Like waves breaking on the sands of some distant beach, so consciousness slowly filtered over her, drawing at her, tugging her towards waking, urging her to do so. It was a slow reluctant process, filled with flashes of incoherent memory and pain and lose such as a weight to hold her from wanting to wake. Begrudgingly eyes fluttered open, surroundings were taken in, and despair and cold gripped the heart that beat inside that warm chest, though it was wished not so.

Slowly she gathered herself, pushing her elbows under her and slowly lifted her head. Muddy locks of hair spilled into her vision, pain ached through her side and wetness surrounded her. She was soaked, her clothes clinging to her despite the efforts of her cloak to protect herself she was soaked and she slowly put her muddy hands under her and pushed herself up into a kneeling position she could see the devastation around her. The smell that was rising the rancid putrid smell that seemed to surround and permeate everything.

She shivered, tired not to let it get to her as she looked around, bodies abound, some headless, others missing limbs, chests splayed wide, blood and gore everywhere. Before her, her own mount, his chest wide a thick sharpened piece of lumber deep in the wound, protruding from his shoulder, a piece of meat from his body hanging like a red and brown flag trailing in the slight breeze. Her stomach heaved, she put a muddied hand to her lips to try and stop it, to deny the need, but there was no stopping it. With lifeless eyes peering up at her she doubled over and threw up, heaving as she emptied her stomach of what little was on it, a shot of rot gut and a soldiers wafer. She dry heaved for a minute before she finally got control of her stomach once more.

Slowly on unsteady legs she stood, swaying some, stumbling forward to land in the mud again, feeling the mist cold on her face as it started to rain again, a grey pallor settling around her, obscuring most of the battlefield from her view. She was thankful for that at least as she slowly climbed to her feet for a second time, wiped her muddied hands on her equally muddy cloak and tried again. Her first step was more successful this time, as was her second and third. Soon leaded limbs were slogging their way through muck and mud, fighting gravity as it tried to pull her down.

She was so tired, lost as the pouring rain obscured everything, she tugged up her hood and closed her cloak around her, but it didn't help, her already water logged cloak let the water through to soak her jerkin and shirt. She walked as far as her legs would take her, it could have been minutes, hours, she had no idea, there was no sun, only the damned rain as it poured down over her. She could have crossed many roads and not known it, she was in a haze, lost confused, bleeding.

Not just her fingers from the mud and wet and cold, or from the gash above her brow that was the cause of the pounding headache, but from the deep wound in her side where his sword had bitten into her flesh when she had fallen with her horse. If she had been awake at the time she would have screamed, and he would have killed her. Thankfully she had not been, and instead he had only stolen her weapons and anything else of value he could find on the soldier, including the hair clip to the braid that had so long ago held her hair back from her dirty face.

She was in so much pain, every step jarred the stab wound, every move made her head ache more. She finally stumbled and fell for the last time it was to the cold hard packed earth of a well used road. The pouring rains had let up to a grey mist once more as she laid her cheek on the cold stone road and slowly her eyes drifted shut and she passed out one more time.

Still she did not move, but she was not dead. Her breaths were shallow and her pulse weak, and she would need attention quickly. The knight released the cloak?s tie beneath her chin and opened it up. Beneath the cloak he noticed that she had on a uniform of someone in a royal army. Furthermore, except for the delicate features of her face, he would have thought that she were male and not female.

He carefully checked the woman?s body and his hand came up blood from a wound at her side. The knight mumbled to his horse, ?Tramp, this woman has been in a battle. She needs help.? The horse whinnied as he if actually knew what was being said, but more likely he was anxious to eat and be bedded down for the night.

The knight brushed more mud from the girl?s face and noticed that she also had a head wound. ?We?re got to get her to some place where she can receive help, Tramp.?

He put an arm under her legs and another under her back and lifted the bloody and muddy body into his arms. He would not place her on the horse, for the jouncing would surely aggravate the wound in her side; so instead he simply carried her.

After walking about two miles, he noticed a dark tower set back about 500 yards off the right side of the road. This would have to do. Night was quickly falling and he couldn?t carry her much further.

He headed toward the dark tower.

The sound of laughter echoing, hollow, a flash of color, skirts twirling children dancing and slowly the image became clear, children dancing and twirling in skirts of pinks and yellows, blues and purples, swinging around a tall maypole, laughing and dancing, twirling in the spring sun. She stood nearby watching them, seeing them dancing, rising her head to look around, the sprawling field and the city below everything was so pristine, clean, brightly lit by the high spring day sun. Thatched roofs of red and brown on grey stone buildings, the high steeple of the chapel white as new fallen snow with its outstanding black roof.

Every thing was perfect as it should be, even the castle beyond the sentry walls was decorated with flowers and garland, turning the monolith building from a dull gray to a myriad of color. Flower petals floated through the air past her, playing over her blond trusses that floated through her vision in the warm spring breeze. She knew it was warm not because she could feel it, but because she had been here before, watching the children of May dancing and delighting in the care free nature that was a child soul, as it should have been.

Children didn't care about politics, who's land was who's, or who owed who what, or even the greed of wanting what another had. So they danced to the pipes and string instruments as the music wafted around her. If she turned she would see the band, minstrels dressed in forest greens and browns and soft velvet and leather that was a mark of her people, they would be wearing tall boots and dancing as they played. Ladies of the realm would be setting tables, long and piled high with foods of every kind, some fresh from early blooming plants, others stored through the winter.

Roasted meats and kegs of ale, bottles of the most delicate wines, everything would be set out perfect just for this day. A day when commoners and the rich joined together to celebrate, every one wore their best and most colorful, which left the field swathed in a rainbow of colors. She stood there watching the children play, enjoying their innocents, their freedom. A weight fell on her shoulder and as she turned to see who had touched her the vision changed, suddenly she was no longer in fields of green, but in a plain of grey, of muck and cold wet that clung to everything and went right through a person to remind them of just how wet and cold it really was.

It wasn't spring, or at least not the spring she remembered, this was after a winter of fighting, a winter of sleeping in the company of men, hidden with in their ranks. A winter of watching people she thought of as friend, slaughtered, torn down at such a young age as they would never see adulthood, and those few who had been lucky enough to marry and have children, would never see their babies grow up. She never was a religious person, she hated the idea of organized religion, but now, now she hoped there was an afterlife, a safe place for the souls of the men who had died here, so that they would have some sort of peace after this grey wet hell.

Before her stood the man she feared the most, the man she held her breath when ever she saw in fear he would see the woman behind the boy. She had taken pains to keep her hair well braided in the traditional way of the soldiers in the company, tucked inside her jerkin to keep the length hidden, sealed with the traditional clasp. She had bandaged her chest tight with white cotton wound wrap to keep herself flat, sure it hurt and made it hard to breath, but better that then being discovered for the treason she was committing. He was handing her the reins of her horse, grunted some encouraging word she couldn't remember and couldn't quiet make out and she was suddenly being giving a leg up onto her horse, the little bay gelding prancing as she settled herself and her cloak over his back.

Here she tried to wake up, realizing she was dreaming, here before the charge, before they would rush head long into a killing field that would spell the end of the handful of men left. But she could not and she was there as less then twenty horses charged through the muck and slog rushing towards the men on the ground. They should have beat them back, men on the ground were no match to mounted riders they were told that over and over again. But there she was again, her gelding charging the line of men, the pike rising to meet his charge, the surge of weight colliding with the pole sending the horse into the ground and her airborne. The last thing she saw was the ground and stone rushing up towards her face.

Isilwen woke with such a start that she let out a cry or fear and pain, the cloaked figure above her looming over her in the darkness as she struggled to scramble away, her hand instinctively searching for her sword, memory trying to catch up with action. Her side roared with pain, the sword wound immediately starting to bleed at her action, her head spinning at her attempt at escape.

Isilwen's blue eyes met the stranger's grey, trying to figure out what had happened and where she was as once more memory tumbled over her, the fall, waking in the dirt and rain, somehow getting to her feet and walking away from the massacre she had been a part of and yet had somehow survived. Everything came back to her and slowly sunk back onto the old bed, tired pain filled eyes drifting closed for a minute then firing back open, locking on his once more, had he just called her lady? That was a word she had not been referred to as in the over six months of service. How did he know? Who was this man? Why was he helping her? So many questions assaulted her in less then a second before her lips parted and in a shaky voice she finally asked;

"Help me? Who are you? Where are we?" As she struggled to try and sit up, her hand clutching her wounded side as it protested at the small movement.

He saw the new red blood trickle over the old, dried brown and knew this wasn't good. "It'll take a few more minutes for the water to be boiling downstairs. I have a pot over the fire and I want the water to boil for several minutes. In the meantime, I've got to get you ready. I'm going to have to stitch that wound."

Isilwen lifted her head slightly looking at the wound in the dim light before she dropped her head back to the bed shivering at the thought, and bit her lip, "All right," she whispered softly, terrified at how much it would probably hurt, she had never had a wound as bad as this in her life.

He rolled her shirt up so that her breasts were covered, and carefully slipped away the wrapping. "I might have need of this at the wound." He folded a piece over and put it over the wound. "Please, hold this here with the palm of your hand." He then cleaned away some dried blood that had run down toward her hip, not getting too close to the wound. He went to get a bottle out of his bag that he had brought in with him. He took out a bottle of whiskey and a tin cup. He also took out a little medical kit and set it on the bed, then put the large saddle bag behind her so that she was half sitting up. "What's your name, m'lady?"

She did as he asked holding the cloth to her side, wincing as he helped her sit up, her bright pain filled eyes meeting his once more, hesitant at first to answer then finally speaking softly, "Isilwen," she answered swallowing hard the lump in her throat, terrified of what he was going to have to do to stop the bleeding and close the deep sword strike, her head swimming slightly at the new position.

"Pretty name. Well, Isilwen, I would like for you to drink some of this whiskey. Actually, as much as you can." He poured a cup to nearly full. "I'm going down to the first floor for the hot water. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She looked down at the cup, her hands slowly taking the cup, shaking slightly, before rising it to her lips sipping at the drink, her nose curling slightly at the taste and the way it burned her throat going down before she forced herself to take a second small mouthful, forcing the awful drink into her.

He went down the stairs to the first floor and was pleased that the large pot of water was boiling quite nicely. He found several more candles strewn about on the floor and stuck to tables and he put these inside his shirt. He used a metal hook to grasp the handle of the hot pot and pulled it off the fire, then added more wood and blocked the door with lumber. He carried the bucket up the two flights of stairs and re-entered the room. "How are you doing, Isilwen?"

She had almost been asleep when his voice stirred her, the almost empty mug almost lost as she started at his voice and looked towards him, "Sorry," she muttered, "I must have drifted off," she muttered, and quickly moved to finish off the whiskey from the bottom of the cup, not sure she could stomach another glass but knowing he would probably pour her more as she offered him the empty cup.

He took the empty cup and smiled. "Very good. Now for more light." He took out four candles from his shirt and lit them off the other candle and set them where they shed the most light upon her body. He then took a new cloth from his sack and a bar of soap and wet the cloth in the water, then rubbed soap on it. It was very hot and he waited a bit before starting to clean her body near the wound. He then relieved her hand from it's duty and tossed aside the bloody wrap. Fresh hot water went on the towel and he slowly, carefully, cleaned near the wound.

A soft noise of pain echoed in her throat as she moved slightly under his touch, the whimper strangled off as she bit her lip, her eyes closed against the light and the pain.

When the wound was clean he set down the hot towels and looked at it very carefully, examining how the blade must have entered her and noticing that the seepage of blood was only a trickle now. We are fortunate that the blade went only through muscle and missed vital organs. I do not have the ability to work inside a person's body. It seems that the inner wounds are healing. We need to keep you as still as possible and watch for infection." He picked up his medical kit. "I'm going to stitch you up now."

Isilwen nodded, fighting the fear in the back of her throat, this wasn't like battle this was deliberate slow pain, "Alright," she whispered softly, her breaths coming a bit fast with her fear, on the verge of panic but held strongly in check.

He first applied and antiseptic to the would that would kill bacteria and help the healing process. He then threaded the curved needle with a fine, waxed thread that was made for this purpose. "I'll be as gentle as I can, but you'll feel some pinches. Want any more whiskey?"

She nodded, very much wanting more at this point, "Yes, please," she muttered softly and very eagerly.

He filled up the cup and handed it back to her, "I'll wait until you tell me you're ready."

She nodded, "And if that's never?" She asked trying to lift her own spirits. She lifted the cup to her lips once more drinking down the foul liquor once more, this time a lot faster then the last just to get it into herself before she offered the cup back to him, sitting back for a minute, her eyes drifting closed once more, taking a few deep nervous breaths, "Alright," she nodded, "lets get this over with," she muttered.

He smiled at her jest and began to stitch the wound. The blade made a nice 4 cm sliced in her skin and it would take eight stitches to close it. "I'm being as careful as I can, but please don't move."

"I'm not planning on it," she answered through grit teeth as she stayed as still as possible, her stomach quivering as he pulled the wound closed, wincing in pain each time he did, the alcohol doing a good job of taking the bite out of the stitches, but not helping her already swimming head any.

He pulling on the thread one last time. "There, all done. You're a brave woman, Isilwen." He wiped the blood away from the wound and applied more healing salve, then put another of her wraps on the wound and held it in place with a wrap of thin gauze that he had in his medical kit. "That part is done," he said with a warm smile. "Now let me look at your head."

Her eyes drifted open once more, looking down at him and smiled just slightly, "I have to be, I have no choice," she muttered, her eyes on his.

He pulled her shirt down and over the wound and got his wool blanket and laid it over her, up to her chin. "I want to keep you as warm as possible." Galeron pulled an old rickety chair next to the bed and brushed her soft hair from her face with his fingers. There he saw a good sized black and blue knot just at the hairline. "Hmm....looks like you landed just right. Hope you didn't damage any rocks," he said with a grin as he dipped another piece of cloth into the hot water and began to wash her face and forehead again, this time with soap, and this time covering the bump to her head.

She winced, the swelling bruise very sensitive, "I wouldn't know," she muttered, "I wasn't wake long enough to notice," she muttered.

He tried not to laugh. "That's okay, m'lady, I'm sure you put the rock to sleep also." He took out the healing salve and carefully dabbed the bump, then wrapped it with one of the pieces of the wrap from her chest, using his needle and thread to sew it together like a head band. He held her body while he removed his saddle bag, then laid her head back down on a pillow that he covered with his last towel. "You should get some rest, Isilwen. I'll be right here and make sure you're safe."

She watched him a minute licking her lips, almost asking him why he was helping her and why she should trust him, but trust him she did as she nodded, her head pounding still, she was in desperate need of a hot meal and a hot bath, but for now the warmth of his blanket would do, "Thank you Lord Galeron," she muttered softly letting her eyes drift shut.

He looked down on her with her eyes closed and he smiled. He wondered what a young girl was doing trying to look like a lad and putting herself in such danger. There was plenty of time to find out. He'd have a good breakfast ready for her in the morning, but for now he just cleaned up the mess, got new water for the morning, and added fuel to the fire. He then went up to where she slept, put out all but one candle, and sat with his back to the wall. He pulled his cloak around him and lowered his head in sleep.

"You need some help, m'lady Isilwen?" he asked from a shadowed corner of the room. He was sitting on the floor and had been lightly sleeping until she screamed. He assumed she was merely trying to get up to do the necessary morning relief. "I'll carry you down the stairs to the outhouse and feed tramp. When you are ready, I'll carry you in and make breakfast. You are not to be walking today. Can't have you be ruining my fancy stitch work," he said with a smile as he rose to his feet. He didn't mention the scream. Her nightmare was her own business.

She watched him nervously as he stood, moving to her own feet her hand curling lightly over the wound, "Its okay," she answered fearfully, "I can walk," she answered softly.

"I'm sure you can, but not down these narrow stone steps." Before she could protest anymore he lifted her into his arms as though she weighed nothing. Had there been a chamber pot in any of the rooms, he'd have made her lay back down, but whoever abandoned this old stone tower too the pots with them. "Okay, once we're back inside the tower and on the first floor, you can do you walking there."

She looked up at him nervously, genuine fear in her eyes, but she held it in check, not seeing any other choice in the matter as she nodded, "All right," she muttered softly.

He carried her down the stairs and out into the morning sunlight. He set her down near the outhouse. "I've checked it. It's clean and safe and functioning. Give me a call when you're done. I'll just be over with Tramp." He nodded to where his horse was.

She nodded again, feeling very much a prisoner thanks to her nightmares as she slipped silently and slowly into the dark dank out building, looking around for more then one exit, but not finding one she finally sighed and moved to do what he figured she was. By the time she found herself back into daylight she was starting to feel her hunger knawing at her insides once more as she pushed her bangs from her eyes looking around for him once more, to hurt and tired to try and make a run for it right now, not to mention he was armed and she wasn't.

He saw her standing in the sun. The way her hair shown in the sun made her look like an angel in his eyes. He walked over to her and Tramp followed. "A beautiful day, is it not? I'd like you to meet Tramp. Tramp, this is the lady Isilwen." The horse raised and lowered his head and struck the ground a couple of times with his right front hoof.

She glanced at the horse and for a minute remembered the image of her own horse killed by the pike in his chest and almost gagged at the memory, "A very nice day," she muttered weakly, avoiding looking at the horse for now.

The ground was uneven there and it was uphill to the tower, so he picked her up and carried her back into the tower after telling Tramp to enjoy the grass and stand guard. Inside the tower he set her down in a wooden chair near the fireplace. "Hope that chair's okay. It's the only one down here that's not broken."

"Its fine," she answered softly looking up at him, her bright eyes fallowing his movements, "Why are you helping me?" She asked softly, watching him still nervous of this man who knew her true self.

He put some lard in the hot pan and cracked some eggs into it. He they added some smoked beef sticks to the pan. "Why am I helping you? Well, first because you needed help. I wasn't about to leave you there to die. Second, you never know who is riding down that road. I wouldn't want any evil-minded man to take advantage of you. Third,..." he shrugged, "you'd probably help me if the positions were reversed."

She looked up at him at his answer watching him cook before she nodded, she had to admit he was right, she would have, "Where are you from Lord Galeron?" She asked softly shifting in the seat to raise her shirt slightly to look at where he had bandaged her side, carefully running her fingers over the white cloth.

"I'm from the Kingdom of Hedmark. It's a land far to the north of here. I was returning there when I saw you laying in the road. My father, Wulfgar, is the King of the land. I have an older brother named Valinor." He stirred the eggs with a fork from his cooking kit. "What about you Lady Isilwen? Where are you from?"

She watched him a bit nervously, "A city to the south," she answered nervously, "Bovariea," she answered softly, too aware of her vulnerable position, her kingdom was at war, and she had run off to join it dispite the laws.

"I haven't heard of that kingdom, but then I'm not from around here, so I'm not surprised. I'm sure it's a fine kingdom." He wondered if he could afford the time to take her back home. He'd think about that. "Looks like breakfast is done," he said, pulling the hot pan off the fire. He divided the scrambled eggs and beef sticks on two plates, added some bread and cheese from his supplies and gave her a plate with the knife and fork. He then poured a cup of water for her. "It's not much, but it'll cure the hunger." He smiled at the beautiful girl and handed her the plate.

She took the plate, she was so hungry she thought her stomach was trying to eat itself. She quickly moved to start eating, all but shoveling the food into her, not the most lady like action but still starving brought one to eating as quickly as one could, "It has its problems," she managed around a bite of bread, the first real meal she has had in months.

He ate his meal sitting on the floor besides her. "Yeah, don't they all. My father's kingdom is at war with a demon horde from the deep north. They sent me south to get married so that we'd have an alliance with my uncle's kingdom."

She looked at him over a bite of cheese, "Married? Where is your wife?" She asked once more around the bite of food before taking another hungry bite.

"It's a long story," he replied, chewing off some bread. "What about you? You married? Have family?"

She shook her head, "Not married, not yet," she answered, "suppose to be marrying a Lord in the neighboring kingdom, but then we went to war with them," she shrugged, "marriage is off," she added, feeling her stomach turn at the amount of food she was stuffing into her hungrily.

He changed the subject, "You know, after we eat I think I'm going to clean up this tower. It wouldn't be half bad with a good cleaning. I figure you'll be able to travel in a few days."

She shook her head looking at her now empty plate her stomach complaining loudly at the meal, "I can travel," she answered, running her hand through her hair and grimacing at the gritty feel, she was in desperate need of hot water. "You need not worry about me," she continued, "I'm sure I can find my way to some city not involved in these wars."

He was putting away their dishes when she moved to the stairs before he could stop her. "Wait!" he called out, but it was to late. The girl certainly had a mind of her own and a stubbornness that seemed to know no limits to the trouble it would cause her. He saw her stumble and wince and he bit his lip and shook his head. "Stubborn girl!" he muttered to himself and stood up and quickly went to her. "Isilwen, please," his voice was gentle. "Please let me help you up to your bed."

Isilwen steadied herself before she looked back at the man who seemed so determined to look out for her. Her jaw set for a minute before she finally seemed to relax and nodded, "Alright," she answered softly.

Galeron put an arm around her and helped her up, one step at a time. He could see that even this was painful for her. "M'lady, this is just going to get that wound bleeding again. I'm going to carry you." Without waiting for answer or protest, he picked her up as if she weighted nothing at all, and he carried her up the two flights of narrow, stone steps, then into the room where the bed was set up. "Here we are. Now wasn't that easier?"

She glanced up at him and forced a smile, "A little," she answered, "but you shouldn't strain yourself, I could have walked," she pointed out as she slipped from his arms and down to the edge of the bed, sitting there for a minute as she ran her hand over the stitches under her shirt.

He had to smile, "I must admit you are quite a heavy lass, but so far I've managed not to strain myself." He walked over to the window and opened the wooden shutters to the morning light and warmth. "This room needs a little fresh air and sunlight to take the musty scent away. Nothing like fresh air and sun to speed the healing process."

She made a face at his back at the comment on her weight, before she looked around the room, "Its defiantly not a palace," she muttered under her breath.

Now that there was light in the room he could see what needed to be cleaned. "I'm sorry, m'lady. I tried to get us a palace but all the rooms were already reserved." He began picking up junk pieces of broken furniture and putting them out into the hallway to be used for firewood. "And it looks like the maids have neglected to clean this morning."

"I'm sure they are busy in other parts of the building, perhaps the kitchen," she answered with a slight grin as she picked at the bedding.

He went over to the bed and put his back pack and two pillows at the head of the bed and helped Isilwen fully onto the bed so that she could lean back. Then he went to work on the room, sweeping and cleaning and moving a table and chairs into the room that he had found in other rooms. He basically took the best of what was left in the castle and brought it to the room to make one half-way decent room. He then went and washed up and brought some beef sticks, bread and water up to the room. He set it all down on the table and smiled, "I figured it would be a lot easier to bring lunch upstairs than it would be to carry a heavy woman like you downstairs."

Isilwen made another face at his words then smiled softly, "I wouldn't weigh so much if I was allowed to walk up and down the stairs," she answered with a raised brow.

He brought a tray of food over and sat on the bed next to her. "All you need to do is trip and you'll rip those stitches and we'll have to start all over again and you'll have to be with me for an additional week, and I know you don't want that. Here...eat." He looked at her and smiled. She was a pretty girl, but she was still smudged and dirty from all that she had gone through. "Tell you what, if you're good and stay in this bed, I'll fix you a hot bath."

She looked up at him almost half shocked a smile crossing her face, "That would be nice."

"Good, while you eat, I'll fix the bath water. There's a tub in the room down the hall and it looks like it will still hold water. I think you'll feel a lot better if you're all clean." He left her to the food and drink and started to carry bucket after bucket of water up the two flights of stairs and empty them into the tub. Some from right from the outside pump, a couple were of boiling water from over the first floor fireplace. It took nearly an hour before it was ready, and by then it was mid afternoon. He came back and took the empty tray from Isilwen and smiled at her, "Okay, the bath water is ready! I'll help you to the room."

She smiled softly at him and let him take the tray, "Thank you," she paused watching him for a minute, "for everything," she offered him her hand.

He took her hand in his and help her to her feet. "I'm sure you'd do the same for me if the situation were reversed. Or would you have left me in the mud to die?" He looked down on her and smiled, wondering what she would really say.

She glanced towards the window thinking about the people she had killed and the people who had tried to kill her, "No I wouldn't leave you there to die," she answered truthfully.

"I didn't think so. Some day you might have to be attending to me." He helped her down the hall and into the room with the tub. He took a large blanket and held it up between them so that it blocked him from seeing her. Okay, you get undress and get into the tub...and before that water gets cold. I have no desire to carry up more boiling water!"

Isilwen glanced at the water then the blanket, "What no privacy?" She asked as she started to undo the ties of her shirt.

"I'm not seeing a thing, m'lady. I'll just not have you be fallin' in and drowning yourself. Once you're safely in the tub I'll move outside the door if you like."

She nodded, "I would," she answered and slipped out of her shirt and pants stripping down to her bandages before moving towards the water, slowly slipping down into the water, being careful to not slip in anyway as the water slowly moved around her body and sighed in pleasure for the hot fresh water.

He took the bar of soap and washcloth and held them out to her without looking, then went out the door and pulled a chair out into the hallways and sat there. "You should wash those clothes when you finish your bath," he called in to her. "There's still enough sunlight to dry them an you can be wrapped up in the blanket. No sense putting those smelly clothes on a clean body!"

She glared towards the door as she started to soap up the wash cloth and started the long job of scrubbing at her skin. "I'm sure I had already thought of that, thank you," she answered, ducking under the water to soak her hair and started to work on removing tangles.

He grinned out in the hallway, trying not to laugh. "Oh, and if you need help washing your hair, I'm free to do that."

"You know for a Prince you have interesting manners," she pointed out wincing as she tugged at her own hair before grabbing the soap and working it into her dirty locks.

He muffled a laugh then called back in a most serious voice, "I'm pleased that you noticed that I've not attempted to take advantage of you in any way whatsoever. I have nothing but respect for you, and for all women for that matter."

She smiled softly as her fingers worked her hair into a lather, "Advantage, that's it, that's what I'm talking about," she rolled her eyes. "So why is a man of your," she paused, "wealth," she settled on, "traveling alone?"

"Well, to my wedding of course!" He leaned back and waited for her response.

"You mentioned that before," she answered, "but shouldn't you be traveling with your best man then?" She asked, "Or family?"

"Well, one might think so, but my family is involved in a war way to the north. I was to go to the land of my mother's cousin. I had an obligation there...so to speak. I had a commitment. A wedding was arranged. My wedding."

"So what did happen? Where is your wife?" She asked, knowing she had already asked him this once.

"Well, things didn't go exactly as we planned. The bride to be was my mother's cousin's daughter, Princess Griselda Renward. She was the proud owner of a face that even Tramp would be unwilling to wear."

"So you didn't marry her because of her looks. I thought that was what veils were for," she pointed out as she ducked under the water once more this time to wash the soap out.

"No, no, I would marry her. Some would say that arranged marriages often work best when the spouses are a great distance from each other. In this case the greater the distance the better it would work. The marriage was arranged, so I was determined that I would marry and then ride off to war with great bravery and very little regard for my life. I figured I'd have nothing really to lose, but my life."

Isilwen frowned at his answer, "That would make you a very dangerous man, my Lord. So did you marry?"

He avoided answering her just now and took a bite of cheese he had brought with him. "Dangerous? I suppose. At that point, death would have come as a welcome relief. What is there to live for when your wife has a face that would bolt a horse? Can you imagine our children!" He took another bit of cheese. "This goat cheese has a better complexion than Lady Griselda."

Isilwen tried not to chuckle as she reached for her clothes to start cleaning them too, "You know beauty is in the eye of the beholder, surely she was a good person."

"Some pointed out that it's the spirit within that makes a person beautiful. However, I'm afraid that nothing would soften those looks...well, maybe a blacksmith's hammer. So, at last my fateful wedding day came. And passed."

"That's it? Came and passed, no comment on the wedding?" She asked as she started cleaning the clothes.

"Oh yes...I do have a comment! A miracle had happened! Three days before I was to arrive, Princess Griselda had a miraculous misfortune!"

"Something that would make her more appealing to you, my lord?"

"Infinitely! She was eating dinner, laughing and celebrating and clucking around like a hen with a horse's face ? if you can imagine that ? and she choked on a chicken bone!"

She gasped in shock, "The poor dear, what a horrible way to pass," she answered as she finally slipped away from the water to pull the blanket around her thin form hiding her ribs under the blanket as she tucked it around herself like a strapless dress, ringing out her clothes to be laid out to dry.

"Horrible? I never thought of it quite that way, but I guess one could say that ? in general terms, of course. From the story told to me by several, she put up a fine display of horrified looks that couldn't be discerned from her normal features! When she fell over dead, they were all in shock. I arrived just after the last shovel of dirt was thrown upon her grave. I stayed and grieved in a way." At that he had to laugh. "It was a smiling type of grief."

Isilwen stepped out of the room, her white blond hair spilling wetly over her shoulders and hiding the bruise on her forehead from her fall the day before, "You're a mean man Lord Galeron, the poor woman had no say in her looks."

"I guess it can sound that way. There's more behind the scenes that I haven't mentioned. Like how she schemed and connived to get into the position of being married when it was her sister that I was supposed to marry."

She shook her head, "Ask me, arranged marriages are unfair anyway. The women have no say in it, we're just shuffled off to the richest man whom our fathers deem worthy. Forget wether they're a good person or not," she answered sounding half bitter.

He nodded. "I agree. But you realize that often the man has no say in it either. I'm now determined that I will never marry except for love."

"As soon as I go home I'll be shuffled off to the first man my father chooses; has probably already chosen," she moved to head down the hall, heading back for the room he had set up for them.

He followed along. "Isilwen, don't make the mistake I almost made. Don't let them do that to you."

"I won't have a choice in the matter," she answered softly, pausing at the thought of the punishment for having left already. "I'll be lucky if a prearranged marriage is the only thing waiting for me at home." She dropped onto the cot and looked up at him.

He sat down with her and brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek. "Then don't go home."

She laughed at that, tears in her eyes for a minute before she blinked them away, "Always easier said then done," she answered, "I have certain obligations to fulfill."

"So do I, but you know...I'm now convinced that the obligations that are the most important are the ones we have to ourselves."

Lord Galeron watched her as she slept.

She was still a mystery to him. She was wounded, young and vulnerable; yet she had this inner strength and stubbornness that he found fascinating.

He continued to watch her sleep. She was indeed a beautiful girl, and he wondered what such a beautiful young woman was doing wounded in the mud, when she should be in fine gowns and instructing servants about. A smile creased his lips as he acknowledged to himself that he finds her much more intriguing this way than if she were courtly.

He sat on the floor and leaned back against the bed. His sword was across his legs and held in his hand. No one would harm this girl. This he swore to himself and he'd see her to the end of whatever struggle she was going through.

Galeron closed his eyes and fell into a sleep.

"Where is she!" was the first thing that shot through his thoughts when he awoke and saw the bed empty. "No, don't go!"

His heart was beating fast and he grabbed his bag, ready to set out after her. Why did he suddenly feel so very lonely?

Lord Galeron raced down the old, stone steps, and as he got closer to the first floor the smell of food became stronger. Did she not leave? Was she only cooking breakfast?

He arrrived on the first floor and saw her sitting in the chair, asleep and with the food cooking in front of her. He dropped his bag in relief.

He walked up behind her and laid his hands softly on her shoulders and placed his cheek against her hair. "Thank you for not leaving," he whispered.

He smirked at her response and stood up straight. "You must being feeling better, Isilwen; you are making sense."

He looked at the stew cooking and saw that there was meat in it. He looked at her and raised a brow, "You are full of surprises. A coney?" He smiled, "Anyway, it smells delicious. Thank you."

Lord Galeron pulled over a rickety old chair and sat beside her while she stirred the soup. He was quite for a while and then just started speaking.

"You know, there is no place that I'm in a hurry to get to. I'd like to help you when you're strong enough to travel. If you'd accept it, that is." He got out small bowls and spoons and waiting for the stew to be ready.