Flames of War

The castle was damp and humid during the summertime. Even at night, under the eerie glow cast from the lit torches, the palace was stifling and uncomfortable. No longer was this a place of jubilation, nor had it been for the last few years. War had consumed the entire continent, and even the royalty who had provoked the fighting now began to feel the pinch of war. Battle after battle had been fought, and the land of Aleutia had begun to lose hope in their kingdom’s supposedly easy victory over the enemy. If anything, the tenacity and vigor that ran through the veins of those they fought had many speaking of an inevitable surrender. Those cries quickly fell silent. Within the span of a month, word had spread of a warrior whose exploits and victories had the Aleutian’s calling him the “Golden Noble.” The tides of war had changed, and once again the people grew arrogant and prideful in their reliance upon the one general. Thus when news had spread of his capture, turmoil ensued.

“It isn’t right! The life of one man cannot outweigh the life of another. My Lord…I beseech you to reconsider the consequences of your actions. If we fail to…” but before the man was able to continue his speech, the glare of the King silenced any further argument and sent a rather spine-tingling chill throughout the other’s body. He was, after all, only a servant, and the casual manner in which he dared to speak infringed on the nobility and dignity that the King possessed. Had there been anyone else in company, the punishment would have been severe.

“I understand your concerns, Thomas, and I have pondered upon the matter for quite some time. There are two ways to look at this, and I think that you’ll find both of them to be…rather favorable. If we mount a rescue effort and are successful in freeing my son, the morale of our people will rise substantially, and nothing can stop us in our conquest over Tristan. And if we fail…” the king’s voice suddenly grew solemn as his back was turned towards Thomas, “we will make him into a martyr, and our people will want vengeance. Either way, the advantage will belong to us.”

Far away from the conspiracy and deceit that ran rampant within the Aleutian hierarchy, Prince Allan sat tethered to a simple wooden chair while being held on the edge of consciousness. The snap of bones echoed throughout the room while loud grunts and moans of pain spilled forth from chapped and bloodied lips. It had been several hours since he had been brought in for interrogation, and the continued brutality that was administered to his already beaten form would have caused sympathy within any who viewed him. Crimson vitae dripped from his cheeks like sweat, and his skin had turned various shades of purple from the bruising and swelling of bone and muscle. If death were the only release from the pain, he would have welcomed it within an instant.

His prayers were to be answered, or so he thought, for the vision of beauty that walked before him could only be described as that of an angel. His sight was hazy and his mind was numb with pain, but he could not stop from staring at the divine creature as she moved slowly towards him. Golden hair framed the delicate features of her face as hazel eyes of the purest innocence stared deeply into his soul. A touch of sadness was hinted from the curve of scarlet lips, and Allan felt that he would have given his soul to the devil himself just to make her smile. Beauty and grace as exquisite as her own should never have been tampered with a frown.

No words could have ever hoped to convey the ethereal elegance that he witnessed before him, but something deep inside forced him to use what little strength remained to speak his appreciation of her company. His voice was barely coherent in his current condition, but he made sure to talk slowly so that his gratitude would be known. “I know that God exists and watches over me, for he has sent an Angel to guide me through the darkness and into the light.” Azure eyes slowly moved up to meet her gaze, but it was only for a brief moment before the darkness consumed his entire being. The last image that graced his vision just before the shadows embraced him was that of the radiant beauty looking down upon him...that sad smile still visible through the light of a flickering flame.



War had consumed everything Talia held dear, yet she was still forced to smile through the sadness and tears and to present herself within a manner befitting her stature. The people relied on her beauty and strength to survive during these trying times, and no matter how great the desire was to just give up and run away from it all, she couldn’t handle the thought of letting her people down. Even when her fiancé had fallen under the sword of the “Golden Noble,” Talia had addressed her people with a radiant smile and encouraging words. Never in her life had she felt more vulnerable and pathetic than at that moment. Ever since the loss of her beloved Christian, her life seemed to be spiraling out of control and into an endless abyss. Happiness was as foreign to her as to the nation responsible for this war, and she just wished that it would all come to an end.

Trumpets blared to life in a cacophony of excitement and the cheers of thousands echoed within the Kingdom walls of Tristan. The clamor roused Talia from her slumber, and curiosity led her to her balcony where she viewed what all the noise was about. Silk adorned her lovely frame today, and standing within the brilliant sunlight of a cloudless morning, she appeared almost insubstantial; a spirit who was sent to simply observe the trivial affairs of mankind but not at all belonging. She didn’t have to look very long to find the source of all the commotion, but even she could not help but be appalled at what she viewed…

She had felt sadness, no pity, at the spectacle that her Kingdom had made of Allan; however, after finding out that it was the person responsible for the death of her husband-to-be, the pity had quickly waned. Now here she was…guards drunk at their watch and the vulnerable Prince ready for the execution he deserved. Her hands rested behind her back as she slowly circled the beaten prince…a knife held painfully tight as she readied herself to take justice on the man who had made her life a living Hell. But as he opened his eyes to look to her…to speak to her with such kind words induced from his exhausted state…she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Tears started to burn her beautiful eyes as the knife came clashing to the ground…she was just too weak…


OOC

Currently, this thread is going to involve myself and Red...but later into the story, there will be a place for more players, so those who follow it will definitely have a chance to join in. Have a nice day, and I hope you guys enjoy! Oh yeah, if you're interested in joining, please send me a PM with the char you'd like to play and we'll see what we can do!

Night had fallen over the Kingdom of Tristan and Talia approached the small stone building that held the prisoner, she had thought of him ever since she had decided not to take his life. His beaten body and bruised face still haunted her and she knew deep down that for whatever reasons, she could not allow his death. She had arranged to have the guards drugged, trusting only her most faithful friend and servant, with her plans. Talia knew that for her to drug the guards would be nearly impossible, she was the daughter of a King and was rarely given permission to speak to anyone not of her station. So trusting her very existence to her companion and friend she now thanked the heaven's that she had done as she was asked.

Talia slowly moved around the drugged soldiers, her soul asking for forgiveness for the headaches and possible pain they would receive from her father if her plan worked. He would be furious once he discovered that Allan was gone and when he realized that she was the one that did it, he would be unreachable, her whole body shuddered at the thought. He had been kind once. She remembers how when it was time for her to wed, he had allowed her to pick from a handful of suitors. Though the choices had been his own selection he had permitted her to be wooed by them and finally she had find the one she wanted to spend her life with. Talia thought back over the past few months and how the unexpected death of her mother, the Queen had changed her father. Gone was the man that had shown joy and love to one and all and in his place was an evil presence that could turn a strong nobleman like Prince Allan into a beaten man, barely alive.

As she slowly opened the door she saw him, this time he had been moved from the chair to the bed. She could smell the filth of the hut and knew that they had not allowed him the use of a privy, but instead he had to make due with some corner of the room. Her heart went out to the figure on the straw filled mattress. The ropes that bound his legs and arms to the bed were strong. She knew she would have a hard time untieing them, so she was glad she had thought to run back and pick up the knife, she had dropped when she first saw him. Her body trembles as she imagines what would have happened if someone had come in after she had left the knife there. Now her knife would be what helped her save this man instead of what she had planned on using it for.

Sawing at the rope that secures his feet, she hears his shallow breathing. Looking up at his body, her mind thinks of the stories the women she was allowed to converse with had told her. The “Golden Noble” was a strong and handsome man, they said. Each one would whisper so as not to alert others that though he was the enemy he was a most attractive one. Now as Talia worked to free him all she could see was a man that showed the potential of having once been handsome, the broken bones and deep cuts would heal if given time and if fever did not set in. She saw scars running here and there across his arms, and chest, she new that he would be adding more to his collection.

Rising up she moved to the edge of the bed, closer to his arms, this time she thought she heard him speak, but she waved it off. She would free him, then try and wake him up. She worked the left arm free sawing through the rope and then untangled it. Leaning over his body, her breast pressed softly against his dried bloody chest, she once more set the knife to work. With each motion she leaned deeper against him, hearing him groan she quickly eased up off of his chest, hoping her weight was not causing him to much distress. She knew he was weak and though he was in great pain, she still needed to be wary of him. He was much bigger then her and she knew that if he were at his physical best, he would tower of her just as her fiance had.

Finally his arms free, she turns to leave the bed, a strong grip is suddenly around her wrists and she stares at it. The knuckles white from holding her tight and she follows the arm until she meets the swollen eyes of Prince Allan. “Not a dream then? Nor an angel?” his weak, and throaty voice whispers to her. Sensing his consciousness is barely awakening, Talia drops to her knees beside the bed. His grasp on her wrist drops and she slips the knife back into the pocket of her long dress.

“I'm here to help you, but you have to stay awake for me.” She presses her hands to his cheeks, “Please Prince, you mustn't go back to sleep. You are to heavy a burden for me to lift and carry out of here.” She watched him struggle to remain focused on his voice. As he attempted to swing his legs over the bed she stood up and held his arms. Finally, he was sitting up and she watched him wave slightly before his equilibrium returned to normal. She moved swiftly to the door and checked to make sure the guards were still asleep, then hurried back to Alan.

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she helped walk him towards the door. He leaned heavily upon her, and she could tell he was doing his best to help her carry him. The steps were slow and tedious, but with each one, she felt his body try to work and function. She knew some of his ribs were broken and soon if the broken cuts weren't cleaned infection would set in and that could easily lead to fever or worse. She saw how his free arm hung lose at an odd angle, making her wonder if that too was broken. Finally, as they reached the door she turned to face him. “Can you ride?” Silently she prayed that his answer was yes, but upon hearing his frustrated, “No.” She knew she would have to use the wagon. It had been readied for her and though the horses would move much faster he was to broken to be moving rapidly through the woods.

Talia led them to the door and again cracked it open and she smiled as she thought of her faithful servant, who was now quietly traveling away from the kingdom. Talia had known that once her disappearance and the loss of the great Prince Allan had been found out all beatings and threats would be handed out to her friend and confidant. Not wanting that to happen she had sent her friend away, giving her coins and food and small jewels to make her way to her family across the sea. In return her friend had pressed a token into her hand, telling her that if she could get to the gypsies she would be safe.

Moving quietly past the guards, Talia and Allan stayed close to the walls of the hut. Upon reaching the two horses and the wagon, Talia slowly helped Allan into its bed. Climbing up next to him she surrounded him with blankets. Looking around she saw the flask of drugged wine and poured some into Allan's mouth, she knew he could taste the bitter drug and she whispered to him that it was only to help him rest and ease his pain. His eyes, barely visible through their swollen lids, told her he didn't like the idea of being drugged, but it was too late. Talia watched as the drug took affect and forced the strong man to succumb to darkness once more.

Quickly she moved to the front of the wagon, and set the horses into motion. They traveled a well worn path and she urged them faster. She needed to reach the band of travelers that had been spotted in the area and she needed to reach them fast. Knowing that the jostling of the wagon only made the pain that Allan was experiencing worse, she silently pleaded for his forgiveness as she whipped the horses down the path. Praying that soon she would meet the travelers.

All night she they drove forward, pausing only to allow the animals water and continue to pour more wine down Allen's throat. When she spied the lights in the distance she released a deep sigh of relief. There just up ahead were the gypsies and she is able to slowly keep behind them. She had continued to keep Allan sedated until she was able to join the band of merry people. With their kindness and her jewels, she was able to trade her wagon for one of theirs along with two fresh horses. The token that had been given to her, had welcomed her safe entrance into their camp. Finally, after another full day of travel she arrived at the place she sought refuge. Her childhood memories flashed quickly through her mind as she took in the scene before her. The dense woods, the lush green grass of the meadow, the beautiful brook that flowed down the hill, and nestled against the woods, the log cabin that held so many wonderful times of when her mother and father were happy, alive and together. Descending from the wagon she climbed in and looked into the eyes of a fully conscious man. “We've arrived.”

The combination of drugs and blood-loss had left Allan in somewhat of a daze throughout the entire series of events that eventually resulted in his rescue. All that he remembered was the searing pain in his legs and the burn of his lungs through the forced physical exertion. He also recalled speaking, but he wasn’t sure if his words could have been heard through the blood that gathered in his throat. Tristan had literally beaten Allan to a bloody pulp. His muscles were in a perpetual state of pain and countless of his bones were broken, forced to move painfully during the uneventful rescue. It was a miracle that the duo hadn’t been stumbled upon because if that were the case, he would have proven no match for the castle guards and they both would have succumbed quickly. Then all went black…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“The Kingdom is in danger of falling, Allan.” Spoken in a tone that everyone recognized, King Alexander was talking in confidence to his son in the privacy of his chambers. The fate of thousands of lives was burdened on his shoulders, the weight of which could be seen in the bags underneath his eyes and the pale skin of his face. The war should have been simple…Tristan and Aleutia had been in tense relations for as long as anyone could remember, and war was inevitable. Aleutia had struck first and crippled Tristan, but the nation had taken the attack to heart and had repelled his Kingdom after only a few months time. Now…now things had gotten progressively worse. The Aleutian boundaries had been breached and Tristan had placed them in the defensive. These were the details that were now being shared with Allan…a person who had just returned to the country after several years of fighting in the Kingdom of Listria. Upon hearing of the conflict in his home country, he had returned immediately.

Because of the conflict that had engulfed Aleutia and the hasty meeting with his father, Allan hadn’t had a chance to change of the worn battle armor that he now adorned. The oiled leather creaked slightly with every breath and the metal plates rested heavily against his large frame. Brown hair framed the masculine features of his face while piercing cerulean eyes stared intently at his father. There had never been much love between the two, but there had always been a mutual respect that could easily be misconstrued as love. His father respect the tactics and power that Allan possessed on the battlefield, and Allan respected the King’s shrewd decisions and commanding rule. If his father requested his help, then he would see to it.

“I understand, father…I will leave for the front lines immediately.” And with those last words, the two parted ways with the younger leaving immediately to the heart of the conflict. His first battle had been one in which he had made his name known…A midnight black stallion leading him into battle as his armor was stained red with the blood of his enemies. The second, third, fourth…every battle afterward had pretty much been the same, victory after victory succeeding in his wake as Allan pressed the Aleutian armies back into the heart of Tristan. It was at this first conflict within the enemy’s borders that would prove his most fateful…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The breath of fresh air, as well as the sound of rushing water quickly drew Allan back into reality and into flaring pain. A small gasp of pain escaped dry lips as he jerked up abruptly, various wounds ripping open as a result of the sudden action with fresh blood spilling onto his tunic in the process. The first thing that came to his mind were those of his torturers, but the sight of the beautiful female in front of him quickly calmed his fears as well as his breathing. Incapable of cognizant thought, Allan let himself slip back into unconsciousness…too weak to do anything else.

The flickering of candlelight greeted his sleep-hazed mind as he took account of his surroundings. The wooden cabin was richly furnished…obviously not something that a peasant would stay in, so he made the assumption that they were safe…for the moment. Although he had been unconscious for the majority of his rescue, Allan was quick-witted and easily pieced together a makeshift story of what had transpired. It was obvious that someone had aided him in his escape…but he was surprised that Aleutia had been able to get to him so fast. He knew that they had spies but he didn’t realize that some were so close to the throne. Taking a firmer hold on reality and refusing to give into the dreaded sleep that threatened to take him again, his senses blazed to life as he caught some movement within the corner of his eye. It wasn’t like he could do much in his current state…so rather than jumping out of bed and causing himself an immense amount of pain, he simply turned to look upon the beautiful creature that rested beside his bed. The poor girl was obviously exhausted, for she had fallen asleep in a rather uncomfortable looking chair adjacent to the bed he now rested on. To say that she was beautiful…would have truly been an injustice. No words could even begin to describe the angelic vision that rested beside him…and so awe-struck was he that he had to see if she was real. Reaching out slowly (any faster would have ignited his arm in flames of pain), he gently ran his fingertips through those lovely flaxen strands before smiling roguishly to himself…she was a dream after all. Unconsciousness seized him before his hand had reached its destination, the lack of feeling due to the transition into dreams…dreams filled with this lovely creature entwined within his warm embrace.

Talia had awaken with a sharp pain in her side, as well as her neck, arms and legs. She had known that when she chose to sleep in the chair, that she would wake up sore and tired. Standing up, she moved to the fireplace, stirred the embers, and placed two more large logs on the glowing chips. Talia looked over to the bed of her enemy, now her patient. She had somehow found the strength to almost carry him into the cabin. He had become conscious long enough, for him to somewhat assist her in getting to where he was now, sprawled flat on his back on the mattress that her mother and father once shared long ago.

She stood there looking at the rise and fall of his chest. Soon, she knew she would have to cleanse his entire body, of the dried dirt, blood and scabs. Talia squared her shoulders, and went outside to bring in fresh water from the well. As she walked, the worn path, she remembered herself as a child running and skipping, not bothering with anything that had to deal with work. Looking at her hands, and her clothing, she realizes how blessed she was being born a Princess, and though she treated all her subjects with respect and kindness, she now felt that she didn't give them enough. When she returned to her father, and once his wrath on her was released, she would do more for her people, and help their lives, hoping to ease their burdens.

Talia drew the water up, and listened to the brook below, soon she would have to fish for their meals. As she moved back towards the house, she began humming a tune that was old and familiar to her. Entering the hut, she looked over to the man, noting that his body has shifted slightly, a sign that while she was gone he had stirred, or perhaps, it is wishful thinking on her part. Filling the kettle that rests over the fire with the water, being careful not to let it spill into the flames, she leaves it to heat. She moved to the privy and collected the soaps of her father's. Her hands ran over the scented ones of her motheris, picking one up, she breathed deep the rose perfume, then returned it to the collection of pastel colors. Taking two sets of towels, and two small cloths, she moved back to Prince Allan's side.

She scooted her chair closer to him, then stood over his body. Talia remembered the one thing that her mother had insisted she always do before helping an injured person with cuts. Besides, washing the wound, and after drying it, one was to pour a strong drink over them, making sure that the injury was then air dried. Talia grimaced over the thought of causing this man more pain, but her mother had been a wise Queen, and Talia had not just given up everything, so this man could die of neglect by her hands. Feeling his head with her palm, she noticed no sign of fever, “Good,” she said out loud. “That is something, I don't want to deal with.” She left him again, this time she gathered a large flask of her fathers strongest drink, and several long strips of cloth. Once those were inside, she found several pieces of long thin logs, that she hoped she could use to keep his broken arm and possibly leg from moving as he healed.

Talia had all her supplies ready, and now the real thing she dreaded, began to feel her mind. Her father had kept her safely surrounded by her ladies maids, whenever her and her fiance were together. Only once had she found herself alone with him, and during that one moment, he took her into his arms, embraced her and kissed her lips softly. Smiling to herself, she allowed her mind to recall the feel of his lips, and the pressure of his hands upon her back. He had whispered to her that he wanted to teach her many things. She knew that if he still lived she would now have been with child. The kiss had ended as fast as it had occurred. A maid had come into the room, and they only had mere seconds to separate. Talia didn't know that, the maid had seen them, but now looking back she wonders, never again did the two of them find a moment to be alone. Hearing a groan from beneath her, she looked back into the eyes of her fiance's killer.

Bending down to him, she whispered that she needed to undress him, and she was sorry for the pain she would inflict. Somehow, he understanded her, and acknowledged her regret. Taking the knife that she had kept from their escape out of her pocket, she used it to cut away the tattered cloth. It split easily, and she slowly began to remove the pieces of his tunic, his body winced in pain as some parts stuck to the dried blood, bringing forth more fresh seepage for her to deal with. Frowning at his wounds, she saw the odd bumps that were supposed to be laying curved around his body. Knowing that several of his ribs are broken, her eyes filled with tears. She hated to cause another pain, and bit her tongue, as she removed the last bit of cloth from the front of his chest.

Standing, Talia walked over to the fireplace and took the kettle down. Using the ladle, she dipped it into the hot water, then transferred it into a bowl of lukewarm liquid, that she had kept from earlier. Carefully she cleansed his face, shoulders, and arms with the strong soap and hot water. The sting from her ministrations on his wounds, made his eyes squint, and his face grimaced. Talia's own heart ached, as she worked her hands down his sides, and across each of his fingers. A tear escaped her azure eyes, and slipped down her cheek. She knew that the deep wound on his chest would be the hardest to clean, and the most painful. Quickly she washed the gaping wound, and then she took her hand and grabbed the liquid that she knew would cause him the greatest pain of all.

Talia worked as fast as she could, dripping the hot, fiery liquid over the wounds on his arms, and hands. His reaction to them, had been hard for her to bare, yet he did, not raise up, and yell. She held off on dousing the final wound on his chest, and grabbed the knife once more. Working on the torn leggings, she pulled them off his body, her face blushed as she noticed the soft member of his sex. She squeezed her eyes tight, took a deep breath, and tried to separate herself from the innocent woman she was, to one of strict decorum. As she washed his body, she heard his breath hiss between his teeth, she watched as the muscle she had been cleansing, slowly began to react to her cloth. Talia finished the job as fast as she could. As if she were as fast as lightening that streaks across the sky, Talia reached for one of the towels, and draped it across his growing sex, her face hot with embarrassment.

Leaving him for a moment, Talia recollected her courage, drank a tall glass of her father's port, and proceeded back into the room. There he was looking at her, very aware of her, the obviousness of that had shown itself earlier, and she new that it still was not in its normal state. “I'm almost done. I need to wash your legs, then with your help, if your able, I will clean your back.” Talia kept her eyes locked with his, and he nodded his head in agreement. She cleansed his legs, running her fingers along the bones, and found the left one broken. She grabbed two of the logs, that she felt would work for his injury, placing one on each side of his legs, biting her tongue, she looked up at him. “You have to move this leg up. I know it will hurt, but I have to split it, or you'll never walk straight again.”

Prince Allan did as he was told, and though the pain was great, he bared it. She quickly wrapped the logs, tight around his leg, with the strips of linen. After this was done, she gave him a long drink of port. “We aren't done yet.” Talia again grabbed two more logs, these, she bound to his right arm, and repeated the same process, as she had done to the leg. The pain he was going through brought tears to her eyes, and they flowed freely down her cheeks. “I'm sorry. I truly am, if there was any other way, I would.” She wrapped two fingers on his left hand, along with one on his right. The black pit in her heart, that her father had placed there, slowly began to grow, but she pushed it away, not liking the darkness that was a part of her. Something that was only from her father's seed, the part that made her sometimes, want to hurt the ones that brought sorrow to those she loved.

The two struggled to lift his body from the bed. She washed his neck, back and waist, finally, she wrapped his ribs, the linen tight against his body. He collapsed back onto the bed, “Surely, your done torturing me.” His harsh words, came out crueler then he had meant them to.

“Almost, yes.” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, just two more things, she thought to herself. “I need to stitch this wound closed and then cleanse it one last time, then I am done.”

“Do it.”

She steadied her hand, and drove the needle into his flesh, working thread through the deep gash, that she had saved for last. The entire time she told him stories of her youth here, she never mentioned her station, or her name. Not trusting her enemy, but not wanting him to die, she hoped he would believe she were just a servant girl. Talia, knew that no one of her station would be doing the things she did, so she chose to tell him only bits and pieces of who she truly was. Closing the wound, Talia reached for the liquid, she looked up at him, and he nodded yes. Her own brow furrowed, she poured the drink over the stitched gash, immediately he bellowed, and his hand swung high, knocking against her cheek. Talia hit the floor, her head spun as the impact from his swing rang through her jaw.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, Allan was no longer able to distinguish between reality and dream. His sleep was restless, broken ribs burning with every breath he took while his whole body seemed to be in a state of perpetual ache. But through the pain he became aware…and now he realized that the heavenly figure before him was indeed substantial and real. The pity in her eyes was evident in the way she looked at him as she treated his wounds, so he bore through the pain without word or sound. A slight flinch here and there, but these methods of cleaning were not something that he was unused to, so he knew what to expect. As she administered to his lower half; however, he couldn’t help but allow for a deep chuckle to escape his now pale lips. He wanted to call the women daft, question her inexperience…but he thought the better of it as he noticed the deep crimson that spread across her sun-touched skin. Although he had wanted to bring up the subject later, he thought it better to leave the matter untouched, especially after knocking the poor girl down to the floor while she had treated to a deep cut earlier in the week.

Although Allan had made the earlier assumption that the girl had been a spy from Aleutia, he had quickly came to the realization that such was not the case. A very perceptive person, he was actually able to pick up on a few things that drew many questions, most of which he didn’t voice as he allowed himself to get better. First, the girl’s mannerisms were not that of a simple peasant girl, or even that of the bourgeois…she had to be royalty of one form or another. The second thing he picked up on was that behind the veil of pity that her eyes could not contain was another feeling, one of extreme animosity. This girl, even though polite and with breath-taking beauty…hated him.

The son of a king, Allan had learned long ago that most things didn’t need to be said for them to be conveyed. This was one of those moments. She cared for him as carefully as his mother would have, but the truth behind her eyes revealed that she might not necessarily be sincere. He was over-thinking the subject, though. Considering his current situation, there wasn’t much else he could do as he rested uncomfortably in the bed. The wood attached to his right leg and left arm were uncomfortable, but he knew they were necessary for the bone to heal straight. The swelling of his skin had also eased over the past few days as well as the various minor cuts and scratches that he had acquired since the time of his capture. Truth be told, Allan actually had very striking features, especially his eyes.

At the moment, his penetrating gaze rested intently on Talia as she moved about the cabin taking care of the housekeeping duties for the day. Few words had been spoken from the wayward Prince, so when he did speak, a word of thanks, her reaction was actually quite comical. Jumping straight as a broom and dropping the silverware she was cleaning to the ground, she jerked about abruptly and came rushing towards the bed…her hand immediately going up towards his forehead to check if he had a fever. He didn’t. Funny that she would think that he had a fever...though. At this, his laughter was rich and generous...a roguish grin playing against crimson lips as he looked to her intently.

“Not used to hearing thank you, Milady?” The tone in which he spoke to Talia made it clearly evident that he knew that she was used to be speaking to in this manner. He eyed her suspiciously…blue eyes taking in every aspect of her being before he slowly reached out his good arm to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand…a gesture that was quickly rejected as she jerked away from his touch and turned a venomous glare to the injured Prince.

“Considering how you react to my offer of thanks…I’m beginning to wonder why you even saved me in the first place. Not that I’m ungrateful, because I really am…but just what do you hope to gain by rescuing and nursing your enemy, Milady?” The title with which he addressed her was spoken in a sarcastic tone, one that bordered seriousness but just hinted a bit at his playful nature. He might have been a vicious warrior on the battlefield, but Allan held a reputation of being somewhat of womanizer within his Kingdom.

Looking at Allan, Talia's thoughts of his gratitude, startled her. He was thanking me? The words rang in her ears, as she looked into his eyes. Seeing his humor and his laughter, reflected in them, as well as distrust and questions, her own thoughts focused on the man that was slaughtered, by the one before her. “Don't thank me yet, Prince,” Talia's own voice, surprised even herself. All week she had ministered to him, cleansed him, bandaged him, and even had to bring herself to help him take care of the most intimate of matters. Now, he thanks her? He should be begging her to forgive him, offering to do whatever she wanted, but he doesn't know her, doesn't know that she saved the life of the man that killed her love

“I have given you back your life, and when you are well, you'll have your freedom also. For that I only ask one thing.” Squaring her shoulders, Talia stared deep into his eyes, he says nothing to her. Refusing to be ignored, she leans closer to him. “I cared for you because you are a person, just like the lowest peasant. I did for you what I would have done for the flea infested dog in the street, and that is why you live. Yes, you are my enemy, while you were sick, you were my patient.” Talia took a deep breath, not wanting to show the conflict that raged between her heart and her mind. “Learn to use the canes, two are there,” pointing to the wall, not missing a beat, she continued, “Both are sturdy, chose one or take them both. Now, that you can talk, and obviously move.” Fighting the urge to touch her cheek, where moments before he had caressed it, she told him the price for her services. “I only ask in return, that you never touch me again. You are no longer my patient, but once again my sworn enemy.”

Turning away, not wanting to hear or see him, Talia stalked out of the cabin, and left the invalid to fend for himself. Tears ran down her cheeks, as thoughts of another man's hands played upon her memory. Her eyes closed, and she saw him so clear in her mind. The day he left, the last day that they had walked side by side, her beloved had stroked her cheek. Talia remembered his touch, and how she had slowly pressed closer to him, only to be gently tugged away by one on of her ladies maids. Now, another man had touched her face, attempted to erase the memory that she kept sealed deep inside her heart. “He will not touch me!” she declared to herself, letting her hand slip into the pocket of her gown, feeling the handle of the knife, she had kepted hidden since they escaped.

As Talia sat by the brook, she thought of the man, wrapped up in the badges, his body covered, by the rich blanket. She recalled how he had addressed her, “My lady,” he had said. Her body shivered as the breeze from the water brushed her skin. She wondered who, he thought she was. Talia knew that he was more then likely aware his enemy had a daughter, but she was somewhat sure he hadn't ever seen her. She stood and brushed the dirt from her gown, headed to the smoke house and pulled some of the old dried jerky from its rack. Soon she hoped, the tramps that she had set, around the woods would snare some fresh meat.

She entered the cabin, and stood transfixed as the man, who she had sworn as her enemy, stood on one leg. The other, she quickly noticed was still confined in the linen and wood, but now the figure, didn't look so weak. Her eyes ran over him, and the cane he had used to hobble around the room, looked as if it would bend under his weight. A spark of fear raised up in her belly, as Talia's eyes soon realized that this man would have towered over her betrothed. Her thoughts ran rapid through her head, "No wonder my love hadn't a chance, this mountain of a man, would probably deliver the killing blow to Satan himself if it were possible."

She was a bit of an enigma, this one was, taking care for him one moment but swearing him as an enemy the next. He had chosen to ignore her request quite pointedly before she had stormed out of the cabin in what seemed like a random moment of anger, one that Allan could not explain for the life of him. If he were her enemy, she should have left him to rot in Tristan’s dungeons…deserving of a fate of an “enemy.” She didn’t do that, though…Taking a break from his deep reveries, his attention quickly shifted towards the makeshift crutches that she had brought his attention to a few moments before. He was sick of being bed-ridden, and the option she had presented him was one that was definitely appealing.

Stretching out his good arm and taking grasp of the piece of wood she had offered, he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position…a movement that cause him to gasp out in pain. His ribs still ached, as did his arms and leg. Pain wasn’t something that he was foreign to, but no matter how many times his bones were broken or his skin was pierced, the pain never dulled. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he slowly forced his body out of the bed and rested his weight against the wooden slab. To anyone (aside from Talia, of course), Allan actually presented quite the striking figure. Taller than most men and with a body sculpted from the battlefield, his body was the definition of a warrior. Leather breaches rested comfortably against his legs while his torso had bandages from his waist up until his chest.

Moving wasn’t an easy task, but he somehow managed to fight through the pain and force himself across the room to where Talia rested. She might have shown him nothing but distrust and anger, but Allan still owed her for the care she had given him as well as his freedom. Grimacing from the pain of his movements, he came to a slow stop in front of her…one hand reaching out gently to cup her chin as he forced her eyes to meet his own. “I know that you requested that I do anything but touch you…but I really do want to thank you for everything you have done, Milady. But…why? I’m not a stupid person, and it’s obvious that your animosity towards me is not because of my reputation or who I am. What have I ever done to you that would spark the anger of an angel?”

All his words were spoken with a sincerity that even royalty could not have feigned. He wanted an answer to the enigma…and he had always been able to find answers to his question. This person was directly responsible for his freedom and health, and he owed her his gratitude. At the moment, his gratitude could not be expressed until he had a grasp of why she was so venomous towards him.

“And…I’m sorry for breaking your request.” This last comment sparked that boyish grin as he continued to look down to her. His hand slowly falling back to his side as he rested his weight painfully against the wooden “crutch” that she had secured for him. All of his actions could have been easily misconstrued as being flirtatious, even catering up to the image he had as a womanizer…but in this moment of intimate closeness…such was not the case.

Talia knew that he wouldn't have listened to her, she had told him not to touch her, and as soon as he can, he does. Anger flared in her eyes, and she felt her body want to lash out at him. She couldn't tell him the full truth of her anger, the depth of it, the love for her betrothed had been a love that she knew she would find with no other. Though they had only spent a few moments together, Talia had committed her heart to him, now he was gone and it was this man's fault. If she told him, who he had killed, then he would know who she was. Her father was his enemy, so she knew just by the rumors of his exploits, that he kept his friends close and his enemies closer. He would know of her engagement, thus he would know who she was. The last thing she needed was to have the tables turned on her, and she became the prisoner.

She looked at him, studied his features, then came up with the half-truth. “Your war! Your war has claimed the lives, of kinsmen. The fighting has torn apart families. Soldiers come onto our lands and violate our women, beat our old men, and bring destruction to our villages. That is why I dislike you!”

Talia moved away from him, and swiftly began repairing the bed. She felt her body shaking, the anger, mixed with the touch of his hand upon her chin, coursed through her. When he had moved himself closer to her, she could smell the scent of his soap. As the bruises and swellings on his face had slowly begun to heal, she noticed that the rumors of his rakish good looks were true, now he was more a man then before. She didn't want to like anything about him, her heart had been torn from her chest, when news reached her about her loves death. When she learned of the ambush, and massacre, she felt the spark of darkness ignite inside her, and that is when she had vowed to deal with the menacing “Golden Noble” herself. As the door opened and closed behind her, she turned and saw that Prince Allan, had left the cabin, “Good!” she said out-loud, “Perhaps he walk and fall in the brook and drown!!” Talia began to work on the preparations for their meal.

Talia was lucky that Allan went outside because otherwise he would have struck at her if not. To have the audacity to accuse him of starting the war, raping, and taking innocent lives was enough to get his blood boiling. There was no denying that he had taken many lives, but if not, he would have sacrificed his life instead. War is justified through the victor, and because a victor has yet to take the stage, propaganda was spread throughout both kingdoms to increase the hatred and vigor with which their troops fought. Most noblemen and royalty understood this concept (considering they were the masterminds behind the propaganda), so when this…this GIRL accused him of such blasphemy and actually believed it, he felt himself inflamed with anger. Deep breaths escaped through clenched teeth as his torso heaved with the effort, the bandaged flesh pressing taught against the white material as he worked hard to compose himself. Only a few moments were needed; however, before he pushed the door to the cabin open and came “storming” (not that he really could, considering the crutch and his crippled body) back inside.

“I cannot believe that I was saved by such an undeniably naïve and juvenile CHILD such as yourself. Do you really believe that Aleutia was the only one raping and pillaging, Milady?” The title had had given her dripped venom as it exited his lips, his calm gaze focusing intently on the young female before him before he shook his head and sighed. “I won’t deny that some of the actions of the Aleutian troops are what you described…but do no think even for a moment that Tristan has not done the same. They’ve raped…” his face leaning in closer to hers…”they’ve tortured…” the distance between the two continuing to close as he emphasized every statement…”and they’ve murdered.” His handsome visage was only an inch away from her own as he breathed slowly and methodically…his penetrating stare never once shifting away for those few intimate moments before he turned away and moved towards the chair she had occupied throughout his recuperation. After all, the few steps he had taken had extracted the majority of his remaining strength, and now he needed to rest.

“You think yourself so high and mighty…above killing and defending yourself just because you rescued your enemy. You are a coward…you have never been in a battlefield where men were groaning in pain, limbs dismembered, bodies pierced, and where there is blood…so much blood that there are puddles of it in the muddy ground. You don’t understand a thing, Milady. We never ask for war…but when it happens, it’s either kill or be killed. Excuse me if I chose the first.” There was no playful grin or cheery tones in his voice at this point, for she had elicited a response of truth, and only truth. She had accused him of atrocious acts, and he had responded in kind. She may have been the most breath-taking sight he had ever bore witness to, but her naivety and ignorance could not be missed.

Talia stood in shock and disbelief, never had one spoken to her in such a manner, had this been any normal situation, the man would have been flogged. She knew the trials of war, weren't easy, she knew that leaders could not always control the actions of others, but deep down she also knew that the words she had spewed at him, would anger him enough, that perhaps he would no longer touch her. Just maybe, she would no longer want him to. When that thought leapt into her head, she stood shocked and appalled by her thinking.

Moving around the cabin she set about readying the meal, dishes rattled, plates filled and goblets topped off, with her father's port. Her mind screamed at her to apologize, but her mouth refused to open, how would she spend the next month perhaps two, with this man. His size scared her, his anger, which she now had seen full force frightened her, but most of all, she feared that somewhere a part of her wanted his kind words, his humor and his touch. She would continue to deny this, this need to be touched. She had felt love for a man once, and she knew someday she would have to be wed, her people depended on that. She had vowed though that, the next man, she would not love, but would only be his friend.

The silence was deafening and finally, Talia looked to Allan, “You killed someone I held dear to my heart, and for that I attacked you and your character. If you'd liked something to eat I have it laid on the table. I'll do my best to keep my opinions of you to myself.” Wiping a tear from her cheek, Talia slipped into her chair and began to partake in her meal, not caring if Allan joined her or not. As she ate, she sat there at a loss of words. Her mind was occupied with the thoughts and images of his face as he had been raging at her, she became more aware of him as a man. She no longer doubted the stories the women whispered behind their fans, and she didn't want him close to her, didn't want her thoughts shaming the memory of the man he killed.

Although the reply in which she had given him rationalized her bitterness as well as her overall behavior towards him, it did little to soothe his anger or even elicit an ounce of pity. Most men, when confronted in this situation, would have at least offered a word of apology or a kind hand upon her shoulder, he did neither. Instead, he moved to take a seat immediately across the Princess as his hand snaked out for one of the goblets she had filled earlier. Taking a lazy drink, he slowly set the wine back down before speaking in calm, deliberate tones. “Do you want me to pity you for your tears, offer words of comfort for the loss of your love? You really are ignorant, aren’t you? Yes, I am responsible for your pain, as well as the pain of many others. But don’t think for a moment that the troops of Tristan, your fiancé’ are not equally responsible. Women cry for their lost loves, mothers for their sons, and children for their fathers in Aleutia, as well, Milady.” The words had come out far harsher than he had meant, but that was often the result when the unwanted truth was spoken. It wasn’t that Allan could not feel empathy for the Princess’ dilemma, but she had attacked him verbally and he had defended, even counterstriked.

The seat was uncomfortable, the splinter in his leg making it awkward to sit added on top of the fact that his left arm continued to remain stationary and immobilized. A deep breath escaped the cage of his lips as he reached out carefully to take the loaf of bread, the knife to his left grasped deftly in his right hand as he cut it into several slices, two placed quickly upon his plate and the princess’ as well before he placed the bread back into the center of the table. Time passed by slowly as he ate, an unbearable silence shared between the two only broken by the occasional sniffling as tears threatened to fall down her pale cheeks. If she wanted sympathy from Allan, a kind word to counter what he had said earlier, she waited in vain. The wooden chair was quickly kicked back as the warrior struggled to his feet, a slight wince crossing his handsome visage as the pain in his right leg flared to life from the sudden strain. Although he wasn’t unaccustomed to broken bones, even he had to admit that Tristan did one Hell of a job in roughening him up. His lungs still burned when he breathed in deeply and the dull ache in his leg and arms haunted him at every moment. The cuts were now almost completely healed, but the scars were still fresh. Overall, he was probably going to be able to recover in a few months’ time, the healing of his bones being the main cause for the lengthy time.

He was only able to limp about the cabin for a few moments before he was forced to take a seat on the small bed that she had procured for him. His muscles ached from the exertion (something that he was still trying to get used to), and he felt a bit light-headed from the effort as well. Still only in his leather breaches and bandages across his torso, there was a light sheen of sweat layered on his bronzed musculature that caused his skin to reflect lightly in the candlelight. His hair also showed signs of weariness as it lay scattered haphazardly across his brow…the effect giving him a much younger appearance then his true age and a boyish quality as a result of that fact. It wasn’t difficult to see why so many women fawned after his good lucks, but his attitude was…somewhat lacking. Only two weeks into their forced cohabitation and things did not look good for the couple.

“It’s late, Milady…you should get some rest.” His attention had now returned to Talia as she sat solemnly where he had left her, the two slices of bread untouched upon her plate while her small hands rested tightly in her lap. He hadn’t expected the girl to react this dramatically to his words, but looking back in retrospect, they had been rather harsh…even if true. Without so much as another word, however, he quickly extinguished the candle beside on his nightstand and rolled into bed. His naked torso now silhouetted by pale moonlight as he drifted into slumber…nightmares awaiting.

Talia had sat there, quiet. Her thoughts tumbled and turned in her head. Everything he had said, still rang in her ears. He had answered harshly, and she knew she deserved it, now she fought her pride. She stared a moment at the bread, not sure what to say or do next. Finally she stood, and walked to the window. She had heard him call to her to rest, but rest was just not in her person right now. Talia fought an inner battle.

Deep inside her, her own war raged. A war not between people, but a war between many things. Her heart, her mind, her pride, and most of all her sense of who she was. She had been raised hidden among women. Sheltered from the outside world. Yes, she told herself, she knew of the dangers of war and strife. She knew of the hardships of life. But was she as naieve as he had made her out to be. Her shoulders slumped, and she went about gathering and cleaning the cabin.

Looking at the sleeping figure on the small bed, she decided that tomorrow she would try to be civil. She would hold her tongue from speaking ill and cruel. Going to her room, Talia removed her gown and placed it in her closet. Her fingers ran over the sparse clothing, she felt thankful that her family had always sent a few things each year, on the off chance they would visit.

She took a night dress from the closet, slipped it over her head, and sat down to weave her hair into a long braid. As her fingers worked through tangles and knots, she closed her eyes and imagined her love's fingers running through them. Sighing quietly, she leaned back in her chair and continued the dream of his fingers entertwined with hers, as his face closed over hers in the memory of the one kiss they shared. Talia can feel his breath hovering over her lips, she feels the soft, tenderness of his touch. In her mind she can sense his arms on hers, and the sound of the maid opening the door. Seeing the moment glide through her mind, her eyes opening to look into the face of Prince Allan. Sitting up quickly, Talia catches her breath, opens her eyes and gasps, "Allan??" Why did she think of him?

Hearing a noise coming from his room, she made her way quickly to it. She stood there in shock, seeing him thrashing and shaking on the bed. Talia realized what was happening, quickly she ran to his side. "Allan! Allan!!" She called to him, grabbed his arms, "WAKE UP!!" He yelled and moved his arms quickly, grasping her, his eyes opened, but he didn't seem to see her. "ALLAN!!!! YOUR HURTING ME!!! WAKE UP!!"

Crossing into enemy territory, the Aleutian army was actually quite calm as they breached the delicate boundary that separated the two kingdoms. Scouts had reported that the terrain they were now crossing was safe, so the army moved swiftly and carelessly so that they could set up camp as soon as possible. Something wasn’t right. Sitting atop his charcoal black stallion, Allan was offered a higher vantage point as he surveyed the area before him. That’s when he noticed the movement. Shadowy figures could be seen from the corner of his eye, and before he had a chance to shout out in warning to his kinsmen, the first of hundreds of arrows came streaking past him. Cries of pain echoed out in response to the attack as the Aleutian army broke out in sheer chaos. Men were shoving one another aside as the fought to find shelter from the heavenly onslaught, but in their panicked the state, the only thing that they were able to accomplish was to cause more confusion and death in the process. The Prince quickly regained his resolve. Rearing back the powerful creature beneath him and kicking hard at its side, the mighty beast quickly leapt into action while his left hand simultaneously moved to the sword at his right. Grasping the hilt tightly within his large hand and drawing the blade free of its scabbard, the metallic sword shined brightly before he threw his arm forward and gave the silent order to charge. The hooves of his stallion followed immediately after the action as he came rushing into the battle. Leather creaked, chain mail clanged, and his warcry could be heard throughout the battlefield as he rallied his men into action and into battle.

The heroic action; however, was brought to an abrupt end as the trusty stallion below him took an arrow through the neck and came crashing to the ground. The weight of the creature fell heavily on Allan, and it took him a few moments to regain his bearings before he realized that his enemy was upon him. Rolling out from underneath his beast and freeing the shield that rested on the saddle, it was pushed immediately into action as the blade of an oncoming warrior was knocked harmlessly away while his own sword came up with lightening speed to pierce the other’s torso. Enemies were now converging on him from every angle as he fought hard to push them back. His face, now stained with blood and dirt wore an expression of complete fury as he brought his sword down on person after person, his movements like that of a man possessed as he was able to deflect the blades of his enemies effortlessly and counter with deadly precision. No matter how talented he was; however, even he could not keep up against the onslaught of men that came after him and eventually he found himself knocked hard and onto the ground. The air temporarily lost from his lungs while he struggled back against his assailants, his left hand shot up without aim and quickly grasped the slender neck of an enemy, fingers tightening their grip painfully against the warm flesh…

…and into reality. Damp with the nightmares of the first engagement he had been involved in on Tristan soil, Allan now found himself with his surroundings swirling rapidly back into place while the cries of friend and foes drifted back into memory. His grip was still painfully tight against Talia’s slender neck, however, as he was still trying to readjust to his current settings and get a bearing on where he was. And that’s when the pain struck. His left arm and right leg flared to life at his sudden and jerky movements, and as a result, his grip on Talia was immediately lost as the slender girl was sent falling to the ground to grasp for air. A rather peculiar grimace crossed Allan’s face as he fell back into the comfort of his bed…blue eyes staring crazily at the roof as he forced his lungs to take in deep amounts of painful breaths to ease the transition from nightmare into reality.

“What the Hell do you think you were doing coming up to me while I was in such a state?!” His fiery gaze bore unrelentingly into Talia as he shifted his head to the right so that she was in his line of sight. He could have killed the girl if the dream had completely consumed him, and judging from the redness of her neck from where his grip had been, she could have easily believed it if he had voiced it. “Stupid girl…”

Grapping her neck, massaging the sore skin, her eyes locked on his. "Stupid girl," her voice, but a whisper. The heated flesh, reddened and squeezed by his touch, still throbbed. Twice this man and pushed her to the ground, and twice she had gotten up relatively unhurt. The bruise from his fist, when she had doctored him, was barely noticable, and now he had almost squeezed the breath from her body. Swallowing, she stood up and shook out her skirts.

Walking up to him, she lifted her hand, reared back and slapped his face. "STUPID MAN!!!" The fire in her eyes flared to life, igniting a match that simmered deep inside her. "I was concerned for you! I cared for you! I healed you, fed you, kept you from being killed! Now, I'm stupid?? Would you rather I let you thrash in your bed, reinjure your body, so your stuck with me even longer?? Well I'll not let that happen! I would have you gone now, and no matter what punishment my father gave me for saving his..." Talia stopped before continueing.

Tossing her hair back, her chest rose and fell as her anger raged on, barely contained. "I'm sorry about the things I said about your armies and the autrosity of wars. But know this," stepping closer to him, inches seperated them. "If you ever throw me to the floor again, I will carve the black heart from your chest!"

Spinning away, as her anger fumed and tears fell, her fingers rubbed her neck. Talia paused at the door and knew he was watching her. She took a deep breath, conformed herself, before she moved out and along the wall, between their rooms. Alone she leaned against the wall, the fear of his hands wrapped around her neck slowly began to overwhelm her. She cried and sobbed, tears of pain, confusion, and fear. Talia has struck him, and for that she knew he would make her pay.

The enigma was finally solved…the girl was absolutely psychotic. One moment she is conveying the anger and frustration that the loss of her love had caused her onto him, and the next she was screaming to him about how compassionate she felt towards him. How she cared for him, fed him, took care of him. The slap to his face…was definitely something that he would have never expected from her, and he had to admit that it had been one Hell of a smack. Moving his right hand to caress against the inflamed skin of where her palm had connected, he couldn’t help the curl of his lips as they moved into an involuntary grin. Apparently the girl wasn’t as weak or docile as he had made her out to be. Too bad that the girl completely misunderstood him; however, as there would be no retaliation to the slap that she had delivered to him, nor did she deserve one. Allan was frustrated…bed-ridden and unable to join the Aleutian army, he had no way of knowing what was going on in the frontlines or what had become of his homeland. His father was not the only one who was burdened with the weight of their people, and even now, hundreds of miles away from his home, he could feel their need pressing down heavily on his shoulders.

Heaving a deep sigh and pulling back the covers of his bed, bare feet were quickly planted onto the wooden planks. The foot of his crutch soon accompanied them as he forced himself roughly out of the bed, a slight grimace marring the otherwise handsome features before he set off towards the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He was thirsty, and rather than asking Talia to get him a bit to drink with the risk of receiving another slap to the face, he thought it best if he should do it himself (note the sarcasm in his mind). Reaching out for the pitcher that rested at the center of the dinner table, a glass was quickly procured before he poured himself a healthy amount of the clear liquid. The crystal glass brought up to his lips only a second after as he drained the container of its contents and placed the cup firmly back onto the table. An appreciative passing through now moist lips as he pressed the majority of his weight hard into the wooden walking aid before turning back and heading towards the door that separated Talia from himself. Although he absolutely loathed the idea of apologizing to her, even he felt sympathy for the girl’s situation and felt that maybe he had been a little bit rough on her, especially tonight where he had nearly cut off all of her air supply when he had grabbed her inadvertently, thinking her to be a specter from his nightmare.

As he reached the door, however, the unmistakable sounds of her sobbing could be heard scarcly through the thick wood. “You have got to be kidding me…” was the whispered response he gave himself as he pressed his ear tight against the door, his suspicions quickly confirmed as he continued to hear the pitiful sounds and light sniffling. Being a typical male (ie a warrior who wasn’t used to emotions…crying…things that were essentially foreign to him), Allan decided that he would talk to her tomorrow when she had composed herself. He was having mixed feelings about her…when he finally felt that she was somewhat decisive and strong, she did something like this that completely contradicted that fact. Ugh…”Women…I just don’t understand them.” And with that, he quickly took up residence back into his bed and fell back, his head coming to a comfortable rest upon his pillow as he closed his eyes and attempted to fall back to sleep, all the while praying that the nightmares would be rid of him for the night.

Waking up before the dawn, Talia quickly moved through her absolutions, this morning upon awakeing. She realizes that they need to co-exist and to do that she must apologize to him. Quickly she removes her nightdress and pulls a gown from her closet, slipping it over her head, Talia removes her braid, brushes out her hair and let's it fall down her back. Smiling at her new sense of self she moved into the kitchen.

Sunlight streamed through the windows and small particles of dust floating in the beams that radiated through. Each one floated and slowly found a home to rest upon. Talia felt different this morning, realizing that the cry that had consumed her last night, were tears that she had been keeping inside. Now they have been released, gone from her. Heart, body, mind fill more free then they had been in a long time.

She hummed through the morning preparations, gathered the eggs from the chickens, so at ease with everything, Talia smiles into the breeze. Walking into the cabin, morning sounds left outside as she closed the door, Talia notices that Allan still hasn't gotten up. She wants to start over, offer her apologies, but it back on him. Her anger and her bitterness needs to be cleansed from her and with that thought, she quickly headed to his room.

The door flew open in her haste and she rushed inside. As she looked around the room, not seeing him, she screwed up her features in frustration. "Humfff," she muttered. Her skirt dusted the floor as she spun around to leave, curious as to where he was.

Her eyes down cast, she saw his feet, bare and free of the leather shoes. Slowly, she said a quiet prayer, words of pleading, that her eyes were not going to see anything more then bare feet. Raising them, she felt her face grow hotter, her eyes looking at long, muscular legs. "Oh god," she whispered to herself quietly. Closing her eyes over what she knew was to come, she lifted her head further, keeping them shut. Once she felt her face was level with his, though distance seperated them a great deal, she still felt helpless in the situation she had put herself in.

"Ummm... I'm sorry," she says as she opened her eyes. Looking back at her were the humorous ones she had not seen in a long time. They held her gaze and stared intently at her. Her curiousity did her in as she looked down quickly saw, the area of interest to her and then felt her cheeks burn hotter, when their eyes locked again, this time humor and something else reflected in his.

“You know…it isn’t polite to stare, Milady. Also…I’d thought you’d have gotten used to this sight, all things considered.” Taking his time and deliberate in his attempt at remaining unclothed, Allan let out a slight cough which brought the princess back into reality. As a result, a stark crimson crossed her cheeks before she shifted her gaze to look away…though not before another peek was offered towards his crotch. Somewhat bemused by the girl’s reaction, he moved forward three steps, the girl forced back before the door to the room quickly locked back into place and the sight she had enjoyed only moments before was now gone. A somewhat whimsical expression on his face as she tried to stutter out a quick apology, but was quickly interrupted.

“You do realize that if I’m going to keep on allowing you to view me in the buff, the favor is going to have to be returned, right?” To those words, he almost wished the door had remained open because the scandalized expression that crossed her beautiful face was absolutely priceless. Generally an affable man as long as you avoided certain topics (politics, war, etc.), he was actually quite a charming and humorous. As such, it wasn’t hard to see why so many females whispered rumors in both Tristan and Aleutia of those qualities, nor was it surprising the number of females he had been able to bed in the past (sowing his royal oats, of course).

Taking a moment to disregard the thoughts that a nude Talia had elicited in his mind, the washcloth to his right was quickly taken and pushed into the bucket of water and soap in front of him. Getting it adequately moist and soapy, he then took his time in cleansing his body of the dirt and sweat that he had accumulated in the night. The tanned skin on his body was somewhat stretched, the muscles that had been developed from years of battle starting to fade due to his forced inactivity, something that caused a frown to mar his otherwise expressionless face as he continued the menial task of washing up. After the task was accomplished, he found a pair of cotton slacks to place comfortably upon his legs (the breaches had been very restrictive on the splinter in his leg), but was unable to find the bandages to place back upon his torso.

Looks like he’d have to give the girl another privileged look at his sculpted torso. Stepping out of the small room and back into the cabin’s main living area, he proved to be quite impressive even though he still relied on the wooden crutch to his right. His body was still moist from the cloth and the bronzed skin of his upper body glistened from the water…quite an appetizing look to any of the fairer sex and one that more than a fair share of lucky females had woken up to in the past, and one that had definitely captured Talia’s attentio. Somewhat slack-jawed and apparently paralyzed as she viewed him coming towards her, she had paused in her daily chores and even tried, hard as she might, to look away from him in an attempt to remain proper. That option was quickly closed off; however, as he posed his next question. “Excuse me, Milady…where are the bandages?”

She stared at him again, her eyes moving to his crotch and once more she turned quickly away. "I'll get them for you." Talia hurried out of the room, needing to distance herself from him. When her eyes had gotten the full length of him, she rolled her eyes over her thoughts, she had been shocked by how she reacted to him. His words ran in her head, "You know…it isn’t polite to stare, Milady. Also…I’d thought you’d have gotten used to this sight, all things considered.”He had said.

Yes, she admitted to herself, she had seen him naked, completely nude in fact. She had bandaged him, cleansed him, cared for him intimately, but she had distanced herself from the man, and had made him the enemy. Now, this morning, with the decision to apologize and offer her him her words of explanation, wanting to start fresh, she didn't see him as a patient, but as a man. He had stood there, allowed her to view his body, only his cough had been the thing to bring her to her senses. Talia wondered if he hadn't coughed, would she still be standing there, staring transfixed at his frame.

Taking a deep breath, she cooled her skin with a cold cloth, letting the water cover her. Slipping it over her cheeks, Talia imagined his eyes upon her, she had seen the humor in them, and how he had seemed to want to laugh and tease her. Admitting to herself, that the signs of his kindness and humorous nature had always been there, but she had chosen to only see the bad. As she continued to slide the cold cloth into the water, she rubbed it across her arms, amazed that the flush of her body seemed to be everywhere. Dipping the cloth into the water once more, she allowed it to run once more down her neck and dip into the cleavage below. Wringing out the water, she placed the cloth back, and gathered the linen strips.

As Talia worked her way back towards him, determined to tell him she was sorry, she ran the list of her apologies through her head. She soon realizd that the list was an ever growing one, squaring her shoulders she approached the room. She didn't want to look at him, just give him the linen strips and have her day start like it did every other day. Entering the room, she saw Allan sitting in a chair, the crutches laid on the floor beside him. "Here you are."

Eyeing the young girl as she came to him with the bandages, Allan came to the realization that Talia couldn’t have been older than eighteen summers. Although he had overlooked her youthful appearance because she had cared for him over these past few weeks and had carried herself with an air of regality, the bashful nature that exposed itself when she had seen him naked revealed many things. She had said that she had lost a love; however, when she looked upon his naked form, it almost seemed as if the male anatomy was something foreign to her. This fact was only emphasized when she had sneaked a few more peeks during their brief encounter.

Putting one and one together, he was able to piece together a sort of makeshift picture of what had happened with her love. More likely than not, the pair had been betrothed through their parents, and that she had only brief encounters with her fiancé before he had been lost in the flames of war. But something wasn’t right, this whole time Talia had accused him of being directly responsible for the death of her husband-to-be…and that’s when it finally hit him. Eyeing the girl with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, Allan asked the one question that had been forgotten through all their hardships and distrust. “What is your name, Milady?” A casual grin was offered immediately after the question had been presented, his back pressing in comfortably against the chair he now occupied. “I mean…you obviously know who I am, but we’ve never been properly introduced. My name is Allan Michael Alluren, but you probably already knew that.” He nodded his head at the introduction, as much of a bow as he was capable of before he turned his attention back towards her, his full attention now given.

If his suspicions proved correct, then this pairing could have only been made in Heaven because the irony of this situation would be priceless. Whatever the case, the girl was finally opening up to him and the question was, in the least, a matter of proper manners. After all, he did owe his thanks to her for his rescue and subsequent care, as well as the shelter she provided him while he remained (at least he assumed) in enemy territory. Now that he was healing, he would need to start retraining himself for battle...the cries of war were calling to him, and he could not resist their siren-like beckons for long. But for now...now he would rest. His leg still pressed tightly against the wooden splinter while he forced his left hand to grip and ungrip the bandage she had given to him a few moments ago in an attempt to strengthen the muscles in his healing arm. He was determined to get out of here as soon as possible.

"Talia Nicole Campbell," she answered quickly back, she was tired of the nervousness of the situation. Talia had decided to try and be polite with him, to try and apologize to him for all she had said, her increasing hostility, now that he knew who she was a new thing began to grip her. Fear. This man had sworn the Tristan Kingdom would fall and here was one way to make it, or so he would think that.

Quickly Talia launched into reasons he couldn't use her to win his war. "I'm not of any real use to you really. I know you know who I am. It won't matter though, my father, my King, won't care that you have me. I am nothing to him, just a woman good for bartering. In the eyes of war, however I am just another body. So if you think to use me as a bargaining chip, you'll have to think of something else, for I am useless."

Talia let the words slowly sink in to Allan, she had not used a harsh or caring tone, one of just acceptance, no feeling at all. She had lost the love of her father when her mother died. The jovial happy man, that she remembered had dismissed her moments after her death, and she had not seen the spark of love in his eyes since. Talia took a deep breath and refused to let the pain of her father's lost love hurt her. She was tired of the tears and she refused to let them cling to her heart any more.

"Before, you begin to tell me how you'll use me for profit to your kingdom," her voice not shaking just there, steady and monotone, she continued, "I want to apologize, it seems the list is building and if I don't start now, I may be old and wrinkled by the time I'm done." A smirk raised from her lips as she once more took a deep breath and launched into her litany of apologies. "First, I believe you should know I'm sorry for the pain I caused you during your healing process, I got no pleasure in that and I would have avoided it if I could. I am also sorry for the cruel words I spewed at you concerning the war of our people. I apologize for slapping you, well no you did call me stupid, so perhaps I'll only partially apologize for that and I'm sor..." She stopped as she looked into the eyes of the Prince, his hand raised up, as if he wanted her to stop talking for a moment. Taking this time to breath again, she waited. Her mind running over the list of things still needing to cover, she hoped he'd hurry before she lost her nerve.

Talia Nicole Campbell, so his suspicions were true. Eyeing the girl warily through azure depths, Allan couldn’t suppress his smile at the sheer irony of his situation. He had killed her betrothed, was her father’s sworn enemy, and she had gone to great trouble and danger to rescue and recuperate him. Now she was even going to try to apologize to him for her “unjustified” behavior that had been the rational for her cold attitude towards him during the short time they had shared together. As she progressed through her somewhat amusing apology; however, Allan quickly cut her off by raising his hand in a motion of silence. He had gotten a good read of the girl, had even guessed appropriately at her station and name. He need only read the sincerity in her eyes to attain the apology that he she was stuttering with, not her words.

“I’m somewhat insulted, Milady Campbell. You should know that someone such as myself would never resort to such barbaric tactics, especially after the lengths you have made to get me out of the castle and care for me. To be honest, I’m somewhat disappointed that you’d think myself capable of such an atrocity as using you for barter.” After those words had been spoken, he knew that they were a mistake. Sitting bolt upright with her hands in her lap, he could tell that the Princess was going to again launch into a series of apologies for the assumptions that she had made. Any such apologies were never heard. Before she had even had another attempt to let slip more words from her silken lips, he spoke.

“Forget about it, Milady…” his good hand waving dismissively as he rested comfortably back against the chair he had occupied this entire time. He was getting annoyed with his helplessness as well as the peaceful surroundings that he now inhabited. While he was resting in comfort, men were dieing, women crying, and children having nightmares of what had happened to their fathers or what was going to happen to them when the war came knocking on their doorstep. No…now was not the time for apologies, nor did he take pleasure in having the Princess of his enemy doing such. To be honest…he had somewhat enjoyed her feisty attitude, it was a rare trait when he wasn’t fawned after or met with open arms, and she had proved quite intriguing and enticing. Too bad. “Let us just start fresh and forget the past, alright?” As those deep tones escaped his lips; however, Allan smiled as he gave a fleeting thought of the slap she had delivered to him, she definitely had one Hell of an arm.

Talia moved around the cabin, straightening up the beds, cleaning things that had been neglected. Allan and she had made peace 4 weeks ago, now 6 weeks into their confinement, she reflected on the past. He had been polite and helpful, when he could be, and she had been the same. They both talked casually about the day, though Allan's didn't consist of much. Talia often wondered what he thought when she mentioned the walks down the steep hill to the brook, and the trails that meanders in the woods.

She often found herself, looking at him, when he wasn't aware. She had been seeing the humor in his eyes more, and granted she admitted now that he was a handsome fellow. The only thing she seemed to have a problem with, was his constant need to have his way. She would argue over something and he would lift his hand to her to silence her. This had started ever since the day she had apologized. It wasn't until a few days ago, this past week, that she noticed it. He must have thought she didn't mind having the conversation halted in such a manner. She did, however, and wondered when she'd have enough and ask him to stop, or something worse.

She turned as he came into the cabin, a small sheen of sweat covered his brow, "Out walking again I see." Looking over his body, she sees that it is had grown stronger, and she believes they can remove the splits. As she walked up to him, she moved around his body, tapping her finger to her chin. "I think we can remove these today." Lifting his arm Talia rubbed her hand across it. She felt no protrusion, and unwrapped the badge and moved the wooden split away. "Turn that," she told him. He raised his brow, and proceeded to twist the muscle and flex it.

"Good," Talia kept her features composed as she reached out to touch his fingers. Unwrapping the two on his right and the one on his left, "Move these next." Again, Allan complied and made fists with his fingers, clenching and unclenching them. "Well," Talia said, "whether it is good or not I don't know, but you'll lift a sword again."

Sliding to her knees, she ignored the blush that rose to her cheeks and spread out along her face and down to hide in her dress. Moving the wrapping and the wood away from his leg, she ran her hands up and down each muscle, she heard a groan and looked up. "I haven't hurt you have I?" She saw his grimace, and his head shake no. "All right, good. Can you walk freely now?"

The sweat on his brow, contrary to her belief, was not caused from the physical exertion of his trek in the woods. Moving swiftly and as stealthily as he could manage, Allan had reached the cabin without interference and had been greeted immediately by one unsuspecting Talia. The fact that she had an expression much akin to that of a mother worrying over a troublesome child only confirmed the fact that she was completely unaware of the men that lurked outside. Taking a moment to steady his breathing and to calm his nerves, it took Allan a few seconds to realize that Talia had spoken to him while simultaneously removing the splints from his arm and legs. Her soft hands now caressing the weaker muscles of his right calf elicited a soft groan to escape his lips, the pain lasting only a moment but more than long enough to bring him back into reality, and to what he must do next.

Slowly coming to a knee (his good one, mind you) so that he was eye-to-eye with Talia, his right hand slowly extended forth to violate the personal barrier that the Princess had raised during the duration of Allan’s healing process. At first, the touch of only one finger could be felt playing delicately across her feminine jaw, but that number soon multiplied as calloused fingertips played deftly across her cheeks, the back of his hand brought gently across the sensitive flesh before her chin was captured between thumb and finger. The intimate moment they now shared had, in reality, only lasted a minute at maximum, but trapped within the depths of his eyes it seemed as if time had stopped, and all that existed were he and her. The distance between the two had been reduced during the play of his fingertips, but it almost appeared as if he had come within centimeters in an instant’s time. They were so close that his breath could be felt caressing against her skin, heated waves of air washing over her as he craned his neck forward and closed his eyes, crimson lips pressing in softly against her own as he kissed her for the very first time. Although he hadn’t intended the kiss to be passionate or to yield any feelings other than thanks, even the prince was incapable of containing all of his desire as a fragment of his lust could be felt in the intimate act they now shared. It was funny…most girls always spoke of seeing stars whenever they depicted such a personal act, but Talia actually did as her vision quickly turned black…her last memory of his lips upon her own.

His fist ached as he laid Talia gently to the ground. He would have preferred placing her in the comforts of her bed, but haste was needed before the men of Tristan came bounding onto the couple. Part of him felt bad for what he had just done, but the girl was young and she would recover…both physically and emotionally. Yes, Allan had picked up on Talia’s emotions during the time they shared together, but she was far too young and naïve to realize that the life the prince had chosen would have never been accommodating to someone such as herself. When he had seen the Tristan banner and the numerous men combing the area around, he knew that he would have to flee, and that Talia would have wanted to come with him. This had been the only option. Looking back towards Talia’s prone form as he pressed the back door to the cabin open, Allan offered a slight bow and blew her a kiss, his lips pressing tightly against his hand before the gesture had been completed. “Thank you for everything, Milady. Good bye.” His eyes lingering on her for only one moment longer before he was gone.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The details of Allan’s escape were nothing to brag about, but within only a few weeks’ time, the Prince had managed to rejoin the front lines and was met with a chorus cheers and excited cries of his kinsmen. The chaos that had consumed the Aleutian army had been removed the instant of his arrival, the men fighting with a renewed vigor as cries of the “Golden Noble” could be heard from miles away…After only a few months time, the situation was much akin to that of the beginning of the war. The Aleutian army was pressing forward at an alarming rate while the Tristans fought valiantly but in vain to press them back. For all their tactics and cunning; however, Allan proved to be their better as province after province fell to Aleutian control.

“My Prince, may I have a word with you?” The person who spoke was Captain Azrael Locke, the person who had had charge of the army during Allan’s detainment. He was also the commander responsible for saving the prince’s life on numerous occasions. Locke was a fighter the likes to which had no equal, including himself. He was the finest and most loyal soldier that the Aleutian army possessed, and as such, Allan immediately dropped the task that he had been currently engaged in to entertain his friend.

“Of course, my friend. But please…call me Allan while we’re in private.” Although Allan was a prince and had lived up to that title time in and time out, he actually detested such formalities and would have much rather preferred a lower station in life. The perks of royalty were far overrated, at least where Allan was concerned. “Before you speak; however, I think I already know what’s on your mind…You want to know why we don’t directly attack Tristan, right?” The nod from the other confirmed this, so Allan continued. “To be honest…I was hoping that they’d have surrendered by now. We’ve crippled their strongest armies, conquered over three quarters of their original kingdom…yet they still fight. I’m amazed that they still have the energy to withstand us, all things considered. And as such,” his eyes now lingering intently on Azrael, “I’d rather spare as many lives as possible by ending this as conveniently as I can. If that means waiting them out through the winter, than so be it…”

“Although I respect your reasons, milord…You as well as I know that they won’t give up. The only way to take down this beast is to strike at its heart, so I’m imploring you to make Tristan our next target. If we show up at their doorstep, they’ll have no choice…One way or another, this war will end if Tristan is our next target.” The words had been spoken calmly and deliberately, obviously rehearsed. More likely than not, they were sent from his father to Azrael, and Azrael’s absolute loyalty to the monarchy is what had prompted him to speak to Allan this day. Whatever the case, he couldn’t argue with the other’s logic and merely nodded his consent. “I will see that preparation are made immediately, milord. We will march tomorrow!” A deep bow was offered to the prince before the captain set off, a grin upon his lips as well as an urgency to his step as he made the necessary arrangements for tomorrow’s march.

Talia waited, hidden behind the trees, once more armed and ready to move against the Alleutian army. Her arm stung from the wound she had received a few days ago, reminding her of the pains of war. Caleb, her long time ladies maid's, brother, approached her, quietly crouched down beside her and informed her the raid wouldn't work.

"What do you mean it won't work?" She hissed at him. "We're here. Their there. Why won't it work?"

Caleb looked into the eyes of the Princess. He was amazed at the transition she had made in the past year. She had returned to the castle under heavy guard. Her face battered and swollen, the details of her confinement, were rumors. Even his sister didn't know the full truth. From what he understood Talia wasn't speaking of it, she never said anything about the 6 weeks she had been gone. So, no one but her knew the truth. "The information was wrong, your Highness. There are to many."

Her eyes locked on her target, her fingers itched to take his life, she was so close. "How many is to many?" The hardness in her voice, hid the woman inside that was normally kind and compassionate. She had planned this night, carefully, relying on their informant, now her revenge would be snatched from her.

"There are three men to every one of our's. The loss will be great on our part, we can't attack them."

Talia knew he was right, she allowed her shoulders to slump and her head to nod off to one side, "We'll leave then, regroup with the others and plan our next move. I want him dead Caleb, but by my hand if at all possible." With that she took one last look at the "Golden Noble", "Another time Prince, another time." Steeling her heart against the pain of memories, she pressed herself back, slowly rose and quietly slipped away. Moving back further into Tristan land, she and her army of loyalist, headed back to their camp.

She went into the makeshift tent and removed the sword from her side, the dagger at her hip and the one in her boot. Taking her hair, she ran her fingers through the short cut. She glanced at a reflection that peeked at her. Picking up her mother's small, silver mirror that Talia had brought with her. Though the mirror was beautiful and valuable, it was because it was her mother's that it meant so much to her. She should have left it at back at the castle, but she needed it. When she looked into it, she saw her mother's eyes looking back at her, now however she saw tired eyes, full of despair, anger and revenge.

Gone was the beautiful woman, at least in her eyes. Men still fawned over her, those that thought it would work. Women still envied her, those that would stay in the same room with her. She removed her vest and checked the bandage on her arm, it looked fine, so she left it. Securing the flap on her tent, she removed her breeches and climbed into the small mound of blankets that served as her bed. Looking up at the canvas roof, she let her mind take over the memories that had threatened to consume her as she had stalked Prince Allan.

~~~~~~~~~~

Talia had awoken, laid out flat on the floor, a blur of images swarming around her. Large strong hands lifted her and dragged her outside. Her first thoughts were of Allan, where was he, was he safe, what was happening. Her jaw ached, the back of her head pounded. Reaching up she touched the knot that was growing there, wincing, her eyes slowly regained their focus.

She heard it before she saw it. The sound of her father's steed. He had found them, looking up she saw her King, her father. "Allan," she whispered, thoughts of him dead, bleeding and hurt, where was he. Her father moved from his horse, and advanced on her. She fought the cloudy images that seemed to race across her mind. Talia, knew she should have been paying attention, the blow from her father's fist connected and once more she found herself falling. This time, however a man supported her, catching her.

"Hold on, your Highness," the whispered voice of her friend Caleb, reached her mind. She raised herself up and stood her ground. Her father moved to hit her again, but he saw the disapproving stares of his men. He didn't strike her again, he knew she was favored by the men of his keep. They had all been losing faith in his leadership, he felt is was only a matter of time, before he lost their loyalty.

Talia saw another soldier running up, "He's gone your Majesty. Seems to have fled out the back, he has." Talia's stomach lurched, he was safe. Then her mind recalled his kiss, the touch of his lips, the unexpected passion he stirred. Then total blackness. He had hit her. Distracted her with his mouth, his tongue and then knocked her unconscious. The spark of hate that she had extinguished was lit again, this time, not because of her lost love, but because he had given her body something it would have liked to explore, and it had been only a way for him to rid himself of her and escape. Now she faced her sire, alone and she knew the punishment would be severe.

When Talia had returned to the castle, snickers and whispered words of whore, wench, traitor, circled around her. Women who once sat by her side, wished to just share the same space with her, now refused to look at her. She was a fallen woman, her reputation torn and shattered. She not only saved a man, spent 6 weeks with him alone, but it was her father's enemy, her countries greatest foe.

Immediately her father had begun looking for a way to barter off his shamed daughter. No man would marry her, none would consider it, until she had proven she wasn't with child. Talia never spoke a word in her defense, never denied if she and the "Golden Noble" had exchanged bodies. She knew that it wouldn't be believed, so she held her tongue, in time everyone knew she didn't carry an Alluetian bastard in her belly. So, once more her father increased the efforts to gain some profit from her fallen state. Talia fought him at every turn, she was denied sleep, food, and more then once received a fist against her fair skin.

She was soon confined to the furthest parts of the castle, not allowed to be seen in her father's presence. The love for her was gone from him, slowly consumed by the death of the Queen, his daughter's betrayal and the drink he partook in constantly. Talia watched from the sides, she listened and soon learned how badly the Tristan army was failing. The Alluetians had rallied strong, once the precious Prince had returned to them. The battles were deadly, but over quick as Tristan men, fell and continued to be pushed back.

Talia felt a pull to do something, anything. So with a group of loyal men, that had served her mother for many years, and more soldiers that had seen the destructive path of her father, Talia launched many attacks on the Alluetian army. They had placed a spy in the mix of Alluetian stronghold. A trusted advisor and friend. They had defeated many small groups, pockets of soldiers. Now tonight had presented itself and it had failed. She closed her eyes and waited for the dreams to come. She hated them, they drove her body to great heights of desire and all from one man's kiss, that seared her soul, blackened her heart, and made her crave to be a woman in every sense of the word.

“Sir, we’ve spotted them.” The words were expelled hastily and in short gasps, the messenger breathing hard and doubled over as he tried to catch his breath. Allan waited patiently until the messenger had recovered, then allowed him to continue. “They’ve retreated east just as you had predicted, Milord. They took one look at our army and ran with their tails between their legs!” The messenger’s excitement and derogatory remark evoked a spark of anger within Allan, but the ember was quickly extinguished as he forced himself to remain calm. Although he detested the lack of respect that his subordinate had for the opposing force, even Allan found himself harboring a deep dislike for the enemy that had been pestering his armies for several weeks. He hated fighting…hated it with every part of his being, but these raiders had taken his hatred of fighting to a whole new level. If ever Allan was forced into battle, he always made sure that he fought with honor and dignity. These warriors, if you could even refer to them as such, held no such ideals. Striking at night and painted pitch black as the tribesmen from the southern continent, they moved like wraiths throughout the Aleutian camps. They killed and slaughtered his men while they were sleeping, while they were defenseless. Honor had no meaning to men like these.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Allan casually dismissed the messenger before heavy footsteps carried him to a table completely immersed in maps. Although the mahogany table could seat his entire war council comfortably, he had somehow managed to cover ever square inch of the furniture’s expansive surface. Rolled maps stacking a foot high occupied one entire end while layers upon layers of Tristan’s geography lay prone to his eyes. Coming to a halt at the center of the table, he directed his attention to a worn map that was covered in various markings. Nothing Allan ever did was without careful planning, and that was why he had been chosen over Azrael to lead the Aleutian armies. Azrael could best him in a fight any day of the week, but Allan could outmaneuver him intellectually without so much as breaking a sweat. The army’s current position, as well as the reinforcements he had called, had all been planned meticulously to trap his current prey. From the messenger’s report as well…

“Allan.” The initial shock of hearing his name spoken bereft of its title had caught the Prince completely flat-footed. Although he preferred the dismissal of formalities and would have normally smiled to anyone who had gall to refer to him by his first name, he instead wore a solemn expression as he turned around and faced Azrael. The only time that his comrade ever spoke to him with such casual ease was when something had gone terrible wrong. The sight that greeted his eyes only confirmed those fears.

The tip of Azrael’s blade was pressed tight against the throat of one of his soldiers. From the swelling in the man’s eyes as well as the blood that ran down his face and arms, Allan was quite aware that the Captain had some fun before deciding to alert him of the situation. But what was the situation? Blood dripped onto the expensive carpets of his tent as he eyed first the soldier, then Azrael wearily…a dark brow raised in question as deep tones broke the silence. “You know that I don’t agree with your tactics, Azrael…and I also know that you’re aware that I detest the sight of blood, especially when it is spilled by one of our own.” The cool casualness with which he spoke might have seemed cold to the outside observer, but anyone close to Allan could have easily noted the anger in his eyes as well as the questioning lines that marred (barely, mind you) his face.

The response was equally as cold…but unlike Allan, there was no remorse in his eyes or face as he spoke. “You may disagree with my tactics…but they do work.” At those words, a sardonic grin crept along his crimson lips as he turned his attention back to the soldier. Without warning, the back of his elbow came crashing down into his prisoner’s back, a painful crunch heard as the other cried out in pain…dark liquid seeping from the side of his mouth as blood continued to drip onto the Prince’s carpets. “Tell him everything you just told me or I will kill you this instant.” As if to emphasize his words, the blade’s tip was once again held taught against the beaten man’s neck…blood drawn as the skin was pierced carelessly from the captain’s rough actions.

The man…more like boy, for he couldn’t have been older than twenty summers, was trembling now. Tears fell freely from his eyes as he stared up to first his captor, then to the Prince. In his eyes Allan could see the boy was pleading…imploring him to help. That was enough to give Allan his resolve. Turning his attention back onto the Captain, he was about to tell him that enough was enough…but time slowed down to nearly a halt. His heart was pulsing, vision clear, and his senses were alert like they had never been before. In this state of surreal awareness, he could see every action pass by in intricate detail…the blade of his “friend” being pushed down without mercy as blood erupted forth and splattered onto the ground…the boy’s cry of pain ending before it had even begun, drowning in his own blood as the life-force seeped out of him and he was dead…

Without realizing what he was doing, Allan acted. He didn’t know how he had gotten so close (apparently, neither did Azrael), but before he could rationalize his actions or thoughts, the back of his hand came down hard across the captain’s face. The force of the blow knocked the other back, split his lip, and caused the man’s vision to blur temporarily as the Prince stared back angrily…fists balled and eyes intense. “He was just a boy and you know I don’t justify killing, let alone executions, unless we ourselves are in danger! That was uncalled for, Az…”

“He was a SPY!” It had taken Azrael a moment to regain his senses, because never before had he been caught off guard. Although he knew Allan to be a worthy warrior and deadly in battle, he had never before seen such force and speed as he had in that moment. It scared him…but only momentarily. Regaining his composure and bringing his calloused fingers to where he had been cut, he immediately spit out a copious amount of blood onto the dead soldier before continuing angrily to Allan. “The Tristan raiders know of our plans…he had been telling them of our locations for the past few weeks, that’s why they had taken us by surprise so easily! I followed him to their camp…but not before giving him false information to give to them. Tomorrow they will strike at a camp they think they can defeat; however, our main forces will lie in wait to ambush them. I would not have made such plans without first consulting you…but time was of the essence and I had to make haste. As for the boy…I offer my humble apologies, I forgot you had a distaste for blood.” This last statement was made with a curt bow, Azrael’s eyes burning a hole into Allan as he glared angrily at the Prince. The apology was in no means sincere. “But…that bastard traitor is responsible for hundreds of lives. Don’t you forget that, Milord.”

“We’ll attack them tomorrow and that’ll be the end of this nonsense. But I offer you a warning, my friend…I wouldn’t get too comfortable killing, for this war is on the eve of completion. You’re dismissed.” Without so much as another word or even glance towards the Captain, Allan reentered his tent and fell down against the lush cushions of his makeshift bed. Why didn’t they give up…why didn’t they just surrender! If they were forced to storm the castle…then many people would die. Soldiers, mothers, children, Talia…the last thought lingered a moment longer than the rest. He didn’t know where it had come from, considering he hadn’t had her in his thoughts for quite some time, but he wondered what had become of her. He had hoped that her unconscious body would have been proof enough that she had been an unwitting victim in his escape…but considering the haste required in his escape, he hadn’t been able to do a very convincing job. “Odd…that I would think of her when I haven’t in months…” he whispered to himself, his eyes closing as he relaxed comfortably against a pillow. Sleep’s embrace was quick and painless…his last thoughts lingering on the princess. The nightmares did not come to him this night.