Conn didn't like taking this way through the countryside. It came uncomfortably close to his old fiefdom, and how he hated to recall it... besides, he didn't want to risk being recognized. It was unlikely, but possible, that his family might see him if they went too close to the fields. He hated his mother and father, but often wondered if his brother might be persuaded to leave. So despite his hatred for the place and the sour taste it left in his mouth to venture anywhere near it, he often lingered on the outskirts. But he had never been man enough to find out if his brother were there, or dead, or run away.

Maybe it was the last part of youthful hope onto which he held.

They rode along, then, not too close to the fiefdom but far too close for comfort, along the main road of Thiasa, carved out scant years ago at the close of King Aelfric's reign. It was overgrown in the middle, unpaved, but it served its purpose. Freedom stepped sweetly enough over the uneven bits, but he didn't care push her for more. Anyway, there was his half-breed companion to consider. Ronan tramped beside him like a servant (a conceit he admittedly enjoyed). They were going slower than they might've, but the company wasn't wholly unwelcome, if it was a bit taciturn. Conn was the sort who liked people around.

They had lapsed into a comfortable enough silence, Conn having let on as to his real name if not the entirety of his real occupation and Ronan, well... Ronan was still a bit of an enigma. Then there was the sound of shouting in the distance, and the thunder of hooves. Freedom shied, twisting her body off the path, and from around the bend where the road ahead arced around a hillock came a running girl.

"Leave me alone!" Lilias called back at the man on the horse. She was running out of breath, and out of energy. She knew that if she did not find some one to help her, a place to hide, or a way to hinder him from getting closer, she would be submit to his wants. She did not think that she could handle it, and she did not want to end up like her mother, or the other women in Lawley. When she looked further down the road, she saw two men, and a horse. She did not know if they would help a distressed woman, but surely they would not allow this man to harm her without at least asking questions.

She ran toward them, "HELP!" Her feet were bare, and covered in dirt. Her red hair was a mess, and her freckled face was caked with worry. Her green eyes mirrored this. She ran to them, not caring who they were, panicked. "Please you have to help me. He is either going to kill me or worse!" She landed at their feet, begging. "Please!" She hated begging, but what else could she do? She did not know them, nor them her. She was a proud girl, but knew when there was time to beg for mercy, and she was now at theirs. She prayed they would not hand them over to Eckhard's. She let tears streak her mud splattered face, as she looked up at them, her eyes pleading.

Ronan walked along the road with Conn, keeping far enough away from the old mare. Still, his fear of the beast kept his body rigid and his mind distracted. He hid his fear well, he guessed, for the man on the horse did not seem to notice. And, if he did, he was taking an unholy glee in letting the animal drift too close to the half breed for comfort. By mid afternoon, all Ronan could give Conn, should the man ever speak, was a terse, one-word reply. He was not angry, but at his wits end.

Conn and Ronan had not started the their travels together. After sheltering under the trees together, they had started off down the road the next day. Though, it seemed the good natured 'gentleman' was heading in the same direction as Ronan. By the afternoon, Ronan had a grudging respect for the man, but not his horse. He even suggested the animal be laid to rest once or twice, though it was not met well on Conn's part. He was, after all, fond of the oversized dog.

Ronan quickly stepped back with the horse made a sudden movement. It was then that he heard the sound of hoof beats and saw a girl running towards them. Her feet, he noticed, were bare and most likely bleeding, from the rough ground. She was dirty, almost making Ronan look well groomed. It was her hair that gave him a pause: Was it on fire? No, it was just red. His study of her ended when she started to plead with them for help, falling to the ground.

Making a sound, much like a growl, Ronan grabbed her by the arm and roughly hauled her to her feet. In his life, he had never experienced gentle handling, so he did not know how to bestow it upon others. Besides, this girl was a damn nuissance that he didn't need, but couldn't seem to turn away. Perhaps it was the look of self loathing in her eyes when she begged for their assistance. Something moved Ronan to grab her and push her behind him, reaching for one of the short swords that was sheathed at his back. He glanced to Conn, as if to see if he, too, was up for a fight.

It was then that a man on a horse came into view, charging at them until only feet away. Ronan supposed the move was meant to intimidate the pair, but it was not well done. "Hand over the girl, and I shall let you pass." The man stated, arrogantly, as if he thought he had control of the situation. His eyes flickered first over Conn's scruffy looks, then over Ronan's unkept appearance. By the satisfaction in his eyes, he thought himself the better man in the fight. As if breeding made one a better fighter.

Conn started to shake his head when the disheveled girl burst out upon them. He didn't need this sort of trouble. This sort of trouble was exactly why he'd fled under cover of darkness himself... but then he recognized Lilias. They'd been friends as children. Not close, and she'd never been particularly kind to him; but it was hard to harden your heart against someone you'd known for years. She had been five years younger, a bit like an irritating little sister.

While he was trying to make up his mind what to do, the thunder of hoofbeats on the road ahead grew louder, and for a moment his heart seemed to stop in his chest. It couldn't be--the man was dead. Botolph was dead. He'd stabbed the man in the chest himself, watched his eyes bulge, a vein pop in one of them, staining the white red... that was an image that had stuck with him.

But no. When the man stopped in front of him the picture faded. It was the younger brother; not someone he knew well but from what he did know, just as bastardly cruel as the elder. He had someone with him, but Conn had eyes only for his enemy's brother.

"Hand over the girl, and I shall let you pass."

Did he recognize in Conn the fifteen-year old serf whose brother had been Egon Botolph's pleasure-boy? Conn gave him no time to do so. With a flick of his wrist, one of his throwing knives slid from its wrist sheath into his hand, and he threw. His aim, as usual, was true; it stuck in Botolph's neck. Quick as a flash his companion had his crossbow up, but it was chaos--Botolph slid from his horse, choking, his hands around the dagger hilt; the horse tore off; the companion's horse, too, shied. Freedom was steady, used to highway robbery, and the crossbow bolt didn't fly true; instead of his heart it ripped through the flesh of his upper arm. In a flash, Conn flung himself off Freedom, the shock of pain dulled by coursing excitement. Reaching up his other sleeve for a spare knife, he drew it and tried to aim for the man's crossbow hand; but he was forced to throw himself sideways again as another bolt whistled his way.

"Damn you, savage, get him!" Politeness was not at the forefront of his mind. He did not want to die for some bloody serf girl.

Ronan had little time to react before Conn was throwing daggers. Being larger, he was slower. Also, he was a little surprised about the man. He knew that Conn had seen some troubled times, but he wasn't sure if the man could kill at a moments notice. Now, however, he had no doubts. Conn was a quick and skillful killer. Perhaps not honorable in his fights, but when it all came down to it, living was the only thing that mattered. Even if it meant fighting unfairly and getting the jump on someone who was clearly not ready for such an attack. Ronan, personally, admired Conn for his lack of hesitation and felt more respect for his new found companion.

Of course, while Ronan was musing over Conn and staring at the man, he missed the immediate danger of the second rider. Since the man seemed to be focused on Conn, Ronan saw no threat against himself. When Conn yelled at him, however, Ronan stirred and a grin spread across his face. It was one of pure joy, which was frightening to see in such a situation. Unlike most men, Ronan did not find killing an unholy business. He rather enjoyed it. Letting go of the woman, he quickly approached the second rider. Though he was slow at some moments, as he showed earlier, he was surprisingly speedy at this particular instance. His fear of horses seemed to be forgotten in a time like this.

Ronan had sheathed his short sword, prefering to do the deed with his daggers. Grabbing the horses reins, he saw the rider look down at him in shock, swinging his crossbow around to shoot the barbarian. However, he was too late. Ronan was swinging up onto the horses back in a fluid motion. It was obvious that, despite his dislike of the smelly beasts, Ronan had spent much of his life around the animals and was a skillful rider. When he was behind the man, his dagger seemed to magically appear in his hand. Driving the blade into the man's gut with a hard stab, he jerked it up until the man's rib cage stopped him from slitting him from navel to nose.

A scream of pain seemed to echo throughout the empty land, the man dropping his crossbow in favor of clutching his guts in. The horse under them reared up, frightened by not only the noise, but the metallic smell of blood that was spilling over the animals back. Both Ronan and the dying man were thrown, stunning Ronan for a moment. Still, he recovered nicely and went to the man who laid a few feet away. In an act of mercy, after he had gutted the man like an animal, Ronan knelt and drew the bloody knife against the man's throat, slashing it with a quick motion. The man let one of his hands move from his torso to his neck, coughing. Ronan stood tall, staring as the man took his las breath, blood trickling from his mouth.

Ronan than turned and looked at the other two. He made for a sight: He was sweaty, which mixed with the blood of his victim that coated his skin. In his hand, he still held the dripping dagger and, in his eyes, there was a cold gleam. At this moment, Ronan looked barbaric, to say the least.

Lilias was surprised by the sound that admitted from the bigger man. She was hauled to her feet, and not with any care. She thought that she was going to be pushed back toward Esckhard, but she was not. She was sort of hidden behind the man, as he grabbed his sword. My hero," she thought to herself, briefly, before thinking again. There was still a chance for him to change his mind. And what of his companion? Would they really save her? She hoped so; she would not go back with that Botolph.

His words rang in her mind. Oh, they would give her up for sure! She then looked to the other man, up on the horse. There was something familiar about him. No, it could not be. She had not seen Conn for years! Had he even recognized her? Would he remember that her brother and him had been friends? Apparently he was in sorts to help her. She watched him fling a knife at Eckhard. It landed in his neck, and Lilias could see the man slide from his horse, gagging. Conn would be hero to all the women in Lawley should he kill Eckhard. She flinched when Conn was hit in the upper arm. She stayed behind the savage looking man, afraid that if she moved, that she would be hit by someone's weapon.

It was then that the man that was a barrier between her attacked the man that was after her. She watched in awe as the barbaric man killed Botolph. She flinched as the man was gutted, and did not care to watch the final blow. She did not mind seeing the man dead, she just did not care much for the brutality of it. She quickly ran to the frightened horse, to calm it. If she wanted to get away from Lawley, now would be her chance, and she was going to need transportation. She quickly grabbed the lose reigns of the frantically flailing horse. She pulled them tight down, and brought a soft hand to the horses muzzle. It took her a moment to get the creature fully settled, but she successfully completed the task. With the horses reigns still in her hand, she looked to the barbarian savage that had saved her life. She gasped at first, the sight of the blood, sweat, and the dagger made him a sight, indeed. She collected her composure, and gave him a thankful look. "You saved my life, thank you."

She then looked to Conn. "Are you really who I think you are? Conn? Oh, how I wish Logan were here to see you. What ever happened to you? Why did you leave?" She let all of her questions come out at once. She noticed his arm still bleeding, and quickly tore part of the hem oh her skirt. She let go of the horse's reigns, and it stayed there. She walked over to Conn, "Let me see your arm. A tourniquet is all I can do, but it should stop the bleeding." She waited for his arm, before she bandaged him up. She looked back at the barbarian. "Are you hurt?" She gaze was kind, as she scanned the blood on him. It all seemed to be of the man he attacked, but she did not know for sure. "Thank you both, I owe you my life."

Conn grunted when she stepped forward to wrap a bit of her skirt around his arm. It hurt--and he didn't want it too tight. He'd heard of men getting the black rot that way. But he didn't shrug her off; there was simply no time for argument.

"Yes, it's Conn. What's it to you, Lilias? Look, we have to get out of here, cover as much ground as we can--ride through the whole bleeding night and tomorrow." He cast a glance at Ronan. "They didn't die quiet," he said shortly, "and where there's one Steward's man--" A gesture with his good arm toward the fellow Ronan had gutted, easy as gutting a pig. Conn had to admit, the halfbreed had style. And he'd been able to overcome his fear and swing aboard that horse, no small feat; Conn knew well how he tried to stay away from even gentle Freedom. "More will be after us."

"You two take the damn Steward's horse. Freedom can't carry more'n one. But we'll have to gallop. Ronan, you hold onto her tight, right?" Now he did pull away from Lilias, swinging easily aboard Freedom. His arm was now throbbing instead of bleeding--hardly an improvement. And he did not look forward to cauterizing the damned thing that night, but it had to be done. "Follow me or not," he called back over his shoulder. "I'm getting the hell out of here. Hi!" He kicked Freedom into a canter, which swiftly lengthened into a ground-eating gallop.

He wasn't actually so heartless. He knew, however, that if he didn't prod Ronan into action, the man might let his ridiculous fear best him, and they'd all be lost.

There was a moments pause. Now that the excitement of a kill was fading, his fear of the animal was taking hold. He glanced at the strong stallion that they were meant to ride. Still, he saw the logic in Conn's words. The only problem was that logic helped little when faced with an illogical fear. Before he could turn and tell Conn to take the girl and the horse, since it was obviously much better than Freedom, he saw that the man was driving his heels into Freedom's sides. Ronan cursed the man in a growly voice as he watched him gallop off.

"Damn pale faced scoundrel." Ronan then turned, sheathing his bloody dager and striding over to the girl and the horse. He did not spare her a glance, for he was steeling his nerves, and he mounted the horse with ease. Then, like the rough half-Ekaini that he was, he did not give the red head a chance to mount by herself. He just reached down, grabbing hold of her clothing, and hoisted her up so she sat before him. It was a miracle that her poorly made clothing did not rip.

In the next moment, Ronan was kicking his horse into a canter, which grew faster as the horse warmed up. The girl was situated, facing Ronan with her legs over his as if she was a lover wrapping around him. At another time, he would have appreaciated the position, but for now, he was Hell bent on overtaking Conn. This girl was definately more trouble than she was worth.

"What is it to me?! When one of my friends goes missing I am going to worry. When my brother had wished, until the day he died, that he had gone with you, where ever you went, I get to wondering too." She retorted, annoyed, after she had finished tying the tourniquet just well enough to put a little pressure on the wound, but not to do much else. She then looked from him to Ronan, as he did too. She knew what he was speaking now was true enough. They did need to leave. More men were surely on their way, and she did not want her heroes to end up the same way her brother had.

She looked to Ronan, the savage looking barbarian. Did Conn just tell him to hold her tight? Well, she thought, I won't really mind. She did not know why the men were including her in their escape, they have done more than their share of protecting her, they never really had to do any thing for her. When Conn jumped onto his horse, Lilias, went to the other. She watched Ronan mount the horse quickly. She thought that it might difficult to mount in front of him, with him already there. He quickly fixed that situation, by lifting her roughly onto the horse.

The was she was set, put her in an unrest. She was not facing the direction they were going, and she did not like it. She liked knowing where she was going, but now she felt helpless. If was not a feeling that sat well with her. There was a determined look on the rough face. Even in her unease, this made her smile. She felt the horse was going as fast as it's feet would allow now, and she could feel the wind coming at her from behind, causing her hair to whip around in her face. The only way she could see to prevent this was to place no space between her, and the man Conn had called Ronan. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her face to his chest. She was not afraid, though her breathing might have said differently. She was finally ridding herself of that rotten fiefdom, Lawley. She was with a strong man, who had saved her life, whom with which any one else might have thought she was in love with by the way they sat. She could not say she was, at the moment, but there was always a chance. She let the excitement that had built up in her slowly fade, as they made way to catch up with Conn.

Conn reined in a little once he felt he'd reached a safe distance, and looked around for his two companions. Bloody collecting them, you are he thought to himself with disgust. And they've have to rid themselves of the horse. If someone recognized the damn beast--a stallion, no less! Who the hell rode a stallion?--as one of Lawley's they'd all be done for. Only thing for it would be to turn the animal loose once they reached a proper distance, but in the meantime it would be hard riding and--

--and--his mind flashed back to what Lilias had just told him. Dead? Her brother was dead? Logan had been his friend, insofar as he'd really had any of what he called friends, but he hadn't dared tell him his plans to leave. And besides the other boy had never seemed to want it like he did. But dead?

It wasn't surprising. Most of Lawley's serfs didn't live to see thirty. But Logan had been something better than most of them. If Conn had been a different sort of man he might have cried, but any redness in his eye now could be blamed on the sting of the wind. There was no time, anyway, to ask her about it now. He held Freedom in, though she was prancing on the spot, aware of his urgency and wary herself of the smell of blood not so far in the distance. He shaded his eyes, looking back for them.

And there were Ronan and Lilias, and a laugh started in his throat despite the stress of their situation, as Ronan had seated her in a most undignified position. He wouldn't've believed it of the halfbreed, whom he'd thought an honorable sort. But then he was half-Baskar. Hardly known for their honorable conduct, were they?

With a nod of satisfaction he turned Freedom again, not wanting to take the time for conversation with the other two, and spurred her on again. For now, he held her back to a canter. He'd need to conserve her strength. It would be a long ride.

They rode for as long as their horses would carry them, and walked until they were far enough and just about ready to drop. Setting up camp in a nearby forest, for cover, Ronan had no trouble getting to sleep. He did not manage to get to sleep right away. He was mulling over the days events and what it meant for him. Not that it mattered to the big brute at the moment, he decided after a bit. Rest was his only objective.

Settling down against the hard ground, he turned away from the others. He was hungry, tired and sore, which made him poor company. Not that he was ever great company. And, he placed the blame for their position on the pretty red head's shoulders. If she hadn't inconvienently come along, Ronan might have had an actual bed to sleep in, if he found an inn keeper who would allow him inside. It only happened on rare occasions, so Ronan wasn't too terrible picky about sleeping arrangements, most the time.

Grumbling slightly, saying something about pale face women that wasn't too flattering, he settled. It was then that he drifted off, unattractively snoring. But, it wasn't loud enough to disrupt anything too much or give away their position unless someone was real close.

The ride seemed to last longer than she had expected, and then they walked further yet. They stopped right when she had thought she could not take another step. She helped set up a small camp, and settled herself down. She slept nearer the men that she would have had she not thought her life was still in danger. She had never been out of Lawley, and she was rather frightened at the sounds of the night, and the forest. She did not want conversation, as it seemed the others were in no mood for talk. Her feet hurt, as she still had no shoes, and her whole body ached. She had yet more dirt on her, which contrasted with her red curls. She felt exposed, and open, being out her home, barely dressed, and with a couple of men. But she trusted them to a degree, one she knew when they were younger, and they both had saved her life. It was with this knowledge that she slowly drifted off to sleep.

It was the dreams that she should have been afraid of. She could see her father, and how tired he looked after being worked so hard. She could see her mother, after coming home, after being attacked by Eckhard. The look frozen on the graceful angles of her face, when she was dead. How infuriated Logan was when he found out why their mother was dead. Then the beaten and bruised brother, she had loved, hanging in the street. She was in fits, trying to fight off the memories. She moaned in her sleep when the more recent ones came to her mind. The way steward Botolph had come to her. The way he had tried to force himself on her. How she barely escaped, and ran. Then instead of finding her heroes at the end of her dream, she found an alternate ending. She was caught by Eckhard Botolph, and the man took her innocence right there, in the middle of the country side. Then, he drug her back to Lawley, where he kept her in a cold damp cell, barely feeding her, and only letting her out when he wanted her attention. The nightmare caused tears to roll down her cheeks, and moans sounded, as she helplessly tried to fight off the pain. She tossed and turned, not able to find a way out of it. She even cried out for "HELP!" thinking that she knew no one would come to her.

They rode to the point of exhaustion, but Conn wasn't willing to stop until the sun began to rise, the darkness that had covered their frantic flight lifting to a pink dawn. They made their way over to a stand of trees, and he didn't have the energy to set up his tent. He gave his bedroll to Lilias; someone had to keep watch, and the damn halfbreed (as he'd come to call Ronan in his head, with a strange note of affection in the insult) drifted right to sleep; and Lilias could hardly be expected to pull her weight.

Women...

He made a small fire, and heated the blade of one of his knives in it, before peeling the now-loosened tourniquet from his arm. He'd tugged at it while he rode until the fibers separated, and a good thing too--without circulation his arm wouldn've full died. Damn that Lilias! Damn women and their amateur nursing. He tugged off his doublet and shirt. They were ripped and bloody now, but he hardly had time to sew it up now.

He put a green stick between his teeth to bite down on while he cauterized the wound so he wouldn't make a noise, and pressed the red-hot metal of his dagger to the wound, burning away all chance of infection. The cut was wide and jagged; Eckhard's companion had used serrated bolts called Cerberus's Teeth that ripped like damnation. Sweat popped out along his brow, and he bit down on the stick until it squeaked in his teeth, but he'd borne pain before.

When he was done with the cauterizing he took a long slug of wine to restore his shaky nerves, then poured more of the strong spirit over the cut, cleaning it out, then wrapped it tightly in a strip of cotton ripped from his nightshirt. He held his flask loosely in one hand and stamped out the small fire, then got up and paced to the edge of the stand of trees, pulling his shirt back on but leaving his doublet behind. The cold would keep him awake and the wine would warm his insides.

When enough time had passed, the noon sun high in the sky, he'd begun to feel tired, on edge, a little soused, and he'd been brooding over his own past. And Logan, of whom he realized--all he could remember was an easy smile and a head of brilliant hair, really, when he tried to picture him. A sudden scream jolted him out of his watch, and he dropped his flask, automatically reaching for the long knife at his side, before he relaxed--it was only Lilias. Still--what if the halfbreed were taking advantage of her? Unlikely, he'd have said, but then, he rarely took people' s good intentions for granted, and he'd seen how Ronan had looked at her. Not that he'd not say the same, for all her dirtiness; she'd become an exceptional female specimen, if not the type that usually attracted him. He crashed through the underbrush to find her unmolested, but screaming for help in her sleep. Kneeling beside her, he clapped a hand over her mouth. Silence was more important than anything right now.

"Hush," he whispered tensely in her ear. "You'll have a right to call for help when your screams draw Lawley's men. Wake up."

Eckhard had his hand at her mouth and throat, and she tried to let out a scream. She stared wide eyed as the steward came closer and whispered in her ear. But the words did not sound like they came from him. They seemed farther off, and more warning than threatening. She sat up quickly, awake, in a cold sweat. Her mouth was covered by Conn, and she relaxed slightly, the true memories of the past day coming back to her. She pulled his hand from her face, and apologized, still shaking slightly. "I am sorry, I did not realize... It seems that Eckhard might be dead, but the nightmare he was still lives on." She let a small tear escape her eye, before wiping it away, smudging the dirt on her face.

She looked at him, hoping to change the topic. "What ever happened to you, Conn? Why did you leave?" She was really curious. She always wondered that if he had not left things in town might have been different, but then again every thing that happened was because the older Botolph had died. Surely Conn had nothing to do with that. She was upset at this man though. Her brother had never really made any other friends, since then. He surely had to have thought about them at least once, in all those years he had been away. Could he really be the cold hearted killer, that he had appeared to be, when he attacked Eckhard without second thought?

Lilias then looked back at Ronan, who was snoring soundly. "And where did you meet him? He is something else." She looked at Conn once again. She did not want to keep her eyes on the half breed, he struck her differently than any other man. She was confused slightly, but it was not her main focus. She sat silently hugging her knees. "Why did you save me, if you even fro a second thought I might be trouble to you?" She now was feeling guilty for their current situation. She did not mean to cause them, who were at the time random travelers, such problems. They might have been warm inside an inn should she not have come running, begging for help. She sighed, then looked back up at Conn, hoping he would calm her worries, but not expecting him to.

"Aye." Conn let out a long sigh and sat back on his heels, watching her. "These things haunt you, and sure." He closed his eyes for a moment, then decided it was safe enough to tell her. A glance at Ronan: the man was flat on his back snoring, and not faking it either, unless he was a hell of a lot better at faking sleep than any Conn had known before.

"When I killed Egon Botolph," he said, meeting her eyes, "I had dreams about it every night for a month. If ye want to know, that's why I left, or better said--I wanted to leave anyway... the things he did, Lilias, you may hate Eckhard, but Egon was worse. Still, when I saw him, killing was no great thing--reminded me of th'brother." His eyes hardened.

"But I have to ask you." He leaned forward, seizing her hand in his. Normally, Conn was nothing like so serious, but he was exhausted and sickened by his murder of Eckhard Botolph. He'd never quite got used to killing people, even after years of highway robbery, and this threw him back to nine years ago.

"I have to ask you--what happened to Logan? Do you know how Brian is?" His nineteen-year-old brother had been an acquaintance of theirs. He almost didn't want to ask her about him, for fear he'd hear the worst.

"I do not mind that he is dead, his murder is not haunting me. It is rather the things he did, and could have done, while he was living." She admitted to him as they spoke about being haunted by the killing of the Botolphs. Conn had killed Egon?! That explained a few things, but what had provoked it? She asked as her eyes grew large. She had never thought that Conn would be a murderer, willingly any way. She had questions, but she knew they did not matter, they were in the past, and it seemed that Conn was running from his.

When Conn asked about Logan and Brian Lilias looked away from him, staring off into the forest. She did not like talking about her brother's death, as it was still a fresh wound on her heart. She took a deep breath, and then began, "Eckhard hung him in the village square after Logan confronted him about Mother. Mother killed herself because she could not take any more of Eckhard forcing himself on her. We had no idea until after she died, and when he found out Logan was furious. He almost killed Eckhard, but the guard got him instead. Logan was hung 'as an example should any one dare cross Eckhard Botolph again." By the time her story was finished her cheeks were again streamed with tears. She looked back at Conn, and wiped a few tears from her face. She did not want to stay on the topic of her brother's death, so she went to the second question.

"Brian is fine. Missing a few of fingers, for thieving from Eckard's personal cupboard, but he is living as well as any serf. He still has blonde hair, that is now quite the talk of the girls in the village. He has grown tall, and those blue-green eyes he has always had seem to read into every true feeling. I do not have to say any thing, and he knows how I feel." Her eyes went all dreamy, then the look slowly faded. "That is until a pair of big brown eyes, of the black smith's daughter, batted his direction, then he took no notice of any one else's feelings any more." She looked quickly to Ronan, for some unknown reason not wanting him to hear her talk about a lost love. She played with a curl, as she looked back at Conn, waiting to hear is reactions about their brothers. She noted how tired he looked, she would let the conversation continue a bit, before asking if he wanted a turn to rest.

Conn blanched. Logan--dead? And he felt a hot surge of victorious anger like liquor in his stomach. If only he could kill Eckhard again--he wouldn't regret it. Sourness surged through him, and he wanted to spit, or maybe cry. They'd ruined lives, these damn brothers. Ruined the lives of people as though they were cattle. As though they were objects to be used and tossed aside.

No--that was giving them too much bloody credit. Egon has use his brother as more than an object. He'd known him for what he was--a little boy--and he'd left him to his tears late at night when he thought Conn couldn't hear him. So little surprise he chased girls now; after being used that way...

It would have amused him, Lilias's obvious infatuation with his fine-featured, handsome younger brother. So his brother was a bit of a rogue with ladies! It ran in the family, then, though Brian would have an easier--His brain caught up to the rest of her words. The casual tone in which she'd delivered such news chilled him. Missing fingers? They really did take everything. He turned his head and spat, feeling the bile rising in his throat.

He leaned toward Lilias, his mouth pulled down into a deep frown at her news, and gently touched her cheek. For once there wasn't anything flirtatious about the gesture. His eyes were distant and cold, his thoughts murderous and desperate.

"I'm sorry," he said, very quietly, very tightly. "About your brother. As for mine, I'm sorry if he treated you badly; it seems breaking hearts runs in the family." It fell flat. "I tell you, if I weren't so careful over my own skin I'd--" What? Storm every fiefdom? Try to end the institution of serfdom--expose it for what it was, little more than slavery? All he cared about was keeping a full stomach and staying out of trouble, and taking what he could from the undeserving to pad his own pockets.

She ignored his spitting, understanding it was a lot to take in. She could not tell if he was more upset about her brother or his. His cold look when he touched her cheek reminded her of the look Brian had given her last time she spoke with him. She pulled away from his touch at her cheek. She did not want his sympathy, nor did she want him to think she was fixed on wanting his brother. "He did not break my heart." She lied. "He was a good friend, is all. Like you and Logan." She did not give the relationship its full view, because she did not want to dwell on her heart ache. It was over, and she wished Martha and Brian a happy rest of their serfy lives.

"You'd what? Huh? Nothing more for me. I am just some girl who you used to know, who by chance ran into you, while trying to escape a man who brought back your painful memories." Her words were sharp, and barely at an angry whisper. She was not thinking clearly, she was mad. She did not like empty promises, or excuses for not making them. She knew she was more trouble to them, and would not be surprised if they left her at the next village. "I am a tag-along that you did not wish for. I am nuisance that you would chose to live without. I have cost you and your companion a comfortable place to rest, and thrown you into hiding. Without me you would be better off." She stood up, and was about to walk away. "Go to sleep, I am too worked up to rest, I will keep watch." it was more of an order, than an offer. She walked to the edge of their small camp, where she could still hear Ronan snore, and any movements Conn made.

She sighed deeply, as she sat hugging her knees. She had wrapped her thin skirts tighter about her legs, but her feet stuck out from beneath. She was carelessly trying to rub some dirt off her bare feet, as she sat there trying not to cry. She would not let either of these men see her cry again, it only showed that she was weak, and she did not want to be that, in the least. Her ears were pricked at the slightest noise, and her breath was softer than the wind. Her mind, however, wandered to her past, and to questions of her current situation. Who was this Ronan fellow? Why did he look to be one of the barbarians that she had only heard bad things about? How was it that even in his sleep he held her curiosity? How did Conn and him become traveling companions? Why did Conn kill Egon, and thus kill Eckhard? Why did she not just leave them here, and continue on her own, preventing them from any more trouble? The last she knew the answer to; they had saved her, she some what trusted them for it, and she did not have any where to go, nor did she know how to get there. As far as she was concerned, she was lost, and alone with two strangers; well more like one and a half strangers.

Conn shook his head silently at her words. Women. They always cared more about their petty romantic entanglements than what was good for 'em. And then going on about they'd be better off without her.

Her offer to keep watch wasn't unwelcome, though he couldn't say he really trusted her with the job. He'd do his best to stay awake himself. Settling into the warmth of the bedroll she'd left behind and propping himself up on one elbow, he watched her go, admiring her figure despite himself.

He wouldn't argue with her assertion. They would be better off without her. They'd also be better off without serfdom and better off without men like the Botolphs, twisted at the root, but there was naught he could do about that at the moment, or likely ever. Maybe the barbarians would win the war, and this'd all be over.

But still, he liked sleeping with a roof over his head sometimes, and wearing proper clothes, and living off food grown in real farms. Wasn't it so? It was better that way, and sure. But if the barbarians did win maybe they'd let the Thiasans live, some of 'em, and then he could... he could...

Conn gave a huge yawn, his eyelids drooping. Closing his eyes for a bit wouldn't hurt...

He pillowed his head on his arm, feeling his eyes sliding shut as though pulled by cables. He should keep watch... bloody women... There was cold air blowing onto his face, and he wriggled deeper into the clinging warmth of the bedroll. And he dreamed of empty castles and riches that crumbled to dust in his hands, and the deep loneliness of wide, echoing corridors, and his brother's smile.