No one would have ever thought the sewers to be such a welcoming place. But at that moment, Eleanor let it all sink in. Every single bit of the stinking still water and moss covered walls. She stopped for a moment, breathing rather heavily. Her arm was still a bit scorched and toasty from the run-in she had with bandits. She ripped open her sleeve, taking in a sharp breath through her teeth as the cold damp air hit her exposed skin. She slowly released the breath in her lungs and placed her hat back on her head. Milo whined at her side, getting skittish at his owner's pain.

"I'll be fine," she stroked the top of his head. "But I sure am glad to be back in this stink hole."

She picked herself off the wall. Like any other burn, it looked ugly but the pain was tolerable. The cold air was most certainly not helping. But she did not want to put her jacket back on until the wound was properly taken care of.

"Why do they keep sending me to place that smell terrible, hmm boy? The swamp, the sewers, the cesspools of Industrial. Why can't they send me to the Millfields. Or even Silverpine. Just somewhere that doesn't wreke."

As she rounded the corner, she saw the two men standing guard in front of the bolted door that lead to the rebellion hideout. They raised their eyebrows as she approached them.

"That's a mean burn you have," one of them commented.

"Nothing Page can't fix," she smiled as she watched them open the door.

After it was shut, she could hear them conversing amongst each other. Whether it was about her or not didn't matter. Cuts and bruises always seemed to disappear before morning. This was the first burn she's had in a long time. In the past, the burns were many but very minor. The direct contact of flame on skin made her uncertain if she would heal properly. Not that the thought of scars worried her. She had already procured several of those.

The men gave her slight salutes as she walked by them, Swift Brigade and Resistance alike. Wherever there was caution before was now gone. Some had made the headquarters their home. It wasn't much, but it was better than having nothing at all. Either their families were no longer in Bowerstone or had claimed them dead. Odd as it was, some of them preferred to remain dead and hidden. Whatever the reason, she was just happy they had somewhere to go. The beds were cots made of old mattresses and blankets. Few were even lucky enough to get scrap wood to make frames to raise them off the cold cobblestone floor. They were allowed to make fires in small braziers for warmth. Some nights, Elle even dared to call it her home.

When she finally reached the vault door to Page's chambers, she gave it a slight tap. Out of shame, she was hoping no one would hear it. But Page's hearing was sharp and there was very little she missed. Eleanor heard the door click from the other side. Page swung it open to find Elle with a sheepish grin on her face and a tattered leather jacket in hand.

"Had a bit of trouble?"

Elle held up her thumb and index finger leaving about a half inch between them. "Just a little," she replied.

The side of her mouth curled into a disappointed smirk. "Come on, then. "

She pulled out a chair from behind her round table. Elle had been in the war room several times. She preferred to use the map of Albion in the center rather than try to study one in her Sanctuary. It was too quiet there. Jasper enjoyed it, but it was too much for her. Perhaps if she had decorated like Page had decorated the war room, it would be more comfortable. It was cluttered but it had a cozy feeling to it. In the corner on the wall by Page's bed was a poster of the woman herself. She had found a wanted poster and claimed it for a decoration. It was very clever and Eleanor could only wish she had a poster of her own. Amongst all the other disorder in the room, she began to notice all the food and medical supplies strewn across it.

"Where did you get all this stuff?" she asked as Page re-approached her from the other side of the room.

"A girl has her connections," she shrugged.

"It looks like you have a lot of decent connections."

"I have to take care of my people. No one else will."

Eleanor pondered upon her words. In her few dealings with the leader of the Resistance, they hadn't quite seen eye to eye. They both wanted the same thing but aspired to take different routes in doing so. If there was any way to get Page completely on her side, she was going to have to agree with a small percentage of what she said.

"I will," Eleanor said, grabbing her hand suddenly as Page reached over.

Page looked up to make eye contact with her. The woman's gaze was strong and cold. There were no emotions to read, no hint of what she could be thinking. When she didn't pull away, Eleanor took it as a good thing. So she loosened her grip and let Page do her work.

"How did this happen?" she asked as she started to bandage it.

"I was fighting bandits."

"And they did this to you?"

"There were a lot of them."

"It's a burn. Not a cut."

"I got wacked with a torch," she shrugged. "What can I say? Dirty thieves burned my jacket."

Page gave a little shrug. She took a pin from the desk at her side and placed it through Eleanor's bandage, careful not to pierce her flesh. It was clear she had done this several times before. She stood back with her hands on her hips and gave a quick nod.

"That should do it for now. Let me know when you need it changed."

"Yeah," Elle agreed, getting up from her chair and slowly putting her jacket back on. "We should have a look at it in the morning."

"Sure. Just take it easy for a while, okay? Have a drink or something," Page suggested, though still not cheerfully, and walked Eleanor to the door.

Page shut the door and bolted it as soon as Eleanor left. Taking it easy was some fair advice and Elle took it upon herself to have a decent evening. She made her way to the "recreational" room. It was a small room filled with almost empty shelves. In the center was a table propped up with the books on one side. There she found a group of men seated around that table. Each of them was sitting on either crates or barrels. There were no real chairs to be found other than in the war room. Elle had overheard Ben complaining about it one afternoon when he wanted to play cards. This was precisely what they were doing when she walked into the room.

"You were gone for ages," Ben jested from the table. "What took you so long?"

"I had a little incident."

"Let's have a look at it, then," he waved her over.

He took one last glance at his hand and set it down on the table. A man she hadn't met before, but she assumed was from the Resistance, pulled a crate from the other side of the room. She thanked him and sat down. Very carefully, she removed her jacket. It smelt like burnt leather and left a black powder on her hands. The bandage that Page had just placed on her was already soot ridden.

"It's just a bit of a burn. I should recover fairly quick. Ben, don't unwrap my bandage, please."

"It's beautiful," Ben said quietly.

Of all the things her wounds had been called, beautiful was not something she had heard just yet. Confused and curious, she looked back over to Ben who was still carefully examining her. She realized he had not been staring at her wound at all but her arm, itself. He was touching the side of her arm, pushing on it in an attempt to get her to turn further. It curled around her shoulder and disappeared behind her blouse.

"Thank…you," she replied undecidedly.

The men began to give each other teasing looks to each other across the table. Eleanor had not noticed. And even if she had, she would not have known what they were giggling about. Ben began to trace his finger along her tattoo. It wasn't raised. And the color was a bright yellow. He was surprised at how well the ink stayed. It hardly looked like ink at all. She started to get goose bumps.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," he said with a cunning smile.

"They're still fairly new," she chuckled. "Are you finished? I'm getting cold."

"Sure," Ben said, leaning away from her. "What do you mean 'they'? You have more than one?"

"Yes," she said while putting her jacket back on. "Heroes get these markings as they use their abilities. So I've found that I have several."

"And here I was hoping you had a story that involved massive amounts of alcohol."

The men around the table had a good laugh while Eleanor shook her head with a slight blush. She giggled along with them before quieting them back down.

"Alright, alright. I came to play cards, boys. So deal them out."

"Let's hope you aren't as bad as your mother," a familiar voice said from the doorway.

"Walter! Come on in! Have a seat, mate."

One of the men stood up in respect for the old man, offering his own seat to grab another next to the closest book shelf. Walter thanked him and sat across from Eleanor. He seemed to be in high spirits.

"What are we playing?" he said, rubbing his hands together.

"Black Jack," Ben answered boldly.

"What are we playing for?" Elle asked.

"Pretty much whatever we have in our pockets."

Eleanor reached in her pocket. She had a few coins and a paperclip she often used for picking locks. You could tell by the way it was shaped. The men around her had picked up what the clip was the moment they laid eyes on it.

"There's something we could actually use," someone commented.

"It's better than Ben's lint anyway."

"Hey, I offered an apple," Ben pointed at the man who insulted him.

"It was nearly a week old! Covered in nasty green stuff."

"You said everything in your pockets. I didn't make the rules."

Eleanor scratched the back of her head, shaking it with a small smile. Walter, sitting across from her, grinned over at her. Much like how a father would his child, filled with pride and happiness.

"You did good out there," he said while the others argued amongst themselves. "Bowerstone is hearing of your deeds and Page is impressed."

"So can we count her in?"

"She'll be there when we call," he nodded with approval.

Eleanor began to fiddle with her cards, thumbing the corners and drifting off in thought. Ben watched her quietly for a moment, patiently waiting for her to lay down her hand. She sighed, reached for a card, hesitated, and then reached for another. When she finally picked a card to lie on the table, Ben had already laid his hand down and was resting his chin in his hand.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. You just seem a bit out of it,"

"I'm fine," she reassured him.

"You might be. But something," he pointed at her, "is on your mind."

"There seems to be a lot on my mind these days," she teased with a grin. "But I'll give you three guesses."

Ben returned her smile with one of his own. He stretched back on his barrel, making it lean backward with him. He propped his feet on the table and situated himself to make the barrel sit flat on the floor. He thought for a moment, biting the corner of his lip while doing so. It was a terrible habit of his.

"The woes of a rebel princess," he murmured under his breath. "Let's see… Is it problems with the Resistance?"

Eleanor shook her head and held up a finger.

"Right. You seem to be on pretty good terms with them by now. Unless it's Page?"

"Wrong again, Captain," she held up a second finger.

"Oh, come on. That didn't count. It did? Well damn… You've got a whole load of burdens resting on your shoulders. The kingdom, the king, the people. Nothing makes you budge under pressure. Unless," he sat up straight, making the barrel rock underneath him. "Unless it's about a boy."

He stared Elle right in the eyes. He was an eager man, waiting impatiently for her answer. And she waited at least a minute before she put her hand down. Ben gave a victory pump with his arm. The man in front of her made Eleanor smile even though her heart sank for the man in the past. There were other things on her mind that should have her full attention. But she couldn't shake off this lonely feeling that suddenly overcame her.

"Alright," Ben said abruptly. "What's his name?"

"Hmm? Oh, his name. Well, it's not exactly like that."

"Is that so? What is it like, then, Princess?"

"Please, just Elle. We've been over this. Formalities really aren't needed."

"Not when you're dressed like that, I suppose," he jested. "So, let's have it. It's just me in here, now. You can spill it out. I'm excellent for keeping secrets."

"Liar," she joked back at him. "But I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you. You seem to have had your fair share of loveless encounters."

"Aye," he nodded and leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "I'm not bad at giving advice either."

She pursed her lips together and leaned forward to match him. She scanned his face and looked him in the eyes, trying to make certain she really wanted to reveal her troubles. Brightwall had been a place where she had made many friends. People she could confide in. But she was back in Bowerstone. And there were very few she could trust. Fighting by someone was one thing. But pouring out your feelings was another. Being stabbed by a dagger was pain that would eventually go away. But being stabbed in the back by fickle gossip and rumors was a pain entirely different. But Ben was a man. And a man good enough to keep his word, to an extent.

"I rescued a man," she began.

"Ah, is that what you were doing in the cesspools. I was wondering about that. Well done."

"Thank you. But he… he wanted to leave his fiancé."

"I was under the impression he was held for ransom by bandits."

"Oh, he was. His fiancé specifically asked me to find him. She was in tears. And when I found him, he wanted to leave her for me," she wrinkled her nose at the thought of the man. "He insisited."

Ben let out an unexpected burst of laughter. "You shouldn't fret your pretty little head. Men are bound to throw themselves at you."

"I just thought that love was… I don't know something to cherish. Something you can't just throw away or trade in for a new one."

"Love is tricky that way," he shook his head. "You think you know it. Understand it. Then everything changes."

It was late in the night and it was definitely wise to get to bed before the torches went out and the tunnels filled with darkness. Ben got up and stretched his arms high into the air, standing on his tip-toes with a great yawn. Eleanor looked Ben over. It was true she had already studied him back at the fort. And nothing had really changed that much. His hair was still a mess, his chin was rough with stubble, and he was still filthy. But she felt something different when she looked at him. As much as she tried to spot what exactly it was that changed, she examined his demeanor. It could have been anything from his eyes to his smile, she wasn't really sure. One thing was certain; her cheeks began to flush with heat when her eyes met his.

"Good night, Elle," he said and started to walk away. "There was something I did want to ask you…"

Eleanor turned in her chair to face him. "Another difficult question, I'm assuming?"

"The other night," he leaned in the doorway, "When I told you I knew."

"I'm surprised you remember."

It struck Eleanor with confusion when Ben did not laugh. He struggled with his words, just standing there looking at her intently. He bit his bottom lip, almost deciding he would rather not ask at all. Nevertheless, with truth be told, Ben was a curious man. It was one of the reasons he had gotten himself into trouble. Finally, after listening to enough silence, he determined it was too late to take it back.

"Did you love him?"

Eleanor froze, her fingertips tingling from the cold than chilled her blood. "Who?"

It was the long moment of hesitation beforehand that caused him to suddenly change his mind. "Never mind, Elle. I shouldn't have asked."