Once word of Joren's existence had reached her a month earlier, Alanna had done nothing but search the streets of Merca for this possible ally, despite the warnings from a dear friend of hers that he would be nothing but trouble. As she looked upon the man seated in front of her, she immediately knew what Keladry of Mindelan had meant, and wondered if her entire trip here was pointless. Physically, she knew that he was just what they were looking for. Joren had the build of a natural athlete and he had easily grown six inches since they last met. However, he still carried himself with an air of aristocracy that eight years as a peasant couldn't cure. Obviously, life hadn't been an easy ride for him and his appearance showed signs of the hardships he endured. Instead of the beautiful, albeit slightly feminine boy she once knew, the Joren sitting before her today was scarred, rugged, and harsh, and yet still strikingly handsome. However, his ego was obviously just as big as before and she knew that convincing him to join them wouldn't be an easy task.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Joren. I'm here today because I need your help." She knew that being a shrewd judge of character was practically in the job description of becoming a thief so honesty would be the only way to convert him. Plus, she figured that appearing vulnerable would appeal to his ego, which could only work to her advantage.

He raised an eyebrow, "Absolutely." Sarcasm. She didn't expect anything less from the son of Burchard of Stone Mountain. "With what?"

The Lioness smiled. "Why, with the revolution."

William dropped Thomas's bags on the dirt floor of his two-room cottage. "Welcome to my humble home. The shop and the barn are out back."

"You live here?" Thomas looked around, horrified at the filth around him. He knew that he couldn't survive for a year in this grime.

William looked him over shrewdly, wisdom etched in every deep line in his face. "Well I know it's nothing like your home in Tortall, but then what did you expect?"

"How did you--"

"Well, boy, what can I say? I'm full of surprises. But as long as no one's going to be looking for you or think I took you, then I don't care what you say you are. You can claim to be Tortallian nobility for all I care." He said with a snort, not knowing how close his jest was to the truth.

"No one's looking for me."

William opened his mouth to respond, but paused once he saw that for the first time, Thomas looked shamed and vulnerable, and William again remembered just how young he really was. He simply cleared his throat and slapped the boy on the back.

"Well, then, I guess I should show you what you're supposed to do. It really won't be as complicated as it sounds, once you get your strength up." He laughed a bit at Thomas' response to this, but continued talking and walked back out of the front door, with his new apprentice following. "This place really is quite large for just three people. The Ponimaver family's home is half the size of this place and ten people stay there! So, you could have it worse."

"Wait, three?"

William grinned. "I forgot to mention that, didn't I? My granddaughter stays here, also. He parents couldn't take care of her so I took her in. She's the most energetic person you'll ever meet. You'll love her."

Thomas wrinkled his nose. "I doubt that."

He couldn't hold back his biting laugh at the evidently insane woman sitting before him; he had always known Alanna of Trebond to be a bit crazy, however he considered this beyond her. He fixed her with his daunting gaze. "A revolution, huh? So what exactly are you revolting from?"

She stared at him as if she regarded him with the same esteem he attributed to her, her piercing violet eyes far more intimidating than he had expected. "You have heard news from Tortall since you've been away, haven't you?" He shook his head, and she continued, painfully aware of the obviousness to the point that he wouldn't have had any contact with his former family or friends. "About two years after you left, Tortall and Scanra declared war. We attacked swiftly, assuming that defeating the Scanrans would be an easy feat. Two years later, we were defeated. They had a…weapon…that we didn't expect. The Scanrans were ruthless. They," she paused, composing herself. "They assassinated the royal family and captured everyone loyal to the crown. Every knight they could find, they imprisoned and," she subconsciously pulled up the neck of her dress, trying to hide her burn scars, "tortured until they revealed the whereabouts of others. They sacked our cities, set fire to entire fiefs, and destroyed the University, murdering every mage they could find. Everyone who survived the first year went underground, hiding from the death that lurked around every corner. Some of our greatest men and women died during those months and the death toll is still unknown. Even with all the progress we've made, we still have a very long way to go.

"Those of us who escaped, disguised ourselves as best we could and banded together in a small community in Tyra, where we train and find as many people as we can to help our cause. And we are getting stronger than we ever hoped. This started as just something to do instead of surrendering to them entirely. Now," her enormous violet eyes brimmed with emotion, "we actually have a chance. We lost so many, too many, and I will not let their deaths be in vain. And we need your help."

"If you don't mind me asking, what good am I for your cause? Why would you risk revealing all of this to free a thief?" His sonorous voice held an accusing tone.

She smiled wryly. "Joren, you're asking this to the wife of the King of Thieves, so don't try to imply that I'm judging you by how you live. But you were well trained in weaponry and had almost finished yours studies to become a knight before," she paused for a brief moment, and then went for it, "you were kicked out. You have a gift. You were well educated at the palace and you were a citizen of Tortall. I came here in hopes that you still held pride in your former homeland and that you couldn't completely turn your back on your past."

"Well," Anger seemed to seep from him as he got up from the table and began to pace around the room. "What makes you think that I'd be so eager to help out a country that sent a child out into the world all alone?" He slammed his tied fists against the table, cursing when his broken wrist made contact with the hard wood. "I had to create a new life from nothing!"

Alanna looked at him, confused at his swift temper. "The courts exiled you from the city of Corus for five years, with the intention that you would hide out on your family's fief until Kela—until you could no longer make a mess of things. They never expected you to run off completely alone". Joren opened his mouth as if to retort, and then, remembering his father's planned excuse for his disappearance, quickly shut it. That bastard had come up with this all on his own.

The Lioness gave him a slight smile. "Plus, if I don't take you with me, you have to stay in this prison and serve the remainder of your sentence. They made it a year this time."

He sighed and sat back down. "It sounds like I don't have much of a choice, then."

She genuinely smiled this time. "I like to believe my words of encouragement inspired you to want to help our cause, but I'll settle for forced assistance."

Joren leaned away from her, wearing a blank expression. "Did anyone that I know make it to Tyra?"

Alanna looked at him quizzically. "I'm not saying that a person is either at our camp or dead, Joren. Many people fled the country and even more are still hidden within. Tortall is a very big place. But, let's see, some of our strongest made it…Raoul of Goldenlake, Numair Salmalin, Keladry of Mindelan…"

"Oh, wonderful. My biggest fans."

"Now come on, Joren. A lot of time has passed. If you don't consider yourself to be the same person who left that palace eight years ago, then how can you expect that from them?" He didn't have a response for that.

"So you'll come with me?" When he didn't so much as change his expression, she rolled her eyes. "You have to at least acknowledge what I've said with a yes or a no". He sat still for a few more moments before finally nodding. "Alright then. We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning. We have a room at an inn in town for tonight." At this, Joren paled.

"I might not be that well received at just any inn in town."

Alanna waved her arm, nonchalantly. "Well, you can wear a hood or something."

"That's not going to--"

Alanna stood up, silencing him. "I'll go notify the guards."

I couldn't believe how weak I'd become. I used to dream of the day that someone (granted, it was never the Lioness herself) tracked me down and welcomed me back to the county. In this dream, though, I always sent them away without dignifying them with a response. In fact, while we were at the prison, I still held fast to the idea that the second I was freed from Carthak, I would leave the lady knight alone, and flee to the Copper Isles. But, truth be told, the Lioness actually began to grow on me before that first day ended.

As the duo approached the third inn of the night, Alanna began to grow a bit impatient. "I don't care if you robbed the owner blind or slept with his daughter, we're staying in this one."

"I've never stayed here before and I've never met the owner. OR his daughter," he grinned slightly.

The older woman smiled, happy to detect even the slightest hint of an emotion similar to humor in the young man's voice. "Great. It's settled then. I'll go get us a room. Two beds—I don't want you trying anything."

Joren smirked down at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, after all the stories I've heard tonight, I thought I'd just make everything clear." She said, managing to hold her stern face for a few seconds before dissolving into a grin.

"You know, you're not as bad as I expected." Alanna began as the pair walked through the entrance of the seedy inn.

"Well I was just released from prison, so forgive me if I'm of an elevated mood. Wait a few days before you form any opinion of me."

"I'm sure that in time you'll live up to my expectations".

Joren genuinely laughed as he held open the door to their room. He was shocked to find that he was actually enjoying her company as well. "Well, I wouldn't want to disappoint."

The room was large for a place as shabby as their particular inn. The two beds were on opposite sides of the large space and the room even contained a small, secluded area where a warm bath was already drawn, much to the delight of the two occupants, one of whom hadn't bathed in weeks.

For the next few hours, after each was effectively cleansed, Joren attempted to read a novel that the previous occupant had left in the room while Alanna spent the time looking over a bundle of parchment that she had removed from her bag upon arrival.

"Those lines on your arm, you get one for each crime you commit, right?" Alanna had apparently grown bored with her papers and had focused her attention onto Joren's exposed wrist.

Joren closed his book. "Every time you get caught."

"So you weren't that lucky, huh?"

He sent a rueful grin in her direction. "I guess you could say that. My mother always said that I was cursed."

"And you believe that?"

"No. I think curses are nothing but a way people pass the blame of their own failures onto something else."

"Spoken like a true misanthrope."

"Everyone becomes a misanthrope if they've dealt with the real world for long enough."

After a few moments of silence, Alanna changed the subject. "Joren, don't you want to know what's become of your family? You haven't even mentioned them since I told you of the war."

Joren looked up sharply, fixing his intense gaze on Alanna. Something about his gaze made her feel as if he were looking into her mind and reading every thought in her head. "I figured that if you didn't bring them up, then the news could only be bad." Truth be told, he was dying to hear of what had happened to his former home, but he didn't want this to be known.

His stare was making her uncomfortable, as if he were challenging her, so she aligned her eyes squarely with his. "Stone Mountain was one of the first fiefs to burn. We still aren't sure who survived, if anyone."

Joren broke her gaze, blew out the candle, and rolled over so his back was facing her.

"Joren?" She questioned in the dark. He never responded.

The sun was shining brightly, illuminating her long red hair as she danced around under the cloudless blue sky. She lifted her arms up into the air, and looked up, the cool fall breeze leaving small goosebumps on her exposed arms. She looked over at his approaching form and laughed, before falling, seemingly weightless, as if the wind had just blown her back, into the mountain of leaves behind her, remnants of orange, red, and yellow covering her tousled brown dress. Once he reached her, she sat up and looked at him with that unforgettable smile. Her bright green eyes sparkled as she gestured for him to join her. As he fell beside her, she turned, and, smiling that smile he knew he didn't deserve, ran her hand through his shoulder length white-blond hair. She pulled back her hand and held a tattered brown leaf in front of his face. She laughed again, crinkling her freckled nose, and met his eyes, a thoughtful expression etched on her face. "Why did you do it?" He'd forgotten how melodic her voice was, the innocent, whimsical tone that he hadn't heard in years. He took a moment to respond, wishing to savor the sound of her voice in his ears for as long as possible.

"It was an accident."

She gave him a sad smile. "No, it wasn't."

He took a deep breath, running his hand through his currently long hair before responding. "I did what I thought I had to do."

She smiled, genuinely this time. "I know." A look of worry flashed before her eyes and she coughed, bright red blood spewing from her mouth. She began to whimper and leaned forward, coughing again, staining the dead leaves below her dark crimson. "Liv?" His voice shook and she coughed again. "Stop!" He wasn't sure if was addressing Livia or the gods themselves. "Please," he whispered. "Just stop!"

Livia reached forward, grasping the front of his shirt tightly, and looked him square in the eye. "You did this! Don't let me -"

Tears were spilling down his face as he choked out his next words. "I didn't know it would turn out how it did. Please," he pulled her frail, paling form into his arms. "If I could go back and change it—"

Her emerald green eyes met his and he felt as if she were deciding the fate of his soul. "You wouldn't"

When Joren woke up, he was shaking.

The next morning Alanna awoke to an empty room. Joren's bed was neatly made, but Joren was nowhere to be found. She dressed, ate breakfast, and packed up her belongings, but he still didn't return. After an hour of waiting around, Alanna began to realize that maybe he wouldn't be coming back. So she paid the innkeeper, saddled up and mounted her horse, prepared to ride back to Tyra empty handed.

"Forgotten about me already?"

She sighed, and turned to face him. He walked up toward her, carrying a large bag, and leading his old black horse from his days at the palace. "Had to grab my things."

"I thought you'd run off."

"If I said I was coming with you, that means I'm coming with you. You didn't need to worry."

Alanna sighed. She had a feeling he wasn't telling her the whole story as to where he'd been. But they were already two hours off schedule and she didn't have the time to question him now. "Well, let's go then. We're already late."

Joren mounted his horse quite comically, trying not to use his broken wrist or his busted knee. He awkwardly pulled himself up into the saddle and Alanna couldn't help but laugh at the gawkiness, of his moves. Everything about the way Joren held himself was fluid and graceful, and to see him so gangly and ungainly cheered her up a bit.

Joren did not see the humor in this. "Are you laughing at me?" he questioned, breathless from the strain of pulling himself onto the back of the horse.

She was starting to shake now. "Yes!" and then, amongst gasps for air, she continued: "You can't even mount a horse, and yet you're going to help us save the world?"

Then, in a haughty tone, Joren defended himself. "I've been lying in a prison cell for three weeks! I'm just a little sore, that all. Plus, you're the one who came to me."

Alanna clutched her horse as her body shuddered with laughter and tears poured down her face. "I don't even….know…what's so….funny…" The absurdity of the situation was getting to her. After everything that she'd been through, after all that she'd lost, she was currently in the cultural capital of the world trying to "rescue" a pompous asshole who didn't even need rescuing.

"Me either," Joren began as led his horse past hers, trying his hardest to mask the smirk on his face. "If you don't stop you're going to fall off your horse." He yelled behind him as his horse broke off into a canter down the narrow sandy road in from of her.

It took four days until they set foot on Tyran soil. They made it to one of Carthak's many port cities before nightfall on day one and boarded a ship headed for Tyra the next morning. The trip over took almost three full days, where Alanna spent the time alone in her room, trying to fight off her usual bout of seasickness. Joren's words of warning about the longevity of his good mood were proven true and he stayed almost completely silent, talking to her only when absolutely necessary. He also spent the journey locked in his room, but Alanna had a feeling it was more for the fact that he wanted to be alone rather than seasickness like herself.

In the short time that she'd known him, Joren had proven to be somewhat of a challenge. When he was in a good mood, he was actually fairly enjoyable company. But when he was in a bad mood, he would bite her head off after the simplest of questions, or, for the majority of the time, ignore her entirely. She couldn't understand what triggered his frequent mood swings, but remembering the stories she'd heard from Keladry (or rather, Neal) about Joren in his younger days, she considered him now to be a vast improvement. She hated to say it, given all of the horrors she'd heard, but she actually found him to be a tolerable person. And she knew her former squire would probably refuse to speak to her once he found this out.

About an hour outside of port, Alanna was packing her things, and trying to hold down her breakfast, when she heard a knock at the door.

"Come in, Joren", she distractedly yelled toward the door, while throwing the last few items of her clothing into the top of an already bulging saddlebag.

The younger man lackadaisically strolled into the room and collapsed onto her bed. "Ok, so what's the plan?" He was dressed in what were probably some of the finer things he owned, a dark brown pair of breeches and a loose, off-white shirt, which probably weren't even worth a fraction of the amount of the most modest item that she owned. She was also aware that she wasn't the only one who noticed this, and she had a feeling that Joren had noticed it far earlier than she had. There was now a class difference between the two of them that hadn't been there before.

She stood up and brushed a strand of her now dark locks out of her eyes. "What plan?"

He snorted. "How about where exactly are we going? What are we going to do once we get there? Around how many people are there? Am I to be sleeping in a tent or are there actual houses there? How many more days of riding until we arrive? What do -"

She held up a hand and silenced him. "We are going to a small village in the northeast of Tyra, deep in hill country, a few miles from the Maren border. There ARE actual houses their; we've set up a community with healers, educators, mages, farmers, and weapons trainers. We're a fully functional town, and every citizen does his or her part to make sure we stay that way."

"Any blacksmith there?" She read right through the feigned indifference in his tone.

Alanna snorted. "So you're a former noble turned thief who moonlights as a blacksmith?"

He grinned. "I'm full of surprises." His grin faded once he remembered the last time he'd heard someone use those exact words. Alanna failed to notice and smirked. "Oh I don't doubt that. Anyway, in this village, where we do have a blacksmith, are around two hundred and fifty to three hundred people. Once we arrive, you will begin your training, and I will assist you to the best of my abilities."

Joren sat up, puzzled. "Training?"

"Yes. It will actually be remotely similar to your studies at the palace. You will continue weapons training, as well as hand-to-hand combat. You'll need to learn Scanran and, since you have the gift, you'll be mentored by a mage to help you increase your abilities." She said the last part lightly, hoping he wouldn't notice the true importance of her last words.

He scowled. "Does everyone have to do this or am I just a special case?"

"We all do. When we aren't out on 'missions' to find more of our own, we train, to keep our skills intact. Did you forget that we're trying to start a war?"

He sighed. "Fine then." And then he continued, boastfully. "Oh, and I can already speak Scanran. And Tyran, Gallic, and Yamani."

His tone was arrogant, but boosting his ego didn't stop her from looking at him, wide eyed with shock.

"I told you I was full of surprises."

"That you did. That being said, we are meeting up with a few more Tortallians at the Tyran border. We'll travel the last half of the journey with them." She shifted her weight, slightly uncomfortable, a tell that Joren noticed.

"What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing". She said, a little too quickly.

"Alanna," he stood up and walked over to her, his forehead furrowing with worry. "Who exactly are we meeting?"

She grinned sheepishly.

Nealan of Queenscove was an attractive man of average height and build, with unruly brown hair and clear, mischievous green eyes. Dressed in an expensive pair of breeches and shirt, he fit the part of refined gentleman perfectly. Well, he would have fit the part, had he not been throwing odd stones from the shore at a group of gulls gathered a few yards up.

"Neal, stop it! What if you hit one?" his closest friend, Keladry of Mindelan yelled at him from the water's edge. They had been inseparable since they were pages together, and the trying circumstances of the past few years had brought them even closer. Death was everywhere still, but Neal hadn't dealt with the death of a loved one firsthand, as Keladry had. Her fiancée was murdered in front of her two years before; he died in her arms. She didn't speak for three months after that and she had just recently begun to show signs of healing fully. She was finally joking around with him, much like the Kel from before, but there was still a darkness to her spirit that he had a feeling would never disappear

"You've seen my aim, Kel. You know I haven't got a chance."

She smirked and walked toward him. "You're right. I have nothing to worry about." The crisp sea breeze chilled her exposed neck and sent the few strands of hair that weren't secured in her tight bun whipping. "When did Alanna say she'd be here?"

"Around," he wound up and threw another pebble, missing again, "Ugh, lunchtime. Any time now. Do you know who she was going after this time?"

She sighed and placed her hands on her hips, stretching out her back. "She didn't say. You know she never says in case she can't find them."

"I know." He said, throwing and missing again. "But normally you figure it out."

"That's only because Alanna normally makes it plainly obvious, especially when she spends the previous week only asking about the person she's sent to retrieve."

Neal smirked. "But?"

Neal knew her too well. "But Numair showed particular interest in whoever it was."

Neal turned to face her. "Do you think they found Daine?"

"No, if it were Daine then I would think that Numair would have made the journey with her. It's probably just a mage or someone with a strong gift that Numair will have to train. Like last time." Neal's face fell, crestfallen, but he hid this from his friend by bending over and picking up another rock. "That ship out there – do you think it's them?" She gestured to a small ship that had just anchored in the harbor.

Neal glanced quickly out toward the sea. "Probably." He released the rock, quickly raising his arms over his head in celebration once he hit his target. "I hit one!"

Kel glared at him. "It's not moving".

They ran over toward the fallen gull. "Well Neal, are you happy? You killed it."

He paled. "It's bad luck to kill a gull."

"There's no such thing as luck." Kel darkly looked out toward the harbor, where the boat had now docked. "Come on, or we'll miss Alanna." She started walking up the beach. Neal caught up to her and placed his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I killed the bird." As his green eyes met her hazel ones, she couldn't help but laugh. "Forgive me?"

"Now you've jinxed us even more." She laughed at the slightly worried expression he was trying to conceal.

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm about to hate you?" Joren questioned as he leaned on a gate by the dock.

"You mean you don't hate me already? I'm touched." Alanna held her hand over her eyes, shielding out the sun, while scanning the crowd for her friends.

He snorted. "Yeah, we could've been great friends."

Alanna smiled and patted his arm. "We still will be." She jumped off the gate and walked toward the crowd. "There they are."

As Joren scanned the crowd from his position on the fence, his eyes were drawn immediately toward her. She was tall, a good head taller than her companion, who Joren immediately recognized to be Nealan of Queenscove, her best friend ever since he'd known her. Even Joren wouldn't deny that she was beautiful, but with her now long light brown hair tied into a tight bun and a stern expression on her face, she still gave off the vibe of someone who wasn't to be messed with. Not that that had ever stopped him before. Inhaling deeply, he set off toward the group, putting all of his effort into hiding his faint limp. He would rather be damned than show any sign of weakness, especially to them.

Keladry broke out into a huge smile as she embraced her former idol. As she looked around, she realized that Alanna was alone. "You couldn't find them?"

Alanna smiled up at her warmly. "No, he's right over by the gate."

Neal looked over toward the gate and groaned. "I told you I shouldn't have killed the damn bird."

Kel ended their embrace and looked toward the gate. The man was too far away to see, but he was now walking toward them. "Why? Who is it?"

Alanna sternly looked each of them in the eye. "Now, I'll tell both of you like I told him: remember that eight years have passed. A lot has happened in eight years."

Keladry felt sick. "Joren. It's Joren."

"Remember Kel, he ran away last time, he'll run away again." Neal was fuming now. He turned to Alanna. "How could you bring him?!"

Alanna looked as if she were about to hit him, and opened her mouth to probably yell, but Kel spoke up first. "He didn't run away."

Both of them looked at her incredulously. Their replies were cut short, however, as Joren finally reached the group.

If she hadn't been expecting him, she would have never recognized him. He was more striking than ever, much to her dismay. She knew it to be childish, but a small part of her hoped him to be covered in boils or something equally disfiguring. She was partly pleased, however, when she noticed that he stood no taller than she did. She jokingly wondered how it would be possible for him to look down on her, when nature forced him to look her eye to eye.

Alanna put her arm around him. Neal, noticing this gesture stared at her in disbelief. "Nealan, Keladry, this is Joren. I think you've all met before, but that was very long ago, so I thought I'd make an introduction, just to be sure." She was rambling, trying to disguise the obvious awkwardness of the situation.

No one said or did anything for a few moments before Neal's perpetual kindness finally kicked in and he stuck out his hand to Joren, who smirked down at it without even moving his. After a few seconds, Neal dropped his hand, with a look of what was the closest to hatred that Joren assumed Neal could ever feel.

Alanna cleared her throat. "Are you all ready to leave then?"

AN: I worked really really hard on this so please review, even if it's just to say that you don't like it. I just want to know that someone is actually reading this.

I posted the unedited version of this first, but this is the fixed chapter, sorry.