Dawn had passed an hour ago, blood red rays splitting the gloom with inevitable slowness, bringing light to the world for one more day. It was an eerie kind of moment, almost tranquil if not for the chittering of birds. Worst of all, it allowed one to think deep thoughts. The ones that occurred to the Heart Guard's redheaded commander were along the lines of wonder. Barely a day had passed since the war for Soluunar's fate had been fought and here she was playing cloak and dagger in the company of lords once again. There were still men yet to awake from the shock of their wounds received in that brawl, yet the machinations of politics and men too stupid to see the danger at the end of their nose waited for no-one.<br/><br/>As the sun rose fully above the horizon, it illuminated the flat, oddly truncated peak of Highborn Rock, a sort large, rocky hill that many of the southerners had taken to calling a mountain. If only they knew. It was less than an hour to the base of the structure, if she was any judge of distance, which meant that the sentries at the old fort carved out of the hill's side could not have missed seeing them by now. Five hundred years ago it had belonged to the Guard, part of payment received for<span style="font-style: italic">altering</span>a line of succession, back when they had numbered ten thousand instead of a mere five hundred souls under arms. Now it was a crumbling ruin, manned by ex-Guard and their families, a bustling community in it's own right. The fort itself was a ruin, useless as a fortification by now, but it was a home of sorts.<br/><br/>A few hours of rest in the shade of it's walls would be all they could spare before they would return. After all, politics waits for no-one.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/><br/>They had been in the shade of the Rock for three hours now, a light camp thay could be broken quickly should the need arise. Barth had given a few interesting pointers to her lancers about setting a really fast camp, something she both approved of and disliked. He had gotten far too comfortable at telling her troops what to do in the short time he had been around and she had grown irritable with him over it. They were hers, not his. Never his.<br/><br/>Lance-Captain Arela had brought around a jug of wine liberated from the fort above, although she had quipped something about 'not having the head for it' when it came to filling Daria's cup. She was right of course, she couldn't hold a few cups of wine even if her life depended on it. One couldn't have eveything. Once the tired laughter had faded and sore legs had some life massaged into them, they began turning the whole thing around again.<br/><br/>Daria's head was muzzy, after only two cups that had even been watered down, but she could show no such weakness, no matter how much she felt like lying down. Commands were given, shouting was avoided and a quiet laugh was held by her fellow captains at her hidden distress. She was distressed enough to send a rather rude gesture Arela's way at one point, much to the other woman's amusement. They were a family, a disparate, broken family of the worst scum of humanity. But they were still a family, one they had chosen rather than the other way around.<br/><br/>Soon she would likely have to send more of them to their deaths, a thought that gnawed at her again as the column trudged back through it's own tracks. The title of First Captain had been hers for only just a week now. There came the feeling that she was a child playing dress-up. She recalled the fond memories of her father, not the man who had fathered her, but the man who had raised her. The one who had made her strong. The one she betrayed. Tears came to her eyes unbidden, unseen by those behind her as they followed her once more into uncertainty and possible death.<br/><br/>"Father... forgive me. Please."