She stood in the crowd, jostled against the remaining foot soldiers and her fellow Sisters. The Prince-Commander had returned, apparently mostly unharmed, and all available men had been summoned out for some official something-or-other. Sen, already unimpressed with anything “official”, found herself becoming even more so the longer she remained entrenched between people who shared her priorities. Besides, her extremely justified panic and subsequent suspicion over Haman following the Prince’s “kidnapping” had left her somewhat drained, especially in the light of new evidence suggesting it had all been for some sort of ruse to which she had not been privy. She didn’t mind being kept out of political intrigue and plots and all of the other bullshit, but as long as she was going to be randomly<span style="font-style: italic">stumbling</span>onto them, it would have been polite to fill her in. Her suspicion of the leg-smashing giant had been gradually replaced with a grumbling offense, and she was more than willing to meet his brief eye contact as the Commander mounted the platform. She made sure her stare was particularly… unimpressed.<br/><br/>The curious murmurs and ambient chatter died down quickly when Barth started speaking, and all assembled were completely silent by the fifth word. She listened intently, her eyes locked on his bearded face. Sen’s dissimilar stare flicked to Ausan as the Prince-Commander finished and gave way to her king, her transparent expression a mix of curiosity and concern. The white blade against her calf felt hot on her skin for a moment, before the victory could be properly (and politically) described in the most flowery (and political) phrases.<br/><br/>Perhaps she had been selfish, grieving Verana’s loss so pointedly only in how it affected herself. There had been a dynamic between the two Maidens, and between each of them and the Prince, and between all three, and she had no idea if they were even similar dynamics. Ausan seemed so much like a wildfire, burning hot and unyielding and nigh unstoppable, but who could live like that forever without some form of temperance? Barth was inspirational and appeared to be enough of a tactician to see the gains and losses of so many potential moves, yet he seemed in such a mad rush to make things right that he would take risks a man in his position should<span style="font-style: italic">at least</span>execute more thoughtfully. Had Verana been some form of… calming stabilization for them? A voice of reason that actually –<br/><br/>She was jerked rudely from her musing by sounds of shock and anger, and to her confusion they came from her own countrymen. It was almost unheard of for anyone to actively voice any disagreement towards a lord, let alone a monarch, regardless of mob mentality. Instinctively she glanced over the faces of her Sisters, but they didn’t seem to care very much at all about whatever had roused the Lebi indignation. Snatches of impassioned conversation, furious whispers and repetitive affront gave her the idea almost immediately.<br/><br/>“The<span style="font-style: italic">entire</span>house, all gone.”<br/><br/>“He can’t<span style="font-style: italic">do</span>that to us! My family’s fortune is tied to - ”<br/><br/>“The Garth folk weren’t the most upstanding men, ‘tis true, but we depended on - ”<br/><br/>Sen’s eyes hit Barth’s face again, but he was scanning the crowd carefully, analyzing the reactions if she had to guess his thoughts. It corroborated the stories she’d been hearing of his return well enough, but it was still a bold move on the part of His Majesty to dissolve the whole Garth house. Many well-paid men-at-arms and private guards that had accompanied those forces formally given to the cause would be cheated of wealth and security, even with being absorbed into the royal forces on a not-so-temporary basis. Defections and demotions would be unavoidable, and she suspected there would be a substantial rise in outright desertion as well. Was it a narrow-minded, self-centered viewpoint for the common soldiers and lower knights to have? Yes, absolutely, but she could understand the discontent.<br/><br/>The late Borim Garth’s man, Resuran, approached the platform, apparently exuding calm to a five-foot radius based on what the lanky Sister could see. He ascended with confidence, and King Sahir didn’t seem surprised by the approach, so whatever they were about to announce had been discussed at length already, clearly. Sen’s stare flattened further as the announcement rang out, bringing out cheers with varying degrees of hesitance from her fellow Lebi soldiers. To their credit, many of them seemed pleased to be able to stand for the effort rather than just the pay, though she assumed a few would fall in with the King out of a stubborn patriotism or good old fashioned boot-licking. She turned back to the casual gathering of her Sisters, feeling very keenly her spot between them and the knights cheering as their reins were passed between leaders.<br/><br/>Sen watched Resuran approach Barth, ignoring the discordant chatter and movement around her. The Prince-Commander seemed pleased by the recent development, and the new captain appeared pensive as they spoke. Opportunities nipped at her heels, and she could see them pestering other feet similarly. Resuran could prove himself a capable leader, earn honors and rewards for leading a band of passionate nobodies. Barth could continue to grow and lead, and let his country recover political standing on his coattails. Her own house could absorb stragglers, potentially knights unwilling to lose face by following a new captain or the king, improving her family’s standing in court.<br/><br/>Almost unconsciously, she turned and faced the direction of the still-fresh battlefield, catching a whiff of rotting Tutar corpse that may or may not have been her imagination. Was it worth it? All of the opportunities and reputation-building and political rearrangements… would it<span style="font-style: italic">ever</span>be worth what people had gone through on that field? She closed her eyes, opening them slowly, letting the echoes of a burning Borim’s screams fade from the forefront of her memory.<br/><br/>She was so sick of politics. An independent company was actually a fairly appealing idea, regardless of Resuran’s assumed Lebi-born opinion of female warriors. She was wary of his position under his former lord, but the Commander seemed oddly approving of the man. On that note, there wasn’t a reason for her to abandon her Sisters, whatever her country of origin. They had welcomed her with well-muscled and open arms, and for her to leave them just because of a suspected chance to make more waves was hardly –<br/><br/>“Hey there, high-roller.” The playful cadence turned her, eyes quickly landing on the faintly glowing outline of a dark cloak. The figure was very stationary compared to the random movement on all sides of a dispersing crowd, hooded and leaning very casually on a barrel to the right of a tent. “Can’t believe you still have that,” he continued, gesturing to her left arm.<br/><br/>She reached up touched the torn strip of navy blue material with her opposite hand, finding a smirk in her to match that of the cloaked man.<span style="color: #80BFBF">“Not a lot of thick, dark fabric around, oddly enough. Plenty of metal, leather, or bright silks but they don’t quite have the same effect.”</span>She paused, then added a more serious,<span style="color: #80BFBF">“Thank you.”</span><br/><br/>He shrugged and flipped his hood back, revealing eyes that sparkled with more mirth than his white grin. “I’m glad you appreciate it, because I look ridiculous now.” Luke gestured to the hastily (but neatly) mended sleeve of his cloak.<br/><br/>Sen couldn’t stop the brief snort of laughter; as if any clothing could ever make someone with<span style="font-style: italic">his</span>features look even remotely ridiculous.<span style="color: #80BFBF">“I can go dig up some of those bright silks, if you want a replacement.”</span><br/><br/>“Please don’t. You people have an astonishing amount of tenacity, and an equally astonishing lack of fashion sense.”<br/><br/><span style="color: #80BFBF">“Not including yourself in that? Seems kind of like your mistress and the others have thrown their lot in with ‘we people’.”</span><br/><br/>Lydia’s demi-god paused for a moment, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful as he turned his gaze to something in the distance. “Good point,” he finally murmured.<br/><br/>Sen waited for him to add something, but after a moment finally piped up with a quiet,<span style="color: #80BFBF">“It’s not all that bad, is it?”</span><br/><br/>He snapped back, as though he were remembering her presence. A grin broke his face again. “Of course it is. The open-mouthed lack of comprehension and the indiscriminate dying are all expected, so the most surprising thing - ” he reached out and gripped Sen’s nose between his first two knuckles “is just how<span style="font-style: italic">terrible</span>you all look doing it.”<br/><br/>She slapped his hand away, trying unsuccessfully not to smile.<br/><br/>He chortled and flipped his hood back over his hair and upper face, turning away. “May the Dice favor you, high-roller,” he said lazily, offering a casual two-finger wave before allowing himself to be swept away in a wave of passers-by. Sen would have lost sight of him completely, save that he was still ringed in a fringe of deep blue glow.