Money, that's what it boiled down to. While there was no shortage on willing soldiers there was not enough money to supply them. The treasury couldn't handle such a hit. Five years seemed so far away but it loomed over Logan like the shadow of death it was. He knew he could create new laws and decree what ever he wished, he was King. Yet he hesitated to put pen to paper and do so.

War was coming and only Logan knew it. He muttered it beneath his breath and noticed the slight quirk in Walter's eyebrow but the man said nothing. Logan wished he could confess everything to his adviser but something stopped him. No one knew exactly what had happened during his last excursion and he was in no hurry to remember it. Walter knew of his wounds but prodded no further than making sure the King was well; everyone has horrible memories, that he knew first hand.

"How are your wounds, sir?"

Logan blinked and looked up from the map of Albion. Walter was watching him, papers in hand. "They're healing nicely," he replied with a slight smile. "The scars shouldn't be too displeasing and, thankfully, they're in places the public won't see."

"About today's business-"

"You handle that, Walter," Logan sighed. He cast his eyes back to the map, the image of what the Seer had shown him still haunting his memories. He could still the darkness well in the deserts of Aurora and slowly bleeding outward. "I have more important things on my mind."

Walter frowned beneath his mustache. "The people will want to see you, Logan. Its been three days since you've come out of that stupor of yours and the people know something happened."

"How?" Logan shot the man a fire filled glare.

"Servants no doubt, maybe a guard."

Logan pursed his lips together and gripped the edge of table with all his strength, "Find out who let this slip; I wish to speak with them."

Walter shrugged and held out the papers in his hand, "Never the less, there are things that you have to tend to yourself."

There was no point in arguing with the weathered warrior, something Logan had learned long ago. He took the papers with a slight frown and glanced over them. It was the same things he had seen many times before. Personal problems that needed a King's decision, a new excavation site needing the royal signature, and noble men and women wanting to speak with him for whatever reason. The last paper, though, was an invitation to a party.

"What is this?" Logan asked, holding up the item in question.

"Oh, that is a reminder about Reaver's private party happening within the next few days." Walter replied.

"Party?" Logan laughed. "Why in the world would-"

"You agreed to it last month," Walter said, clearing his throat, "and I think it may be a good idea to attend. Despite his debauchery, the man has connections."

Logan stared at Walter for a moment, silently wondering why he had brought up the man's 'connections.' He pushed it aside and figured he was referring to something else entirely. If what he said was true, though, Reaver could be a possible ally. "Fine, I'll attend and I suppose I should see to these other matters personally."

Hearing those words brought a slight smile of relief to Walter's face. He shadowed Logan, explaining what he knew about the day's agenda. In the back of his mind he hoped that going back to his normal duties would pull the King out of his odd melancholy. While most passed it off as Logan recovering Walter could see that there was something more to it. Yes a brush with death could change a man but there was something stirring beneath the calm surface of Logan's being. Something had happened and there were already cracks forming.

"I want you to know, Your Majesty, that if there is something you need to talk about I'm here for you not only as your adviser but as a friend."

Logan came to a slow stop and turned to Walter. He smiled slightly, "Thank you. I...I still think I'm recovering from my travels."

"About that," Walter said, lowering his voice, "you have been the only one to return. What exactly happened? What's out there?"

Taking in a deep breath Logan shook his head, "There was nothing out there. We found an endless desert filled with horrible creatures. Those men saved my life and I vowed that they wouldn't die in vain. Albion will never fall." Logan turned away without another word, ignoring the confused expression on Walter's face. He had said too much.


"A party? Is there any way I can attend as well?"

Logan smiled slightly as he looked himself over in the mirror. Behind his reflection he could barely make out Tara; she was sitting on his bed, her new puppy in her lap trying desperately to crawl away. It had been a present, something to cheer her up in the wake of his own souring disposition. Logan tried his best to smile around her and to ignore the ever present horrors of the recent past.

"I don't think this is something you'll enjoy, my little princess." Logan laughed as he saw a frown pass over his sister's face. She was on the cusp of womanhood, just entering her fifteenth year, and was beginning to resent being called 'little.' He couldn't help it, though; Tara would forever be the small child he comforted when their mother had passed. "It will be full of nobles talking about themselves."

"I heard it was Reaver's party," Tara continued. She picked up her puppy pressed her nose against the poor thing's snout in an odd form of affection. "All of his parties are supposed to fun."

Logan shook his head and turned to his sister, "Reaver is the worst of them all. Everything pertains to him in his twisted mind. He's a spoiled child that thinks everything belongs to him or will at some point." He didn't know why he said what he had, he barely knew Reaver. Most of what anyone knew about the enigmatic man was based in rumor and most of those the man made himself. There was no doubt Reaver loved the life of high society but he was manipulative and out for himself.

"Then why do people like him?"

"He has money and his friends are of questionable nature." Logan smiled and motioned to himself, "How do I look?"

Tara cocked her head to one side and eyed her brother's choice of clothes. "Why didn't you let Jasper pick out some of you clothes?"

Logan laughed and sat beside Tara, "Is it that bad?"

"No, its just that Jasper has impeccable taste!"

"He said that about himself, didn't he."

Tara grinned, "But he does, doesn't he?"

"If you think he can pick something better, then fetch him," Logan replied. He watched his sister crawl off the bed, her puppy in her arms wriggling around all the while. "And put that poor thing in your room. I think he needs some time alone."


While he usually picked his own outfits Jasper seemed more than happy to show Logan an outfit that suited his position in society. He had been reluctant to agree to the change but upon Tara's pestering he went with Jasper's choice. The outfit was something he had kept away for sometime, fearing the days he would have to be dressed up: a shirt with full sleeves, a cravat to go along with it, and a pair of breeches that came just below his knees. He fought, though, to wear his boots rather then the low heeled buckled shoes. The colors were a mix of deep purples and blacks which, from what Jasper and Tara said, complimented him. He had never been one to enjoy waist coats and reluctantly added it to the ensemble as he left.

Logan was taken to Reaver's estate by carriage and alone. The invitation was his and no one else's, and it seemed like he would have had to pull teeth to get someone to join him. Walter made the off hand remark that if Logan had lady friend then it would have been understandable to bring her along. Logan didn't know how to respond to such a comment. Courting women had been the last thing on his mind before his journey to Aurora and now the thought of starting a family caused his stomach to tie itself into a knot. Those ideas had never interested him, he never knew why. He was thrust into his position as king so early and so suddenly that he pushed all other things aside. There was a country to be run, and his sister needed to be looked after above all else, to be given a decent upbringing despite their loss.

"Your Majesty?"

He hadn't noticed the driver opening the door nor the wash of cool air but as Logan looked past the humble man he spotted Reaver's home. It out-shined the other homes in Millifields and, to no surprise, was extravagant. Logan's first urge was to tell the man to take him back to the castle. Yet he heard his sister's voice in the back of his mind. She wanted to hear about the party, in great detail no less! He had promised and he used that very thing to bolster himself.

It wasn't long before word of his arrival had spread into the house. Logan faltered as he stepped through the door, being greeted by applause and nearly surrounded by those of high society. He put his years of tutelage to work and worked the crowd around him. In the back of his mind he told himself that this had to be done. The people of Albion had to be reassured, their spirits high. Their faces and voices, though, came in a blur and most of what was talked about was lost in the noise and music around him.

The moment he had the chance Logan retreated to one of the many adjacent rooms. While the room was empty of party goers and the door originally closed, a fire burned in the hearth. It was the room's only source of light, save for any moonlight streaming in from the window, and it was a much needed comfort that Logan wanted. He sank into one of the plush arm chairs that sat before the fireplace and stared into the flames with a sigh of comfort. Even if the man was a pompous fop Reaver did know a thing or two about comfort.

"Ah, I see you have decided to hide yourself away."

Logan pushed himself out of the chair and spun around in a flurry. He began to yell at the person, to tell them that he wished to be alone but stopped. Reaver stood before the closing door, a smile tugging on his lips. The man bent ever so slightly at the hip in his version of a bow. It was the first time he had ever laid eyes on the man before but he knew that face thanks to posters hanging on walls around Bowerstone's growing industrial district. He had to admit, though, the images did him no justice

"I was looking for a place to be by myself," Logan said once he found his voice.

Reaver waved his hand through the air as he moved towards one of the cabinets. "You have no need to explain, Your Majesty. Your mother was very much the same."

He hadn't bothered to recall the memories of his mother uttering Reaver's name but now they rushed forth. Logan remembered when the man had appeared in Albion as if from nothing, building and buying things left and right. She was never happy when he sought her council and rarely gave it. He had asked her why once and the response he was given had stuck with him. 'I want you to stay away from that man. Nothing good ever comes from him.' This, though, was the first time Logan had ever laid as on him personally.

"She also told me to stay away from you."

A laugh escaped Reaver that sent an odd chill through Logan's body, "She never took a shine to me. I blame your father for that." He pulled a bottle of wine from the cabinet followed by two glasses. Nothing else was said as he prepared the two drinks and sauntered towards Albion's ruler. "Take it; I promise I won't bite..."

Logan took the glass pausing as he heard Reaver mutter under his breath, 'hard.' He ignored the man and downed the wine in one mouthful. He knew it was bad form to do so but it was the first taste of alcohol he had in weeks, and it drew another smile from his host.

"You seem a little tense," Reaver proclaimed after taking slow sip of the wine. "If the wine doesn't help I can call in one of the servants to give you a massage. This one girl, Emily, has an interesting way of-"

"I don't want to hear about your perverted escapades," Logan snapped. The smile on Reaver's face twisted into something a little more lecherous as the young King brushed past him. Logan didn't care if it made him look bad but he poured himself another glass of wine. He tensed as he felt Reaver's hand run up his back and come to rest on his shoulder.

"Seems like someone is trying to drink away their pain," Reaver said softly.

Logan shrugged off Reaver's hand and turned to face him, his eyes narrowed. "I am in no mood to joke and least of all with you. You know nothing of my problems."

Once more that playful smile danced across Reaver's lips as he took a slow drink of his wine. "Oh but I would love to hear them. Perhaps I can convince you to stay behind once the other guests have taken their leave."

"They are my own," Logan seethed. No truer words were spoken. That thing hidden in the deserts, plotting Albion's destruction, was his problem. Now Logan wanted leave more than anything. He was growing more and more uncomfortable as he realized how close Reaver was. Everyone knew about the man's history with women and men alike. Nothing would be more scandalous than someone finding Logan being corner by such a person.

"Thank you for inviting me. As much as I would love to stay I have business to tend to."

Reaver stepped aside but grabbed Logan's arm as he began to move past, "Next time I see you, why don't you indulge me? I love secrets."

Logan's only response was to pull away from the man and storm out of his home. He was angry. Angry at the situation he was in. Angry that there was no one he could talk to and no one he could turn to with out feeling like he was burdening them. Reaver, though...Logan pushed the thought from his mind before it could fully form. What he needed now was sleep.


A/N: Reaver...he is my bane. Sorry if he seems out of OC. While I enjoy him in the games, he seems to escape me(imho) when I try and write.