough to try his hand with her. I dare say she’s turning into small version of you, Horatia.” Riga spoke with body awe and interest as the princess finally rounded the corner, cutting them off from view. Having remained behind for the time, it was surprising to see the more subdued girl they had rescued from the castle bear her fangs as such. One couldn’t deny that the woman had spirit.

[Alura]

Horatia stood still, watching Amarie and the princess vye with each other before Diana addressed her directly. A flicker of different feelings moved through her. Anger, at the imposition of the young woman who felt that she could let herself go in this manner - disgraceful for a royal - yet call her a sneak for mourning her own father on the road while she gathered an actual army. Who did she think that she was, to dictate to her? Sorrow, because she understood single-mindedness in her course, and respected it in Diana. That much they did have in common. Worry: if the princess was cracking now, would she hold up to a protracted war for the throne? Even if they saw her there, if she was in this state then what good we should be to anyone? Disgust at herself for allowing the girl to be alone long enough to fall to this place. Apathy, a piece of her clinging to the bones in the chapel though she continually forced that part of her heart and mind back to the chaos she had begun to drum up with the border Houses.

Atypically, Horatia stood through all of Diana's demands and said nothing, hands balled into loose fists and eyes glinting hard in the dark as the younger woman finally allowed herself to be guided away from them. When Brand and Riga spoke, Horatia did not bother to look at them through the night before snapping out, "Organise the watch, Brand, and get to your post. Riga, settle your debts and tell the others to meet us before the princess joins us. Your distractions with women have cost us enough without your meddling with the future queen. If I want opinions from either of you otherwise, I'll beat them out of you."

With that, she moved off towards Byron's cottage on her own, the pulse of a headache growing at her temple. The road ahead would be daunting for all of them, perhaps Princess Diana most of all.