He remembered another name every night.

Mother.

She was always the first, her face haunting his dreams whenever he dared to close his eyes. Her voice echoed in his head, her shade following him wherever he went, the ghost of her touch upon his face after she had made him promise to run if something were to happen to her. He would wake in the dead of night with tears in his eyes and a lingering ache deep within his chest that never seemed to diminish.

Rockford.

His childhood friend, the only son of his father's best friend, the boy he had grown up alongside. They had shared everything, as close as brothers. They had trained together, fought together, earned their uniforms together. He could hear his deep laughter as clearly as if he were still at his side, see that hearty smile upon a handsome face. Waking each day knowing he was without his best friend was another knife in the gut.

Zelta.

Sweet, kind Zelta, shorter than his two friends by near a foot, but no less a guard for it. Zelta, who was their voice of reason – especially after too many drinks – but still joined in on their mischief anyway. Zelta, the boy he had spared from the clutches of bullies when they were but nine years old. The disapproving look from his mother at his bloodied knuckles and bruised face had been worth it for the smile on Zelta's face when he'd helped him to his feet. Zelta would have died with sword in hand before he'd surrender.

Ivy.

Daughter of the man who ran the guards' tavern, always dressed in men's clothing and eager to arm wrestle with any who dared challenge her. She'd served him drinks for as long as he'd worn the uniform, and always with a smile for him. She'd been his first kiss, and he had been hers – he'd taught her how to properly wield a sword and shoot a bow, and she'd taught him how to love. He could still smell the scent she'd sprayed on her skin that day, an unusually feminine touch for her, but a deliberate effort to get his attention. It had been her mother's, he recalled, and one of the few things she had left as a reminder of her.

Ashton.

His chief, his idol, and his father's best friend. A major figure in his life from his earliest days, a source of advice and guidance when he couldn't seek it from his parents, a firm hand to keep him in line when he sometimes veered over it. Ashton had been grooming him for command, he knew now, though at the time he hadn't believed it. Ashton had seen his potential, his passion and his skill, and had nurtured it. Ashton would have named him chief after him if he'd had the chance to retire.

Alestair

The man who had taught him the art of swordplay, but had always claimed he was a natural that didn't need teaching. A wonderful tutor, patient and encouraging, an honest man who prided himself in the growth of his students. It had been Alestair that first put steel in his hand and told him he'd earned it. Whilst the other boys still carried wood, he had the honour of steel, the first of his class to do so. He could still recall the weight of the blade in his hand, a good weight that had brought a smile to his youthful face.

Ilvanka

Noble-born and beautiful, he had danced with her once at a ball – one of the rare occasions when servants and nobles willingly mingled together. He had expected her to refuse him, but she had surprised him by accepting, and made him thankful that he'd bet against all of his friends that he could get a dance from the most notoriously difficult lady by the end of the night. He'd used some of the gold he'd taken from them to send her flowers a few days later, though he didn't know if she'd accepted them or not. He doubted she even knew his name.

Zera

The despairing tutor who had suffered through teaching him – amongst others – during his earlier years. He'd been able to read and write before being entered into her care, courtesy of his mother and father, which was more than could be said for others of his class. As a result, he'd often grown bored during her lessons, and a bored child will find entertainment however he can. He could still hear her calling after him through the window he'd used to escape the classroom, amidst the laughter of his fellows.

Helma

Kind and gentle, the neighbour who had watched over him during the nights where his father was working and his mother caught up with the prince and his young friend. Her own children were grown and married, with children of their own, and she was like the grandmother he'd never had. Even as he grew older and no longer needed her care, she always looked out for him where she could. She'd been in the crowd when he'd earned his uniform, wiping a tear from her eye with a handkerchief his mother had helped him make for her when he was a boy, old and faded but still loved so dearly.

Falker

Loud, boisterous Falker, who thrived in the centre of attention but wasn't nearly as arrogant as he liked people to believe. Falker, who'd been there the first time he'd gotten blind drunk, and who'd helped carry him home when he could no longer walk by himself. Falker, who'd carefully helped him into bed, and who was the first to turn on anyone who dared mock him for it after.

Trix

A girl who'd been more at home with the boys in the dirt than with the other girls making daisy chains, who had chased them around playing knights with sticks for swords, fighting with the best of them. Trix, who had taught him how to climb trees better than any other, and who had been right there at his side when he'd used his newfound skill to drop spiders in another girl's hair for a prank. She'd tried to kiss him, once, when they were older – but they'd both started laughing before their lips could touch, and agreed never to try again. She had been more a sister to him than a friend, and he a brother to her.

Evie

The girl whose hair he'd dropped spiders in, who'd squealed and screamed so much he'd nearly fallen from the tree he was laughing so hard. Red-faced and crying, she'd run to her mother, and later he was made to apologise to her by his own mother, who had stood with hands on hips, staring at him expectantly until he uttered out a guilty 'sorry' and gave her the gift his mother had put into his hands. To this day, he still felt like it had been worth it, though.

Devan

The stable-master who had shown him how to care for a horse, and how to saddle one. A gruff man with a gentle heart who loved his horses dearly, and who had called him a quick study when it came to riding. He'd trusted him with his prized stallion – Starfall, for the star and strip marking on his face – which Barda had considered the highest honour.

Jenith

The sweet nurse who had looked after him whilst he recovered after falling from horseback, and assigned bedrest until the knee that he'd landed on had healed enough to allow him to walk. He'd been irritable and frustrated, and had snapped at her more than once in the process, but she'd continued to smile and see to his needs without so much as a frown or a complaint. He'd taken her flowers and a thank you card once he'd recovered, and apologised for his behaviour. She'd thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, and told him she'd heard a lot worse.

Julian

The musician who showed him how to use music as a better outlet for his anger, and became an unlikely companion of his. His father had played the piano, and he'd picked up a few things as a child, but it was Julian who truly taught him how to play, and had delighted in his progress as he learned. He could remember the wet sheen in Julian's eyes the first time he played a whole song for him without missing any of the keys, and how his pride and joy had made him feel oddly warm inside.

Mother. Rockford. Zelta. Ivy. Ashton. Alestair. Ilvanka. Zera. Helma. Falker. Trix. Evie. Devan. Jenith. Julian. The members of my platoon. The men I drank with. The men I fought with. The children I played with. The people I loved in so many different ways. The people I hated. Friends. Family. Colleagues. Enemies. Rivals. Superiors. Nobles. Servants. So many names, too many names…

Lying awake in a borrowed bedchamber wearing borrowed clothes under a borrowed blanket, Barda stared at the ceiling and uttered each name in a whisper barely audible even in the silence of the room. What had started as a means to try and lull himself into sleep was now keeping him awake, more and more names coming back to him the deeper into his memories he went. Names connected to others, or reminded him of yet more. All of them gone. All of them lost. All of them dead.

Fingers tightening on the hem of the blanket as he felt tears sting the back of his eyes, Barda willed them back. I will not weep like a child. He wondered if it would ever get easier, remembering them, or if one day he would start to forget them. He didn't know which was worse. He could swear to never forget the names of those who died, those he failed, those he abandoned when he fled like a coward to leave them to their fates, but he didn't know if it was an oath he could keep. There were so many names, so many people he had known in his life in some way or another. How could he possibly remember all of them?

The sound of a baby crying in another room startled him from his thoughts, a sound he was still struggling to get used to. He counted down from ten, until he heard soft footsteps padding across a wooden floor that creaked beside the baby's cot, and then a gentle, feminine voice hushing the child. Lief, they'd named him. Barda had never seen a man as anxious as Jarred had been as he'd paced the forge kitchen, awaiting the moment he would be allowed in to see his wife and child. Barda hadn't known what to say – his mother would have, if she had been there.

The creak of floorboards just beyond his door told Barda that Anna was taking Lief to the kitchen so as not to disturb Jarred's sleep, and after a minute or two Barda huffed out a sigh, and pushed back the blanket to rise from the bed. The clothes he wore had been Jarred's once, though Barda thought they must have been ill-fitting – he was taller and a little broader than the blacksmith, and the clothes fit him quite comfortably, if a little short in the limbs. He was grateful for them, however. He could hardly walk around in his uniform, and it was all he had taken with him from the palace. That, and his sword.

Anna was rocking her son against her chest when he stepped into the kitchen, humming softly to him as she slowly paced around the room. Lief had stopped crying, but he remained awake, staring up at his mother with startlingly blue eyes. Anna looked up as she registered his presence in the doorway, and was quick with an apologetic smile.

"Did he wake you?" When he shook his head, her expression shifted to one of mild concern. She was curiously observant, he'd noted, and he doubted she'd missed his frequent sleepless nights. "Come, sit. I will heat up some tea for us." Barda knew better than to argue. Anna had proved to be rather like his mother in certain aspects – she was not a woman to be deterred, and it was hopeless to argue with her once she had her mind set to something. He took a seat at the table, and watched as she expertly balanced Lief in the crook of one arm to free up a hand to make the tea.

She waved off his offer to help, and gave him a look that silenced any further attempts, so he merely sat in silence at the table until a steaming mug was placed before him. She took a seat opposite, nestling Lief back in both arms to smile down at him.

"I keep remembering their names." He hadn't meant to speak – at least, he hadn't meant to tell her that – but Anna had an oddly comforting presence that made it easy to open up to her. "All of them. My friends. My family. People I worked with… everyone who died." He looked down into his tea, both hands wrapped around the mug as if it would give him strength. "I cannot sleep for the names."

"How many?" She regarded him curiously, eyes full of sympathy for him. Though he was a man grown, only a handful of years younger than she and her husband, he still seemed barely more than a boy to her, lost in a world he didn't understand.

"Fifteen, and counting." Came his reply, uttered into the depths of his tea. She let that hang between them for a moment, shifting Lief to one arm once more so she could reach across the table to lay her hand upon his arm. He almost flinched back from the touch, she saw, but she didn't let it deter her. She had been giving him his space for too long now, when he clearly needed the comfort of another.

"It is no bad thing to remember the ones you have lost, Barda. They were all important to you, a part of your life. But you cannot let them haunt you, or the guilt that you carry so heavily upon your shoulders." When his gaze lifted to hers, she smiled. "I see more than you might think. But that is for another night." Taking her hand from his arm, she gave him a smile. "You do not have to suffer alone, or grieve alone. We have all lost loved ones. We understand a little of how you are feeling, and we can help each other. You just need to let us in."

She rose from the table then, and stepped around to where he sat. Before he could protest, she handed him her baby, wrapped up securely in his blanket, still so small and new. The look of panic on his face was so genuine and pure that it almost drew a laugh from her lips, but she dared not spoil the moment. Though his arms instinctively moved to cradle Lief securely, his discomfort was evident in the tense muscles of his shoulders.

"Here is a name for you, Barda. Lief." She leant over to brush the fine hair on Lief's head, smiling down at her son. "We have lost much, but where there is loss, there is also gain. Where there is death, there is also life. I stay strong now for my son, because in this new, cruel world, he needs me more than ever. There will be more like him, all across Deltora. Children who will never know what came before, who may die never knowing unless we do something, anything, to bring peace again. I grieve for those I have lost, but when I look at my son, I am only more determined to fight. I will not let grief defeat me."

Barda glanced down at the baby in his arms, who peered up at him with curious eyes. He had absolutely no experience with babies at all – he had helped train some of the boys a handful of times, and he'd played with the younger children from time to time, but babies? That was entirely new to him. Still, Anna's words struck a chord in him, and he knew that she was right. They had to fight, to try, for the sake of the children who would grow up in shadow. If he let the names of the dead haunt him, as Anna had said, what strength would he have left?

"You are right." He murmured, nodding slowly. Turning to her, he handed Lief back to her with a desperate look in his eyes that had Anna taking him readily with a smile. He rose from his seat, picking up the mug of tea with him. "Thank you, Anna." He laid a hand on her shoulder, one of the few times he had willingly initiated physical contact with her since he came to the forge. It was brief, and he was quick to head for the kitchen door afterwards, but Anna counted it as progress.

He carried the mug back to his room, sipping down its warmth gratefully – the room was cool when he stepped back inside, and the hot drink did much to soothe him, too. By the time he slipped beneath the blanket once more, he felt more ready to face the names that lingered in his mind once darkness fell. This time, when he closed his eyes, he focused on only one name, and swore an oath he vowed to keep – to protect him, and to fight for him. To not fail in his duty, and to make sure the boy lived to see peace.

Lief.

Note from the author: I've wanted to write a series of stories from the time between the invasion and the start of the books for quite a while, because we don't really get anything from Barda on how he adjusted to life in the city, etc, so consider this merely the beginning (hopefully). I've always loved fleshing out who Barda was before we meet him in the books (and I'm of the firm opinion that his experiences during those sixteen years shaped and changed him, so he wasn't always the Barda we've come to know and love), which is why I wanted to add in all those little snippets of his past through his memories.

Also, whilst I'm aware that in the Shadowlands series Lief (I believe) says that "none of us are musical" re: the pipe, I have always loved the idea of Barda knowing how to play the piano. Besides, Lief wouldn't necessarily know that about him (and Barda wouldn't particularly volunteer that information) and playing piano =/= playing a pipe. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.