Lyrk moved fast, his hand striking Van square in the chest. The hand was held palm-up, with his index and middle the only fingers extended. A beautiful strike, it hit his opponent just under the sternum, stunning him. With windswept beauty, a foot twitched forward, hooking itself lightly around Van's left foot. But he had learnt. Recovering from the blow with great difficulty but good speed, the foot shot up and back down with daring speed, digging it's bare heel into the hook foot. A hit, knuckles folded so the edge of the palm connected with Lyrk's face, followed. In response, the Wolf boy gripped his King's wrist as it drew back, and forced him towards him with a powerful tug. A single well-placed headbutt, and Van was unconscious, and Lyrk wasn't.

The Courtyard, the once-scorched stones long ago whitewashed and scrubbed to their former glory, echoed with the chuckles of Guardsmen and the giggles of servants.

Darl's gaze was unscrupulous and critical as he watched from the steps by himself; most servants kept their distance, but there was an aura of respect that had developed the moment he defeated the King and only grown stronger over the last 5 years. Lyrk's timing had been off, his attacks too slow south of his waist. But his hands were incomparably fast; grabbing Van's wrist as it retracted was cunning and highly difficult. And he had mastered the keystone of the Wolf's Claw: everything goes. A simple, brutal move had ended the bout, and it was Van's fault. He had been on the backfoot from the first move, his stance being far too wide to defend himself and his reactions too slow to compensate. But his feet were fast, he fought to the end and he was deathly quick to recognise an opponent's weaknesses.

With a grunt, Darl nodded down at the King, and a bucket-bearing guardsman proceeded to wake him up with some ice-cold water.

Spluttering and spitting, with a highly recognisable look of 'not again', Van awoke.

Taking Lyrk's offered hand, the two combatants supported each other across the courtyard to where Darl stood.

With a bow, they honoured him, and begged his opinion.

Once again, that coarse voice rang out, the echoes of Balgus being replaced by the harsher tones of a Soldier born, not a Swordsman born.

"Lyrk, your feet are slow. Practice your kicks and hooks. Until then, you will carry 1 of every 10 messages with your feet." Darl did not dally with exaggerated metaphors or inspiring compliments. Lyrk knew his strengths, but his weaknesses needed pointing out. The only semblance of praise Darl allowed the Wolf-boy, now coming into adulthood, was the slightest nod of the head. Then, his face changed, becoming only slightly different in physical appearance; the smallest of grimaces. But Van knew what that meant.

"Van, your stance was too wide; stop spreading your arms. From now on, you will exercise and train with your hands tied infront of you."

With that, their session ended. Van and Lyrk bowed to their Master, and then the hierarchy changed.

Standing to attention, Darl bowed stiffly to Van, whle grunting at Lyrk to be gone. Lyrk allowed himself a grin at Van, nodding at him in respect as a dojo-partner, before disappearing down the steps. They had developed a liking for each other; Lyrk's style complimenting Van's pride and honour.

Van, for his part, simply smoothed his hair and smiled appreciatively at Darl.

"How are you today, Captain?"

He looked good; and that was rare. His hair and beard remained the exact same length; closely washed and trimmed to represent absolute disciplinary perfection. His armour was simple and functional, the only adornment being the scratches across the breastplate, gained from fighting wandering bands of brigands in the Forest. A back as straight as a spear, Van realised why he regretted recruiting Darl every time he looked at him. He was Zaibach to the bone; ordered, regimented, stoic and hard-faced until the very end.

But looking around him, just for a second, Van realised why he had recruited him. The Palace Courtyard, once dark, rancid and covered in debris, now sparkled white with constant scrubbing and cleaning. The Palace steps, which lead directly out onto it, had been repaired and refined, everything being made functional before anything was redecorated. The two barracks either side were stocked with warm beds and good food, specifically from the now booming farms outside the walls. At first, they'd had to accept charity from the Wolf-men, but Darl had gone down into the town, gathered 50 men, and the next autumn; 40 cartloads of grain had arrived in the City. The only smile Darl had ever displayed infront of Van, or ever, to his knowledge, was when he had stood upon the raised edge of the Palace Courtyard, looking out as the citizens of Fanelia eagerly ground the grain in improvised mills; the original ones outside long burnt to the ground.

And the Guards. The Guards. They were not Samurai in the classic sense anymore; gone were the erratic and brilliant swordsmen of Fanelia. Instead, they had 'grown brains', as Darl eloquently put it. Van would descend to order a blacksmith to forge a sword for a new Guard, and find it had been ordered that morning by something known as a 'Quartermaster'; a master of supplies. It seemed this man was a master of the nameless minutiae of Military life.

"Good as can be expected, Sire." Darl replied a second time; Van's daydreaming getting the better of him.

"Alright, come on." With a step, the routine continued. 5 Guards peeled off and followed Darl and the King as they descended into the Fanelian streets. The parts closest the Palace were ordered and well-built; Darl had ordered the main roads rebuilt first, but the Lady Hitomi had ordered the residence rebuilt ahead of them. Darl had bowed his head to his future-Queen's decision.

It wasn't long now, and Van hesitated to ask his Captain for advice. He knew Darl had possessed a Wife and children, but he just wasn't that approachable. Not like Balgus. But Van had to ask someone, and Allen wouldn't be here before the Wedding.

As they treaded through the streets, the people stopping to quickly bow as messengers ran, herdsman herded for the market, crafters crafted for their shops and a small semblance of Fanelia's past beamed forth, Van asked him.

"Darl…You were married with how many children?" It was asked hesitantly, unusual for the King. As usual, Darl's response was clear cut and brutal.

"5."

"And why did you marry?"

"Because my Wife…" It was rare for him to hesitate at any answer, but he continued after only a moment "…was very, very rich, and the Daughter of a noble. She hated me to her last breath."

Van saw why he'd held the answer back. That was callous; he'd been informed of the possibility of an arranged marriage as a boy, but marrying for money? That didn't sit well with Van.

"But I grew to love her. Very much." Maybe a hint of humidity gathered upon the tip of an eyelash upon that stone visage, just maybe, but it was blinked away, a rare species brought to extinction.

But still, that was an opening. It seemed talking about Darl's family brought out the slightest gleam of a different man. Van dove in.

"Do you think I should marry Hitomi?" And the silence confirmed that the gleam had died. For easily an eternity that was mere minutes, they simply walked, in silence.

"Marrying the Lady Hitomi brings no political advantages. Neither financial, territorial or diplomatic.

But the people love her, her regular visits have caused them to view her already as their Queen, albeit unofficially. She makes sound administrative decision with a clear and concise mind. And you love her, deeply. So, I can only conclude that it is not the best marriage you could acquire, but that no ill effects will come of it."

"Yes, but do you think I should?"

"Yes."

How can such a simple word from one man change so much? The approval of this man, who Van had known barely 5 and a half years, was immensely important. Perhaps because it was often denied, rarely given. When Darl complimented the skill of your footwork, it meant it was worth a great deal, as he would not have complimented it unless it had been flawless.

"Thank you, Captain."

The King maintained his smile and his incomparably happy mood throughout the visit. Striding into the market square, the King perused the wears avidly, always complimenting, never commenting. Darl watched silently, never offering his opinion, simply raising his eyebrows at a ghastly specimen and nodding at an item of good quality. Though any trader would give his wears away for free to the Lord Van, the King paid triple price – always. With mental precision, Darl would note the price away from the budget he had assigned for the outing. Noone commented on the massive bruise topping the King between the eyes; they'd seen it many times, and it only incurred a few chuckles from the townsfolk.

Lyrk came into sight, being pushed precariously by Merle towards a shop stall. They had both grown a great deal. Lyrk had developed a savage handsomeness and a deathly quick intellect; his nose had broadened, his hair lengthened and his teeth sharpened, to match Merle's bestial beauty. She was Van's unofficial overseer of everything to do with thieving, information and such. She made sure the street rat orphans that noone could take in were fed, and did not steal too much. Learning from her quickly, Lyrk had become the settler of disputes, always with Merle at his side. At this period in their lives, Merle despised him, and Lyrk had not grown out of his more childish habits; painfully clear as he handed a shopkeeper a shining apple with a sheepish grin.

But Lyrk caught his foster-father's eye, and spoke something to Merle. She stormed, her teenage hormones ripping into Lyrk once again, before pouncing off.

Tapping the King on the shoulder to inform him, Darl detached himself from the party and went to speak with the Wolf-boy.

"Sorry, Darl."

The hit was light, indicating that the Captain did not really mind, little more then a man might give a child to stop the infant's hand leaping into a fire. Only once had Darl ever delivered a true thrashing to Lyrk; when he had gone back to his cannibalistic ways. After finally hunting him down, Darl had gripped him by the shoulder and said "You are a Wolf, not a damned rat. Act like it" before beating nine-shades of blue into him. It was strange, but Lyrk was a Wolf-man. They ran away when they felt scared, felt scared when they felt unprotected – best way to show a Wolf you can protect them is prove it to them, aswell as showing you care enough to beat him. Ever since then, Lyrk and Merle had his morning, noon and evening meals with Darl. He was not good conversation, he knew, but Merle and Lyrk were. Lyrk was often sarcastic, and was beginning to inherit his teacher's succinct descriptions. Merle was thunderous and street-wise in a way that Lyrk could never be. They remained friends, for now, but at 17 years of age, it was only a matter of time before they either left or found each other. Everything hinted to the former, Merle was constantly crying over Lyrk, and Lyrk would go through his morning training with a sombre expression.

Gaia herself, but Darl was no father. He knew very, very little of children, every single cjild of his only ever seeing his face once or twice in their entire lives..

Lyrk took his cuff with an apologetic smile, and Darl couldn't bring himself to punish him further.

"Noon meal in two candlemarks. Bread, cheese and salted venison." He relished that spark in Lyrk's eye at the mention of meat; especially meat he had killed personally. Darl had quickly discovered that though Lyrk was an Outcast, he was still a Wolf to the bone. Noone, absolutely noone, could track better then him.

"We'll go hunting tomorrow." Darl stated, keen to get some boar meat for the Palace stores.

"I'd like that. But, please, try to keep up, for once." Lyrk dashed off, knowing that the Captain would simply level a stoic look on him. Nonetheless, he giggled. His opinion towards Darl had changed in the five years he'd fostered him. At first, he hated him, fighting him in subtle ways at every turn; leaving his armour out in the rain to rust, locking his door and hiding the key, and a hundred other childish pranks. But Darl had always overcome them. He would turn up for parade a candlemark early, his armour shining brighter then ever; he would produce the key from his pocket, strangely acquiring it from it's hiding place without Lyrk noticing. After 2 years, Lyrk had stopped telling himself he was only here to learn how to kill; and began realising he was here because it was a better life. The last 3 years had been building the relationship between the two; and it was strong. And would only grow stronger. For everytime that Lyrk defied Darl in an adolescent tantrum, he found himself cleaning the courtyard with a leaf, or his training being to run to the furthest farm and back again until evening meal. It was one of those times when Lyrk had run away; Darl had found him, and showed him that he wasn't going to let him regress into a scavenger again.

The outing ended. Van politely and happily dismissed Darl, and he was on his way. Alone, Darl garnered glares and scowls, but always to his back, and only from the most grudge-bearing of young fools. To his front, everyone bowed their hand with respect. Instead of the adoration and love which Van enjoyed, the Captain took silent respect and almost apologetic reverence. Many people had complained at the Captain's appointment, only to have him personally come round and challenge them. Regardless of their response, they would find their house rebuilt by Guards on punishment duty.

Darl's residence was once so torn apart, noone had wanted to even attempt to rebuild it. A Guymelef had fallen atop it during the Zaibach attack. It took a great amount of time, but Darl had dismantled the Guymelef piece by piece, plate by plate, and rebuilt the home. It was now simple but functional. It was in a sidestreet with only a few inhabitants, maybe 5 or 6, but it was close to the Palace and quiet.

With a heave, Darl shouldered the door open. The entrance hall was a simple, wooden floor and a shoe rack, with an open doorway covered with a blanket directly infront.

Not bothering to kick off his boots, Darl predictably found Lyrk at the table, ready to eat. The kitchen was little more then a stove, several bags of food and a large table. But it was easily large, with plenty of extra space for stretching and moving.

Strangely, Lyrk was sitting alone, head in hands. He'd obviously heard Darl enter, so, as the man reached into the large food sacks for the pre-cooked foot and a few plates, he prompted him with a "Hm?"

Lyrk simply shook his head in his hands, it quickly becoming obvious he was crying.

Darl had no idea how to deal with a young boy crying. Merle had cried many times, and Van had offered her a warm set of arms. Even Darl had patted her on the back and given her something to do.

But a boy? That almost scared him.

Slapping the boy's cut of venision down infront of him, and quickly producing a hefty chunk of bread and cheese for him, Darl cautiously dipped his toe.

"Why are you crying?"

"I …" It would come, in time, Darl thought.

"I tried…to…kiss Merle."

Darl's eyes widened for a full 5 seconds, perfect orbs of shining surprise. Lyrk looked up, and the surprise was already gone, the emotionless expression returning.

"You're the one who told me she'd be…be…my.."

Darl answered quickly and with a tinge of ferocity to his tone; not a thousandth of the tirades he'd once used, but still making Lyrk cringe.

"It is her choice." Few ideas haunted Darl more then Lyrk forcing himself upon Merle. For the Captain knew he would kill Lyrk without a second thought; there was something in him. The man who had incinerated children alive, without so much as a grimace, nor a cackle of maniacal enjoyment.

It was emotionless, and it was the pure manifestation of Darl's anger.

But from the look of him, Lyrk hadn't finished.

"She kissed me back..then…ran away."

For the first time in 12 years, Darl Fomfostradt laughed. Not simply a chuckle at a fall or a comical happening, but a belly-laugh of relief, amusement and definite joy. It lasted for a fair few seconds, Lyrk's injured expression turning to angry bemusement.

"What?"

Darl's laughter died, and his normal, stoic expression returned, but the levity in his eyes felt it would never die.

He simply shook his head and nodded at the food.

"Nothing's wrong. Eat your food."

As Darl went to sleep that night, having primed the 5th Guymelef of a rebuilt Fanelia, he let himself chuckle.

Thanks to mysisterisasquijum for her nice words and reviews.