The second chapter is done! I'm sorry that I didn't quite stick to the whole 'within the week' time-scale, but it's done now, at least. Any who, read and enjoy. Any review is welcomed, and I apologise if it has a slightly rushed quality to it at the end.

(Also, if anyone is up for Beta-ing this fic, please do tell me.)

It took a good few hours to reach wherever Walter wanted them to be – about four, by Rhos' count. The cloying dampness of the Mourningwood hadn't abated in the slightest during their hike, and the sun had started on its path to the west soon after they had left the cave. The forest swallowed up any sunlight as they trekked further into it, and shadows danced about Rhos and Walter in a way that made them seem alive. Walter had launched into a diatribe of all of his various insect bites a short while ago, detailing each midge he had smacked and where. Archon seemed not to mind, and plodded along happily, his fur still filthy and stinking.

Walter sighed, drawing his long-winded complaint to a close.

"We've been walking for long enough, I'll reckon. Can't be too long now. Oh, the things I'd give right now for a bowl of soup and a nice, hot bath." Rhos smiled at him, reflecting her mentors whimsical state. Days of travel and sleeping in hedges tended to warp the desire for simple things. Archon barked in agreement.

"Hah! It won't be a bath for you, mutt, but a quick dip in the nearest lake!" The alsaitian whimpered, butting his head into Rhos' leg sadly.

"You've haven't ever been here though; have you, Walter?"

"No, Small. I've only ever read the reports and sat in on briefings. I know enough, though."

"So we haven't actually been walking aimlessly for the last few hours?"

"Your faith in me is astounding."

Rhos laughed, but it quickly died as they rounded a thick copse of trees and left the canopy for a short while. The path widened and the trees were pushed back, leading up to a building a hundred metres away.

It was a giant, dilapidated fort, covered in moss and ivy, the walls slumping and masonry stones and bricks littering the forest floor. The gaping holes in the outer walls were boarded up sloppily, the planks of wood roughly cut and unevenly placed. Arrow slits winked at them, the brightness behind them unfavourable and telling. Above it all the Albion flag hung limply, frayed and puckered with holes, looking forlorn amongst the destruction. Not exactly a sight to fill one with hope. Rhos looked to Walter for reassurance, but his eyes were straight ahead of them, running over the forts crumbling entrance.

On a parapet above the old and rusted portcullis a young man stood, uniformed and a flintlock at his side. He looked tired and drawn, only another sleepless night away from exhaustion, but his eyes were quick and alert, flickering over the landscape that lead up to the ruined fort. When he caught sight of them he snapped to attention, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder and peering at them through the sighting. He shouted at them, his voice hoarse and nervous.

"Cease your movement! Be you men, or be you -?"

"Do we share a look to anything other than people, do you think? Pay attention, soldier, and let us inside." Roslyn shouted back, keeping her pace and forcing the soldier to meet her eyes. Walter chuckled as he kept by her side.

"Have you gone daft boy?" He called up jovially, "Open up the doors!"

The soldier lowered his rifled and squinted at them. After a second his eyes widened.

"Walter? S'that you, sir?"

"The very same, lad. Now, are you going to let us in or what?" Walter smirked at Rhos, bemusement on every inch of his face. "Soldiers these days," He murmured to her out of the side of his mouth.

The soldier on the parapet nodded furiously and drew himself into a rushed salute.

"Of course, sir." He twisted and shouted over his shoulder for the gate to be raised. "And tell Major Swift: Sir Walter's here!"

"Here we go then, Albion's finest all arranged for your perusal, Roslyn."

Rhos laughed. The portcullis rose slowly, and behind it the gates opened with a creak and then a bang as they slammed against the masonry. Walter was still looking bemused as he strode through the archway, taking point with Archon trotting at his heels. Rhos followed at a slower pace, taking in the entirety of the inside of the fort.

Years, and no doubt many battles, had taken its toll on the inside of the fort as well as the inside. The walls were worn down to only a few feet tall except for where they met the walls and at the rear of the fort, under the stairs. There she could see a few door-less rooms. The upstairs was almost non-existent, the only flooring clinging to the walls, bridged in places, and leading to the crumbling parapets. More planks were employed in creating a failing facsimile of privacy as they were fixed to the remnants of rooms in the four corners of the fort like fencing.

There was a great hush that fell over the fort as She and Walter entered it, followed by an explosion of whispering. The first cheer was followed by a dozen more, along with several calls of 'Walter!'. When eyes fell on her they grew more suspicious, not knowing her as they did the great hero Sir Walter Beck.

Roslyn was well aware that currently she didn't look the part of a rebel warrior princess, but it wasn't entirely her fault. Six months of near constant fighting and travel tended to wear people down, as did a day and a half navigating a system of dank caves filled with Hobbes. She didn't give in to the urge to look down and assess herself – a lack of confidence in front of these men would cause any good to anyone. She knew that her shirt was an absolute state, and it was a quick field surgery that was stopping her from exposing herself to the entire fault. Her good leather jerkin had been set on fire by a Hobbe mage and was flung to the side and, unfortunately, off of a cliff. Her dark mercenary pants were still serviceable, but that was only because the colour of them hid almost all of the damage that had been done to them. Her boots were the most passable thing about the whole ensemble; soft, supple leather and of a quality that came naturally to being the only daughter of the last king and the sister of the next. The only fault on them was the inch thick encrustation of swamp muck surrounding her foot.

Walter looked back to her and she smiled, calm and composed. The gate shut behind them, and the gust of wind it produced blew Rhos' hair over her shoulder and into her face. It stank of cave water and was still damp, water hiding in the thick curls. She had lost her one remaining hair tie to an errant branch in Mistpeak Valley as she and Walter bolted away from a hungry pack of wolves. She had tried the Samarkandi way of twisting her hair and pining it in place with one of her smaller knives, but all she succeeded with was chopping off few inches of her hair. So now it fell down her back, dark and wild and utterly impractical.

Roslyn and Walter stopped in the centre of the fort, where there was a stack of crates doubling as a table and a map of the area spread on its surface and held in place with knives and stones. A door at the far end of the fort was flung open, and a well-dressed figure strode out. The man was outfitted in the uniform of a Major of the Royal Albion Army, and Rhos recognised him instantly as Major William Swift, commander of the Swift Brigade. Major Swift was one of Walter's closest friends, she remembered, and had served with both him and her father in Sparrow's war to gain hold of the country. Roslyn had met him only a few times, and only when she was quite young. She remembered the moustache, though.

Swift smiled cheerily at them, taking the pipe from his mouth and raising the stem to his forehead in a lazy salute.

Walter swept his arms out, "Ah, there he is; the one and only Major Swift!" The Major grinned and held his arm out. The two clasped forearms in a manly, soldier-ish way.

"Walter, dear fellow, what on earth are you doing in this far-flung corner of Albion?" His gaze moved to Roslyn, and his moustache twitched, "Ah. That answers the question then. Well met, your highness."

Rhos took the hand that was offered out to her, feeling the firmness of his grip.

"It has been a good long while, Major Swift."

"Yes, well I fell from the king's graces soon after he was crowned, and I didn't ever manage to regain that position."

Roslyn's smile was hard and not at all happy, and she spoke quietly but firm.

"Perhaps not a great loss when we look back now."

Walter was looking at her sadly, perhaps remembering the children he guarded and cared for after their father died – or maybe the boy that never did live up to expectations, who fell short of each task that Sparrow laid out for him. Each though of Logan reopened the wounds on her heart. It made her wonder if perhaps she could have prevented his fall and the disgrace he was now, or if maybe she could have shouldered the weight of the burden that he had carried for such a long time.

"We came looking for you, Swifty. I have a proposition."

"A proposition. You came all this way to proposition us?"

A soldier had snuck up behind them, and Roslyn had been so lost in melancholy that she hadn't even noticed. She drew herself up slightly, forcing away the dregs of her sudden mood change and turned to look at the man who had spoken. He was tall and fair-haired, bearing the rank of Captain embossed on his field pauldron – that piece of his uniform was immaculate, every scratch and gouge having been carefully oiled and waxed over, so the leather still shone impressively. The rest of his uniform, however, was untidy. His coat was sleeveless and undone at the top, and the brass buttons were dull; his shirt was unlaced and his belt more of an accessory than of any actual use. Not to mention his hair. Roslyn had never seen anything act as that man's hair did. It curved in some places then stood up in others, shooting off and falling in his eyes all at the same time. It would have been a shock, if not for the ffact that currently Rhos' own mane was in a rather frightful state. Roslyn had taken this all in quickly, and not a second after she had perceived it all, the soldier had sighed wistfully.

"And here I was thinking that you were here to save us from the legions of the damned." He looked disappointed in the old knight. Rhos smiled softly and Walter let out a chuckle.

"Ben Finn! It's good to see you, lad."

Ben Finn laughed and shook Walter's hand. Then he turned and ran his eyes over Roslyn. Rhos stared back, raising an eyebrow and tilting her head in a subtle challenge. He smirked.

"Ain't she a little young for you, Wally?" Finn asked, waggling his eyebrows. His gaze never left hers, but somehow he managed to duck under Walter's massive fist as it swung for him. Finn laughed again as he danced away from the blow, then he settled himself in front of her. He offered his palm hand up. Rhos played along, a smile blossoming on her lips. She placed her hand on his and watched as bent and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

"Captain Benjamin Finn, my lady. At your service."

Walter huffed over to the side, and Swift looked over the action with a warm smile on his face.

"Peace, Walter. Enough, Ben. This is no lady."

Roslyn laughed, catching the amused tone of Swifts voice and the hint hidden in his words. She pulled her hand from the Captain and stepped away.

"Don't be getting any ideas, Ben." Walter warned. It only made Finn smirk all that harder.

"Oh, so she is yours, Walter. You should have said!"

"Not quite, Captain Finn." Rhos told him, the smile now set firmly. She turned to the Major. "Swift, perhaps you could tell us more of the fort, and the battles you have been facing here – I would be most interested to hear it." It was a calculated question, and full of just enough authority for her to feel as if she had some sort off grip on the situation: Walter's efforts at keeping her safe and secure often blew back on them in a violent way, and now she was endeavouring to keep as ahead of the inevitable fall-out as she could.

"I take it the legends about this place are true then?" Walter said sombrely, his bushy brows drawn over his eyes. Captain Finn nodded, laughing mirthlessly.

"I'll say! I'd never thought that they were real things, but I swear to you, Walter, at night the forest is full of Hollowmen."

They had begun walking, led by Major Swift, to the east side of the fort, further from the communal areas that she had spotted when they had first entered the fort. Rhos froze utterly at the mention of Hollowmen, halting in her steps and looking at the captain with wide and fearful eyes. Finn stared back at her in surprise. Quickly she clenched them shut then forced herself to move, ignoring Walter's motion towards her.

"Small…"

"It is nothing," She replied quickly, fighting against the panic that was clawing at her from the inside. She remembered Hollowmen far too well, and had known for a long time that they were far more than myths. "Really Walter, I miss-stepped. Truly. Now let us continue."

Walter nodded at Swift, and for a moment Roslyn seethed that the Major would look to Walter for permission over her. But as soon as the feeling rose she stamped it down, settling herself back into the calm and coolness that she had perfected over the last few months. Swift continued on his path, leading the quiet group to an alcove built into the stone wall of the fort. It enclosed a small space, and in it held three freshly dug graves, each topped by a pile of stones. The one in the middle was far longer, and had an officer's hat placed on top of the stones.

"WE've been here for weeks – trying to eradicate them. But mostly it's us getting eradicated." Swift's voice contained a quiet fury, and Roslyn could see the anger in his face as he stared at the graves of his dead men. "We lost some damn good men last night, including Lieutenant Simmons here," HE gestured to the officer's grave, "And the bastards will just be back tonight."

Walter sighed sadly, bringing up his hand to knead at the joining of shoulder and his neck. "Logan just loves to send you on all the best assignments, doesn't he?" Roslyn's jaw clenched on instinct, and Swift stared at her gravely.

"Whatever you have to offer, Walter, it has to be better than this."

Rhos didn't want to deal with the second-hand guilt of seeing the turmoil and loss of life her brother's reign had brought about. She didn't think she actually could at that moment, not when she was staring down at the remnants of three lives wasted needlessly against an unstoppable enemy.

"Walter, perhaps you and the good General should settle yourself in the command room. You have a lot to talk about."

"Of course, Small." The two soldiers nodded to her and then to Finn before striding back in the direction they had all come from. Roslyn turned to her single companion.

"Captain Finn, would you be so kind as to show me the rest of the fort – I have not yet met the rest of the Swift Brigade." Finn was looking at her with his eyebrows knotted together, something going on his mind that was working it so fast that she could almost see the wheels and cogs turning. His gaze was evaluating and piercing, and Rhos wanted nothing more than to hide from it. Instead she smiled, faint against the backdrop of war and death, but strong enough that she could confidently meet the captain's eyes and issue her next demands.

She turned her head and whistled, and Archon came bounding over from where he had sequestered himself under that ramshackle tables that held gamblers clustered around their dice and their rations. He had a strip of salted meat in his maw and was looking unbelievably proud of himself. HE was still filthy, though. And on reflection, so was she.

"But first, Captain - please tell me that you have a spare bath-tub."