After four years of living in the city Cicero was beginning to think of returning to her father's home in the woods. He was still doing quite well her maid had told her, and missed her terribly; and the thought of her stern old father living alone in that giant mansion…

"Ramas, have you ever been into the Neitherlands?"

Ramas turned in his barstool to look at the smith, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I went there once, but it was long time ago. I can hardly remember anything. Although, I do remember a pretty young girl in a flower shop; sold me the most horrendous bouquet of flowers, but she was so handsome I couldn't say no to her. Lips like cherries in the summer…"

The Captain of the guards turned on his stool, loosing himself in thought, though whether he was playing fun or actually reminiscing she couldn't tell. Cicero took her wine glass and hit him with the base, making sure not to spill.

"You are such a cad, you silly tin soldier you. You oughtn't to make fun of a girl so."

"I'm making fun of you am I?" His eyebrow cocked and he took a long sip from his glass. "Well, I'm terribly sorry Cicero. I shall never again look at another woman, much less think of one."

"And there you go to it again, mocking me. I would not ask you to look at me, much less another woman. You are not my baggage to carry, you terrible chiding child." Cicero had turned away from him, making sure that he could not see the blush that had taken control of her face. At the other end of the bar there was a seedy looking man who seemed to be enjoying Cicero more than was necessary. Somewhat self-consciously Cicero pressed her hands down over her hips and she turned back to Ramas.

"Is there something wrong with the way I've dressed, Ramas? That man is… leering at me."

Cicero was unaccustomed to wearing dresses, but she felt that an evening on the town with Ramas, even as a friend, was something that she ought to dress up for, even if it was only the littlest bit. Her coveralls were disgusting and she hadn't wanted to embarrass him in public, so she had dug into the back of her dresser where she had found an old, spotted dress, one her father had given her the summer before she left home; it was a simple dress, almost childish in style if not for the deep neckline, but she had thought it informal enough to pass as friendly attire. Her hand began to tug nervously at the hem, afraid that her undergarments might be showing.

Ramas leaned over the bar, almost hitting one of the wenches with his long blond hair. He seemed to have made contact with the man for he was staring the man down as though he thought to jump up and slay the bastard. After a moment he slipped back into his seat to face a wide-eyed Cicero.

"He's one of my men," Ramas said as her fell into an angry shrug, his eyes close to shut beneath his furrowed brow. "I'm so sorry, Cicero. I always knew he was a lecher, I've just never had to deal with him." He covered his face with one of his spindly hands and said, "I could teach him a lesson tomorrow. He deserves it."

Touched might have been what she felt at the sight of Ramas' abject humiliation, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead Cicero touched her wine glass to the counter and let her freed hand fall onto Ramas' bent, grey knee. A small sound of surprise fell from somewhere and his hand dropped into his lap. It was awfully close to Cicero, but she wasn't about to complain.

"You don't have to do anything for me Ramas, you know that. We're friends, yes? I'm just glad he's not ogling me anymore. He's a greasy sort, eh?"

"Yes. Yes, he is a bit greasy," Ramas said with a grin. His eyes opened fully after a moment and he sat up straight, leaning back slightly on his stool. "You look fine you know. Actually Cicero, you look rather, ah… rather pretty tonight. Did I miss something? I thought your birthday was in August?"

"W-well yes, my, my birthday is in August, but I never dress nicely and I thought it might be a nice change of pace and I didn't have anything else to wear and I was hoping that this would be okay because I haven't worn it in years and as a smith I don't have to have a dress, because really it's rather impractical, and-"

"Good lord, Cicero, it's all right. Forget I said anything." Ramas set one hand on top of hers and with the other signaled to the bar keep. He ordered them each another glass of wine and Cicero did not fail to notice the look the barkeep gave them and the look that Ramas gave to the man at the other end of the bar. "Now then," he whispered turning to Cicero with his fresh glass, "Why were you talking about the Neitherlands?"

Cicero's finger twitched beneath Ramas' and, much to her disappointment, he dropped his hand away and handed her a fresh glass. She was blushing profusely and was surprised to see nothing but excitement in his eyes. By now, the blacksmith thought, Ramas should have made fun of her.

"Well," Cicero began, eying her wine cautiously. She wasn't sure she wanted to ask him. But they had known each other for almost four years. "I've told you that my father was in the military and that he retired," her eyes flashed up to catch Ramas nodding as he sipped his wine, "But I never told you that my father asked me to leave. Now, I know what you're thinking," she blurted this as she caught him faltering mid-sip, "But he has never fully recovered from his battle wounds, and being a man of the sword, his dignity is too great for him to allow me the… well, he is a kind enough man that he does not want to let me watch him die. I left my home of my own will, but with his encouragement. And he did not leave me alone, for he obtained for me a job with Goron, and gave me a home but…" Cicero's gaze fell to the rim of her wine glass as her finger traced the rim. She was hunched ever so slightly and Ramas had to lean in to hear her. "I miss home, Ramas, and I was thinking of going back."

She caught his eyes again and, sitting straight up, brought her hands waving through the air. "No, I mean, not forever, just for a week or two."

Ramas, who had nearly fallen from his seat with the shock of her confession, relaxed back onto barstool and lapped at the rest of his wine, eyes tightly shut. When he had finished the drink he opened his eyes and managed to say "You're terrifying, pea."

"Oh shut up, I'm not done." This was the way things ought to be: friendly and playful. Ramas tried not to laugh at her sincerity, but he seemed to be struggling. She tried to rationalize his giggles with the amount of wine he had been drinking. "Ramas, would you come with me? To see my father?"

Immediately Ramas' face fell into something resembling seriousness. He placed his empty glass on the counter and when a wench asked if he wanted more he brushed the offended bargirl away.

"You want me to come with you?" There was a strain to his voice and suddenly Cicero wanted his hand on top of hers again. She twiddled her thumbs in her lap while trying to remain dignified.

"I know it sounds rash and like an ill thought out plan, but I can't go to see him alone, Ramas. I haven't seen my father in over three years and I'm not sure I can handle seeing him. I live a rather solitary life and really it's just you and Goron and the girl down in the market who I call 'friend,' but you are the one I want to take with me." She straightened her back and lifted her chin. Sitting there, in the middle of the bar, in a dress that had not seen the light of day in years, Cicero looked something of a queen. "Come with me, Ramas." He words were not the pitiful begging of the girl who had started the conversation, but those of a well-bred, honest, straight-thinking, passionate, deliberate and powerful woman. Ramas was a taken aback, and, under a perverse bewitchment, nodded his head. Cicero melted back into the adolescent she was and sprang to her feet, throwing her arms around him. "Thank you Ramas! But," she pulled back, her face only a space away "can you come for certain?"

"I-I-yes. Of course I can come, Cicero. I mean, what are friends for, eh? If not for wild journeys into the Neitherlands, then what, eh? I'm sure there's, there's someone to take my place. I'm high enough up in the ranks. When do we leave then?"

"Well-"

As Cicero's vacation fell into place she noticed the glimmer in her soldier's eyes and the flashes of lightening that dashed through them when their eyes met. There was more than one occasion where Cicero found herself coughing over her shoulder to hide a blush, but it was not for the sexual nature of the stolen glances. No, maybe it was because she realized how much Ramas seemed to care for her, how much he wanted to protect her.

"I hope we return before winter hits."

The road was a long and winding one, bordered on either side by great orange elms that watched over the two with restless eyes, and at the end was Cicero's old home. Cicero fiddled with the hold of the blade she had made for her father, some of her finest work, and kicked at the ground.

"We should be. There are still leaves on the trees, yes? And I'm sure that my father would lend us a carriage and a guard for our ride back. The maid said they had no problems with money. Lukas said so too. Well, you heard what he said."

Out of the corner of her eye Cicero could see Ramas nodding hesitantly. She took here eyes from the slope before her and stared at Ramas. There was something stiff, unnatural about the way he walked, something uneasy.

"Are you all right Ramas?"

"What? Oh. Oh, yes, I'm all right. I was just thinking." A smile came to Ramas' face, the playful kind that made Cicero's heart beat a little faster. He was just a child in school. "That Lukas of yours is quite the handsome man. Actually, he seemed to be overly nice to you. If I didn't know better, Cicero, I would say…" Even the unfinished sentence left Cicero stammering and blushing madly.

"I… If you think… That's just terrible of you. I haven't seen him in years. How could anything…?"

Ramas raised his hand above his head, brushing the falling leaves gently. "Oh come now, I was just joking with you. But you do like him right? Or you did? I can see it in the way you looked at each other."

One arm slipped around her stomach, the knife still held tightly in hand. Her head fell back, putting her slightly off balance. Ramas snickered playfully at her before nudging her with his elbow.

"I did, but it was a long time ago. He was very sweet to me, and I was very glad to have him because he treated me like a woman. My father always acted like I was his little soldier, his prodigy, and because of that I was always acting like a little boy: rushing around, playing at war, fighting. Those sorts of things. But Lukas…" She shifted uneasily as she walked, trying to find something to do with her hands. They twitched as they neared Ramas' swinging digits. "For my father's birthday one year I convinced Lukas to let me forge a sword. I knew my father would love it, military and all, and I was so happy when he said I could. But I was young and had no training.

"The sword came out awfully, chipping, pieces of it falling off in strips, though the brunt was good enough. I was devastated and my father's birthday was only a day or two away… That's when Lukas walked in. He laughed a little but said he was sorry and asked if he could help, and I said, 'I'll need more than help.'

"In the armory there hung three of the most beautiful swords I've ever seen. I could never even imagine making something of such wonderful quality and of such magnificence. Practical and worthy of a king. Anyway, these three swords were hung on the wall and I pointed to one and asked Lukas if I could have it. He said no right away, but I knew that he was a tender boy so, well, I flirted with him. I'd never really flirted with anyone before, one of the guards and our cook and a prince that my father had introduced me to, but Lukas… something felt right about my hand on his, his breath on my neck, and I think… I fell in love with him a little that day. And of course, I got the sword too."

The mansion was within sight, and Cicero wanted to keep talking. But the sight of the house, just as grand as it had ever been, with one glistening figure patrolling the grounds, the beauty of her home made her mute. She closed her eyes a moment. This was it. This was what she had been dreaming of. The guard seemed to have spotted them for there was a shout and the clamor of armored feet thrashing the ground.

"Who goes there?"

"Blacksmith Cicero Ire, daughter of the Great General Ire, Lord of Setlend, Master of Kreatlend Second Class! Permission to enter?"

Somewhere overhead buzzed a happy little blue bird, chippering on about something or other, but happy as a summer's day. The creature buzzed her and landed a few meters away, perching himself happily in an old elm. For a moment the guard seemed to be a bit confused by the greeting he had received and stared at the girl and her companion as though he had just seen a ghost. But his befuddlement melted away into something warmer, and then he was roaring with laughter and dashing as fast as his armored toes could carry him, singing with all the joy of the little bird in his tree.

"Cicero!" burst the old soldier, melody flooding his strong old voice. He outstretched his arms as he neared her and soon she was wiggling her toes in the air, giggling at the sight of her old friend, her arms pinned beneath his.

"Oh, Allan, you old codger! I thought you died years ago!"

The watchmen's laugh renewed itself and he squeezed the girl tighter, forcing a small yelp through her smiling lips.

"You sassy child, you haven't changed one bit! I'm just as healthy as I ever have been, though my beard is white."

"I can see that," coughed the girl who had at last freed her arms from his pliers and was wrapping them around his neck and nuzzling her head against his with girlish laughter. "You can hold me back and my arms are nothing but muscle from all of my work with the blacksmith! Why Allan, I believe you are stronger than ever."

Cicero smiled as the soldier looked up into her eyes, adoration filling them to the brim. She was soft in the autumn forest light, as though she were an apparition or an elf of the tenderest heart. Yes, her smile was softer here and as she bent down and kissed the soldier's wrinkled brow something magical seemed to blow through the air; something inexplicable.

Never opening his eyes, the soldier sighed and set the girl he had watched grow into a young woman upon the ground. He opened his eyes slowly and simply smiled lovingly at her for a moment or two before kissing her bowed hear and hugging her once more.

"It's been a long time, Cicero."

"It has, Allan," sighed the smith into her old guardian's shoulder. "Too long. How's the General?"

The sentry pulled away slowly, his smile fading as he progressed. His hands stayed on her shoulders as he stared at her, as though he were contemplating what he ought to say. "The General is better than he was, Cicero, but I don't think he will live much longer. He is old, child."

From where he stood behind her Ramas could not see the expression on Cicero's face as she was told of her father's imminent death, but when she spoke he was surprised to hear a happiness in her voice. Her heart had to have been broken…

"Well then, I suppose we ought to see him now then. Oh…" Cicero turned around and took Ramas by the sleeve, presenting him to the guard. "Allan, this is Ramas, Captain of the Guards. We're good friends," she said with stern reprimand as she caught the look that Allan gave him as he took the fresh young man in, "And I expect you to be nice to him."

With a gruff grunt and another up-and-down of the boy, the retired soldier nodded and gave his hesitant word to behave himself. Both knew that Ramas would be tested by this man and both had their ideas about what would happen. Allan tapped his metal toe and stepped boldly between his child and her "friend," leading them into the house where the General would make his death bed.