He never lost a fight, well once and that was it. He prided himself on being the strongest, the best and always taking the top prize even if it meant suffering the pain which he did. He wouldn't admit it out loud, or show it if it meant that someone would see weakness in him. If he was in the finer of shape he simply shook it off, but tonight wasn't one of those nights, and he knew it too. He bandaged his wounds to the best of his abilities and found the perfect scheme to shape the opinion of those around him. He'd get so drunk that when he stumbled out of there they'd think it was for that reason and not know the real reason of why he stumbled, maybe even flinched.

He found himself in a pub, a packed place, but found a seat. Matter of fact it was offered to him by a man who shook at the sight of him. He didn't have to say anything to him, just stand there, no tower over the small man.

He ordered the strongest thing the place carried and hunched over his drink and soaked in all the misery around him. There was a lot of it from broken hearts to those who lost it all and waged in mostly empty handed. It wasn't a lively place like some he had been to. Never one to "join in the fun" he sat by and saw others lose themselves in the arms of someone who swept them off their feet. They were jovious and lively, talking just a little too loud, laughing a little too loud and then displaying affection where that kind of behavior was uncalled for.

He was quite the opposite, and preferred his "displays" to be private and getting what was intended done with. No talking, no cuddling or anything else that would cause people to linger. He didn't like people to linger or attach to him. When girls "fonded" over him it was time to move on and get as far away as possible.

But as for lively he didn't find pleasure in a social scene. It wasn't a pleasure for him, but fighting was. He lived for it, finding the thrill when his opponent went down and that he won the fight. If there was a crowd it was even better because they knew that he was the victor and that anyone of them could be next.

But that was not the case for the last one. Of course he won, won a bounty of money, but it was a close, drawn out one with both lingering toward exhaustion. He gained a bout of it and slashed the man's face off before collapsing himself.

But that wasn't the only stint, but also because the weather was cold, it took a toll on him with him feeling the drag of his body complaining for rest. He didn't want to make the drudge to the inn that would weaken his character. He surprised himself for even making it that far.

On his third drink he still felt miserable and was still sitting on his bar stool. It just wasn't going to be his night.

"Can I sit here?" a familiar voice broke through his misery. He looked to the side slowly, eyes burning into the one who never got the hint and seemed to linger every now and then; too long though.

"Freya Crescent, what brings you into this misery?" he questioned, gaze moving to the front, drink going to his lips.

"We all can't always have happy days. You never answered my question." He saw that she didn't wait for an answer and just took a seat on the available stool right next to him.

"All yours rat," he said but it was no use anymore.

She rested her pike next to her and smiled in his direction while he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She sure did change, he'd give her that. And it was in a good way. She was definitely stronger, he could see definition as well as confidence that she someone tried to up-play back in their outlaw days.

But there was also her hair, which was shorter. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he liked it.

The bartender came up t her, all smiles which even cracked Freya's hard shell. She smiled back, perched forward even just a little to hint on flirting and he couldn't help but watch.

"I will have what this gentleman is having, and he will have another as well-"

He turned his face in her direction again, one knowing not to take charity from anyone.

"Which will both be on you," she added slyly never one to place her eyes on him when he was ready to contradict someone.

"Your call rat," he grunted. But he would put out, for a lady. Even if it was for Freya, the one who held competition to be his equal. She was never one to put her weapon down in surrender, or pass up a fight. A military woman, he liked that she knew what she wanted and went after it. While he was quite the opposite he admired her strengths….Even though she was just a rat.

"You're far from home, are you not?" Her attention went back to him and he could see that it was going to remain there. He wasn't going to have an easy night, but if she believed that he was drunk under all the drinks then he done his job.

"Home? Where do you think I reside?" He said as more of a statement than making it a question. It was meant to throw her for a loop but it did not. She took it in and let it out a response with, "You are right, but I see you as one to be seen in Treno, or Alexandria where your good friend and his queen reside."

Now he looked at her, blank expression, but knowing that she could read into the mask that held his head on his neck. There was nothing else to it. It was just the way experience had brought him up.

"You know they are throwing a celebration in the up-coming future to celebrate their farewell for a travel they plan to take. You did get an invite did you not?" she asked with a skeptic that held a smug attitude that was just waiting to burst at the seam.

Amarant knew she was ready at any moment to contradict what he said, or what direction he took. It was just her way, but maybe it was just her way toward him. On many nights when they held camp in the dankest of location he saw the woman tell stories to the little ones of great soldiers who fought for their land, and or leaders and never give up. When she had their attention she was never surprised to find the others overhear and join in with their rapt attention. She never turned anyone down great advice or the confidence they needed from her.

But for him, he observed even as she sat there, that it was different. She sat just a little bit taller and spoke just a bit blunter when expressing even just the simplest of opinion toward him. She never broke down under his heavy gaze, or became speechless when he said something just a little too crisp.

He reached into his pocket but came up empty. "Must've slipped my grip." He shrugged, down the rest of his third drink just in time as the bar keep came over with a fresh one, and the first one for the lady.

She held her drink out to him. "We should raise a glass to meeting old friends, and having warm conversations…."

He clinked his glass to hers. "I don't know where you will find either one of those, but…."

They both took a drink from their glasses and set them down symontaniously.

"Are you going to be here for a while?" she asked him, despite the barrier he put up which tried to keep those words out.

"If I said yes?"

"Then I would like to have a 'warm' conversation with my old friend." She had that smile thing in her voice which Amarant could never figure out.

He couldn't figure it out, and he could never figure her out. He shrugged. "Nothing ever stopped you before of what you were chasing after."

Happy New Year. Another chapter will be out soon.