Travelling Soldier, a tin man fanfic

AN: Another of my songfics that came to mind and my muses wouldn't let it go. I particularly love the song this is based on, it always makes me cry. Before anyone reads this story, I would like to explain the timeline that it is based on. The song itself is not about the Global War on Terrorism, but rather the Vietnam War. I know it's anachronistic, but it is what inspired me to write this story, and I hope that many of you can overlook that difference. The Tin Man miniseries first aired on December 2nd, 2007; six years, three months and twenty-one days (assuming my math is correct) after the September 11 attacks on the Twin Towers. This story takes place about one Ozian year (one "annual") after the miniseries, which I am roughing out to be about one Otherside year. So, even though I originally posted this on the eighth anniversary of the September 11th attacks, it takes place around the seventh anniversary.

Disclaimer: If you recognize anything from anywhere, it's not mine. The song "Travelling Soldier" and its lyrics belong to the Dixie Chicks.

Summary: They love each other, and they both know it. Everyone else around them knows it as well, for even a blind man could see it. But Cain has been promoted, taking on a job that could take him away from DG forever. Now she's pulling away from him and closing herself off from everyone else. She still loves him, but she doesn't want to open herself up to that kind of pain. Not again.

Dedication: This story is dedicated to the brave men and women who put their lives on the line every day to keep our country and our people safe. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your families, my greatest wish is for you all to return home safely, and I pray that you all will be reunited with the ones you love someday soon. Thank you for the sacrifices you make every day, our country will forever be in your debt.

"Alright, Jeb, give it a try," Wyatt Cain called out, pulling himself upright from where he had been working under the hood of one of the army's supply trucks. Wiping his hands on a rag, he grimaced as the engine attempted to turn over before sputtering to a dead stop.

"This one might need to be left behind, father," Jeb's voice came from the cab.

"No," the elder Cain sighed. "We still have a few days. I'll pull one of the mechanics back down here tomorrow and see if we can figure it out."

"Where's DG when we need her?"

"I don't know, son," the former Tin Man sighed again. He glanced at his watch as he leaned against the front of the hood, staring at the metal gut of the vehicle as though it held the answers he needed. "Supper should be soon. You go on inside and wash up."

The truck shook slightly as Jeb jumped out and shut the door, and Wyatt's stare flickered to his son as the young man appeared at his elbow, holding out the keys.

"Don't stay out all night," he muttered, a humorless smile crossing his face. They both knew that the older man had no intentions of coming in for dinner. He would have his supper brought out for him, either here in the garage or in the back gardens, just as he usually did on days like this. The son skirted the front of the car and disappeared from the garage, leaving his father alone with the broken-down vehicles.

Cain continued to stare at the truck's workings, though his thoughts had drifted away from the blasted automobile the second Jeb had returned inside. He finally sighed again, closing the hood and sitting down on the front bumper, his gaze falling on the empty workspace two cars down.

He still didn't know what was going on with DG.

It had been close to an annual since the eclipse, though the kingdom was still in turmoil. Though Az, by birthright, was the next heir to the throne, both the queen and her consort had agreed to re-assume the monarchy until the OZ was safe, assigning full-time bodyguards to their daughters. The eldest princess had taken to the royal life without a hitch; she was demure, calm, well-behaved, and tolerated her assigned guard. However, after fifteen annuals on the Otherside and all the freedoms of an independent young adult since she turned eighteen, DG proved to be quite the handful for every guard her parents assigned her; Cain couldn't even remember how many times he'd encountered some greenhorn bodyguard who had been frantically searching for the lost princess. Finally, more out of desperation than anything else, Lavender and Ahamo had assigned the former Tin Man as her bodyguard, a job he had accepted wholeheartedly. True, it kept him on his toes on an hourly basis, but compared to the annuals he had spent walking beats in Central City and then on protection detail for the Mystic Man, guarding the youngest princess as she went about her day was a walk in the park. Besides, it also allowed him to stay near Glitch and Raw, who had stayed with the royal family to work in the palace, and despite DG's many attempts to escape and the occasional (though often accidental) attempt on his life it soon became nothing less than a deep and trusting friendship they shared.

Her parents trusted him, as well; a fact that led to him following her through a travel storm to her former home in Kansas so they could bring her belongings back to the OZ.

Over time, however, their friendship began to evolve into something else. He had gone from calling her by her royal title (which she hadn't cared for to begin with) to just "DG", then to "Deege." Somewhere along the way, it started to alternate between "sweetheart" and "darlin'." Likewise, her name for him had gone from "Mister Cain" back to "Cain" and eventually to "Wyatt." As they took their walks in the gardens every day, the space between them had shrunk until the occasional brush of their hands against each other turned into hand-holding and then to their arms slung around each other as they strolled along the stone-paved paths. They had found they had a mutual love for machinery, and spent hours working on the junked automobiles in the palace garage or sitting next to each other as she worked on her motorcycle. When she had lessons with Tutor, he was never far away, though this often resulted in him being the target of her newest ability regardless of whether he agreed to it or not.

Her mother and father were permissive, of course, as they had learned to be when it came to their youngest daughter. DG had refused (quite loudly, in some cases) to give up many aspects of her former life, but agreed to act properly when she was in court. Wyatt Cain was an honorable and trustworthy man, and the royal couple could see as well as anyone else what was going on between Wyatt and DG; for the sake of Ozma, a blind man could see it. They had some initial misgivings over the age difference, but in truth who were they to say anything? After all, Lavender herself had married a slipper of no royal descent, and after the fifteen annuals of terror and pain the kingdom had endured the queen was simply glad to have her daughter back, and to know that she was happy. Up until three months ago, it had been common knowledge around the palace that the young princess and her bodyguard were, at least unofficially, courting.

Cain had planned to ask her if he could court her, to make it official, fairly certain that she would agree. The two of them might have been in love, but they weren't stupid. They knew that what they felt for each other was returned in kind and, really, it was just a matter of time before their courtship was announced to the public. But on the very day he'd intended to ask her, the queen and consort had requested an audience with him. Little did he know that they would promote him to General of the Ozian Royal Army.

He understood their reasoning behind it, at least as well as Ahamo had explained it to him. With the monarchy still unstable and the uncertain allegiance of the surrounding zones, it was important that the loyalty of the higher officers was unwavering. With both military and police training, as well as loyalty proven by eight annuals in a metal suit, Wyatt Cain fit the bill. He was not the only former resistance fighter to be placed, and in fact Jeb himself had been promoted to Wyatt's own second-in-command. In all honesty, it was not a post he would have actively pursued had he known about it. Still, he was surprised and honored at the promotion, and had remained standing in place for several long minutes after the royal couple had left. When his stunned thoughts had finally settled into place he turned to DG, who had followed him into the meeting, finding her expression as shocked as he felt.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, whether one of her enthusiastic hugs as congratulations or the warm glowing pride he'd seen following the defeat of the witch, but suddenly the light in her eyes went out as her gaze fell to the floor. A strained smile crossed her face as she whispered a brief "Congratulations, Mister Cain" before turning and walking away. Her speedy exit, as well as her sudden referral to him as "Mister Cain" had floored him so much that he almost forgot that he needed to follow her. However, she had only returned to her room, locking the door behind her and refusing to come out for the rest of the day. He had stayed by her doorway, trying to coax her out or at least to discern some sort of sound from beyond the heavy chamber door. It wasn't until the castle grew dark at the end of the day and he was changing post with a night watchman that he heard the heartbreaking sobs from her chambers, leaving him to wonder what he had done wrong.

DG had finally emerged from her room the following day, though she would no longer look at him any more than necessary. Her playful jibes at him during her lessons disappeared, and when he tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders as they walked through the gardens she would simply shrug him off. She began to give him the slip more often, though it was less in fun and more in wanting to stay away from him. Her work on the motorcycle took on a new fervor in an attempt to ignore him. Then, one day, the palace had woken up to find the youngest princess missing, and her motorcycle gone.

It had happened several times since then. Sometimes she was gone for just a day or two, other times closer to a week. She left her room so rarely any more that the only sign that she was gone was the trail of stunned guards she left in her wake. He had to commend her, really, on her magic ability, which had grown in leaps and bounds thanks to Tutor's patient lessons. In fact, the handle she had on her gift was the biggest reason why he didn't run right out and look for her; at this point she could do all but the most difficult spells in her sleep, and it would take a strong bit of dark magic to break through one of her shields. Every member of the palace staff, Cain included, had already been on the receiving end of at least one of DG's stunning spells. The young princess had always been careful with her magic, never using it more than she needed to, and this sudden turn of events clued them all in that this was more than a tantrum. No, Wyatt wasn't worried about her safety so much as concerned about why she was acting this way.

Cain had been hoping to talk to her about this, but close to two weeks ago word had come to the palace that a town to the west was housing Longcoats in return for military training. The royal spies, not knowing how long they could go without being found out nor how long the Longcoats had been taking refuge in the town, had asked that reinforcements be sent as soon as possible. True to form, DG had disappeared once again. He had run into her the night she left, had tried to talk to her, but all he had gotten for his trouble was a freezing spell that hadn't thawed out until hours later. He had run to the garage when he could finally move again, but of course she was already gone, her empty workspace taunting him with its bare floor and untouched toolbox.

DG had been gone ten days this time, and since no sightings of the slipper princess and her motorcycle had reached the palace they had no idea when she might come back. The troops were moving out in three days, and though he knew they were pushing the limit when their fellow soldiers needed them he wanted, no, had to take the chance and see if he could talk to her before he left. He cherished their love and their friendship too much for this, whatever it was, to come between them.

His thoughts finally returned to the garage where he sat, and the old heap of a truck they needed to get fixed before the troops moved out at the end of the week. Knowing that there was nothing more that could be done on the clunker for now, he stood and left the garage, taking his fedora from where it hung on a peg on the wall. He didn't really need it at this point, for the suns had almost completely disappeared below the horizon, but he found some sort of strange comfort in wearing it. Out in the gardens, fireflies were dancing among the flowers, blinking to each other in greeting, and Wyatt smiled. DG had always loved the garden at this time of night. He had even followed her out here once, each of them armed with a glass jar swiped from the kitchen for a few hours of catching the glowing insects. He stopped in the stables for a while, talking to each horse in turn and caring for his own white mustang as well as DG's copper-colored mare before they fell asleep for the night. Then he found himself out in the gardens again, leaving behind the brightly-glowing windows of the palace and garage as he traveled farther down the paths, surrounded by the sounds of the evening. Crickets hopped across the path and the fish swam lazily in their pond, the rising moonlight reflecting off their scales, but all were largely ignored as the Tin Man let his mind wander to the young woman, knowing that he still loved her and hoping that she still loved him.

As he made his way back to the palace, he heard the faint rumble of an engine as it made its way up the main drive, and he paused as the small figure astride a motorcycle appeared around the corner, pulling into the garage. He didn't move as DG parked, climbing off the bike and pulling off her helmet, shifting her duffel bag as she bent to pick up her toolbox and put it back on its shelf. She froze midway as she turned to leave the garage, her blue eyes falling on him where he stood, though her expression did not change from the look of tired defeat she wore. She blinked slowly, and they stood that way for several long moments before she finally looked away, her jaw set firmly though Cain was certain he could see tears shining in her eyes, and continued into the palace. He didn't try to follow her, uncertain as to whether she wanted him to, but she paused once again at the door, turning back to him.

"Can we talk later, Cain?"

One eyebrow disappeared beneath the rim of his fedora.

"Sure, Deege. Where do you want to go?"

"North wing parlor on the fourth floor, in about an hour?"

"Sure."

That strained smile appeared on her face again, and a tear fell to the ground.

"I think the very least I owe you is an explanation," she murmured, sighing quietly and finally disappearing into the palace.

Just about an hour later, Cain made his way down the north corridor on the fourth floor, his shadow stretching behind him from the moonlight streaming through the window at the end of the hallway. All the rooms were empty: the ballrooms and studies all quiet at this time of night as the palace's residents were settling comfortably in their chambers. It was one of the quietest wings in the entire palace, even during the day, and had rapidly become DG's favorite place. He had found her sleeping in the parlors here on more than one occasion when she couldn't seem to sleep in her own bed, and by now he had learned that when she had managed to sneak away from him she would come here and simply draw.

The parlor door was open a crack, and the faint flickering of firelight reached out into the corridor. Pulling the heavy wooden door open, he peered into the room, noting the orange flames dancing brilliantly in the fireplace and the small figure curled up in one of the giant armchairs. DG had pulled her chair over to the balcony, using it to prop one of the doors open while doing the same with the other door and a second chair. She seemed lost in thought, staring out over the city with the same look of sadness and fear in her eyes that had been there for months. A small cardboard box sat on her lap, the lid tucked between her leg and the arm of the chair, and a folded-up sheet of paper was held loosely in one hand, as though she had forgotten that it was there.

He remembered the box, he realized. Along with her motorcycle, clothes, and vast amount of art supplies she had brought back from the Otherside she had made it a point to bring the box back with them. He had asked her why, but she had simply smiled and shrugged one shoulder, telling him not to worry about it. He had forgotten about it, though now he was immediately curious about its importance to her.

Trying to break her reverie as smoothly as possible, he tapped his knuckles lightly on the door beside him.

"Knock knock."

Her gaze turned to him, that same forced smile crossing her face.

"Come on in, Cain," she said quietly, nodding at the chair across from her. The paper was folded up again and placed back in the box, though the lid remained where it was. Cain slowly strode across the room, sitting down in the comfy armchair and watching the girl expectedly. He had already decided that he would let her tell him what she wanted to and he would try not to ask too many questions. After all this time he was just glad that she was talking to him. "I headed south this time," she murmured, her smile softening into a sad sort of grin. "It reminds me a lot of Kansas, all that grassland stretching on for miles. I stopped at a few different farms, offering to help the families there for a few days in return for a room to sleep in, but mostly I stuck to clearings and caves. I had a lot to think about." Her eyes fell, her hand brushing over the small stack of papers the box held. Taking a closer look, Cain realized that they were letters; all written in a hand he didn't recognize. "About seven annuals ago, the country I lived in was attacked by people from another country . . . ." her voice trailed off, trying to think of how best to describe the tragedy in a way that Cain would understand. "You remember what an airplane is, right?"

He nodded, recalling the picture she had drawn to show him. "Two airplanes were . . . hijacked by people who were not loyal to our country. They took control of the planes and flew them into two of our tallest buildings, called the Twin Towers. Thousands of people died; people who worked in the buildings, people on the planes, and people who had gone to try and save them. Not long after that, our country went to war with another country. It's not like it is here, Cain," she sighed, catching the look on his face. "Iraq is across an ocean, thousands of miles away. I was only fourteen, attending high school in a tiny little town; it just made the war seem even farther away. But as I was in high school longer, it felt like the fighting was getting closer. It wasn't really, but a lot of older students who I had known for years graduated and immediately enlisted to be in the military. They would be in town one day and off to basic training the next day. My sophomore year, when I turned sixteen, was the year I started working at the Hilltop."

Cain nodded again; she had brought him by the tiny restaurant when they had travelled to the Otherside that day. "Momster or Popsicle had to drive me to work still, but the farm wasn't in great shape that year and I wanted to help out where I could. So I got a work permit and Carter hired me. The summer after that school year, a boy named Kyle was leaving for training camp. We didn't know each other very well; he was a foster kid who had lived on the other side of town, so we never really saw each other much except at school. When he turned eighteen, he aged out of the system, which meant that neither his foster parents nor the government had to take care of him anymore. So, the first thing he did was to enlist. The day he was leaving, he stopped in the Hilltop while he waited for the bus that would take him into the city."

Two days past eighteen
He was waiting for the bus in his army green
Sat down in a booth in a cafe there
Gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair
He's a little shy so she gives him a smile
And he said would you mind sittin' down for a while
And talking to me,
I'm feeling a little low
She said I'm off in an hour and I know where we can go

"He didn't have much money on him, so I told him to order whatever he wanted and I would pay for it," she smiled a bit at the memory. "He asked if I would sit and talk to him, but it was the lunch rush and I wasn't off for another hour, so I told him that he could stick around until then if he wanted and then we could sit and talk."

So they went down and they sat on the pier
He said I bet you got a boyfriend but I don't care
I got no one to send a letter to
Would you mind if I sent one back here to you

"When I got off of work, I called home and told my parents that I was going to hang out in town for a while, and Kyle and I went to this spot that everyone calls The Pier. It's this big section of wooden walkway that used to wrap around some old building that isn't there anymore. If you stand at one corner and look out over the farmland, it almost looks like an ocean when the wind blows across the wheat and makes it ripple. We just sat there and talked. Future plans, favorite teachers, worst subjects, favorite hobbies and anything that didn't have to do with school. As it turns out, we both said that a novel called 'The Little Prince' was our favorite book . . . " she trailed off again, a small tear trickling down her face, and Cain had to keep himself from reaching over and brushing it away. "Something happened between us that day. Almost like what happened between you and me, just a lot faster. We had hardly known each other before then, but by the time he needed to head back to the restaurant to get his stuff we were holding hands. I wasn't sure if I loved him, or if he loved me, all I knew was that I had started to care for him and that, more than anything, I wanted him to stay safe. He asked me if he could write to me while he was away, since his parents were done with him and he didn't have anyone else, and I said yes. Just as the bus was pulling up I wrote my address on a napkin and handed it to him. He sat down by the window, and waved at me when the bus left." Another tear fell, and more than anything Wyatt wanted to take her in his arms and hold her as she cried. He couldn't, though, because even as he sensed where her story might be going his heart told him that she needed him to leave her alone.

"I told my parents about him when they came to pick me up, though all they told me was that I shouldn't wait around for him. There was never any way to know how long someone would be gone once they were sent out, and they thought he was too old for me, even though he was barely two years older. Even in just those few hours since we had actually met, I had started to miss him like a friend, and I told myself that I would wait for him to come home."

I cried
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy
Too young for him they told her
Waitin' for the love of a travellin' soldier
Our love will never end
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again
Never more to be alone when the letter says
A soldier's coming home

"I guess part of me didn't believe that he would write, because I remember being surprised when his first letter arrived a week later. He was in an army camp on the coast, and his favorite thing to talk about was the ocean. On the days he had leave from camp, he would go out to a boating pier and just sit there, looking out at the water. He said it reminded him of that last day in town, watching the hills of grass wave in the breeze. He sent me postcards that he bought in town," she rifled through the box for a moment before pulling out a stack of cards that had been bound together with string. "He knew I had always wanted to see the ocean, and tried to pick out the ones with the best photos on them. Those weeks, he always sent me both the card and a letter because he could never write enough otherwise." A watery grin crossed her face as she pulled the string off of the cards and handed them to Cain. He flipped through a few of them, taking in the images of ocean sunsets, underwater landscapes and boardwalks, though his ears remained attentive as DG continued.

"After a while, he was finally moved to the front. The letters didn't come from North Carolina anymore, where he had been based, but from across the ocean, in Iraq. He changed after that," her voice softened, wavering slightly as she swallowed a lump that had formed in her throat. "He was scared, though I knew that I was the only one he ever told about it. Everything wore on him; the battles and skirmishes, the raids, seeing the side of war that a lot of us never did. He always said that . . . knowing I was there to get his letters helped him pull through. But sometimes I wouldn't get a letter one week, or I would get two or three at once because he would write a few days in a row, and he usually wrote the same thing when he did write. He couldn't tell me about where they were, or what happened, so he just talked about things that brought him comfort. I must have gotten five or six letters where he just talked about that day in town, when we sat down at The Pier, and about how much he could picture me sitting next to him, and how he would close his eyes and see me smiling at him. He always told me that he was still looking for the well that the desert was hiding, just because he knew it would make me smile again."

Cain didn't get the allusion, though he realized that, since DG had made a point to mention the book they both liked, it must have something to do with the novel's story.

"He had been over there for a few months when . . . he sent a letter telling me that I wouldn't hear from him for a while. He couldn't tell me why, only that he wouldn't have a way to send any letters, and that the first chance he got he would send me another to tell me that he was okay. That was the only letter he sent that he signed with 'love,' all the others were 'from' or 'your friend.'"

So the letters came from an army camp
In California then Vietnam
And he told her of his heart
It might be love and all of the things he was so scared of
He said when it's getting kinda rough over here
I think of that day sittin' down at the pier
And I close my eyes and see your pretty smile
Don't worry but I won't be able to write for awhile

A long silence followed. Cain turned the stack of postcards over in his hands, carefully trying not to pry though it was killing him to see DG upset. He finally handed the cards back to her, and she took them, tying the string and putting them back in the box.

"Two weeks went by," she finally continued, her voice so quiet now it was almost a whisper. "Then four. Then two months. There was one day I had to stick around school after classes let out, because there was a home football game that evening and I was in the marching band. We always played the National Anthem before a game started, but instead of starting it right afterwards our principal went out to the field . . . and asked for a moment of silence as he read the names of soldiers from our town who had died in battle." Tears streamed down her face as she fought to keep going, her jaw clenching to try to keep her emotions at bay. But just as quickly she broke down, and Cain was out of his chair before he could think on it. He sat on the edge of DG's chair, wrapping his arms around her as she fell against him and letting her cling to him as though her life depended on it.

One Friday night at a football game
The Lord's Prayer said and the Anthem sang
A man said folks would you bow your heads
For a list of local Vietnam dead
Crying all alone under the stands
Was a piccolo player in the marching band
And one name read but nobody really cared
But a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair

"It's alright, Deege, just let it out" he murmured, cradling her head against his shoulder.

"They called his name," she sobbed, her small frame convulsing as she struggled between letting her emotions go or pulling them back in. "Up until then, I believed that he could still come back. I wanted him to come home. Gods, Cain, I just wanted him to come home!"

"I know, darlin', I know you did."

A fresh wave of tears fell, and Cain idly wondered how long the girl had actually gone without mourning her friend.

"When I got home after that, there was a letter sitting on my bed, and a larger envelope. My parents had left them there . . . they already knew what they were about." Her voice broke again, and Wyatt fought back the urge to tell her to stop talking, that he already understood, but he knew she had to tell someone. After over an annual of not saying anything about it, she just needed to tell someone.

"He had written one last letter, just like they all did, in case something happened to them. He knew that, if I was reading the letter, he would already be gone. He talked about that day in town, just like he had before. He told me he had tried to have me listed as his next-of-kin, but since we weren't legally related he hadn't been able to. He finally told me about where he had been, about the things he had seen, though he still couldn't give me names of places. He told me about how he had pretended to lose his dog-tags, so he could get a second pair and send his old pair to me. He told me he loved me." She finally pulled away from their embrace, digging through the box once more to pull out a battered, dog-eared book, and Cain realized it was a copy of The Little Prince. "He had asked that this be sent to me with the letter. More than anything, he wanted me to have it, and he told me to keep looking for the hidden well. He said he would keep looking for it, too."

She opened the book, and a pair of metal tags on a long chain fell out. "I knew, after reading that letter, that it was true. I hadn't wanted to believe it at the game, I wanted it to be a mistake, I wanted to tell myself that I had just heard a different name and thought it was his. But I couldn't ignore these; I couldn't pretend anymore."

She picked up the metal tags, holding them tightly in her hand for a long moment, and the novel fell closed in her lap. She was still crying, though the tears had slowed. The sadness he saw in her eyes was no longer the sadness she felt over losing Kyle, but a pained and determined sadness that came from facing the inevitable.

"Wyatt." She said his name slowly, quietly, almost reverently, her voice wavering as she pulled her emotions back in and closed herself off. The Tin Man frowned, his brows knitting at the sudden change in her demeanor. "Cain, I can't do that again."

What? His mind was suddenly reeling, trying to catch up with what DG was saying.

"When I lost Kyle, I still barely knew him and I couldn't handle it."

"Deege . . . ."

"You followed me through the Zone on a mission that, for all either of us knew, could have ended in complete disaster. You came after me when I was in danger, and you gave me the support I needed before I faced off against my sister. In the past year . . . annual, you've become my closest and most trusted friend." Her hands came up to frame his face, holding his gaze on hers though she longed to look away herself. "I've fallen in love with you, Cain," she murmured. "And not a day has gone by since your promotion that I haven't been proud of what you've accomplished. But I can't go through that again; I can't let myself love you when I could lose you like I lost Kyle." She leaned up and planted a kiss on his forehead before letting her hands fall away to grasp his fingers in hers. "I'm sorry; I hope that you can understand why I'm doing this, and even more than that I hope you can forgive me for it."

No! His mind screamed at him, tried to convince him that he didn't understand, that he could never forgive her, though in his heart he knew that he did, and that he could.

"My thoughts and prayers will be with you and your troops, General Cain," she said softly, using his title for the first time since his promotion. "May Ozma keep watch over you all and bring each of you safely home." Then she stood and was gone.

He felt numb, though his heart pounded in his chest, threatening to wear itself out before it could break any more than it already had. He was vaguely aware of something resting in his hands, and he pulled himself out of his stupor to look down. In one hand was a battered and dog-eared book of a title that he had never heard before tonight, and in the other lay two metal tags strung on a chain.

The boy didn't look much older than her youngest daughter, though even from across the room she could not miss the steely determination that hardened the young man's eyes. This was why she hated war, hated having to send young men into battle when it seemed they had barely even begun to live their lives. Far too much innocence had been lost in exchange for the cold and unforgiving ways of war.

He was a messenger, one of many that had been sent from the front in the past five months. What had happened to the others, she was never certain, nor did she ever linger on it; it would not do to dwell on what could not be changed.

"Your Majesty," the boy, a Lieutenant surnamed Nolan, bowed low before reaching into his satchel and removing a thick envelope. "I bring reports from General Cain. I ask your forgiveness, for many of them are a few days older than they should be. I was held from starting out right away when the company was ambushed by Longcoats four days ago. The General asked me to wait following the battle, so that he could revise and rewrite many of his reports."

The queen took the proffered envelope and carefully broke the wax seal that held it closed. Unfolding the thin stack of papers, her gaze was drawn away from the report when two pieces of metal and a thin chain fell to her desk with a faint clink. Her delicate brow furrowed as she lowered the reports and retrieved the medallions from where they had fallen, turning them over in her hand to read the words printed upon them. She sighed, turning back to the messenger.

"How many?"

"Your Majesty?"

"In the ambush, Lieutenant; how many died?"

"Thirteen, Highness. Seven foot soldiers, five cavalry, and one. . . ."

Lavender raised her hand to stop him, shaking her head in a silent command.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Nolan, for everything you have done. Please ask the kitchen steward for anything you need for your return journey, and bring my best thoughts to the soldiers still at the front."

"I will, Your Majesty, thank you."

"God speed, Lieutenant," she murmured, and with a slight nod she dismissed the soldier. She stood from behind her desk as he left, stepping out into the hallway to address her bodyguard and a second steward that were waiting outside. "Carmichael, please go fetch the Consort and have him meet me in our youngest daughter's chambers, I need to speak to her and I feel that he should be there, as well. Redling," she motioned to the tall guard that stood nearby, turning to the wide staircase that led upstairs to the family wing.

"Your Highness?"

DG didn't respond to the quiet voice right away, knowing that the young maid would not expect her to, anyway. The princess had barely left her chambers in the past five months, and even less had moved from the window seat in her bedroom. Ever since the day that the army had left to fight what they thought would be a mere battle against a single squadron of Longcoats, DG had gradually pulled farther into herself until she barely talked, barely ate, and barely acknowledged anything beyond the horizon that expanded westward from the city walls.

It had not only been a battle that the soldiers faced, rather a full-blown war against not just one town but seven, each housing Longcoats that had been in hiding ever since the fall of the sorceress. Reinforcements had been sent three times over, yet the reports still came of more ambushes, more skirmishes, and more hidden cells of the witch's followers.

The window pane was cold against her forehead, the sky above Central City gray and threatening to rain. It was still too light out, but come nightfall the western edge of the kingdom would occasionally light up with artillery flashes, the rumble of explosions and gunfire echoing across the Zone until they sounded like little more than distant thunder. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around herself to fight off the slight chill that was gradually filling the room. She really needed to build a fire in the fireplace, but she couldn't find it in her to care anymore. At her feet rested a sketchbook, a drawing half-finished yet completely forgotten, and in one hand she held a thin chain with two metal tags. An old paperback sat beside her, forgotten just like the drawing.

I'll be back for these. He had left the note as well as the two mismatched tags hanging on her door the day the troops had moved out. It wasn't until she had looked at them that she realized he had left her two different tags: one of his, and one of Kyle's. The meaning wasn't lost on her; somewhere in her heart she still loved him the way she always had, and wanted him to come home safely. She knew that he was her other half, the one who made her feel like a whole person. Two mismatched pairs of tags, and two incomplete people kept apart by distance and war. The book had been wedged under the door, among its pages a drawing he had done himself. A castle on one side, and a tiny figure standing in the window, separated from an army-issue tent and another small figure by flat plains and trees. Above it all, a star.

She had never known him to be the type to draw, and in truth the picture reminded her a little of the illustrations done by M. de Saint-Exupery himself. The second note had surprised her a bit more.

Deege,
I know how hard it is for you to see me go. It's just as hard for me to leave you behind. Three days ago, when you told me about Kyle, you asked me for forgiveness for what you said, and for what you felt you needed to do. Even though you feel you need me to forgive you, I hope you know that you don't. If it makes you feel better about it, I forgive you, but you never needed it in the first place.
I just finished reading your book. The author is a wise man, and I hope to read his novel with you again when I come home. It's funny, how the Little Prince was said to have come from a star, and how the pilot looked to the stars for so much. The person who became one of his dearest friends came from among them, and they both looked to the skies for guidance and comfort.
The histories all say that, when your ancestor Dorothy fell from the skies, that she came from a star called Kansas. I've been with you to the Otherside, I've seen the place that you called home for so many annuals. I'm not certain if Kansas is a star or not, but looking up to the stars at night will always bring me comfort, because I know that you're doing the same thing.

Take care of yourself, darlin', I promise I'll be home soon.

Love,
Wyatt

She had heard little from him since then, because sending messengers was dangerous enough with having to worry about personal mail, but she found comfort in what he said. At night, when watching the western horizon worried her too much, she would look up at the stars, believing that, at the same moment, Wyatt was doing the same.

"Your Highness?" the timid voice came again, a little closer this time. "Forgive me for disturbing you, but your parents are waiting in your sitting room."

DG frowned slightly, turning to the young woman standing a few feet away.

"My parents?"

She needed a minute to process what the maid had told her. True, they made an effort to spend time together as a family in the evenings when the day's work was done, but DG and Azkadellia rarely, if ever, saw their mother and father during the day unless it was on official business.

"Yes, Your Highness," the maid curtsied. "They wish to speak to you."

Her curiosity over her parent's visit overshadowed her need to be left alone, though she hadn't taken two steps from her perch before she stopped, a dull ache forming in her chest.

"Rebecca," she turned back to the maid. "Did they say why they wanted to speak to me?"

"No, Your Highness," Rebecca curtsied again. "It was none of my business to ask."

DG nodded, a little uncertainly, and continued into the front chamber of her suite, slipping the tags over her head to keep them close-by.

"Mother, Father?" she murmured, her frown deepening to see her parents sitting on either end of the couch that faced the fireplace. Lavender and Ahamo turned to her briefly before glancing at each other.

"DG, come sit down with us," the Consort extended an arm toward her.

The heavy feeling in her gut growing, DG willed her feet to move forward, though she could feel herself shaking as she sat down between them. Despite having come to talk to her, both of her parents seemed suddenly at a loss for words, looking at each other, then at the floor or around the room; anywhere as long as they didn't have to look at her. Lavender finally held out her closed hand, nodding slightly when her daughter held out her own hand.

DG flinched as the metal tags and their chain fell into her open palm, shuddering as though something much heavier had landed there. She stared at the medallions for a moment, frowning as though she didn't recognize them. Slowly, the look of confusion slid away to reveal a fearful panic that the queen and her consort had never seen in their youngest daughter. Her hands shook as she turned the tags over, brushing away battleground dirt, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"How long ago?" she whispered, her breath coming in ragged hitches.

"Four days ago, in an ambush," Lavender replied quietly.

A frightened whimper escaped DG's control, her fist closing around the pieces of metal as the other flew to the ones around her neck, her chest convulsing as her emotions tried to catch up with the thoughts running through her mind. "DG?"

"No . . . no!" the princess suddenly stood, pacing the floor. "It's not true! It can't be him, he wouldn't let that happen!"

"DG, he had no control over what happened, you know that," Ahamo murmured.

"He wouldn't let that happen!" DG continued her frantic pacing, oblivious to what her father was saying. "Not Wyatt! It's a mistake! It's not him . . . it's not him! He promised he'd come home, he promised!" These last words turned into a wailing cry as her legs crumpled beneath her, unable to support her for the weight she now held. Ahamo leapt from his seat to catch her as she fell, holding her tightly as he lowered them to the ground, her panicked sobs muffled against his shoulder even as she beat at him weakly with half-closed fists. Lavender kneeled on the floor beside them, murmuring softly to her daughter and stroking her hair, but DG was too far gone in her grief to hear anything save for her own crying, the patter of rain on the window, and the rolling sound of artillery thunder echoing from the western horizon.