Théodred could feel his energy dissipate with every hoofbeat of Brego's that carried them through the great gates of the Hornburg. Another day, another return from a miserable patrol. How many years had he been on such incessant patrols? Five years? Six?

There was no welcome-cup ceremony to greet them, but Théodred was not at all surprised. With few enough servants to keep the Burg running, it was perfectly sensible for Alfrida to dispense of the farewell and welcome mead, especially with the sheer amount of soldiers coming and going from the fortress of late.

Helm, a stablehand with the enthusiasm that only a young, gangly boy could have, ran towards Théodred as he was dismounting. "Good day, sire!" he said, attempting a bow. "I can take Brego for you."

"Are you certain?" Théodred asked, feeling skeptical. "He tried to nip you last time, or have you already forgotten?"

"I have not forgotten," a shadow of a scowl surfaced on Helm's face. "Mistress Léofe told me that I should scratch Brego's chin to get him to follow me."

Théodred smiled, though it was painful with the stitches pulling at his cheek. "If Mistress Léofe said it, it must be true. Please, do take him. He needs a good rub-down."

Sure enough, Léofe's advice was sound, and a surprisingly docile Brego was happy to be led away by Helm. Théodred watched them for a moment before giving himself a mental shake and heading off to the kitchens. He had expected to see Léofe by now, at least from afar, and decided that she probably did not know he was returned. He would have to tell her himself.

She was not, however, in the kitchens—only Alfrida's pinched face greeted him when he entered. "Oh, hello," his aunt said, wiping hair from her forehead. "I did not know you had returned."

"Yes," Théodred said. "I am." He was not feeling in quite the mood to banter or carry a conversation, and clearly Alfrida was not either. He had not often seen her without a smile; she was looking unwell, despite vigorously mixing in a large bowl. She was no longer wearing a head wrap, and he surmised that the lice had been eradicated.

"Your wound looks better," she commented. "Frightful, but better."

"It is," he said, seizing this topic. "I am eager to have the stitches removed. They are most uncomfortable."

"Hmm."

"Where is your little shadow, Aunt? I am accustomed to seeing her around you; you seem most lonely."

Alfrida frowned. "Léofe? Have some tact, Théodred - if you said to her that she was my shadow, she'd cuff you across the head."

He grinned at this. "My apologies."

"Do not apologize to me. You ought to clean yourself up; I can smell you from here."

He gave her his most charming smile. "Dear Alfie! I wish to beg a hot bath."

She frowned. "I am not providing baths for soldiers. The refugees are making do with the Deeping Stream."

"I was your nephew before I was a soldier, Alfie. You do not wish me to continue to smell, do you?" Théodred knew how to charm his aunt well enough.

Alfrida sighed, and set down her task. "You will have to carry the water yourself, and it will have to be in the infirmary," she said. "We have no spare hands to be lugging a tub to your rooms."

Théodred began to feel rather guilty for putting Alfrida out this way. She was dragging her feet as much as he, unsmiling and brow-bent. Her megrims were almost disconcerting.

Footsteps were approaching from the corridor, and just as he was hauling in buckets of water to heat at the stove, Léofe entered the kitchen, saying, "Alfrida, I have a checklist of—" She caught sight of Théodred, and to his shame she paled underneath her freckles, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"I apologize for my appearance," he said at once. "I know I am not pleasing to look at. Alfie called me frightful."

"I was only being truthful," Alfrida droned.

"I—I am sorry," Léofe said, her voice hesitant. "It is not your wound—though it is ghastly—it is merely that, you were—uh—unexpected—" Théodred tried to smile at her, but with half his face out of commission he could only manage a grimace. He was rather liking the look of her in a long, brown woolen dress, with a corded belt resting on her hips. But he could not say so—Alfrida was standing nearby—and his stomach knotted. He had been away for too long!

"Did you bring the inventory?" Alfrida asked, her voice cutting through the tension.

"Oh—yes, yes!" Léofe rummaged through her reticule, pulling out a parchment with drawings and marks. She saw Théodred's curiosity, and blushed to the roots of her hair. "Ah...Alfrida has been teaching me to write," she said. "But I am not very good."

"Thank you, Léofe," Alfrida said, accepting the parchment. Her eyes widened as they travelled down. "Béma! Théodred, I am glad you are here. I can tell you straightaway that we can no longer feed any troops or refugees. There is simply not enough food."

He grimaced—this time meaning to. "We have travel rations," he said. "That will have to do. Any refugees can eat what they brought."

"But that is not fair!" Léofe objected, and Théodred and Alfrida turned to look at her. She flushed again. "I mean - many people have not brought food. They could not; often there is little warning before the wildmen or orcs attack. I came here without anything! You must not let anyone starve."

Once again, Théodred could not smile. But he was very proud of his Léofe in that moment.

"No one will starve," Alfrida assured her. "We can have at least one meal a day for anyone lacking. For a few weeks, at least."

"I will send messengers around to see if there is food to be bought," Théodred said.

"I do not think you will have any luck," Alfrida said. "We are not the only ones in the Mark struggling. We will make do. Now please excuse me—I should attend to some chores upstairs."

Their eyes locked as the lady swept from the room, and now alone, a thousand unspoken words and feelings surfaced between them. Théodred knew exactly what he wanted to say: "I missed you so much my body ached; I love you so much I feel like my heart is going to burst; I was thinking that perhaps I can smuggle you on the next patrol so I am not so lonely…"

"I—you look nice," he said, feeling like a dolt. He had never found himself lacking the right words, but somehow, with the root of his heart standing across from him, his wit was completely gone.

"Thank you," Léofe said, and smiled. He had always liked the way her smile lit up her whole face, like a sunbeam. "And please, do not think I find you unattractive because of your wound, awful as it is. Do believe me when I say I find you most handsome in spite of it!"

Théodred tried to return her smile, but could not for the tugging on his skin. Damnation! He needed those stitches removed. "I am glad to hear it," he said. "May I kiss you even with such grotesqueness glaring down at you? I would very much like to."

"If it bothers me, I will close my eyes." Léofe's characteristic frankness had him straining at his stitches again as he closed the distance between them. She felt very right in his arms, and he did not hesitate to taste her sweet lips. He could have gone on kissing her for quite some time, but a shuffling in the corridor alerted them to company, and they broke apart just before a servant entered. They stood apart awkwardly, but the woman did not seem to notice.

"I must beg privacy now," Théodred said, clearing his throat. "Will I see you for supper?"

Léofe was wringing her hands together. "Perhaps. Alfrida and I have been taking our meals in the solar. Erkenbrand works late into the night so we are usually alone."

"I will speak to Alfie," he said. "She might allow me to join you."

She was smiling, her cheeks flushing a lovely pink. "I hope she does."

"Blimey!" the servant said from the pantry. "Just kiss 'er and be done wif it. Can't stand this back n' forth nonsense. I'm gettin' nauseous here."

Pink deepened to red, and with a look of fear Léofe ran from the kitchen. Théodred bit back a groan. He considered whether he ought to ask the woman to refrain from spreading any rumors about the relationship between himself and Léofe, and then decided against it. Surely rumors already abounded; wasn't his painful scar evidence of just that?

.

.

Alfrida did agree to allow Théodred to join them for supper. The morose lines that set her face remained, and he wondered if she really was ill. Although he could not control the refugees or increased soldiers or the other issues she was undoubtedly worried about, he still felt guilty for her load. Léofe was obviously aware of Alfie's mood as well, for she went about serving the bread and pickled vegetables as if she had done so before. Théodred watched his aunt sit, hunched, in her chair and his concern grew.

"Are you well, Alfie?" he asked, accepting a portion from Léofe. She cleared her throat softly next to his ear.

"Of course I am well," Afrida said. He caught sight of Léofe sitting down by his aunt, shaking her head in his direction, her eyes wide.

"No?" Théodred's confusion grew.

"No, I said yes," Alfie's tone grew snappish.

"I apologize," he said at once. Léofe ducked her head to eat, and he finally guessed that the topic was forbidden.

Several minutes of silence followed, and then his aunt spoke again. "Your face looks much improved," she said.

"Yes. I was very pleased when a healer cut the stitches for me. He did say that I would likely carry a scar to my grave, however."

Léofe shifted in her seat.

Alfrida studied him. "It is a handsome scar, at least," she said. "Erk will be jealous."

Théodred laughed. "Then I would wish him the joy of it! I have been given a salve to rub on it twice a day to keep it clean and to help it fade. I can imagine the ribbing I will receive from my men too well."

"I do hope it smells nice, like lavender or rose," Léofe said, smiling at him. "I am sure the soldiers would appreciate that."

Alfie snorted. "Do not tease him so," she said. "Can you not see his feelings are tender at the moment?" He pulled a face, and the women laughed. "I am going to take what is left of our meal to the refugee camp, in case anyone there is hungry tonight," Alfrida said, standing. "Are you finished?"

"Yes, I thank you," Théodred said, passing to her his plate. "And I do thank you for feeding me."

"I thank you for bathing," she said. "Léofe?"

Léofe was gathering the remains of the meal together. "Can I help you to carry anything?" she asked.

"No, a little work will not lay me up," Alfrida said. "But I am thinking I will retire immediately afterwards. Could you bank the fire?"

"I will," Léofe said, and to Théodred's astonishment but also to his happiness, his aunt left and he was alone with Léofe as the door thudded shut. She blushed, avoiding his gaze.

"Now that you mention it, I am curious," he said, and pulled the tin of salve from his pocket before unlidding it. He took a sniff. "Cottonwood," Théodred said, grinning. "Harmless enough."

"May I?" At his acquiescence, Léofe smelled the salve herself and smiled. "I rather like it," she said. "It is like spring!"

"I am relieved. Would you perhaps agree to apply my first dose? Then when I am away I can have the memory of your fingers doing the task." It was so easy to make his Léofe blush! He could not help watching her as she obliged; the way her eyebrows furrowed when she was concentrating, her pursed lips, her plaits of hair slung casually over her shoulders and the way her light orange tresses glinted in the firelight. Théodred was suddenly very surprised and a little uneasy: had no other men in the Deep sought her favor? He winced as her fingers brushed across a particularly tender spot.

"I apologize," she said at once. "I am trying to be gentle. Your scar still looks painful!"

"It can be," he admitted. "And likely it will for some time. The skin needs to toughen."

Léofe's pink lips stuck out in a sympathetic pout. Théodred bit his own to keep from laughing: her tender heart was so well hidden! "Why are you laughing?" she asked, eyeing him.

"I am merely happy to be with you," he said. He clasped her empty hand with his, smiling. "Are you very sore from leaning down? I have a seat if you wish -"

A loud thud on the door made them both jump, and Léofe turned away from him as a soldier barged in. "Prince Théodred!" he boomed, bowing briefly. "There is an ongoing attack at a village six miles east."

He clenched his jaw. Was there ever a more inopportune moment? "Prepare an éored," he ordered. "I shall be there shortly." The soldier bowed again and left, shutting the door with a bang behind him. Théodred slumped and sighed, and then rose to his feet. "Léofe…"

She brushed her cheeks, lidding the salve before turning to face him with a strained smile. "See you in a week or so?" she asked.

"I will try to return sooner," he said, feeling his heart wrench. "But...I can promise nothing else. Only that I will try."

"Thank you," she whispered. Théodred drew her into his arms, hating that he had to leave her so soon. Her face tilted upwards, and he kissed her. And again. And again. She was breathing heavily, pressed up against him and he pulled away, suddenly not trusting himself.

"Farewell," he said, voice hoarse. He picked up his salve and left, sudden anger boiling at the unfairness of it all.