The journey home was quiet and as each of the three watched their elders disappear into the snow, they felt even more lonely. No one spoke. Each of them walked in silence, treading as if something terrible had happened between them. Regardless, they walked. One foot was placed in front of the other, each taking a brisk pace to get themselves home. To see Rannor. Or to know they didn't realize what Ysabel was. She'd be slaughtered if they found out. A heretic. A traitor. The Gods wouldn't be able to save her. If the King found out, there would be no way to stop Thyme. The men sighed, quietly. Thoughts wondering hard and far, travelling to places they called home, or to places that were far warmer than the snow they walked upon.

Several hours passed, or so each of them suspected. They shared a quiet meal of sourdough and set off walking again. They didn't have time for camp, or so Roran told them. His pace was faster and more determined of all the boys. He needed to find out if she was still alive. If she was who he thought, she'd not be safe until she hit the God's Waste and found the first well. It was a long walk, or so the stories went. A pilgrimage to the holiest of cities to the first temple of Mirelda, where all God's Children are sent to be proven. The priestess in such a temple is said to be the direct connection to the Gods. However, stories like that go unproven and had died with age.
"Slow down. You'll kill us before we get home." Gilly shouted, stopping to drink a mouthful of water. The group stumbled to a stop, Roran halting reluctantly ahead.

"We have to hurry."

"Why exactly? What is it that's so important to you? It can't be Harron's cooking." Howan commenting, joining Gilly in taking a drink. Roran rolled his eyes and sighed. "Well?"

"She's not safe there."

"Of course it's about the girl." Gilly joined in, shouting as he tucked his waterskin back onto his waist.

"It's not like that." Roran shouted, watching as each of them shifted a hand to their weapons.

"Then what is it?"

Roran couldn't answer. There was no way they'd understand. He couldn't tell them.
"We just need to hurry. You'll understand soon enough." The blonde started to walk again, heading off at the same speedy pace as before. He needed to know she was okay. As the group began to walk again, Howan and Gilly began to talk amoungst themselves. It was pleasant background noise for the group to walk to, but nothing Roran considered important.

By the early hours of the next morning, the three of them returned to the walls of Cannor, all three weary and tired. They disarmed and stumbled into their rooms, sleeping almost instantly. Gilly was out faster than he'd ever seen a man sleep before and Howan was pale with nausea before he finally drifted off. Roran had to fight fatigue for some time before he headed down to the place he'd found Ysabel to be. It hadn't taken much questioning to find out exactly where they'd taken her. Roran hurried around corners and up a flight of stairs before finally reaching the door. He knocked lightly.

The voice that would be heard from the other side of the door was a man’s. If the person knocking had expected a response coming from a woman, then he might be surprised to hear Derrin calling out, “Come in,” as if it were his own room.

The healer was as tired as the rest of the riding party dispatched to answer to the flare that had roused Cannor the night before. However, his mind would not allow his body to rest. Perhaps it was due to his training as a healer, but he was generally more curious than most of the men that Cannor had adopted. Besides, this woman did what his years of work could not accomplish and it hurt his ego even though he would not admit it.

Derrin came after Ysabel almost as soon as he had secured the little belongings that he brought with him to the trip to the mountain pass. The guards that Fraym dispatched were standing in attention when he arrived, but made no move to stop him as he entered the room. Inside the small space, he found the woman asleep on her stomach on the bed. Her face was turned away from him, but the hood of her heavy cloak was pushed back such that reddish brown locks spilled on the white pillowcase. He remembered feeling a pang of pity for her.

If she were awake when he arrived, he could have asked her a few questions to quell his curiosity even for just a bit, but she wasn’t. With a sigh, the healer slowly and gently rolled her to her back before pulling the covers over her shivering body. He remembered her saying that she was sick, but he didn’t realize how sick she was until then. Derrin sat at her bedside since then. He asked one of the men at the door to fetch supplies from his own study, then proceeded on studiously observing his patient. Her skin had gone ghastly clammy and pale, but perhaps she had been ghastly pale even in the mountains and he wasn’t paying attention. She was gritting her teeth as if she was in pain even while she slept. He frowned at his observations. None of these showed when Olivere and himself first found her sleeping alone with a stolen bag, then at the rook where the Winter's Children had hidden, she was still enthusiastic and healthy. Everybody present could attest to that, especially Gilly. And then before they left, she started exhibiting symptoms of an illness -- symptoms that were disturbingly similar to the wound fever of one bitten by a warg.

But that was a few hours ago. “Come in,” Derrin called again in a calm voice, effectively masking the different emotions he was feeling all at the same time. By that time, he was still uncertain whether or not she was bitten by a warg, but what he could be sure of was that in such a short period of time, Ysabel had gone from shivering to a peaceful sleep. Her body temperature, which was disturbingly high when Derrin first came into her room, was now close to normal. This woman had a secret more intriguing than the concoction she made to cure Rannor.

Derrin got up from his seat and opened the door himself and there was the other curious thing that happened that morning. “Roran?” Derrin couldn’t help but say his name in a question, inviting the younger man to explain his presence. But his face broke into a knowing smile. Ysabel, save for her lack of breeding and sarcasm, was a rather beautiful woman anyway. “Can I trust you to look after our guest for a couple of hours? I am going to see the elders to report.” He leaned forward as if he was going to whisper to Roran, but Derrin's voice was loud and clear when he said, "I believe she's already awake. I wonder how long she plans on faking sleep."

Not that Ysabel thought faking unconsciousness would save her, but she did hope it would delay the inevitable. But now that she was found out, she stretched her legs and tentatively opened her eyes.

It was a large surprise to hear a different voice than what he'd first expected. It wasn't soft and shivering from the chilled air, but instead it was dry, masculine and indicated a body already used to how cold the air was. Roran paused carefully. He'd need a reason to visit, and he wasn't quick with his wits. The blonde watched the door open to the face of one of the few people he would have been glad to see. Olivere was the last on his list, however, Derrin was and had always been somewhat kinder; at least in his eyes. He couldn't talk to Ysabel with Derrin by his side, not without risking his own life and hers. He looked up at the healer and tried to concoct a smile, something to make his visitation seem trivial.

Much to his surprise and relief, Derrin provided his trivial reason without thought. There were no orphan girls within Cannor, they usually ended up in the docking bays to the West, sitting on ships before they were fourteen. Roran tried to look even the slightest bit embarrassed, instead he pulled of a guilty look. He bowed his head for a moment and nodded.
"I'll see to it she's rested properly." He commented. Eyes glanced between Derrin and Ysabel, watching how still she seemed to lay. He flicked his sights back to his healer and elder, spotting Ysabel move in the corner of his eyes. He stepped aside from the door to allow Derrin to leave. The conversation and questions he needed to ask would have to wait until he was sure Derrin had moved from the door and disappeared upstairs. Neither of them were safe, keeping Ysabel's potential talents secret could easily be trialed as treason, despite everything.

Roran shut the door slowly, watching Derrin move away from the door. He pushed the wood hard against the stone and lifted the lock. The door shut and Roran waited. He needed to make sure she was safe. He paused, listening for footsteps. Nothing. The blonde turned and stood by the doorway. The exchange would be awkward, he was prying and assuming.
"Are you alright?" He asked, stepping further into the room. He wouldn't sit himself down without permission, he was already overstepping boundaries. The last thing he needed was to find out she'd been hurt or they'd force the truth out. Ysabel looked okay, healthy almost. Of course Roran was worried, it was certainly hard not to be. "I assume they do not know?" He asked, glancing back at the door. His voice did display an hint of his own confusion.

If it was all true, Ysabel was a fairy story, an ancient legend of the King's Before. She was not real... The Gods were dead, everyone knew that. Yet Ysabel was potential disproof. Why now? They'd been dead for so long, why did they choose to return now? His head hurt thinking about it. He wasn't a Seer, he couldn't talk to the Gods. There was no way he could ask them, not without going South; that trip would take months more than were available.

((Apologies for the length, I'm slowly getting my muse back.))

Mirelda help her. It seemed to Ysabel, during the night in the mountain pass, that healing Rannor was such a brilliant idea. She thought that a charitable gesture would entitle her free pass to Andor, inclusive of few days accommodations courtesy of the Winter’s children. Then again, as the hours ticked by, Ysabel was more and more convinced that what she did the night before was just plain stupid. She should have just listened to the voice in her head reminding her not to be the hero.

The woman sat up on the narrow bed as her blonde visitor shut the door behind him. The bed was not uncomfortable, and the thick blanket provided her with little warmth, but she decided against surrendering to the temptation. Soon, the orphans would come for her and her answers. There was no point in faking unconsciousness, she might as well start studying her room and planning a possible escape route.

She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders even as she sat cross-legged on the bed. Her boots, she discovered, were removed by Derrin and were currently neatly placed at the side of the bed. She still wore layered clothing with visible tears on the arms and parallel gashes on her left side, where a warg sunk its claws. How could these people survive in that frozen wasteland? It was so cold she doubted she could fight without her teeth chattering or her punch shaking. Then again, she was not very good at hand-to-hand combats. She much preferred using the sword – a weapon that she realized she was missing. And what if the blonde had plans other than looking after her?

Her eyes narrowed at his visitor. She remembered some of the men calling him Roran. Fair coloring and average in height and build, he was not the perfect guard, but compared to her skinny arms, he ought to be effective. He looked uncertain even for somebody who had an advantage.

“What do they not know?” she asked back, inclining her head to one side, faking a puzzled look. Her voice sounded raw, perhaps another effect of the infection. Faking ignorance was her first line of defense, but she knew it would not hold under the pressure of interrogation.

Roran knew something, he was suspecting. Perhaps he saw through her lie and noticed what she had hoped she artfully concealed. Ysabel remembered him from the night before as the one who told her that she wasn’t safe. What did he know?

It didn’t matter for now, she decided. “What will you do to me?” she asked in a quiet voice at the same time her body shivered because of the chilly air. Her fists tightened on the blanket. Fear showed in her eyes, but she dared not to look away from Roran. “I mean no harm. I mean only to return to Horngul through the sea.” Which was the truth, but she allowed her voice to crack and her emotions show as she added, “I lost the people I consider as my family on the mountain pass. I cannot anymore make it back the way I came. I ask not your help, but that you allow me to be on my way.”

Yaska help her. She was trying to deceive another man. Not that she didn’t mean the words she said, it was that she was exploiting one of the known vulnerabilities of a man which was his ego. She would play the part as the weaker gender in distress and he can be the hero who will save her. In the real world, she hated when a man does that, but she lived with men long enough to understand that it was hard to resist showing off a man’s superiority.

((No problem :) I'm trying to respond faster. Maybe in my next reply.))

What if he was wrong? What if it had all be coincidence? Roran would make a cool of himself and Ysabel would move out and back to wherever she was from. The stories would linger from her but would never reach his ears. Yet, if it was all true, by some slim chance, and he failed to do something, she'd be dead. He'd be punished by the gods, no doubt they'd return to punish him for his insolence. It all pointed to his suspicions, despite how unlikely they were. The way she healed Rannor, the sudden halting of the mountain storm- it all added up, surely. Magic had died with the gods too...

The blonde quietly ignored her question. How was he supposed to word it? He couldn't just say it.. He looked up and tried to find the words. He was grasping at straws however, struggling hard to find the strings and sentences he needed to express what he had suspected. Then, Ysabel changed her question. It was easier to answer.
"Nothing. I can't leave." He sighed and sat himself in the chair Derrin had been sat in all evening. "I will tell you that Andor is not safe. Nowhere the King touches is safe for you. Not Horngul, not Mathlas to the west. Not even the slave bays to the south." Quickly Roran lowered his voice. "Wherever the King has power, you're life is in danger. I can't leave this place, but you must go south. You must get to the Wastes and find the desert city."

The stories he'd grown up with spoke of a city hidden in the sands. It was a pilgrims challenge to find the city, to trust the gods and have them guide. The city was said to be surrounding an open temple. It was built high, solid marble walls, shining bright in the sun. It had no ceilings but instead sat open to the sky. There was no rain in this city but instead, underneath ran well hundreds of feet deep, filled with water that would keep them going for centuries. The legends told of the Gods Kings and Queens travelling to the city to determine their linage, their true place. In the centre of the temple was a pool. A ceremony would be performed and if the subject was truly one of Mirelda's children, the skies would open, raining down the water that would keep the city going.

Roran flicked his eyes back over to the door and paused. He held a hand up to silence Ysabel. He stayed quiet for some time before relaxing. He turned his eyes back to the woman and sighed slowly. He couldn't let her go.. Yet was she techincally a prisoner? He'd be punished, severely. Incredibly.. He brushed his hands over his forehead and tried to understand what he was supposed to do. Perhaps he was the only person alive who knew where Ysabel would be safe. Perhaps he was the only person alive who knew what she was.
"I can't come with you, but I can show you the way." He stood slowly and unlocked the door. He'd find her a sword and some food, money and a bag. Then he'd send her south, tell her she needed to trust herself when travelling the Waste. "I will walk you to the back gate, but i can't follow you out. I'm risking a lot letting you out, but I'm risking my life following you."

“Nothing?”

Ysabel blinked, then blinked again. She studied Roran with her dark eyes, thoroughly uncertain whether to believe him or not. Did he not want to ask her questions? On one hand, he had nothing to gain if he asked her questions, even if she decided to answer them truthfully. He looked young and untested. She knew very little about the traditions of the Winter’s Children, but she knew enough to know that though they treated each others as brothers, there was a system that categorizes each of them into ranks.

"I will tell you that Andor is not safe. Nowhere the King touches is safe for you. Not Horngul, not Mathlas to the west. Not even the slave bays to the south," he said, and lowering his voice he added, "Wherever the King has power, you're life is in danger. I can't leave this place, but you must go south. You must get to the Wastes and find the desert city."

“I have done nothing to offend your king. Why should I run away?” she said, frowning. Her business was in Horngul, as a hired sword. Elred, Symond, Cilia, and Gyles may be dead, but she still had a life waiting for her back in the capital, Bolavo. Adranus would be waiting for them, any of his men that he sent to the mountain pass. He would assume they all died if no one returned. She had no loyalty to Adranus except for the money that he steadily supplied his swords. The prospect of returning to Horngul was more appealing that a journey into the Wastes. Now that four of his closest friends were gone, only Adranus knew what she was really capable of doing.

Ysabel was about to say something more, but Roran silenced her with his hand. He seemed anxious about something, perhaps more anxious than she was. He clearly suspected that she healed his brother the night before, not by any normal means, but by magic. What else did he know? Much to her frustration, Adranus would not explain anything to her, telling her that the less she knew the better, that she would be safer if she only use her special talent when he told her to do so.

"I can't come with you, but I can show you the way," he finally said as he got to his feet and headed to the door. "I will walk you to the back gate, but i can't follow you out. I'm risking a lot letting you out, but I'm risking my life following you."

“Thank you,” was all she could say, but she did not move from her position on the bed. She needed to hear answers. Ysabel might not trust this man and the wisdom in his words, but she needed to hear why. “But please tell me why. Why do you say I should go into the Wastes? I need to hear why. All my life I have asked why, and nobody has given me answers.” Always just a caution not to use her talents unauthorized. She understood, even as a child, that she was different. When her parents learned about it, they sold her – for her safety and theirs, she was told.

Here was somebody who might actually talk. Before answers were demanded of her, before she lied through her teeth, she would demand answers herself. Ysabel got off the bed and walked to the door barefooted. She ignored the cold and stood in front of him. Her hand found his, the one on the latch of the door, then pulled the door closed through his hand. Her voice was barely a whisper as she asked again, “Why do you say I should go to the Wastes?”

Roran feared her next move. Yet it was pride he feared. She would understand, or think him mad. He cared for the latter, as any man would. His eyes darted between the ground and the metal his hand clung to. How was he supposed to word this? Staying silent, the blonde turned to look at her, watching her move towards the door and stop him simply with her hand. If her gift has awoken the gods, Yaska would have been standing behind her now, giving her all the qualities a woman possessed. Strength, beauty, wisdom, wit and the ability to stop a man in his tracks, no matter who they were. He left his arm limp, feeling her pull the door closed.

When she spoke, Roran felt the desperation for an answer in her whisper. She needed to know, not knowing could get her killed. He took his eyes off her hand and allowed his eyes to click about, as if to grasp would out the air before them.
"No mixture known here is enough to prevent a Wargs infection." He dropped his voice low. "On the mountain, there is no break in the snow. Not in my years." He paused, searching for the words he needed. Had it not been an extensive journey ahead of them, Roran would have taken her to the temple pools himself, yet the journey reached nearly three months in length. Of course this was provided they didn't die from dehydration. "Something changed the mountain's mind- the gods' minds. Andor is not safe for you. Not with the king's family on the throne. The gift you have will either get you killed or bring you power amoungst the entire of Andor and its neighbours. But you're not safe here."

He stopped himself. Waiting to see if footsteps continued. He heard nothing. Carefully, he turned back to Ysabel.
"Dress. We have to leave." Maybe he was being too cautious. None of them would even consider Ysabel to be a Queen. They didn't have the imagination. "If we leave tonight, there will be less chance for questions. Less chance for anyone to find out." He stood with his back to her despite her being in appropriate attire. He turned out of honour and respect. "You have to understand that no one must know. The King will have your head if anything is known. He knows the people would follow you instead. He knows they wish for the god's return, and Andor's rightful heirs."

That would be a problem. No God's Queen ruled without her own king, illuminating the kingdom as a couple and never alone. Both sides of the coin needed to be shown. Roran turned back slowly and peered out the door. He was nervous, of course. But she needed a horse and a direct route to The Wastes.

**wasnt sure if you had a plan for Derrin so I left it open**

The answer she received was not what she had in mind. Ysabel had always known that she was different even before her unique talent manifested, but what he told her was just unbelievable she had to put an effort not to laugh. And yet, part of her wanted to believe what he said, if only because she had no idea why she was different, but the gods were dead. The kings and queens who built Andor, Horngul, and their neighbors were as dead as the gods. This was a new age, where magic did not exist.

Still, she was different.

The man who bought her from her parents was named Adranus. He was a man of questionable character, who ran his little criminal empire in the heart of Bolavo. He was also the man who raised Ysabel to believing that it was for her good that she kept her talent a secret and refrain from asking questions about it.

Stories of gods’ kings and queens were not very popular in Horngul. She had heard some, but as a rational adult, didn’t take it into heart. Now, this man was implying that she might just be one of the legendary people who ruled the continent.

She let her hand fall to her side and kept her face a blank mask protecting her emotions. “The gods are dead,” she whispered with less conviction that she would have wanted. What he told her was impossible. She needed to get out of the fortress to protect her secret and prevent these people from turning her into a slave as Adranus had once warned her.

Ysabel turned away and grabbed her belongings. She was putting her boots on when she heard the door crack open and a familiar voice greeted them. “Ah, I see you have asked our guest to dress herself. Good thinking, Roran,” Derrin said. He was standing on the doorway, carrying a tray and was smiling at her. A smile that chilled her blood colder than the mountain did. She looked from the older man to Roran then back. Their escape plan was compromised, but she wondered whether or not he had been standing by the door all along.

“I have brought food,” he declared, stepping into the room. The scent of soup and freshly made bread wafted in the small room. In response, her stomach grumbled and she almost forgot that she should be running by then and not fantasizing on the taste of the food on the tray. “These are all for her, Roran, you hear me? If you are hungry, you may eat with the rest of us, but these are all for the girl.” His tone held warning, but it was difficult to think ill of Derrin with his eyes so soft and his smile as warm as the food he placed on the table.

**No major plans, just food :)

What Roran remembered of his upbringing was perhaps odd for some now. He remembered the stories his mother used to tell him. Paintings of the Kings and Queens, holding their place on the throne. How the mightiest battles were won with the Domas. She'd told him tales of how the most beautiful women were creations of Yaska. He could remember the legends of the God's own trials and fights, destroying the weaker gods to make place for their own world. Maybe he was even hurt by Ysabel's quick disregard for his belief in her. Maybe he was being too childish.

He had little time to convince her, let alone get her to safety. He turned his back again and dropped his eyes to the ground. The thick cloth about his clothes would keep him warm, as it did every other on the fortress. After several months, the cold didn't bother many. Not at least until one journeyed into the mountains. His thoughts danced over his fantasies of a world filled with Gods, eventually clocking onto the sound of foot steps echoing. He lifted his head and turned back to Ysabel. He could only glance before Derrin appeared at the door.

Roran stepped to the side, allowing the man leave to pass him. He stayed quiet, as was his place, and waited anxiously for the man to leave. Of course, however, he did not. Roran moved his eyes from Ysabel and turned back to Derrin.
"Of course, I know. I'll wait til breakfast, it is too late for food now." He turned his attention back to Derrin and waited. Was he supposed to leave? Did they already know? "I can continue the watch here for the night, I am not tired." He commented, hoping that it would give Derrin the opertunity to leave. Ysabel needed to get out before anyone, even by the slightest chance, managed to assume the same he did. There may have been a chance that Roran's assumption wasn't correct, but he would continue to persuade her that The Wastes were the safest place.

Her eyes moved from one man to the other, from Derrin’s authority to Roran’s quiet submission, until finally it rested on the food. It was just bread and soup and a cup of water, but she was not in a position to complain. In fact, she was thankful that they were at least feeding her.

“If you say so, Roran,” Derrin shrugged, but Ysabel noticed that he was studying her. When the healer left them, Ysabel was on the bed pretending to still be asleep, he took the liberty to remove her cloak and boots for her own comfort, because he thought she would be staying in bed. She would not be surprised if he thought it rather odd that upon his return, she was dressed and seemed prepared to move in the middle of the night.

“It is cold,” was her answer to what she supposed was Derrin’s question. “My cloak is warmer than the blanket and the boots warms my toes. I’ve no complain about your home save that it is terribly cold. I cannot imagine how the lot of you can stand to live here.”

Derrin chuckled. His eyes followed her as she moved to the table to taste the soup. “Warm soup and good company, my dear. Am I right, Roran?”

“I mean, living amongst men and without the company of a lover.” Because the men of Cannor were sworn to have no other love than their duty to Andor, to keep watch of the mountains and keep the north safe. She waited for his response, and while doing so, she tore a piece of the bread only to drown it in the thick soup. Again, she was not in the position to complain, and perhaps when the stomach was hungry, the brain agreed that everything was tasty. She took a bite, then another, then she added without looking at either of the men, “Of course you get by with one another. Cannor had stood for centuries against Horngul’s stubborn jabs. There must be a merit living with all men.”

“Such as the peace and quiet,” the older man conceded. Ysabel smiled up at him, but he was turning his back and was about to speak with Roran again. “Can you imagine how life will be living with a girl? Unlike you, I prefer sleep than sitting in a room with this one. Make sure no one bothers her.”

“Thank you for the meal, although a girl can do better than this.” She sipped from the rim of the bowl, relishing the warmth that settled into her stomach. Had it been only water, she would have been satisfied by it because of the warmth. “You can only imagine how delicious meals made by her are.”

“I would rest if I were you,” he answered without a trace of irritation in his voice. “You’ve a long day ahead of you tomorrow and I am pleased to see that you have recovered rather fast.”

Roran didn’t stand in his way when Derrin walked out of the door and left the room. The healer's statement hang in the air. It might be nothing, but her heart was hammering in her chest, because he sounded as if he knew. She waited for the door to close and for his footsteps to fade before calling Roran and offering him some of the food. “You must be as tired as I,” she said, tossing her half of the bread. “Come share it with me and then we can start running away.”

The sooner the better.

It was hard to deny just how nervous and tense the situation was. Derrin was possibly the least harmful of all the men it could have been. He kept himself looking as calm and civilised as he could, despite the fact he could feel their opportunity for escape drifting away beneath his feet. His heart was already clammed img in his chest. This was treason and of course he was nervous. He gave a short nod as conversation was directed back towards him.

"It may not be the best food in Andor, but the colder farms still provide us with something." He was cautious, as always, watching quietly. He could feel weariness and exhaustion behind his eyes, yet he needed to be alert. Gods forgive what would happen if he let her die. "Most of the men here were given as children, a high number have never experienced the company of a lover, whether paid for or otherwise." Roran interjected. It was odd to think that the majority of the men living in Cannor, which stood so small against the mountains to the north, would die without ever experiencing a woman. Those who had shared their bed with another would agree it was a sad fact, yet it was never spoke of. Perhaps it was the sheer cold that kept mens' desires at bay.

"Perhaps a softer voice would allow me to relax." He suggested, his voice clinging to a reason for wishing to spend time with Ysabel. "It makes a change to the voices of the brothers were both share." His entire body was screaming for rest, whether it be by Derrin's leave, or by a place to sleep. Eyes lifted to study the healer, a man smarter than most others in the keep. He didn't seem to know too much, not by appearance but what did Roran know? He was psychic. He couldn't tell from appearance. But he feared the worst. If Derrin knew, chances were, the others knew. The blonde could already feel his palms sweating.

He watched the two of them and frowned. Derrin had to know, the look on his face wasn't normal. Yet it wasn't the assumption most normal people made, it was a last choice, a quick grasp at fantasy. They may not have been in the worst place in the the country if others knew, but they still weren't safe. He nodded again at Derrin's request and glanced over at Ysabel. There was a wave of relief to see the man finally leaving. Roran sighed gently and checked the lock on the door. Derrin had deffintely disappeared from earshot.

He turned over to Ysabel and hesitantly nodded.
"Thank you." He commented, walking over quietly. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down, chewing on the bread. It was softer than usual, deffintely tastier. He assumed that they'd baked specifically for Ysabel. Regardless, he ate. "I'd suggest before the hour is up. There's a chance that he knows, you're doomed if he does." He finished quietly and stood slowly. "No one needs to know, no one can know." They'd leave as soon as she was finished eating, if anyone with more power found out, no doubt the Caoital would know before dawn. The Wastes were a month away, on horseback, and walking would take much longer.

The warmth of the bowl nestled in her hands was very comforting that she was debating with herself whether to finish the soup or to just hold on to its warmth until the cold of the mountain took it from her. “I was afraid he would stay and ask you to leave,” she said, still staring into the thick liquid inside the bowl. “It doesn’t matter that you might be wrong, I am doomed if both he and you share the same thoughts about me.” She lifted her head to find him chewing on the bread, watching her. Who could he have been if he were not an orphan of Cannor and how come he knew so much about the past? He was different somehow. Perhaps more clever and observing than the others, or maybe he was just too superstitious.

Ysabel lifted the wooden bowl to her lips and savored the feeling of warmth traveling down her throat until it settled in her stomach and she wondered how long until she felt such warmth again. There was no fireplace in her room to warm it and there would be no fire to comfort her once she was out of the walls of Cannor, not unless she wished herself discovered if any of the orphans had the mind to go after her.

She put the bowl down on the bed. “And what about you? What happens when they find out that I am missing? Derrin knows you are watching over me.” Again, it was none of her business. He was just a stranger who had made a decision to help her get out of Cannor, she should be thankful and not one to make him think twice about his decisions in life. “Why don’t you just come with me?” Ysabel asked, getting up so she towered over his sitting form. The corners of her lips tugged up so she was looking down at him with a small, wicked smile on her face. “If what you believe is correct and the gods have returned, then I shall be made queen. And as for you, I shall appoint you to a position – any position you wish – and grant you lands and castles. Come on, we better leave, before some more of your brothers decided to visit us.”

The hall outside the room was made of the same gray stones laid out on top of each other. There were no windows where the cold might enter, but the wall opposite the door was lined with evenly spaced torches. Because no light could enter, the torches were lit no matter what time of the day it was. Time would be hard to guess inside the keep, but the flickering flame from the torches was more warmth than the gas lamp and candles that lit her room.

She let Roran lead her through the maze of halls, occasionally stopping to check if the next hallway was clear. It might not be easy to guess the time, but Ysabel imagined it was still dark outside and dawn might be a couple of hours yet. She deduced this from the quiet and the lack of men loitering in the area. Roran was right, this would be easier than when most of his brothers were awake.

Their first stop was to steal some food. Her back was pressed against the wall beside what she guessed was the kitchen door. It must either be the thin air or fatigue, because she was catching her breath and her limbs specifically felt very tired. For a few moments that she treasured, they listened in the silence, waiting for a sound to betray a person in the kitchen, but there was none. “The cook might have gone to bed,” she whispered.

Position? He could easily imagine what. Head of guard, knight, lord, adviser, council.. Above all, Roran wished for his home. He hadn't been old enough to remember it when he'd left. In his memories he saw white walls and dozens of tiny streets that spidered away like rivers and streams. He could remember climbing the roof of one of the taller houses, looking out at a vast and busy city filled with vibrant red cloths. He could never see a sigil on the banners, no marks of a ruling house. People spoke of his Riverland's heritage yet Roran saw no signs of silver oaks.. He held the secret belief he'd been born in one of the few remaining free cities to the South and the West, although war and the ever increasing slave trade grew in on the shores beyond Andor. He smiled as calmly as he could and sighed gently. He wasn't going to lie to her.

"I'll be trailed." He feared the possibility of execution yet being punished by the Gods for having their newest queen killed by the man who called himself King. The blonde soon nodded. She had a point. Derrin would return before the night was up, now was their best chance. He waited patiently before stepping outside in the silence quietly. He heard nothing, only the faint sound dripping somewhere in the keep. He was grateful for the silence for now. The last thing they needed was a fight. Roran was barely armed.. He checked each hallway and carried her on extended and emptier routes than some of the faster paths they could have taken. He crept along on shorter hall and stopped outside the kitchen.

They both waited. Roran turned to her and placed a finger on his lip. The cook may have been asleep but he may have also been awake. Regardless, they needed food. He'd need to make sure to retrieve the rest of his own weapons before leaving. Ysabel could easily use his own sword, she was handy enough with one. The last item were horses, that however depended on the time. Horses weren't silent like men. One noise and they'd be found as easily as that. Roran slowly peered his head round the door, staring into the dimly lit kitchen. He could smell no food nor see no fire burning, something which he believed indicated a lack of life. He waved and stepped into the threshold of the kitchen. Food was kept in various places, but they'd need pots and pans too. He took up a sack and slowly emptied a number of potatoes from the bottom. They'd use this until Roran found his own bags. That meant a trip into his own lodgings, something he felt was all too dangerous.

"Look for food and pans. Nothing that will rot soon, its at least a months ride and even longer on foot." He muttered, keeping his voice low and deep. He disappeared along the stone floors, grabbing bread and items he felt were fresh. They'd find things on the way, no doubt they'd find farms or inns that would somehow provide for them. The more he thought about the task at hand, the worse he felt. He'd deliver Ysabel to the Desert City and travel home from there. He couldn't return to Cannor after that. He'd take a ship to the West and travel until he saw something that resembled home. No doubt he'd find something better before then, providing he didn't die before they reached the God's Waste.

He filled his bag with various items and returned to the door, the bag slung over his shoulder. He paused for Ysabel and smiled.
"Are you okay?" He asked, cautious of her possible thoughts. She hadn't voiced them for a while and perhaps now wasn't truly the time. However, he feared she shared the same vague regret he did.

((Apologies!))

No matter what, it was Roran who ultimately knew about the Keep. So when he asked her to keep her mouth shut, she obeyed without question, and when he waved for her to follow him to the kitchen, she did so without second thoughts. At that moment, he was the sole authority that she would submit to, because she knew very well that her very life depended on him.

The kitchen was asleep, not dead. A single scone was left lit either by choice or by accident. She paused with her back against the closed door, allowing time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and her racing heart to settle. It was just fatigue, she repeatedly told herself.

Roran went on ahead, intent on fulfilling their secret mission. She nodded on him once then followed his advice and managed to locate a couple of small light pans that would be useful on the road. It was not very difficult to find food in the kitchen, and she learned that these men were terribly organized which made their task all the more easier. At the end of their raid, the bag that Roran carried was half filled with dried goods, spices, and cooking utensils. It would not last until the Wastes, but carrying more would slow them down.

Ysabel was one step behind him, concentrating on not making a noise so when he stopped she almost bumped into him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded and managed a small smile, but before he turned away, her gloved hand found his arm. “Are you sure about this?” she whispered back before they moved towards where there was no more turning back. “I am very thankful that you are helping me now, but there really is no need for you to come with me.” She shrugged. “I was just teasing about appointing you a position. If leaving Cannor will put you in danger, I do not believe I am worth risking your life for.” Besides, she might choose to return to Horngul, to the only life that she knew how to live. She was not a queen and she will never become one.

“Let’s keep moving.”

((No Problem. Would you want them to get caught? But maybe when they are near the stables to increase their chance of getting away.))