Author's Note: Nothing significant, unprecedented or noteworthy occurs in this chapter. Nothing at all. *shifty eyes* Thanks to Rockerduck for beta-reading.
Eustace Felwood, of the Fourteenth Archers under Lady Kestral of Gallos, was guarding a tent.
It wasn't the most prestigious assignment he'd ever had. He'd been there at Gueranna and Rossotorres, and various minor battles since. Standing on the edge of a Westerlin forest, with a goatskin tent between him and the main camp, was a bit of a come-down from storming mighty fortresses.
Nevertheless, orders were orders. Lieutenant Refec had told him to guard this tent, and guard this tent he would. The task was simple: just stand there until around sunset, at which point the lieutenant had assured him Lord Marcus of Challia (who, for some reason Felwood could not fathom, was tied up in the tent) would escape. He was then to put up an extremely pathetic fight ("That should be easy for you," his commander had said grumpily) and allow the prisoner-who-was-in-fact-their-superior-officer to flee into the woods. On no account was he to allow Lord Marcus to figure out his true allegiances, hence his position here in the first place. The knight would think it odd if his escape route was unguarded and begin to suspect the truth.
Therefore, Felwood was watching the tent. It was still early afternoon, but better safe then sorry. He expected any potential attack or movement to come from within that structure. What he certainly did not expect was an attack from the woods. What he expected even less was for a piece of red, white and gold fabric to come from absolutely nowhere, flash over his eyes for a moment, then lodge itself securely in his mouth.
He was far too surprised to call out, and would not have been able to if he had tried. The gag and his hands were tied with astonishing efficiency. Then his attacker shoved him to the ground and looked him in the face for a moment.
"I apologise in advance for the embarrassment," Lady Alandra de Westerlin, sans her habitual cape, said with a lopsided smile, before turning and ducking under the tent flap.
Felwood groaned inwardly. The lieutenant was going to kill him.
…
"Alandra!" The tone of Marcus' whisper was torn between relief and acute embarrassment. "Are you all right?"
"Shh." Alandra dropped to her knees next to him and began to untie his wrists. "You're in a nice position to be asking that."
"I was trying to save face." With Alandra's help, he managed to wriggle his wrists free and started on the rope around his ankles. "What happened to your cape?"
"Used it as a gag," she whispered, tugging at the knot. "Where are the men?"
He started guiltily. "I don't know. I haven't seen any of them."
"Is – is it worth anything to the bandits to keep them alive?"
He struggled fully out of his bonds and clambered to his feet. He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but paused. He couldn't lie, even to be kind. Not to her. "I doubt it."
She began to speak, but the unformed words converted into a gasp as the tent flap swung open. A bandit, stouter than the previous but with a similar beard, was standing between them and the camp.
Marcus reacted swiftly, snatching up the nearest of the boxes and hurling it at the brigand. The man staggered as it impacted with his chest and the pair made a break for it, ducking out under the back flap.
They were greeted with an unpleasant surprise. A group of the outlaws were standing behind the tent, one helping a man tied up in Alandra's cloak. Both parties stood stock still for a moment, then the knights dived back into the tent as the shouts began.
The victim of Marcus' crate-throwing had recovered sufficiently to return the favour. Marcus ducked just in time and charged at the man, knocking him down with a swift left.
"We're surrounded."
"I know." Marcus picked up the fallen man's weapon, weighing it in his hand. The fellow looked vaguely familiar, but it was probably just the beard. "Got a plan?"
"Yes, but it involved an open escape route."
"Then we'll have to make one." He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, then rushed out into the sunlight.
The entire bandit camp was charging towards them, it seemed. Marcus took a swing at a gruff man who was running at him. The blade connected and he fell back, though his leather breastplate seemed to have blocked the worst of the blow.
"What happened to the horses?" he gasped out, dodging a blow from behind and riposting with a largely ineffective swipe. Everything was spinning ever so slightly, and something was pounding inside his head. He couldn't take more than a few minutes of this.
"They're tied by the road." Alandra dashed back to the tent, reached for one of the tent spikes and pulled. The flimsy structure wobbled and collapsed; a few muffled yells came from underneath.
Marcus struck at another bandit, grabbed Alandra's free hand and sprinted towards the gap between the two tents, dodging their assailants. A fellow at least a foot taller than him stepped into the opening and the Knights skidded to a stop.
Alandra stepped forward, instantly the military commander. "Release our men at once!"
The bandit stared blankly at her for a moment, then threw back his head with a roar of laughter. Alandra turned crimson, then white. Marcus grasped her hand again and swung out at one of the outlaws moving in to surround them. The thief staggered back; the pair broke through the hole and ran into the woods quick as arrows.
After a few moments of dodging branches and tree roots, Marcus glanced over his shoulder. Surprisingly, they weren't being pursued. Alandra changed direction abruptly without breaking pace; he followed.
"Thanks," Marcus panted, jogging alongside her.
"You're welcome. Are you hurt?"
"No. Well, I've got a throbbing headache, but that'll pass." He grimaced and hopped over a boulder. "I'm never listening to Kestral's advice on troops again."
"Neither am I." She slowed to a walk, gasping for air. "I think we're clear."
"Do you know what happened to my horse?"
"Tied by the road with mine."
"Good. Where are we, exactly? I sort of stopped keeping track after I got hit on the head."
"The camp's a little way off the road. I looped around it, but we should make it back to the track soon." She grinned. "I do actually know this terrain rather well."
He smiled down at her.
…
They reached the edge of the road a few moments later, climbing over a few bushes and breaking into the light. A quick glance around confirmed that Athos and Daria were tied to a tree a few paces down the road, looking curiously at them. Marcus opened his mouth, but a glance up the road in the opposite direction froze the words on his lips.
Three of the bandits were wandering down the road towards them. They sighted Marcus a second after he sighted them.
"Hey!" one of them yelled, breaking into a run. Marcus and Alandra turned and sprinted towards their mounts.
The female knight got there first, yanked Daria's reins free of a twig, and vaulted into the saddle. Marcus' motions were somewhat more ungainly, but he accomplished the same goal and slammed his heels into Athos' flanks, following Alandra down the road at a thundering gallop and leaving the bandits far behind.
…
"Well," said Chester philosophically, rubbing the growing bump on his head. "This does make things easier for us."
"I suppose." Refec grimaced, then turned to Felwood, who was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. "I suppose you didn't even try to stop her ambushing you?"
"You told me to avoid fighting, sir," mumbled the boy.
Refec opened his mouth to snap out a reprimand, then closed it again and turned as a voice called out behind him.
"Lieutenant!" panted out Gregson, one of the scouts, sprinting up to him. "Lord Marcus and Lady Alandra are on their way back to Vestholm!"
"No kidding," Refec mumbled, glancing at the wreckage of the prison tent. "There goes my commission."
The elder man shrugged. "It's not that bad. No shame in losing to your own superior officers, is there?"
Refec glared at him.
…
Marcus pulled on Athos' reins, bringing the galloping stallion back down to a more sedate walk. He felt the back of his head gingerly. "Ow."
"We've lost them." Alandra looked back over her shoulder, then at Marcus. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes. No." He closed his eyes for a moment. It felt like someone was playing the drums inside his head. Suddenly conscious that if he didn't dismount now he would soon do it without his volition, he halted Athos and dropped to the ground, burying his aching head in the stallion's neck.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes with a rueful smile. "Sorry."
"You better sit down for a moment." She gestured to a fallen tree along the edge of the road, face concerned.
He obeyed meekly. She tied the horses to a birch on the other side of the road and joined him on the log. "That mission didn't quite go according to plan."
He grinned. "No. No, it did not." He propped up his chin on his fists. "Why is it every time just the two of us go on a mission I get injured?"
"Because you're the most accident-prone man in Vestholm?"
"Yes, that's probably it."
They sat in silence for some moments.
"It wasn't – it wasn't just the two of us," she said shakily. "Six men, Marcus. Six men."
"It's not your fault."
"It is." Her tone was steady and matter-of-fact now, eyes fixed on a tree across the path. "I was too confident. I underestimated my opponent and my men paid for it."
"You weren't the only one. We all agreed to bring one battalion."
"The responsibility is still mine, Marcus."
There was nothing he could say to that, nothing that would stop her blaming herself. Her earlier words forcefully returned to his mind, and he shifted awkwardly. "Did you –" He hesitated as she turned to look to him. "What you said earlier, before the ambush – about being unhappy with who you've become. Did you really mean that?"
"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't." She looked down at her hands. Normally, in that position, her cape would have hidden her face, but now her only shield was a few tendrils of blonde hair. "Over these three years – particularly during the last twelve months – I –" She stuttered slightly, fingers twisting. "Ever since I was a child, honour and principle have been everything. My entire life, every decision I've ever made, have been based on this. But then the war began."
"Alandra –"
"Please, Marcus, hear me out." Her eyes were beginning to well up with tears. "My principles seem to have gotten me into nothing but trouble. When I took the word of an enemy general, she betrayed my trust. When I believed the same woman a year later, she took advantage again. And it keeps happening, in so many other ways. All my officers think I'm a naïve fool."
He pressed his lips together, suppressing the urge to protest. If she wanted him to listen, he would. She continued with a shaky sigh.
"It's not just simple idiocy, like today. I'm continually risking my life and the lives of those around me because I'm holding on to a moral code that can't and doesn't apply to war. Instead of being an effective leader, I've become a weak commander who the troops can't trust to lead them to victory without someone to keep me from doing something stupid." She choked back a sob.
"Alandra." He took her hands in his and squeezed them gently. "Lani, you're not a fool. Holding onto your beliefs when others defy them isn't foolish." Two pairs of blue eyes met and held each other's gaze steadily. "When you went to meet Sabatt alone all those years ago, yes, I thought you were naïve, crazy and far, far too trusting. But I also admired you. You had – and have – the courage to do the right thing, even when it was insane. You were willing to forgive Sabatt after everything that she'd done to you and give her a chance, when no one else would. And she's proven you to be correct. You were right all the time while we scoffed."
"That does not mean I did the right thing."
"Yes. Yes, it does. Because you were the honourable one, all those years ago, not the cynic who would have run Sabatt through rather than negotiate. That's why I love you." The words were out before he could stop himself. Her eyes widened, and his heart leaped into his mouth, but the dam had been breached. All the feelings he'd held back for four long years gushed out. "Because I do. So much. And it's because you are who you are. Because you do hold onto honour, decency, and trust. I've loved you for that since – oh, forever." His face broke into a grin. "So don't you dare say you did the wrong thing."
"Is this a proposal?" she said, very softly.
"Yes. Yes, it is."
The smile that spread across her face was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his life. "I love you too."
"May I take that as a yes, Lady Alandra de Westerlin?"
"You most certainly may, Lord Marcus of Challia."
He slipped his arm around her and hugged her tightly.
"What took us so long?" she asked laughingly after a few moments.
He chuckled. Then it dawned on him, and he groaned. "Refec."
"What?"
"The bandit leader. It was Lieutenant Refec from Kestral's archers."
Her brow creased, then her eyes widened again. "Oh."
The couple sat in silence for a moment, assimilating the implications.
"They got us good, didn't they?" Marcus muttered.
"Yes, I am afraid they did." She stood, smile returning to her face. "But it does not follow that that is a bad thing."
He sprung to his feet and took her hand. "It most definitely is not."