Spirits of the Earth

[Tags to @GoblinFae ]

He didn't need to look to know that they were coming.

Here in Vermillion, capital of Falkenrath, was the gray stone and mortared form of the Iron Keep, that held the ruling family of this lowly province. It once did. Now it was empty and desolate save for the form that was draped at the worn leather chair in the rookery near it's peak. When his spies saw that the Grandmaster of the Mordecai had noticed Falkenrath was no longer under their control, the message was sent posthaste by nighthawk.

Having only just arrived days ago, it was only a matter of time before that "Knight of the Realm" would follow along with it. And as Roland sat draped in that chair, clutching the wine bottle – half empty – firmly in hand, he swigged it to his lips and took a hearty sip and draped it back down. He glanced at the note in hand and the chicken scratch scribbled therein.

"The Grandmaster himself huh? Coming to meet with little ol' me? Whatever did I do to deserve such attention?" Roland laughed to no one in particular. He pulled his leg from the armrest and sat up just as the door to the office opened up and there stood Darius, a tall slender old man, graying whiskers and white hair that grew long to his shoulders.

"I suspect that might have had something to do with ousting the Brennick family and keeping them confined to the manor rooms of the Keep, my lord." Darius murmured and shrugged, coldness keeping his own amusement at bay.

"One. There's one Brennick family member left. And he's living quite comfortably I might add," Roland sat up and gave a glaring look to the old man. "Did you come here to mention old news? Or bring me another bottle of Fordon 42 from down in the cellar?"

Darius sighed, crossing the distance and plucking the bottle up from the ground. He kept it for himself when Roland reached across to grab it. And he took his own glug of it. "I did," he replied calmly, keeping his distance from a slowly fuming Roland. "Our scouts have spotted a visitor nearby, with a familiar crest. And just as we speak, I believe the Grandmaster is rolling into the courtyard of Iron keep."

Roland hoisted himself up with surprising speed from the chair and crossed the distance between him and Darius, gripping the man by the neck. "You are....on a thin line, old man," he breathed. But a smirk took his lips instead. "And your balance is impeccable."  He took the wine back and examined the bottle. "You think the new Grandmaster will like a drink? A good host of his castle will want to make a guest feel right at home."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," Darius shrugged Roland's grip away, calm as ever.

"Get the Fordon 42. And direct my Legionnaires to let him through the Gates."

Roland downed the rest of the bottle before slamming it against the table and grabbing Anguish from where it rested on the old wood surface. He strapped it around his waist and drew his fur-lined cloak over his shoulders once again. He stepped out of the room. They would meet in the Great Hall, where all previous lords before him met their supporters, their aggressors, their match.

The news of Falkenrath's fall had come at what most people would consider a most inopportune time. For the newly appointed Mordecai Grand Master though, it could not have come at a better time. Alanna Mercer hated pompous, ceremonial celebrations and her own inauguration was no different. The news while ill-fated had given her the perfect excuse to flee back to duty and abandon the drinking and dancing of soft-palmed nobles who twittered about proper battle strategy as if they themselves had ever stepped foot on a true battlefield.

She had not even spared a moment to change before she was astride a strong horse and racing off towards Vermillion, Falkenrath and the former Iron Keep of the Brennick family. Alanna had known it would take days to get there and already valuable time had been wasting on unnecessary and expensive displays of power and wealth. The extravagance had annoyed and disgusted her but it was not as if she could say such things to the Grand Duke himself. When the leader of her beloved Connlaoth said jump, she grudgingly did so without comment.

Now though, she was exhausted and almost regretting her own haste. She slept little and what sleep she did get was in a bumpy saddle. Ceremonial battle armor was not meant to be worn for long periods of time let alone on racing horses for days at a time. Her only solace was that she was not alone and a detail of fellow Mordecai had been sent to travel with her. It was therefore almost a relief when the looming stone and mortar castle clawed its way above the horizon and into sight.

Only then did she take a moment to pause, splashing the last of her skin of water onto her face and hands and smoothing out the wrinkles in her uniform as best as she could. With her hood adjusted over her face and her cloak splayed behind her and onto her horse's withers did she finally approach at a much more confident and determined pace instead of the breakneck one she had employed previously.

"I am the Mordecai Grand Master and I will speak with the master of this keep!" she barked resolutely up to the guardsmen as her horse stood before their iron gates. With a heavy groan those gates were opened to her and into the belly of the beast she trod. She dismounted quickly, patting her steed's neck reassuringly before allowing the reigns to be handed over to another and herself to be led with her contingent to meet with the man that dared lay claim to lands that did not belong to him.

It was as if the sky and wind themselves had brought upon the flood that Roland knew was coming. It was only a matter of time. Anyone with any minor grasp of reality would know that taking Falkenrath would have it's consequences. But even the Lord of War found the very arrival of the Mordecai Grandmaster to be rather shocking.

And yet here they were, with a contingent of soldiers in their wake. Roland watched through the window in the hall that overlooked the courtyard and watched as that figure dropped from the horse and gave direction as if they owned this place. The bubbled, wavey glass gave an enhancement to their imposing figure, and Roland smirked, pushing himself away from the window.

Darius stood with the Red Legion soldiers, clad in their crimson cloth that was wrapped over their shoulder. It was dark and deep, not quite as bright a red as one might expect.  And he saluted the Grandmaster at her approach. His eyes widened at the sight of the face beneath the hood, but he made no outward reaction other than that.

"I am Darius, servant of the house. Welcome to the Iron Keep. Please follow me," he said, and turned to lead her and her soldiers through the doors and into the Great Hall.

Boy was Sir Roland in for a surprise. 

As they entered, worn wooden benches were strewn to the side, that had once been spread beside large great tables.  For now one of the tables was thrown over to the side, and the other was drawn forward on the dais where a set of chairs were behind it, the Lord's Table. Roland was nowhere to be found.

"I'm....sorry," Darius murmured, turning to her. "The Lord of the House seems to be....rather tardy to his own meeting."

"As ever you speak too soon," Roland murmured, coming out from the western wing, fixing the cloak at his shoulders and taking the seat at the head of the table.

The group quietly followed the manservant, moving as if one living breathing beast rather than select individuals. Alanna had chosen her men well and was proud of their gumption that had allowed them to travel with the same speed and determination without complaint along side her. She only hoped that their first mission under her as the new Mordecai Grand Master would prove fruitful and not a waste of all their efforts.

"A Lord is never late. He simply chooses to arrive after his guests in order to display his grand entrance into the room," Alanna replied in a low, rugged voice, much to the sparse and brief smirks of her companions. She did not seat herself but instead stood before her chair as she waited for the unknown enemy took his own seat. After a deep breath she finally addressed the man before her.

"I did not come here to mince words or stand on pompous ceremony. You are not Lord Brennick nor of his ilk. I would know where they reside or where their bodies rest if that be the case before we begin our talks, that is of course if I am even welcome at this table."

"Oh good. I was worried, I'd have to soothe your ill-temper with wine and food. Which there is little more of the former than the latter," Roland said with a huff as he got comfortable in the chair and sat with his shoulders forward, hunched and looking at the Grandmaster before him. The voice was gruff but not quite was deep as he imagined. A woman playacting as man?

It didn't matter to him what was between their legs so long as they showed respect to the house he earned. No blood was spilled here, and the Brennick's were alive and well. Most of them anyway.  But that matter had nothing to do with Roland or his presence.

"Sit please." Roland directed and gestured for Darius to pull out a chair for their guest. Darius did so and kept his distance from the men surrounding her.

"I am the Lord of this House now," Roland said levelly. "And you will address me as Duke of Falkenrath if you have need of formalities. Or if you wish, simply Sir Roland Harker will do. And please, remove your hood. You're rudeness will not be tolerated overlong."

Roland brought the bottle of Fordon 42 with him, setting it on the table and pulling a goblet closer to him. It was simple, bronzed and he poured it and slide it forward, the cup stopping just short of the edge and he did the same for himself.

Alanna nodded her thanks to the manservant but remained standing as she lowered her hood and handed her cloak off to one of her men. "You failed to answer my inquiry, Harker," she paused as she took a seat slowly before adding, "Duke of Falkenrath."

The drink remained momentarily abandoned as she situated herself stiffly in the chair. Despite the tiny aid of the cool water from earlier her worn features reflected her exhaustion. She was awake and still sharp but her no-nonsense attitude was clearly shining through. Alanna had had enough with standing on ceremony from the inauguration. There was no need for more fanciful displays.

"The Brennick's are where? I find it hard to believe that you just walked in here with your army to find the hearth still warm but nobody home. If they are dead then they need to be paid proper respects. Regardless of which side of this...civil unrest you stand upon, surely you can agree with that. I would care to believe you a reasonable man, lest of course you'd rather prove me wrong," she evenly challenged him without bothering to raise her gaze.

He was thankful she didn't raise her gaze to him. Because when Roland opened his eyes and watched her remove her hood and cloak, he froze as if he'd just seen a ghost. Roland felt his stomach turn and his features hardened, his lips turning into a sharp frown.

He swallowed thickly and forced his emotions down. They would do him no good here. "They are alive. And safe. Housed in the Eastern wing of Iron Keep. As you know, former Duke Michael Brennick is dead. His eldest son held the duchy or what was left of it, two sons unaccounted for and last son dead..."

Roland kept his gaze firm as he reached for his own goblet. "Do you not wish to look upon me? Is that why your gaze is down cast?"

She nodded along to the accounts, allowing him to tell her what knowledge she already knew as well as that which she did not. She had learned along ago it was always best to have your opponent play his cards first before you dealt out your own. Sometimes a fool would hang himself if you gave him enough rope and held your tongue. In this case though all seemed to be in order.

"Not a moment earlier you demanded my respect of your person and your so-called title. You even accused me of being rude. Now when I give you what you asked for, you desire to complain further? I am not looking for trouble here and I hope that our talk can be just that, a simple conversation. Is that possible or does my being a woman bother you, Sir?"

Alanna still did not raise her gaze instead focused on her own goblet as she took it firmly in hand before taking a slow but thirsty sip from it. The bite of wine gracing her tongue almost made her hum in pleasure had she not checked herself given her present company. The slightest of smirks still shadowed across her features though before she once more replaced the goblet upon the table.

Inside, Roland was seething. Of course. Alanna knew all the ways that made him want to throw a tantrum. And the very fact that she was here sitting before him, clad in that uniform of the Mordecai Grandmaster made him seethe with rage. And it twisted in his gut like a knife. Eyes flicked to her playing with that goblet, making a show of savoring the wine.

No, he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. Not after all these years. So many questions raced through his mind, but he wasn't going to voice them. This wasn't the time nor the place. But there was no question as to who she served. And it wasn't who he served.

"It does not. In fact, there's not more attractive than a woman with power behind her. And one who knows how to use it," he said, voice low, a familiar purr.  He grinned at her and took a deep sip of his wine. Maybe he had a little too much of it already.

"Very well, Grandmaster. You have your answer as to the state of the Brennick family. I apologize if my hospitality is less than agreeable. But I'll do my best to be a good host under the circumstances. After all, you did not come here to fight. As I would imagine, being quite outnumbered. Your men versus mine."

He smirked and glanced at the soldiers behind her. Many of them were weathered and worn from the long travel, looking little better off than her. It was no matter. Their masters were in discussion, and Red Legion guards stood at the far walls, standing at attention.

"So is there anything else I can do for you?"

Alanna snorted under her breath but something in his voice made her pause. For the briefest of moments her eyes flashed up in a glance before freezing first in confusion then in shock. She did not even hear his taunts about her men as all the blood in her body roared in her ears. She felt light-headed and almost blamed the single sip of wine for it but in her heart she knew this was something worse than poison. There was no other explanation in her mind, this had to be witchcraft. Her Roland was dead. This was a disgusting charade. A mage dared to not only make himself in her dead husband's image but to also bear his name in part as well.

Her whole body felt like a bowstring pulled taut. Any minute now she would snap and the arrow would be let loose. The soldier in her demanded answers and bloodshed. A simple motion of her hand would have sent her men into action and possibly even their deaths, though they would have gone willingly. The woman though, the wife, that part of her which she thought long since dead and buried had awoken and now it cried out with hope.

"I was sent to discuss your intentions for this Duchy," she began, meeting his gaze while praying she would not come to pieces on the outside as her heart was already doing on the inside. "Roland," she breathed, his name slipping off her tongue much as it once did so long ago, "I seek only to understand where you stand in all this. What is it the new Lord of Falkenrath desires and how may Connlaoth aid him towards a future of peace?"

The name of Roland Harker was not unfamiliar to the lips of the people of Connlaoth. The more the Red Legion grew, the more people flocked to him, and hated him, some more of the latter than the former. His army was swift and quiet, striking like lightning, crashing like thunder, then the roll of the storm was gone again.

Roland met her gaze levelly, glaring down at her as if she were nothing more than a shell, a vessel filled by an angry demon, a puppet in the control of a terrifying master. Roland's heart skipped and thrummed heavily within his chest and his stomach tightened. Fear, and pain, and hurt....  But his face was as stone.

"My intentions?" Roland parroted back to her, almost mockingly. "Surely then my reputation hasn't preceded me. It's just as well. I find I'm meeting new and interesting people every day, Grandmaster. But I don't mind starting over."

He grinned at her, although it was forced and cold.  Another sip of wine. That warmth now swished through him, settling the insides that were about to burst and he set the cup down gently. Licking his lips thoughtfully, he leaned back within that hard wooden chair. "My intention with Falkenrath is my intention with every other piece of land in this nation. Falkenrath is mine, you will not take it from me. But more over I have come here to free it. Free it from the grasp of an indifferent master."

"You see before I marched my army past it's borders, the people were starving. They begged the Grand Duke for aid. The Brennick family stretched as thin as it was. Children in the villages in rural Falkenrath with sunken eyes and sunken ribs. I brought with me no retribution, no blood that was needlessly shed. There weren't any soldiers to stop us anyway. I brought with me farmers, and seed, and hogs, and goats, and sheep, and horses. The land is not salted, although it is scorched here and there. And I have come to bring life back to this small section of Connlaoth, where the rest of it has been sapped by Calent's incompetent grasp. I imagine the Duke of Harmond is quite to blame for that as well."

She felt as if she had been slapped in the face. This surely could not be her husband. This man was harsh and cruel. True she knew the name of Roland Harker but still when placing the face to the name she had hoped against hope that by some small chance it could be him. The more he spoke to her though the less hopeful she felt.

Her feelings of despair were drowned in the bottom of her goblet which she took a mighty and painful swig of. "I have not come to oust you from your self-proclaimed place. You said it yourself, my men and I are vastly outnumbered by you and yours. Had I meant to do so I would have summoned an army on my heels rather than racing off in haste to have these talks before any misunderstandings occurred.

"What you seek for the people of Connlaoth is no different than what we do! Can you not see that the country is tearing itself apart? The starvation and suffering here is not an isolated case but felt from every corner of this land!" Alanna closed her eyes, once more trying to center herself as her passionate feelings were buried once more within herself.

"The Grand Duke," she began again levelly, "simply desires to protect the people of Connlaoth. If what you say is true then you are not a threat to that and instead an ally to a cause for the people."

Something flickered in her eyes that tinged on familiarity. And when she spoke, there was a growling tone to her voice that nearly made Roland sick at the sound of it. It wasn't so much as what she said, but how she said it. Her voice had never been overly feminine, but the tinges of woman underneath the dirt and grime and weathered exhaustion, was the woman that he knew all too well.

Something else seemed different about her. Almost beaten. And her mask nearly cracked when she finished that goblet of wine. Roland's own was still mostly filled. And he was in no hurry to finish it. No, not when something more interesting had caught his attention.

Roland blinked slowly.

"Then at least we are in agreement on one thing: That the people of this country have suffered long enough. Suffering brought on by a war they didn't ask for. Started by men groveling for power, control. At least here in Falkenrath, I will do what I can to give them some semblance of peace."

Roland sighed a little, shifting to lean forward, eyes hooded with the way his head tilted, looking at her. He pursed his lips at her, eyes flicking to her goblet and back. "Shall I give you a refill, Miss.....?  You never did give me your name? Or shall I simply refer to you as Grandmaster?"

"I do not believe any of us truly asked for war," Alanna replied tiredly, the weight of the war and her responsibility feeling ever heavier upon her shoulders. "The powers that be are only trying to do what they deem best for their people, a fact you will quickly learn for yourself now Duke Harker."

The Mordecai glanced down at her own goblet realizing herself that she had indeed finished it though she certainly did not remember doing so. The stress of her keeping her poise was wearing her down quickly when all she wanted to do was leap across the table and shake and punch the illusion of her husband's face out of the man across the table from her.

"Pardon my rudeness then. I assumed it was well known across the land that The Lioness had been promoted to the position of Mordecai Grand Master. News seems to travel slower these days than it used to. I am Alanna Mercer formerly of Allar. And no, I would not like another drink. Although there is one more thing I wish to discuss with you if you have nothing else yourself you wish to discuss."

As far as he was concerned there wasn't anything else to talk about, unless she wished to denounce her loyalty to the Grand Duke and swear fealty to him. Roland chuckled inwardly at the thought and while he grew tired of the conversation, he didn't at all grow tired of her, and a part of him wanted cross the distance between them and secure his arms around her, to hold her to him for all the years he didn't get to.

Instead he was snapped out of his longing reverie and blinked owlishly at her. Right.  She was The Lioness.  Of course, he'd heard of her.  Her reputation had preceded her. But he had no idea that she had grown into such prowess. And with that though he felt pride swelling in his chest. This was the woman he had married, and at one point, he had had the right to call her his wife.

Roland's lips quirked a little as a grin.  "Perhaps that's something we can do in private. Please, let me at least show you around Iron Keep. It's a wonderful castle, even if it has seen better days."  He didn't answer just yet.  He just wanted her to be able to free herself from the mask she seemed so desperate to hold onto.

He stood up and at that Darius also stood at attention and helped Alanna out of the chair if she followed suit.  Roland stalked toward the western door where he was before and opened it.  "There is an office upstairs. I promise to remain civil."

Alanna eyed him suspiciously as he rose and offered for them to relocate elsewhere in the keep. She too moved to stand though she did not immediately follow him. "My men and I have traveled a long distance in a short time in order to meet you, your Lordship. They would be most grateful for some water if you have any to spare."

She knew that she would be leaving her contingent behind when she followed him. This way at least if he was willing to meet her terms then her men would have a reason to stay behind and not protest being made to leave their commander's side. It was not as if Alanna felt incapable of defending herself against just one man, after all.

Roland bowed his head to her and nodded to Darius. "You'll do as the lady asks, yes? Give these soldiers the hospitality of food drink and rest. There'll be no fighting. Or there will be severe consequences. Is that understood?"

Darius bowed his head to Roland and gestured to the soldiers. "You've come a long way. I'm sure you're all very tired. Come along please."

Roland watched them go before opening the door to the western wing. "After you, milady."

The Mordecai soldiers hesitated, waiting only for the near imperceptible nod of their leader before obeying and departing from her side. New Grand Master or not, they knew better than to argue with her. She had always been a force to be reckoned with even before she carried the weight of her new title.

Only once they were gone did she move to join Roland. Alanna paused at the doorway though, refusing to enter. "Thank you. You did say you would show me the keep though. Would it not therefore be better if you lead? I certainly do not know my way around here."

She used those moments to eye him up and down closely. He certainly was the right height and while aged, his face was not one she could easily forget. Whatever sorcery was at play here, and it must have been a mighty one to best a Mordecai such as herself, she would put an end to it once and for all as soon as he gave her the privacy and opportunity to do so.

Roland nodded to her and swung into the door way as he did so. "Iron Keep, the seat of power for Falkenrath for at least the last 500 years. That's what Charles Brennick told me anyway. It has once been a seat for tyrants and warlords before being properly integrated into the provinces like the rest." Roland laughed, a familiar ring perhaps as he cut a look at her over his shoulder.

He reached up and slowly took a torch from the wall. Though it was daylight, the inner halls were dark and only the windows to the upper floors brought in any real light. "I realize how ironic that seems, but I must say the similarities end there." He sobered and lead the way up the stairs toward the west wing rooms and study.

"The bedrooms are to the left, down that corridor there, a spiral staircase leads up to the parapets on the western walk, down on the right is a small chapel.  Up ahead is a study, a small library with a rather interesting compendium of knowledge. I had no idea the Brennicks were such worldly scholars.  Shall we explore some of the rooms, or did you wish to go up along the western walk?"

She would have loved to know how he had managed to even replicate that laugh. The sound alone had her clench her hands into fists at her sides and her eyes slam shut quickly as if to drown the sound out of her ears. His directions though forced her back to attention and into scanning their surroundings to assess the dangers that possibly awaited her.

"Which is the way to your office? You mentioned earlier that it would be a place we could continue our discussion. The study, the library, even the chapel would be acceptable to me if you're comfortable with that. The topic which I wish to discuss is delicate and as such not one I wish to bother your men nor mine over," she added pointedly, hoping he would agree so that if things became rough between them then she would not have intruders interfering.

Her request was not completely out of the ordinary, and not completely unreasonable either. So Roland paused at the center of each of the hallways and after a few seconds pointed the torch in the direction of the chapel.

"Then a place of worship seems to be the most appropriate. All may enter God's domain and be welcome. Or so the saying goes," Roland looked to her. The torchlight accentuated the darker lines of her face, and he saw the weariness therein. He wanted to reach up, to push away a stray strand that fell over her eyes, but he resisted.

Knowing her she'd find a reason to lop it off.

Roland stalked down the corridor toward the chapel, a small room with a confession booth to the left and a few benches in the middle that served as pews.  There were no holy men here, and none that stayed once Roland had settled in. He walked around to make sure that no one else was here before setting the torch in an empty wall slot and moving toward the nearest bench, shrugging out of that fur-lined cloak, and dropping it down.

"What is it that you wish to speak of?" he asked, walking a little over toward the stained glass windows where natural sunlight poured in and illuminated the room.

Only once the room was cleared did she close the door behind them and move to join him at his side. For a moment she stood there silently, taking in his features. There was nothing that was out of place with him. The illusion truly was a sight to behold. Then, in an instant, Alanna was swinging. Her fist connect squarely with his chin with a harsh crack that made her own knuckles sting.

"How dare you defile my husband's image, demon," she hissed while grappling to get a hold of him and try to pin him against the wall. "How dare you use your witchcraft in the house of Angsar and bear the face of my deceased husband. You are not worthy of it, fiend!"

Like a woman possessed, she fought to claw at him and bang him against the wall, anything and everything to subdue him as she finally unleashed her rage and heartbreak. "Roland Mercer was a good man and a good soldier who died for his country! I do not know how you came by such magic but I swear on my husband's grave I will most assuredly kill you over it!"

The white that flashed before his eyes sent Roland reeling backwards and he staggered over a bench. But he didn't have time to fall before Alanna was on him and slammed him hard against the wall. She wasn't weak, nor frail, nor a whimpering simpleton. The words that leapt from her mouth though were mad and filled with a vile hatred that left Roland's head spinning.

"Alanna!" Roland screamed, voice bellowing against the vaulted ceilings, the cavernous chapel echoing that resonance, and he fought to fend off her attacks, and reached up to grasp her wrists. "Stop! I AM ROLAND!" He felt the bite of nails hard against his right cheek and neck when he turned his head away.

"ALANNA!" he growled. "PLEASE! YOU'RE MAD!" Roland's hand reached down to try and pull Anguish between them, but the proximity was far too close, and the only way he could think to get her off was instead to close the distance between them, seeing a space where her arms parted and pressing his lips harshly against hers.

The kiss was not sweet or gentle. Instead it was a clashing of teeth and blood and white-hot rage. She resisted viciously at first, going so far as to even bite his lips with the intention to draw blood. But, even then being held in familiar arms and kissed by familiar lips began to wear down on her and she found herself collapsing into him wearily.

Hands that had clawed and beaten now clutched tightly to him as if to let him go would mean to see him disappear. "Roland?" she asked, her voice trembling in disbelief and a twinge of hope. "My Roland? Is it really you? They told me you were dead. They told me you were dead!" Alanna shouted with a cracking sob as she weakly beat a fist against his chest.

The resistance of that kiss only made Roland press into her more. Tunic pressed flatly to the coldness of her armor and one arm fell easily around her, a familiar embrace as his other clutched against the right of her face, feeling the heat of her rage that burned there.  He tilted his head feeling the anger behind it and there was no small ounce of roughness on his part.

Lips parted toward that familiar warmth until she spoke against him. Roland could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, stinging against the fresh raw wounds she'd made on his face. He didn't bruise easily, and he never complained of his pain. And he didn't now when he tilted his head and pressed the wetness against her cheek with a soft kiss.

"I'm not dead," he breathed against her lips. "I'm alive. I'm sorry. I am....  Alanna.... I'm so sorry. But I know nothing I can say can make it up to you. All years I spent away. But I promise you I am real. And I am alive. Here and now. In the flesh."

"You let me believe you were dead. You let me think all this time I was alone," she cried softly against him, her arms moving from wanting to harm to wanting to cling tightly to him. "Why didn't you tell me? Roland what did I ever do to be tortured this way? I died the day they told me you were lost. I wanted to die with you when I heard the news. How could you just abandon me, abandon your people, your friends like this?" Alanna pulled back to look at him, her head shaking in disappointment. "How could you turn your back on everything?"

He quivered at every syllable she cried softly to him, and he opened his eyes, blinking away blurry tears as she spoke. Roland's cheeks were soaked with tears, their salt digging into his wounds. His hands reached up to hold her face to his, and he couldn't fight back the sobs that made his chest ache.

And the guilt and shame the washed over him was almost too much to be borne. Were it not for their proximity he could have fallen to his knees, prostrate before her. His arm tightened hard around her, wanting only to hold her for as long as he could, to keep that impression of her form against his lest it float away. Until she broke away from him.

"I couldn't tell you! I couldn't! I was dead and gone and you were better off without me!" he breathed against her, taking in a sharp breath and his chest aching because of it. "You didn't need me, Alanna. You didn't. You were alive, and free and that was what was important. You never needed me. You were always stronger, better, smarter, faster. You were made to survive, no matter what happened to you. I had faith you would live your life. You didn't need me to hold you back."

He shut his eyes tightly and pressed his lips back against hers, possessively, angrily, and the ache in his chest only grew when he broke the kiss to breath.

Grey eyes that had once been so dead and lifeless flashed now with raw emotion. Her face contorted in fiery discuss and it was all Alanna could do to not throw herself at him again and beat some sense into him. "Better off without you!" she screeched, her voice echoing throughout the chapel and coming back sounding shrill even to her own ears, though she did not care.

"How could I be better off without you? I tied my life to you! I was your wife, Roland! I trusted you with my heart and when they told me you were dead it died that day. Had I not had a duty to my people, to my men I would have gladly allowed myself to waste away but I couldn't. What held me back was not your living but your death. Did you think I would rejoice at your loss?" she continued though her voice cracked and sounded raw from her screaming.

Furious with him, with the situation, with herself, Alanna latched onto one of the floor candelabra's and sent the lighted candles rolling across the cold, stone floor. She was lucky they did not land on anything flammable but in her rage she almost did not care. Let the whole damn keep burn as she did inside. Let everyone know how she felt dying every day inside until to find out it had all been a lie. She circled to his side and swung out at him, missing thanks to the tears blinding her eyes but that did not stop her from trying again. "All this time you let me believe this lie!"

Roland pulled himself away in the midst of her rage. He forced the tears away, forced himself to sober because he could barely see her through the blur made by them. His face already showed deep red lines where the bite of her nails met his cheekbones and neck and he panted heavily.

"I know you better than you think, Alanna," he hissed, firming himself. "I knew you would live on and you did. I knew you wouldn't shirk your duties and that you would find a reason to go on. Because you never let anything hold you back. And that is what I love about you. And love still! You don't let yourself drown in sorrow! The war was raging everywhere!! Alanna! How could I tell you? And be dragged within again."

Roland kept his distance from her, rolling his shoulders and staring at her levelly. "Because Roland Mercer did die that day. And when I found myself dazed, sitting in the middle of a field of my friends all dead! And I was fighting a war that I didn't believe in! I never turned my back on my men! Even as  we were​ ordered to march right into a meat grinder! My superior knew we weren't coming back!"

Roland's face was red with rage. "You were always stronger than I was, Alanna. Letting you go was the hardest thing I've ever done! But I knew you would fall back on your resolve! Your work, wed again if you found reason to! Roland Mercer didn't come back because he was dead. And I saw then the true savagery that laid waste to the land!"

"Do not speak to me of love," she spat, moving to hold the candelabra in both hands like a mighty staff. "You were my anchor in this storm and you set me adrift. Now I come to find that you were alive all this time, that you left me. Did you think that I could not listen? You did not even give me a chance! I made a vow, did it mean so little too you?"

Alanna swiped at him again, pushing him back towards the entrance in her anger. "The only savagery I see here is what you've done to me. You speak of my strength and resolve when you were not even there to see what you did to me. You turned your back on me!" Her body shook with her fury as she repeatedly lashed out at him, at a man who had once made her laugh and feel special and now made her cry and feel used.

Roland threw his arms up and blocked the blow made by the candelabra. It clanged against the metal of the bracer around his forearm. She was angry - and that was putting it lightly. And she had every right to that anger. He staggered backwards from the blow and circled around her.

"I did love you! And I still do! Alanna, I had to let you go. How would you have reacted to find your husband as a traitor to the Grand Duke you fight for! Others would find out. You would be ostracized! Beheaded! Better that I was dead than to see you executed for my own actions."

He was knocked back by a second swipe of that candelabra in her arm, this time the metal prong of it digging into his shoulder.  He hissed, grasping his arm tightly. "I have kept my vows, Alanna. My convictions. And I will do my duty to protect the people of Connlaoth and return this nation to them. We both are fighting for what we believe in."

Roland backed himself against the door, no longer evading her and he kept his gaze locked with hers. "You're the Mordecai Grandmaster now. You have made strides I see."

She pressed onward, holding him at bay with the candelabra stretched out between them. "And what will I be now when they find out an enemy of the Grand Duke overthrew Falkenrath and is the husband of the Grand Master herself? Yes I have advanced only to be at an even greater deposition than you could have placed me in before. Now there is no chance of banishment for me if they ever know the truth. There is only death, for either of us. What happens when I'm ordered to kill you? To torture you? Did you really think I would never find out?"

Alanna hesitated, her guard lowering ever so slightly as her shoulders slumped in defeat and her chin dropped to her chest. "You didn't even trust me. How can you say you love me when you could not even tell me the truth? You made choices for me, without me," she cried, harshly wiping away tears on shining metal of her shoulder armor.

He didn't know what more could be said between them. She was right, he knew. The choice was taken out of her hands. Yet it hadn't just been him. The moment they decided he was dead, delivered that letter, carved his name in stone, solidified the fact that he was no longer Roland Mercer.

That was the harsh reality of it. He wasn't the man she married any longer. And those happy carefree days before the war, were left in the rubble and the dust of Soriandr Falls.

"I wasn't hiding it from you. But as far as everyone else knows, I am dead. And that is how it'll stay. And you will tell the Grand Duke that I am an enemy, and a traitor. And that Connlaoth will be returned to her people. That is the truth. And all that need be said."

His words were a knife in her heart. She came all this way for a relatively simple mission only to find something which she had thought long lost and now she was expected to lose it again. The sharp clang of the heavy candelabra hitting the floor and rolling away from her gave her a start as she had not even realized that she had dropped it. For a moment Alanna looked down at her empty hands before shaking her head in sadness.

"So this is your decision then?" She did not wait for his answer before shuffling to stand in front of him, her own tired eyes raising to meet his. A gentle hand moved to rest flatly above his heart before her head fell to rest against his shoulder. "I never imagined being made a widow twice to the same man." More quietly she added, "then again I never imagined being a widow at all to begin with."

She wanted to stay there in that moment, to freeze time and hold onto him. But she could not. She had to leave before her heart shattered any further. It was already so frail and so weak. Resolved, Alanna moved quickly. One moment she was a grieving wife and in the next she was once more the Mordecai Grand Master. Hands that had touched him out of love fisted into his uniform before tossing him over her shoulder and into the fountain of holy water behind them.

"I will send word of your decision to the Grand Duke at once then. Perhaps the water will clear your mind in the mean time," she hissed before moving to storm out of the chapel.

Roland was resolute, and knew that this was the only possible outcome to a meeting like this. They both had come too far in their choices, in their paths, that to turn back now was folly and a show of a weakness that he would be disappointed if she displayed that now. Perhaps there just wasn't much more to say.

That didn't mean that it didn't pain him to say it. And the ache that had resonated in his chest previously left him singed. His eyes were red with the sorrow he'd shed, and the scratches still stung. And as she stepped toward him, he stirred, wanting to back away until her touch proved gentle.

And then suddenly it didn't. Roland helped as she swung him over her shoulder and he flopped forward into the wall fountain where the holy water resided, and he barely caught himself before hitting his head. He blew water fiercely from his nostrils, and glared at her, the primal urge to retaliate burning strongly within him. She had a right to her anger, however, and he watched her leave.

And yet...

"You still got that temper," he chuckled, finding himself smirking and spitting out the blood that pooled in his mouth when he bit the inside of his lip.  Yes, he did need to cool off indeed, but so did she.

In the meantime however, he was forced to contend with this woman, his wife, his widow, his guest, his enemy.

Alanna stormed back the way she had come, pausing only when she came across a group of Roland's men. "Your lord has taken a fall in the chapel. See to it that he is looked after," she commanded easily. The men hesitated warily, looking between themselves and her before her icy gaze landed fully upon them. "That was an order," she barked in such a clipped tone that it sent them scurrying like a pack of kicked puppies back the way she had come.

She found her own men in good spirits as they laughed and joked comfortably with each other. Her appearance though quickly silenced them as if they understood the storm cloud that danced so heavily above her head. "What news Grand Master? Have we gained a new ally?" called out the youngest of their contingent. The other men around him scowled and shifted away as if hoping to avoid The Lioness's wrath.

"It still remains to be seen, Harold," she chided gently. "Current negotiations have currently become a bit waterlogged and a recess was deemed necessary. "You there," she called to Roland's apparent right hand, "might I trouble you for some parchment and ink? I would like to send word that I will be longer than I had originally intended."

Roland righted himself in the water by the time his Red Legion soldiers arrived. One of them stood forward and reached out, clasping hands to pull him up and out of the fountain. Roland sat the edge of the fountain, shaking his hair - now made brown by the water - and brushed the water from his face.

"What the hell happened, General?" the soldier asked. "Are you all right!? Should we do something?"

"No!" he said, shaking, disappointed in himself that he allowed it to come to that. It would be a lie to say that he hadn't brought it upon himself. "No. You will do no such thing. I had a little spill is all. I needed some refreshment that's all. I'm going to my chambers. I'll be there should my guest require my attention. In the meantime, you will be as respectful and as amicable as I would expect of my Legion. Understand?"

His Legionnaires straightened and saluted with fists over their hearts. "Yes, General," they said and turned on their heels to make way for Roland to pass through.

Darius, meanwhile, did as Alanna requested, bringing the parchment, ink, and quill to her in the Great Hall. "If there is anything else you require....please, hesitate to ask," he said softly under his breath as he departed from her and her soldiers and quickly wandered upstairs toward Roland's chambers. Even in the midst of him changing into dry clothes, Darius burst into the room and looked deeply troubled.

Roland sat at the edge of the bed, pulling fresh boots on. "You look like you just shit yourself, Darius," he said, half-irritated.

"Your guest it seems....has taken it upon herself to....stay," Darius hissed and stood straight. "In fact...she's writing a letter as to that very intention now.

Roland sighed and threw himself backwards on the bed, the mattress giving considerably beneath him and he rubbed his face again, the scratches still fresh.  "Well....I suppose we'll have to put up with her then now won't we? If we must, then it seems we have an extra plate to serve at dinner, now don't we?" Roland rolled himself up and curled in on his side.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Darius focused on instead.

Roland's eyes looked up at him in a glare. "I fell. In the fountain in the chapel.  You'll find the mess there if you choose to look."

"And scratched your face?"

"Yes. Now do as I say. I'm not catching my death of cold here!  Leave me."

Darius chewed his lip coldly and bowed before taking his leave.

The woman did not comment on the man's snark but that is not to say that it did not go unnoticed. Had it been a different time and a different lifetime perhaps she may have even laughed at it. Instead she accepted the items graciously before steeling herself for the task of writing a letter she did not wish to send.

Writing had never been one of her strong suits. She had been well into adulthood when she had started to learn and for the most part the skill had only been used to send letters to her beloved during the war. That practice had ended years ago though with the news of his apparent death.

Alanna stared at the parchment before her, her eyes swimming with unshed tears and half-formed thoughts. Roland had taught her to read and write when they first met each other. She considered it a great and terrible irony that now the very letters he had shown her would now be linked together to form the words that very well may damn him.

She could hear the men milling about her and feel the eyes of her own husband's men boring holes into the back of her head but still she did her best ignore it. With quick, scratching strokes of the quill she detailed the usurper's reception of her and her company as well as the need for more time to determine what should be the next move regarding the fate of Falkenrath. Alanna could only hope as she sent the message away via one of her men's hawks that it would be well-received and that her hand on thai matter would not be forced prematurely.

In the next few hours that would pass, Roland kept to himself in the Western Wing of Iron Keep. He didn't need to irritate Alanna anymore than she already was. She needed as much time as he did to respond to everything that had happened, everything that might happen, and the last thing he wanted for either of them to do was make a rash decision.

Roland had never before been so tense, not that his soldiers had seen. The Red Legion went about their duties regularly, without hitch, without so much as a barking order, mending worn walls,  scrounging and repairing equipment, and looking over the residents of those that called Vermillion their home.

To think what started as a company of 500 seemingly turned into 5000 overnight. And then even more and more followed Roland, or wanted to be a part of something rather than become another effigy in the desecration around them. Those that hadn't eaten in months, were wary of the Legionnaires that came into their hamlets and villages, and with them seed and tools. They didn't ask, they didn't force them from their homes. They tilled soil, letting their sweat fall into the same earth that the people of Falkenrath had in years before.

It was Darius that stirred the silence when he found Alanna, hands properly folded behind his back. His back was straight and even he had a fresh change of clothes. A soldier stood in front of him as he approached and he bowed his head. "I am simply here to ask if the Grandmaster would care to be invited to dinner with the Lord of the house."

He pulled from his sleeve a small scroll and handed it to the young Mordecai. "Here, in case you wish to deliver it to the woman standing behind you yourself," he said.  Darius took one step back, bowed his head again. "What shall I tell my lord?"

The hours that passed were time well spent. Though mostly silent during that period, Alanna's mind was incredibly active. She was able to calm down enough to properly assess the situation and the real reason she was so furious. The Mordecai realised that she was not upset that her husband was alive or even that he was now her enemy. What bothered her the most is that he had felt he could not trust her with the truth, that she would not have listened or possibly even followed him. Alanna could not say even now what she would have done years earlier had she known the truth. She barely knew how to feel now for that matter. But, she did know she still loved him as much now as she had the day she married him over a decade ago.

Roland could change his name and change his loyalties but he could not change her heart. The revelation only made things that much harder for Alanna. As a woman she wanted nothing more than to renounce her title in place of being at her husband's side. As a soldier though she could only pray that it would not be her hand that was was ordered to end his treasonous life.

Unconsciously, she pulled her wedding band on a chain out from beneath her tunic and began to roll it between her fingers. Her actions drew the attention of the youngest of her contingent who sprawled himself out on a bench beside her. "Do ya evah miss 'im?" He asked his his familiar country boy drawl. His question was met with a questionable eyebrow raise.

"Yer 'usband. The lads 'ere tell of yousa marryin' some bloke and 'im dyin' in the war. Do ya miss 'im?" He repeated nodding to the ring in her hand. Alanna stared down at it in contemplation. It was a simple band made of iron and already beginning to tarnish from lack of proper care on her part. A kernel of shame flared in her breast at the realisation and she resolved to do better in the future.

"Every day. I still sit down each night expecting to start a letter to him only to remember..." She trailed off with a shake of her head. It was no longer the truth not that may of them needed knowing that. Alanna was saved from saying more though as the man, Darius her men had informed her, made an entrance causing all of her contingent to rise to their feet.

"Ya canna wait proper while the Grand Master reads the missive ya," Harold snapped while puffing up to appear bigger and passing the message off to Alanna. "She'll give ya an answer when she already and not 'fore then."

Harold continued to stand guard over Alanna as she read the message. No reaction played across her face but her heart surely skipped not one but two beats at seeming the familiar scrawl and dare she believe it, affectionate tone to the letter. A second reading did not change the words but certainly kept Darius waiting a bit longer for his own good. Alanna did not doubt how much he must despise her and was perfectly content to make him stew for it.

"You may inform the duke that I would be honoured to continue negotiations over dinner if that is his desire."

For Darius each long minute she took to read the message and give her answer only presented - in his mind - a testament to how ill-educated much of Connlaoth's fighting forces actually were. It was bad enough her own mordecai seemed ill-mannered and uncouth - and unclean at that - and even worse now that the very Grandmaster herself seemed to have a difficult time reading a simple dinner invitation.

Darius turned up his nose until he received his answer. With a tilt of his head, he bowed once again. "I will deliver your response with haste," he said in a soft gentle tone. The moment he could be free of these barbarians, he took it with a harumph sound and swung around on his heel. And turned his nose back up in that departure.

Roland was sitting in his office when Darius returned, stepping in as discreetly as was his gait. Roland looked up, hiding the iron band in his hand as he glanced up at the servant. "And? What is the verdict?"

"A proper beheading, I'm afraid," Darius smirked, an expression only met with a scowl from Roland. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "I mean, she has accepted the invitation and would be happy to continue negotiations over food. Dinner will be served in a half-hour. Shall we make use of the banquet hall then?"

"No. This...is between me and her. Serve her soldiers a proper dinner in the hall, please. She and I will instead be taking our food on the third level sitting room."

"My lord?  A sitting room? Seems a little...improper doesn't it?" Darius asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes, but these are negotiations between us. And I promise to maintain the highest sense of propriety. Now, go see to the food. Thank you, Darius.  You're dismissed."

The servant chewed on his lip a moment before bowing out and doing as he was instructed. Roland watched him leave and he stood to ensure the door was shut properly behind him. In those few minutes, Roland hadn't realized he'd been gripping that iron band in hand, and he traced his index finger around the impression it made in his palm. He swallowed thickly, placing it back in his pocket and frowning.

He didn't know why she would bother to stay. If only throwing him into the fountain had been the end of it, that she would go back and report to her Grand Duke and prepare for war once again. That was how she became Grandmaster wasn't it? Because war was her creed. She served a man that gave no thought to the suffering of his people. She followed him, and yet here she was again doing his bidding.

The woman he had loved...  loved still, now in talks with him over the fate of a province that had only garnered interest when it's ruler was no longer loyal to the crown!  Roland saw this only ending one way. It was the only way, wasn't it? When he was either dead in battle or executed. He supposed a lot could happen between then and now, and that was a bridge that would burn once he crossed it.

Roland prepared himself. He'd never had anything so formal, and wore the crimson sash of the Red Legion interlaced with his uniform, a tunic beneath a black leather doublet, laced and buckled around his form. On the third level was an open sitting room, with a balcony to the far end of the room, a fire place on the opposite end, and wooden table closer to the open glass doors beside the balcony. It overlooked the courtyard, and those doors let in a cool evening breeze.

Roland waited beside the table where the food was served, not daring to sit until his guest arrived. Better late than never.

Much to the jibing of her men, Alanna worked to try and make herself at least somewhat presentable. Her hair was let loose of its tie and finger-combed into some form of submission while her uniform was smoothed out and some of the more cumbersome armor was removed to be left with her men. Alanna had even gently teased them to not let it be scuffed or dropped in their clumsy attempts to mock her in stories with it. The joke was met with hearty laughter which was exactly when Darius decided to slink in.

He bowed stiffly before her while offering to lead her to where dinner awaited. The only men became silent while Alanna graciously allowed herself to be escorted. Out of spite, he led her the longer way to where they were going, ensuring that there were several staircases both up and down before they reached their destination, all of which Alanna took in stride.

"His Lordship has asked that the table be set with the cellar's best wine, not of course it compares to anything you would recognize I'm sure," he remarked, feeling smug in the knowledge that she probably did not even know the swill of a Csog from a refined Berion. Darius wondered if Roland would allow him to stay just so he could see if she knew which silverware to use or whether she ate like the other heathens she dared call soldiers.

"I'm sure he chose admirably. His hospitality has been nothing but abundantly generous," she replied softly.

"That it has," he quipped back before pushing the door open to the room for her. "May your negotiations be less waterlogged this time around Grand Master," he added as they stepped into the room.

Alanna did not have the desire to quip back as she took in the figure her husband made. A smile unbidden came to her lips as she drank in his form softened by the fire. "I apologize for keeping you waiting, Sir Roland," the Mordecai greeted softly. "I was delayed by the many twists and turns it takes to get to this private room."

"I see Darius made a point of taking you the long route then," Roland sighed, a little irritated that the servant would feel the need to make a mockery of his guests. But Darius had come with Iron Keep, and agreed to continue serving without complaint, as he had no other direction in life. It did not matter to him who was the master of the house, so long as Darius remained.

And at the time that was fine by Roland.

"I'm sorry," he quickly apologized for him. "But you...you look wonderful, Alanna." Something heavy fell from Roland's chest at the chance to say that name again. He bowed his head and moved toward the seat, pulling it out for her to take her place.  "The amenities here aren't much. But what treasures could be salvaged are being salvaged."

He had noticed she'd used the knightly title he'd often attached to his name. And while it felt out of place for her to say it, he didn't question it and took his seat in front of her. "I honestly didn't think you were going to accept my invitation," he admitted. "Thank you, at least for this."

"You needn't apologise," she said waving away his concern and taking the proffered seat. "I know it was not your doing. Had you wanted your food to get cold you would have made it yourself." The sound of her name on his lips had her heart somersaulting about in glee. She had missed how it sounded especially in his voice. Alanna realised now more than ever that until now she had thought to never hear it spoken aloud in such a way again. The dead do not speak after all.

"And I honestly thought you would send me out on my ear for leaving you in such a state. It is I who is honored by your invitation. Thank you. You have shown great kindness to myself and mine. I know that you are not obligated to do so but nevertheless continue to be honorable. Thank you."

"I think what's even more strange is this setting. Unusual even for us.  It's so...domestic. I don't think we ever really had a chance to play house, did we?" Roland said quietly, perhaps even with a tinge of sorry on his lips. His eyes flitted over the corners of her face, appreciating the contours therein.

She was always beautiful to him, and even the lines made by time only accentuated it further. His eyes dissected her, flowing from her own gaze, to her cheeks, her nose, her lips, down to her neck, and below. Until finally they fell on the chain at her chest. He felt his heart thrumming loudly in his ears.

"Well, what good are we, if we let our own followers fall into rabble. Lead by example. I have you to thank for teaching me that," he said softly and his head gestured to her neck. "I guess I really shouldn't be surprised to see you still have that old piece of iron."

Alanna chuckled at the notion of them ever being domestic. Even as newlyweds it had not truly fitted them. She was a soldier not a housewife. Meals for them had often constituted going to the pub or mess hall if they both happened to be home at the same time. "I believe we were more focused on a different aspect of domestic bliss together than the cozy little fire with dinner on the table," she recalled with a fond smile.

She was about to respond further when he directed his attention towards her person. Confused, she looked down to see where he was pointing and then promptly blushed. A hand came up to gently cup the ring within her palm before closing around it and pressing it against her heart. "I couldn't let you go," she murmured softly, her eyes closed to hold back unshed tears. "It was over a year before I could even bear to remove it from my hand and even then it felt wrong. I never stopped thinking of you. Half the time I kept expecting to turn around and find you there with that crooked smile on your face."

Roland pushed himself forward, leaning against the table, listening intently. Those words laid heavily on his ears and he dropped his head. He was sinking, falling deep into a pool of dark water, drowning beneath the weight of all those desperate hopes. It was only with force that he was able to look up at her again, meeting her gaze.

"But you keep it still. You still hold onto that old memory of me. I'm sorry, Alanna. You were right, I should have told you. Regretting that time lost, however, won't change the past," he said softly and reached into his pocket to pull out the iron band he had. The white line on his finger had long since tanned over, but there was the ring still, polished and clean, as he carefully unwrapped it from a handkerchief.

"I kept it because....because you were my wife." And still was, but he refrained from saying such. "Because you were my lover and my confidant. And I keep it, because those are the only good memories I have of those past years. Everything else went to shit."  He cleared his throat and uncorked the wine, pouring the glasses and settling it on a rack beside the table.  "You know, I will always admire you, right?"

"Not a confidant," she rebuked with a shake of her head. "You did not trust me with the truth. You did not trust me to listen Roland. Am I so stubborn, so hard-headed that you did not think I could listen? This lie hurts me more than the truth. This new reality is tearing me to pieces in ways that even the truth then couldn't have."

Alanna let go of her ring and took up her cup instead to sip at thoughtfully. "Is that all I will ever have of you now? Your admiration? Then again, I suppose we've both changed and grown old. I've just become Grand Master and you a Duke it seems. I don't recall you ever being knighted or of noble blood. Or is that another truth kept hidden from me?"

Roland knew that it was coming at some point, and he paused to meet her gaze just when he was going to reach for his own cup of wine. He smirked, just a small wry grin. The same grin he seemed to make when they had first courted.

"I have no official titles, that's true. But I had a friend during our last battle. His name was Braxton. And he knighted me before he died. Gave me his sword, his holdings. He had no family to speak of, no wife, no children. Gave them to me, in an unceremonial way about it. He was a good man," Roland murmured quietly. "I have never been one to throw titles around, but people seemed to respect authority when there's a useful prefix in front of it."

He opened the platter, revealing the chicken and peas and other delicacies in their meal. It wasn't at all any presentation of opulence, for Falkenrath had been nearly bled dry from the war. But what was there was served well, and Roland could appreciate it for what it was worth. "I do admire, you. Even before I came to love you. And I always will. You're strong, and you let nothing hold you back. Your sheer will is a trait of which I envied. I've always loved that about you. And I always will."

Alanna met his gaze, an answering smile turning up the corners of her own lips. It was impossible to remain stern when his boyish grin had not changed one bit. "I am sorry for your loss," she said and she truly meant it. Regardless of which side they were one everyone lost someone in the war. There were no true victors just an endless sea of bloodshed.

The smell of food peaked her interest though and she smiled gently at the fare. "I'm impressed you could even find vegetables. It seems more and more that no one has any left unless they're on some nobleman's table." She shook her head again and sighed.

"I don't feel strong anymore, Roland. I just feel," she paused to take a sip of her wine, "tired. My soul is tired. When you were well "alive" there was at least the essence of you to cling to. Afterwards there was only the forward momentum of survival. But, a human body cannot live in a survival mode forever. Roland I don't want to do this," she said suddenly, looking up at him with pained eyes. "I don't want to stand opposite you or walk away and know that that may be the last time. I did that once already and I-" her voice cracked as she balled her hand into a fist. "I will not survive it. I was content to know I would most likely not survive the war. Now, now I wish I did not have to keep fighting in it."

Those last words hung heavy on the air and Roland's shoulders lurched further forward. If anything she might have said had any resonance this night, it would be that. He didn't know how to tell her that he understood exactly how that felt. He didn't know that there were times he sat and stared at the edge of his blade, facing down the point and wanted nothing more than to fall on it.

Roland recalled the sting of her nails, clawing at him, the very anger with which she launched him into the fountain, and there was no doubt in his mind that her feelings weren't true. He only wanted to reach out to her then, draw her in close, wrap arms around her to secure her in the knowledge that he loved her and loved her still.

He gazed back up at her, tempering himself with another sip of wine. "What would have of me, Alanna? What do you want me to do? I never meant for any of this to happen. It simply did. I'm sorry, Alanna. Truly. But I didn't lie when I said that I still loved you. I don't know what that can possibly mean to you now. If it means anything at all. But that is the truth."

"I," Alanna hesitated a moment before placing her hand on the table palm up and reaching for him. "I don't know. I don't have any answers and I'm not sure there really are any either. What I do know is, is that I never stopped loving you. I never want to stop loving you. But I don't know what to do. I can't...I can't give you up anymore than I can give up Connlaoth. Maybe that makes me weak. I regret becoming the Grand Master now. If I wasn't then," Alanna paused and lowered her voice as walls have ears and she did not need her own words to tie the noose about her throat.

"If I wasn't then turning my back might actually be survivable. This war is not my Connlaoth, Roland. This is not the home we talked of making a family in but there are still some people left who are trying. Both sides think they're right. Both sides want their own way, the right way."

She shook her head, letting the idea go. "You know what I want of you? I want you to live, Roland. I want what I thought was taken from me. I want you to survive through this because you claim my husband is dead but he still lives inside you. That has not changed. You are as you always have been, a good man and the man I love."

For now the food was forgotten and it was Roland to moved from his seat. The moment her hand reached for him, it was as if by instinct that he moved closer to her, his hand falling with ease into hers and grasping it as if it were the only anchor he could grasp.

"You are not weak. Even in your exhaustion," he said and fell to his knees beside her. His other arm touched the back of her chair lightly. He took her hand and pressed it to his chest, where she'd be able to feel the heaviness of his heart beating wildly. "And I would never ask you to leave your loyalties behind, for me. We are both fighting for the same things, you said it yourself. I want only for people to live in a freed Connlaoth."

He closed his eyes, brow furrowing, expression pained. "And I would only want the same for you. That's all I've ever wanted. I wanted you to live on and find someone deserving of you. I didn't mean to be a burden, I never wanted to hurt you but I did. And that's something I will always carry with me. And I would never demand forgiveness for something so treasonous." He leaned down and kissed the back of her hand, relishing in her warmth for that time being.

"For tonight, let us forget the war. The only thing here is you and I. And that's all that matters."

Her features softened as he spoke and Alanna found herself reaching out with her free hand to cup his face. "I did find someone deserving," she spoke softly, looking at him with her heart on her sleeve. "That has not changed. When this is all over then we can work out how much the years may have changed us, but not tonight. I will say one more thing of this war, Roland and then I promise to let it go for now. Please, whatever you do, wherever you go, keep your ears to the earth. Run if you must but live for me. Connlaoth needs you alive more than dead. I need you alive," she added more softly.

Pulling his chin up gently, she leaned down to kiss him. This kiss though was so very different than the brutal gnashing of teeth that their first reunion one had been. This was slow and tender in the way true love can be. Alanna clung to him sweetly, remembering the love they had once shared and feeling it rekindled once more in her breast. "I love you still," her words breathed against his lips as her forehead rested against his own. "I love you so much, Roland."

At her words, the aching in his chest only seemed to swell and as he received the pressure of her kiss, he leaned into her with a faint desperation. Because he didn't know if he could keep that promise. He knew the potential consequences of his actions, that there were limited outcomes as to how this would end.

He didn't dare voice them however, didn't dare level the bridge that had temporarily been constructed between them. So instead Roland leaned into that kiss and wound an arm around her, feeling her breath splayed against him. Roland breathed in her scent, permeating that of the food and wine as he parted her lips, tasted the hollows of her mouth with a sweetened longing.

"I love you, too, Alanna," he murmured between tilts of his head. "I missed you all these years. You are a part of me and always will be."

She knew that what she asked of him was a lot, perhaps even too much. It was not something she could promise to him anymore than he could for her. Nevertheless she had asked it of him because he had once been her world and she hoped to make him it once more. "You have always held my heart," she replied, combing her fingers through his hair and touching his ears and cheeks with the gentlest of caresses. "I am glad to know you're alive."

Her fingers traced the claw marks she had marred his face with and she pulled back slightly to look at them guiltily. "I'm sorry I hurt you." Alanna's sadness receded slightly though as she chuckled softly. "Seeing you sputtering in a fountain of holy water might have been worth it though. I wish you could have seen your face."

"Could my ears be deceiving me? Or did you hit me so hard on the head I'm delirious? Surely I didn't just hear Alanna Mercer apologizing for throwing me into a water fountain, did I?" They were questions murmured in jest, and he laughed a little, lips curling into a sweetened smile as she touched him.

"I missed your caresses the most, Alanna," he breathed, sighing. "But really I'm not at all surprised by you vaulting me into that edifice. My only real shock came when that was all you did. Do you remember when we first met? During a training exercise. None of the other recruits dared to face you. Except me because I was so young and foolish. Do you remember what happened after that?"

"I make no apologies for that, only for clawing up your already not-so-pretty face," she jested back with an old bit of sparkle in her eyes. She continued to caress his face as if tracing its contours would burn his image into her memory again. "I feared if I did more I'd kill you and that was far from my intentions," she murmured a bit more seriously.

Tugging at his hand she motioned for him to take a seat and pull it close to her. There was no use for him to kneel on the cold stone floor for her sake. "Of course I remember. How could I ever forget when the cocky pipsqueak decided to challenge a Lioness? You challenged, I downed you and then you had the nerve to ask, no demand a drink when you finally got back up. I was sure I had knocked the sense clean out of you."

With the chair pulled closer to her, Roland settled down into it and pushed it until their knees were touching. It was a subtle but intimate contact and somehow was easy to fall into. It was natural. There was nothing forced in it and Roland allowed himself to forget that there was still a war going on around them. That there were soldiers of opposing sides awaiting orders in the dining halls.

"Not so pretty face? Have I really aged so terribly?" he replied, chuckling and taking her hand in his, cupping it between his, letting his fingers intertwine for it.  "Pipsqueak? I am two years your younger. You're robbing the cradle, and I'm robbing the grave. I don't know which is worse." 

Roland reached for his cup, bringing it to his lips, taking his time with savoring the taste. "I demanded it. And you...did the wise thing and laughed in my face. But I didn't stop there, did I? I think I must have asked you 10 times before you said yes."

"Oh you've aged just fine," she quipped, "just wasn't pretty to begin with." Alanna stuck out her tongue quickly before giving his hand a warm squeeze and leaning more into him. "I do believe it was closer to twenty times. You certainly were persistent. I hoped that if I just said yes you'd eventually sod off. And then we went and there was that brawl. I don't even remember what it was about, do you?"

"Well, if I'd have given up after the first few times, you would have thought little of me, wouldn't you?" It wasn't so much a question as it was an honest opinion evaluation of himself. He'd been a lot more hot-blooded then. Time tempered that part of him, but what remained was more of a slow burn in its place. A burn that was now simmering the more he spent in her proximity.

"I do...I believe it was over a jar of pickles," Roland softly breathed. "I used to like to chew on them with my own mug of ale. And served on the counter. When it came down to the last one, another recruit was pretty sure it belonged to him. When I snatched it anyway, he took the jar and tried to smash it over my head. I'm...actually really sorry how that turned out, afterward. I was pretty sure you didn't want to see me again after that. It wasn't a very good first outing. Then again, I was in the infirmary for about a week."

Alanna groaned as she let her head fall back in memory. "Those damn pickles! But, yes it was a terrible first outing I suppose. You were a fighter though and you reminded me a lot of myself, someone with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove and damn anyone that tried to stand in your way. So the next time you asked I said yes and you damn near almost fell to floor. I was half expecting you to do a jig on the spot. But yes, we got our quiet drink and the rest as they say is history. I fell in love with a soldier who wasn't afraid of me and willing to get back up no matter how many times I barked or bit at you."

She took his hand and brought it to her cheek to place a gentle kiss to his fingers. "You made a fool out of me by making me fall in love with you. I can't say I regret it though. You turned out to be a lovely wild card. I don't know what you saw in me. What you see in me even now."

Roland couldn't help the small warmth that spread up from his belly, and the jolt that it brought when she spoke fondly of that time. Of course his head hurt a lot more back then, but the early days of their courtship had been good, wonderful. And although they were both soldiers, knowing they could be called off to fight at any time, he had to admit that then he never did think it would ever really happen.

He was an idealist then, he wanted her all to himself. And....he deep down, he still did.

"You were never a fool," Roland murmured, and he leaned in closer to her, looking between her and her hands. "I could never see that in you. But you are human. And that brings weariness to us all. Alanna....I... I see the same woman I grew to admire, to love, and gave me the honor of sharing my life with. You are loyal and honorable. And even after what life has thrown at you, you find the courage to keep going. Even after what I've done. Or failed to do."

Roland frowned and gripped her hand. For she was indeed the Grand Master and now the commander of all the Mordecai in the Grand Duke's army, and he fought hard against the ache that persisted. He turned to her and kissed her cheek. "I know that all that you've earned was hard-won. through blood sweat and tears." His lips lingered against her skin. "That's what I saw, and see even now. But more importantly....what is it that you see?"

"I see a woman from Allar who never really cared where the wind blew her until it blew her into the arms of a man such as you. I may have been older and trained you but you taught me so much more. You taught the most important lesson of all, to love." Alanna turned her face to kiss his lips softly then. She could not get enough of him. A few stolen kisses and caresses after years apart was not enough for her.

She pulled him close and hugged him tightly, burying her face against his neck. "I truly didn't deserve you then. I deserve you even less now. You're honorable and loving and compassionate. You had the courage to leave everything behind for what you believed in even though it meant sacrificing everything."

Nuzzling against him she continued, "When I was told you were dead I began to feel like I was spiraling out of control. There was no solace in the bottom of a tankard or another man's bed. Felt like I was breaking my marriage vows," Alanna groaned then, "I suppose it actually was. Did you ever..?"

It was a tentative reconciliation at best, and although they seemed leveled out now, Roland acknowledged that it was a lot to take in during a single day. He let her embrace him, and the feeling that she had done so freely. His arm fell around her with ease, pulling her against him.

That familiarity he missed, and it made him ache that he wanted more from her. How could he have left her behind? What kind of man allowed himself to forget how she felt against him. Was it a sacrifice worth making after all?

Another man's bed...  An admission that hurt more than he thought it would. Yet he couldn't find it in himself to blame her. He'd been dead and he'd only wanted her to find happiness, even if it was temporary.  Roland's lips pressed to her neck, letting himself relish the beat of her pulse before he tilted his head enough to look at her.

"I don't consider that an infidelity, Alanna. I was dead. You were in need. There was no harm done," Roland breathed, cupping her face, kissing her softly. He sighed.

"But for me..no. I haven't shared a bed since we parted last. I didn't really have time." He chuckled, face flush with the admission. "I got too busy to worry about it. Were you afraid I did? What would you do if I had?"

She hummed softly at his admission. She would be lying if she was to say she was not pleased he had been faithful to her. There was the slightest twinge of guilt niggling at the back of her mind but she tried to brush it to the side. At the time she had been drunk and grieving and even then she had known she would regret it come morning. To her it had been about sex and relief and trying to fill the enormous hole in her heart but it did not last long and she had been celibate since those first few moments of weakness.

Letting go, Alanna sat back comfortably in her chair. "I was not afraid. I was just asking since we're being open and honest. If you had then, I suppose I would understand. I wouldn't have liked it, but I would have understood. We were separated and we're only human. It is not uncommon for soldiers to ease the loneliness," she stated matter-of-factly with with a shrug of her shoulders.

"I'm relieved to hear that. I just wanted your take on it," Roland replied softly, watching her sit back and leaning back over the table. The food was cold now, or lukewarm at best. And hunger for that was the last thing on his mind. "Because there was that one time with a bar wench. I had a lot of slammers. And..."

He cackled suddenly and threw his head back. "I'm kidding!"  he chuckled. "I'm sorry, Alanna, I had to rib you. Just a little. You threw me in a fountain."

Roland sobered enough to look her over with hooded eyelids. He leaned against the table. "I know it's been a lot to take in a single day. But perhaps...It wouldn't be too forward of me if I asked you to stay the night. With me."

A fire sparked in her grey eyes that if looks could kill, Roland would have been dead ten times over. Alanna had never been the jealous type but the notion her husband may have slept with some common bar wench set her blood on fire. His laughter was received with fierce glare followed by Alanna choosing to ignore him with poise and take a sip of her wine.

Eyeing him from the corner of her eye, she took her sweet time in putting down her goblet and dabbing at her lips like the lady she most certainly was not. "In your bed? Is that what you're asking of me, to be the woman who drops everything for a chance to slip between your sheets?" Her face remained impassive save for the single brow that rose in question at his rather brash suggestion. "I do believe you haven't even allowed me dinner yet. Tsk, tsk," she clucked.

Thank the gods that Roland couldn't read Alanna's mind, because he would be chortling over in his chair at what she was thinking. In the end, deposited her poised form, he caught the flare in her eyes and he sipped his wine once more, savoring the taste as he felt his belly warm and his heart speed up.

"To drop everything no," he purred, leaning forward and cutting a piece of chicken with his fork, plucking it with his teeth and chewing quickly. "I always liked your slow and steady burn. Because there's more to savor, and because I know just the kind of heated passion your capable of."

He took another bite and looked her over, as if his eyes were already undressing her.

While her pale cheeks flushed pink at his words, Alanna feigned disinterest. In lieu of responding, she picked up her fork and knife and begin to dissect her food into bite-sized pieces before taking them one by one and chewing exceptionally slowly. "Much has changed since you knew me then. Perhaps I am no longer capable of the kind of passion you seem to be describing. Or even worse perhaps you've lost your touch."

He saw the bait and within his half-lidded gaze, he wanted to sink his teeth into its scarred, tanned, supple flesh. Roland watched her rip apart the chicken as if it were nothing at all.

"I have have I?" Roland asked as he leaned in, looking over her. "I'd like to think I'm fairly persuasive. You look practically famished. You'll need your energy.". He let his leg gently touch hers as he ate his chicken quietly, a free hand reaching down to squeeze her knee.

Alanna snorted and rolled her eyes. "At least the earnest persistence is still there if nothing else." With unhurried movements she reached down and relocated his hand back into his own lap before resuming her dining. "You seem quite sure of yourself, Duke. I'll have you know that titles do not interest me, or most women for that matter. You'll have to do better than that to gain a future wife's interest."

"Oh, and here I thought, you wanted to were in the running to be Mrs. Duchess?" Roland quipped and stuck his tongue out at her.

Roland snorted, just a little. He smirked and he let her slip his hand back to himself. Roland went back to his chicken. It was a nice quiet dinner for a few minutes. And for once Roland settled into the moment. The world outside was gone, and here they were, just a wife and a husband having dinner.

"I like this," Roland found himself saying. "This...is more peace than I've had in...years. It's strange to think I've manged to live without it for so long."  His eyes flitted to Alanna, gaze momentarily somber, even as they lingered on her neck.  Faint movement caught the corner of his eye, just beside the balcony. Looking up, he saw nothing, save the faint fluttering of wind against the potted plants there.

It was a nice breeze that came in and he welcomed it against his flushed skin. Roland heard footsteps behind him, and didn't look up in that moment.

"More pepper, sir?" said a rather unfamiliar voice.

"Darius, I didn't hear you come in," Roland murmured, and only in the reflection of candlelight did he see the flash of silver.  And then it came flying at him. Roland jerked sideways and as the dagger came flying toward him, he threw his arms up and the momentum knocked him clean out of his chair.

And from his view upside down, he could see three others climbing over the balcony's edge beside the prongs of grappling hooks.

"Why would I ever want that? Madam Frou-Frou Duchess is certainly a step down from Mordecai Grand Master. I much prefer my station where it is thank you very much," she informed him rather haughtily. She too felt the gentle night breeze, watching as it made the flames in the hearth dance about in the same manner Roland made her heart sway to and fro.

Not knowing Roland's men, the newcomer approaching from behind her husband was not immediately seen as a danger. But the moment Roland named him as a man she could hardly forget, her soldier instincts were shoved into full throttle. The dull knife she had been using to cut her meat was rolled in her grasp to be clutched more firmly.

In a matter of moments the stranger was attacking, Roland was ducking, and she was up onto her feet, her chair crashing to the floor with a sharp bang. Alanna lunged at the assailant, driving her knife into his shoulder as he turned just far enough away from her attack so as to have her miss his heart. The pair scuffled for a moment before fast approaching footsteps from behind gained on them and the Grand Master was yanked away by her unbound hair.

She cursed vilely at her own folly that had allowed her to desire being sweet and feminine for once instead of practical and a guarded warrior. Another attacker punched her in the gut as the second continued to drag her backwards. As viciously as she had with Roland she howled and clawed and kicked about in hopes of release until she was finally able to get her feet again. The moment she had them, one dark-haired aggressor was unceremoniously flipped over her shoulder and had his windpipe crushed under her boot before he had a chance to get over being stunned.

"Roland!" she barked as she took on the stockier one. "You better not be dead, yet!"

No, Roland wasn't quite dead. But falling out of his chair, left him momentarily winded. And as she distracted the first assailant, it gave him time to roll opposite him and right onto his feet. Even as she scuffled with him for a few long seconds, driving that knife into his shoulder, and when she was done with him Roland was on him.

He flew at him and just as he was about to slash at his belly, Roland gripped his blade hand and turned his wrist inward, turning his leg in against the back of his assailant's knee and pressed his weight forward, causing him to fall back. Roland fell with him and kept that forced angle on his wrist and let the momentum bring the blade deep into his neck.

His eyes were wide, primal, and he grit his teeth as his front shirt was sprayed with blood.  "I was only catatonic!" he shouted back to Alanna, and watched her stomp the neck of a dark haired man.

A club was raised upward beside him and Roland raised his arm to protect his head. His other hand took the knife from the dead man and lunged it forward to press it into the belly of another assassin. The thickened part of hide armor turned the point, and Roland kicked out, and forced his legs out from under him.

The man plopped down hard on his back, gasping momentarily. Roland was on him quickly and still grasped the bloodied blade, cutting it quickly across his neck.

"Why!?" he panted. "Afraid you're going to have to do all the work!?"

Alanna rolled her eyes at his quip, unable to take the time to throw something at him as she would have liked given they were in the middle of something at the moment. "No," she grunted, shoving the burly man she was fighting back until he tripped over a chair. "But I'll kill you when this is over. This is entirely your fault!"

"Ah then we better get on with it then!" Roland growled. He wasn't sure who he was more pissed at frankly. These interlopers that had interrupted the first dinner he'd had with his wife in what felt like a decade, or the fact that Alanna was immediately blaming him for all this!

So when the burly man she shoved over a chair came flying his way, Roland growled and reached down to pluck him by his shoulders. Roland was adequate for his size, but he had no fear for anyone larger than him. Every bastard had one thing that would topple them over.

Roland's fist smashed into his face, crushing his nose, and he dragged him with all the strength adrenaline afforded him, he dragged that burly man over to the balcony's edge. "THAT'S FOR ATTACKING. MY. WIFE!!" he howled just as he flung theman over the edge and watched him splat to the ground.

"I don't know these men. So why you're blaming me, I don't know!" And just then he heard screaming down in the Great Hall and the clashing of steel echoing down the hallway.  "Quick! This way! There are weapons in the office adjacent!" Although, if he had the chance he would have complimented on her having made short of these assassin's unarmed.  Not that she needed anything else to give her such a large head.

So as Roland ran into the next room, carefully keeping an eye out for any more of these black-robed assailants, he shoved the door open with his shoulder. "Just like old times, eh, love? Fighting side by side again," he smirked at her, shoving her inside.

She rolled her eyes at what she perceived to be dramatics but hurried to follow him. "Who says I even am your wife! You changed your name and claim my Roland is dead. And we wouldn't even be in this mess if you hadn't been so busy trying to get into my bloody pants instead of paying attention to your damn surroundings, you fool!"

Alanna hurried after him, grunting as he shoved her inside but refraining from commenting. A quick assessment of the room revealed that as he had said, it was an office. "Hurry Roland. I don't my men having all the fun without me."

"Well, excuse me for trying to be optimistic!" Roland griped right back at her. And here they were bonding just like the old days. And even if her sour mood wasn't what he would call an ingredient for a good time, he tried his damnedest not to let her get him bogged down. Besides, the party only just seemed be beginning.

He pulled opened a wardrobe with brigandine vests inside. It wasn't quiet as protective as plate, but it would dire on such short notice. And the swords on the wall beside it would prove useful as well. For now Roland would have to do without Anguish. Between the two of them, they were armed and armored and Roland ventured back out the door toward the Great Hall.

"I wasn't the one being coy, Alanna. I trying to lighten the mood," he growled as he bounded downstairs, only to see one of her soldiers lying seated against the spiral staircase, at least five dead assassins at his feet.

The mordecai gripped his side, where red poured from him, panting and meeting Alanna's gaze. "They came at us fast. Black-clothed and bearing all manner of weapons. They tried to barge in through the staircase, but I held them off as best I could.  One of the bastard's stuck me though."

"You call this optimism?" she barked back. "I'll have you know I was being diplomatic not coy. I'm a Mordecai not a harlot. At least when I was your wife you still remembered that," she hissed while pulling on the armor and suiting up quickly. Despite her arguing though, Alanna moved with practice ease, even assisting him with some of the leather ties as if nothing had changed.

She was a mere half-step behind him on the stairs but did not slow once she caught sight of her fallen comrade. "Darvish," Alanna called down to him before flying to his side. A steady hand pressed over his wound while she accepted his weight and lowered him to the floor. "Rest man, you've served me well. It's a simple wound and will heal well. I'm sure your lady friends will truly enjoy it." Her jest caused him to bark in laughter before wincing and doubling forward in pain.

"I heard more in the hall. Don't let the boys have all the fun without you, Cap'n," he urged nudging her off towards where the sounds of fighting still rang out in the distance. With a quick nod of approval, Alanna was off and back into the fray. Soldiers of the Red Legion and Mordecai of the Grand Duke fought side by side against the highly trained but unknown foes. It was a strange sight indeed but one that would have to be analyzed at another time as there was blood to spill and heads to roll. Leaving Roland to fend for himself, the Grand Master threw herself into cutting a path to where her weaker men were steadily being cornered. If she was anything, the Lioness was protective of her cubs. No men would die on her watch; not while she still had the strength to defend them.

Roland didn't even register that Alanna had left him by the time they were in the midst of the fray. He did feel naked without Anguish and his shield beside him. But the weapons would have to do for now and while it was brave for these assailants to start their all out attack, Roland could only feel pity for them now that the real slaughter was to begin.

The handful of Legionnaires that were present in the great hall were taken aback when their attackers had swarmed in by the dozen out from the side staircases and when they came they did not discriminate between Red Legion and Grand Duke's Mordecai. It wasn't easy to make sense of the confusion, but the Legion stood fast before more could be slaughtered, and soon many could be seen standing back to back with the very soldiers that meant to stand against.

Roland charged at the nearest intruder and thrust his blade deep into his spine, momentarily stunning him as the Mordecai he was bout to fell had stumbled backwards. He yanked it out sideways and kicked the corpse aside. It was the first of many felled bodies. And the assassins in black were slain down to the last one. The figures that paused on the stairs watched the display and when Roland turned to peer at them, they turned and quickly ran back up.

"Red Legion!" he called out, and three of the handful darted up the stairs after them, blades at the ready. The others turned around to tend to the fallen and wounded.

And Roland turned to see an assassin lingering in the rafters above Alanna, pulling a bow taut with an arrow notched in it. And Roland grasped the hilt and blade and with a running start he launched the sword upward in a spin until it caught the assassin through the chest. He sputtered and fired the arrow strayly, falling down and snapping their neck below.

Blood sprayed in the wake of Alanna's blade, coating her and those around her in the blood of their shared enemy. Her once pristine ceremonial uniform was now stained crimson from both her blood and that of the men around her. It was impossible to discern just how much was hers and how much was not. Though the battle was quick, it was nevertheless exhausting once the adrenaline had worn off.

She was already busy treating her wounded men when a gurgled shout above her followed by an arrow whizzing past her startled her into action. Alanna had been completely unaware of the attacker lurking above her until Roland had knocked him from his pretty perch. The Mordecai nearly considered the moment lucky until she heard a body hit the floor. Behind her, Harold dropped to the floor, an arrow protruding from his chest.

Horrified, Alanna rushed to the young man's side, pulling his head into her lap as she tried to stabilize him. He writhed and screamed so much that others quickly moved to help her hold him down so that they could assess how bad the damage was. The arrow appeared to just narrowly missed his heart but was still firmly embedded in his shoulder. Any attempt to dislodge it only served to make the boy scream louder and fight harder to get away.

Shifting her position, Alanna moved to kneel over Harold, her knee pressing into his chest. Then in one swift motion she yanked the burred arrow from his chest. The scream he let loose was blood-curdling but blessedly only lasted but a few moments before he passed out from the pain. Together what remained of her contingent worked to wrap his shoulder and move him somewhere that would be more comfortable. Only once he was safely taken care of did she finally fall back on her heels and hang her head forward. The blood on the floor soaking into her trousers was not even a care for her as she fought to catch the breath she had not even realized she had been holding.

Roland only watched from the side-lines as Alanna took care of her wounded Mordecai. He was a young one at that and couldn't have served for maybe one or two years. Roland stepped forward, gauging whether the young man would survive from the shock let alone from the wound. Getting it in the shoulder like that was bloody painful.

Roland rolled his own shoulder where the runt had wounded him only a little bit earlier. Still raw, but healed over just fine. All that remained was a star-shaped scar from where it was pulled from the skin. Maybe if Harold was lucky, he would get one just like it.

"There's a healer's chambers, we have healers already set up there, down the left corridor from the Great Hall," Roland said swiftly, directing the Mordecai with a quick gesture of his arm. And with that he turned to Alanna's side. Although, he did not worry that she would let herself so easily be hurt, he couldn't help but feel concern for her.

And he moved to kneel down beside her, putting a hand gently on the shoulder of her brigandine vest.  And hadn't yet realized his own had been slashed along his side, until he felt the sting of the wound as he moved. He hissed loudly and pressed a hand down to his lower right rib. It felt just like a cut, where the edge of a blade made it through past the padding.

But still made no sound as to his own state. He merely looked up at Alanna and her blood-covered face. "Are you in one piece?" he murmured, gently squeezing her shoulder and letting go.  A grin curled at the corner of his lips. "You're a right mess."

She momentarily tensed at the hand upon her shoulder but soon relaxed at the soothing sound of his voice. "Thank you," Alanna murmured softly as her men carried Harold and other wounded away. For the moment it seemed both sides were willing to maintain a truce in order to care for their wounded. There was no knowing how long it would last but at least for now she did not need to worry about dragging her boys away from a brawl. That was probably part of her current shock and discomfort. These men that served her were like sons that she had never carried herself. Harold was barely older than any child of hers with Roland could ever have been. She had always considered it a shame that they had never had the chance to have children as they had intended. All the reasons stopping her then seemed so silly and selfish now.

"As if you're any better off," she growled back, though her eyes betrayed the worry her voice dared not. "Come on then," Alanna sighed, dragging herself to her feet with a wince while motioning him to do the same. "You best let me have a look at it. You always were such a baby around healers."

She avoided answering his question for while she was indeed still in one piece, she could tell that some of her stuffing was at risk of splitting. The way her back twinged and her side burned told a telling tale of someone's blade getting caught just beneath the protection of her makeshift armor and clawing its way across her torso and down into her hip. Despite her barking words though she leaned into his side tenderly, her arm about his waist and her head resting just barely against his shoulder.

Roland could stand pain just fine, and he resented the implication that he was a squealer around healers. Of course he did the dignified thing and gave no proper response to the matter, and instead offered her an amused grunt in response. When she put her arm around him, he was careful not to let her lean on his side and instead tucked her in against the wound String Bean had made.

He just chuckled lightly to himself, feeling her head against him, which made his stomach flip, although his face made no sign of it. Not in front of the others. And so much still remained undecided. Roland walked back up the steps while Legionnaires took Darvish from the steps and carried him off to the healer's chambers. For Roland though, such minor wounds could be tended to in private.

Stalking back up the stairs, Roland nudged open the door to his chambers not far from where Alanna had thrown him into that fucking fountain. "You always were more hands-on," he sighed as he shifted himself so that he was against the bed post and pulled up the padding to see how deep the wound went. Yes, a cut. Not deep, but a cut that needed stitching nevertheless.

He didn't ask, simply did. And after unbuckling the straps he slipped off the vest and tossed it to the ground, lifting his shirt for her to take a better look at. "No one's around."  And when he looked over to her  side as she inspected him, he frowned. "Alanna. The vest is ripped to shreds!" An exaggeration or not, if she had a wound, it needed looking after.

Alanna allowed herself to be easily led until they were alone in private at last. She knelt before, her hand coming to press against his skin, pulling it taut and smoothing around the edges to determine how deep and serious the injury actually was. She quickly came to the same conclusion as him though, unknowingly voicing his thoughts aloud. "You're going to need me to stitch that up. Where's the thread?"

His notice of her own side caused her to stand and shrug as she searched for something to clean and sew him up with and conveniently avoid the scrutiny of his hawk-like gaze. Only once she had retrieved a small washbasin with water and cloth did she return to his side. Placing them on the bed beside him, Alanna made quick work of removing his shirt completely and tossing it to the side out of her way.

"That one's new," she commented, her thumb pressing into the still pink star shining upon his shoulder. "How'd that happen?" Alanna did not wait for his answer, as she attempted to nudge him back to give her room to work on cleaning his oozing cut.

Roland was not a squealer, but anyone taking something cold to tepid skin was enough to make him have a sharp intake of breath. That was the sound that came out of him when she returned with the washbasin and cloth and had the nerve to yank his shirt off. Rude. She was the one that claimed to not be his wife anymore.

Bah.

"Thread's on the stand over there, needles in the drawer."  Roland made no further protest and made a point of sitting on the edge of the bed, body turned so that she could better work on his cut. He breathed in softly. "A string bean happened," he chuckled.

Because at least now, it was funny.

"An assassin sent by the Duke of Falkenrath's adviser. Couldn't shoot to kill, but they got my shoulder pretty fucking good. Now she's branded Red Legion. I guess that was the better option than just dying. There's no fun in that. Ouch."  He watched her work, her hands no less deft as they worked through his skin. "You still have your touch, Alanna. Nice to know some things don't change."

She was completely unconcerned with his pleasure. The way she treated him was no different than how she would have treated one of her men. Alanna left his side to retrieve the items before kneeling down once more and pulling his skin taut for the needle. She showed no mercy, choosing to stitch quickly rather than tentatively as slowness would only cause more pain.

"Someone tries to kill you and you make them one of you? Still a fool I see," the Mordecai grunted as she allowed the needle to stab a bit more viciously than was necessary. It had not escaped Alanna's attention at all that it had been a woman who had marked him and managed to gain not only his attention but his affection as well. Roland had welcomed her into his fold and nicknamed her. Alanna would be a liar if she said that it did not make her fiercely jealous.

Roland was not a liar though. Or rather he had not been during their marriage. Now she could not say what he was or was not. But with regards to their earlier conversation, she did not believe that he was a liar when he said he had not slept with another woman after her. Nevertheless, she would not be surprised if he had taken an interest in the possibility of bedding this new woman anyway. The opportunity just may not have come up yet prior to the Grand Master's arrival and that could have been his only saving grace.

Tying the knot off with another sharp yank, she finally dragged herself back to her feet and scooped up the washbasin to clean and refill it. With her back to him, Alanna finally allowed herself the chance to take a peek at her injuries. "Is she the reason why you overran Falkenrath then? To save her from her fate?" She snorted derisively and shook her head in disgust.

Roland just gave a chortle, and kept his lip between his teeth to chew on when she stuck him with that needle. He made no noise, and merely exhaled sharply through his nose when she set to work. He appreciated that she didn't dance around the task. Better sewed up then red.

"An enemy that's clearly a pawn has great potential to be an ally," was all he murmured after that, watching her hands work expertly. It was always strangely mesmerizing watching a wound close just like that. The skin around it still throbbed, and when Roland did taste blood on his lower lip, he released pressure and he licked it away.

Roland could tell in her crisp precise motions, however, that she was clearly displeased. And he frowned at her, watching her back and moving behind her. "No," he said adamantly. "I was going to march right into Falkenrath anyway. Killing me, however, would have been remarkably inconvenient."

He gauged her a second before his hands moved swiftly and unbuckled the straps of her vest, yanking it decisively off her and pushing up the side of her shirt to examine the slash at her side. Shit. "Move to the bed," he said and guided her none too gently that way, to lay her down on her front. "Goddammit, Alanna. Don't concern yourself with someone that tried to kill me. I'm here to take care of you."

And pulled out the basin that she'd refilled. "Stay put." That was an order.

His actions caused her to grunt and grip the table in front of her bitterly before she was suddenly dragged away from it to the bed. "Bastard," she hissed through gritted teeth before falling painfully onto the bed. Her wound which extended across her torso and deep into the front of her hip and pelvis screamed at the rough treatment and forced her back up quite quickly.

"I can take care of myself, thank you," she spat while using the bedpost to steady herself. "You made damn well sure of that when you abandoned me." Grabbing the needle and thread from where she had last left it she began to attempt to sew herself back together just to spite him. If the son of a bitch was going to move on so quickly from his life with her then he could fuck off and leave her to her own devices.

"Gods be damned," Roland growled and grabbed her wrist when she snatched the needle and thread away from him. "Alanna! I'm here now! I'm still alive. In the flesh! Now you're not going to fight me on this." He stopped grinning and his eyes bored on hers, and he pried the needle from her grip, and the thread and he stepped away.

"Now, get comfortable. I'm doing this," he said levelly. "If you need whiskey, it's in the cabinet."  He gestured to the table beside the bed. For now though, he threaded the needle and tucked the point against the bed before taking the wash cloth and resting down on his knees in front of her.

"Why are you all worked up now!? After the battle? What you need is a hot bath, a good hard drink," he said matter-of-factly, like a doctor working on a patient, padding the angry wound, before pinching it and proceeding to administer the stitches.

"It's your fault we're even in this mess," she reminded him, one hand still firmly gripping the bedpost while the other latched onto his shoulder and clung for dear life. "You were too busy trying to get laid to notice assassins impersonating your own staff. And then just to add icing to the cake, you've gone and found yourself another woman. Need I remind you," she grunted, digging her fingers into his skin tighter at the blinding pain, "that you left me. You were not even honorable about that. In fact it's worse than that! You're a coward! You ran from your responsibilities and then expect one dinner by the fire to fix everything and that I won't stay mad at you? How stupid do you take me for?" The only thing keeping her distracted from the movement of the needle was her own ire. As long as she kept the fuel to that fire burning then she would be able to stay conscious and keep from screaming and beating on him in pain. She hated healers but right now she hated him even more.

"I want you to be angry with me!" he growled and kept sewing and resumed on biting his lip to keep from jabbing her with that needle. He looked up at her, stopping midway at her sudden assumption. That. That was what was brought this on. The saltiness was there, of course, that was a given. Nothing was going to be resolved over one dinner, one day, one evening, one fucking battle!

But that he found himself another woman!?

"You think I found another woman!?" the incredulity in his voice was loud and astounding and he kept sewing, even a bit angrily, but he kept the stitches tight and neat, rather than haphazard like he wanted to. "You can't be fucking serious! Alanna! I told you I never slept with anyone else! I don't have anyone. You're jealous!? Are you seriously jealous of what you presume to be the beginning of some affair?"

It wasn't even a question and he had moved up her side, and reached in to bite the stitches off. He set the needle aside and he sat on the edge of the bed. "So fuck it. Be angry with me, Alanna. About something I actually did. Not because of some jealousy that is unbecoming of you. You have never been a silly woman, Alanna."

"I am serious, Roland! How can I trust you when you've had me living a lie for five nearly six years? You were my husband!" The moment she was free, she was up and pacing furiously in front of him. "I was never jealous before because I knew you. I do not know you anymore." Sighing deeply, she shook her head and paused in her movements, her arms wrapping about her as she whispered, "maybe I never did at all."

Alanna pinched the bridge of her nose, her forehead wrinkling in thought. "Roland how the hell am I going to stop an army being sent here for you? How am I going to do my duty to my country and keep you safe? I don't know you," she said her voice cracking with tears. "I don't know you but I still love you." Harsh tears spilled forth finally in her exhaustion and Alanna did her best to turn away from him to hide them.

From the strain in her voice to the tears she tried to hide from him, Roland could see then the knife he'd jabbed into her heart. And here he was twisting it. Roland stepped back, watching her in silence. There was no excuse to forgive what he had done, nothing be could say that would give her the respite she deserved, for all the years she'd been clinging the memory of him.

Roland maneuvered around her and reached for her hands and pried them from her body, placing them instead against his chest, to where his heart is. "Then know me again, Alanna. I'm not asking for forgiveness. After what I've done to you. I don't deserve it. Know me again."

He let her hands go and braced her face between his. "The man I was then versus the man I am now, I would have given you a shadow, Alanna. You call me coward, and I will not protest it. Because I was a coward. And I couldn't face you. I was a corpse on that field. If I came home, I would have been a husk, a shell. I would have killed myself for all the quiet pain I had inside, unable to get out."

Roland kept her face steady and he pressed his forehead to hers, tilting his head in to kiss at her cheeks, still wet with tears, letting the salt linger on his lips. "Know me again," he whispered, voice begging. "Please."

She allowed him to manipulate her against him even as her tears continued to flow and her shoulders shook as her heart bled out in front of him. Alanna felt the strong beat of his heart beneath her fingertips and the heat of his body warm against her skin. Her hands slid up his chest to rest comfortably on his shoulders and then she was pulling him in for a kiss. One hand moved to sink into his hair and anchor him close to her as she explored the experience of being with him again.

"I want to, but I'm afraid," she admitted painfully. Yet despite her words, Alanna's actions spoke louder. Her lips locked onto his once more as she backed them both towards the bed again. It was too long since she had been with this man and despite how confused her heart was over the past and the future, her body knew what it wanted, what it craved so desperately. So she clung to him as a drowning man would a lifeline in a storm. She needed this; she needed him and not even her own chaotic thoughts and feelings would get in the way of simply being with him.

The drum she'd feel in the cavity of his chest would be beating rapidly, heavily and the blood roaring in his ears. It was so otherworldly to feel tears streaming from her face, but there it was, her vulnerability now stripped from the shell she'd cocooned herself in. Her heart laid bare before him. What more could he say?

Any chance of words were robbed from him when her mouth stole his. Roland instinctively curled his body into hers, lips responding and parting to allow her access to the hollows inside. He moaned deeply in that passionate kiss, and his arms wound their way around her waist, either forgetting her wound or uncaring.

"Alanna," he breathed her name heavily and he sat down onto the bed, pulling her between his legs and his hands reaching up to tug at the hem of her pants, that military uniform that would be shed like a second skin to the ground. "Gods how I miss you," he panted and kissed her again, biting at her lower lip, and pushing up her shirt, tugging it off her torso, leaving her in a wrapping over her bosom. "I'm afraid too. Gods knows I'm bloody terrified," he said, looking up at her briefly before pressing lips along her belly, arms squeezing up over her spine.

Alanna made no move to stop him undressing her but instead continued to run her hands along his shoulders and back as well as through his hair, just feeling him and knowing that he was alive and here and none of this was a cruel dream. She was hungry for him and took to climbing over him with her knees on either side of him on the bed instead of standing in front of him. Her fingers came to tangle in his hair as he pressed warm kisses to her torso and she pulled him flush against her.

"Love me then," she breathed, tears still decorating her cheeks like dew on grass. Alanna lowered herself onto his lap so that she could kiss him once more and try to force him to lay back. "Let me know you and be known in turn. Damn the consequences, I need this. I need you Roland and Ansgar help me, I can't turn back now."

If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up. Roland never would have thought this day would come. But he relished her touch and it solidified to him that this was reality. She was here in the flesh for better or worse and he gravitated toward her like lightning to the rainsoaked earth.

As if from mere memory, Roland unpinned her small clothes, shifted them off her. He unfortunately didn't have as much opportunity to undress, as he was pinned underneath her. "I will know you," he purred, tone coming out in a half-moan, ignited from the fire of her touch. His hands were still calloused and roughened from years of war, and he reached up to squeeze her breast, thumb rolling over the point of her nipple.

For all her titles and battles won, she was still very much a woman underneath, with all the wants and needs that scorched inside. Roland never let himself feel vulnerable with anyone except her. So even as his hands found and kneaded her body to be pliable like clay, his whimpered and his body begged, guiding her hands down between them to free him from the confines of his trousers.

"Alanna. I love you. I never stopped," came out purred words as he breathed against her lips, pulling them into a kiss once more.

She inhaled sharply, his touch igniting a fire within her that she had thought was long dead. No man after Roland had been able to make her feel the way he had, the way he still made her feel now. Her hands easily dropped to rub against him teasingly but it was not long before she was shoving him to lay back and dismounting from his lap. His trousers were removed a bit more eagerly than she may have intended as a faint ripping sound rent the air before she tossed the impeding clothing to the side and climbed back over him.

Alanna was starved for the kind of affection and adoration that Roland was lavishing upon her body. He knew how to please her, how to tease her, and how to torture her all with a single touch. She leaned over him, her hair brushing against their cheeks as she nipped lips and roughly kissed her way down his chin. Pressing in flush against him, the woman allowed herself to let go and just accept what her body demanded of her. Her lips latched onto his neck and kissed him hard enough to leave a bruising mark behind that would be slow to fade. "I missed this," she hissed against his neck.

When her body was pressed back against him, it allowed Roland the opportunity to become more secured on the bed. And his arms wrapped around her to pull her up with him. It was far too surreal, this warmth between them. Roland opened his eyes to make sure she was still there, not simply a phantom that spirited away in the night.

A peek at her eyes, that half-lidded gaze there, and he could only respond with hungry nips at her mouth, which had far too long had gone unkissed. Or at the very least, not kissed well. He stayed beneath her until she was secured in his arms again, rolling them both onto their sides and he shifted himself onto his knees, positioning himself above her. It hadn't taken much. And maybe all the years he'd been gone had left him a little more than hard-up.

She'd feel something rigid pressed against her leg, and when he stared down to look between him, his face was flushed a furious crimson, not unlike the color of Red Legion garb.  "You won't have to miss it much longer," he panted, grinning against her lips, tucking his arms underneath her as he positioned himself between her legs. His hands found tepid flesh, nails digging in deep to her hips, encouraging her to trap him within the web of her limbs, finding heat, and sliding within.

The motion was slow, and with it, he shivered, and released a moan that had been trapped for far too long inside. How he'd waited to find himself with Alanna like this. Only he would know the passion she was capable of underneath everything else. And he shifted his hips in a slow rhythm, letting his body become familiar with what made her tick once more.

He grinned, maybe even cockily so, as he tucked his face into her neck, lapping there, and biting at the rushing pulse beside her throat. "Gods....Alanna," he whimpered. Not, not after almost 6 years, was he going to let himself get trigger happy.

Alanna put up a half-assed attempt at overpowering him and not rolling with him but it was all an act. In reality she could not wait for their union. She was a grown enough woman to recognize her needs and be able to keep most of her pesky heartfelt emotions out of it for now. All of that could be dealt with later.

She tangled her limbs about him, trapping him in like a spider into her web. There was no escape now as her entire body flushed crimson and she welcome him into her embrace. His moan was met with one of her own. Then in a husky growl she voiced aloud the thought weighing heaviest on her mind, "finally!"

His every touch, every kiss, every stroke fanned a fire that had long grown cold and still within her. At last in his arms she felt alive and like the woman she had suppressed in order to be a proper soldier. Now though she was free to writhe and accept the carnal pleasures being exacted upon her willing body.

Alanna clawed at Roland's back, clinging to him fiercely. Her lips hungrily sought his, burying her moans there him as she tasted and relearned all the spots that bent his will to hers. "I've missed this so much," she groaned tensely.

If there was one thing to be said, their lovemaking was never a chore or had become a task that was rendered boring. Roland had only wanted her and it was she who he would have. So in the pressure of her limbs wrapping around him, feeling the nails as justification to thrust harder within her, feeling her body cling all around him.

Hips undulated against hers in a way that made it hard to hold. Only steady breaths kept him from release. For a man that hadn't rutted with anyone in all that time, he wanted only to savor every motion, every feel of Alanna's nails into his back, even the opening of skin from the bites of her nails, and he kissed her back all the more hungrily. Her moans, her breath, every sound she made drove him onward, to press deeper into he body.

"Finally? Who else can make you feel like this, Alanna?" he grunted out the words, airway already hoarse, breath heavy as he gradually turned them over and poised her over him, knowing that surreptitiously she vied for control. With no one else was Roland willing to compromise, not in their games of give and take. He had to admit though, the tension of the fight, their arguing, only seemed to intensify the heat between them, the same heat that pooled in his belly, as beads of sweat formed on his brow.

He undulated his hips upward, keeping his hands poised on her hips and behind, pressing down on her lower back to hilt his body. "Alanna....you're mine and I'm yours. You scorched me. And you burn me still," he panted, heart just about ready to burst. "I hope I measure up...to your intermissionary fling. Ahem. No pun intended."  And managed a chuckle, as he pressed his brow against hers.

She hummed in response, about to answer him when suddenly they were shifting positions and she was once more upright and in his lap in the position of dominance. Out of gratefulness she paused in her movements enough to cup his head and kiss him gently before returning to their earlier rhythm if a bit stronger in order to meet her own needs and desires.

Alanna leveraged herself with her hands on his shoulders before using the strength of her legs to undulate her body to the beat of her heart. Her chest thrust forward into him as her head dropped back and soundless moans quickly turned into a chorus of them proclaiming her pleasure to any that would listen.

"You talk too much," she panted, letting her head fall forward again and rest against his own. "But I shall await passing judgement until you've proven yourself in the end. It would not do to be premature." Alanna chuckled at her own joke even as she forced herself to move against him faster and faster. She needed the physical release with him as much as she needed an emotional one. Her body, her heart, and her soul needed to heal and deep down inside she knew this is where it all had to begin.

If one ting could be said, it was that Roland had never been overly clever when it came to bedroom talk. But to see her chuckle, her smile touch her eyes in genuine enjoyment was well worth his own humiliation. Of course, he'd set himself up for that, and when she pressed further into him, he chuckled and let himself fall victim to her motions.

"Duly noted," he murmured, lips already raw with bites and tugs. Still he fell in time with her and gripped her snugly to him, moving up just as she moved down and shifted so that their bodies were locked as one. He didn't stop even as he felt himself teetering on the brink. Roland shuddered, gripping Alanna as he stole her lips in a fierce kiss.

"I'm not premature," he half-growled, biting down on her lip.

With friction came fire, and with fire came fury. Premature, she joked. Gods, it was strange how even a joke made him upset enough to want to keep from climaxing out of spite. He'd give her satisfaction, but he was going to teeter off that ledge when he was good and ready. But hell if he wasn't close, and he bit down on Alanna's shoulder as proof of the building tension in his body.

Alanna knew that she was poking the bear with a giant stick. His bite proved that fact rather starkly and yet she did not care. She was too far gone as she felt a ball of pleasurable warmth rapidly growing within her core that sent ripples through every nerve in her body. At any moment she would fall off the cliff of pleasure and drown in the sea below. The only challenge left to her was dragging Roland down with her.

She preyed upon every single one of his erogenous points that she still remembered. His pulse was a fast-beating drum beneath her fingertips. Grinding her body down tight against his own, Alanna felt every one of her muscles tense before pleasure exploded and she was screaming her release for all to hear. The sound did not last long though as she was clamping her mouth down  to silence herself on the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Roland would sport a deep plum bruise for all to see for several days after if Alanna had done her job correctly.

Roland refused to submit, refused to give in so easily. Yet with each stroke, it was getting harder and harder not to simply let go of it, and let himself burn with the passion she ignited inside. The rawness of skin between them, the friction it made sent more and more intense. The fire that pooled in his belly and between the shuddering against her, Roland just couldn't take anymore. 

Amidst her scream, Roland rolled them over, to press her back against the bed, and cradle her body with his as he set to work. The only thing that mattered was hearing her scream again, to feel her teeth clamp at the meat of his shoulder. And when he burst hot heat, he clutched her possessively to him.

"Alanna!" he cried, only tilt his head, prying her face from his shoulder and kissing her hotly. One, to muffle the sound, and two, to ensure that he acknowledged that she was the cause of his pleasure. And he kept undulating his hips until his body settled, and he was panting heavily over her, his entire body a melted mass.

She kissed back hungrily, though by the end she felt the exhaustion of it all bearing down upon her heavily. Her eyes felt heavy, her skin was sticky with sweat, and her side was on fire from all of her none-too-gentle moving about and straining. Yet, despite her tiredness, Alanna felt a small modicum of happiness. She was once more in the arms of her greatest love. It did not matter just how much they all still had to figure out for right then, she was home.

Alanna wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly on the lips as she cuddled him close. Her heart finally began to slow and her breathe evened out back to normal. A chill began to set it and she tugged the comforter over them both as she nuzzled in close against him. "Zannrick was better," she yawned, her grin buried against his chest to hide her jest.

He was hard-pressed to part with her after that display. Roland didn't want to crush her completely however, so he was content to roll onto their sides, and only then did he gaze back down to her body to view the rawness of her flesh. Of course the stitches held together, nothing important was going to spill out. But he wanted to be sure she was all right, before letting himself enjoy the afterglow.

With the blanket thrown over them, Roland sighed and felt his body tingle still at the feel of her mouth on his neck, on any part of him that was. He panted heavily, letting his body calm, until she started mumbling some nonsense.

...Or what he thought was nonsense until it registered what she'd said.  Eyes flicked to her, head leaning back to look down at her  even as she was buried against his chest. "Wait! What!? Excuse me," he had to ask, voice thick with incredulity. And...some amusement actually. "You slept with that old fart? And somehow managed to get the stick out of his ass?"  Roland soon cackled and rolled onto his back, ignoring the sting from the wounds she'd made with her nails.

"Was he really better?" he said, flipping his head to her, half serious, and half-amused. He didn't know which one he felt more of in that moment.

His incredulity made her chuckle weakly and hug him close once he had resettled. "He's hardly much older than myself," she replied with a slight scowl, displeased with his reminder that she was in fact also older than Roland. "As for the stick, I believe that it's still quite firmly lodged up there with no hope of recovery. I mean you've seen the way the man walks."

She sighed tiredly and nuzzled against him with her head resting on his shoulder and one leg draped over his. "Does it really matter? We were drunk and you were dead." Alanna was silent for a moment before a sleepy laugh caused her to open her eyes briefly. "I called out your name during sex. Care to gander who is better now?"

"You were a sad and depressed woman. You had a moment of weakness, if you think that I would be the kind of man to hold it against you, then I'm not much of a man at all," Roland murmured, sobering enough to appreciate that she had confessed the culprit that had preyed on her passion.

"My name? But I was dead. And you were drunk. But you were able to process my name through all of it?" he asked softly, letting his fingers drag through her mussed hair. He didn't rip any clumps out like he wanted to, but for now he was content to simply lie with her. Because she was right, it didn't matter.

"Because Zannrick is not here. I am. And you are as well."  Roland craned his head down to kiss her, letting his lips linger for a time. "I'm not a man easily threatened."

"I was drunk not shitfaced," she grumbled, smacking his chest. "Of course I could manage your name. It's the same one I said every night for years." Alanna kissed him back lightly before adjusting herself to tuck in comfortably beside him. "For the record, you will always be the best if only because you're mine."

Alanna groaned and pursed her lips. "I don't want to get up but I should check on my men. Harold should be awake by now," she murmured, making no move to actually crawl out of bed and his arms. "Do you think they heard us?"

He'd be damned if he was going to let her get away from him that easily. Feeling her against him, in the flesh, real and for that moment she was his wife again. Was she still his wife? Did his death make their vows any less relevant, any less powerful?

He shifted so that he was facing her, and curled his arms around her, hugging her to him, chuckling at her question. Roland sighed and parted her hair over her ear, he tilted his head to pattern small kisses from her temple to her brow, closing his eyes briefly.

"Alanna, You're not going anywhere," he breathed. "Even if Ansgar himself heard you."  He laughed and pressed his hands down along her back. "How does your side feel? I didn't hurt you too bad did I? Being as rusty as you are."

Alanna sighed and closed her eyes again. It felt right being here with him just as they were. It was how it was always meant to be. In the morning duty and responsibility would rear their ugly heads but for now she could be just a woman curled up in the arms of the man she loved.

"Me the rusty one? I do believe you are rustier than I." She shifted and laughed lightly despite her mock-insult. "I'll live to fight another day. And you? Heart still beating and all that?"

"Darling, you greased me in all the right spots. Rust or not, I was renewed," Roland snorted, both at his lame joke, and at her come back. She had the right of it, of course. He had managed to somehow to survive those years of celibacy. The truth of it was, he hadn't had to, of course. He could have given in many times, and perhaps should have. There was no telling if he would meet this woman again, the one pressed against him, resting alas after the throes of passion.

Tomorrow she could be a soldier, in the morning a commander of an entire force of Mordecai, but tonight she was his wife again, however briefly. Roland reached up and bunched a pillow underneath his head, letting it sink into the plush surface.

"So far so good," Roland murmured, hand reaching up to pat the flat surface of his chest. And it beat louder when he looked at her. That little fact was kept to himself however, and he shifted so that she was resting directly on him, letting her body press down onto him.

"At least when we first made love, it wasn't my first time. Gods, that would have been a bloody nightmare," he snickered. "Do you remember how you reacted when I first asked you to marry me? And then the second time I asked you?  I was pretty sure you were going to beat me into the ground. You were a hard woman to catch. I wanted you all to myself."

She groaned and sneered in disgust at his vulgar joke. Years of growing up rough around the edges with men did not mean that she had to likewise always appreciate all of their jokes. "Must you ruin the moment, Roland? It was going so well." Alanna pouted in such a way that had any of her men seen they would have died of shock. Their warrior commander was far from soft not matter how fair and merciful she could be.

"I thought you were having fun at me. All public proposals and sweetness that didn't suit someone like me. I wasn't looking for love not even when we were together. I figured we were just passing time until you upped and changed it all."

Alanna sighed sadly, running her fingers along his shoulder in thought. "I always regretted wasting time once I lost you. We could have been happier, longer if it hadn't been for my own stubbornness, if I hadn't spent so much time pushing you away rather than letting you hold me close. It's not as if other men were beating down my door anyway."

Oh he hadn't meant for it to be ruined. And even in her disgust, he had to hide his amusement and let her pout in her usual way. It was remarkably cute, although he would say nothing of the kind regarding that. He didn't need her nabbing a pillow and pressing it over his face. "Sorry, darling," he murmured in a vain attempt to regain his dignity.

Then her tone turned somber.  "Wasted time?..." Right, the family they wanted, the family they had tried for. Propping his head up to better look at her, Roland frowned, brow furrowed. Aside from that, it hurt him to hear her speak as if it were entirely her fault.

"Alanna," he shook his head and secured his arms tighter around her, missing that feeling of her proximity. He remembered how well she molded against him, as if their bodies had been made for one another. "You mustn't speak this way. Please. You mustn't take the blame. Because it's not your fault. We were younger then, we had no way of knowing what the future held for us. But don't blame yourself, understand."

Roland let his hands drift down her back, remembering the ridges there. "You might have pushed me away, but I kept coming back. We don't give in so easily, you and I. It's not in our blood. Who else would understand that but me? Who else would put up with our stubbornness?"

Alanna who still believed in God's existence, truly did believe that they had been made for one another. Roland was right, who else but him could put up with her mulish tendencies? Who else but her could stand up against his bullheadedness? They were created just for each other. Come what may, they would always have that.

She shivered at his touch that re-sparked embers within her. She felt as he caressed every scar, every mark, every ridge old and new. She had been weathered in body when he first met her and she was even more so now after fighting and surviving in a decade old war. Alanna was sure as she touched him that he too sported many fresh ones himself. It was impossible to fight day in and day out and not come home tired and hungry and bleeding. It did not matter which side you were fighting for as there was never a winner in war, only the broken shells of men left alive.

"I don't want the morning to come," she whispered.

Despite the faith Roland lost, or what little had remained if there was any, Roland knew the world as it was before him. He could trust enough in the physical reality, all that tangible, and he would decide if it was real, if it was worthy of his attention. Alanna was more real to him than anything else he remembered from those early years. Although she was battle-worn and tired, she was there, and in her presence, Roland could fall to his knees to worship her.

For only she was ever worthy.  And he could only hope that he was worthy of her still.

He kept his touch persistent, feeling her faint shivers where he raked his fingertips along her back. Roland sighed.  "It doesn't have to," Roland murmured. "The night is young." He kissed along her brow. "There's...a lovely tub just in the next room. Buckets of water always placed beside it from the courtyard well if needed. And I can warm some of the water in the fireplace."

He tilted his head and his arms reached down to grasp her behind, stroking back up along her spine just enough to squeeze away the aches therein. "You're so tired, Alanna. I can see it in your eyes. All those hard fought battles, the weariness of fighting. All I want to do is cradle your tired form, have your head pressed against me as you rest. That's what I missed most in all the years I was gone. I wondered, 'Who would be there to cradle my Lioness when she returned tired from the hunt?'"

She hummed happily. The notion that a hot bath could be made ready for her was enough to peak her interest and make her smile. Battlefields were not the place for baths and such what little cleansing she had been able to do there had been the cursory splashes of icy river water whenever she had the chance. Even then it was merely to wipe away the caked on blood and grime from fighting and she never truly felt clean afterwards.

The bath she had been forced to take for the ceremony had been as perfunctory yet thorough as she could make it. There had been no enjoying that. Now though she not only had the opportunity to bask in a nice long soak but she could do it with her lover cuddled up with her as she dozed off in his arms.

"I'm not sure you had the right to be wondering that anymore, Roland. However," she began, pulling away from him to lay on her back on the bed, "to make up for your indiscretion I will consider forgiving you if get to making up that bath you mentioned. I could do with a bit of pampering for once."

He deserved that and for it had no response when she changed the subject to bathing it was best not to linger on anything that would ruin this perfectly good unon. For once there was no war raging anywhere. The castle was quiet and the candles burned dimly around them.

Roland shifted up into a sitting position when she rolled away although a grunt followed to signal his displeasure. Still, she wanted a bath and that's exactly what she would get.  With some lugging Roland moved water into the tub in the connected room from the buckets beside it and took the other pail to the fireplace and after some effort made a working blaze.

"Having magic for little things like that can be useful," Roland murmured and once the fire took, he settled the pail on the hinged hook beside it and carefully returned to the bed. "It'll take a few minutes to heat up. So I won't let you stay all cold here on the bed," he murmured.

Roland sat at her side, looking at the reddened stitchwork at her side and frowned. "You would never tell me when you' were wounded, Alanna. Why? When we fought together and you were hurt, you hid your pain from me. What did you not trust me to see?" he asked leaning over her sideways with hands on either side of her waist.

Alanna frowned at the mention of using magic to ease the burden of menial work but kept her comments to herself. It seemed that Roland's time away from the Mordecai had softened his way of thinking towards the laws of their country. There was a time when he had stood beside her and fought mages who dared use magic. Now though he was making offhand comments about wishing to be able to use magic. It sickened her. But then, it was no longer her place to know his innermost thoughts.

Instead she allowed him to crawl back onto the bed with her where she crossed her arms over her torso. "You wouldn't understand," she answered simply. "I didn't want you to worry about me. Just leave it at that, Roland. It's easier that way."

It had been nothing more than a passing sentiment, something anyone might have said had they been doing something rather menial. It wasn't something he truly wanted for himself, although Roland made no voice of that.

"As you wish," he said, and gave her a solemn nod.

He did frown at her answer, however, and he nodded to her. So instead his hand carefully pried the blanket from her form, letting his eyes take in the rest of her. Roland's expression was solemn as he reached across her and gently pressed his hands strongly against the muscles of her legs, her calves and her ankles.  He just did this quietly for a time before the sound bubbling water drew his attention away and he got up from the bed.

He pulled the hinge away from the fire and although it was heated, he took his discarded shirt, binding it around the handle and carting it to the tub, filling it up slowly and stirring the water slowly with his hand, finding the waters were warm enough and he carefully wiped it off.

He didn't ask, and didn't let her fight him on it when he returned to the bed and reached across to scoop Alanna up into his arms, one arm hooked underneath her legs and the other underneath her shoulders.  He was mindful of her wounds and when hovering over the water he was half tempted to just dump her into the water. Oh but that would be awfully childish and Roland only snickered as he gently placed her down into the water, submerging her .

Roland knelt beside it and revealed a small shelf that hooked on the tub's edge, along with a rounded sponge. "Okay, don't hog the whole tub. Come on, scoot," he said sternly and stood, stepping in behind her and settling in. "Oh my, commander, you're back needs washing. You look like you were just attacked by a werewolf."  And took a sponge, a soap and dashed the bar over it until it was foamy.

"No doubt you slew such a great and terrible beast," he murmured, gently pressing the sponge against her shoulders.

She was relieved that he accepted it and did not fight her on the matter. Alanna did not want to have to argue with him or explain that her injuries had always make her feel so much weaker than her peers. While she had earned her place among them it had been a battle hard-won. It was not something he needed to worry about anymore.

Instead, she allowed him to massage her legs, nearly putting her to sleep with his gentle ministrations. When the bath was ready and he was pulling her into his arms, Alanna offered no resistance. She simply wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. It was a peaceful moment that had Alanna feeling even more in love with him. That is until he slightly paused with her over the tub, then every muscle in her body tensed as she clutched him closely. Her eyes spoke volumes of the pain that awaited him should he drop her.

The heat of the water caused her to moan in pure relaxation. It was a gift, how gentle he was with her and she eagerly scooted forward to allow him to slide in. She was briefly reminded of a distant memory where they had found some hot springs and he really had tossed her into the natural spring only for her to surprise him and drag him down with her when he stood too close to the edge.

"I was attacked by a werewolf," she murmured, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. Alanna just lounged there against him for several breathes, unwilling to continue for the moment as she just soaked. She knew his curiosity would not be kept at bay though so she continued soon after. "We were ambushed. I don't know what became of her though. She let me live. I suppose that's all that really matters."

Roland let her settle into the quiet. The water soothed the aches and burns both aqcuired in the fight and those she'd given him. If anything, Roland could never claim she was a selfish lover. That however was a thought for another time. For now he wanted to let the night live for as long as possible.

"Oh?" He murmured, curious and playing with the sudsy sponge between his hands. Roland gently raised an arm of hers to wash the underside and he gave her skin gentle scrapes as if somehow he would damage her delicate flesh.

"An actual werewolf. That was an unexpected turn in that story!" hummed softly. "But I think what matter even more, wolf or not, was that you had enough mercy to let her live. It's safe to say it goes both ways."

Alanna melted into mush in his arms, allowing him to do as he wished with her body without any resistance on her part. She thought back to the attack and how the starved wolf had been forced into fighting for its life by mages that had set upon her and her men. Of course she had not been the Grand Master then but still a commander in her own right. They had all been on a simple scouting mission that took a turn for the worse.

"She was a victim of unfortunate circumstance. The mages had claimed her, torturing and starving her in preparation for the attack. I have a hard time believing that she willingly endured that to fight for them. I am not a person without compassion, Roland. That much has not changed.

"Thank you for this though," she purred, changing the topic slightly. "It feels heavenly."

"A respite well deserved," he murmured, content to speak of something else, and he let his focus do as much as well. Be  in the moment, appreciate it for everything it was. Roland swerved his head around Alanna's neck and paid attention to the other side, coaxing her arm over his shoulder and neck. He kissed her temple and wrapped an arm around her belly, washing the skin beside her ribs and underarm.

"You've no need to thank me. I would do this even simply if you asked for it," he chuckled. "I enjoy having opportunities to pamper you. It's such a rare occurrence."

She moaned softly in complete relaxation. "I'll have to remember this in the next lifetime we get. Maybe if this hell ever ends we'll get our chance again." Alanna sighed and turned her head to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Roland. No matter how hurt and angry I may be with you I still love you. Please don't forget that or think otherwise. I worry I've been too cruel to you." She looked at him sadly, worry creasing her brow. "I love you so much."

Roland was silent at those words as she reached up to kiss him. He blinked away tears that formed and regretted those years he'd long since been away from her. He regretted that the sun would rise and come tomorrow she would be his enemy. So he wanted only to relish every second he had with her, to soak in the moment until it became burned into his very soul.

"I love you, Alanna. Despite all I've done, I always will love you. Not simply as the woman you were, but as the woman you are now. Never be untrue." He whispered those words softly meeting her lips once again.

"I know you do," she reassured him, hugging the back of his head as best as she could. "I know you do." Carefully she shifted around in the tub so that she was facing him on her knees. Alanna wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into his chest and kissed him properly. It was not the passionate type of kiss that they had shared while rolling about between the sheets. Instead it was the slow loving kind between two people that did not need to speak to to actually say anything.

"Turn around and I'll wash you. You can tell me what you've been up to without me."

Roland leaned into that kiss, her front pressed against him, arms wrapped around his neck and his arms easily fell around her waist, holding her tenderly. The oddness of gentility came flooding back when she was with him. He was a terror on the battlefield, and faced down enemies without fear. She stilled that ferocity, channeled it into new directions, encouraged it to still and placate until it was needed again.

Even without the passion of before, Roland still felt the force behind that kiss, that longing that he clung to, and he licked his lips when she pulled away from him. He'd almost forgotten she was a damn good kisser. That slow burn that simmered much like the steam rising from the waters.

"Oh, is that an order, Commander?" he chuckled in mock resistance. Roland obliged however and moved so that he was seated in front of her and he could lean gently back against her. "Although my own adventures were...rather uninteresting. Which is fine, at the very least they'll bore you enough to fall asleep. But I won't let you get pruny, don't worry."

She hugged him close as he settled in, her legs moving to tangle over top of his and her arms squeezing across his chest for a moment as she simply savored the moment. Alanna kisses his shoulder, nuzzling her face against his skin before pulling back at last to retrieve the sponge and soaps.

"Not an order. But I miss you. I want to know what I've missed is all. You don't have to if you don't want to, Roland, she spoke softly. Quietly she began to work on scrubbing his back, gentle with his bruises and cuts but vigorous nevertheless to get all of the grime off him. "Besides I'm sure you don't want to hear about the people I work with." Alanna chuckled quietly to herself. "Did you know they made a big fuss over my promotion? It was a nightmare."

Roland sighed against her, sitting upright enough to let her hold him and he closed his eyes against the feeling. He had to. Once morning came it would be gone.

"If I tell you about what I did, you tell me about your inauguration," he replied. He tensed and then relaxed the muscles of his back. The scratches she'd made with her nails stung a little from the water, but he shivered more from her touch than anything.

"After the battle, I didn't feel like myself. I didn't feel much like fighting.  It was... So strange feeling so empty inside. I met some other soldiers I fought with, and we traveled together, taking up some mercenary work. Lots of stuffy nobles needing protecting, their goods, their villages. Good coin to be made. I was quite dashing, and... I thought of you often."

He leaned back, wrapping her arms around his waist to lean into her chest. "I formed the Red Legion with them. And lots of folks started to join. Poor farmers, hunters, lots of people just looking for something to do. Or work to put food on the table. I gave them work."

"People like my brothers," she murmured, thinking back to Grover's Hollow where she was from. The poorest region of Allar had not thrived during the war. People were starving and desperate for hope and change. Alanna did not know of course whether or not the Lowe boys had actually joined Red Legion or not but she did know it was something they would do if given the chance. Every able young man had been drafted into this war. If there was the possibility that they could join a faction that would promise food and safety to them and their ilk then she knew her brothers would hopefully be wise enough to take care of their families.

Alanna hugged Roland again, uncaring of the suds that squished and popped between them. "You're still a good man, Roland. We're still fighting for the same Connlaoth. Try not to lose sight of that my love." She rubbed her cheek against his as her hands splayed out across his chest. "Tell me how you met, Darius. He seems like an interesting character."

Roland didn't know what to say to her claim. He didn't know if he was a good man. He didn't know if he was worthy of those words, and he knew that any lingering thought onto the things he'd done wouldn't make him worthy, but it would also make him wonder just how differently his life would have been had he not gone off to that incursion in the first place.

He was thankful to have her arms fall around them again, and he closed his eyes, letting himself lean fully against her and relaxing in that heated water. He hadn't realized how much it soothed him, and he tilted his head to look at her, her head placed just beside his.

"Darius. Darius....is an interesting fellow. You've met him. Clearly he's the life of the party," he chuckled, grin tilting wryly. But then it quickly faded. "He served the Brennicks before I marched my army through here. He's been a servant in these halls his whole life as far I know. He was just a boy when he came into their service, and rose to the esteemed position he has now."

Roland tilted his head up to kiss her cheek, a soft peck. "But I don't trust him for a second," he admitted. "He has the feel of a snake about him. So far though, he's largely harmless."

She kissed his chin, hoping to offer him comfort and strength even from so small and simple a gesture. "Even old dogs, still bite," Alanna reminded him, hugging him tightly. "I don't trust him either. He turned too quickly to truly support you. Yet if he supported what I stand for, he would have treated me with more respect. Be careful, Roland. I would not put it past a man like him to sell you out."

She sighed tiredly against him before changing the topic. "The inauguration was boorish. You would have had a laugh seeing me all prim and proper in my ceremonial military regalia. Not that you haven't seen it of course but I mean before I've just ridden days on horseback in it." Alanna groaned at the memory.

"Calent made it this big ball. It was simply awful, Roland. All that money wasted that could have gone to feed the people. Of course I ran into Zannrick and he's as much an arse as ever. To top it all off some high and mighty general decided to get in my face and try to have a pissing contest." She burrowed her face into his shoulder. "They didn't even have good wine to get drunk on," Alanna complained, her voice muffled by his body.

All she advised, Roland already had in mind. He would keep Darius around as long as he was useful, and stayed the harmless snake that he was. It was a relief however to see that she was of a similar mind. He wouldn't allow himself to come to harm while it was too easy. A brief thought to the assassins that had set upon the Iron Keep, gave him a moment of pause.  Hm, it was always possible it was an inside job.

But they could have just as easily found other ways of getting inside. He made a note in mind to keep the Legion on high alert. Already he knew his captains were rounding up the area for stragglers and where they might have gotten in.

So instead, Roland turned his attention back to Alanna, leaning a little with a twist to let his neck crane back toward her. The angle was a little awkward and he chuckled at her complaining. The poor dear. "Oh? I'm not at all surprised," he murmured and kissed her head where his lips could reach. His hands gently patted her thighs and although he chuckled, it was one of sympathy.

"You poor dear," he murmured. "I know you hate suffering gaudy foolishness, so I don't blame you. I'm sure all the food served there, could have fed at least ten different villages. And it'll all be thrown away when it's gone. You know growing up, we were fed and my father and mother didn't tolerate complaints. Farming is a hard way to go. My father was smart though. He learned how to read, so he could know if someone was trying to screw him on a trade. I can't say I blame him. Taught me and my mother as well."

Roland laughed. "Said he didn't want to be living on the house with a bunch of meatheads." Lips met her brow again, his arm reaching up around to grip her shoulder and her upper arm. "But you got away from it. I'm sorry you had to put up with all that nonsense my dear." And although he cringed at the mention of Zannrick, he squeezed her arm again. "Although not having good wine is a crime in and of itself."

"And then you taught me," she reminded him with a smile and another kiss. "I suppose I can forgive you if only slightly for being alive still. You still managed to save the day and get me out of it even if it was unwittingly. My perfect knight in shining armor," she teased squeezing him close.

Sighing and fighting back tears she realized just how much she did not want the moment to end. "Roland, I don't want to leave in the morning," Alanna whispered painfully. "I don't want to close my eyes and wake up to you gone. I don't want to let go lest it's the last chance I get to hold you. I don't want to give this up again."

"I don't either," he whispered, kissing her cheek, her chin, the corner of her mouth and pulling away enough to wrap around her form and seal her close to him. "I can only hope I'm still worthy of you by the end of this foolish war. I love you," he murmured.

Roland captured her lips. "If by the end of this, when it's all over, I am worthy, can I be yours again? Will you let me call you my wife?"

"I never stopped being your wife," Alanna whispered against his sweet lips. "If you can still love me after knowing I've fought for your enemy, if you can love me knowing that though you were dead I laid with another man, if you can love me," her voice cracked as she clung to him fiercely, "if you can love me knowing all the things I have done, then I will always be your wife."

She had thought she had cried all the tears she had left to spare and yet still more came. "You may have been dead but I always saw myself as Roland Mercer's wife. Everything I ever did that went against what our marriage meant made me feel guilty inside. Maybe I always knew you were still alive."

Sitting up straight and dashing her tears away with a swipe of her hand, Alanna looked to Roland seriously. "My husband Roland Mercer fought too damn hard to make me his wife for me to fall out of love so easily. I don't care what you call yourself, Roland. Just don't give on me."

At the feel of her tears against his skin, Roland reached his hands up to brush them away. He gingerly kissed at her forehead, at her cheeks and pressed his head to hers, nuzzling her before slowly entrapping her in powerful arms. His soldier, his love, a sobbing mess in his arms.

Roland too felt his eyes begin to heat and water, and a ball formed at the center of his throat. Never did he realize how much he needed to hear those words than now and his words were stuck on that ball in his throat, making him unable to voice just how much they meant to him. That she still cared even after all these years, after everything he did and didn't do. And what was more, even the haunting tone her words left behind.

What she had done...  What had she done?

"Whatever part of me died...it wasn't my love...for you," he murmured, managed to clear his throat enough to say that. "That stayed. Burned inside and I don't want to let you go back to the city. But I don't know if I could ask you to turn your back on your oaths. I would never beg you to betray your nation. That was my choice. And I will live with it."

Roland looked to her steadily. "I promise, though."  He blinked and there ran streams of tears down his cheek. "When you requested that I live, at dinner. I promise. I'll do whatever I can to live through this war. For you."

"I'm holding you to that promise," she breathed in a rush as if out of breath. Alanna kissed him again, feeling fire flowing through her veins once more as desperation demanded that she kiss him at least once more. She had come to realize just how precious their limited time was and how long it might be before they ever saw each other again, that is of course if they ever saw each other again.

Water sloshed around them, threatening to spill out of the tub as she firmly situated herself in his lap. "Roland?" Alanna hesitated, afraid that if she spoke her desires aloud that she would be rebuked. "Will you make love to me again and just hold me close? I don't want to forget this night. It will have to keep me warm for many more to come."

The question of if remained in the background. "If" everything. And Roland let his mind focus on the present. And the gift that it was. Roland nodded to her request. Did she even have to ask? He was hers after all. "You never have to ask that," he murmured against her lips.  "Always is the answer."

Roland stood carefully in the water, pulling her up with him, and scooping her into his arms, stepping out and letting the water leave a trail on the cool floor. The rugs could be cleaned, as would the sheets. And it was no matter to him.

Alanna was all that mattered. Roland kissed her deep, settling with her back on the bed, letting himself share this night with her. Let the dawn bring what it may.

She felt safe in his arms and simply rested her head upon his shoulder as he returned her to the soft, warm bed. There she eagerly and passionately welcomed him into her arms well until dawn. They spent the evening making love, dozing, and just sharing in the moments they had left together.

As the sun finally began to peek through the window, Alanna clung tighter to Roland. She laid there feigning sleep though she would not doubt it if he was doing the same simply so they could stay there a few breaths longer. For a soldier, she truly was dreading having to "wake up" and don the robes of Connlaoth's Grand Master Mordecai.

Roland didn't pretend to be asleep for long, and became very aware of Alanna plastered against his body. The real weight of her had him slowly blink and his free hand came up to wipe the crusts from his eyes. He leaned in, hugging her close, pulling the blanket up tighter around the both of them.

"Stay here," he muttered, clearing his throat. "Do you really have to go?"
The answer of course was obvious, but he made no motion to get up, nor did he want to let her go. "What's so important out there? That you can't find here?"

Alanna did not cry though she certainly wanted to. Instead she hugged him close and buried her face against his chest. "If I stay it will get us both killed. At least if I return I have a chance of still keeping you alive and safe. I have to give the Grand Duke my assessment. I have to tell Connlaoth how Falkenrath fares. No one can know it's you or what we've done." She blushed faintly knowing both their men probably already had a very good idea what the pair had been up to. "It's the only way Roland. Ansgar help me I wish I knew a better one."

"I know. I know you have to. And I know what I have to do. I won't let go of Falkenrath. I can't. Not for what I've made for everyone that's followed me, that's believed in me. I will fight if I have to, but I hope it won't come to that," he murmured and squeezed her tightly to his chest. "I hope that when we next meet, it will not be on a battlefield."

"Just know that I love you, Alanna. You're stronger than you know. You're capable. And Calent, whatever his flaws, chose his commander well."

She sighed heavily but did not argue with him. What really was there left for her to say? They were at an impasse until the war was over. They could neither move forward nor backward until the unpredictable future revealed its true colors to them. Instead she held him tighter, raising her chin to place a deep yet chaste kiss to his lips.

"I need to get dressed," Alanna whispered, while making no move to actually follow through with her comment. "I need to return before they decide to march an army after me." She rolled her eyes in exasperation though she was only half-joking. If she knew one thing, it was that people were far too snappy with their decisions of late.

The day wouldn't wait for them. And no matter how much both of them wanted to put it off, the would would keep going, the resounding march of boots against the ground. A beat that matched the desperation in his chest. Roland closed his eyes.

Inside he knew that even in the uncertainty of their future, if there was one, it was nothing short of grim. And no matter what, he would hold fast to Falkenrath until his dying breath. He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he made peace with that possibility.

And as for Alanna. This was probably the last time they would meet like this. The last time he would get to hold her in his arms. She was Calent's now. And the moment she left Falkenrath's borders, she would become his enemy.

"Surely they know you're on official business right?" he asked with a forced grin.  Roland shifted around so that he could lean on his side. "They trust you enough with command of all the Mordecai. They would trust you enough to return. But I wonder...  You weren't exactly quiet last night. Do your men possess the correct amount of discretion to not speak of what their commander was doing?"

Alanna smacked Roland while pulling away with a frown. "You just had to go there. For your information my men at least will have the discretion to keep their commander's peace-keeping tactics to themselves. I'm not so sure I can say the same about yours." Despite her barbs though, Alanna was smirking playfully. "They honestly can't fault a widow. My husband's dead, but I most certainly am not. A woman has to use every tool in her arsenal even if it's that one."

She slid off the bed and began the task of trying to find all the pieces of her outfit while tossing him the bits that were his. "Get dressed and stop ogling you fool. I don't have to be looking at you to know you are. There's work to be done."

"My soldiers are loyal and dedicated. I know they'll keep what they heard to themselves. But I guess it's only natural to scream to the high heavens," Roland murmured, as he slipped off the bed and snatched his own clothes up to dress for himself. "I'm only trying to admire that glorious figure before you go riding off into the sunset. Far away from me. Far from where I'll be able to see you."

Roland was mostly dressed save for his shoes when he approached her from behind and wrapped his arms around her. His shoulders curled around her and he pressed her back to his front. "So forgive me. At least, for savoring all that you are," he said softly and kissed the small bump at the base of her skull just behind her ear.

"Your flesh and form are still as supple and beautiful as when we first met," he said, laying his head on her shoulder.

She inhaled his scent deeply, feeling herself already trying to melt back into his form again. But Alanna had to be strong. She could not cave into him now or she would never leave him. It was already tearing her in half inside to know she had to do so and would do so. "Pray it is enough then, Roland. It may be another six years before we are able to meet again and I won't be nearly as beautiful as you think me now or once thought me to be."

Alanna wrapped her arms around his, pressing her cheek back against his shoulder. She let them have their moment just a few seconds more before reminding him that he needed to let her go. "I need to check on Harold anyway. Poor boy's been through enough. We should get him back so he can heal properly before anymore assassins decide to show up."

Roland did let her go, although reluctantly and quietly watched her before he moved around to slip his boots back on. It would not be a somber goodbye, he told himself that there was no use in sorrow. There was no future in it. He needed to be strong, just as she did to face whatever was to come.

"Very well," he nodded, getting the door for her and standing aside long enough to allow her to pass. Roland stayed behind a little, securing the door and taking in a deep breath. Right, it was time to return to reality, time to face the crowd.

Once in the Great Hall, Roland made his way out to the opposing wing of Iron Keep, Alanna in tow to show he the way to the healer's chambers. "Harold should be just down the hallway. You see to him, I'll check with my legionnaires, see if anything of note was found on the bodies of those assassins," Roland nodded curtly to her. His eyes were no longer softened as they once were, but they were filled with understanding as he met her gaze and gently shut the door behind her to so that she could tend to her own.

"Thank you, Duke," she replied, brushing past him closely on her way to see her men. Alanna wanted nothing more than yank him back into her arms and kiss him senseless. But, they each had their own duties to attend to so she carefully locked her heart away where it could cry in silence and peace far from prying eyes and ears.

Throwing her shoulders back and squaring her chin, the Grand Master Mordecai made her entrance with the airs and confidence of the battlefield commander that she was. Her men instantly fell silent and struggled to their feet to await her commands.

With a silent wave of her hand, Alanna dismissed their attention and moved to stand over her youngest recruit's bedside. "So I 'eard the boys sayin' you was 'avin' diplomatic relations with the dukey, cap'n," he wheezed the moment he caught sight of her. She frowned and raised a brow at him in challenge. It was not enough to stop the boy though as he plowed onward with his quips. "Dukey must've been sumthin' terrible and frustratin' though with all the screamin' yousa doin'."

His words caused an outburst of guffaws from the surrounding men as they did their best to hide it with coughs and mutterings. Alanna rolled her eyes and gave Harold a playful punch to the shoulder. "If you have a problem with my battle tactics I'm sure the Grand Duke would love to hear all about it. Otherwise don't be wagging your tongues about nothing. I don't know what those healers gave you, Harry but it definitely was too strong for you. Sounds like you were having fever dreams all night."

The look she gave her men said it all. Ansgar help the man that dared speak of her evening with the new Duke of Falkenrath. Each man in turn silently nodded their head in understanding before going about their business and their joking among themselves. Her secret was safe with them and Alanna's eyes softened to observe them. They had been lucky; their losses were not nearly as bad as they could have been, as they almost were. She patted Harold's knee comfortingly, still deep in thought.

"As far as we can tell, they came in from outside the wall," Alyssa explained in her general quiet tone. She was fairly plain looking, with her hair tied back in a ponytail and the light mail secured around her. Plain leathers and wrappings of crimson here and there marked her as Red Legion, and when she stood before Roland, she spoke plainly and quickly. She never was fond of overlong conversation. "Their ropes and hooks were found in a barrel just outside the western side. Nothing on the bodies though. Just a bunch of rag tag equipment. Other than splitting up, didn't seem like they had any real plan of attack. Likely bandits the lot of them. My guess is they saw some gold armor flying by and followed the mark."

"Thank you Alyssa," Roland nodded to her in dismissal. She saluted with her right fist over her heart and bowed her head, stepping back out toward the wall. He watched her go for a time. The bodies had been cleaned up since the attack the previous night, and likely to be burned after their equipment was salvaged.

Roland looked back toward where Alanna had left in the Healer's Chambers, and no doubt tending to her men. She was a damn good commander, her men respected her, feared her, hell - if he was any indication - even loved her when it came down to it. They would follow her to hell and back if necessary. And she'd be there to lead them right back out of it. It was a mirrored loyalty, one that he knew his Legionnaires shared.

It was an understanding that came only from those that fought in war, and even though they were enemies, for one day, one night, they were allies. And his Legionnaires treated those Mordecai with nothing short of respect.

Roland steeled himself whenever Alanna made her appearance again, and he bowed his head to her in sincerity. And faintly. Just faintly from the corner of his mouth, he grinned wryly. "Grand Master Mercer," he said.

When Alanna at last went looking for Roland, she met him with a dark narrowing of her eyes and a pursing of her lips. "I see that," she whispered for his ears alone. She knew him well enough to have seen that smirk even with her back turned let alone while she was standing right in front of him. "Was that the String Bean, then?" she continued, nodding her head in the direction the woman had disappeared off in.

She had waited to approach Roland until after the woman had left but that did not mean she had wasted the time by waiting. Instead she had been observing, taking in every feature of the other woman and committing it to memory. If this was the one that she needed to be concerned about then, Alanna was going to make sure that she did not forget her.

Inwardly, Roland was rolling his eyes. They couldn't have gone further up into his head. But if they did, they'd be looking at is brain and going full circle because really this was not the best time to be asking about whether or not that was his "other woman." He wanted to laugh, and refrained from doing so.

Instead she was met with a set of raised brows, and he was half-tilted toward her. "That was my head scout, Alyssa Braiden. She is not the string bean. Why? You have nothing to worry about."

One dark brow rose nearly clear up to her hairline as Alanna fixed him with a sharp gaze. "Is is wrong to ask a simple question about one of your men? I was merely curious," she huffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as her jaw clenched and unclenched several times. The Mordecai did not like being called out even by her former husband and lover. Jealousy was beneath her, or so she liked to believe at least.

"My men have been adequately cared for. Thank you," she replied evenly, her eyes tracking as different men moved about them both, going about their work. "We should be set to leave as soon as we are assembled though one issue yet remains. What will become of the remaining member of the former duke's line? I will be required to report on his whereabouts and health."

What was a perfectly natural human reaction to anyone else was something Alanna would never deign to possess. And if Roland could be cheekily honest, that sheer sense that she could remotely be jealous at all was kind of attractive. As much as it would be inconvenient to express such a thought now. In all the time they'd been together, she had nothing to worry about. In the time they had prior to that, they each had their share of partners.

Even as Roland had hoped to court her, he knew she never spent her nights alone if she could help it.

"The previous Duke is housed within the guest wing of the Keep. Would you like to see him? You're more than welcome to," he suggested and motioned for Alanna to follow him in the other side of Iron Keep. His shoulders were rolled back and head held high. He was still a commander after all. There was a certain image to keep up.

"That would be amenable," Alanna agreed, following a step or two behind Roland. His body language did not escape her. In fact she drank it in and marveled at how his authority served to make him even more attractive. It was a pity therefore that appearances had to be kept up and that they were not fighting on the same side. Mordecai Grand Master or not, Alanna would have very much liked to shove Roland up against the nearest wall in yet another fight for dominance. He just made her so hungry for him.

She chuckled softly to herself as memories of doing just that a decade earlier resurfaced in her mind. Some things just never did change after all. "My men seem to have been cared for just as you promised. I am grateful to you Duke. A man who keeps his word is a rare thing these days regardless of what side he stands on."

"I would not be able to lead my own men if I wasn't a man of my word. Honor is in rather short supply these days," and even as he said those words Roland knew the thrumming weight they resonated. He knew that there was a certain measure of dishonor that had come with the territory. Taking a broken duchy, lying to the woman that had been his wife - the only woman he could ever love...

What kind of honorable man did that?

There was honor...and then there was survival. In the end, that's what it was. Surivival.

As they marched off to the guest wing where the last remaining member of the Brennick family resided, Roland kept the lead and his men opened the door were Charles Brennick was under guard.

A few rooms, the basics for a nobleman of his quality and stature. But the fact remained the man was still a prisoner in that castle. He would never be free of the Iron Keep.

"Lord Brennick?" he called out, and found it rather odd and suspicious when he got no response. "Hello? There is a rather esteemed guest waiting to see you!" And once again there was no response.

And in that dusty bedroom there was only the faint sound of footsteps approaching. And the gaunt form of a man that was once tall, once regal, and with heavy shadows underneath his eyes. "Oh? Come to pay me a visit have you? And who is this? Someone else to gawk and laugh at the fallen Brennick line?" Charles said softly, observing the light coming through the open window of his room.

"That they are," she quietly agreed with a slight nod of her head though he would not see it from where she was behind him. As they arrived though her mind drifted away from thoughts of her lover and back to duty. She squared her shoulders and raised her chin, slipping into the warrior skin with a well-practiced ease.

"Hardly," she growled softly as she pushed past Roland and into the room. Lord Brennick, as Grand Master Mordecai I come on behalf of the Grand Duke. I trust you've been treated well?" She cast a pointed glance back to Roland before stepping further into the room and eyeing the man before her warily. He seemed weary but resolved, a look that made her skin crawl. There was no telling what the man was thinking and she did not trust it for a second.

Back to form, Roland stood by the door, and although it was closed, it was the cell door that would serve as Charles Brennick's prison for the remainder of his days. Having lost Falkenrath, having lost the duchy, lost his army, starved his people, and the shame of it was evident in the shadows underneath his eyes. Charles did his best to remain upright and back straight, standing at attention even as the Grand Master Mordecai approached.

"I have. Sir Roland is a gentleman, even if he is a usurper," he replied steadily. Eyes flicked over her, the haggard look in her eyes, the way her hair seemed disheveled, and he took could see the war in her visage. No doubt she saw the state of Falkenrath as she made her way through here. "Have you come here to deliver my execution? There is no need. I have no ill will toward the Grand Duke, and failure itself is punishment enough."

"Lord Brennick, we didn't come here to mock you."

"No? Your pretentious vindication is mockery enough. You should have done better than to let me live, Roland. An act of mercy, you called it. Yet I remain here to stew in my defeat, agonized that I could do better for my people, than a knight and his ramshackle army."

Roland grit his teeth together and stepped forward. "Charles!"

"Don't call me Charles. Don't you deign to defer to me by my given name," he hissed and moved toward the desk, pulling out a piece of wood that had been sharpened against stone. It was no blade, but the point was apparent enough. And he bared the point of it against his breast, underneath the ridge of his ribs. The stake itself was approximately 13 inches in length.

"CHARLES! THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE DOING?!

"I am the Duke of Falkenrath. And my honor will be restored," he sobbed, closing his eyes and clipping the tears that rolled down his cheek. Brennick hesitated no longer and instead pressed the stake deep into the soft skin of his belly, pushing upward at an angle and making no sound as he buried every inch of the spike inside of his torso.

Alanna continued to eye the disposed nobleman coldly. She recognized what his venomous words were about long before he ever made a move against himself. They were the fighting words of an old tiger knowing his time was coming to an end. It was his time to die. The problem for her though was she did not understand what her instincts were telling her until it was too late.

As if in slow motion, she gazed on as he revealed his desired form of execution. In the back of he mind she could hear Roland screeching, almost begging the former lord to reconsider. Yet, she did nothing. The self-made dagger plunged into soft tissue and still she just stood there. Alanna watched as he collapsed and his last breath was had.

Only then did she move, slowly and deliberately forward. She said nothing as she knelt down and felt for a pulse. Nothing. "So ends the line of Brennick, Dukes of Falkenrath." She rose to her feet again to step out of the room. Death no longer phased her, she had seen so much of it over the past decade. What was one more lifeless body bereft of soul to the Grand Master Mordecai who sought only to bring an end and peace to her people?

"I take my leave of you then as I have no more business here and must share my report of the events that have happened here. You have my word Duke that I will do all in my power to present  the facts as they are and to be honorable towards all the men involved here. There is indeed more than one side to this story and I will do my best to put it all in a fair light." She nodded her head then to him out of respect while her eyes spoke volumes of the pain and love she was feeling for him in that moment. She did not want to leave but she must, especially if she was going to do her best to protect him, as difficult as that would be from opposite sides of the battlefield.

Roland stared in disbelief as the former Duke of Falkenrath was laying there in a puddle of his own blood. He dropped his head and signed in front of him, the old recitations of his boyhood youth. Ansgar guide him, he thought to himself and cast his eyes over to Alanna as she reached down to check for a pulse, only to affirm the worst.

The war had taken it's toll on Falkenrath. The people had been nearly starved, driven out, marched through by army after army. When Charles Brennick could no longer protect them as was his duty, no longer abide by the oath he'd taken as Duke, his honor had been lost. Roland could understand this. Any man, woman, soldier, citizen could understand the need to protect the place they called home. And when they failed that duty, the sky was soon borne down upon them, the crushing weight no easy task to bear.

Roland chewed on his bottom lip a slow second, cutting his eyes back to Alanna's and finding the pain and sense of duty evident there. "I trust your judgment," he said, short and sweet. "You will be able to leave as easily as you arrive. My men will make sure Charles Brennick is properly tended to. Although it does pain me to have witnessed this at all. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

Just what he was sorry for, he didn't specify save that it was beyond all the events that had just occurred. Each had their duty to carry forth, and neither would relent for they promises that they were bound to. "Alanna. I mean, Commander. Despite everything, thank you for coming here and taking the time to speak with me. It's no small gesture."

His expression was hardened, eyes the only window as to the ache that burned beneath that steely facade. He was going to rebuild Falkenrath, make it a haven for the people that had suffered enough in this longwinded war. Even if he had to do that without her.

She felt his pain as rawly as her own for it was one and the same. After all these years they had refound each other and now stood on opposite sides of a war that had torn apart everything they loved about their homeland and perhaps even, each other.

"Thank you for hearing me, Duke. It was no small gesture," she paused meeting his gaze and holding it intently, "but it was a worthwhile one." Alanna offered him a small nod, wanting nothing more than to reach out and embrace him or touch his arm, anything to hold on a moment more. But she knew she had already stolen her fair share of attention from him could take no more. She had to leave, she had a master to run back to like a mangy dog lost on the road.

She and her men mounted up outside, her stern soldier's facade once more in place and unshakeable. There were no tears or last goodbyes. There was only duty and even then she questioned the honor in that. But, as they rode away she could not help one last look behind her to the Iron Keep and where her heart had not only been rekindled but left behind.