A/N: Alright! I thank you all so, so much for reads, reviews, favs and alerts! :D I love you all for it! Alright, so, here we are; the nineth chapter. Dear Avo, I did not expect to get this far :O Just kidding ;) I hope you'll like it! Please, tell me what you think!

Enjoy!

A Valiant Heart

Chapter IX

It was strange that after only a fortnight, it was as if the Hero had never been to Bowerstone. It was just like before, when he was at the Spire. Much stranger was the fact that the only one who seemed to be thinking about him occasionally, was myself. Sometimes I found myself thinking about him when I had nothing else to do. Most of the times, I compared the two different sides he had shown my two different sides, and tried to evaluate how each side weighed against the other.

It was as usual to be out as Scarlet Rogue, and with the new Master Torrent, it was a delight to keep the streets clean. No one opposed such a strong-willed woman with such an impressive pistol. During the days, things were perfectly usual and it could not be more boring. Mary was going on and on about her romance with John, and I hardly saw her after work. All I had to speak to were Patrick and Alan. I did not complain about that, though, for they were certainly very dear friends of mine, and in all honesty, they and Mary were really the only friends I had.

It was all normal, until one day. It was a windy day, an indicator that the summer was soon tipping over to autumn, and we had seen a few rainy days. Into the Market that day, came the monthly trade delivery from Oakfield, and with the goods, came a man. I watched him from the tavern, as he carried the crates into the cellar, back and forth, back and forth, across the tavern floor with his muddy boots, with ale from The Sandgoose in Oakfield. He was rather young, I would guess not yet five and twenty, and had dark blonde hair gathered with a black ribbon at his neck, and had brightly blue eyes. There was a sense of the sea about him, and his tall and slender frame seemed almost floating in its movements. Every time he walked past the bar, he looked at me, and I looked back and we exchanged polite smiles and I could see, as well as feel in myself, a wish for a conversation. There was something about the man that was intriguing and alluring. I wanted to know his name, at least.

There seemed to be a mutual wish between the two of us to speak to one another, and when the crates had all been carried down to the cellar, the men stopped for a drink. While his colleagues all took their seats in the tavern, the young man stayed behind, leaning casually against the bar, looking over the tavern for some time and then glancing over at me before again looking over the tavern.

"I… hope the beer is to your liking, sir?" said I.

He turned, his blue eyes reflecting a surprise that seemed almost charming. "Oh, yes! It is very… rich. This is the… Bowerstone Brown Beer?" His voice was delightfully soft and just enough playful to keep him from seeming juvenile.

"The very same," I smiled. "Should you feel the need to rest, we can offer very comfortable rooms just upstairs."

"I thank you," he smiled, "but I am perfectly well rested. Nasty weather, don't you think?"

"Yes," I said. "Very unpleasant, indeed. I believe it is the cold autumn winds from the north that come upon us."

"Yes, I believe it's the north western winds that come with words of winter. This time of year, Oakfield is much dreadful," he huffed. "The sea is unforgiving during fall and winter, you see."

"Are you from Oakfield, sir?" asked I.

"Indeed," said he. "Garrett is my name. May I ask for yours?"

I smiled. "You may. It's Ariana."

"Ariana… it's most poetic, don't you think?" he said. "Ariana… yes, it lies well in the mouth, falls beautifully off the tongue. Poetic, indeed!"

Blushing by his flattering, I looked away with a silly smile.

"I—oh, please, do forgive me, Miss," he hurried to say, defeat staining his voice. "I know not what I'm saying! Please, forgive me. I believe I've had one too many sips of my master's wine on the journey here. It rises my courage, and gives me the… but that is also crossing the line."

I chuckled. Oh, Mr Garrett was all politeness, and even his excuses seemed innocent and honest. "So I can assume you're not this forward at normal occasions?"

"No, miss," he smiled shyly. "I am most definitely not. To be quite honest, I would be rather… nervous… speaking to you."

"How come?" I was a bit surprised over my own ability to speak so plainly with the man, when I too was very embarrassed.

"Well…" He seemed taken aback, and seemed almost a bit lost on what to reply. "You're a… beautiful woman. I would not even stand here, had it not," he let out a sigh of defeat, "been for the wine."

I could not help but to picture the man as a small boy, ignorant of the big world, in for a lifelong education. "Why don't you go upstairs and take a room and rest a bit? Sleep for a while? Don't worry about payment; it's on the house."

He swallowed. "I'm… I'm sorry if I offended you, Miss Ariana. I am so very embarrassed."

"Oh, don't be!" I told him. "We can talk later, when you're feeling better."

"I would very much like that." He smiled gratefully as I handed him the key to one of the rooms, and as he headed upstairs, a most curious feeling spread in my stomach. There was something about him that was humble and nice and not at all as bloated and arrogant as most men tended to be. Then again, I hardly knew him, but I could not wait until I would speak to him again.

Time seemed to go much slower when one was looking forward to something, and as I wanted so dearly to speak to Garrett again, time seemed to take two steps forward and one step back. Mary had been observant, but had not spoken of the young man at all, more than asked of his name. She was clearly not as intrigued as I, but I was not surprised. Garrett did not seem to be Mary's cup of tea; he seemed far too different for that.

I was almost ready to go mad when he suddenly appeared at the staircase, his blue eyes vividly awake, and his dark blonde hair was, though still gathered at his neck, a bit wild.

"Had a nice rest?" I asked him.

He chuckled. "Indeed, I had! I believe a soft and warm bed was just what I needed after the dreadful weather."

"How long ago did you leave Oakfield?" I asked.

"Three days ago," he said. "We had to stop quite a few times. Rookridge is infested with bandits, even though Hammer is doing her very best to keep them away."

"You know Hammer?" I had always admired the female Hero Hammer and always thought she received alarmingly less attention than she deserved, at least in Bowerstone. Though it was debated whether or not Hammer was as strong a Hero as Wolfsblade, I still thought of her as much more valiant and honourable.

Garrett nodded. "Oh yes. She is always on good terms with the villagers. I remember when she was Hannah. Even then, she was loved by all of Oakfield. She is, I believe, all a good Hero ought to be. Not like, and I'm very sorry if you're offended miss, Mr Wolfsblade."

I chuckled. "Pray, why would I be offended by that?"

He seemed rather confused. "Well… he's the Hero of Bowerstone." The poor man shifted nervously. "And, I've heard he has quite a hand with… the ladies."

"I am not like other ladies," said I with a much pleased smile. Perhaps I was only imagining it all, but there appeared to be a pleased glimmer in his blue eyes.

"Miss Ariana," said he, "are you engaged later this evening?"

"I am not," I answered.

At first, he seemed much stunned and perhaps a bit intimidated as if he did not at all expect me to not be engaged, but then he smiled. "Would you then perhaps show me a bit around town? I've never been to Bowerstone before, and it would be a pleasure to be shown by someone native to the city."

"I would love to," said I. "I finish work in two hours." He nodded with a much silly smile on his face and then left to find his company, and I was left with butterflies in my belly and a frantically beating heart. Though, he still seemed to be wobbling on the verge of being juvenile, but perhaps that was what was so special about him, for I knew there was something special about Garrett. I had hardly spoken to him, and yet I knew.

The remaining two hours were slow and tideous indeed, but he came when I finished and waited like a gentleman, and we set out so explore the city. I leant to know quite a lot about him. He was not afraid to talk openly about feelings and opinions, and I was much pleased to hear how he, as man, was rather liberal about certain things. He was indeed convinced that women were strong enough to be equal to men, and that marriages and marital roles were highly overrated. He also explained how things were different in Oakfield; even though the Temple of Light attracted many couples for weddings, the monks preferred the Temple to be free from such events; the work was much more equal between the sexes, where men could work as bakers, and women could work as woodcutters; the sea was a much important source of income, and that he had worked as a sailor his whole life, just like his mother and his grandfather before him. Oakfield was indeed different, and I could not help but to wish to go there one day.

He told me a great deal about himself, about his childhood. He had spent a great deal of time aboard a ship, and it had been just recently he had started to work on dry land. He was not yet four and twenty, but had three months left. He was much amiable, and just enough silly to be just right. What was even better was that he had decided to stay in Bowerstone and try his luck. Oakfield had given him all it had, and it was not enough, he claimed.

We had a lovely evening, and when I returned home, both mother and father wondered why I was so cheerful. I did not tell them I had met the most wonderful man, and after dinner, I retired to my room to reflect upon my day. Had I been too naive to be so infatuated with him after only one day? Surely, he was very handsome. Perhaps not the handsomest I had seen, but he was certainly handsome enough. He was very agreeable, and I was certain that anyone that knew him would think the same. Although, I did not know him, and could not let a sudden infatuation be the judge of this situation. I needed to stay sensible.

That night when I went out as Scarlet Rogue, I could hear some girls talk of him, but they were certainly not very impressed at all.

"His hair is too long."

"He's awfully small, is he not?"

"Did you hear his laugh? It is without a doubt the silliest laugh I've heard!"

"Well, what did we expect? He's from Oakfield."

It both angered me and pleased me that other women did not find him as compelling as I did. It meant I would certainly have no competition, would it come to that. I did not do well in competitions, and if any other, prettier woman would decide to demand his attention, I was certain I would soon be forgotten, for I had neither the same social abilities nor the same appearance as many of the other young women. They walked about with their corsets tightly laced and with their laces richly revealing. They had all painted their faces with daring rouge and daring lip colours. Their hair was always extraordinarily pretty, no matter if they had done something special to it or not. These women had been trained and groomed to catch the attention of men, and I had no chance against any of them.

But it also angered me, that they were speaking ill of him. There was nothing wrong with him; I even found his silly laugh much amiable. I did not want the others to find him laughable, to find him ridiculous. How would they ever take him seriously if they found him ridiculous? Would mother find him ridiculous? Surely, she would, after being so set on having the Hero as her son-in-law. Would Wolfsblade find him ridiculous? Most certainly, but why should I worry about his good opinion? He had nothing to do with me and my acquaintances. Yet, there was a most disturbing feeling inside of me, a feeling that was most vexing; I did want the Hero's good opinion. Or at least, I wanted the Hero to respect Garrett. Somehow, I wanted the Hero to want me, and to be jealous of Garrett but respect him too much to hurt him. But I was running ahead of myself again. I could not think and act as if Garrett was the man for me, nor could I be certain that the Hero wanted me enough to call for a challenge. I did not yet know either of them as well as I wished—or as little, as in the case of the Hero. I had barely known Garrett for a day, so it was still too soon to let myself dream about a future with that man, and I nearly knew too much about Mr Wolfsblade, but being so confused with his two sides, I did not know what was up and what was down any more.

The following days were much the same. I went to work, and Garrett often came to visit. He had already been hired by the local suppliers and usually ran from the docks and around the Market with crates. Mary had occasionally asked me about the new man, and I had told her the truth, that we were only friends. Every day after work, Garrett and I explored a new part of town, and learned to know each other a bit more, and the more I learnt to know him, the better I liked him. He was quirky and amusing and not at all as all the other men.

But at night, when Scarlet Rogue ruled, when wielding the Master Torrent, I often came to think of the Hero. Sometimes, I even wondered what he might be doing. At such times, I often cursed myself for being weak and predictable. I cursed myself for being like every other woman, so easily charmed by those brooding, steel eyes, even though I had had a taste of his rude manner and dangerous temper.

When I rose in the morning, a week after Garrett's arrival, it was yet again raining. I headed down into the kitchen where mother was making some bread, and Aaron was sitting by the table. Father had already headed to his workshop.

"Good morning, darling," mother said. "Dreadful weather today, don't you think?"

"Yes, dreadful," I agreed. I had some bread and cold ham with a cup of tea before I headed into the Market. I was clever enough to bring a hat, but I was still soaking wet when I entered the tavern. The fire was burning vigorously, and there were much more people inside than there usually was such a day, but they were all dead silent. Mary stood by the bar, her head hanging low.

"What's the matter?" I asked when I had joined her.

She looked up, her brown eyes positively flooding with tears. "Oh, Ariana!" she sobbed. "The—the Hero is—is dead!"

A cold shiver ran through my entire body, leaving me trembling. Dead? The Great Hero? No, that could not be. It must all be a mistake. I asked her if she was being serious, and she said she was, indeed. Lord Lucien had killed him that night, shot him, and gypsies had found his body upon Hero Hill. A traveller had brought the devastating news to town early this morning, and that was why the tavern was filled but silent: they were all grieving.

It took me a moment to understand that he was gone. The Hero was dead. While Mary sunk to a chair to dry her tears, I could not do else but to start working, as I always did. I had long wished the Hero do die in battle, so that the people of Bowerstone—the people of Albion!—would be rid of him forever, and yet I could not deny the breaking of my heart. Death was so near, so real now, it was almost too much. The greatest and deadliest man Albion had to offer, had not been so powerful as we had all thought. If a bullet was enough to kill the great Wolfsblade, surely there would be nothing that could not kill us. And with the pain and fear of Death came also the realisation that I would not run into the man again. The only thing I would have left was the memory of his strangling hands, as a sign of his ferocity and evil, and the beautiful Master Torrent Pistol and the occasional tingle in my hand after his tender healing, as a sign of his goodness and generosity.

"Tragic news, indeed." Garrett's voice startled me to the point where I almost shrieked as I looked up. His eyes were genuinely sorrowful, even though he did not think much of the man. "I… remember when my mother took me to Westcliff for the first time. I was but a boy, and was so excited that I was going to see the Champions of the Crucible, for real. And I happened to be there, that legendary time, when Wolfsblade received his name. I never saw a fiercer warrior in the whole of my life. He will be missed."

Without a single ounce of control, I shot out from the tavern, into the rain, leaving both Mary and Garrett most surprised. My chest was too tight to breathe, and my legs were almost too stiff and weak to carry me. But I ran through the mud around the tavern to the back, where I crouched by a corner and wept. I neither knew why nor how, but the news of his death had broken me, when I in truth had nothing really to be sad about. But I was, and could not stop the tears that mingled with the cold autumn rain.