Archive of Our Own ^beta

1. First Meeting

She’d been taller than he’d expected, so used to the Lioness’s small pugnacious frame. Tall for her age, he thought for a few years she’d still be equal to a boy in size and strength. It normally wasn’t until they were squires that the boys would shoot up like young saplings and eat their knight-masters’ purses empty. Still he looked at her and his guts roiled. She was only a few years older than his little Margarey, than the young princess had been when she screamed at the Hurrok’s attack. He couldn’t see what madness drove her to leave her proper role, to risk so much hatred when he knew she could never live up to the standards of a male knight.

His frown deepened as he took in her blackened eye. What sort of kingdom were they coming to, where a young noble girl wasn’t safe in her own home? Her father’s demeanor gave him no further hints, as smooth and placid as a statue. What kind of man was so calm at the idea of placing a daughter further into danger?

He was surprised to see how evenly she met his eyes. It wasn’t the aggressive stare that the Lioness was known for, this was far calmer and more self-contained. Even without the aggression he’d half expected, most of the boys her age struggled to look him squarely in the eyes, normally looking to the side or focusing on his scars. Eventually she dropped her eyes, but still she kept her shoulders strong and her face as unreadable as her father’s. Inwardly he sighed. He’d half hoped that the sight of him, with the injuries he’d suffered still so stark on his face, would have deterred her. He knew she’d seen a brother badly injured in the war as well, how could she still want this?

He waved her down to sit, and began his prepared lecture. He knew it was harsh to the point where his daughters would have been in tears, and he hated the cruelty he was being forced to use. But this was not safe, it was not her proper sphere, and he would use any tool necessary to make her leave before she was harmed by her wrong-headed decision.

Her father stirred and objected, finally, at the comments about flirtation. Inwardly, Wyldon knew that was probably a step too far. At the same time, he knew well the comments that she would face, the comments he’d heard many times about women in the Queen’s Riders. If she could not face the basic precautions to protect her reputation now, it would be ruined by the time she left the page training. A few weeks, a month or two living among boys would be enough for the nasty-minded gossips. A ten-year-old girl was not thinking in advance about her proper marriage, but her parents should have considered this already and warned her properly. Wyldon’s own comments and efforts would be too little, too late if she did not act to maintain propriety.

When he finished his comments, he studied her again as he asked her for her questions. Little Margarey by this point would have been spilling over with comments and complaints, if she had not simply burst into tears during his speech. He granted Keladry a small measure of respect, she simply listened, and denied any questions. She walked out calmly to find her new room without the tears, anger, and histrionics he’d prepared for.

Mirthos bless, the girl was not what he’d expected.

2. Fighting

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or furious when the palace servants came to him with the news that she had been fighting three older pages. He kept his face stone-still as he listened to Joren, Zahir, and Vinson in turn mouth the same tired excuse all pages gave. He was bitterly disappointed, especially in Joren, who should know well how to follow the code of chivalry. Regardless of her attempt at knighthood, Keladry was female, and deserved the protection owed to a noble girl. Outside of the practice fields, she should have been sacrosanct.

On the other hand, perhaps this mishap would be enough to convince the girl that she should not be here, that regardless of her performances on the practice field, she was not prepared for a real fight. And for that, the fight could have had better timing. Snow was coming, would in fact be present on most of the roads north, and with that snow and ice she might well end up having to stay at the palace until Midwinter, and joining one of the noble families in a larger group returning home then. Travel would be difficult then, but still possible, and with the time to give up and refocus, surely Keladry would move on to her proper, safer, place in the world. He could stop worrying over her, and the King would have to admit that aside from the Goddess-touched Alanna, knighthood was not for the more vulnerable gender.

He rebuked the boys absently, assigning the correct punishment by rote, as he made mental plans for Keladry’s escort back to her father’s estate. As Vinson exited, Wyldon called for her to come in. He glanced at her and shook his head, barely holding back a wince. He’d have her see the palace healers before she left. Baron Piers might be a calm man, but any father would be appalled to see his daughter so battered. Wyldon grabbed for his handkerchief and thrust it at her, needing to at least have her wipe the blood away. He took up his mug and sipped at the rapidly cooling tea, letting the distraction sooth him while he worked his way into this discussion. It was clear to him that she would not begin it.

“Would you care to explain?” he asked, keeping his voice low and gentler than he normally would with the boys.

“Sir?” Keladry responded, as if she were unaware of what had brought her to this point.

Evidently, it would take more to make her talk. “How were you injured? As I recall, you were in one piece earlier tonight?” There, now she could confess it and he could ship her back home with no further worries.

The girl winced, then replied, “I fell down, Lord Wyldon.”

She what? He let more of the outrage he felt at her injuries seep out as he snapped back at her, “What did you say, probationer?”

She slid partially into the proper reporting posture, but could not move her arm properly back. Impatiently, he waved it off, more focused on the ancient excuse she was repeating. Who had taught her the page’s customary response? Who had decided that she would be in enough fights to need to know it? It wouldn’t have been Queenscove. Queenscove, for all of his impertinence, would never have encouraged the girl into fighting.

Keladry stood there stoically, and repeated, “I fell.”

What followed felt like a farce to him, as he tried to coax her into telling him the truth and she repeated the customary page lie. Frustrated, he moved on to the next topic of the meeting, her travel plans back north. “I imagine you have now come to your senses and wish to go home. At this time of year that will be difficult-”

She interrupted him, “No, sir.”

He started for a moment, then continued, “It will not be difficult? For your information, it has been snowing in the north over the past two weeks. It will snow here tonight.” His aching arm could forecast that better than most weather mages at this point.

The girl looked at him with uncharacteristic stubbornness visible on her face, apparent even through the bruising coming out in deep indigo and violet against her cheekbone. “No sir, I don’t want to go home. Your lordship.”

For a moment, he thought someone had spiked his tea. Surely he could not have heard her say that. Dumbfounded, he repeated her words, “You do not want to go home?”

He noticed absently that she’d smoothed out her face to perfect impassivity again. “I don’t believe falling down is an offense for which I can be expelled,” she said. “I still have the rest of the year to prove myself.”

He couldn’t believe her. Then again, he couldn’t believe most of this past year had happened, was continuing to happen. He sought refuge in the scripted punishments, finally assigning her the same level and severity of punishment he’d use on any of the boys, before ordering her to the healers for her broken nose. He didn’t send a note to the healers with her, knowing that Duke Baird and the others under him would use it as an excuse to heal more of her injuries than he would normally request for the other pages.

She bowed in response, and then awkwardly tried to hand back the handkerchief stained with her blood. He refused to touch it, refused to have more tangible evidence that he was still failing to get her to see why she must leave. Perhaps when it was washed he would wipe out the memory of her injury.

(Interlude: When Wyldon surprised himself)

He’d fought himself, letting her stay. In the end, it hadn’t been her scores in her classes, which were middlingly high except for mathematics and diplomacy, where she’d far outstripped the boys. It hadn’t been her performance on the practice fields, though she’d gone farther than he’d ever expected, forced herself beyond what the boys her age were doing. It hadn’t even been her calm and skill rallying the boys on the spidren hunt, though Raoul of Goldenlake himself had singled her out for praise. He’d let the girl, let Keladry, stay because she’d fought through her fear. More than weakness of arms, more than lack of skill, fear was what defeated knights. Keladry had revealed her fear and still fought through it. She’d shook with terror, fear stripping away her placid mask, yet she’d followed his orders on the walls of the palace. She’d thrown up, over and over again, as he’d ordered her to climb trees when he never pushed the boys. And each day, she’d climbed as far as she could, obeying him until her body refused to move. She’d ignored the taunts of Joren and his friends, ignored Queenscove’s rants, which Wyldon had overheard on multiple occasions, and still she’d climbed.

When she walked into his office, the last day of her probationary year, he saw the same fear in her eyes, though her face was still and smooth as ever. He’d hated himself for a moment, hated the idea that the girl would be so afraid of his words. Instead, he pleaded with her, tried to reason and explain what the rest of her career would look like. Nothing flickered in her face, not until he revealed that her return next year would be her own choice. He could no longer deny her a place, though he might wish she would withdraw for her own safety.

She’d stuttered in shock, but her eyes glowed with happiness, and she managed only the briefest politeness before she tore out of his office. He could hear her shout of joy from halfway down the corridor, and suppressed a smile. He hadn’t anticipated growing fond of the girl.

3. Battle Ready

Sweat trickled down his scalp, and Wyldon swiped at it with his handkerchief. The salt made his scars itch, only adding to his irritation, and he bit back a scowl. Faleron's group was late returning from their hunt, and he could not convince the twinging in his gut that it was simply a matter of too many younger pages getting lost in new terrain. The nagging sense that something was wrong was born of instinct hard-gained in battle, and he would not dismiss it until the last group was back, cringing under his lectures on tardiness and the set punishments. Already on edge, when some of Keladry's birds broke from the trees and flew arrow-straight towards him, beaks stained red and cheeping fit to burst, he did not hesitate. "Mount up!" he bellowed, "weapons at hand!" Pointing to a group of first year pages staring at him in shock he continued, "You there, grab the horses of our missing pages." It was the work of moments for him to saddle his own horse, his gear always at hand. For all his problems with the idea of a female page, he knew Keladry to be sensible. She was no alarmist, nor would her birds, palace reared and therefore shaped by the Wildmage's presence, be likely to overestimate a threat. Last year he'd followed them to spidrens, now he would follow them to his missing pages and the girl he knew they looked to. Glaring at Joren and Garvey, who were slower to prepare and mount than normal, he gathered the boys and the other teachers. It took only a few minutes longer to rearrange the boys into useful battle groups, assigning the first-years to responsible third and fourth year boys for direction. The lead bird perched on his shoulder while he made arrangements, then flew in the direction she had come from, before circling back to him. Had Wyldon possessed the Wildmage's talent for speaking with animals he still would not have needed it for this. The bird's command to follow her was clearer than speech would be. He chivvied the boys into a hard trot, following the birds deeper into the hills. Within a half-hour's ride they could hear the alarm horn blaring, and they sped into a canter. The ground before them cleared as they approached a cliff face, a bandit group laying siege to pages taking shelter in a cave half-way up the cliff.

The bandits scattered at their approach, and Wyldon shouted down the boys who seemed too eager to chase after them. Time enough to hunt bandits when they had given aid to the pages who had been attacked. His gut churned at the idea of seven pages, most of them first or second years, fighting bandits unaided. It was a miracle that any had survived long enough for him to arrive.

He stayed ahorse as he sent the Shang warriors up to assess the situation. Had he stepped down he knew his legs would have buckled at the thought of what waited for them up at the cave. The fact that there were no bodies aside from the raiders at the base of the cliff was a gift from Mirthos, but he still was not ready to view the damage within the cave. He stayed with the main page group and prayed desperately to the Black God that he would have no deaths to report to families.

When the first pages trickled down the trail, unwounded but shaken, he started blessing Mirthos again. The Shangs followed with Merric in a liter and his heart jumped back into his throat. As he arrived at the base, Neal following with a worried look on his face, Wyldon glanced over at Hakuin. The wry smile and slight shake of his head was enough to sooth Wyldon. Hakuin was an excellent judge of injury, his lack of worry overrode the stretcher and Neal's concern. Merric would recover fully, Wyldon was sure.

A snicker from some of the boys brought Wyldon's attention back up to the cliff face. Keladry was inching her way down, clinging to the stone on one side of the trail. Her terror was visible in every inch of her body. Wyldon bit back a curse. This was not how he had intended for Keladry to leave page training, but if she could not face real combat, better she know now than in the field as a squire. He had enough sympathy for the girl to wish she had not been faced with her failing in public, but the humiliation would fade.

Keladry reached the ground and promptly vomited. He waited far enough away to avoid splatter, then nudged his horse forward. Better to get this done fast, so he could get the boys back and Keladry sent home. "Well, Page Keladry," he began, "now you realize combat isn't woman's work. I hope you've thought better of this experiment of yours, now that you've seen blood."

Keladry paled afresh, but it was Jesslaw who spoke. "Sir, that isn't fair!"

Turning to face the interruption, Wyldon glared. "What is not fair, Owen of Jesslaw?" he asked. Jesslaw knew better than to interrupt.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Keladry's frantic signals for Owen to cease speaking. At least Keladry had an idea of proper decorum.

Jesslaw did not flinch. "Sir, you talk like Kel couldn't handle the fighting. She's the one who saved our bacon, Sir. She's just sick from the climbing. The fight didn't bother her, even when she killed that man." Jesslaw pointed to one side, where a bandit lay with a spear in his gut, evidence of how he'd met his end.

Wyldon flicked an eye at the man, then looked over at Keladry, who was clearing her mouth with a sip of water. She looked over at the man as well, then looked down.

Faleron spoke up then as well, following Jesslaw's lead. "We might be dead but for Kel, my lord. I froze when they came at us. Kel's the one with the cool head. She found that cave when we all thought we were trapped."

As if that were the trigger, each other boy from the trapped page group piped up, supporting Owen and Faleron's view. Wyldon stared at the girl until his horse shifted underneath him, calling him back to the present. The boy's story fit nothing of his expectations, but he could not believe they were lying. Somehow Keladry had held her mind in battle when everyone around her had failed. It made no sense when he considered Keladry as a girl. He ignored the nagging portion of his mind that reminded him that it made perfect sense if he considered Keladry the person.

He ordered the boys back to the army post, and Keladry to mount her horse. There was enough to worry about with an injured page and a district commander who had evidently lied to Wyldon and the King about the safety of his district. He would consider the surprise of Keladry later.

4. The Tower

Wyldon prided himself on knowing what was going on with his pages as soon as they did. He'd noticed Keladry's distraction during breakfast, but dismissed it as agitation around the big tests. Certainly Queenscove, her friend, was a nervous wreck.

But even Wyldon had not anticipated it when Keladry was late to the examinations room. It was not at all like her to miss anything, or to give his fellow conservatives a point to use against female knights. She had worked too hard to ruin her chances on something as easily avoided as lateness. He watched as a flurry of whispers started from Queenscove, whose face was rapidly alternating between blanching white, then flushing red. As Queenscove spoke, several of Keladry's other friends' faces grew serious. Young Owen looked as if he were about to march out of the room, had Queenscove not grabbed him by the arm and held him in place.

Had there been time, Wyldon would have gone over and demanded answers from Queenscove. But during the examinations, he could not speak to the page trainees for fear of bias. He was pinned by his duties to the program to stay in full view, away from both judges and pages until all was over.

And so he watched. He watched as the king shot a questioning glance at Prince Roald, a glance that was returned by the prince shaking his head slightly and cocking an eyebrow at Queenscove's face. He watched as the king's frown deepened, as Queen Thayet's face grew concerned. He watched as Keladry's parents whispered, calm faces dropped as the minutes dragged on and their daughter continued in her absence. He watched as Joren and his followers among the squires smirked, and knew in an instant that Joren knew what had kept Keladry away, even if he could never prove it. He watched as Queenscove ceased blanching, his face settling instead into a mask of determination not unlike Keladry's normal demeanor. Keladry's other friends picked up on Queenscove's attitude, and Wyldon watched as all gave renewed focus to their answers.

He continued watching, helpless to do otherwise, as the court followed the pages outside to the physical examinations, as one by one Keladry's friends rose above what he had expected of each of them, as if they were determined to do better for her than they'd ever done for him. He watched as the examinations ended with a whimper, with no one but Joren and his conservative followers seeming at all pleased. He listened as Joren's friends started laughing, with comments about how The Girl couldn't make it after all.

He left the examinations with a heavy heart and a lump of stone in his throat. Something had gone wrong, something beyond his control, and it all centered on Keladry. He was on his way back to his office when he noticed a flurry of activity around the watch office. He reached the office in time to see a watch sergeant carrying Keladry from the office, heading towards the page barracks with Ilane of Mindelan following after. He was torn between following Keladry and seeking answers, but if she was being taken towards her room instead of the healer's ward, she would be safe long enough for him to speak with the palace guards first. He entered to see Keladry's servant girl sobbing quietly, Keladry's dog in her arms, as men were bound and being taken out towards the watch office cells. Gingerly, knowing that the girl was not the sturdiest, nor exceptionally comfortable with men, Wyldon sat near Keladry's servant. The dog ceased growling and nudged him for a scratch, and Wyldon obliged. Keladry's girl looked at him then, as if she trusted the dog's assessment of Wyldon more than she did his rank. Wyldon would be insulted by that, if it weren't for the fact that he himself tended to trust an animal's take on a person above and beyond their rank and position.

Lalasa, as her name turned out to be, did not hesitate when he asked a few leading questions. Within moments she was spilling everything, from her uncle's asking Keladry to take her on, to the self-defense training Keladry apparently had insisted on giving her, to being kidnapped and taken to Baylor's Needle. At that Wyldon stiffened. He knew full well that there had been every chance that Lalasa could have fallen to her death from that tower, blindfolded as she was. He listened as Lalasa continued to talk, speaking of how Keladry had come for her. She sobbed then, and Wyldon awkwardly reached out to comfort her. He never knew what to do at this point, how to best sooth a woman who had suffered so greatly. He pulled out his handkerchief and passed it to her. She sniffled, using the handkerchief briefly, then continued with her story, telling both him and the watch commander, who had come over and started taking notes as soon as Lalasa had begun speaking, about the journey down the outer stair of the Needle, of the rusted steps and Keladry's unflagging determination to get all of them down safely. Wyldon bit back a startled comment then, knowing full well how terrified Keladry was of heights, and how much she must have pushed herself to take herself and her servant down those stairs.

Lalasa's uncle came in then, and Wyldon gratefully passed the girl into Gower's care. The watch commander pulled him aside to pass on his assurances that the men who had performed the kidnapping would be charged properly, and questioned under truth spells to find out who had sent them after Keladry and her servant. Wyldon nodded, mouthed the appropriate responses, and set out to inform the king and the judges of the interference. He knew full well that when they heard the story there would be a reckoning. And for once, he was completely on the king's side. Keladry had more than earned her chance at knighthood, and he would see those who would harm innocents to stop her brought to justice.

It was a grave conversation with Duke Turomot and King Jonathon. Both men were furious; the King at an attack on a servant in his own palace, the Duke in the interference with the due process of his examinations. Neither hesitated to support Wyldon when he asked them to grant Keladry a chance to take the examinations by herself, once she had recovered, though the King shot him a wry glance, as if amused that the man who had once campaigned so hard to see the girl refused entry into the page program now fighting to see her advance. Wyldon refused to look back at the King after that, knowing that he had changed his mind utterly on Keladry, but not seeing a reason to discuss it further with King Jonathon. The King had been right in Keladry's case, they did not have to rehash it when there were more serious concerns at hand.

Finally, with all arranged, Wyldon made his way to Keladry's room. He found her still sleeping, her mother stewing angrily as she watched over her daughter. The dog was curled up on a rug near the window, snoring softly. Ignoring Ilane's glare, he sat at the corner of Keladry's bed and nudged her into wakefulness. "Keladry. Time to wake up."

He was somewhat gratified that she responded immediately, waking and looking up at him. He smiled at her, "Well, there you are." He could feel Ilane's eyes boring into him. "Stop glaring, Ilane," he said.

"I'm not at all sure that she out to leave her bed," Ilane retorted. "From what her maid tells me, she's exhausted. Did you know she rises before dawn every day? And she fits weapons practice into every spare moment she has. The idea is to train them, not kill them, Wyldon."

Wyldon bit back a smile. He had not known, specifically, Keladry's training program, but he knew well that skill like hers was hard earned. "It's the training that keeps them alive in the field," he replied, turning his focus back to Keladry. "Page Keladry, you have things to do."

Keladry blinked absently, as if she was not fully tracking the conversation. "Is this the Realms of the Dead?" she asked.

Ilane broke in again. "No. You've slept awhile, and you had a healing. You know healings tire you." She started to hand Keladry a mug, then evidently re-thought it, looking at Keladry's weak attitude. Wyldon helped pull Keladry into a seated position, bracing her while her mother helped her to drink some sweetened tea.

"Jump?" Keladry asked, looking around for the dog she still pretended was not her own pet.

"Sleeping yet," Wyldon replied, and couldn't help the slightly pointed comment, "he seems particularly devoted to you."

He bit back another smile at Keladry's blush. He was almost sad to break the moment with the watch commander's news, but needs must. "The watch captain asks me to assure you that whoever paid those men to kidnap Lalasa will be found. I will make sure that is so, I want to learn what manner of creature would do so infamous a thing."

He noted Keladry's fists bunching in her sheets. Her anger matched his in this. The girl was protective of her friends and those who looked to her, an instinct he understood all too well. He watched her lock it down, and wondered why he had been so blind to their similarities. Had she come into the training program a boy, he would have been pleased from day one to train such as she.

Keladry turned from him then and smiled at her mother. "Mama, it is you. When did you get here?"

Ilane dropped the glare she'd been aiming at him and smiled at her daughter, brushing her hand along Keladry's hair, a move he remembered his wife doing often with their daughters when she was feeling particularly affectionate. "You do remember your father and I came to the big examinations. When I heard you'd been found, I went to see what was going on."

Keladry hung her head, "Sorry, Mama, I'm sorry you came for nothing." Over Keladry's head, Ilane glared at him again. Wyldon shifted uncomfortably.

He redirected his attention back to Keladry, "Wash up," he said. "It's time for supper. You will feel more the thing once you have eaten."

Fortunately for him, Keladry was not likely to argue with an order at the worst of times, much less now. She nodded sleepily at him, then wandered into her dressing room.

As soon as the door closed, Ilane turned to him. "And what, pray tell, are you doing to fix this?" For a moment, Wyldon was glad that Keladry had evidently received her father's temperament. Ilane in a fury was not something he ever wanted to see again.

He sat back onto Keladry's bed with a sigh. "I have already spoken to the king and to Duke Turomot. They both agree that this was entirely out of Keladry's control, that she will have the opportunity to take the examinations as soon as she is fully recovered." Keladry's dog climbed onto the bed and curled up into his lap, and Wyldon gratefully started petting him, taking the opportunity to avoid Ilane's piercing gaze.

Ilane tutted, then nodded begrudgingly at the accomodations made. She turned and moved to feed Keladry's sparrows as Keladry rejoined them.

"All set?" he asked Keladry, regretfully setting Jump down on the hearth rug. Opening the door he turned again to Keladry, "Come along then."

He paced down the hall, waiting to see what else Keladry had to say for herself. But she seemed to have regained her normal quiet demeanor, and as always, it was he who spoke first. "Well? Aren't you going to explain why you did not attend the big examinations today?" Keladry had been asleep during his investigations, she should have been hurrying to tell him what had happened. Any male page by this time would have been demanding an accommodation, if they had bothered to rescue their servant in the first place.

Keladry stopped, "Sir?" she asked, as if he had abruptly begun speaking in Carthaki.

He turned to face her. "The question is straightforward. Have you an explanation?"

She was still frowning in confusion as she replied, "You always say explanations are excuses, my lord. You don't want to hear them."

He stared at her. After all he had seen today, this still surprised him. What could he do with this girl, who took all of his lessons, even the ones he had never intended for her to learn, so to heart? At thirteen she was less likely to complain than many battle-blooded knights.

Finally a question came to mind. "What do you mean to do, then?" If she would not beg for an extension under the circumstances, was this what would cause her to leave training? He was surprised with himself at how much the thought hurt. He had been against her training from the start, and now he hated to think of her going.

She bit her lip, but her face smoothed out again as she replied, "Repeat the four years, I suppose."

Repeat the four years? As if she was a careless boy who could not be responsible enough to go into the field without further discipline? "Do you expect me to believe you are looking forward to that?" He asked, not knowing if she would even answer.

She shook her head, and Wyldon knew she was more upset than she was letting on. "No, my lord." she replied. "But I was very late. That's the penalty."

He reached out and clasped her shoulder, hoping she would take the comfort and assurance he meant by it. He had planned on letting her know Turomot's decision before the dinner, but now he thought she deserved to hear it in the group, with her friends beside her.

"Gods, Mindelan, I would you had been born a boy," he said finally, hoping she would take it as the apology he meant it to be for so much of the past four years.

And One time he Wasn’t Surprised: Protector of the Small

He wasn’t surprised when she left. He was furious with himself for leaving her alone in that moment, with the soldiers who didn’t stop to think that a commander like Keladry would never give up so easily, furious with the Scanrans, with the whole bloody war which left civilians dangling like irresistible bait for Maggur’s killing machines. He let Raoul rage at him in private, feeling it a just penance for his own stupidity in that moment. But he couldn’t call himself surprised.

He wasn’t surprised to wake up the next morning and find her yearmates gone, along with his squire. He knew they’d spent too long following her, even as pages, to turn their backs on her now. Nor was he surprised to find out that Lord Raoul had ordered a squad of the King’s Own after her. They would have followed her anyway, as he well knew. Raoul had just saved himself the headache that Wyldon would face when they returned.

He wasn’t surprised, so much as grateful when the killing devices collapsed. He knew, without Salmalin’s prattling explanations that Keladry had succeeded. She had never yet failed at any task she’d set herself, he could see no reason she would fail now.

He wasn’t surprised, a fortnight later, when Merric arrived, still looking half dead and bickering endlessly with Keladry’s adult refugees. Merric, Seaver, and Esmond had been sheet white and sick with fear facing him, but they’d done so with shoulders squared and honor in their eyes, and he’d simply been overwhelmed with pride at their choices. They’d delayed only long enough to see the refugees properly housed and Merric fully healed before they rode out.

He stood with Lord Raoul and Duke Baird at the bank of the river, watching as boat after boat arrived, bearing every child lost in the attack at Haven, plus a new batch of adults flocking after them. He bit back his smile; Keladry would not be expecting him to greet her with any good humor. Lord Raoul, beside him, had no such restraint and instead was grinning, his pride in his former squire visible in every inch.

Keladry came on the last boat, as he had anticipated. She looked tired, but her eyes no longer looked defeated and betrayed, they way they had when he had last seen her in Haven, staring at her ruined command. She looked settled into herself, certain of her choices. She walked up to him and knelt, bowing her head. Her two most devoted followers, Neal and Owen, joined her, while her various animal friends arranged themselves around her like Thayet's ladies surrounded the queen. The refugee children had been chattering as they came off the boats and found themselves safely back on Tortallian land, but their voices trailed off as they watched Keladry kneel in submission.

Raoul's voice broke the tension as he began bantering with his men. Wyldon ignored their teasing, save for the effect it had on Keladry. Some hidden tension in her shoulders released itself, another weight he had not realized she had been carrying gone. Without a signal needed from Wyldon, Raoul hauled his men off to their barracks to receive their report.

On his other side, Duke Baird drew the children and new refugees after him, leading them away from the river to where the adults of Haven were waiting. Wyldon let them go without a word. He needed this moment with Keladry to be without distraction.

When everyone else was gone, Wyldon still stood in silence. Owen broke it, as Wyldon knew he would. "My lord," he said, face streaming with tears, "I'm sorry, but I got Happy killed. I didn't mean to, he fought as hard as any knight, but he got killed anyway, and I never wanted that."

Of all the explanations possible, and Owen began with that one? Clearly, Wyldon thought, he had not been doing a good enough job at drilling priorities into his squire's head. It was something they would need to work on in the last few months before his Ordeal. "Is that all you have to say to me, that your horse is dead?" he asked.

"No my lord," Owen bowed his head again. "I disobeyed you. I betrayed you. And I'd do it again, under the circumstances, not meaning any disrespect, sir. But I miss Happy."

Well, perhaps less work was needed on prioritization than he thought. Clearly Owen at least had his priorities in order, though he still lacked the ability to report them in any logical semblance. Wyldon decided not to comment further, instead turning towards Neal. "And you, Sir Nealan, have you any comments?"

Wonder of wonders, Neal resisted the urge to pontificate, instead replying with a subdued, "No, my lord."

Wyldon focused back on his squire. "I believe, Owen, that you are familiar with my dislike of needless dramatics," he said. "I am not about to declare you a traitor because the mount I gave you was killed in battle. He did what he was trained to do. I am sad for the loss of the horse - he was one of the best I've raised - but I would be sorrier still for the loss of a squire in whom I can take pride."

He took a moment of satisfaction from the dumbfounded, "Sir?" that came from all three kneeling in front of him.

Wyldon straightened further, crossing his arms as he began lecturing. "One of the hardest lessons for any commander is this: it is a very bad idea to issue an order one knows will not be obeyed. Lady knight," he turned to look directly at Keladry, "had my mind not been on other things, I would have known better than to forbid you to rescue your people. I had placed them under your care, knowing you would protect them with every skill at your disposal. I cannot now say I didn't want you to take your responsibility too seriously. The same applies to Sir Nealan and to Sir Merric, who were also charged with their well-being. If I do not punish you, then I cannot in fairness punish those who aided you."

Neal and Owen looked shocked, though Neal at least was fast moving out of shocked and into pleased. Keladry still looked dumbfounded, which was further proved when she began to protest, "But my lord..."

She got no further before Neal broke his stance to loop an arm around her head, a hand across her mouth. Wyldon was too far away to hear what he whispered to Keladry, though Wyldon was fairly certain he could guess the general theme. Neal looked up and unabashedly lied to his face, "She took a blow to the head, I think. It leads her to say odd things. She needs a stay in the infirmary, just until she comes to her senses."

Wyldon sighed and fussed with his sword belt for a moment to hide the urge to smile. "It appalls me to say this, but for the first time I find myself in agreement with Sir Nealan." At the smug look on the boy's face he warned, "Do not let it go to your head."

Keladry still looked confused. Gods save him from earnest lady knights with more honor than sense. He looked at the boys on either side of her and stated, "I would like a moment alone with the lady knight. Go with your friends."

Neal withdrew his hand from Keladry and stood, but it was Owen who surprised him. "You're not going to yell at her, are you sir?" he asked, before continuing, "because you can't."

Had he not been so shocked by his squire's comments, Wyldon might have been amused at the looks of terrified startlement clear on Keladry and Neal's faces. "I beg your pardon?" he asked instead.

Owen straightened further as he replied, "She doesn't deserve to be yelled at, not after losing so many people and killing Blayce and being wounded and keeping us alive."

Wyldon rubbed at the scar creasing his forehead before stating, "I do not intend to yell at her. Now will you go away?"

Neal and Owen bowed hastily, pulled Keladry to her feet, and walked over to where Merric, Seaver, and Esmond were waiting to take them back to the fort.

Keladry stood, met his eyes, and spoke with her characteristic forthrightness, "You have every right to yell at me, my lord. Go ahead, I deserve worse."

Nothing he could say could capture his pride in her, his satisfaction at seeing what she had become despite him. Stepping forward, he took her head in his hands and kissed her on the forehead, hoping that she would understand beyond what his limited words could express. "You are a true knight, Keladry of Mindelan," he told her. "I am honored to know you."

And taking her by the hand, he led her to follow where her charges had gone ahead.