Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.

AN: Hello everyone! I hope life is good :) I'm very excited about this story, but it has given me one hell of a time. It started out as something completely different before morphing into this and a second story that I am working on as well. Just a few notes for this one:
1. We're going back in time, and I'm using some place names from the FMA universe but making up the rest. (Also, no alchemy but...you'll see.)
2. Similar to my last story, the Hawkeye father-daughter relationship is not canon (but I think we'll be returning to something closer to canon for the next one).
3. I will do my best to post regularly, and will try to warn you if I ever know that the next chapter might take a while.
I apologize for any errors ahead of time. I generally do multiple read-throughs and editing sessions before posting, but I know I miss things. Hopefully I haven't missed too many! And feedback is always welcome!
That said, thank you for checking out my story and I hope you like the first chapter! :)

The Stone Rose

Roy Mustang massaged the crick in his neck, taking a swig of whiskey in hopes of fighting the damp chill that had invaded him to the bone during the night. He lazily kicked a burnt log in the fire that had long since died out and stood to stretch, moving toward the stream to splash cool water on his face, the activity loosening his stiff muscles. Already more alert, he glanced around at the lightening sky as he paced toward his horse, taking some salted beef from his pack to sate his grumbling stomach. The rest of his group were waking each other and, with a gesture, he sent their tracker, Kain Fuery, off to determine the exact direction in which they would travel.

His small team had been tracking bandits for over a week, following them from Lochstone Castle in Creta to their current camp in a clearing well past the Amestrian border. The criminals had begun their spree by robbing a village near the MacMillan's stronghold, then one near Lochstone before leaving the country. The thieves wore the colors and crest of Lord Bristow of Eastern Amestris, though there appeared to be no allegiance to that nobleman, a fact which was certainly peculiar. For a short while the group traveled astonishingly slowly, periodically crossing the border between the two countries for seemingly no reason. In addition, they were extremely careful to conceal their presence, which increased Roy's wariness of their intentions exponentially.

Filling his canteen, he appraised the dreary sky, heralding the rain they would likely encounter in the near future. The scent of leaves and pine pervaded the area, and the stillness surrounding them would have been immensely peaceful under different circumstances. The light crunching of pine needles reached his ears, and he turned to find Lord Maes Hughes of Lochstone approaching him, still only partially awake. With a respectful nod he greeted, "Good morning, my lord."

"Morning, Mustang." His employer tilted his head, evidently trying to crack his neck after a night spent on the unforgiving ground. The man was slim with wiry limbs and stood two inches taller than Roy, a fact he thoroughly enjoyed pointing out. They had met during the Aerugonian conflict and, despite Hughes being several years his senior, their friendship had grown quickly. "Did you notice anything during the night?"

"All was quiet. I already sent Fuery to check their progress." He ran a stream-dampened hand through his black hair, hoping to impose some semblance of order on his likely chaotic appearance.

Hughes nodded. "Good. We should move soon. If we're fortunate, they've not doubled back and discovered our position."

"I scouted on my watch. There were no tracks but our own near camp." He slipped on his jacket and checked his horse's gear. "Might I inquire as to the change in date of your pending matrimony?"

"I am entirely ignorant of the cause," the other man chuckled. "My fiancée's father wrote asking if I would be amenable to having the ceremony earlier. He mentioned something about traveling out of the country, but I have a feeling he has other motivations."

"And that doesn't concern you?"

"It does, but not about the lady herself. I have heard from many sources, your mother included, that a kinder, more lovely woman does not exist." Hughes smiled thoughtfully when he spoke of his future wife, and then switched to a joking tone. "You dare question the wisdom of the great and powerful men of the Cretan nobility?"

Roy chuckled and gave a slightly exaggerated bow. "I wouldn't dream of it, my lord. I simply do as commanded."

"Here I thought you were the one that gave the orders, Captain," grumbled one of his soldiers, Heymans Breda, as he strolled to join them, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

"Right you are, soldier," he replied, handing the water pouch to the newcomer. "However, we all take orders from someone, and soon Lord Hughes will be taking orders from Lady Hughes."

Maes watched him for a second before shaking his head in defeat. "Alas, I cannot dispute that."

"Of course not. You've been obsessed ever since they sent you that miniature painting of her."

"Well, if you would just look at her..."

"Hughes, if you mention her 'angelic face' once more I will stab myself," Roy interjected. Laughter broke out in the small group, but his his smile fell away when he heard barely audible footsteps approaching their position. His hand reached for the pommel of his sword, relaxing a moment later when Fuery slipped through the trees and into the glade. The tracker took the water offered to him and said, "Lord Hughes, Captain Mustang...there's something you should see."

They shared a guarded look and readied themselves, securing blankets to tack, stowing food away, and gathering their weapons. Leaving the horses for the time being, the men quietly made their way through the woods, senses alert and carefully tuned to their surroundings. There was a sudden, loud crack nearby and he froze for a second, placing a hand on Hughes arm to stop his progress, but he could discern no movement nearby. With a nod he indicated that it had been a false alarm and the pair continued, each with a hand cautiously hovering over a hilt.

When they emerged from the woods into another clearing, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Five soldiers bearing the Hakuro family's colors and coat of arms lay dead on the ground, unceremoniously slaughtered. All swords were sheathed save one man's, indicating that they were the victims of a surprise attack. Most of the men were within the vicinity of a bed roll, and may have even been sleeping when set upon. The black remnants of a fire sat in the middle of the site, and blood soaked the ground around it.

"Breda...take a look ahead. Make sure they kept moving," he ordered, recalling the snapping twig he'd heard minutes before and hoping they'd not walked into a trap. He strode through the camp, examining anything left that might give them some clue as to the true identity of the 'bandits.' The bodies appeared to have been untouched, even by wildlife, but their belongings were strewn about, as if their attackers were searching for something. After making a circuit of the small clearing he knelt next to Fuery, who held out a charred item he'd pulled from the ashes of the fire. It was a type of hexagonal patch normally seen on a foot soldier's uniform, burnt nearly beyond recognition, but he could just make out the coat of arms. "The Armstrong family..." he muttered, perplexed. "This is making less and less sense."

Hughes joined them and took the patch. "This would theoretically lend support to the idea this is who we're hunting." He shook his head. "But Armstrong and Hakuro are long-time allies, and I know them both well. They wouldn't endanger the peace in this way."

"I don't think they are," Roy replied, reclaiming the cloth and indicating the edge. "Look how cleanly cut this was...I'd say it was planted."

"I apologize, milord," Fuery softly said as he glanced around. "I woke last night feeling unsettled...I should have said something. Perhaps we could have saved them, but there was a terrible storm in the mountains and I thought the sensation stemmed from that." The young man was an ecological empath, which enhanced his already keen abilities as a tracker and also meant that he was one of the rare gifted. He could communicate and connect, in a manner of speaking, with plant life and could thus feel the general well-being of the area around him.

"Fuery, this was not your fault. We could not have predicted this attack," Hughes said, crouching next to him.

The tracker simply nodded, placing a hand over the center of the fire pit. "They've apparently been blocking me somehow...it could only mean they have a seer or another ecopath." As he spoke a tiny green tendril sprouted from beneath the ashes and he slowly lifted his hand, the fledgling plant growing and morphing as he did, with delicate leaves and thorns shooting out from various gnarled branches until five white roses suddenly bloomed.

Roy had seen Fuery perform such a feat many a time, yet it still amazed him to some extent. It seemed the growth of an organism in mere minutes should be impossible, but he had spent enough time among the gifted to know much was possible. Though healers, ecopaths, and seers were the most common, gifts ranged widely in strength and complexity. There were those that boasted straightforward talents such as increased strength or agility. On the other end of the spectrum, he had once heard of a man that could somehow influence peoples minds and actions with the food he prepared. He was not envious, but part of him had always wondered how his life might have been different were he gifted. Rather than continue in that line of thought, he said, "With your permission, my lord, I would like to provide these men with a proper burial."

"Of course, Mustang. It will set us back, but I cannot leave them here to be feasted upon by scavengers."

Looking into the trees near where his other soldier disappeared he commented, "Where in hell is Breda? I told him to take a look, not..." He cocked his head to the side when he heard what he thought sounded like the clash of metal not far off. Sharing a look with the other mean, he led the way out of the clearing, drawing the single-edged, slightly curved sword strapped to his back.

After a short run they neared the bank of a stream, where Breda was surrounded by the seven bandits they had been tracking, and he mentally kicked himself for sending the soldier alone. As one of the thieves spun to meet them with an upward slash, Roy blocked and used his cross guard to force the other blade away while drawing a knife and plunging it into the man's neck. Pulling his blade free, he turned to fend off another attack coming from his left, parrying and spinning around him to slash his back open. He hazarded a quick look around the clearing and whipped a knife toward one of Hughes's attackers, where it buried itself to the slim hilt in his skull.

The majority of the bandits already lay on the ground, and the last thief kicked Fuery back into a tree trunk before sprinting away. He was about to give chase, but the tracker signaled that there was an unknown entity nearby, so he collected his blades and moved to stand next to his employer. "Are you alright, Hughes?"

The other man nodded. "Any idea what we're dealing with, Fuery?"

"Approximately five more men...their intentions don't feel hostile." His expression was relieved. "We must have killed the bandits' gifted. I can read again."

He could hear the individuals moving through the undergrowth, and then a tall, burly man with black hair appeared followed by his soldiers. A long braid fell over one shoulder, he wore armor that only covered his right arm, and his face bore a wide grin. "Lord Hughes," he greeted, inclining his head respectfully to the nobleman before him. "This is interesting."

"Buccaneer. I remember you from my last visit to Vei Ellyn." Maes gestured to his right. "This is Roy Mustang, my master-at-arms"

"A pleasure, Buccaneer." Roy extended his hand and they gripped forearms in a military-style greeting. "Call me Captain...everyone does."

"Very well, Captain." An expression of amusement and curiosity overtook the man's features. "How did the Lord of Lochstone and his master-at-arms manage to escape with a marriage in the near future? I assumed all would be focused on preparations."

Hughes chuckled. "The answer is simple. My best man knew I'd need a decent bandit-hunt before my stronghold is practically invaded."

Buccaneer gestured behind with a hand. "Forgive me, my lord, but what do you know of my dead comrades back there?"

"Only that the culprits were these unknown men." Hughes gave a small wave toward the men lying prone nearby. "They're disguised as members of Bristow's army, and attempted to frame Lord Armstrong for the attack on your soldiers. Not to mention that they had robbed several wealthy families in two different towns before we caught up with them." Turning his attention to the tracker he asked, "Where is the man that escaped?"

Fuery crouched, placing a hand on the ground, and briefly closed his eyes. "Not far. He is wounded, and has stopped to rest near a stream just a half-mile from here."

"It would seem his guard is down...he thinks we are no longer at his heels." Roy bent, wiping his blades off on an enemy tunic. "Seems to me like the perfect time to follow."

"Indeed it does." Hughes grinned. "Buccaneer...if you approach from the north, we'll circle around and come up from the south."

The Hakuran nodded. "Of course, my lord." Turning to his men he added, "Acton, Garrick...you're with me. The rest head back to make camp and bury our men."

Buccaneer's soldiers moved away as ordered and Roy broke into a jog, heading south in the direction indicated by Fuery. Maes fell into step beside him, with Breda and the tracker following as closely as possible through the trees. The sun broke momentarily through the clouds, shards of light finding the dim forest floor while a light drizzle fell around them. All remained quiet, and they kept their footfalls silent, not wishing to warn their quarry that he would shortly be surrounded.

Passing the stream at a distance after mere minutes, they continued south before gradually turning to run north along the water's edge. When Fuery signaled they were close he slowed, catching his breath as the group crept toward the bandit's position. Each silently drew their weapons, hiding behind trees to watch the bandit's attempts to bind his wounds. The tracker pointed out Buccaneer's location across from them and, on Hughes' mark, both groups stepped out. The thief spun, clutching his upper arm, blood trickling from between his fingers, looking erratically to either side as he searched for an escape route. The stranger turned to run across the watercourse, but Breda awaited him on the other side, knocking him out with the pommel of his long-sword. He slumped to the ground and Fuery lowered his bow, moving to help his comrade bind the prisoner's hands.

"That was easier than I expected," Buccaneer chuckled, throwing the man over one shoulder as if he weighed nothing and striding away.

The rest followed at a leisurely pace, heading north, and Fuery matched Hughes' pace before somewhat shyly asking, "Do we plan to reach the Rose this evening, my lord?"

"Hoping to get a glimpse of Sheska? Subtle, Kain." Breda guffawed, nudging the younger man with an elbow. "For what it's worth, I could certainly be persuaded. It's Thursday, which means Izumi is preparing something with fresh-caught fish for dinner."

"You have the menu memorized?" Roy asked, amused.

"Yes. I know many useful things, Captain. For instance, we are twenty miles south of the nearest Drachman garrison."

"That is useful, but it does not count. We all keep track of where that crazy bastard King Anton has troops." He paused, with a slight smirk. "And...it's actually twenty-one."

"Very well….I also know that 'wild tomatoes' in Amestris are poisonous, the best time to hunt in southern Creta is at dusk, and in Kyrnath, that country east of Xing, it is seen as a sign of leadership to be born with a crooked nose."

"I, for one, am not convinced of the usefulness of these facts. Though I do find it interesting that two were about food," Hughes chuckled. "And in answer to your question, Fuery, given the way the day has transpired, I plan to rest at the Rose tonight before returning to Lochstone."

The tracker tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile as they again entered the clearing that had served as their camp for the night, where they saw Buccaneer in the process of securing the prisoner to a tree. "Breda, start a fire," Roy quietly ordered, moving to his horse to remove a couple additional knives from the saddle bags.

At Hughes' direction, Fuery filled a bladder with water and dumped it over the thief's head, at which point he awoke sputtering, eyes jumping frantically from one man to the next. Maes stood a short distance away, idly sharpening a dagger. "Why are you here?"

"What is the meaning of this, my lord?" the man asked. "Are you not allies with my master Lord Bristow?"

"We are indeed, but you're not Lord Bristow's man. And so I ask again...why are you here? You robbed a town under my protection, and another under Lord MacMillan's. We are not pleased."

"I assure you, my lord, this is simply a misunderstanding." The stranger informed them. "Lord Bristow sent us out here to meet with a small delegation of Lord Armstrong's men. They attacked us, we defended ourselves, that is all."

"And your reason for attacking my soldier? He certainly didn't provoke you."

"We were caught unawares, my lord...we reacted instinctively."

"Yes, you must have been caught unawares..." Roy chuckled, standing next to his friend. "...when you surrounded him with your weapons at the ready."

"You would do well to start telling me the truth," Maes continued. "I know you are not in the employ of Lord Bristow, and I know you attacked Lord Armstrong's men in the dead of night. It was a slaughter. Now, why are you here?"

"I've already told you, my lord." The prisoner did his best to sound sincere. "We were sent to meet an envoy...nothing more."

Hughes gave a small nod and Roy spoke, shifting closer to the fire. "Did you, by chance, fight in the Aerugonian conflict?" He slid the blade of a knife into the hot coals, glancing up to gauge the bandit's reaction and determining that the man had been involved in that war. "I fought for the Cretans, as you might imagine, and my main occupation was to gather information." He added a second knife and continued, "I actually had a moniker you might have heard...the Aerugonians called me Il Rogo." The prisoner's eyes widened, but only a fraction as he attempted to mask his response.

"I always rather liked that appellation of yours, Cap," Breda commented from a few feet away, casually eating an apple as he watched. "It means fire, or blaze, correct?"

"Yes, depending on the context." He removed one of the now glowing blades from the fire and stood before their guest, whose gaze flicked multiple times from him, to the knife, and back. "Between us, I was never terribly fond of the nickname...but it is memorable."

"And intimidating, Captain," Fuery added.

"I suppose. It's inaccurate, however, as I don't use fire directly for these purposes. I've simply found that extreme heat can be an excellent motivator when properly applied. Though I prefer greater precision." He sliced the man's shirt open, placing the heated metal near his skin, and the soldier flinched, breathing rapidly. "I will ask only once more...why are you here?"

The inn was located in the Western Region of Amestris, near where the Cretan, Amestrian, and Drachman borders converged. Set back from the road, it was surrounded by towering trees, with well-tended flower beds lining the front of the building. Across the garden behind it could be found the stables, and beyond that ran a stream with crystal clear waters. Lanterns glowed from the front porch, with candles in the windows shining through the darkness to welcome any traveler. It was a stone-walled edifice that rose three stories, smoke billowing cheerfully from its several chimneys. The porch overhang jutted out from the wall and from that dangled a plaque heralding the establishment as The Stone Rose. A few horses belonging to local patrons were tied out front, and the sun's last rays were little more than an amber glow above the trees.

They directed the horses down the twisting lane, lined on either side by forest, leaves fluttering with the occasional swish of a fox running through the brush. Their mounts' hooves crunched rhythmically on the trail and he smiled at the sight of The Rose up ahead. He'd already caught the scent of what was sure to be a delicious meal, and looked forward to relaxing before a roaring fire after so many days of travel.

He dismounted and led his mare through the stables, glancing at various stalls as he passed them. He slowed, rubbing her neck to show his appreciation for having carried him safely and speaking softly to calm her. "Be a good girl tonight, Mercedes." She snorted as if in reply and he grabbed his saddle bags, tossing a coin to the stable boy and saying, "Take care of her, Jackson."

The boy grinned as he caught the currency. "Of course...thank you, Captain Mustang."

Roy chuckled as Hughes tossed another few coins to the boy and, when his friend caught up to him, said, "You spoil that child rotten."

"You have no room to talk." Maes shrugged. "We don't have many children at Lochstone for everyone to spoil."

"Fuery here's only seventeen...he's still basically a child," Breda teased.

"And yet I am more mature than you."

"You cannot argue with him there," Roy commented with a grin.

"On the contrary, Cap, I certainly could. But I maturely choose not to."

They stepped up onto the porch and were greeted by a wall of a man with legs the size of tree trunks and arms as large as the tracker's head. His long black hair was tied back from his angular face, and he stood with a hand on a dagger sheathed at his side. Sig Curtis was the owner and operator of the inn, which had been in business for the majority of two centuries, and his booming voice was as intimidating as his appearance. "Good evening, my lords. Welcome back to The Rose."

"Mister Curtis," Hughes said, shaking the innkeeper's hand. "Do you have room for us this evening?"

"Of course, my lord. We will have your usual accommodations prepared, and I do believe dinner is nearly ready."

"Thank you, Curtis." Roy gave him a nod as he walked through the door, where they were almost immediately met by Sheska, a young Drachman woman with mousy-brown hair and spectacles that were likely of Xingese invention. She had become like a daughter to the Curtis', taken in by them years ago when her entire family was killed by King Anton's men after having been discovered trading with Amestrians.

She smiled, blushing slightly when she caught sight of Fuery, and said, "Good evening, my lords. Your rooms will be ready shortly, and Jacob will take your things upstairs. Dinner will be served in a few minutes, and I'll have drinks brought to your table." Sheska waved another man over while she spoke, who took their bags so they might rest in the warm common room, ablaze with light from the fireplaces at either end. A bar ran along one side of the room, and the rest of the space was filled with tables, the majority of which were packed with happy customers.

The group filled the seats around the table, taking advantage of the ale once it was delivered, and Breda wasted no time in his usual ribbing of their tracker when he noticed who his eyes followed. "Do you plan to spend another night staring at her?" He raised his tankard for a long, grateful drink. "Or perhaps you'd like to finally speak to her?"

Fuery looked at him with displeasure, cheeks reddening. "I don't stare. I simply...admire. Quietly and from afar. Some would call that respectful."

"Yes. And others might call that disturbing."

It was not long before their meals arrived, and the remainder of the evening was spent in similar conversation, with Breda pestering Fuery while Roy and Hughes hurled good-natured insults back on behalf on their younger comrade. Though he was enjoying himself, as the evening progressed he felt mildly distracted, discreetly glancing at the door each time it opened. Customers continued to arrive periodically, and at times a small group would return from a routine scouting trip, a precaution given their proximity to the Drachman border. Eventually, local patrons began to leave and guests started to trickle away, climbing the stairs to the cozy and clean rooms above.

His companions bid him goodnight before leaving the common area and he asked for a whiskey, moving to a seat closer to the fire. He was not yet ready to retire, and was still processing the information they'd gleaned from the bandit. He would have liked to take the man back to Lochstone in order to have another opportunity to speak with him, but Lord Hakuro's stronghold was closer, making it the more logical choice. He only hoped they could learn more from the prisoner.

He heard someone approach, and then a chair was pushed next to his and Sig asked, "Mind if I join you, Mustang?"

"Please do."

He sat with a sigh, bourbon in one hand and a pipe in the other. "On your way home, I presume?"

"Yes, fortunately. We were tracking a group of thieves for a week and a half….finally caught up to them several miles from here."

"It takes much less than two weeks to travel from Lochstone to The Rose." Sig chuckled. "I imagine they took a circuitous route."

"Extremely. On the bright side, we captured one. It turns out they were mercenaries based in Aerugo, hired by some Amestrian noble...but that is all he could tell us. He had no names, and only knew that they were ordered to rob several towns between the MacMillan's castle in Creta and the Voyles in Western Amestris." He paused, shaking his head in thought. "It's as if their only purpose was to stir up trouble. However, it is unclear precisely who that would benefit, or whether the intent is to cause widespread instability, or conflict localized between a few specific lords."

Sig took a drink, exhaling heavily. "There have also been scattered reports of mercenaries in parts of Northern Amestris."

"Do you know who hired them?" Roy asked, staring into the flames.

"No one has been able to question one, so we are none of us certain. But I thought you should know."

"Have you had any problems here? Anymore visits from Drachman soldiers?"

"Not recently. My wife is yet quite infamous among them so they give us a wide berth." Izumi Curtis was a legend, having participated in each of the major conflicts between Drachma and Amestris that had occurred during her lifetime. The Drachman troops were especially wary of her due to one particular occurrence toward the end of the first war. King Anton had inherited the Drachman throne from his father shortly before and decided to test the new resources at his disposal by attempting to invade Northern Amestris. The story went that Izumi, trapped behind enemy lines for a week in the winter, single-handedly decimated a unit of sixty men to make good her escape.

He held up his glass and smiled. "May they continue to do so." The two men drank to the toast and he added, "If they venture this way, contact me. I'm sure Lord Hughes will send any assistance he can."

"I appreciate the offer, though I hope we never need to take you up on it." He drained his glass and took a long drag on his pipe before standing slowly. "Goodnight, Mustang."

"Goodnight, Curtis." Roy returned to his ruminations and continued to gaze into the fire. He would retire soon, and they would need to rise early in order to reach Lochstone at a decent time the next day. There was much to be done: send out more scouts, locate any mercenaries in their lands, fortify the villages near the castle, send missives to their allies. The thought of hired soldiers on the move was sobering, even more-so considering that Creta was still recovering from it's border war with Aerugo which ended four years ago. They could not afford another.

"Your father is not your father."

The gravelly voice pulled him rather abruptly from his thoughts, and he found an old seer had taken the seat vacated by Sig. Her eyes were red, white wisps of hair fell erratically around her face, and her skin was weather-worn and wrinkled. He had seen her at the Rose every so often; one of those seers that made a living reading the palms and futures of any willing patron. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your father is not your father."

His brow furrowed, and he placed two aspers in her outstretched hand. He never thought much about the man, hardly remembered him, though his mother said he had his father's straight nose, sable hair, and dark, mischievous eyes. "I am not sure to what you refer, madame." He watched her for several seconds. "And my mother?"

"I cannot see her at the moment, and thus I cannot say, nor can I tell you the identity of your real father." Tucking the coins into a small purse she took his hand, her eyes turning completely gray, the color seeping out of the iris and swirling like the clouds in a thunderhead. She ran a long nail along the lines of his palm, slowly, and his skin crawled as it raked over every imperfection and wrinkle. "There is fire and love and greatness in you, my lord, but I also see a capacity for rage, and violence." She took a deep breath and her eyes returned to their usual eerie state, exhaling slowly with an accompanying nod, as if having decided something. "The marked one will find you, and then you will begin."

He sighed with frustration, this vague doublespeak being his main motivation for never letting a seer read him. "Begin what?"

"I cannot say." She paused, head tilting slightly. "But I can show you how to identify them." The old woman placed two fingers in the center of his forehead and he felt a mild jolt, an image appearing in his mind. It was a wall built of stones of varying sizes and the edges were faded, as if he were only seeing a portion of the whole. In the center was an iron gate, intricately wrought and set into an archway, but whatever lay beyond was indistinguishable. Everything was in shades of gray, and then a single white rose bloomed in the middle of the gate, dark vines unfurling to either side and twisting around iron bars like snakes. Little more than an instant later the image vanished, and he was left with a strange feeling in his chest, as though he'd seen that rose before. "That is all I have to show you, my lord."

Roy took his hand back and emptied his glass of what whiskey remained. "Thank you, madame." With that farewell he stood and strode directly to the stairs, climbing to the third floor and finding his room. Once inside he locked the door and leaned against it, lost in thought for several seconds, brow still drawn together after the odd exchange.

Shutting the window to keep out the night's chill he undressed, slipping into the bath to wash away the dirt and grime from two weeks in the wilderness. Closing his eyes he let the heat soothe muscles sore from riding, his body seeming to slowly melt under it's influence. All the while he pondered the woman's words, wondering who the 'marked one' might be, why they'd want to find him, and what would then begin. Her other declarations were just as unnerving. The seer's statement about his father was impossible, but it clawed at him nonetheless, as did that odd sense of familiarity he felt each time he pictured the gate with the rose and vines. The skeptic in him wanted to write it off as useless information designed to keep him interested or elicit more money, and he half wished he could dismiss the woman as a con artist but, based on what she'd shown him, she was not without talent.

AN: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and have a great day!

P.S. Hermitcrab, just in case you read this, I saw your reviews for the final chapters of Trickster/Lionheart and I just wanted to say thank you :)