Two winters after Steve left, America was left reeling from an attack. One of the countries overseas felt the need to cut off the head of the lion before it could enter the fight. They only succeeded in making it mad. All the countries that united under the banner "America" came together to fight, sending their best warriors, weapons, and supplies across the water. Bucky was far into his training as a knight by then, and stayed behind to finish it. He received no letters from Steve, nor did any rumors of the man reach the castle. At first, their friends waited with him, but as months passed, they began to realize what must have happened. One by one, they all stopped anticipating his return home until Bucky was the only one who believed that Steve yet lived.
A year after that, Bucky won his knighthood and his shield, and joined the war. He was attached to a unit of elite warriors and sorcerers, the Strategic Spells Division, that combated the worst of the enemy's mages. It was a difficult and dangerous job, that left little time for things like wondering where Steve was. There was still no word on his friend.
That spring, an arrow took his mother in the side. The healers didn't realize it was poisoned until it was too late. Bucky was recalled to the palace, where he and his father argued over the prince going into the fight without a Guardian. But Bucky was adamant. He would have no Guardian, unless it was Steve. Everyone told him Steve was dead. It had been three, nearly four years since he had left, and no one had heard anything about him. Bucky's friends urged him to pick a Guardian, if not for himself, then for their peace of mind. He refused, and returned to the war alone. In the absence of a royal Guardian, it was now his job to lead the troops.
He didn't remember the battle that took his arm, or any of the long and painful trip back to New healers told him that was for the best. His soldiers said he jumped in front of a blast of battle-magic that had been aimed at one of his captains. The captain he rescued called him every manner of idiot, and then pledged his life to Bucky's service forever after. His father wouldn't go in the sickroom, not until a healer came and examined him. The man was a Master Healer, and a trained sorcerer as well. He created for the prince a metal arm that would respond exactly as his flesh one had. It was an almost perfect replacement. Bucky hated it. It reminded him of his stupidity. He took to wearing long sleeved shirts and gloves, even around the castle, and trained with his younger sister every day, trying to get back his old skill.
It was hard- the new arm weighed more than his real one, and the magic that connected it to him took some getting use to. It threw off his balance, and he had to re-learn how to make it move. Finally, two weeks after his other wounds had finally healed, Rebecka looked at him in disgust.
"You have to choose a Guardian," she told him. "And you have to do it soon. Or else, if the war comes here, you're not going to survive."
It stung, hearing his own private thoughts from her. She'd been the only one to defend his decision to wait for Steve. He shook his head.
"No, Beck. You know I'm not gonna do that. I-"
"Damn it, James!" She only used his real name when she was upset, as now. "You know as well as I do that if he hasn't come back by now, he's not coming back. I thought maybe you'd do alright on your own, but that arm will take a year at least to get back up to where it was. We don't have that long. I get my shield at Midwinter, and after that I have to go into the field, since right now you can't. I won't be able to protect you."
"Fine," he said stubbornly, "Then you be my Guardian. You can step down when Steve comes back."
"No," she shook her head. "You and I both know I can't do that. No member of the royal family can."
He did know that. It was a law that had been set down a few hundred years before, as a way to keep the royal family from inbreeding, since most Guardians also became the ruler's lovers. The healers had noticed a marked increase in insanity and birth defects when siblings and close cousins shared the crown and their bed.
"Then I won't do it. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it," Bucky insisted. Becka sighed and raised her sword, coming at him in a swift attack. In seconds she had disarmed him and removed his shield, leaving him panting on the floor with her sword at his throat.
"My point," she said coldly. "Steve is gone. You cannot keep your promise to a dead man. Do you choose a Guardian, or do I put you back in the infirmary and choose one for you?"
There was no argument to that. The announcement was made, though privately Bucky was determined not to choose anyone if Steve did not return.
Letters went out across America, and to the troops fighting across the ocean. Only the best were allowed to compete, and with the war on, many chose not to. Of those that arrived at the castle, only six really stood out to Bucky as having any sort of chance to win. None of them were Steve. Then, on the last day before the competition, a seventh serious competitor arrived.
He arrived unannounced, quietly slipping into the courtyard where the other contestants were gathered. He dropped a bag that seemed laughably small in comparison to his large size (at least 6 feet, all solid muscle,) and stood back in the shadows, observing. Bucky noticed his entrance, and for two seconds he allowed himself to hope that this time it would be Steve. But no, this man was too tall and too broad to be his friend, who, at eighteen, when he'd left, had been a head shorter than the prince, and so thin a light breeze could have blown him over. The only thing about this stranger that initially interested Bucky was the fact that he wore a mask. While the rules didn't state that you had to show your face, none of the others disguised themselves. Whoever this man was, he didn't want his identity known. That would change if he won, but until then he could stay anonymous. There was a tradition of unnamed fighters winning the Guardianship every so often. Bucky's own mother had been one. Perhaps this man hoped to be another.
The prince made his way through the crowd of contestants- slowly, because they all wanted to stop and tell him how honored they were to have this chance, or how impressive their past accomplishments were. Eventually he parted the seas of warriors to find the stranger talking to his sister. Becka looked up when he arrived, and moved back a step to include him in their conversation.
"Brother! Hi! Come meet Nomad. He says he's fresh from the army, fighting with the same unit you were with, until Ma died- the SSR. I was just about to get him to admit that he was the one that cleaned up that Hydra nest up north."
"Nomad, huh? Good to meet you. I'm James Barnes." Bucky extended a hand, which the stranger shook gently, as if he was afraid of breaking it. Maybe he was, he looked like he could crush a boulder with his bare hands. He stared at Bucky with blue eyes, large under the mask. It was a sort of half-mask, covering his face from the nose up, of a piece with the blue helmet that protected his head. The whole thing was the same color as his armor, the only decoration being a silver star on the chest-plate.
"B- ah, Your Highness. It's an honor." The stranger, Nomad, bowed.
"Thanks," Bucky said, a wry half-smile twisting up the side of his face.
Becka hit him, hissing "Manners, Bucky." Nomad laughed.
"Sorry," Bucky rubbed his shoulder- her smacks hurt. "It's just, I've had about two hundred people tell me how honored they are to fight in this damn competition today."
"I understand," Nomad told him. "Must be tiring, having to greet all these people."
Becka snorted. "Only because he spent the morning hiding from them all. Chased him all over the castle, I did."
"Hey!" Bucky protested, at the same time as Nomad asked "So where did you find him?"
"The laundry," Becka said. "Hiding under a wash basin, like he used to do when he was a kid."
"Me and- me and a friend used to get into trouble a lot. The wash-ladies let us hide out when the guards were sent to search for us," Bucky explained. It still hurt to talk of Steve. Part of Bucky had been holding out hope that he'd come, no mater what everyone else said, but at this point, there was little hope left. He must be dead, that's the only reason Bucky could think of that would keep Steve from returning. Unless he didn't want to return. That thought was almost as painful as thinking he was dead.
"I see." Nomad was smiling. "It does seem a good place to hide."
"Better than some," Bucky replied. "Beck, go find the steward and tell him Nomad needs a room. Before you start telling any more of my secrets."
Becka stuck her tongue out at him, then turned to Nomad. "Well, it was good meeting you. I look forward to seeing you fight."
"Thank you, Highness," Nomad bowed to her, and she left.
"Sisters," Bucky said, shaking his head. "Do you have any, Nomad?"
The stranger shook his head. "No, it was just me and my mother. After she died, I was on my own."
"So you decided to go adventuring," Bucky observed. His story sounded a lot like Steve's.
Nomad shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I did."
"So what made you decide to try out for Guardian?" Bucky was curious. He'd heard a lot of reasons already today- honor, money, fame, the chance to prove their skills. He wondered what Nomad's was.
The man took some time to think before answering, glancing off over the assembled warriors with a far-away look in his eyes. "I guess… I'm keeping a promise to an old friend." His voice was sad, making Bucky reluctant to ask about the friend. Somehow, he thought maybe whoever it was had died.
That night at dinner, Bucky sat at the high table with his father and sister, looking out over the heads of one hundred and fifty-two contestants. To his surprise, five of the initial six men he had recognized as the potential best sat together with Nomad. The sixth sat off on his own, save for a few times when he got up to talk to one or two of the others, a sleazy-looking bunch that Bucky didn't like the look of at all.
"Well," Pa said, as the servants delivered the food. "We've got a good turn-out. When I met your Ma, there were only sixty or so, and most of those went home the first day."
"Most of these will too," Becka said, eyeing the warriors. "I bet most wash out in the preliminary rounds. Once the actual competition gets going, I estimate about twenty will be left."
Bucky shrugged, and pushed the food around on his plate. He didn't feel like talking, or eating. He was feeling too guilty. He'd promised Steve he'd wait, but there was no waiting now. Tomorrow, the contest for his Guardian would start. By the end of the week, there would be a winner. If Bucky picked no one, they'd have the whole thing to do over again. He wasn't going to be allowed to get out of it. And he understood, he did. With his arm the way it was, he'd need someone to protect him- they couldn't risk losing the heir to the throne. He wished he was ten years old again, and could run off to the town and find Steve in his mother's shop, where he'd look up and grin, letting Bucky drag him off for another adventure. But there were no more adventures for him for now- he was the prince, the heir, and it would be a long time before he regained his old skill in battle. Bucky flexed the metal hand under the table, grimacing at it's slow response. His body was fighting the magic that made it work.
He looked up to find his sister watching him. She glanced significantly at where his good hand was placed against the seam of his shoulder, the place where metal met skin.
"It's fighting you again, isn't it?" she asked, speaking low so their father wouldn't hear. Pa worried, even more so after the death of their mother. Neither wanted him to have cause to worry more.
Bucky nodded. "I'll have to go to the healers tonight, get them to renew the spells. They said it's normal- I don't have magic, and my body doesn't like other magic going into it. I'm going to have a hard time being healed for anything else for now on."
Becka squeezed his good shoulder. "Well, let's just get this contest over and done with, so you have someone to look after you when I go off to fight. I don't want you needing healers for anything at all while I'm gone."
"I don't need 'someone to look after me'!" Bucky growled. "I need Steve to come home!"
"Bucky…" Becka's gaze was full of pity. Bucky had to look away. He didn't want pity. Pity did no one any good, least of all him. Pity wouldn't bring Steve back.
The arrival of the second course broke the tension between them. After that, Bucky concentrated on his food, ignoring any further attempts his sister made at conversation. Their father, always a quiet man, had even less to say after the death of his wife, and did not try to draw Bucky into speaking. The meal soon ended, and Bucky retreated to his rooms. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. He would have given just about anything to skip it.
In the morning, all the contestants lined up in a field outside the palace, ready to begin preliminary testing. Bucky and his sister watched as their armsmaster, an indomitable woman named Peggy Carter, strode forward and began calling out instructions. Bucky liked Peggy, she had taught he and Steve some of the finer points of archery- and of spying. It wasn't common knowledge- for good reason- but Peggy was also the kingdom's spymaster. She had used her skills to teach both the prince and his best friend how to make a secret identity, how to infiltrate an enemy stronghold, and how to collect information. She wasn't much older than Steve, but she had grown up in the world of intrigue, and had proved herself more than equal to her position.
Now, Peggy lived up to her reputation as the toughest officer in the Palace Guard. She snapped out commands with quick precision, demanding immediate obedience from her charges. The contestants tried to keep up, showing her the very basics of the warriors skills. Slowly at first, in ones and twos, and then faster as the day wore on, Peggy dismissed those that did not meet her faltered and fell from the ranks on their own, unable to keep up to the armsmaster's demands.
By the end of the day seventeen contestants remained. Of these seventeen, Bucky was particularly impressed with the skills shown by Nomad and a man named Johann Schmidt. They kept up with all of Peggy's commands, exhibiting the grace and skill of well-trained warriors. Both had proven able to wield a range of weapons, though Becka noted that Nomad seemed to use defensive techniques and non-killing attacks far more than Schmidt. Bucky pointed out that if that was a flaw, then so too was the fact that Schmidt seemed all too happy to cause pain and injury to his foes. In several training fights, Schmidt had hurt his opponent to the point that the man or woman was unable to continue. Nomad stopped short of causing actual harm if he could help it, preferring a knockout blow with the round shield he carried. None of his opponents had to drop out due to injury, and many of the others started to group around him off the field. The masked stranger seemed happy to talk to them, readily showing them the techniques he had used, and teaching a few of the younger contestants some of the moves they could have used to win the battle.
Schmidt, on the other hand, stayed aloof of the others, watching them all with contempt clear on his face. He obviously thought all the others were beneath him, and Bucky determined not to choose him, even if he won all three challenges. Watching him from afar, he seemed to be exactly the type that had always attempted to beat Steve up- and Bucky couldn't abide bullies, not after years of protecting Steve from them.
That night, when Bucky entered the great hall for dinner, his sister stopped him.
"What are you doing?" she asked, frowning at him. Bucky shrugged.
"Going to dinner. What does it look like it?" He wasn't in the mood for games tonight. He'd spent the afternoon reviewing the remaining contestants performance with Peggy, Pa, and Becka, and now he just wanted to eat in silence and go to bed. He missed Steve fiercely. Steve had always been a good judge of people, far better than anyone Bucky had ever known. If he'd been there, he'd have been able to tell Bucky who to pick. Of course, if he'd been there, there would be no need for this dog-and-pony show.
Becka looked significantly at the long table where all the warriors were standing, waiting for the king to take his seat. "Sit with them," she told him. "You were complaining you didn't know any of them. Here's your chance."
"Beck!" Bucky protested, "I'm up to socializing just now. Particularly not with a bunch of people who want to impress me with how strong and skillful they are."
She shook her head and crossed her arms, glaring at him. "What are we doing all this for, then? You're gonna have to pick one of them, you know."
"I know." Bucky glared right back. The servants, used to such 'discussions' between the siblings, walked around them to start serving the meal.
"Then what's the hold-up?" Becka wanted to know. Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. She knew what the hold-up was. His sister met his gaze, refusing to look away. Suddenly, Bucky's temper, already frayed from a hot day in the sun, the pain from his arm, and the constant weight of regret in his heart, snapped.
"Maybe I'm just tired," he whispered hotly, still in control enough to keep his voice low. "Maybe I don't want to do this right now. Maybe I just want to get out of here and go up to my room."
"Well," Becka's temper- equally frayed from putting up with his bad mood for the past month- also snapped. "I think I know what the problem is. And you need to stop being such a child, James Barnes. Steve is dead. He's gone, and he's not coming back. You don't get to mope and make everyone miserable when we're just trying to do what's best for you. You can't pick him, and even if he had come back you wouldn't be able to pick him. He was weak and sickly, he would never have survived the training to be a warrior, let alone your Guardian. And maybe it's best he did die. He would never have wanted to see you like this. He wouldn't love you like this, helpless and stupid."
Bucky felt all the blood drain from his face at her words. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Aside from the time she had convinced him to have this damn contest, she had been gentle about Steve, allowing him to act as if Steve would come back when he heard the announcement. She was wrong. She was dead wrong. Steve was still alive. And he wouldn't care if Bucky could defend himself, and he'd understand why he was acting the way he was.
For a moment, he couldn't even think of a reply. Then it came to him. "Just because you've never loved anyone, doesn't mean you can talk about me and Steve," he hissed. "I'll go sit with them, but only because I can't be around you right now. And maybe I'll tell Pa I need you here as an adviser, so he won't take you with him when he goes to the front next month."
Becka went red. He'd hit a sore spot- two, actually. Her last romance had ended with the man telling her she was incapable of loving anyone, a parting barb she still wept over when no one else was around. And she'd been looking forward to going to the war, sure that she would have the chance to prove herself as good a warrior as Bucky (or as good as he'd been, before he lost the arm.)
"You wouldn't dare," she said. Bucky made a rude gesture in her direction and entered the hall, walking quickly to the warriors' table. He didn't look up when she entered the room a few moments later, though guilt was already starting to eat at him for what he'd said. She'd been wrong. She had to be wrong.
There was a seat open next to Nomad. The stranger even ate with his mask on, Bucky noticed, but he smiled warmly when Bucky approached, and said nothing about his shaking hands or heavy breaths as the prince fought to reign in his temper. Instead, the man returned to the conversation he'd been having with the men across the table from him. They followed his example, leaving the prince to get himself under control before joining in. At last, when he'd managed to quiet the rage, he looked up to find Nomad drawing a map in some spilled beer on the table, the tip of his dagger creating roads and borders with practiced ease.
"So, here we were," he was saying, "and here, across this river, was where the enemy was camped. They captured one of our sorcerers, one of Colonel Phillip's best men, and he wanted him back. My mission was to get in and get the man out without being noticed, while everyone else caused a distraction. Unfortunately, the guy I had to get out was Howard Stark, and everyone who knows him knows the guy is a walking distraction all on his own."
Bucky snorted, and Nomad turned to look at him. "Sorry, it's just, Stark. That's a really accurate description."
"You know him?" Nomad asked, expression hard to read under that mask.
"Yeah," Bucky nodded. "I worked with him a couple years ago. Guy's a genius, but he's loud about it."
Nomad laughed. "I suppose he has a right to be," he said. "Dr. Erskine- he was another SSR sorcerer- he said Stark was the most magically gifted mind he'd ever met."
"True enough," Bucky admitted. "Anyway, what happened? You were going to rescue him?"
"Right," Nomad turned back to the 'map' he'd drawn- it had dried up a little while they talked, but that didn't seem to matter. The masked man dipped his dagger in his tankard, drawing more lines to embellish his story. "Well, I led my team over the river and we got into the camp well enough. Then the fireworks started- it seemed Stark hadn't wanted to wait for his rescue. I never did find out what he blew up, but it was big. There were Hydra soldiers running everywhere, and we had a bit of a fight to get to the prison area. By the time we got there, half the place was in flames. And there was Stark, as calm as you please, sitting on top of one of their constructs- you know, the big golems that shoot fire from the arms. He waved at me and asked what had kept me. Phillips was not happy. We could hear him yelling at Stark clear on the other side of the camp, once he'd got back from capturing the last of the enemy."
Bucky winced. He'd only heard Colonel Phillips yell once, but it hadn't been pretty. He remembered being convinced every enemy within ten miles would find the camp, his voice had been that loud. It looked like some of the other men at the table had had encounters with the colonel too, from the way several of them nodded or shook their heads in sympathy.
"So, Cap," a big man with a bowler hat said, leaning forward, "how'd you get mixed up with Stark and the SSR?"
Nomad shrugged. "Dr. Erskine recruited me. Then he died, and things just kinda snowballed. I've been on the move for the better part of three years now, going where they send me."
"Huh," Bucky frowned. Three years… he'd been working for the SSR for some of that. Maybe he knew Nomad? "I worked with them a bit, before I started leading our armies," he told the men. "It's a wonder we didn't meet up then."
"The SSR is a big organization" Nomad pointed out. "They probably had us in different areas."
"Yeah," Bucky agreed, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "They wouldn't put me anywhere near the front lines. Trying to keep the prince safe or something like that. As if I wasn't as good as any of them."
"I heard you were in some large battles," the masked man said, and Bucky shook his head.
"That was after I took command of the troops. While I was with the SSR, I was basically support. I only got to run two missions that took me anywhere near the enemy."
"You'll probably see more action once you have a Guardian," Nomad said. He was trying to be reassuring, but his words just managed to make Bucky feel worse. If he hadn't been so stupid to jump in front of a blast of magic, he wouldn't need a Guardian.
"Yeah, maybe," he grumbled, not wanting to get into the limitations posed by his new arm, or the time it would take to re-train himself.
"You don't think so?" Nomad asked, surprised.
"I think all this," Bucky swept out his hands to indicate the large room and all the warriors, "is just so that my father can send someone else to lead the armies and keep me here at home."
"Isn't it so you have your Guardian, to protect you?" Nomad wanted to know.
Bucky snorted, giving the man a bitter laugh. "Sure. And part of protecting me is keeping me out of the fighting. As if I'm not a knight with my own shield."
"You sound like you don't want a Guardian," the other man observed. He'd lowed his voice, and subconsciously, Bucky had also lowered his until their words were covered by the general noise in the hall. The other men had turned to other conversations, and a quick check told Bucky that none of them seemed to be listening in.
"I don't," he admitted, surprising himself. He'd intended to deny it, and yet, he'd told Nomad the truth.
"Why?" he asked Bucky. The prince could read concern in those blue-sky eyes, and something else he couldn't name.
"Because I'm waiting for someone," Bucky said. He couldn't say why, but he felt like he could trust Nomad, like he'd known him forever. "And I promised him I wouldn't take a Guardian until he came back."
"Then why hold this at all?" Nomad wanted to know. "If you have already chosen, why this contest?"
"Because everyone says he's dead," Bucky told him, voice barely a whisper. "And… it's necessary. I know it's necessary." Unconsciously, his hand had crept up to his bad shoulder, massaging the seam of it.
"You don't believe he's dead," Nomad said, a statement of fact, not a question.
Bucky shook his head. "No, I don't. I… some days, I know it's not likely, not if he hasn't come back by now. But… well, it sounds silly, since neither he or I are mages, but I think I'd know, if he died."
"Then he's not dead," Nomad said, with certainty. "But if he comes back, what will you do?"
Bucky squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable. He knew admitting that he'd ask his Guardian to step down in favor of Steve was something he shouldn't do, not if he wanted Nomad to do his best in the competition- and from his limited observation, Bucky decided that he did want Nomad to win, if he couldn't have Steve. He seemed to be the best of the lot, the best fighter, and the best man. But Nomad just stared at him, until he sighed. "I guess…" he looked down at his hands. "I guess I'd have to ask whoever I pick to fight him, and the winner would be my Guardian."
"And if this person you're waiting for lost?" Nomad asked.
"I don't think he will," Bucky said. Even though he knew that Steve, as he'd last seen him, would have no chance of beating a man like Nomad in a fair fight, he didn't doubt that when Steve returned, he would be the better warrior. He had promised, after all.
Nomad nodded. "I see. Seems fair enough."
Bucky blinked in surprise, he hadn't thought the man would accept that. When he'd recovered enough to get his voice back, he asked "So what about you? You got personal information out of me, so I should learn something from you. Fair's fair."
Nomad's eyes widened, and suddenly he looked a little afraid. Bucky wondered if he thought the prince would order him to reveal his identity or something. But he wouldn't. As much as it was tempting to do so, Bucky knew the rules of the Guardian contest- people could conceal their identity, and he couldn't force them to reveal it until the very end.
"What do you want to know?" Nomad asked warily.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that? You moved around the field like water today, nothing could stand in your way." Nomad's fighting style wasn't any he'd seen before, but rather a combination of all the styles of the western and eastern lands. Neither he nor Becka had ever seen the like, and even Peggy had been unable to tell him it's origin.
Nomad grinned, relieved, it seemed, that the question hadn't been more personal. "All over, I guess. The army had me moving around a lot these past few years, and I just picked up bits and pieces wherever we went. I had to, to keep up with the enemy. They have some sort of sorcery on their hands that even Stark can't match."
Bucky nodded, grim. He'd heard that. "They say they might have a god fighting with them," he said, hoping it wasn't true.
Nomad shook his head. "No, I don't think they have a god. We haven't seen divine intervention in mortal wars for centuries, now's an odd time for it start up again. No," he sighed, "I think if anything, they managed to find something left over from the ancients, and turn it to their use."
The prince hummed as he thought. That was a new idea, one he hadn't considered before. "So," he asked, "what do you think our chances are of beating them?" It had been a long time- since he'd left the front lines, in fact- that he could talk to someone knowledgeable about the war, someone who'd been there and knew what was going on.
"I think we have to," Nomad said, after considering for a moment. "There isn't really another option. The Red Skull- the head of Hydra- is a powerful sorcerer, in addition to being a strong warrior. If the enemy wins, he'll take over, and he won't stop until all of America is wiped out."
"You're right," Bucky agreed. "And he'll start with us, with New York. They say he has a special grudge against us."
"That, ah," Nomad looked down, and Bucky thought he saw a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. "That may be my fault. He knows I'm from around here. He might want to make this personal."
"You?" Bucky laughed. "I don't think he'd make that much fuss over just one warrior. No offense."
Nomad shrugged. "Well, I've done a lot with the SSR to bring him down. Remind me, and I'll tell you about it some time. I've never seen his face- and I don't think he's ever seen mine- but if we ever end up in combat against one another, it won't be pretty."
Bucky shuddered, not liking the image. For some reason, his brain presented Nomad with Steve's face, fighting a man that looked like a devil. He hoped that, wherever Steve was, he wasn't getting himself into danger like that.
The conversation moved on to other topics after that, and Bucky found himself warming to the man. He was easy to be around, he didn't seem to judge anyone, and there was something about him that spoke of kindness and honor. Almost against his will, the prince realized he liked Nomad, maybe even enough to not object if he were to win the contest. It felt like betraying Steve, but, surely, Steve would want him to like his Guardian, even if it wasn't Steve.
Bucky passed much of the evening with Nomad and his friends among the contestants. Somehow, the others had learned he held a captain's rank in the army, and insisted on calling him 'Captain' or 'Cap' instead of Nomad. They were a good group, and Bucky considered inviting them to join the Palace Guard, the ones that didn't win the competition. He enjoyed their company, and went to bed feeling significantly better than he had that afternoon.
Passing Becka's room, on the way to his own chambers, he noticed her door was open and the light was on. He paused outside the door, considering apologizing for his harsh words, then turned away. He didn't want another argument that night. He was halfway down the hall when he heard her call out.
"Bucky?" She sounded hesitant, unsure. The prince turned, and saw his sister standing in her doorway, watching him with red-rimmed eyes.
"Going to yell at me some more?" Bucky asked, then instantly regretted it. She didn't look like she was going to yell at him. No, in fact, she looked… sad.
"No," she said softly, taking a few steps towards him. "No, I… I wanted to apologize. What I said, about Steve… that was out of line. I'm sorry."
"He's not dead," Bucky insisted, instead of simply accepting the apology.
"I know," Becka looked down, watching her feet instead of his face. "I know. And he loves you, we all knew that even when you two were just boys, running around down in the lower city. I should never have said that about him. I was just… angry, and frustrated. I want you to be safe, and more than that, I want you to be happy. I thought, maybe, if you could spend some time with the warriors, talk about something other than this blasted contest for a change, you'd feel better. You've been spending so much time with Pa and me that I'm worried you forget about the world outside of this castle. And you've never really been happy cooped up in here." She sniffed, and rubbed at the corner of one of her eyes, as if wiping away a tear.
Bucky sighed and went back to her, taking her hands in his. "Ok. Ok, I forgive you. And I'm sorry for what I said. I lost my temper."
Becka laughed, though it wasn't a very happy sound. "Look, I won't push you to spend time with the contestants anymore. Three more days, and it'll all be over."
"Well," Bucky hated to admit when she was right, but he didn't like seeing his sister cry either. "Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. I like Nomad, and some of the others. It wasn't so bad, sitting with them tonight, I guess."
Becka smiled, even though her eyes were still leaking a few tears. "See, I do have good ideas now and then."
"Hmm," Bucky grinned. "Maybe I should tell Pa I need you here anyway, just for your good ideas." This time, he was teasing her, and she knew it.
"You wouldn't dare!" Becka pulled a hand free and hit him on the shoulder- the metal one, which clanged as one of her rings struck it. For some reason neither could understand, that struck them both as funny, and the ensuing giggle fit (though Bucky would never admit it- princes don't giggle!) lasted a whole five minutes. They parted on good terms, and Bucky went to bed with a much lighter heart. He had a lot to think about, but suddenly, it didn't seem quite so bad.
The man who called himself Nomad also had a lot to think about that night. In his small room, far below the prince's chambers, he tossed and turned, recalling every bit of conversation that had passed between himself and his prince that night. There was something wrong, something he wasn't telling, and Nomad needed to know what that was. He was also worried, there was something off about several of the other contestants, something he couldn't quite name. Especially the one called Schmidt. Nomad didn't like the way he looked at the prince. He didn't like it at all.