Her Royal Dove, His Faithful Falcon

by Katyakora

A choice was made, and a princess's act of kindness forever bound the paths of herself and the mercenary Captain Saker. PrincessxSaker

A/N: Wrote the whole thing before posting, which i don't usually do. Reading Fable fanfic, and there was no love for Saker. So I changed that.

His Royal Dove, Her Faithful Falcon

A smirk formed around Saker's customary cigar as he strode boldly into the Dweller Camp. He easily towered over the villagers, and there was not a dweller in sight that was not shooting him fearful glances. Even though he walked at the Rebel Princess's side, with a trail of Brightwall volunteers and their supplies, still the idiots feared him. It warmed his twisted, black heart to see it. Leashed he may be, but he was still very dangerous.

The princess moved in front of him as they made their way up the incline towards Sabine's enclave. Saker's eyes were drawn to the ripple of muscle beneath her tight, black highwaywoman leggings. She had been wearing filthy mercenary trousers when he had first laid eyes on her, and his breath still caught slightly at the memory. He recalled her strutting forward to face him, her deep red mane of hair whipping wildly in the breeze, a matching shade to the trim on her rather low-cut white bodice. Her impressive assets had earned her many a crude call from his gathered men, and even now, dressed in her highway woman clothing, the dark red corset and capelet only made her crisp white shirt, and the mounds it covered, more noticeable.

The sight of her confident strut should have given away her identity straight away, so much did it remind him of the self-assured swagger of her father. Saker couldn't help but recall the day he had met Albion's Hero King. A tall, gangly youth, not yet having reached his current mass, he'd been taken to the King's war room upon arrival, his sack of belongings still slung over his shoulder. And then the King had arrived, impressing Saker with both his swagger and his stature, so rare was it that Saker looked anyone other than his mother in the eye without looking down. The king's dreadlocks were a vibrant red, but his steel gray goatee and the deep lines on his face betrayed his age. The aging monarch had stood in front of the youth, mirroring his posture, with his hands behind a straight back and a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You must be Saker." He spoke in a quiet murmur, not what Saker had expected from such a large man. He gave a nod in answer. "Your mother seems to think you're a bit of a lost cause. She's asked me to see if my army can straighten you out where the Temple failed." Yellow eyes stared into his blue good eye, unnerving him, as did the wolfish grin that spread across the King's face. "Report to Captain Swift in the barracks. He'll make a man of you, I'm sure."

"Yes, your Majesty." Even as a youth, Saker's voice had been a gruff rasp. Opening the door to leave, he had almost walked straight into a teenaged Logan. Saker grinned at the memory of Albion's future monarch stumbling back a step. The boy had been thin and pasty, unlike his young sister, with her lean, well-muscled frame and flawless alabaster skin.

They reached Sabine's domain, where Saker spent the entirety of the meeting in a glaring contest with Boulder, to whom Saker had taken an instant dislike. When Sabine finally commented on mercenary's presence, the Princess assured him that Saker and his men were now allied to their cause, which the tiny man accepted with a 'hmmph'. Finally, the Princess concluded their meeting, and he gladly followed her from the Dweller Camp. The pair paused at the top of the trail down the mountain, and Saker took the opportunity to summon a flame to relight his cigar. The young princess narrowed her eyes at the flame dancing in his palm.

"You're a will-user." Her obvious statement earned her a snort from the mercenary.

"I'd have thought you'd've figured that out earlier, Dove. Around the time you were dodging my fireballs."

"I thought they might have been explosives," she replied with a shrug. "Where did you learn that?" He eyed her warily.

"Where did you?" he countered.

"A blind woman gave me a magic glove," was the candid reply. She looked at him expectantly, awaiting his answer. Saker hadn't expected her to answer, yet she had, so he grudgingly followed suit.

"My father taught me," he said after taking a long drag at his cigar.

"Do you know any other spells?" she asked as they headed down the path.

"I tried, Dove, but fire was the only one I ever had a knack for." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Dove?" she questioned. He shrugged.

"Doesn't seem right calling you by your name without the title. And using your title would be like painting a giant fucking target on your back." She looked thoughtful for a moment, a small smile on her lips.

"I like it," she said finally.

"Good," he replied with a chuckle. "'Cause I was gonna call you that whether you liked it or not." The pair lapsed into silence as they made their way down the mountain, finally stopping at the bottom of the valley, the lake before them glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Well Dove, it's been interesting," he said flippantly, knowing she was headed for the monorail station now. She nodded gravely at him.

"Have your men ready. When the call to arms comes, you'll have to march straight to Bowerstone." He puffed at his cigar for a moment, looking at her contemplatively.

"I think I can do better than that," he said finally. "I've a few contacts who may consider joining you cause, should the right offer be made."

"I can always use more allies. Let me know if anything comes of it. Take care Saker."

"And you, Dove." The two warriors went their separate ways, both confident they would be seeing the other again.

00000

"Still looking for allies, Dove?" Saker asked from where he casually leant against a tree on the road to Millfields.

"Of course," was the Rebel Princess's simple reply, utterly unsurprised by the mercenary's presence. She stopped just in front of him, her right hand on her cocked hip in an almost provocative pose. She was still dressed as a highwaywoman, but her vibrant mane had been tamed into a bun, with a few wayward locks falling to frame a pale face that now sported an elaborate, swirling blue tattoo on one side. A glance down showed him she had also added ink to her chest, with just a hint of the royal design showing at her cleavage.

"Right," he said, stepping away from his tree so that he was looking straight down at her, wondering if he imagined her slightly increased height. "And what would you say if I told you I knew a man with an entire armada at his beck and call?"

"I'd say that man was either Logan or the pirate king himself," she replied coolly, although he could see that she was curious. He grinned.

"Smart girl. When I first left the army, I spent a couple of years in Bloodstone, where I got to know the bloke people now call Ravager. I can get us close to him; all you need to do is figure out what you can exchange for his aid."

"Interesting. I have just one question: How exactly are we going to get to Bloodstone? The only way I know of requires booking passage on a ship from the Bowerstone Port, but no ship gets in or out of there without Logan's men knowing exactly what and who is on it." Saker shook his head.

"If you're going to Bloodstone, you need to start thinking like a criminal, Dove. There's a beach to the south of here that's popular with smugglers, and I've already got one of my men organising us passage." Her delicate eyebrows rose, and she smiled impishly at him.

"All right Saker, lead on." She chuckled as they made their way down the path. "It would seem you've thought of everything."

"That's why captains have lieutenants, Dove," he said with a shrug. "And why kings have generals. It's their job to take care of all the details the higher-ups are too busy for."

"It's a shame you left the army," the princess mused. They were leaving Millfields now, the expensive cottages and manicured gardens lining the road now giving way to untamed woods. "You would have made a fine general." Saker gave a harsh, bitter bark of a laugh.

"Truth be told, Dove, I left before they had the chance to court-martial me. Deserting seemed preferable to execution." Silence descended on the pair following his admission. But the princess was curious about the mercenary, and chose to press her luck, praying that he was in a sharing mood.

"Why did you join the army, then?" The question was tentatively broached. "If you don't mind me asking, that is." He glanced down at her from where he was lighting a cigar. He puffed away at it, silently contemplating what to tell her.

"I'll cut your lips off if you tell anyone this," he began with the customary threat. "But my mum made me."

"Your mum?" she asked incredulously. He chuckled at the stunned look on her face.

"You wouldn't be so surprised if you'd met my mum. She taught me to fight herself, and could still knock me on my arse when she was old and gray." He paused to take a long drag of his cigar, exhaling the smoke in a sigh. "She was an old mate of your Dad's, actually."

"Truly?" she asked with genuine surprise. "I didn't think my father had any female friends. The only one I can recall him mentioning…" she trailed off, looking as though her mind was painstakingly piecing information together. "The Hero of Strength. Hammer." He couldn't hide his flinch at the sound of her name. He should have known better than to talk about her. A decade's worth of well-buried guilt and regret threatened to surface, but he thrust it back. The gate was open, however, and he found himself telling her about his childhood, in quiet, detached tones. The princess listened with rapt fascination.

"I was born not long after she established the Temple of Transcendence, where the Temple of Light used to be. One of the monks who as there before she took over told me she named me after her dad, the old Abbott. I was raised around warrior monks, learning about honour and discipline before I was out of nappies. I didn't meet my dad 'til I was seven. He hadn't even known he had a son until he passed through Oakfield one day and thought to visit his old flame at the Temple.

After that I started spending half of each year in Brightwall where Dad taught at the academy. As I said though, I wasn't much of a mage, only ever learned one spell. Spent a lot of my time there reading books about tactics and strategy. Dad died when the Cullis Gate his apprentice tried to build exploded. I got bored of being stuck in Oakfield pretty quick after that, and after a couple of years Mum got sick of our yelling matches and asked your dad to see if his army could straighten me out. Of course, they both died a few years later, and I got bored of sitting around the barracks doing sweet fuck all. The higher-ups got pissy at the things I started doing, and they hadn't liked me much to begin with. So when things came to a head, I deserted. You pretty much know the rest."

Saker cursed inwardly. There was just something about the girl that made him want to talk. He hadn't told anyone these things in over a decade. They continued in silence a while longer, him ignoring her, and her looking pensive, thinking over what he'd told her. The morning birdsong had given way to the afternoon sun by the time she spoke again.

"Your mother was killed by mercenaries." It wasn't a question, she'd learned of Hammer's fate from her father himself. "When they attacked Oakfield and the Temple."

"What of it?" His voice was almost a growl, although his face remained coldly impassive. She stopped in the middle of the path and looked up at him, her soft brown eyes seeming to see right into his soul.

"It seems strange to me, that a man who lost his own mother to mercenaries, a man dedicated to honour and discipline, now leads a company of them."

"My decisions aren't yours to judge, Dove," he growled warningly, regretting having told her his story. Her eyes narrowed, the heat of conflict in their gaze becoming an almost palpable blaze.

"Do you truly thirst for battle so much?" Surprise sparked behind the anger in his eyes. The Rebel Princess truly could see right through him.

"Yes," he replied defiantly, the simple word almost a challenge.

"Why?" The question caught him off guard. He was suddenly reminded of the many fights he had had with his mother, and his face clouded at the memory. The princess began to look worried, afraid she'd truly overstepped her bounds.

"My mother had a saying." His words visibly startled her, but she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue speaking. He relit his cigar, taking a few deep puffs before continuing. "She said that battle had its own sort of siren song. It was thrilling and seductive, but ultimately, poison for your soul. When I was a child I thought it was just another of the Temple's abstract bloody mysticisms." His eyes were blank, as though he wasn't truly seeing her, his mind miles away, trapped in another moment. "But when I grew older, when I truly tasted battle…"

"…It felt as though your very blood was singing." She finished his sentence for him, her voice almost a whisper. His gaze snapped down to meet hers, and he knew that she had felt the siren's call of battle, the way he had, and the way his mother had. Hammer had turned away from it, but he had embraced it until it had become a sickening addiction, and for the first time in over a decade he truly acknowledged how disappointed in him she would have been. He felt tired and empty, and he looked at his young companion with eyes that held sorrow for the first time in years.

"A word of advice, Dove. Don't give in to the bloodlust. Because once you do, you won't know how to stop." He turned away from her and trudged on down the path, noticing for the first time the salty breeze and the roar of the ocean beyond the trees. They were nearly there.

They reached the beach quickly, to find Saker's trusted lieutenant Westy asleep in the sand, apparently waiting for them. Saker lightened his foul mood slightly by waking the man with a kick. The princess wandered down to the shoreline while the two men spoke, enjoying the full force of the mid-afternoon sun after spending the day walking through woods. Their previous conversation would not leave her thoughts, and she wondered if the strange bloodlust they shared came from their Hero blood. The crunch of heavy boots on sand signalled Saker's arrival.

"We're in luck, Dove," he said casually, his sorrow and regret once more soundly buried. "The Ravager is in the area, and he's coming to us. We're to meet a longboat here after nightfall, and it will take us to his ship." She nodded, glad that he seemed eager to get past their last discussion.

"I know you've the means to be elsewhere, and it's a good few hours until sun down, so if you've business to attend to today, now would be the time." She blinked; surprised that he was giving her a polite way to leave. She smiled softly at him.

"Thank you, but I think I'll stay and keep you company." The look of confusion on his face was almost comical, and she stifled a giggle as she turned back towards the dunes, heading for a few driftwood logs that looked like they'd make comfy chairs. She heard him follow, and he towered over her once she was perched on a log, still looking at her as though he was trying to figure her out. Wordlessly, she gestured for him to take a seat. Looking up at him was straining her neck.

"I'm a big boy, Dove. I'd be fine waiting on my own if you wanted to go," he said as he took a seat. An exasperated sigh escaped her.

"I want to stay. Really." She began to draw meaningless patterns in the sand with a stick, avoiding his mismatched gaze. "It's nice to spend time with someone who doesn't…expect anything of me." It was an uncomfortable admission, but it had been a day for uncomfortable admissions. "I miss the days when Walter looked at me like a daughter, and not a leader." She added the afterthought so softly it was a wonder that he'd heard it. To her surprise, he answered with a rough laugh.

"People so often forget how double-edged hope can be." She raised an eyebrow at his cryptic words, her eyes following his movements as he stubbed out his cigar before explaining. "All these people you've got following you, Walter, Jasper, Sabine, that mousy bloke from the old academy. They follow you out of hope, and that weight you feel on your shoulders is all their hope and expectations." He paused to pull out and light another cigar, and she wondered idly just how many of those things he had tucked away in his ragged and torn jacket. The movement drew her eyes to the planes of the broad, muscular chest his open jacket exposed. Her eyes raked over well-defined abdominals and rippling pectorals, scrutinising the blood-red tattered falcon tattoo they sported. She tore her eyes away when he continued to speak, glad he had been too engrossed in lighting his cigar to notice her gaze.

"But me," he continued, leaning on his knees with his cigar cocked between his fingers. "I follow you out of honour. You beat me and my men fair and square, and you spared my life. That not only makes you my superior as a warrior, it means I owe you a great debt. I follow you to honour that debt. No more, no less." He gave her a wry smile. "Still, it's good to know my company is appreciated."

00 Chapter 2 00

"Wake up, Dove" Saker's voice sounded loud to his own ears, having been alone with his thoughts and the sound of the ocean lapping the shore for several hours now. They had lit a fire once the sun had set, and the princess had succumbed to sleep while they huddled around it, and her sleeping form was a welcome warmth against his side. He'd watched over her while she slept, noticing for the first time the dark circles under her eyes, marring her once perfect pale skin. He wondered when she had last slept properly, and he was loathe to disturb her now, but the impressive silhouette of the Pirate King's ship was clear in the moonlight, surrounded by half a dozen smaller ships, and soon a longboat would arrive to take them aboard.

Once the princess had awoken and the fire had been put out, they stood together by the water's edge in the moonlight to watch the longboat's approach.

"Thought of something to offer him, Dove?"

"I have a couple of good ideas."

The mercenary nodded, but didn't pry.

"Once we're on board, let me do most of the talking, Dove. Don't do anything stupid and don't mention who you are until I've made it clear it's safe." She glared up at him, clearly annoyed.

"I can take care of myself, Saker," she replied hotly.

"Oh I know Dove," he said, his voice suddenly low and dangerous. "I've the scars to prove it." He stepped into her personal space, bending down so their faces were level, their noses barely inches apart. He wanted to make absolutely sure she understood the gravity of his words.

"But on that boat, Ravager's whim is law, and we will be surrounded not only by the highly skilled and bloodthirsty pirates of his crew, but by half of his fucking armada. Ravager and I go way back, and that's about the only reason you'll be able to step on that boat without a blade at your throat. I know his rules and I know his moods, so you are going to sit tight, keep your mouth shut unless I indicate otherwise, and let me-" protect you "- get us through this in one fucking piece." He stared her down, praying she would mark his words while he steadfastly ignored the unbidden thought that he had almost let slip.

"Fine!" she snapped tiredly, and he stepped back, satisfied that she would heed him. He turned back towards the ocean, unaware of the blush his proximity had brought to her cheeks, invisible as it was in the moonlight.

"Ye be Saker?" the sailor at the head of the longboat asked when it arrived. Saker nodded, and the pair was gestured on board. Not a word was spoken on the ride out to the waiting ship, the grunts of the rowers and the lap of the ocean the only sounds heard on that cold and misty night. They boarded the ship, and while the crew seemed to be lounging about enjoying their downtime, Saker instantly recognised that they boxed their visitors in, their weapons all within arms reach. The moment the princess stepped aboard, the night air filled with whistles and catcalls, and while she stood tall and stoic, Saker was very aware of how close to him she was standing. She now sported a black highwayman hat, which had appeared out of nowhere just before the longboat arrived, and it kept nudging his substantial bicep.

"Well, well, well," a smooth, charismatic voice called just to their right. Both turned to see the Pirate King Ravager striding towards them, the ocean breeze whipping at his long, dark hair and his open black coat. He was quite tall, though not near as tall as Saker, and his skin had same tell-tale golden hue that marked both men as not completely Alban. The pair clasped forearms in a warrior's greeting, and it was obvious they shared a genuine friendship.

"Saker, you old dog!" Ravager said warmly. "When I heard you and your crew had joined Sir Walter's little revolution, I had the poor bastard killed for spreading lies. And yet here you are, running errands for the Rebel Princess herself." He glanced down at Saker's companion. "This isn't her, is it?"

"This is Dove," Saker said vaguely. "She's here to represent her Highness's…interests." She met the pirate's steady gaze, her expression calm and blank in the face of his appreciative leer.

"So, the princess sends a little bird to speak for her…intriguing," the pirate murmured, his eyes raking over her body, earning him a look of contempt from the mystery highwaywoman. "So tell me, Little Dove, just what the Rebel Princess is willing to offer for my…services." No one missed the suggestion in his tone, and Saker suppressed a growl.

"What would you want?" the princess asked coolly, outwardly unfazed by his forward behaviour. Ravager smirked at her, stroking his goatee in a show of mock contemplation.

"Sovereignty would be nice," he tossed out casually. "Of the sea, that is," he added in response to her shocked expression, stepping back and sweeping his arms wide. "Yes, official King of Albion's Seas. That should be sufficient to earn my 'allegiance'." The smirk had not left his face. "Unless, of course, she truly wanted a 'pirate' king. I wouldn't be averse to settling down if it came with a kingdom attached." Saker took a measured step forward.

"That is not on the table," he said in a low growl. The pale young woman's eyes narrowed and she stepped firmly out of Saker's shadow, placing a calming hand on his bicep without a thought. "Allegiance is not what we are here for," she said confidently.

"Oh?" Ravager looked amused by her words.

"You are pirates." Ravager's crew cheered loudly at her obvious statement. "You don't fight for your allegiances. You fight for yourselves, and for gold." His salacious gaze had turned calculating, for the first time betraying the sharp intellect behind them.

"Does your princess offer gold then, Little Dove?" he asked quietly, his voice almost a purr. Her skin crawled every time he used Saker's name for her, but she held his gaze, drawing strength from Saker's presence at her side.

"She offers amnesty." Ravager's eyebrows shot up. "For one year."

"Just one year?" His tone was mocking.

"King Logan's navy grows every day, and I know the increased naval presence has become a significant thorn in your side. In exchange for your aid against Logan, the princess is willing to allow you to operate freely for one year. Once that year is up, naval presence will return to what it was in the Hero King's day."

"Interesting. Perhaps we should begin our negotiations in earnest?" He gestured for them to follow him below decks, not bothering to look back to see if they complied.

"I thought you were going to keep your mouth shut?" Saker growled in a low whisper as they headed below decks.

"I had to make him an offer. It couldn't be avoided." Saker let loose a long suffering sigh, but did not comment further.

The Captain's Quarters were lavish, draped with expensive silks and gaudy trinkets. Ravager himself stood at a sideboard pouring brandy, gesturing for them to sit when they entered.

"Brandy, Saker?" he offered. The mercenary nodded. "And you, Princess?" She had just opened her mouth to answer when his use of her title fully registered. She blushed sheepishly in the face of his sly grin, and Saker cursed under his breath.

"No, thank you," she replied finally, pulling off her hat. He laughed.

"Don't worry your Highness, your secret is safe with me," he assured her as he joined them at the table with two brandy glasses. "And might I say that is a rather fine disguise you have. The tattoos are a lovely touch."

"What was that little show for, Ravager?" Saker asked as he helped himself to the cigars in a box on the table.

"My men do so enjoy drama," Ravager replied as he sipped his brandy. "And thanks to my predecessor, they've come to expect it." He turned to the princess. "My apologies for any offence I may have caused earlier. Although you should know that Albion's monarch is, by default, a pirate's enemy. It would be against our…nature, I suppose, to aid you in your little revolution. Your offer is tempting, however." He stroked his beard thoughtfully, his mocking smirk long gone.

"Any area you attacked would be free to defend itself of course, but there would be no pursuit." The princess stipulated. "All bounties on the heads of you and your crew would be withdrawn, to return only if they are earned once your year of amnesty is up." Ravager leant forward onto his elbows, his brandy swirling lazily.

"I think I'll agree to those terms, with one small addition." She frowned.

"What do you wish to add?" He stood, heading over to a magnificent mahogany desk.

"Tell me, your Highness, are you familiar with the man your brother has put in charge of Industry in Bowerstone?" he asked, pulling a battered poster from the desk draws.

"I can't say I am," she admitted. She had a feeling Page's plans for her might involve him somehow, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Ravager threw the poster on the table. She'd seen it before, when travelling through Bowerstone. It showed a pale, pretty man in a top-hat, with the words 'Reaver is Industry' emblazoned on it.

"My…predecessor," Ravager said quietly. "I've him to thank for half my power and more of my troubles. In addition to amnesty, I ask that as Queen, you deny this man in any way you can. He is far too used to getting what he wants, and it would warm my cold, black heart to know you deny him at my word. Those are my terms." She thought for a moment.

"As long as it does not go against the good of the nation, I think I could manage that." She paused for a moment, studying him. "You are truly willing to bring your fleet into my fight for spite?" she asked slightly incredulously. He shrugged.

"It is as good a reason as any. Although, I confess, I am curious to know your reason to join this cause, old friend," he said, turning to Saker.

"Honour," he said simply, causing Ravager to chuckle.

"And here I thought Bloodstone had beaten it out of you." He turned back to the princess. "So, we have a deal? I give you the use of my fleet in you battle against Logan, and you grant me one year's amnesty and spite Reaver at my behest."

"We have a deal," she agreed, sealing it with a handshake.

"Excellent!" He grinned. "Now get the fuck off my ship. I have arrangements to make. Take care Saker, you too, your Highness."

"And you, your Majesty," she quipped with a mocking grin, taking a firm grip of Saker's forearm and willing them both to the Sanctuary. She caught sight of his shocked face a moment before the map came into view, making her giggle. He wasn't the only one who could put on a show.

Jasper jumped in surprise as the sound of loud, gruff cursing filled the Sanctuary. He rushed from where he was polishing the hammer in the armoury, to find a large and dangerous-looking mercenary leaning against the map, his face pale and still muttering assorted oaths.

"You could have bloody warned me!" he yelled at the princess who stood next to him laughing. Still giggling, she placed her hands on his arm to help him steady himself, the warmth of her touch a good distraction from the shock of his first teleportation.

"And miss this? I don't think so," she joked, her smile slowly going from mocking to tender as their proximity registered. They both stood there looking at each other for a moment, her right hand still resting on his arm. Their reverie was broken by the sound of Jasper clearing his throat loudly, and both took a quick step back.

"Oh hello Jasper!" she said a little too loudly. "This is Saker, one of my allies."

"Ah, yes. The mercenary." Jasper's voice was proper and mild, as usual, but there was a subtle note of disapproval.

"Keep your hair on, old man," Saker growled. "Just give me a minute to compose myself, then Dove can take me home. You can do that right?"

"Of course,"

"The princess has a title, Captain Saker," Jasper pointed out indignantly.

"Its fine Jasper," she assured him. She turned to Saker and held out her hand. "Are you ready to go?"

Saker nodded, stubbing out his cigar on the edge of the map table, earning him a horrified squeak from Jasper.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered, enveloping her offered limp in one of his own large, scarred hands.

00 Chapter 3 00

The blinding white light subsided, and Saker found himself standing in fresh snow near the top of Mistpeak, the soft sounds of the Dweller camp drifting to their ears from the other side of their raised bridge.

"Oh balls," the princess swore. "This always bloody happens! It's taken us to the wrong end of the valley."

"It's not the end of the world, Dove," Saker assured her with a shrug. "You're headed to Brightwall, aren't you?" She nodded. "Just will yourself there, I can get myself home from here." She looked at him incredulously.

"Alone? In the dark," she questioned. The moon that had been bright over the ocean was obscured by cloud, and a pack of wolves howled in the distance.

"Have you any better ideas?"

"Yes, actually." She jerked her head towards the camp. "I own one of the caravans there. We can bed down here for the night and head out in the morning. It'll be a bit of a squeeze, but it's warm and dry at least."

"I'll stay here then, but you should still head to the village."

"And leave you alone with the dwellers? I think not. I need you alive after all. Now come on."

The pair trudged through the snow towards the bridge. One word from the princess and it was lowered. To his surprise, they barely entered the main camp, turning off up a winding path instead. It was steep but well-lit, and though only one caravan could be found on the ridge, it was near a deep spring, and he could feel the heat rising off of the naturally heated water. The princess had almost reached her caravan before she realised he wasn't following anymore.

"What are you doing?" she asked, slightly flustered by the sight of him shucking off his jacket, to reveal the broad expanse of his scarred, muscular back.

"I fancy a bath."

Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of his impressive physique. She was infinitely grateful he couldn't see her reaction, feeling as though the blush on her cheeks was an inferno. Once he'd stripped down to his underwear, he dove into the pool with a monumental splash.

"Trust me, Dove," he said as he surfaced. "If we're sharing a caravan, you want me to have a bath."

The flustered princess made a beeline for her caravan, and Saker pulled a cigar from the pile of clothes he'd placed at the pool's edge. He reclined comfortably against the snow-covered rocks, eyes closed, enjoying the simple pleasure of a smoke and a hot bath.

The soft thump of heavy cloth hitting the rocks was all the warning he got before an all-mighty splash hit him full in the face, announcing the princess's return. He glared at her in indignation as she surfaced, tossing his now useless cigar over to his clothes. She giggled at him, only to cry out in surprise as her faithful dog, Vargo, launched himself into the pool, splashing her liberally.

"Good dog," Saker said with a laugh.

"Traitor," the princess muttered through a pout. Her hair had been pulled from its bun, and now ran in a wet red streak down her back, partially covering the tree tattooed there. She was dressed only in surprisingly simple undergarments, made from rough, un-dyed wool. The full extent of her tattoos was now visible, revealing dweller designs on her biceps in addition to the ink on her chest, back and face. She pulled two bars of soap from her belongs by the pool, tossing one to Saker. The scent of vanilla bean, and something familiar he couldn't quite place, filled his nose as he scrubbed away the grime coating his skin.

"You spoil me, Dove," he said with a smile as the unfamiliar sensation of true cleanliness washed over him. A low, breathy moan made him look up sharply, to where she was taking great pleasure in lathering the soap into her hair.

"I can't remember the last time I had a decent bath," she admitted with a sigh, leaning back to rinse her hair. Saker barked a laugh at her.

"Dove, if a bath ain't cold, it's a damn luxury."

"So I've learned," she replied with a sad smile, moving to lean against the rocks beside him. "It took me far too long to remember that not everyone lives in a castle." Her mood had turned pensive, and they sat together in silence for a while.

"So, Dove," Saker broached, his low tones like thunder following the quiet. "What's your story?"

"My story?"

"Yeah. I already told you mine, so what's yours? There must be reason you started this whole revolution." He looked at her expectantly, his arms folded, patiently waiting for her answer. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerve and formulating her words.

"Almost no one knows this, but I was with my mother when she died." Saker didn't comment, just watched and waited to hear the comment's relevance. The late king had been notoriously protective of his wife, confining her to a private wing of the castle that only the royal family and his most trusted servants ever entered. Many citizens had even questioned the existence of Queen Elvira until Logan was born. A popular rumour suggested that the loss of the King's first wife caused his over-protectiveness; although darker rumours hinted that her true identity was why he kept her hidden.

"I was twelve. We'd gone away to father's secret summer house near Rookridge." Her face was impassive and she stared into nothingness, her voice flat and empty, the way his had been when he'd spoken of his childhood. "Father, Logan and Sir Walter had gone hunting. Vargo was just a pup, and he'd ruined one of my doll's dresses. Mother was helping me fix it. She was always good at sewing. We had just finished sewing on the buttons when she just froze, looking terrified. She grabbed my shoulders and whispered that she loved me. I remember her eyes…they just turned flat and grey and empty, and she, she just crumbled, into pieces, and I sat there, for hours, crying and surround by parts of my mother!" Her once flat voice was now strained and cracking with emotion, and Saker found himself with a comforting arm around her shoulders, with no conscious memory of placing it there. The princess leaned into the contact, glad of the support. She had never spoken of this to anyone. With a deep breath, she pressed on, her voice steady once more.

"My brother found me. He'd raced back to the house on Walter's orders, to break the news to us about father." The exact details of the kings 'hunting accident were vague, but she did not elaborate. "He picked me up and held me, riding with me in his lap all the way back to the castle. I must have cried myself to sleep, because when I woke we were back at the castle, curled up in our parent's bed. It was the only time I've ever seen him with tears on his face. He was crowned a few weeks later, and ever since I've just felt that, behind the castle walls, under my brother's protection, all the pain and darkness in the world couldn't touch me. My perfect life was safe behind those walls, and I ignored anything outside of it."

"So what changed?" She looked up at him with eyes flooded with sorrow and loss.

"Logan did. I ignored it for so long. I was so wrapped up in my own safe little existence with Elliott. Oh Elliott. He was so idealistic, so naïve, so stupid. He just had to involve us, and we both paid the price." She paused to take a shuddering breath. "There was a demonstration at the castle. Elliott convinced me to step in, to try and stop Logan executing them all." She laughed, a bitter and hollow sound, her eyes caste down and staring into the swirls of the water. "And my reward was deciding who would die, my lover, or a group of strangers who just wanted a better life. I couldn't let them all die. Not for my mistake. So Elliott had to pay the price, and I finally had to open my eyes and see that all the pain and darkness I thought myself protected from was there after all. And my brother, my protector, the last of my family, was the centre of it. That's why I followed Walter out of the castle that night. Logan wasn't the grand guardian I'd always believed, he wasn't there to save me anymore. I had to learn to protect myself, and to protect my people from him." She looked up at him again, giving him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening. And not expecting anything of me. And for just being there. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a friend."

"Any time, Dove," he said with a friendly wink. "We'd best head off to bed soon though, you're almost as wrinkly as Sabine."

"All right then," she giggled. "And your welcome for the towel," He climbed out of the pool, picking up both lengths of plush cloth. He tossed one to her as she followed him out.

"Like I said, you spoil me, Dove."

The princess shimmered and disappeared to the Sanctuary to dress, leaving Saker to do the same. Dry and clothed, he made his way over to the caravan. It looked quite cosy, with a thick rug and rich fabrics covering most of the surfaces. It even had a small stove by the door, so it would definitely be warm. The only problem was that the caravan was barely as long as he was tall. The bed looked warm and comfortable, but he'd only be able to use it as little more than a pillow.

With a little effort, he managed to get his large frame inside, the caravan's timber frame and wheels creaking in protest. He made himself marginally comfortable, sitting with his back in the corner between the bed and the wall, using the bed as a convenient armrest.

"I see you've made yourself at home." He glanced up at the sound of her voice. She'd changed into some pyjamas, although she'd elected to leave her hair out, rather than tucked into the customary cap. She was carrying a bundle of furs that she dumped onto his legs, presumably for him to use as blankets. "I did warn you it would be a bit of a squeeze." She managed to get around him and onto the bed with a couple of dainty steps and a slightly undignified leap. Even for her, the bed was quite small, and she was forced to curl up in it like a cat. Saker pulled the furs over himself, earning him an annoyed yip from where Vargo had wedged himself between the mercenary's thigh and the bed.

"Good night Saker." A quiet voice murmured behind him.

"Good night Dove."

He snuffed the lantern, and the glow of the stove's coals became the sole light in the small space. Outside, the wind howled and a light snow began to fall. He could hear her breathing softly behind him, and he knew that if he turned his head their faces would be inches apart. All he could smell was her soap and a hint of wet dog, thanks to her ever present companion, and he could almost taste the vanilla bean and what he now realised was cinnamon. He wondered if her skin would taste the same. His pulse felt like a drum, and he cursed at himself for his wayward thoughts. Now he had an even more uncomfortable night ahead of him, as his body reminded him how long it had been since he'd felt a woman's caress.

He didn't know that the princess lay awake behind him, the scent of tobacco and leather mixed with her soap filling her nostrils, and the warmth of his proximity torturing her. Unbidden memories of her stolen evenings with Elliott came to mind, and she couldn't help but wonder how different Saker's rough, scarred hands would feel compared Elliott's soft, dainty ones. The memory of smooth skin became a fantasy of rough stubble and scars, of being enveloped by the sheer size of the man, where she'd actually been slightly bigger than Elliott. He must have been about the same age as her brother, with ten years of experience that Elliott would now never have. She imagined running her palms over the unfamiliar planes of his muscles, tracing his falcon tattoo with her tongue. Her thighs rubbed together, strengthening her arousal, and she bit her lip to suppress it, only to find it heightened by the slight pain. She was sure her smallclothes were soaking, and she hoped he couldn't smell her excitement, unaware it was masked by the scent of Vargo's wet fur.

Her breath on the back of his neck was like impossibly light kisses, and all he could think of was turning to capture her lips in his. He heard her shift behind him, and wondered if she'd fallen into slumber yet. He looked back at her sleeping form, only to find soft brown eyes looking directly at him. They held each other's gaze, neither moving, but neither willing to look away. The atmosphere within the caravan crackled with tension, and the princess's soft lips parted slightly. His eyes flicked down to her mouth, drawn by the movement, and she couldn't hold back any longer, hurriedly pressing her lips to his mouth before she lost her nerve.

All the tension they had been suppressing seemed to transfer into their kiss, a gentle yet passionate melding that made her nerves blaze like she'd been hit with a shock spell. He cradled the back of her head in his hand, her soft hair seeming to caress his palm. He savoured the taste of her, and the way their contact seemed to ignite a shadow of the bloodsong he felt in battle, only now it was not battle that called to him, but her taste in his mouth and the smooth curves of her body.

She was leaning into their kiss, and in danger of falling into his lap, when Vargo suddenly bounded to his feet, barking insistently at the door. The couple broke apart, shocked from their reverie by the harsh sound. Immediately Saker barrelled through the door, assuming the dog had heard someone lurking outside. He was partially right.

"What the fuck are you doing, old man?" he roared, clapping a hand over his eyes. Vargo bounded straight up to Boulder, licking his face happily.

"Taking my dawn bath, I'll have you know!" Sabine yelled right back from where he stood completely naked by the hot spring. Indeed, the morning sun could be seen just breaching the mountain range's eastern ridge. "And just what do you think you're doing in my camp?"

"I brought him here, Sabine, we needed a – Oh sweet Avo!" The princess had made the mistake of stepping out of the caravan. Hastily she turned her back to the naked chieftain.

"You could have warned me!" she hissed at Saker.

"Still recovering myself, Dove."

"Oh, I didn't see you there, Princess," Sabine called genially, completely at home with his own nakedness. "I hope this ruffian isn't giving you any trouble."

"No, no," she assured him, keeping her eyes firmly on the horizon and trying desperately to wash the image of the tiny, naked old man from her mind. "He was helping me out actually. We found ourselves on Mistpeak and needed somewhere to bed down for the night."

"I see. Well, as long as he behaves himself, I suppose I can tolerate his presence,"

"No need to strain your self, old man," Saker muttered sarcastically. He glanced over at the princess, just in time to see her shimmering return from the Sanctuary, having changed out of her pyjamas.

"Right, we'll be going now. Come on Vargo," the princess said hurriedly, carefully keeping her eyes away from the pool as she walking briskly towards the path, grabbing a hold of Saker's hand as she passed to drag him along.

She let go once they reached the bottom, although the moment she did, they both missed the warmth of the contact. Neither spoke as they headed down the valley, unsure of how to proceed following the interruption of their intimate moment in the caravan. Once again, tension sparked between them, reaching its peak when they arrived at the crossroads. They just stood there, looking at each other for a moment while they waited for the other to speak. The lake glistened through the trees, mirroring the last time they had said goodbye in this very valley. Back then, both had been so sure they would see each other again, but now they regarded each other with uncertainty.

Finally, Saker spoke, tired of waiting.

"How long will you be in Brightwall?" he asked.

"Not long. I just need to drop off a few books at the academy, and then Page needs me for something in Millfields."

"Not long now, is it?" Saker said wistfully. "A couple more weeks, and I wager you'll have your army."

"I suppose your right." She smiled shyly up at him. "With a general like you at my side, Logan doesn't stand a chance."

Saker grinned at her, and she took the opportunity to grab his lapels and pull herself up to kiss him. His arms enveloped her, pulling her close as he kissed her back. Reluctantly, they parted a while later, and Saker tucked a loose lock of her hair behind her ear in an unusually tender gesture.

"The revolution won't run itself, Dove. You should get going and I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

"I'll hold you to that," she replied seriously.

"Goodbye Dove. Look after yourself."

"And you, Saker."

The two warriors went their separate ways, both afraid they would never see the other again.

00 Chapter 4 00

Everyone in Industrial gave the scowling giant a wide berth as he strode through its filthy streets. His reputation had spread widely in the two months he'd been there. Almost everyone had heard how he'd started and ended an entire pub brawl on his own, when some of Nigel Ferret's gang had tried to make him, and all the other patrons leave. Page hadn't minded too much, as the men had been about to shake down the Riveter's Rest for protection money, and Saker had only managed to break a couple of tables and a window. The brawl had improved his mood for a day or two, even more so when Ferret began sending goons after him to fight, but his worry was never far from his thoughts.

It had been nearly three months since they'd said goodbye at the crossroads in Mistpeak Valley, and just over seven weeks since Sir Walter and the Rebel Princess had set sail for Aurora. His mood had progressively darkened as the days went by, to the point where he'd thrown a man through a pub window for tapping him on the shoulder. His men didn't even try to talk to him anymore, instead training and gambling with the Bowerstone Resistance, whose headquarters they were sharing until the battle came.

The only one who talked to him anymore was Page. The no-nonsense resistance leader had taken to assigning him tasks to do for the resistance, occupying his mind so he could forget his troubles for an hour or two. He strode straight into her 'office', if one could call her little section of the sewer that. He tossed his burden onto her map, earning him a glare from the woman who had been leaning against it.

"What is that?" she demanded, eyeing the soggy looking sack.

"Steak," he replied vaguely, lighting a cigar. "Oh, don't look at me like that, it's not like I can make this place stink any worse." He grumbled as her glare worsened. "You're little nark was running errands for a butcher when I caught up to him."

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

"Even I don't kill children, woman," he spat. "No, he's just not gonna get the taste of the harbour out of his mouth any time soon. Logan's men won't get any more out of him." Page sighed deeply.

"Frightening children. By Avo, I hope the princess gets back soon. It's getting harder and harder to keep this place a secret." Saker's scowl deepened and Page's eyes narrowed as she studied them.

"Our men have quite the pool going, you know. They're all taking bets on just what's got you in such a foul mood. Last I heard, the most popular theory is that the wait for the battle ahead is getting to you."

"What's you're point, woman?" Saker asked tiredly.

"My point is I know what you're really waiting for. Scowling and beating the shit out of everyone who comes near you isn't going to bring her back any faster. Sir Walter and Ben are with her, and I know Ben's a bit of an buffoon sometimes, but their both excellent soldiers. They'll get the princess home safe."

"Keep your platitudes to yourself, Page. We can't all live on hope."

"Sometimes hope is all we have." Saker barked his dry, humourless laugh.

"People so often forget how double-edged hope can be."

"Page!" Kidd called, barrelling into her office. "Just got an urgent message from Ravager's scouts. Auroran ships have been spotted on the horizon!"

"Then it's time," Page said as she briskly gathered her pistol and sword, securing them to her hip. "Gather the others and rendezvous with Ravager's ships. You know where. Go!"

Saker was already striding out the door, barking orders at his lieutenants who scrambled to follow them. Page caught up with him in the tunnel heading towards the docks, where boats would take them out to the pirate ships. The ride out to the ships seemed to take days, although it couldn't have been more than an hour. Once on the ship, they found Sabine and Boulder already on board and impatient to head out. Saker ignored the old man's annoyed chatter, just standing near the bow, his large hands crushing the rail in a death-grip.

Possibilities ran through his mind, and he found pleasure in imagining just what he'd do to Walter and Ben if they had let any harm come to his Dove. The whole crew, and even Ravager gave him a wide berth as they headed out into the pre-dawn light, towards they foreign ships waiting in the distance.

Ravager's crew brought his ship up against the side of the largest ship in the foreign fleet, from which enthusiastic barking was clearly audible. The gangplank hadn't even been completely lowered when a red blur simply vaulted from one ship to the other and Saker found himself with a warm body thrown into his arms. He held her close, in an almost crushing grip, assuring himself that it was truly her.

"Don't ever do that to me again," he murmured hoarsely into her hair, and he felt her grip around his neck tighten.

"If you two are quite done?" Ravager's droll comment interrupted their reunion. Saker regretfully let go, glaring at his old friend. "I believe we have a revolution to plan?" Most of her generals were giving them looks of surprise, unaware the two were close, with only Page and Ravager looking entirely unfazed by the emotional reunion.

They returned to the Auroran flagship to plan their attack.

00000

Saker's forces had been split, with Westy leading a squad aiding the resistance fighters to the east, and Saker leading the squad aiding the princess and the Swift Brigade. All around him battle raged, and he felt as though an entire orchestra ran through his veins. Nearly three months of frustration was finally able to truly vent as they decimated Logan's forces. And his Dove seemed to shine like a beacon at his side, for she had yet to stray more than a few yards from him, and each kill she made seemed like a symphony in motion.

She'd lost weight while they'd been apart, and if possible had become even paler. She'd changed back into her red and white bodice, the last remnant of her castle days, and he could see new scars criss-crossing her left shoulder, and the top of a new tattoo, a haunting, wraith-like design replacing the tree that had been on her back. The dark circles under her eyes had deepened, as though they had become permanent. He couldn't even begin to imagine what they had seen across the sea that now haunted her and Walter, but he sincerely hoped he would have the chance to make it pay.

Saker was at her side when she kicked in the door of her brother's war room, a fire spell already charging in his hands. But the monarch didn't even try to fight, instead almost commending his sister for finally growing into her own person. Saker couldn't help but notice how tired he looked, the darkness around his eyes exceeded only by his sister's. It was strange to see the haunted look she'd had since returning reflected in her brother's eyes. The man even spoke of having good reason for his tyranny, and Saker hoped that the darkness that haunted them, that had driven him to such extremes, was not one and the same.

With the battle over and Logan locked away for the meantime, Walter wasted no time in rushing the princess away to begin preparing for her reign. She followed reluctantly, giving Saker a long, wistful look as she was lead out the door.

Saker trudged back the resistance headquarters, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his gut. He was unsurprised to find Page there and not celebrating with their men. She, however, was surprised to see him.

"What are you doing here? I'd have thought the two of you would be celebrating." Saker didn't answer at first, instead digging out the good bottle of whiskey he'd stashed behind some barrels.

"I am celebrating," he said bitterly after taking a long swig.

00 Chapter 5 00

"Get up," Saker was woken with a kick to his side, his honed reflexes catching the boot of the offending limb in a vice grip. He looked groggily up at Page, who shook her foot free and dropped a heavy package on his stomach. "We've been summoned for the queen's coronation and Logan's trial. If these packages are any indication, we're to dress accordingly." With that, she turned and left the tunnel Saker and his men had claimed as sleeping quarters.

The package contained what appeared to be an officer's uniform, the normally bright red dyed into the deep, blood red she was apparently so fond of. On the back, his tattered falcon symbol stood out in a pristine white. When he joined Page at the sewer's exit, he found that she too had been gifted a new suit, a scholarly outfit that seemed to be in the auroran style, although her dreadlocks were still pulled back through her customary cap.

They were admitted immediately on arrival at the castle and led to the main balcony, where the rest of the revolutionary allies stood. The low buzz of the crowd could be heard below, developing into a veritable roar when the double doors were thrown open to a joyous fanfare. The Rebel Princess stepped out to claim her crown, looking stunning and regal, her royal outfit the exact shade of dark red as Saker's new uniform. She looked every inch a queen, and when she caught his eye he bowed, the better to hide the regret in his eyes. He'd helped make her a queen, and now she would forever fly above him, out of his reach.

After the coronation, the generals were all led to the war room, where Saker now noticed they all looked cleaner and tidier than they ever had during the war. Sabine was even wearing a shirt. A short, plump, repulsive little man in a pink suit began bustling about the room, making sure everybody knew the procedure and where to stand at the trial.

"Sir, I am afraid you cannot smoke in here," his sickeningly sweet, condescending voice said in reference to the cigar Saker had lit the moment they left the balcony. Saker gave the little man a long look, under which he quivered noticeably, but did not step back. With a malicious grin, Saker took a long pull from his cigar, bent down and blew it back into the annoying man's face, stubbing the rest of the cigar out on the man's revolting and obviously expensive suit jacket. The man could only gape at him in horror, dumbstruck by the damage to his precious jacket.

"Hobson, for future reference, Saker has permission to smoke wherever he likes." Everyone in the room turned to face the new queen as she entered the room. With the ornate golden crown on her head, she only looked more regal. Her eyes softened as she looked Saker up and down in his new uniform, a small smile on her lips.

"Your Majesty," he greeted her with a bow of his head, doing a fair job of keeping his unhappiness from his face. Her face fell slightly.

"Your Majesty? What ever happened to 'Dove'?"

"Doesn't seem right to call you Dove with that bloody great crown on your head," he replied with a shrug. She gave him her impish smile, and slipped off her crown.

"Have it your way then, Dove," he said with a quiet chuckle and a small smile. A servant entered to announce it was time for the trial, and they all filed out after the queen.

Of all her generals, Saker was the only one who didn't speak during the trial. He simply stood beside her throne, an imposing giant with his arms crossed. In truth, he knew exactly what would happen to the former monarch, for despite their betrayals, the queen loved her sibling still.

His blood ran cold when Logan announced that the darkness he and his sister had witnessed in Aurora was coming to Albion, and Saker didn't miss the way the queen froze in her seat when those words left his lips. Logan was spared, but the troubled look on her face didn't cease. If he had not seen her fast-travel before, he would have passed it off as a trick of the light, but he was sure the slight shimmer of her form meant she had travelled somewhere and back in the space of a moment. Once the trial was over, he followed his queen back to the war room, ignoring Sir Walter's disapproving look. He shut the door behind them, standing with his back to it as he cautiously approached the queen where she leant against the map table.

"You alright, Dove?" he asked quietly, tenderly placing a hand on her shoulder.

"No, Saker, I am most definitely not alright," she murmured, one hand coming up to rub her brow. "I have one year. One stinking, miserable year!" Her voice rose into an angry cry and she punctuated her words by shooting a fire bolt at a suit of armour, knocking its head off. The emotions she'd fought so hard to contain were finally surfacing, not helped by the distraction of his presence. She rounded on him, venting her frustration. "I barely saved Walter from that thing, and now it's coming for Albion. And I'm supposed to stop it somehow,"

"Hey, calm down, Dove," Saker said soothingly as she swiped away angry tears, stepping forward to grip her shoulders. "I know it's hard, and people are going to die,"

"You're not very good at comforting,"

"That's because I'm not trying to comfort you. If a war is coming, then people will die. That is the first thing an officer needs to learn when they take command. Or have you forgotten all the good men who died to put you on that throne?"

"No," she snapped with a glare.

"Good, because now you have it, more people will die so you can keep it. Your job is to figure out how many you can afford to lose, so you can win the war."

"That's it? I'm just supposed to reduce all those innocent people into the cruel calculus of war?" she demanded angrily.

"Only if you want any of them to live," he growled. "It is what it is, Dove. You fought for that crown, now you've got to deal with the responsibilities that come with it." The young queen deflated visibly at the truth of his words, sagging against the hands that still braced her shoulders. "You already raised one army for your kingdom. You can do it again," he assured her gently.

She looked up at him, her eyes soft and vulnerable, opening her mouth to speak, only to be rudely interrupted by Hobson bustling into the room. The two hastily took a step away from each other.

"Your Majesty, I – Oh, I see you have company." He eyed Saker disdainfully, speaking the word as though it shouldn't truly be applied to him. He bowed low to the queen, now blatantly ignoring Saker's presence. "I'm afraid you are expected down in Bowerstone Industrial, and your carriage is ready and waiting."

"Of course, Hobson, I'll be right there," she assured. She looked at him pointedly, and it was with great reluctance that her secretary took the hint and left them alone, although he did not close the door behind him.

"Saker, before I go, you should know that I'm reinstating you in the army." He frowned slightly at her.

"You really think that's wise, Dove?" he asked.

"Of course I do. After all, I don't expect my generals to lead from a desk. You'll be down on the battlefield with your men, on whatever assignment you've chosen."

"General?" She grinned impishly at his surprise.

"I did say I thought you'd make a good general," she replied with a shrug. Saker thought for a moment, and then mirrored her grin.

"It would be a shame to have to return this nice new uniform, I suppose."

"I'm glad to here it. Any of your mercenaries who wish it may also join my army and receive full pardons." She strode towards the door, calling over her shoulder. "Welcome back to the army, General Saker."

00000

"Wait, I'm sorry, but I need you to stop right there," the queen abruptly interrupted Walter's announcement, suddenly wishing she had paid more attention when Hobson had rattled off the days appointments. "Whose decision was it that the castle even needed redecorating?" Walter blinked at her in surprise.

"Well, yours, your Majesty. Hobson told me you'd made the decision three days ago."

"Walter," she quietly beckoned him over with a crooked finger. "I am in the process of preparing for an imminent invasion. Did you truly believe that revolting little man when he told you I had decided to waste money on bloody redecorating?" she whispered in a deceptively sweet voice.

"Well, when you put it like that…I'll verify these things with you in the future."

"Thank you," she murmured, and then raised her voice to address the designers. "I'm afraid there has been a miscommunication. Neither of your services will be required. Now get out of my throne room."

The glow of a lit cigar caught her eye, and she immediately locked onto the general leaning casually in the doorway, smirking at the indignant designers as they left. He'd spent the last two weeks in Millfields, dealing with the sudden balverine boom, and the queen had noticed her stress levels rising exponentially the longer he was away. Just knowing he was there, watching, seemed to calm her, the pounding headache she'd seemed to have had for days finally abating. Catching her eye, he nodded to her, acknowledging her attention, and then quietly slipped from the room.

Two hours later, having cleaned up and changed after the journey back to Bowerstone, he received a message requesting he meet with the former King. Curious, and more than a little cautious, he made his way to the room that had once belonged to the queen, but had been given to Logan as she now inhabited the royal chambers. Logan called for him to enter after he gave a light knock, and he entered the room to find Logan staring pensively out the window at his parent's mausoleum.

"You asked to see me?" Saker asked, not bothering with the usual courtesies.

"Yes," Logan finally turned to face him. "I wish to speak to you about your…association with my sister."

"Oh?" Saker crossed his arms defensively.

"You see, contrary to popular belief, I love my sister, and as her brother and former guardian, I am rather protective of her."

"So she mentioned. Shame you couldn't protect her from yourself."

"I tried to make her understand why I made the decisions I did."

"So you made her choose between executing her lover or a bunch of innocent strangers? I can't possibly imagine how that might scar her for life," Saker retorted sarcastically.

"I…didn't know he was her lover," Logan admitted. "Although that does explain a great deal. At any rate, I asked you here because I have been hearing rumours that the two of you became quite…close, during her campaign against me. Based on your apparent knowledge of her past trauma, I'm assuming that you did. My question," he said sternly, "is just how close?"

"I haven't shagged your sister, if that's what you asking."

"Well, ah, well good, but that's not quite what I'm asking," Logan said, slightly flustered. "What I want know is how do you feel about her?"

"That's a bit personal, innit?"

"Just answer the question." Saker sighed, deciding to indulge him, simply because he was tired of holding the truth back, even from himself.

"Well, I can't speak for Dove. But I'd follow my queen to the ends of the earth, and I'd die for the woman wearing that crown. Make of that what you will." He turned to go, feeling strangely free for having admitted the depth of his feelings, even if it was to a totally stranger.

"She's expecting you to go see her. I told her I'd send you there once we had spoken." Logan called at his back. He paused to nod, and then was out the door. Outside the war room, Saker had just placed his hand on the ornate golden doorknob, when Hobson's voice drifted to him from the other side.

"But the nobility expect you to select a husband from their sons, your Majesty," he wheedled. Saker paused, not entirely certain he wanted be a part of this conversation.

"And I am quite tired of having their vain, pompous, puffed-up, self-important, narcissistic, little hobbes thrown at me every time I step out of my chambers," the queen's voice snapped back testily.

"They merely wish to ensure the line of succession is established as soon as possible, your Majesty."

"I am aware, and I already made my choice on the matter perfectly clear."

"But you cannot be serious!" Hobson spluttered. "You cannot -,"

"Might I remind you that you are already on thin ice after what you pulled earlier with the decorators?" the queen interrupted him coldly. "Do not try my patience Hobson!"

"Of course, your Majesty," he replied after a slight pause. "I merely wished to remind you -,"

"Enough!" she snapped. "Just for that I'm confiscating your key to the treasury."

"No, but, your Majesty, I, please no -,"

Saker thrust the door open, grabbing the collar of the pompous secretary who was jumping on his toes in an attempt to grab back the key the queen held above her head. Bodily, he tossed him from the room and slammed the door, locking it soundly. The sound of bitter weeping could be heard from the other side.

"That man's fascination with gold is disturbing," the queen muttered in disgust. Saker noticed for the first time that she had replaced her regal skirt with her old highwaywoman leggings. She stood by the fireplace, her arms folded and the light making her crown look like a ring of fire atop her red hair. She stared pensively into the flames.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, standing a respectful distance away.

"Yes," she said, finally looking at him. She looked anxious, and unbeknownst to the general, her palms were sweating, clasping her elbows to hide the way they shook. "I'm sorry you had to do that. Everyone won't leave me alone about the succession. It's been getting on my nerves"

"To be honest, Dove, it was a pleasure to toss the little toad. Would have been a greater pleasure to toss him out the window." She giggled at the image he conjured, trying to ignore the nervous twist in her gut.

"They're right, though. I think I'm ready to marry, and the kingdom will be more stable if I have a King-Consort." Saker's blood froze in his veins, but he didn't let it show.

"Any of them would be lucky to have you, Dove." He gave her a tight smile that didn't match the anguish in his eyes. She frowned and gave a frustrated sigh.

"You're really going to make me say it, aren't you? Sweet Avo, I'm making a mess of this," she muttered, slipping of her crown and cradling it between her hands. She took a deep, shaking breath, looking down at her crown as she spoke. "I need a king, Saker. And I don't want any of those little boys dressed as noblemen. I want a man I can rely on, a man who'll keep me grounded, who'll tell me when I'm being childish and call me on my bullshit. I need the man who never expected anything of me, who just gave me his sword and a kind ear." She finally met his eyes.

"I need you, Saker." She held her crown out to him, and for the first time since he entered the room, her voice was strong and unbroken. "Will you be my king?"

Saker just stood there, absolutely stunned, and to his horror, tears began to prick at the corner of his eyes.

"I'd make a terrible king, Dove," he managed to say hoarsely.

"Technically, you would be King-Consort," she pointed out, her voice quiet and uncertain. "Most of the actual running of Albion would fall to me, so you would be free to maintain your role as general." She looked so vulnerable and afraid, he took an involuntary step closer.

"Are you sure about this, Dove?" he asked softly. She bit her lip and nodded.

"Ever since Aurora, I've been sure that all I ever wanted was you."

Unable to contain himself, Saker swept the startled queen into his arms and kissed her fervently, which she returned just as passionately, her arms looking around his neck and her body pressed insistently against his. The electric pleasure they felt upon contact was intoxicating, and both greedily sought more. Her crown dropped to the rich carpet below, forgotten. Impatiently she pushed him backwards until the back of his legs hit a couch, and she shoved him soundly back into a sitting position.

She promptly straddled him, aching with the need to resolve so many months-worth of sexual tension. His large hands caressed her hips and back, their mouths battling fiercely as she ground mercilessly against his considerable arousal. Her hands made quick work of the buttons of his jacket, until they were finally able to explore the planes of his chest. His own hands fumbled with the elaborate buckles and buttons of her regal attire.

"You'd best get that thing off before I rip it," he growled, his low, husky tones sending an exhilarating shiver down her spine. In a few quick, practiced movements it was gone, revealing her creamy, tattooed skin beneath. Saker's hands returned to memorise every inch of her soft flesh, his mouth kissing and nipping at her sensitive neck, enjoying the moans he elicited. Slowly, he made his way further down, freeing her breasts from their bindings with a practiced flick of the clasp. He suckled and nipped at the soft mounds and erect nipples, making her moan louder and buck against him.

Abruptly, she stood, insistently tugging him up with her. They continued to kiss, their standing position allowing the impatient queen to push his jacket off and to the floor. His hands slid down to her belt, and soon her pants joined his jacket, preceded by hastily kicked off boots. He stroked up her inner thigh tenderly, caressing her sex which was delightfully hot and wet already. She bit into his neck as he slipped a finger inside her, and as she rode his hand he didn't even notice her undo his belt until he felt cool air and her delicate hands encircled him, and he let out a shuddering breath at the pleasure of finally feeling her touch.

Once again, he was pushed back onto the couch, and he drank in the sight of the now naked queen before him. She truly was stunning, with her alabaster skin and glowing blue tattoos. She looked him in the eye as she positioned herself over his lap, pulling him into a slow, tender kiss as she slowly lowered herself onto him. His hands gripped her hips, and his blood seemed to roar as he finally claimed her. She paused once impaled to the hilt, taking a moment to adjust to his girth. Her skin tingled, and the strange, seductive ecstasy that had so often called to her in battle seeped into her veins, her blood answering the call of his.

She began to rise and fall, the movement and pleasure sending her into a lustful frenzy she had never experienced with Elliott. Saker's hands at her hips helped to lift her and slam her back down, and her cry was equal measure surprise and pleasure when she came, unable to suppress the spasms that rippled through her body. Saker followed with a final slamming of her hips, and she slumped against his sweat-soaked form as they both rode out the aftershocks of their climaxes.

He cradled her in his arms, holding her close as they both recovered from their exertions.

"Is that a yes, then?" she finally asked tiredly.

"That's a yes, Dove," he replied with a chuckle and a kiss pressed to her brow. "I still think I'll be a crap king -,"

"Reaver?" Sir Walter's voice suddenly exclaimed from the other side of the door. "What in the blazes are you doing?"

"I need to speak with the queen. Alas, she is somewhat occupied, so I elected to wait." Reaver's voice answered. The couple on the couch hastily scrambled to dress as the two men spoke just outside the door.

"On your knees by the keyhole?"

"How else was I to know when she finished?" Saker growled low at Reaver's words, but the queen silenced him with a look, and he leant nonchalantly against the mantelpiece, busying himself lighting a cigar. She scooped her crown up and took a seat in the armchair next to him, gently placing it on her head as she called for the two men to enter.

"In future, Reaver, I would appreciate it if you refrained from spying through keyholes in my castle." He gave her his trademark smirk.

"Normally I would never dream of violating your privacy, your Majesty, but the nature of your little exchange was just too…enticing to pass up. You have my sincerest apologies, of course." He turned to Saker. "Congratulations, by the way."

"You're lucky I'm not wringing your pretty, little neck," Saker growled in response.

"So lovely to see such manners and grace in our future king."

"What?!" Sir Walter exclaimed.

"Yes, Walter," the queen confirmed. "I've asked Saker to marry me."

"I see." He raised his eyebrows, looking somewhat dubious. "I'll have Hobson begin making the arrangements for the wedding immediately."

"I would prefer for Jasper to take care of that actually, if it's not too much trouble."

"Of course, your Majesty." The old soldier left with a bow.

"Seriously, Reaver, spy on us again and I'll burn your balls off," Saker threatened casually.

"Not to worry, your future-Majesty, voyeurism is not usually to my taste. I much prefer participation."

"What do you want, Reaver?" the queen asked with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I was hoping you would divulge the details of whatever deal it was you made with my son."

"Your son?"

"Yes, well, I could hardly leave the title of Pirate King to just anyone, now could I? It would have been rather bothersome to train all those men again should I ever return to that profession, and the boy seemed capable enough."

"Ravager is your son?" the queen gasped.

"Suddenly his stories about his father make a lot more sense," Saker mused.

"Yes, well he seems to hold somewhat of a grudge against me, even after I left him the title of pirate king."

"You killed his mother," Saker pointed out drily.

"Four times I told her to get out, which is two more than most get. 'Tis hardly my fault she didn't heed my warning," Reaver said casually. "Now, back to the business at hand. Are you going to tell me just what you promised him in exchange for his aid?" A cruel smirk spread across the redhead's face.

"No."

"I beg your pardon?"

"No." She was obviously taking great enjoyment in her words. "You have asked something of me Reaver, and the answer is no." Reaver looked at her for a moment, and then began to chuckle.

"So that's how it is. Clever lad. It seems I'll have to pay him a visit. Good day, your majesty." And with that, the pale man swept from the room.

The young queen leant back in her chair with her eyes closed, only opening them when she felt large, rough hands begin to rub her shoulders soothingly. She looked up into the face of her future husband, and felt, for the first time since her coronation, that she could do this. With her faithful falcon at her side, she would have the strength to save Albion.

00000

Saker felt sick. The darkness seeped through the very earth all around him, a strange, oily smoke rising up into the air, making every breath seem like an attempt to breathe oil. It left a haze over his vision and made both his skin and stomach roil. After putting his fists through the first dozen or so stinging, sticky shadows, he had looted a mean-looking hammer from a near-by blacksmith shop, glad to not have to touch the revolting adversaries to kill them.

In all the chaos he had managed to lose sight of the queen, and he cursed himself for letting the foul things distract him. He swung his hammer in a wide arc, smashing through three of the shadows that surrounded him. His blood hummed, but it was not the song he was used to. It felt off, wrong somehow, as though the foul darkness had tainted even that intimate part of him. He grit his teeth through it, following what he hoped was his fiance's wake of destruction, praying that she was alright on her own.

Finally he caught sight of her, her flaming red hair and her brilliantly pale skin shining out almost like a beacon. He could see that she battled a colossus of strange metal armour, dodging it's rising columns of darkness while sending shots into it's hooded head with her usual deadly accuracy. Walter and Ben flanked her, preventing any other shadows getting to her. Saker began to run towards the bridge that would get him across to her, constantly impeded by more shadows.

By the time he reached her, he was too late. He stood helplessly next to Ben, blocked from aiding their queen by an impenetrable force that blocked the gate. He pounded his fists against the barrier in an impotent attempt to reach her, but to no avail. He and Ben could only watch, horrified, as she was forced to cut down her mentor and oldest friend.

When the barrier finally fell, she held a dying Walter in her arms, tears flowing freely down her face as he slipped away. Saker gently knelt beside her, curling his arm around her shoulders. She leant into him, still sobbing, and it was only once the soldiers arrived to take away Walter's body that she finally let go of the old knight. All around them soldiers cried out in joy, for the darkness had been defeated, with few casualties. They all hailed their queen for her bravery, her good deeds and her selflessness in her quest to save her kingdom. She was a true Hero Queen.

But the woman sobbing in Saker's arms could not hear any of it. All she could hear was his breathing and his heartbeat, grounding her when she felt like her mind was about to fly apart. The day had been won, but it felt wrong to celebrate when ultimately it had been at the cost of Walter's life.

One week later found him standing stoically at her side as Walter was officially fare-welled and a statue of him placed in her courtyard.

Their wedding followed one month later. The breeze dancing through the pavilion in the centre of Bower Lake did little to cool Saker as he stood stiffly in his deep red uniform, sweat forming on his brow from heat and nerves alike. Beside him, Ben Finn just smirked, giving the bigger man an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Jasper, acting as the celebrant, also smiled knowingly at the obviously anxious groom.

A fanfare sounded, and the guests gathered at the lakeside parted to allow the Queen of Albion to step onto the bridge and make her way to her groom. She looked stunning in a form-fitting white dress, it's train billowing behind her in the breeze, held in check by bridesmaid Page. Her deep red hair cascaded down her left shoulder, and her right arm was linked with her brother's, the former monarch's usually stoic expression giving way a small smile as he led his little sister down the aisle. Upon reaching the pavilion, Logan formally placed his sister's hand in Saker's own, a look of understanding passing between the two men.

"You ready for this Dove?" Saker asked quietly. She beamed up at him in response. She'd spent the last year and a half of her life feeling like a child thrown into the deep end. Today marked a new beginning for both of them, and for the first time in a long time, she felt truly ready.

A/N: This took soooo long, but it is finally done! There are just a few things I wanted to explain that I didn't get a chance to in the story.

Dove: I didn't want to give her a real name, because truth be told, I couldn't decide on one. But I did want Saker to have a sort of term of endearment for her, that didn't have any of the preconceptions attached which most common terms of endearment do. So at first he called her 'love', which sounded a bit too personal, and eventually it morphed into 'Dove'. It's also in keeping with the bird them, ie King Sparrow, and a Saker being a breed of falcon.

Saker's Father: I never outright mention his father's name, solely because I haven't actually decided who he is. At first I wanted to make him the son of Garth, but even if I made Garth only half Samark, I figured Saker was too pale for that to ever be believable. So then I decided his father was some other will-user his mother met while in the north, but that didn't really feel right to me. So in my head-canon Garth is his father, but in the actually story I left it up to you to decide if it's Garth or some other mage Hannah got with because he reminded her of Garth.

Queen Elvira: Elvira is the first name of Lady Gray. Logan in really pale, and if you're good the Prince/Princess literally fucking glows they are so pale, and I figure having an undead mother would be a plausible cause for their pastiness. Also, her rather traumatising death is because her life was bound to her husband, thanks to being revived by a sort of love spell. So when the king died saving Walter and Logan from Balverines, in the same moment she died too.

Ravager: Actually started out as an OC for another story I was considering, and I liked him so much he found his way into this one. Looks and sounds exactly like Mark Strong as Septimus in Stardust, just with a goatee and gold eyebrow ring. Born and raised in Bloodstone, he became a pirate to get away from his father, who unbeknownst to Ravager, used his contacts and influence to help him rise to the role of Pirate King.

Interior Decorators: Seriously, dafuq? That had to the stupidest moral choice of them all, and I find it hard to believe that a monarch preparing for war would be too fussed about the colour of the drapes. Hence kicking them out.