Heir of Iron

"Can we stay like this, just for a while?" she asked, a mirror of his own words, at a time and place they'd shared a year before in Bart's mind, and he smiled at her and nodded.

"I think the world can wait a little while longer, little sister," he said, and she laughed and leaned her head against his chest, looking up at the moons and the stars.

Bart knew not if his heart could be filled... but he knew now, this night — in the presence of his beloved, his sworn brother and sister, and dearest, strongest friends... if it could be topped off, poured until it overflowed — it did this night.

He would have it no other way.

~ ~ ~

A while turned into an evening of quiet companionship, Lidia leaning against his arms as they both watched the stars and foxfire ghosts of the Wild Hunt's predatory patrolling of the routed forces, chatting about nothing of import. Before long, that quiet togetherness reaffirming a much-missed bond turned into the little thief's drooping form falling into a deep slumber against his shoulder. Bart couldn't help but smile, tousling her sleeping hair slightly, before carefully hoisting her slight frame up. She stirred slightly, but slept still — her little body was tough, but she'd clearly pushed herself beyond even her scrappy tenacity. Bart carried her gently, taking her back down the stairs towards the citadel proper.

The massive walls themselves opened into the great, green ward between the outer and inner curtain walls — each citadel was practically a small village of soldiers, goodmen, and working folk who tended to the needs of the fortress beyond that of the militant nature. Bart paused as his slumbering companion shifted to just look out across the nighttime green. Craters and smoke scattered... but it was strangely peaceful inside of the walls. Animals milled and peered at him with gleaming eyes from their posts, and a patrol of guards with lanterns nodded at him as they passed. Beneath the shadow of the curtain walls, the Fortress was more like a small, cozy city. It felt almost like the Abbey... it felt a bit like home.

Ascending the steps back up the Citadel towards the Barracks, Bart met few people, the changing of the guard had been an hour or so before, and currently, the Citadel was quiet, serene. A few soldiers nodded and saluted him casually, but they offered little more — a comfortable arrangement as far as he was concerned, despite schooling on command — Bart was far more comfortable as a solitary agent, and truthfully that was his order's primary thrust. Turning a corner with his red-headed armload, he found a familiar face looking up at him: Gram.

"Ah, Ser." He said, lowering his resonant voice to a low whisper as Lidia lightly stirred at the sound of it. Bart felt a brief tension between the two of them as Gram's steely gray eyes ran across the little rogue's slumbering form. He had little chance to really interact with the Cavalier, a member of the Ivory Spears — Fort Ivory's principal Heavy Cavalry unit, his armor festooned with the motif of a curling, noble horn — a symbol they carried at hand in their chosen polearm weapons. Each one of them was a master of all manners of spears, poleaxes and pikes both mounted and afoot. Gram being in command of them raised Bart's opinion of him a few notches, his knowledge of them purely academic — yet reputation spoke for itself.

"Shh, she is dead to the world, but only just," Bart said in a similar hushed tone, smiling at the other man. "She bawled herself tired. It has been a full day."

Gram smiled at that, his emotions subtle and measured but clear upon his face. "The little redcap is prone to such outbursts, she is loathe to admit such to herself however," he said coolly, bringing himself up straight for a salute — sans the clashing fist on his breastplate, lest he wake the napping changeling. "It is good I found you, I have been searching for you for a while, a few men said they saw you towards the walls," he said and gestured for Bart to follow. "I've taken the liberty of moving your effects to the officer's quarters, at the Lady's behest," he said, and Bart raised his eyebrows.

"I do not need such courtesy, I am comfortable with the common men," he said, Gram simply smiled.

"Ser, with all due respect — you are a Paladin. The best of us, as writ by God and Lady both. None of us would feel right having you — and more importantly, the Lady — sleeping in a bunkhouse with nine men-at-arms." he said, back straight and eyes perfectly forward. "It is disrespectful to your sacrifices."

Bart opened his mouth, and then simply closed it. He had no argument with that, not with Cithara being involved. Gram's smile turned slightly sideways. "Regardless, Lidia's rooms are there as well. We put all of your companions up in our officer's wing, it is mostly empty anyways — reserved for visiting paladins and dignitaries," he said, raising his eyebrow. "Which, I believe an Akali and his Alchemist wife, and a House Scion of the Brass Circle qualify as," he added, looking down at Lidia again, his iron-hard eyes softening. "We have space enough for one little redcap." the tall man nodded and gestured for Bart to follow. He did, finding himself curious about this stoic cavalier.

Gram was in many ways, Bart's equal and opposite. Where Bart was big, Gram was big and compact. Where Bart was tall, Gram was tall and sculpted. They were a study in comparable contrasts, Bart's frame even in armor was brawn and brutal strength, main force in human form. Gram by contrast was ordered, structured, and purposeful — a human weapon, forged and maintained with diligent attention to duty. Bart likely outweighed the lean spearman by a stone or two, but that did not make the soldier a weakling. Truly, before the burly paladin arrived, Gram Baudelaire was likely among the strongest and most dangerous men here. By Bart's measure as he walked, as he moved in full armor — he very much still was.

The two men ascended another set of steps, a tight spiral staircase made to be defended in case of invasion, Gram carrying a lantern as they went.

"I must thank you, Ser," He said in a quiet voice after a spell. Bart raised his eyebrows in response, and the angular warrior continued. "I am a man of the Faith, and were you not to come as you had — I may have never had chance to lay eyes upon The Lady — let alone speak with her, or be given her blessing of touch," he said, and Bart quirked an eyebrow at that.

"Blessing of touch, you say?" he asked. Bart had not been able to fully keep up with Cithara's movements during the work to recover from the siege, so much... blood and suffering, wielding his healing energies alongside Naima and her nimble fingers. Gram's mouth turned up at the edges again in that subtle smile.

"She kissed me, just the once. Here," he said, touching his brow. His hair was black as a raven's wing, long and straight, tied back in a severe knot at the base of his skull and turned upwards, to deny a handhold and fit under a helmet, a popular style in Darrowmere for men-at-arms. "Then she called me a 'Good Boy'," he said, that bemused smile not changing. "A simple interaction — but one I will treasure all my days."

"That sounds like her." Bart agreed as they crested the stairs. The Officer's Quarters simply looked like the previous barracks had from the outside, which made sense — the Fortress was designed for function before form. Little use of decoration beyond a few tapestries and bits of sculpture that were clearly added after the fact for the benefit of the occupants. Beyond the two Sentinels at the gates, it was mostly unadorned, stark granite. Gram gestured to one room at the end, and Bart followed him through the simple but heavily reinforced door. Lidia stirred a bit, pressing against Bart's chest, and clinging a bit tightly, Gram's eye flicked to the motion, but he said nothing.

Inside was... unpretentious. A bed, a desk, a chest, and an armoire. Lamps stood here and there, Gram lighting one with a rushlight from his lantern and turning it down low. Bart carried his friend to her bed, Gram turning down the blankets as the big paladin laid her gently down, gingerly disengaging her fingers from his gambeson and smoothing her hair. He stepped back as Gram settled the blankets around her, leaning down to kiss her cheek, high near her ear. He murmured something there, and in her sleep — the little changeling smiled and fell to slumber once more. Bart and him met gazes, a gentle jerk of the head and they both nodded. They exited the room, closing it behind them to let their mutual companion sleep.

"She wept for you," Gram said as he closed the door, taking his lantern back up. "My men had to bodily restrain her from going after Parias in the melee. She was alight with bloody-minded hatred as if she had lost a loved one..." he paused, both in speech and pace, meeting Bart's eyes forthright and unafraid. "... or lover."

Bart took the man's measure then. He was of an age with him, perhaps older by a few years. He bore no visible scars, but the set of his eyes told Bart he had seen his share of combat — the gaze of a man who'd witnessed another man die. The two soldiers stood in that hallway in silence a moment, before Bart's smile broke through the wall of silence.

"I am no rival for your affections. I do not call her 'Little Sister' for no reason." he said, raising a hand to place on the cavalier's shoulder. "She is... as much as family to me, a sibling. My blood far as I care to concern myself. We bonded in times of struggle... and found we complemented the other's pain."

Gram seemed to relax physically, a subtle thing on the taciturn cavalier, but noticeable. His smile returned and he inclined his head. "She is... a marvelous thing. So full of life and vigor," he said, his resonant voice pleasant to the ears — he could understand how such a voice raised in song would be beautiful. "To see such a creature wracked by grief... it cut me to the heart, I could not let her pain go uncaring. I ministered to her at first, and as I grew to know her my animal attraction became that of soul and heart," he said, the words delivered gently, with a lyrical quality.

"Do you love her?" Bart asked bluntly, again a contrast — Gram was a man of careful, refined poise — Bart was a cudgel, and was comfortable with that. The spearman raised an eyebrow, turning to face Bart fully.

"I do," He answered without hesitation. "As much as a man can in but three months' time, yet it is enough for my heart, and enough for God," he said, Bart folded his arms, smiling softly... he found himself further enjoying this man, despite their clear differences in methodology.

"It is enough for me as well." Bart answered, "I do not know the disposition of Lachheim... in the worst case, I and my companions may be her only family of any stretch left alive." Gram's face lost that smile, a hard edge taking his features as they resumed their walk.

"We received messenger hawks from Commander Viconia for a time. Lachheim is lost, the refugees press on to Fairharbour and the Abbey. The human cost is in the tens of thousands." he answered grimly "There has been no word for some time, not since the siege was laid against us. We fear the worst." Bart shook his head, making a fist, teeth clenched.

"If only I had been quicker..." he hissed, shaking his head and dismissing the thoughts. Gram raised an eyebrow at that, and Bart met his gaze. "I intend to pay Mihai and Parias back for every lost life, one drop of accursed blood at a time. You may take that as an oath before God." The tall spearman nodded, approval in his eyes.

"I can see why Lidia speaks so highly of you... and not for your station or your strength," he said, and his lips, soft and full, split in a sudden, ferocious grin. "You are a man of purpose."

"I try my best." was all Bart offered, and Gram's smile returned, the measured man clearly not prone to such outbursts of emotion without reason. Careful, controlled... and not unwelcoming. The very soul of the word 'Stability'. Bart decided he liked the man.

"If I may, a moment Ser." Gram said, stopping them once more. Alone in the hallway, voices still hushed.

"Bart is fine. I am uncomfortable with the ceremony," he said, and Gram nodded.

"I request that when you leave, I go with you. My spears and many more of our soldiers are eager to repay this Mihai and their monsters for our comrades, and the innocents of Lachheim," he asked, his steely eyes blazing. "I would take it as a personal debt. I may not carry magic, but swift steel and sturdy arms fell the beasts as well as holy fire, and broad as your shoulders may be — there is weight enough for all," he said, and his choice of words struck him hard... Lidia's words. Truly, she had shared much with this man, much of herself. Much of him.

"It is a dangerous road, I likely ride to my death," Bart advised. Gram raised an eyebrow.

"I fear not Death. I know the destination of my soul," he answered without hesitation. Steel in his voice and his spine alike.

"Lidia may also face such things, can you manage that?" he challenged, and to his credit — Gram did falter a moment before setting his jaw.

"I would be a poor match for her if I was not willing to face blades and fangs at her side," he answered, raising a hand to touch the spiraling horn device on his breastplate. "Until the Pale Dawn calls me, I would put my body between her and harm," he said — and once more, Bart found himself smiling.

"I will grant it — for you and you alone," he said, holding up a hand. "We will discuss the dispensation of forces on the morrow, there is much that has to be handled... and I am no fool. I do not intend to march but my boon companions and a single holy sword into an obviously baited trap," Gram nodded and seemed to relax in acceptance of that. Bart frowned then. "Were it left to me, I would go alone, Lady included — yet Mihai has spoked my wheel on that."

"Why has he requested you all? The Lady and yourself make sense, but why drag in the Akali and his family? Why Lidia?" he asked, furrowing his brow. His angular features complemented the expression well, to call Gram's mustached face 'intense' was to undersell it, just a touch.

"I do not know for sure — but to quote the Lady — ancient things and beings of prophecy like symmetry. We foiled him as a group, and as a group, he would stop us," he said, shrugging. "Elder Things are quirky like that, I could speak volumes on the assorted obsessions of my Goblin Swordmaster deep within the Glade." Gram's eyes lit up wide at that.

"A Goblin? Do you jest with me?" he asked, and Bart shook his head, raising a hand to the lock of Cithara's mane at his neck, still swirling ever so slightly as if by a breeze only it could catch.

"May the Lady strike my mantle from me if I speak a lie," he said, and Gram rocked a bit at that, a bemused expression finding his stoic features.

"Fascinating."

The two soldiers stopped at the end of the hallway, the most distant room. The lantern cast soft shadows, torches burned in sconces at regular intervals yet did only so much in banishing the cave-like gloom of the dour citadel. He gestured to the door, knocking at it twice.

"Oh? A moment!" Cithara's voice echoed, and a faint clatter of hooves met the ears before the door clicked ajar, Cithara's orbit glowing softly along the handle as she met the two soldiers there, her face springing into a wide smile at the sight of them. "Oh, beloved! And the dutiful Gram, I had wondered where you had gotten to." The tall cavalier saluted, shifting away to present Bart. The two men were in stark contrast once more, Gram rigid and respectful, whereas Bart leaned down and gently kissed the unicorn on her cheek, earning him a soft little giggle as she pressed against him, Gram cleared his throat artfully.

"I set about finding Ser Bart as requested, we paused to exchange some philosophy on the way." the tall Darrowmite said, Bart giving something of a crooked grin in response. Cithara's ears perked forward;

"Oh? Spirited conversation is good for the soul, I know my beloved has lacked for human camaraderie for some time," she said, and Bart caught Gram's eye, the man shaking his head lightly as he gave the most subtle of nods in return. The contents of their conversation were theirs alone, even before the Queen of Love.

"Gram has been a good friend to our little family, I was simply catching up on the things I have missed during our isolation," Bart agreed. "It's good to speak of the faith with someone else who understands as I do," he added, and the gleam in Gram's eye as he nodded said all it needed to. They'd taken each other's measure in that conversation, and together they'd agreed on at least one thing — they would see how the other performed going forward, in good faith.

"Delightful... but I reserve right to be selfish with my Champion," she said, and drew herself up, meeting Gram's gaze directly. "Please take your rest, my dear Gram," she said, not an outright dismissal, but the soldier knew when he was relieved, and snapped his hand over his breast in a crisp salute, Bart returning it with a smile, the tall man departing with a neat turn on his heel.

"Such a good boy." Cithara mused as Bart followed her into their shared room, closing the door behind them as he unbuckled his swordbelt, taking a breath as the weight left his hips.

"That is going to take some getting used to still," he said, setting the holy blade to one side as Cithara trotted back towards the simple bed and slid upon it in a tight, tucked little curl, her head erect, watching Bart as he moved.

"The blade, or the command?" she asked in her usual insightful way, cutting straight through him. He smiled wryly.

"Both. I find the weight equally alien." He said honestly... she always could pull the core of his concerns from him, his heart was open to her utterly. She smiled and simply listened as he continued on.

"I will have to lead men in this conflict, I had of course considered it. It would be foolish to think I could strike down the Empty Queen with nothing but my two hands and a holy sword," he said, peeling out of his jerkin with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cool air of the fortress. He walked to the lone window, an arrow slit more than anything, leaning out of it on one brawny arm to look at the moons rising above the far walls.

"God's Blood, how I wish it were so," he said, shaking his head. Shoulders giving a little shrug in silent laughter. "Would be just like the stories, wouldn't it? A Magic Sword and a Mystical Mentor, and then I steal away to the Ossuary in a pirate vessel and duel the Queen to the Death." he chuckled, behind him Cithara's voice was edged with wry humor.

"Don't forget the flock of songbirds as you land the final blow, and it being in the middle of a rainstorm, with plenty of lightning and thunder," she said, raising one of her forelegs to her lips to cover a dramatic giggle, Bart shrugged.

"A man can dream, after all. I dreamed of you once," he said, and she colored softly around her nose, her eyes searching his.

"Yet... it still troubles you, I know that tone," she said, and he sighed. "My love I immersed myself in your every breath and motion for a year and a day, I daresay the only woman who knows your mannerisms better on this earth is the one who birthed you," she said, and drew closer to him, her sunny aura chasing away the chill. She remained silent, but she was present and her gaze was pleading, yet patient. Bart smiled... until his eyes cast across the yard. Smoke climbed in the distance of the East Ward. Funeral pyres. They did not bury their dead in times of war, not against the Queen's monsters.