Whittel acknowledged this with a nod and told Picket that Heather could show him home. This left Picket alone with Smalls, something that put him on edge. The last time….that moment was clearly running through both their minds at that very second. And for a minute there was a silence, a void between the two of them that had always been there but now seemed even greater. There relationship had always been rather rocky, Both doing or saying things at points that they regretted later. Friends, yes. Picket decided, But with a relationship closer to a sibling rivalry. Smalls certainly knew all about that. Picket cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry." The words seemed so pitiful coming out of his mouth that he wished he could take them back.

"It's in the past." Smalls replied. Picket wasn't so sure.

"Your highness it's not exactly-"

"Listen to me, Picket. You're not perfect, but I'm not either. I let my emotions get the better of me, I let my choices be guided by my feelings and it had consequences. Neither of us could predict the ambush, neither of us could predict that Morbin would be that smart. But he was. And we both paid. But dwelling on it won't change what happened or fix the present." He was right.

"I understand, but-"

"Picket, you weren't intending to kill me when you asked me to go through with the mission, were you?" Smalls asked.

"No-"

"Then it was a mistake. A huge one, but at the end of the day still a mistake. On both ends. We were trying to save lives, not take them. And I trust you, Pick. I do. That's why I'm about to ask you what I'm about to ask you." Picket wasn't sure if that was good or not.

"I don't deserve your trust after what happened." He said, shaking his head and looking at the ground.

"Picket, an argument could be made that I never should have trusted you in the first place. Or Heather." Picket wasn't sure he could imagine a world where Smalls didn't trust Heather. "And I trust both of you more than I trust most of my siblings, and I always have." Always is a little strong. After you were revealed, maybe. But not before. Picket thought.

"I manipulated you-"

"I allowed myself to be manipulated." Smalls said flatly. "I knew better, Picket. I really did. I knew that Wilfred and all my other advisors were correct. But I chose to let what you said simmer until I thought it was truth when it really wasn't. We were both at fault-it wasn't just you." He paused, "But this isn't the only thing that I wanted to talk to you about." Smalls sighed and seemed to grow more exhausted by the second. "Helmer died during the siege." He said, as if Picket didn't already know. "He was the last Lord-Captain alive. The military needs more. And I need more leadership that isn't petty lords. Most of the good ones are gone." Picket didn't know why he was being told this. He was at a loss as to what it had to do with him. Smalls looked up again, making eye contact. "I need a Lord-Captain, Picket, and I want it to be you."

.

.

Picket gawked for a moment.

"You want me to be a what?" The words involuntarily came out of his mouth, because, once again, he had seemingly lost control of it.

"Yes." Smalls enforced patiently. "We need you. Plainly, I need you."

"You don't think it might…...y'know…...only divide everyone more?"

"Is that really your excuse?" It did sound absurd when he put it that way. "Those days ought to be behind all of us, and if they aren't, well, it doesn't really matter to me anyways. It never has and you know that." Smalls sighed. "If it's more a matter of you not wanting the position, I can understand that. I know I'm putting you on the spot."

"If there's any more way, I can serve then I will." Picket replied, meaning every word. "If you believe this will help, then I won't protest."

"I do." Smalls replied, his voice earnest. "You've proven again and again that you understand war. Even better, you've shown that you'll learn from your mistakes. That's what I need."

"I will do anything for the mended wood." Picket said fervently. Smalls nodded.

"I believe you, and I return the sentiment, but, Picket, you should know what this position entails." That…...sounded ominous. "It's not a thing you can give up." Smalls began, "It's much like lordship in that way. You can't abandon the title. Helmer tried, but even he couldn't. In peacetime lord captains function like other nobles, only that they are required to stay within the Capital. It isn't like lordship in that the title isn't passed down, when you die it will die with you. That's why Helmer's title doesn't pass to his niece." Picket blinked. He hadn't even considered that Weezie would have been Helmer's heir, but it made sense. Helmer didn't have children. "Mostly what I mean is that once you accept this, Picket, there isn't any going back." Smalls maintained eye contact for a while, waiting for Picket to respond. He knows exactly what this is like. Picket realized. To have a choice like this. Except it was made for him. He'd never questioned if Smalls actually wanted the kingship, and it was only now, faced with a decision that would literally change his entire life, that it occurred to him. But he knew what he would choose, just as he was sure that Smalls knew when he first learned of his future.

"I understand." He stated. "But none of that changes what I said earlier. I will do anything for the cause."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Captain Longtreader."

.

.

.

Heather was quiet on the way home. She was obviously concerned and worried about everything that had happened, portrayed by her reaction to his promotion, which she informed him that she'd already known about. Picket wasn't surprised. She'd said she was proud of him, but was distracted. Only when they reached the house did she look up. Picket had stopped. He was staring up at the home, a strange feeling blossoming in his stomach and spreading throughout his body.

The tree was huge, spanning just over forty feet across and arcing up another eighty. Currently no leaves were growing, and the branches were heavy laden with snow and ice. Icicles dripped from the eves, and inside Picket could see a warm fire glowing. Home. Tears filled his vision. An image flashed across his eyes of that night before everything had changed, where there starstick had been claimed by that monster oak, he had fainted, and there had been such a horrible storm. He remembered Heather urging him to run, and how he it had felt like a thousand miles to reach there home.

That was nothing compared to what he had gone through since.

But the longing for home had never gone away, and this home looked so similar to the one in Nick Hollow that it physically hurt to look. The door opened a crack, and he saw Jacks peering out. Scrubbing at his eyes with his good hand, he called out,

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Jacks shook his head, calling back,

"No! Mother said I could stay up until you and Heather came home!" Jacks pushed the door all the way open, smiling wide. The kid looked ready to drop any moment but remained stubbornly on his feet. Looks like we share some personality traits. Picket noted. He was going to have to keep an eye on that, since no one wanted Jacks repeating Picket's track record.

It was warm inside. Mother was doing her typical fussing, and Heather was laughing at him, exhausted and discouraged but still smiling. Whittel lasted all of ten minutes before he began to ask Picket questions about anything and everything, sparking amusement. Jacks was found asleep, curled up behind one of the wide-backed chairs after he had been told to go to bed a thousand times. And…Picket felt safe. He didn't know how long it had been since he had felt safe. His promotion faded into the background as Picket began to learn again what it was like to have a true home.