Chapter 9: Flashback to the day that Claude realized that Lisette had left him to alone oversee the Liberté by himself, he feels lonely though he knows that she was doing nothing but staying in bed and gaining a lot of weight. In the present, Claude, without his memory, travels to Corus to face trial for being a Scanran officer. Partially because there is no proof avaliable to clear his name and partially due to public opinion, he is found guilty and sentenced to a work camp headed for the Scanran/Tortallan border.

Eh. So this chapter is not my favorite. Eh it's okay I guess. Anyways, I'm trying to work more on this story and just keep moving so I don't get another massive writer's block like between chapter 8 and 9... whoops. So. Yep. Here is chapter #9, enjoy and as always, review!! :D

Chapter Ten: Robert Vasgos

In essence the camp was nothing more than a prison, there were roll calls, there were random tent checks, there were prisoner fights, guards to break them up, but the only difference was that the camp was mobile. The guards were moving the convicts to the Scanran border to provide a work force for the soldiers that were fighting there.

There were roughly three hundred men that were being moved and there weren't horses to spare for them, so they walked. The walk was slow and long, they began every day at sunrise and walked till the sun was about to drop behind the horizon. The convicts were chained together in long rows, their hands connected to one another by long ropes that looped through metal cuffs that circled their wrists.

Claude was glad to have the benefit of youth to carry him through the daily marches, the other men were exhausted at the end of the day, but he still had enough energy to do his chores before he collapsed into his sleeping pad, barely bothering to unroll it all. Most mornings he awoke to find himself freezing and his blankets only half unrolled over his legs, which he could barely remember doing the night before.

It didn't help that the meals weren't particularly large, it was a common occurance that the bigger men preyed on the smaller ones. Claude, being young and thin, found himself to be a regular target, especially by Barbur McKinn, the man with whom he had had his original run-in. He had been worried that Barbur would kill him after the stint in their shared tent on his first day, but Barbur had reclaimed his pride by throwing Claude to the ground in front of all the other convicts and regularly taking bits of Claude's meals. It was foolish for Claude to believe that there was any way to avoid these random acts, because Claude was half his size, had no memorable fight training, and had no friends.

He mostly ate by himself, taking up the corner of a table where he could be ignored by the other convicts while Barbur ate with a table of other convicts who seemed to the leaders of the camp. This elite group handled all of the illegal goods distribution, gambling, disputes, and a number of other favorite convict pastimes, all of which Claude generally avoided. He found safety in keeping his head down by avoiding the other men and nothing about gambling really interested him anyways.

Claude leaned forward over his tray of food, glancing around the mess hall. It was dinner and the men were eager to get to bed, but they still talked and joked with each other loudly and crudely. Dinner tonight was cabbage stew and a piece of stale bread, it wasn't very delicious or filling but at least it was recognizable as something edible. Claude considered himself to be lucky in that he couldn't distinctly remember ever eating better, but his tongue could still taste that this food was unsavory at best.

He finished his meal and got to his feet with his empty bowl in hand, heading for the exit. He barely had time to walk halfway there when he felt a hand clamp onto his elbow, he looked at who had grabbed him and realized that it was Barbur McKinn with a sinking sensation in his stomach.

"What do you want?" Claude asked, trying to jerk his arm out of the large man's grip. "I'm done eating, zere isn't anyzing left." He held up his empty bowl to show Barbur.

"That's not what I'm after," Barbur growled, tightening his grip on Claude's elbow as he dragged him to the table that he regularly sat at.

"Listen, I don't-" Claude started to say, but was cut off by an elbow to the ribs. Both hands were busy, one by Barbur and the other with the empty bowl, so he was unable to rub the spot where Barbur's elbow had made contact so he didn't even try.

They walked to the table where the convict "leaders" sat and Barbur pushed Claude onto the bench and stood behind him with both hands on his shoulder as if Claude would try to run. Claude looked up and down the table blankly, he really didn't know why Barbur would drag him over here, these men were certainly out of his usual crowd.

He sat quietly, looking back and forth, he was too clueless as to say anything at this point.

A thin man at the head of the table leaned forward, "Hello," he said simply. He had limp brown hair, a thin face, and a large nose. His eyebrows were pulled up into permanent arches on his forehead, giving him the impression of someone who was always surprised.

"'ello," Claude replied stiffly.

"That's an interestin' accent you got there, where you from?" the man asked.

Claude shut his mouth, he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch, he knew that it would be suicide to tell these men that he was Scanran. They may be the criminals of Tortall but they were still of Tortallan, and Scanran/Tortallan animosity was not so easily ignored.

The man leaned back, forming a tent out of his thin fingers in front of his face. He sighed, "I suppose that it doesn't really matter," he finally said. "Do you know who I am?"

Claude shook his head, "Not particularly." He noticed that the slang and informal words had been dropped, replaced by neat, articulate speech.

"Tsk, tsk," the man said quietly, "You should really try to get more involved in politics here on the work force, you never know when you might need them."

"And you never know when zose very same politics will land you in more trouble zan you want," Claude responded calmly.

The man smiled slyly, "Perhaps. However, you are now sitting with me and you have no idea what I may want from you. That can't be very fun, now can it?"

Claude could feel Barbur's heavy hands resting on his shoulders. "Not particularly," he repeated in a neutral tone.

"What is your name, boy?"

Claude remembered his time spent at Corus, his name had been passed about, whispered in accordance with wild rumors and speculation. He didn't want this man, or any other, to know that he was the person in those rumors. He didn't want them to know that he used to be a Scanran military officer because he doubted that they would believe him if he told them that he had recently had his memory completely wiped out and he had no idea about this time in the military or if he had even still been in it when he was captured. Therefore, he knew that it was madness to give his real name, especially to this man. He remembered something the King had said to him at his trial, that when he first came to Tortall he had used the name 'Alexandre Corin.' That name might have some significance, Claude decided. Maybe someone at the Scanran/Tortallan border would recognize it and give him some clues as to his past. And even if the name didn't help him find any clues to his past, it couldn't hurt to use this name. He just needed something to tell this man so that he wouldn't know that he was Claude, the Scanran Officer.

"Alexandre. Alexandre Corin," Claude finally said.

The man noticed the hesitation. "Forget your name?"

Claude didn't reply.

Luckily the man seemed to accept that answer. "Well, Alex, do you mind if I call you that?" He didn't wait for an answer. "My name is Robert Vasgos. If you haven't realized, as far as you are concerned, I am in charge here."

Claude sat stiffly, having nothing to say to that.

"And I want you to do something for me," Robert Vasgos said almost cheerfully. "In return for this favor, Barbur here will leave you alone. For good."

"I don't need your protection, I can 'andle Barbur," Claude replied. "Zank you all ze zame." He tried to get to his feet, but Barbur slammed him back onto the bench.

"Barbur would beg the differ," Vasgos said with that same greasy smile that seemed to be his trademark. "Barbur has his mind set on ripping out every last strand of your pretty blond hair. Now, wouldn't that just be a shame? You are such a handsome lad."

Claude stiffened, he knew that Barbur could feel that with only his hands on his shoulder. He hated himself for giving away that small indication of fear. "Why would 'e do zat? 'Asn't 'e already got 'is revenge?"

"Well, Alex, it's not so much about revenge, is it Barbur?" he glanced up at Barbur, then back to Claude. "It's more that he just doesn't like you. Now, Barbur is a good man to have around and I don't want to lose him over something as petty as this, but we can't just let you wander around like you are currently doing."

This argument sounded familiar, Claude didn't know why people couldn't just let him be free. They didn't know what to do with him so they had to find a way to control him, first the Tortallan Crown by throwing him in this work camp and now Vasgos. His fists clenched under the table.

"So I provided a mutually beneficial solution, for all of us." He leaned back comfortably, this slow build up was something that Vasgos apparently loved. He allowed for a dramatic pause. "You have just been recruited as Barbur's assistant. You see, Barbur is my right hand man when it comes with gambling and he hates numbers. Rather tedious, he thinks, and who can blame him?"

Claude shook his head, "I'm not getting into anyzing illegal."

Vasgos chuckled. "It's not so much illegal as just simply bending the rules, but Alex, the important thing is that we are providing an important source of entertainment for our fellow convicts. They would go mad without something to occupy their attention. Consider it to be more of a humanitarian act."

Claude tried to get to his feet, he could feel Barbur's hands on his shoulders pressing him down and he tried to twist out from under them. He stepped to the side quickly, the twisted back, trying to free himself from the man's grip, but Barbur wasn't impressed. He threw him down on the packed dirt floor and lifted a foot which he dropped on Claude's throat. Barbur didn't use much of his weight, but Claude was already choking and trying to pull his foot off, but not making any progress.

Vasgos' narrow face came into his view, "Now, that was just silly. Alex, lad, I want you to think about my offer right now. I want you to either agree to it or not. Just keep in mind that Barbur is a heavy man and that his balance isn't particularly good."

Claude gasped for air, he didn't know what he would say to that, all he wanted to do was be able to breathe.

"So what do you say?" Vasgos asked. "Barbur lift your foot a bit."

Barbur hesitated, he seemed inclined to ignore this whole bargain process and just end it now. For a heart stopping moment Claude felt his foot push down a little bit harder, then miraculously the pressure was released from his throat.

"Well?" Vasgos said.

"I'll do it," Claude replied. He closed his eyes with the shame of what he had just agreed to.

"Good boy," Vasgos said with a smile. He looked at Barbur, "Looks like your job just got easier. Don't be too rough with him." With that he disappeared, Barbur walked away as well, leaving Claude lying alone on the floor, wondering where the guards were. Finally he peeled himself off of the floor, the back of his head had hit the ground particularly hard and he raised his hand to feel the quickly forming bump on the back of his head.

The other convicts purposely avoided his eyes, they didn't want to get involved in the dealings of Vasgos and some foreigner that really didn't mean anything to anyone. He understood the sentiment behind their reluctance to get involved, but that didn't make him feel any better. He felt like the world was pressing into him, his missing memory made him feel like more than just his memory was missing. How was he supposed to know who he was without knowing anything besides a few dispersed clips of information that was passed on to him about his past?

He slunk out of the tent that served as the mess hall, the air outside of the tent was sharp, it was getting colder as they moved farther north. Claude had a high tolerance for cold weather it seemed, and he hardly shivered on his way to his tent though he was only wearing a single cotton shirt. The camp was nearly deserted, though he could hear the voices of men coming from inside the warmth of their tents. A guard passed him, giving him a hard look. The guards didn't like that the prisoners were allowed to walk back and forth to the mess hall and their tents freely, but there was so much work to be done in the camp that it was just too impractical to try to get all of the men to line up before every meal and be counted.

Claude hurried to his tent, he could identify it by the sagging ropes on the side of the tent. It was two of the other men's jobs to set it up today and they were too lazy to hammer the steaks into the ground properly. He paused to kicked the steaks into the ground a little better, they would hold till the next morning, though they were still crooked.

He stepped up to the door of the tent and waved, the flaps rolled open. He ducked inside and the flaps rolled closed again, it wouldn't be possible to open the door until the next morning when the guards came by to unlock it.

Claude glanced around the tent, half of his tentmates were already in bed. There was a massive lump in Barbur's bunk and the heavy snoring that told Claude that he was already asleep. Some were talking or playing cards, but most didn't have the energy and were preparing to crawl into bed. Claude felt very much that way, he could feel wariness in all of his limbs and his eyes were hard to keep open. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his boots, finally he peeled off his socks and tucked them into his boots.

He crawled onto his bunk, his blankets were rolled up and just thrown on the bed. He took a moment to unroll the blankets and pull them over himself, but that was all he could manage before he found himself slipping into a deep sleep.

Much like every day, the wake up call came too early. No one in the tent even heard it until a guard came to unlock the tents and had to smack a few of the sleeping forms with the stick that they always carry to get them to stir. With an assortment of groans and complaints, the men pulled themselves out of their beds and got to work.

The convicts had to pack up their bunks, tents, and supplies, then if there was time eat and pump water for themselves. Often Claude found that there was too much to do before the march began and he had to hurry just to get it done, meals were always optional. He figured that having a warm place to sleep took precedence over breakfast in the increasingly cold weather.

Then the march started, it was long and it was miserable. Cuffs were put on the men's wrists, then all the cuffs were connected by thick ropes that the men continually tripped over and it tugged on their wrists and weighed them down. Most of the guards rode horses so they didn't have any qualms about moving the convicts quickly. While they walked, Claude thought about Barbur and Vasgos.

However, Barbur and Vasgos raised a rather unpleasant sensation so his mind wandered to the scenery that they were passing. It was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen, that he could remember anyway. The scenery was relaxing, the steady trees and expansive sky gave Claude strength to press on. Often, he would be so absorbed in the scenery that he would walk into the convicts marching before him, they were already tired enough that any little thing was enough to set them off. Claude accidentally bumping into them made them scream like he had just shoved them down a mountain, but that didn't stop him from doing it. The men's barks were worse than their bites though, they just wanted someone or something to yell at because they were so frustrated and grumpy due to the incessant marches.

Several days passed after Claude's meeting with Vasgos, in which Barbur didn't talk to him and no one said anything about it. Claude was almost beginning to believe that he had imagined the whole thing. He couldn't imagine why Vasgos had picked him out and the whole situation seemed like it didn't make any sense. Claude hoped desperately that it could mean that they had changed their minds, or that the whole thing was just part of his imagination.

While he was aware that his desire for the incident with Vasgos and Barbur to be only bits of his imagination manifested, Claude was still dismayed and a little shocked when his hopes were dashed. He was lying on his bunk, wrapped up in a thin wool blanket, completely unconscious to the world around him when he felt something shake him. He felt that same something shake again, but he was deep enough in sleep to discard the sensation as only a dream gone wrong. He continued sleeping until he felt his body leave the warmth of his bed and plummet the short distance to the dirt floor. That was enough to wake him up, but just barely. He untangled himself from the blankets and looked up at the dark shapes above him.

"Yes?" he asked the men standing over him.

A gruff voice answered him, "Get up," it said. Claude rubbed his eyes, trying to remember where he had heard that voice before. He remembered suddenly, it was clearly Barbur. If he had been more awake he would have realized it earlier, he chastised himself silently. The survival instinct in him flared up, he was going to have to be alert if he was going to live through this prison sentence.

"Get up," Barbur repeated, more gruffly this time, leaning down and hauling Claude to his feet. There were two other men with Barbur, but they were silent and Claude didn't really know who they were.

"Alright, alright," Claude murmured, tossing the blanket back onto the bed and reaching for his coat.

"Hurry, Alex," Barbur said irritably. Claude threw the coat over his shoulders and grabbed his boots, barely having time to shove his feet into them before Barbur shoved him roughly out of the tent.

Still pushing his feet into the boots as he walked, Claude looked up at Barbur and the other two men. "Why did you bring zem?" Claude asked smugly. "It iz not a zough I could give you much trouble by myzelf."

Barbur didn't answer, neither did the other men, they simply trudged on in silence. Their reluctance to answer filled Claude with false confidence, "You weren't zcared of little old me, were you, Barbur?"

His remark was replied with silence. "Oh, Barbur, I didn't mean to zcare you zo," Claude mocked playfully.

Barbur turned and grabbed Claude by the neck, shoving him back into the dark shadows cast by a tent in the moonlight. "The rest of you go on," Barbur commanded. "I'll take care of this."

The men exchanged glances and shrugged, then disappeared into the night. Barbur watched them go, his hand still clenching Claude's throat, slowly he turned his head back to face him. "What are you doing?" Barbur asked. "Are you an idiot?"

Claude let a few garbled syllables because he couldn't really breath due to Barbur's huge fist putting pressure on his neck.

"When I first saw you I thought that you were smart," Barbur said, "You were hard, trained, and you were a fighter. What has happened to you?"

He loosened his grip just enough for Claude to form whispered words. "I don't zink zat you were very impressed with me when we first met," he said. "I came at you from behind, it was 'ardly impressive."

Barbur shook his head, "That wasn't the first time that I met you."

Claude lost his breath again, but not because of Barbur's hand on his neck. Did he know this man? Did this man know anything about his life before? He wanted to say and ask everything at once, but it was too much information and it came out in a messy jumble of words without any coherence or real meaning.

Barbur ignored him, "I didn't know you, but I saw you."

"Saw me?"

"Saw you fight," Barbur explained. "I was a soldier for Tortall back then, I was stationed at Fort Steadfast."

Claude stared at him blankly, "I was never a Tortallan zoldier." He was fairly sure, anyways.

Barbur glared at him, "They say you lost your memory." His eyes flicked over Claude's face, "It's true, isn't it?"

"More or less," Claude replied. "And by zat I mean yes."

"This is going to be less enjoyable for me then," Barbur said.

Claude had been staring at the ground, but when Barbur spoke, he looked up, "What?"

"Well, let me finish my story," Barbur snapped. "I was a soldier at Fort Steadfast up at the Scanran border a few years back. We were in charge of distributing food to the Scanran refugees that were coming across the border. A few of the guys and me got this great idea, we didn't like the thought of just giving out all that food, so we were keeping it and only exchanging it for reasonable prices. The problem was that the refugees didn't have much money so the food wasn't getting distributed very well."

"So you were withholding food from refugees, hoping to turn a profit?" Claude asked, a little disgusted. What did this have to do with him?

"We were looking for a creative source of income," Barbur grunted. "They didn't pay us very much for the work we did and the terrible weather so we were merely supplementing our incomes."

Claude rolled his eyes but refrained from comment.

"But our plans were ruined by a rebel group of Scanrans called the Liberté who attacked the Fort, stole the supplies, and then handed them out." He stared at Claude intently.

"That iz…" Claude shrugged, "too bad?" He didn't understand what this had to do with him.

"The Liberté was lead by a wretch named Alexendre Corin, who we captured and sent back to Corus, thinking that we could get some justice." He shook his head, "But what we got was far from it. My friends and I were arrested, by order of the King, for withholding the supplies and Alexendre Corin was released. How is that fair?"

Claude blinked, he didn't think that he should have to explain it to this man, but apparently Barbur genuinely didn't understand. He kept this mouth closed though, rather than further aggravate him.

"So I have been a prisoner ever since, and now you are here as well, Alexandre," Barbur said with a grin. "Convenient, isn't it?"

"Not zo much for me-" Claude trailed off.

"You put me in prison, I put you in the grave, eh?" Barbur said, his grin turning almost maniacal.

Claude's eyes widened slightly, this conversation was getting more and more out of hand by the second. "Wait, I zought that Vasgos said zat you just wanted me to take care of paperwork or zomething."

"That's what I told Vasgos that I wanted so I could have an excuse to get close to you without interference," he laughed. "But I was lying. I really just want to kill you."

"Oh," Claude said, he was rather tired and this whole conversation was a little much for him to absorb this quickly. Apparently he had been a leader of some rebel group, but how could that be if he had also been a Scanran officer? He blinked, why was he worried about this? Barbur seemed intent on killing him and he had a large hand on his throat, he felt that he should be focusing on Barbur, but the mystery of his past was so absorbing that it was hard to do. His face must have reflected his thoughts because Barbur tightened his grip on Claude's neck and gave him a little shake. "I'm going to kill you," Barbur reiterated.

Claude blinked and tried to nod because talking wasn't really an option at this point. He struggled for a moment, trying to lessen Barbur's grip, but he was unsuccessful. With increased resolve, he steadied himself. If this was going to be his death, he wasn't going to come at it squirming and crying, he was going to handle it with a little decorum he decided firmly as he looked up steadily into Barbur's face.

Barbur's thin mouth widened into a smile, "What?" he asked. "Oh, do you think that I am going to do it now?"

Claude didn't reply.

Barbur laughed, throwing back his huge hairy head with the force of the sound. "How tame do you think I am? I would rather watch you live in fear, every day glancing over your shoulder because you don't know when or how it will come. The only thing that you can be assured of is that it is coming. You are a dead man."

He smiled and with a final squeeze to Claude's neck, he released him, allowing him to fall forward onto the ground. Claude coughed, his neck adjusting to the sensation of being free.

"By the way, you are not released from my service. I'll be seeing you," Barbur said, kneeling down just low enough to rub a huge thumb over Claude's cheek. Claude flinched back, staring up at Barbur with intense green eyes that dared him to try that again, though he really didn't know what he would do if Barbur actually accepted his dare.

Barbur chuckled and straightened, he turned and walked away without another word. Claude watched his large back disappear into the night, knowing full well that if Barbur wanted to kill him there wasn't a whole lot that he could do to stop him.

A feeling of general despair filled him, he wrapped his arms around his legs as he was still huddled on the ground. He wondered if anyone was missing him from his former life, he wondered about this brother, this Pieter character, he wondered about parents, or perhaps a sweetheart? Were they missing him, wondering where he was, waiting anxiously for him to return home?

He hugged his knees tighter to his chest, where was home? In his mind he pictured a quaint cabin nestled at the feet of snowy capped mountains, he pictured a few horses, perhaps a dog or two, he imagined his father cutting wood and his mother baking bread. Oh fresh bread, he thought, clutching his stomach. He hadn't had anything but hard, moldy bread for weeks. In his mind he could remember the taste of fresh bread, but he couldn't remember ever eating it, though he must've if he could remember the taste. Perhaps it was his mother's? He smiled, his previous life was muddled and a series of stories and lies and the rest was whatever Claude wanted it to be. He could imagine anything for himself and he wouldn't stop believing it until he found hard facts to the contrary. Scanran officer, rebel leader, Alexandre Corin or Claude Jacques, it didn't really matter as long as he could imagine for himself a better life.

Imaging this hypothetical family made the despair shrink back, Claude was able to pull himself from the ground. He started walking back toward his tent, he could feel the weariness from all the camp breaking, marching, and setting up camp again, but his adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and he couldn't force himself into bed in this state. He decided to make a larger loop around the camp, which would increase his chances of getting caught, but he could hardly bring himself to care. He was about the cross the main road that connected one end of the camp to the other when he saw a horse, it was galloping in between the tents, the rider handling it excellently.

Claude ducked into the shadow of a tent, pushing his head out just far enough that he could better watch the horseman. As he watched, the horseman turned and galloped by, Claude pulled his head back into the shadow as he raced by, he was worried that he had been too slow, but since the man didn't return, he figured that he was safe. Slowly he crept out from the dark of the shadow, hunched over like a common criminal, he proceeded forward slowly, glancing around him.

"Good evening," a voice said from behind him. He jumped, and whipped around, his heart pounding in his chest. The horseman was standing behind him, but without the horse. He saw now that he was not a horseman, but rather a horsewoman.

"I am going back to my tent right now," Claude replied quietly. Mentally he cursed himself for not going straight back to his tent and his warm bed.

She laughed dryly, "Sure you were," she said.

He looked down at the ground, rubbing his neck where Barbur had grabbed him. There really wasn't anything that he could possibly say to excuse himself of this.

"How did you get out of you tent? They are supposed to be sealed, I-" she stopped suddenly. "Claude?"

His head shot up, he glanced at her and motioned for her to be quiet. "I'm Alexandre Corin here, I don't want people to know zat I am the Scanran officer. I zink zat it will not be so good for my 'ealth, if you know what I mean."

She smiled, a true, warm smile. "Sorry, Claude. Alexandre," she corrected immediately. "Why are you here?"

"You didn't 'ear?" Claude asked, he figured that it would've been in the Tortallan gossip. "I'm sorry, but you look zo familiar. Do I know you?"

She positively grinned this time, "You do?"

He thought for a moment, "You brought me to Corus, didn't you? Ze lady knight, no?"

Her smile turned to a frown, "Oh."

"What are you doing 'ere?" Claude asked. "Surely you 'ave not been posted to be a mere jail guard."

"No," she shook her head. "I'm in charge of a refugee camp, Haven, where you all are being sent to work. You are only a day away from it. I came to help you settle in without disturbing my camp."

Claude nodded, "I am zorry to disturb you zis late, you can turn me over to ze camp guards, if you please," he said.

"I know," she looked like she had so much to say that the words were nothing more than a jumbled mess. "I'm Kel," she finally blurted out. "Surely you must remember me, a little?"

"I told you, I remember zat you brought me to Corus," Claude replied.

"Is that all?" she asked plaintively.

He nodded, "Oui. Is zere zomething more zat I zould remember?" His curiosity flared, what did she know about him? What could she tell him about his former life? "You must tell me," he pleaded, reaching forward for her hands. He felt the warmth of her fingers for a moment before she jerked them away.

"I don't know much," she finally said. "You always were always so withdrawn. I just don't know."

"Please, you must remember just a little-" he said, practically begging.

Kel shook her head, "I can't really put it into words. I remember how you were, but not so much who you were. I'm sorry." Her head lowered and she brushed some of her short brown hair back behind her ear.

Claude nodded, "I understand," he said slowly. His eyes were filling up with tears, he felt lost and alone and something about Kel was just bringing it up in him.

She didn't seem to notice and continued to talk. "Claude, I don't know what you are doing here. This is not a place for someone like you who can't remember most of your life, it's hardly fair. And that mark on your forehead, they never could prove that you actually did anything wrong, besides being a military officer for Scanra." She stopped and sighed, "But you saved me. Saved my life."

He blinked rapidly, "What?"

Kel nodded, "You did. I was shot by the Scanran army and I fell in a river and you saved me." She felt like she was blabbering, but she could sense how sad he was and couldn't control her tongue, she just wanted to tell him something, anything, about himself. She wanted to get that expression off his face, if this had been a normal circumstance she would have reached for his hand or his shoulder, but that was strictly forbidden.

Claude raised his hands to eyes and put his fingers over his eyes, he wanted to hear this, he told himself over and over again but it was so hard. He had lost so much he realized, so much that he would never get back.

"So that was nice of you, to save me and all," she said, trailing off. Kel didn't know what else to say. She extended a hand and touched Claude's shoulder lightly, then yanked her hand away when she realized what she was doing. "Claude. I don't want to upset you."

"I do not want to be upset," he answered, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm sorry, you didn't ask for zis. I zouldn't 'ave left my tent."

"I know," Kel said quietly. "I just don't want you to be alone in a situation like this. It's just not-"

"Hey!" a voice rang through the chilly night.

Kel glanced over her shoulder, she leapt forward, pushing Claude back into the shadow of the tent. They stood there, hidden by the darkness for a moment, Claude enjoying the proximity to another human, it made him feel safer, even if it meant that they might be discovered.

Holding a finger over Claude's lips to keep him quiet, Kel whispered to him, "Go back to your tent. I'm going to look the other way this once, but if I catch you out of your tent after hours again-" she looked at him menacingly.

Claude nodded and smiled, making Kel smile a little before she returned to the authoritative glare. "Understand?" she said.

He nodded, "Yes ma'am," he said as he reluctantly untangled himself from her. "Will you talk to me again?"

She nodded, "Yes, yes of course. Now go unless you want serious trouble." She gave him a little push toward the back of the tent while she stepped out of the shadow. Claude watched her move into the light, her stride was thick and manly, but Claude appreciated it nonetheless. Her story had launched a series of questions in his mind, like why they had been in a position that he could have possibly saved her from Scanran forces? Why hadn't he thought far enough ahead to ask?

Kel turned just enough to see behind her, Claude was still standing there, staring at her. She blushed, what on earth could he possibly want? She gave him a look, "Get going, Mithros," she whispered, not sure if he could hear her, but the expression said enough. He darted off into the night, his wild blond hair being absorbed by the darkness. Kel sighed with an exasperated smile.