London, England
February 2015

For his country and his king

I'm leaving tomorrow. I wanted you to know. I love you.

I've looked at the message long enough for the words to sear themselves into my brain. Even when I close my eyes, the letters dance in front of me, challenging me, mocking me.

It's been three hours since my phone pinged and ever since, I've been completely useless. I've just been sitting on the bed, opening and closing the message over and over and over again, willing the world to be easy for once.

Not that it ever is easy, of course. Instead, it's darn complicated and stubbornly remains so. I can't even decide whether I'm glad that he messaged me or whether I would have preferred if he hadn't. It's all… a mess.

It's a mess that isn't helped by the fact that I haven't seen Ken in three weeks. I haven't seen him, nor have I spoken to him, since leaving Balmoral in a hurry after our fight. When I said goodbye, everyone was very lovely and kind, offering to let me stay for as long as I wanted, but I could barely bear their sympathy. I just barely held myself together for long enough to pack my things, thank Owen and Leslie for their hospitality, say goodbye to everyone, make it to the train station and lock myself in the train's restroom before I broke down. (I don't know what Ken felt. I didn't look at him even once after… well, after. I couldn't stand it.)

Ken let me leave Balmoral, but that didn't mean he let me leave altogether. There were calls, messages, even a letter or two – all of which I left unanswered. Once, he appeared at my home, but when I turned on my heel upon seeing him, he got that message, at least. After a while, the calls and texts slowed down, too, before finally ending with a last message.

You don't want to talk to me and I respect that. If you ever want to get in touch again, know that I'll be waiting for a sign from you. I love you. I'm sorry.

That was the last I heard of him – until today.

I'm leaving tomorrow. I wanted you to know. I love you.

Growling in frustration, I throw my phone on the sofa. George blinks at me in disdain.

What does he even mean, he loves me? I'm not even sure we're still together and he goes on about love! It's too darn confusing!

I glare at the phone, but it remains silent and refuses to offer any answers. Instead, George seems to think I meant him, so he glares back haughtily and stalks past me to the stairs.

(Great. Even the cat is angry at me.)

Plopping down on the sofa, I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Immediately, I can see Ken's final message again, as if seared into my retina.

Bloody, stupid message. Bloody, stupid war. Bloody, stupid Ken.

What to do, what to do?

It's the one question all my thoughts circle back to. What to do?

Do I ignore him, knowing that from tomorrow, he will be in a place where I can't see and can barely reach him? Do I reply, risking that this will turn into a fight via text message and make things worse? Do I call, at the danger of the possible fight being over the phone instead of by text? Or do I… just go and see him?

There's that thought. It would be rash. It would be ill-advised. It would be unwise. And yet… I could do it. I could just go and see him. I might regret it. We might fight. But I could do it.

Grabbing my phone, I turn for the stairs – and almost stumble over George, who must have sneaked back up without me noticing.

"Meow!" he protests and looks at me accusingly.

"Sorry, boy," I apologise, while lowering myself to the floor to sit next to him. "I didn't see you there."

George's stare is deeply sceptical, but when I hold out a hand toward him, he comes closer to sniff at it, before finally rubbing his head against the palm of my hand. (Could I be forgiven?)

"There's my boy," I murmur and scratch his ears, just as he likes it. Immediately, I feel the soft vibrato of his purr under my fingers.

"What do you say, George? Do I ignore him, do I answer his text, do I call or do I go to see him?" I ask the cat.

George climbs into my lap and, when I briefly stop with the scritches, nudges me demandingly. Quickly, I resume the stroking.

"Do you miss him, Georgie?" I want to know.

The purring grows louder.

"I miss him," I admit. "I'm mad as hell, but I miss him."

George blinks at me.

"What to do, Georgie?" I sigh. "What to do?"

The cat doesn't answer, because when do cats ever deign to share their eternal wisdom with us graceless, foolish, bungling two-feeters? I'm on my own and my window to come to a decision is closing fast. The blinking numbers on the DVD player tell me it's nearing 10pm, reminding me that if I want to do something, I need to do it now.

What, then, to do?

I take a deep breath, close my eyes (ignoring the flickering letters that immediately appear) and concentrate not on what is the right thing to do, but on what I want to do. For the past weeks, what I wanted was to not see him or speak to him. Now though…

Picking up George, I unfold myself from the floor and set him down on the sofa. His look is one of utter betrayal, but refuse to be swayed. I'll have lots of time for cuddles later, but if I want to see Ken before he leaves, now is the last chance.

Having come to a decision, I don't want to give myself time to second-guess it. Flying down the stairs, I quickly pull on my boots and throw on the first coat I get my fingers on. When I step outside, the cold February air hits me, but I don't pay it any attention, nor do I allow it to clear my head. Instead, I grab my bike and push it through the entrance gate, before getting on it and cycling through the dark London streets.

To Kensington Palace.

I don't consider the possibility that my security clearance might have been revoked until I reach the gate to the palace complex, but before I even have a chance to ask, the guard waves me through. Apparently, I'm not a persona non grata, which is encouraging.

Navigating my way between the buildings, I quickly find myself on the doorstep of Wren House. And only then do I pause to listen to the little voice in my head, asking whether I'm sure that he wants to see me.

Ignoring the touchpad, I raise my hand to ring the doorbell, but the little voice won't be quieted. My finger hovering over the button, I freeze, doubt creeping in. Would it be better to leave again, before he notices I ever came?

But if he didn't want to see me, he wouldn't have messaged to say he was leaving, right? And he wrote in that other message that he was waiting for a sign from me. And he said he loved me. You don't profess your love for someone you don't want to see, right? Right?

Taking a deep breath, I press my finger down on the button. Inside, a bell chimes. Once, twice, three times. I lower my hand again and wait.

At first, there's no reaction, but despite the cold creeping under my too light coat, I don't budge. I've come here and I will stay here, unless he sends me away. If nothing else, I'm too stubborn to leave.

Finally, there are footsteps coming closer, the door swings open and –

"Rilla," breathes Ken, his expression one of wonder. Whatever he expected, me turning up on his doorstep wasn't it.

"Hello," I reply, because I don't know what else to say.

Ken stares at me. I look back at him, shivering slightly when a gust of winds blows past.

"Do you, uh, want to come in?" Ken offers.

"Yes." I nod. "Thank you."

He takes a step back and I slip past him, closing the door behind me. It falls shut with a soft thud – and then there's silence.

My brain is going into overdrive, trying to think of something to say. I feel I should be the one say something, seeing as I was the one to come here, but my mind is blank. I realised I wanted to see him, but didn't think any further. Now that I'm here, I don't know what to say. I can't even look at him.

"Rilla…" he says quietly.

I take a deep breath.

Impulse has got me so far. Maybe it will take me further still.

Turning, I cross the hall until I'm standing directly in front of Ken. He doesn't move, just follows me with his eyes. I raise my hands and place them, very deliberately, on his shoulders. (He's wearing a flannel shirt that normally, I'd tease him about, but nothing about today is normal.) Standing on my tiptoes, I close the distance between us and gently press my lips to his.

Ken remains frozen, unmoving, arms dangling by his sides, even as I carefully start moving my lips against his. He doesn't push me away, doesn't resist, but he doesn't return the kiss either.

Pulling away, I lower myself back on my heels. His gaze flickers between my eyes and lips and I can see him swallowing heavily.

"Do you want me to leave?" I ask, licking my lips nervously.

"No!" The word almost breaks out of him. "No. Please don't leave. Don't leave!"

I nod slowly. So, that's alright then.

"I just…" Ken sighs, shakes his head. "Shouldn't we… talk, or something?"

Raising my head, I look him straight in the eye. "Do you want to fight?"

He looks taken aback. "What? No. No, I don't want to fight. What a question!"

"If we talk, we fight," I tell him, matter-of-factly. "If you don't want to fight, we shouldn't talk."

Ken blinks, swallows. "If we shouldn't talk, then…" He breaks off. His eyes flicker down to look at my lips again.

This time, when I kiss him, he isn't unresponsive. In fact, after the briefest moments of hesitation, he cradles my head with one hand, encircling my waist with the other arm and backs me up against the wall.

We don't talk anymore that night.

In fact, we do everything but talk. And if this were a novel or a movie, the sex would be described as hot, angry, passionate, or else, as an earth-shattering event causing both of us to see the blinding light of our undying love.

Of course, that's nonsense.

In reality, the entire night is… well, awkward. In four years, we got to know each other blindly, our bodies fitting together just so, the sex not always exciting but certainly never uncomfortable. Tonight though, it's like all of that never happened. It's all angles and knees and elbows, all misunderstandings and uncertainty. At one point, he even pauses to ask me whether I'm alright, which he hasn't had reason to do in years.

(There's also a brief moment when I find myself staring at the ceiling and the phrase Lie back and think of England flutters unbidden into my mind. It's so absurd that I don't know whether to laugh or cry, so I close my eyes and just try to forget.)

Afterwards, I slip into the bathroom first, not giving him a chance to say something. When, later, he comes back from the bath, I'm already curled up in bed, pretending to be asleep, hoping he doesn't see the tears on my face.

I can hear him say my name, can feel the hand gently touching my shoulder, but this time, I'm the one who doesn't move. It doesn't fool him – of course it doesn't – but he doesn't push it either. Sighing softly, he moves to his side of the bed and slips under the covers. I can feel the heat of his body, know that there are just inches between us, but as we lie there in the dark, neither of us sleeping, the distance between us stretches and expands, not to be bridged.

We don't sleep much that night. There's no tossing and turning though. Instead, we both lie very still, unnaturally so, and try not to alert the other one to the fact that we're both wide awake. In short, it's miserable.

When Ken's alarm rings in the morning and I can feel him turn to look at me in the half-dark, I close my eyes even tighter and don't move until he's safely in the bathroom. Only then do I throw the covers aside, grab some random clothes from the dresser and dart into the bath across the hall.

In the shower, at least he can't hear me sob.

I don't know how long I remain sitting on the floor of the shower, the warm water raining down on me and mixing with my tears, but when I finally pick myself up, the sun has fully risen. One look in the mirror confirms that my skin is all wrinkly and my eyes are puffy and swollen.

Absent-mindedly, I notice that the striped shirt doesn't go with the checked skirt at all, but I can't say I care. I dry myself off with one of the towels that Ken's housekeeper Wendy always keeps extra fluffy and pull the clothes on anyway. Once dressed, I brush my teeth and twist my hair up into a turban, only to finally turn for the door – and freeze.

Going outside now would mean to face him and I don't know if I can.

All decisiveness of yesterday has evaporated, so I remain standing in that bathroom for minutes, torn between going out and staying here until I know he's gone.

Ken takes the decision from me when he softly knocks on the door. "Rilla?"

The shower is off and I can hardly pretend to be asleep in here, so there's nothing left but to give myself a push and open the door, peering outside. Ken is standing in the hallway, his expression worried, unconsciously wringing his hands. He's not wearing his fancy dress uniform, but the kind of drab camouflage fatigues they send soldiers to battle in. Seeing him like this makes me feel disoriented and I have to take a few calming breaths.

When I finally step outside to face him, I can see him flinch, and belatedly realise that if he hadn't realised I was crying before, my puffy eyes gave me away just now.

"Yes?" My voice sounds croaky and all wrong.

"I, uh… I made breakfast. Downstairs," stutters Ken, not quite able to face me. "There's toast, of course, and a fry up and, um, I made pancakes. Waffles, too. And I sent Beaverstock to get fresh fruit, so, uh… yeah."

"I'm not hungry," I reply and it's not even petulance making me say it. The very thought of food makes my stomach turn.

He swallows, nods. "Fair enough."

I wrap my arms around myself and look away.

"I need to leave in a few minutes," he continues after a pause. "I'm going to Buck House first to, well, say goodbye to the family. Do you want to come?"

"I don't think so." I shake my head.

Ken sighs almost inaudibly. I know he's trying to get me to look at him, but I keep my gaze resolutely to the side. Finally, he gives up. "Please don't punish them for what I did."

His family.

He's asking me not to freeze out his family while he's gone (or rather, because he's gone).

"There was a time when you didn't even want me to meet them," I observe dispassionately.

"I never –" Ken begins, before interrupting himself. "No, I did. You're right. But I… I learned my lessons."

"Some of them," I amend, finally looking up at him.

He takes a deep breath. "Some of them," he agrees.

We both know which lesson it was that he didn't learn - the one that says to include me in the decisions he makes. We took many steps forward together over the years, but with this one decision, he threw us right back to where we started.

"Perhaps if you'd let me explain?" Ken's expression is imploring, even a little desperate now. "I know I should have talked to you about this sooner and there's no excuse for why I didn't. I can't tell you how sorry I feel and you must believe that if I could change it, I absolutely would."

"Ken," I interject tiredly.

He, however, won't be deterred. "No, please, let me explain. I think that if only I could explain… Look, I know what I'm doing isn't fair to you, but I wouldn't do it if I didn't feel I had to. I got all this training and you know the flak I received for taking up the space of a real soldier. What better way to prove them wrong but to actually do the job a real soldier does? What better way to –"

He falls silent when I raise a hand. "Please don't."

"But…" he begins.

I shake my head. "Don't. It's futile. Nothing you could say would make me see your point. And you won't see mine."

"I do see your point!" he protests.

I look him straight in the eye. "Not well enough."

He frowns, pursing his lips. I know he wants to argue, but when, after a moment, he does speak, it's to admit, "No, I guess not."

I nod silently.

"Do you see my point?" he asks, hesitatingly.

"Not well enough," I answer. Suddenly, I feel incredibly tired.

He swallows heavily as he processes my words. "And… and what now?"

"I don't know." I shrug. "You're leaving, I guess."

"And you don't want me to," he observes.

"Does it matter though?" I ask, searching his face. "If I told you that if you left, so would I – would you stay?"

I don't think the weight of the question fully registers until it has left my lips and I can see the shiver pass over Ken's face. And once I realise what I said, I know without a doubt that I don't want to hear the answer.

"No!" I quickly interrupt when he makes an attempt to speak. "No, please. Nevermind. I don't want to know. Forget I asked."

Ken frowns in confusion. "But…"

I raise a hand to silence him. "No buts. You shouldn't answer this. I'm sorry I even asked. I really don't want to hear the answer because if it's No, I'll have to leave immediately and if it's Yes, I'll have to give you absolution to go. Frankly, right now, I'm prepared to do neither."

It takes a moment, but when the confusion slowly disappears from Ken's face, I know he understands my point, at least as well as possible.

"Okay. If you're sure, I won't answer," he agrees. "But may I say that I don't want you to leave, not ever? It might be hard to believe right now, but I love you, more than I could possibly tell you."

The words should please me, but when I feel inside of me, there's just a whole lot of weariness. "I know you love me," I tell him, my voice unsettlingly calm. "I love you, too. I'm mad at you, but I didn't suddenly stop loving you. It doesn't work like that and anyway… I mean, otherwise, all of this would have been for nought, right?"

I wait until he nods, before I add, "Love was never the problem with us."

"I guess not." He sighs heavily and shakes his head. "God, how did we end up here?"

I could explain it to him, but we're past the point where words could repair the rift that opened up between us. At the moment, words can't even bridge it and as we saw last night, neither could touch.

"More importantly, where do we go from here?" I ask instead.

Ken takes a deep breath, before slowly letting go of the air again. "I don't know. Are you… are you… are you leaving?" His voice sounds unlike himself as he says it and I know how much it takes from him to even speak the words. I can almost feel his pain and it hurts me, too. After four years, that doesn't suddenly stop, much as I may want it to.

"Am I leaving?" I repeat slowly. It's a hard question to answer, much harder than I ever would have thought. I almost wish he'd take it back, like I took my question back earlier, but he doesn't. He just looks at me, all worry and anxiety, waiting for me to make that decision for both of us.

(How ironic.)

I can almost hear the seconds click by as I try to work out what my answer is. In the end, I give up the attempt to bring any kind of order to my thoughts and just let instinct take over. It brought me here in the first place, after all.

Looking up again, I slowly shake my head.

The relief Ken feels is palpable, but when he reaches out for me, I shrink back. For a moment, his hand hovers between us, almost enough to connect us, but then he nods and draws it back again. "I understand."

For the first time in a while, I think he truly does.

"I'm not leaving, but I think you have to now," I tell him quietly. "It's time, isn't it?"

He glances down at his watch. "You're right. It's just… I can't leave you like this. I can't leave us like this."

I sigh softly. "I think you'll have to."

"And what happens… after I leave?" he asks.

"You'll come back," I answer simply.

He breathes in deeply and nods slowly. "I'll come back. And then…"

"Then we'll see." Because for now, that's all I can promise.

I know it's not enough for him. I can see it in his eyes, in the stricken expression on his face. But it's all I can give.

It also leaves us with nothing more to say. I can see that Ken is trying to come up with something, something that might yet break this impasse, but in the end, he gives up and sighs.

"So this is goodbye?" he asks.

I nod, almost imperceptibly. "I think so."

"Until I come back?" he adds, somehow both hopeful and afraid at the same time.

"Until you come back," I confirm.

He inclines his head questioningly as he takes a step forward, silently asking whether he's allowed to touch me. My first instinct is to draw back and I wrap my arms tighter around myself. Immediately, he steps away again.

But there's pain in his eyes and he's leaving and it will be months until he comes back and despite everything, I still love him, damn it all. So, I quickly cross the distance between us, wrap my arms around his neck, press my face into his chest and breathe in his scent. I can feel him raise his arms to hug me back, but before he can, I've already let go of him and resurrected the distance.

Not being able to look at him and not wanting him to see me cry, I turn away, ready to flee into the bathroom if he were to push it.

He doesn't though. Instead, I can hear him walk slowly towards the stairs, where he hesitates one more time. Without turning, I know he's looking at me, fighting to find the right words to say.

Finally, he settles on, "I love you. I miss you already. And I will come back."

Yes. And I'll be waiting. Because apparently, not even this is enough to make me leave.


The title of this chapter is taken from the song 'Lucky Man' (written by Greg Lake, released by Emerson, Lake and Palmer in 1970).


To Mammu:
We had a lot of happy chapters, so what with me being me, it was only a question of time before things would take a nose-dive ;). Rilla did a lot of growing up this past year, but Ken didn't grow in the same way, which is becoming apparent now. Rilla is seeing it as well and she won't be as inclined to forgive and forget as she was in the past. This time, Ken's behaviour really caused profound damage in a way that will only be revealed with time.
We're also mostly opened up and had some glorious summer weather this past week, with lots of people being outside. We'll see if that changes our numbers. Right now, they're still nice and low, with the odd isolated flare up in places where people were being stupid. Fingers crossed it stays that way for all of us!
A little Mammu daughter! How exciting! :D I hope everything goes well, both with regards to the little one and with regards to your virus development. A second wave is really the last thing anyone needs!

To Guest:
Hi there! :) I hope this chapter delivered and was worth the wait! This story arc is far from over, so there's lots to look forward to. As you said, Rilla is past the point where she just sits by meekly as Ken does what he wants to do. She didn't break up with him, but that doesn't mean they're suddenly alright or that Rilla won't have some more choice words for him eventually.
I'm glad you enjoy my titles! I'm probably putting more time into finding the right one than is sensible, but it's fun and I always love hearing when someone appreciates them. Like Rilla, I grew up on my father's music, so these are really the songs of my childhood as well. I could sing along to
Let It Be long before I spoke even a word of English ;).

To Rilla:
I don't do cliffhangers all that often, but sometimes, a chapter just cries for them and this was one of those. (I don't make the rules here!) There's also no way to resolve this quickly, so this whole issue will carry over to influence a whole stretch of chapters. I hope you'll find it interesting!
As for your question, RoI is my favourite Anne book and it follows that Rilla is one of the characters I spent the most thought on. I've always been interested in history and when I first read RoI at age 11, it thoroughly impressed me. I did and do enjoy most of the other Anne books as well, but RoI will always have a special place. As a character, Rilla is completely unlike me, but because I read RoI so often, I came to see this world from her point of view, which is why hers is the one I adopt most often when writing. Writing Anne doesn't come as naturally to me, so I mostly leave it to those more talented at rendering her character than I am :).

To Rach H:
Hello and thank you so much for your amazing review! I love any and all comments, but it's always a special treat to her from hitherto-unknown readers, so I was very happy to read yours - especially because of how interesting and insightful it is!
I've been building up to this point for a long, long time (almost from when I started writing the story) and I'm glad that you drew the parallels from here back to those past chapters, because that's what I intended when I wrote them. I knew we'd come to this back when I wrote the scene with Grandma Bertha and when I wrote the scene with Toppy, and while I
also know I made the story take a lot of twists and turns in-between, it all connects in my mind. I'm never sure whether it all translates to paper (well, screen) as I intend it to, so to read your thoughts about this was incredibly encouraging for me.
The way I see it, Rilla and Ken have backed themselves into a corner right now, so "where do we go from here?" is entirely the right question. They aren't ready to walk away from this relationship, but can't see how to heal it either. Ken feels he needs to do this, but Rilla can't just stand by and sign off on his behaviour without losing part of herself. They've reached a kind of truce at the moment, but it'll take much more than that for them to reach stable ground again.
Plus, you said something else that will become very important very soon, namely asking "what she wants her future to look like, or aspirations beyond Ken". To me, that's kind of the crux of the matter. I've always said that I see this story as less of a romance and more of a coming-of-age story - and while Rilla has already grown a lot, she hasn't yet grown to be independent. There's a lot she needs to figure out, both with regards to Ken and with regards to herself and her own life.
What I'm trying to say is that you're asking exactly the right questions and I sincerely hope that with time, the story (and I) will have an answer for them. I'd love to hear your thoughts as it progresses, so if you like to, please don't be a stranger :).

To Carrots:
I'm not aware of an AoGG podcast myself, but I could well imagine that one is out there. Maybe someone else can advise and give information in the comments?