“There will be no turning back after this. Are you ready?” Jonathan asked from under his cloak. They were leaning against a shop’s wall while looking at the guarded gates down the street.

Dene gave a slight nod. There was already no turning back, neither to their comfortable life in Lastan or even further back, to the life in the desert with her family.

“Alright then”, Jonathan sighed. “Let’s go.”

Dene kept her head down and her hands inside the cloak as they walked towards Headworth Keep. On the way here, Jonathan had told her part of its history but she was in no mood to recall or even care for it. The nausea began a fortnight ago. At first, she hoped it was because of the stress of living on the run, coupled with the lack of sleep and irregular meals. But as the days went by and the discomfort refused to go away, she had to accept the fact that she was pregnant.

As if the Olsens didn’t already have a reason to want her dead, now she was set to give birth to a bastard with a claim to the dukedom. Dene decided to hide it from Jonathan for now. Pregnant or not, their immediate goal still was to leave the Great Plains.

“Halt!” Barked one of the guards as his hands rested on the hilt of his sword.

“Take me to your lord,” Jonathan ordered and raised a sealed letter. “I have an important message for him.”

The wax impression depicted a dragon, the same as the ruby on the pommel of Jonathan’s sword. Years ago he decided to use it as his personal seal so that the sword’s weight would represent the weight of his decisions.

“And who might you two be?” The man showed no sign of moving.

“Are you deaf or daft? I told you to move, else I make it known to the Earl that I was delayed because of you.”

The guard looked to the side, seeking aid from his colleague.

“Just go with them,” she said, “what danger could two Crusaders present? And if they’re lying, I’d like to see them trying to escape.”

The man nodded and headed inside the castle, signaling to Jonathan and Dene to follow. He didn’t attempt to start a conversation, to which Dene was all too thankful, and soon enough they had climbed up to the Earl’s private chamber.

“Come in,” came a voice from inside in response to the guard’s knocking on the door.

Dene and Jonathan followed the man into the room, which was best described as austere. The gray-haired Earl sat behind an unadorned oak desk, between an open window to one side and a tea table to the other.

“My lord, these two claim to have an important letter for you.”

“Is that so?” He took his eyes out from the document he was reading and towards the two. “Go on then, show me the letter.”

Jonathan made no move to hand the letter, after all, it was just a blank sheet of paper. Instead, he raised his hand to the hood and pulled it backward, to the Earl’s puzzlement and then astonishment. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Earl Williard Warrin was about to say something when he seemed to recall the guard still in the room. “Leave us, and speak nothing of what you saw here.” He waited for the man to leave, stood up, checked if he had gotten far and closed the door.

“Boy, do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?” Williard towered over Jonathan despite being a full head shorter. “Your father put up a notice with all his subjects to keep an eye out for you. We’ve all been worried sick because of your little escapade, hell, your mother...” He went on for a few minutes, going over all that happened after their disappearance was discovered.

Dene wasn’t surprised that he knew so much about what happened. Jonathan told her he would as he was one of the few people his father trusted.

“Hey Williard, nice to see you too,” Jonathan spoke after the old man finally took a break. “I’m fine, by the way, how are you?”

“Oh, don’t give me that, we’ve all been worried about you.” He took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Is that her?” He asked pointing at Dene.

Before answering, Jonathan took her hand into his, their fingers intertwining. “That’s Dene,” he spoke with a tender smile.

Seeing no more reason to hide, she too pulled off the cloak, revealing her dark skin and short, coiled hair. She chose not to shave it, same for Jonathan with his beard, both helping to hide their identities even if just a little.

If the Earl had any animosity against her, then he hid it well. “Why have you come here? Perhaps to turn yourselves in?”

“Of course not.”

“I didn’t think so. Why then?”

“We are going to the Highlands, to meet with my grandmother. Hopefully, she will help us talk things over with my father.”

“And let me guess, you want my help to get to her.”

Jonathan simply nodded.

The Earl slowly shook his head. “Boy… just go home.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can,” Williard insisted. “Your father won’t be too hard on his punishment. He loves you, his ‘favorite child’ he once told me.”

“And what about Dene? If we go back she’ll die, Father will have her killed.” Jonathan squeezed her hand tighter, and Dene knew how nervous he was.

“She’ll die only if she stays with you.” He turned to Dene and addressed her for the first time, “You’ve stayed in Lastan for what, five years?”

The question caught Dene a bit by surprise for the sole reason that it was directed at her. Jonathan had always been the one to talk to other people, as most would prefer to act as if she wasn’t there. Nonetheless, she answered, “a few months short of that, but yes my lord.”

He nodded to himself. “And after all this time following Jonathan around you must have met his parents a few times, enough to form an opinion about them right?” After her nod of agreement he continued, “then you should already know that they only want you dead because of your relationship with their son. Quite frankly, neither Damian nor Margred would spare a thought for you otherwise.”

Dene remained silent. Jonathan tried —and failed— to come up with an argument. As such, Williard made his point once again, “that’s why I’m telling you to go home, boy, and accept your marriage to that Wynne girl. If you truly love this southerner, then you’ll understand that you two can’t be together.” He stopped talking and let his words sink in.

Dene knew what this meant. Williard wouldn’t help them, and she doubted he would let them leave. They had failed.

“I understand that,” Jonathan was the one to break the silence. “I also understand that if I do as you say, then I may regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Jo-” The Earl made to speak but Jonathan cut him off.

“I know what you’re going to say. That I’m too young or that I don’t know what I’m doing, but let me ask you this. If instead of me and Dene, it was you and the Queen Mother, either today or back then, what would you do?”

It was his turn to fail at coming up with an argument. Instead, he rested a closed hand against his mouth, lips touching the golden ring on his index finger.

Jonathan had told her the story after they decided on coming to Grenfell. A few years short of two centuries ago, it was announced the betrothal of Lady Breannei Tarre to Desmor Velaryon, then prince and heir to the kingdom. A week after the announcement though, the bride vanished only to be found a fortnight later in the city of Grenfell alongside one young Williard Warrin.

She argued to be simply visiting her friend to tell him the news, and that the messenger pigeon she sent to inform her family most likely got lost along the way. Jonathan’s grandfather, the then Duke, even came into the discussion, confirming her story and declaring that the young woman had arranged to visit him.

And so, all parties involved chose to act as if the short love affair never happened.

Before leaving back home she gave Williard a golden ring, and that was the last time the two ever saw each other again.

The mention of his long lost love seemed to act as a blow to Williard’s spirit.

“Please, all we ask is for help to get to my grandmother and I’ll be forever grateful to you.”

The seconds dragged on while the old man remained unmoving. Finally, his arm dropped down to the side seemingly in defeat. “Alright,” he spoke as if every word out of his mouth pained him, “I’ll help you.”

Dene breathed a sigh of relief. She felt Jonathan’s grip loosen up and only then realized how hard they had been holding each other’s hands.

“I can’t send you flying, else your father will know that I helped you. I’ll get some carts, a couple dozen soldiers and disguise them as a merchant caravan and you’ll hide among them. It should be done by tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll find a place here for you to hide, so put your hood back on. The fewer people knowing you’re here the better.”

And so the two were led to a room in the eastern tower that could probably fit in Jonathan’s washroom back at Dragonblood Castle. It had a single bed, a dusty nightstand and a window so small that Dene could barely fit her head through. Through it, she could see only part of the movement at the castle.

The sun was setting. A couple of guards were talking as they walked through the courtyard. Atop the southern tower, a group of workers tirelessly replaced the shingles while in a corner at the foot of the same tower was located the pigeon loft, where an old woman fed the birds. If any Gale was kept in the castle, then it would be as far from it as possible as to not scare the pigeons.

Having to stay hidden in the room, that was the only entertainment they had. Or at least that she had. Along with a tray of food and clean sheets, the Earl had sent them a couple of books to pass the time, but Dene found it hard to enjoy the autobiographies of some dead nobles she never heard of.

“You should come back to bed,” Jonathan lightly suggested.

“I will soon, just wanted to enjoy the view.” That was a lie. They were both lying in bed when she was hit by a sudden wave of nausea and had to get up.

“Are you sure? You don’t look well.”

“Yeah, it has been a hard couple of months.”

Jonathan stood up and embraced her from behind. “Just another reason to come sleep.” He kissed her neck and snuggled his face against her cheek. “It’s been tough, I know, but the worst is behind us. Tomorrow, we’ll take the first steps towards our new life. Now come,” he lightly pulled her back to bed.

----------

In his dimly lit office, Williard gently caressed the ring he received from Breannei so long ago, all the while Jonathan’s question repeated again and again in his mind. “What would I do in their place?”