Martin clenched one fist as he stood in front of Katia’s tent. In the other he held a bottle of mead. How long had it been since he’d seen his old friend? Ten years? Twelve? He’d seen her after Janize finally surrendered and even exchanged pleasantries, but they’d never really talked.

The last time they’d spoken had been during a sparring match years ago. They’d been twelve. Things had been simpler then, less stressful, and without the responsibilities they both now shouldered.

“Katia, are you awake?” he asked finally.

He heard shuffling inside. Someone’s shoes thudded on the tent floor, before a clear yet tired voice spoke.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Martin. Martin of Conthwaite.”

A pause, before that same voice said, with a higher, wary tone, “It is very late in the hour, Sir Martin of Conthwaite.”

“I’m sorry Katia. I was hoping we could just talk. It’s been a long time,” said Martin. Hoping his voice reflected his sincerity, he added, “I brought some mead.”

“Conthwaite brewed?” Katia’s voice had perked up. Martin smiled.

“My own attempt, yes,” he said.

Katia chuckled. There was a self-deprecating note to her laugh. “If you don’t mind the mess I’m in, then sure.”

“Thank you. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Martin pulled the tent flap aside, walked in and he couldn’t quite stop himself from blinking.

When he’d seen Katia years ago, he’d remember the blonde girl as a perfect picture of an Erisdalian lady. She’d been elegant, and yet athletic and ready for games and knight training.

That youthful athleticism hadn’t left her. From the sleeveless linen top she wore, Martin could see that somehow she’d only gotten more muscular. Lounging on the coiled mess of blankets on the floor, there was no table in the tent. Rather, Katia was hefting one of her clothing chests and setting it down with a grunt. Scarred hands on her hips, she arched an eyebrow at Martin.

“How do you still have that button nose of yours?”

“Luck I suppose. You got ripped, very nice,” said Martin, sitting down without a beat in front of the chest. “Got a cup?”

Lying on the ground, Katia curled up her shorts-clad legs underneath her and pulled out two cups from somewhere in that tangled mess of blankets. Grabbing onto a clean-looking handkerchief, she wiped the cups before she presented one to Martin.

“Here.” She waited patiently as Martin took the cup, set it down and uncorked the bottle. As he poured a glass into her cup, she narrowed her eyes at him. “So, not going to remark on it?”

“Remark on what?” Martin asked.

“What happened to me that I look like a dog’s chew toy?” Katia asked, thumbing at her face. Then again, it wasn’t so much her face, but the fact that her entire body seemed to be covered with a patchwork of scars. Some of them were familiar to Martin. Gunshot wounds, weapon slashes, but others looked like the work of magecraft. The worst was across her face, a strange spiderweb of scars that arched across her cheek.

Yet somehow, underneath those scars was still her elegant nose and the wicked smile she wore from when she was a youth.

“It’d be a little hypocritical of me to remark on it. My wife-to-be has her own scars, as do I,” said Martin. He pursed his lips for a moment, before smiling. “It’s good to see you can still smile, Katia.”

Katia took a slow sip of her meade. One hand scratching at her scar, she muttered, “It’s much harder now, Martin. This war…the civil war…we’ve grown old through it and the wounds will last a lifetime.”

Martin waited as the lady knight finished her cup. She’d paused during her drinking, as if wanting to say something, only to take another sip, each one progressively deeper than the last.

As he filled up the cup, Martin said, “I forgot how much you liked meade.”

“I forgot too. I…I’ve forgotten a lot of our youth, maybe because it’s too painful to remember,” said Katia.

“It’s nice to remember those days though, isn’t it?” Martin asked, taking a sip from his glass.

Katia’s smiled widened for a brief moment. Teeth flashing, she opened her mouth to say something. Before his eyes, a dark cloud seemed to fall on the viscountess, as her mouth closed and her gaze fell to the ground.

“Martin, we know why you’re really here.” Katia met the knight’s gaze, eyes narrowed now. “You want to convince me to come. I appreciate the meade, but you’re not changing my mind.”

Biting back his disappointment, Martin took a breath. “Maybe not, but I do want to catch up with you and well, talk.” He refilled his cup, before quietly stating, “If you’d like me to leave, then I will, but I want to know what’s been going on with you.”

To his relief, the viscountess nodded. “I’d be lying if I wasn’t curious as well. For one, why haven't you married that former convict of yours?”

“Well, there was never time and we wanted to make it a happy occasion. With the war’s end near, well, I think that would be the better time.” Martin chuckled, his grin turning sly. “Besides, engagement doesn’t prevent us from enjoying each other’s company.”

Mouth stifling her coarse laugh, Katia shook her head. “No it does not, but do you think you’ll be alright living in the capital? I remember how much you wanted to just stay in Conthwaite.”

“Well, Ginger and I plan to move around a bit with the other members of the court to oversee reconstruction plans. I can’t say it’s what I wanted, but this is something I can do,” said the knight.

Katia’s eyes narrowed on Martin again, her cup once again empty. As Martin filled it, she asked, very quietly, “So you’re doing alright?”

For a moment, Martin wondered if he should tell the truth and risk annoying the viscountess. Brushing aside that thought, he took a breath and nodded. “Yes. I suppose I am. Assuming we defeat Thorgoth.”

After all, it would be better to tell the truth rather than have the lie found out later.

Katia’s gaze dropped, running a hand through her sun-faded hair, she sighed. “Well for me, I…I’d be lying to say that I’m alright. I’m not.”

“Is there anything I can—”

She waved a hand, a self-deprecating smile turning her lips up. “Not right now.”

“The Lightning Battalion has counsellors. People whose jobs are to talk to veterans and help them with their experiences,” said Martin. Shuffling closer to the woman, he reached out to touch the scarred hand that rested on the chest.

Katia’s hand was rough, much rougher than Ginger’s, but it gently squeezed back. “Can they tell me I’m alright?” she asked, her voice still quiet.

“Why would you think that you’re not?” Martin asked.

“I fought you, Martin. I may not have known of the full extent of the Traditionalists machinations, but I got these scars from your friends.” Martin’s smile evaporated, while Katia simply shrugged. “The Stormcaller knows what the fuck she’s doing.”

“I’m so sorry—”

Katia finished her cup again, and waved the knight off with the vessel. “I don’t blame her. I was trying to take her head off. She defended herself. That is that. But the thing is, Martin, I’m not the only fucking soldier with a story out there. I just happened to be alive and a noble.”

“I think I get what you’re saying but can you clarify?”

“Even if we beat Alavaria, what’s the fucking point? Erisdale is a shell of its former self. The capital is a half-ruin. And we? All of us who survived?” The knight let out a shuddering groan. “Martin, I’m tired of fighting. The Great War started seven years ago and I just spent two of those years fighting a civil war for a fucking idiot.”

Martin nodded. “I’m tired of fighting too but if we give up now, Thorgoth would have won.”

Katia sighed. “Oh don’t you worry, if Thorgoth wins, I don’t intend to live under his regime.”

His eyes wide, Martin froze. “Katia—”

“I’m not the only one. My veterans are mostly the same, to varying degrees. We’re so fucking exhausted. We just want some peace and quiet. Someplace where our demons won’t haunt us, and where we can be alone to mourn the monsters we’ve become,” said the woman.

Or should Martin say shell of a woman? He shook his head, that wasn’t true. Katia was still here, alive and she clearly was hurting. That didn’t make her any less of a person.

“Even if Thorgoth has all your fellow men and women enslaved and exploited? The families of your soldiers and your subjects will be smashed under his rule. You won’t have peace under him.” Martin closed his eyes, letting his shoulders sag a little. “Besides, if that’s the only thing you think that is making you a monster, then you cannot be further from the truth. I feel that exhaustion, that weight as well. I just found a way to manage it, and I have people to talk to and support me. You…you don’t have to fight it alone either. Let me help you, and your soldiers.”

Opening his eyes, Martin watched Katia nod to herself. Coughing into a fist, she said, “Alright, you can take my soldiers if you’d like and if they’re willing for it. I won’t stop them, but I don’t think I can join this one.”

“I’m sorry, but still thank you,” said Martin, unable to hide his relief. He smiled, “Katia, if you’d like, I can find you a counsellor—”

“I need to be alone, Martin,” said the woman. She was smiling, but there was no humor or mirth in that smile. It was an expression familiar to Martin. He’d seen it before in the woman he loved, and the amber-eyed woman he regarded like a little sister.

“Katia, I know I don’t understand what you’re going through, but let me try to help you.”

His hand was suddenly grasping air as Katia let go. Heart pounding in his chest, Martin staggered to his feet as his childhood friend stood up.

“You have what you want, Martin, and you said you’d respect me. So leave, please. I did enjoy this talk, but I tire of your company.”

“Fuck the battle.” Martin grimaced and briefly clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to fling some of the emotion that had rocked him. “Katia, what you are feeling is important to me, and you don’t want to feel like this, right?

Katia shivered, whether from her lack of dress or from what he said, Martin couldn’t be quite sure. She did, however, avert her gaze from him for the first time in the conversation. With one hand, she itched at her sharp nose.

“What I want is irrelevant.”

It felt like talking to Ginger, or Frances when she was having a low moment. Thankfully, the words that he had said to them, the memories of their conversations and talks reverberated in his mind. He knew what to say. He had been in this situation before. He knew how to help.

“What are you feeling that makes you say that?” Martin asked.

Katia rolled her eyes. “It’s not a feeling.”

“Then what is it that makes you say this?” he insisted, keeping his tone level.

A low, exasperated groan escaped the blonde’s lips as she finally met Martin’s gaze. “Look, I don’t have the strength to fight what I feel. It’s just the way it is.”

Letting the wave of sadness he felt wash over him, Martin took a breath. He had to keep his emotions level, express empathy, without escalating the situation or alarming Katia. He had to make her think and try to change her mind that way.

“Then why are you here? Why did you let me in?” he questioned

Katia grimaced and shrugged. “Fuck if I know.”

“Come on, Katia, why did you let me in? Why didn’t you just push me away or hit me, or lash out in your grief and your frustration?” Martin demanded as gently as he could. He didn’t want to sound too harsh, but he sensed he was on the cusp of finding out something.

His childhood friend closed her eyes. Her arms crossed, she shook her head, fingernails digging into her skin. Martin dared not interrupt her contemplation.

“Hope,” said Katia finally.

“Hope?” Martin whispered.

Katia nodded. With one hand, she wiped her eyes. “I was hoping you’d talk me out of it.”

“Am I succeeding?” Martin asked, proffering his handkerchief.

Accepting it with a quiet thanks, she dabbed at her cheeks. There weren’t many tears, but her voice had gone very quiet. “A little. I…I’ve missed you. I’ve missed just talking to someone who cared. I was so confused why you sided against the Traditionalists, until later. Gosh I was so fucking stupid.”

Martin smiled. “It wasn’t your fault. Didn’t your father commit your house to Janize’s cause?”

“Yes. I still could have set off on my own, though.”

“Maybe, but you are here, now. You didn’t join Darius in his last stand. Even now, you’re still trying to do the right thing. That counts for something.”

To Martin’s relief, Katia smiled, the first time since she’d asked him to leave.

“I suppose it does,” she whispered.

Nodding, Martin thought back to years long ago, a simpler time, a happier time. “You know…I’ve missed you too. You were fun to go on rides with, even when you were teasing me and outracing me. I’m really glad you’ve survived.”

“Even like this?” Katia asked.

There was no hesitation in Martin’s voice. “Even like this.” An idea popped into his mind, the knight seized on it. “Has there been anywhere you’ve wanted to go? Something you wanted to do? Could be anything, stupid, funny, or hell even disgusting?”

Katia snorted, but as Martin fell silent, she pursed her lips. A contemplative look took over her face.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to fuck an Alavari—” Katia flinched. Her eyes wide, she spluttered. “Sorry I mean…meet, I…well…it’s just...” Cheeks bright red, she sat down, burying her face in her hands.

Martin suppressed a giggle as he sat returned to his seat. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong about that. My best friends are devoted to their Alavari partners.”

“Isn’t it weird, though? We Traditionalists kept calling the Alavari monsters,” said Katia, peeking from behind her hands.

“But what did you think about them? I know you’ve been nothing but polite to the others in the Lightning Battalion,” said Martin.

“I mean, I’ve fought Alavari, and I believed what my father said that the Alavari were dangerous. But then I figured he was wrong when I started hearing stories about Athelda-Aoun and well…” Head bowed, Katia swallowed. “I didn’t know what to think. I just knew I needed to keep fighting.”

“I get that and it makes sense. You had to prioritise your family.” He filled Katia’s cup and handed it back to her. “What do you think about the Alavari now?”

“I…I’m curious I guess. Not just like…in that, but what even made us so different and why are these Alavari so…well, normal.”

“Hm, I could have a conversation with you and an Alavari arranged. I know a few I could ask.” Smirking slightly, Martin arched an eyebrow. “If you’d really like, I can see if I can find a courtesan who can answer your questions and maybe talk to you about what you’ve gone through. Male or female?”

Taking a sip of her cup, Katia smiled. “Female—” she blinked and shook her head, waving one hand. “Wait, but Martin hold on for a moment. I…I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to help me, to make me feel better about myself. But you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Martin blinked as Katia scowled and smacked herself on her forehead. “Damn, sorry, I don’t mean it that way. It’s just…I’m a lost cause alright?”

The knight nodded and continued to smile. “That’s fine. I’m not going to stop.”

“Stop what?”

Martin straightened almost unconsciously. “I’m not going to stop trying to help you. I’m not going to stop trying to do the right thing and help those who are hurt and feel broken. That’s why I accepted the heirship. This country is broken and this job will be thankless and filled with stress. But until someone better is found, I will take on this responsibility, and privilege.”

Katia blinked. “Privilege?”

“Isn’t it a privilege to be able to help a friend?” Martin asked in a quiet voice. He took a sip from his cup, allowing his old friend to her thoughts.

The viscountess swirled her drink, sipping it slowly. When Katia spoke, it was after a pause that wasn’t too unpleasant. She also sounded a lot more firm, and yet there was a hesitant note to her voice.

“You really think you can fix Erisdale?” she asked.

Martin knew his answer and he also knew what question that Katia was really asking.

“It won’t be easy, and there will be scars, but hey, I know some friends of mine who’ve gone through some shitty situations. They healed, I have to believe that the rest of us can do so as well.” He reached out again to touch his friend’s scarred knuckles. “And even if I don’t succeed, I will keep trying. I have to.”

Katia chuckled quietly, shaking her head. She finished her drink and put the cup down.

“One moment.” Rising to her feet, she walked to the corner of her tent and picked up a scabbarded longsword. Quietly, she knelt, with the point of the weapon resting against the ground. “My sword is yours, Prince Martin of Erisdale, if you don’t mind accepting it.”

Martin, rising to his feet as well, put his hands on top of Katia’s.“I accept it all, your fealty and your pain, my dear friend.” Smiling, and blinking back tears, he slowly wrapped his arms around his friend, who leant into his embrace.

---

Twenty-thousand. They’d gathered twenty-thousand troops from Erisdale and from the Erlenberg marines that were travelling with them to Athelda-Aoun. As Martin watched from the vantage point on the mountain, he could see the army moving in column, passing into the mountain passes that would take them to Leipmont, through Westfall Pass, Kwent, then to Athelda-Aoun and Kairon-Aoun.

Hundreds of horses, countless pack animals, men, women, Alavari, all assembling into their regiments and divisions and marching to the final battle. Even from this distance, Martin could feel a dread, a solemnity in the disciplined marching order. There was chatter of course, but it was drowned out by the thud of hoof and foot against dirt. Even the few harpies that flew overhead were in formation, not making wild dancing arcs.

Ginger clambered up next to Martin. “We’re moving. Finally, we’re fucking moving,” she said. When the knight didn’t respond, the lady glanced at her husband-to-be. “So, as you suggested, I had a talk with Katia as well. We shared a little of what we went through.”

“She’s very nice, isn’t she?” said Martin, glancing at his wife.

Ginger smiled. “She’s lovely, and I mean it. A really caring and loving person underneath all that muscle and bluster. I see why you two were friends in the past.” She took a breath, using the opportunity to adjust the cloak she wore. “She’s going to need a lot of help.”

“I think we all are my love,” said Martin.

The flame-haired woman frowned and gently laced her fingers with her husband’s. Martin didn’t resist, but he didn’t respond either other than to squeeze her hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Finally meeting his wife, Martin leaned into her shoulder, knowing that she would support him. “We’re not bad at this are we?”

Ginger shook her head. “No, we aren’t.”

The knight closed his eyes, wincing at the answer. “Why does that scare me?”

The question made Ginger bite her lip. She hadn’t expected this fear that her husband showed, but the more she thought about it, she understood why he was scared.

Planting a tender kiss against his cheek, Ginger whispered, “Because you don’t desire power or responsibility Martin. You want to help, but the power to help also has the power to harm. You could have easily manipulated Katia to do something against her interest. Instead, you inspired her.”

“I might have just sent her to die, Ginger,” said Martin.

“You gave her hope. Like how you gave me hope so long ago. Made me feel…wanted, beautiful and valued,” she insisted.

Martin smiled at that, finally meeting his wife’s gaze. “Thank you.” Gently kissing the love of his life, the knight murmured. “I love you, Ginger.”

Embracing her partner, Ginger relished his embrace and whispered, “And I love you too, Martin.”

Below them, the Lightning Battalion, their friends, and their allies, marched toward the last battle. Yet for the moment, the pair were alone and entwined, only able to hear each other’s beating hearts.