[h2][color=Maroon]Vicquerno van der Szaalm & Ariana Hasikos[/color][/h2]
(cowritten with [@TokyoPewPew])

[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/5605911]Following on...[/url]

"The pease porridge was exceptionally fine this morn, Your Majesty," answered the Colonel, "many thanks to Lord Respen's larders." This the aged gentleman said in a huff, as once again—per yesterday's convergence at the manor—he arrived not in the saddle but by foot, rucking beside Ariana's resplendent mount; struggling to maintain the pace of its trot. His nape glistening, his ragged breaths dewing in the morning chill. Mayhap he had lost his own swaybacked steed to a volley during the fighting.

Ariana lean’d down from her saddle with a playful smile, speaking under her breath, “Pray tell me, Sir—what is a Horseman without his horse? That shall not do!"

She could scarcely know how dearly he had hoped she might ask.

"There's a wounded man amongst the train what needed her more than I," Vick answered, in a perfectly rehearsed manner—all humility and charity and the very picture of godly virtue. Of these effects only his labored breathing was not simulated, though even for this was he grateful; it served to augment the effect.  "Standing four thumbs to the right and he would have lost the leg, thank God. But my apologies, ma'am. I will have her back from him ere Calaria, that I should not ashame thee before their envoys." (edited)

“That was most noble of you, Sir,” said she with a gentle smile. “To care for one’s men speaketh well of a commander. Had you told me your horse was lost in the last battle, I would have given you the one I am riding.”

"Would that you could, ma'am. But, I suppose we can always requisition a wagon or carriage, if our chat shouldst survive my vigor." 

Ariana laughed lightly, “Good Sir, I lived and laboured upon a farm until but a few months past, when Master Payani chanced to find me—I am well accustomed to walking. This horse is but a mark of my newfound station, naught more.”

" 'Tis not [i]thy[/i] vigor which concerns me," her companion huffed with a most shallow smile; the kind which didn't reach the eyes, didn't kiss his face with boyish gaiety. A more courtly kind of smile: practiced, restrained. He sighed. Panted, in truth, as the morning heat wrung him out into his buffcoat. "Ahhh. Some advice, Your Majesty: do not grow old."

Ariana gave a soft, amused chuckle that brightened her countenance. “An inconvenience most unavoidable—except for the Elgafolk,” she said lightly. “If you have need of the horse, I shall give it you. Some gallant young spark is like to offer me his the moment he spies me afoot.”  She smiled with mischief, a glint in her eye that hinted, beneath the modest and retiring manner, lay the same lively spirit for which her sister was famed.  “Tell me,” she said, turning the talk aside, “what make you of our companions in this army?”

"If this is about the war table yesterday—about that churl Krasimir—forgive me. I should not have flared like I did." 

“Indeed it is—but there is no cause for apology,” said she, with a modest smile. “At times, I do wonder what some of our unruly knaves might have done, had they met me unknowing of my royal blood.” Though the morn was mild, a faint shudder stirred her, from some thought she had no wish to name.

"Well. That ilk certainly needn't worry thee of that," Vick assured her, tongue lodged firmly in cheek. "They know thy royal blood full well. And yet whether it is their queen watching, their God, or no one at all, they behave just the same."

He turned his head aside; had the wad of spit gathered in his cheek, and primed upon the tip of his tongue. But in female company, he decided better of it. "Like savages."

“I do oft fear I am but a token, meant to draw the commons to our cause,” she said lightly, as though in passing, “And when my usefulness is spent—what then? At the least, should I be forced to flee for my life, I might pass among the peasantry with little notice.”

"Would that be so terrible?" wondered the colonel—"to be a symbol?"

“That, I do not mind,” said she with a slight shrug, then added, her voice growing darker, “Yet my fear is what may come when there is no further need of a symbol? I would hope to withdraw in peace—but in times so strange as these, men oft have a mind to shatter the very symbols they once revered.”

"They will always need a symbol," he answered. "If not the law and all its paraphs, then the coat of arms; if not the arms then the name affixed thereto; if not a name, a chain of office; if not a chain, a sheathèd sword; and failing all else, that same sword drawn, and glimmering, and dangerous."

“Well, that does make me feel a little more secure!” said Ariana, a bright smile lighting her face. Then, with a more thoughtful air, she added, “Yet as a symbol, I cannot help but wonder—who would stand for me, should all go awry?” She gave a wry grimace. “Would that I had my sister’s gift with people—she hath a way that draws faith from the most doubtful heart.”

"Aye. No doubt she has a great many symbols backing her: the family name; the Dawnbringer; that supposèd flameblade of theirs."  The ruck by then had tightened Szaalm in the chest, breaths quick and shallow, flowing none so readily past the wardumming of his heart. He spoke in fragments then, terse and staggered between gasps. Had left most of his ordnance back with the baggage train—save for his sword, which the true gentleman was never without—but his tall boots and naked buffcoat, each of a heavy oxhide, dragged with his every step; weighed him down like so many anchors. Ounces were pounds, after all, when the march had had its way, "And yet she is moved to pity; her better judgment swayed by the mewling of elves and miscreants," he panted. "And as for her cousin, [i]she[/i] pities no one at all. What, then, when only one Hasikos of three pledges herself to true justice?—when she alone vows to avenge the necks of Inbur, which for two centuries have chafed in their yokes?"

“I say not that our cause is unjust—only that I wish I possessed her confidence,” she murmured, chewing her lip in thought.  After a moment, she urged her horse forward a few paces, then slipped nimbly down from its flank, adjusting the folds of her devantiere with practiced ease, “You, good Sir, sound wearied,” she said, “Take my horse. And if you are of a mind to refuse - call it be a Royal decree.”

Colonel Szaalm, much to his graces, could admit when he was outmaneuvred, "By royal decree, then," he conceded. Still, being pitied gave him pause; he hesitated to take the reins from her, hesitated to coax the pony over to the nearest rock or storm-felled pine, which he mounted.  "Posterity remembers, my queen," he continued from a moment past, lifting toe into stirrup. "Win or lose, it will recall most fondly she who aimed to vanquish the dragons of these lands, when her pretenders chose compromise. And collaboration."

A moment later he was sat and seated; and lamenting, gently, that he could not offer her a place at saddle's aft. Condoling himself hence: that the last Ariana needed was to obtain a reputation alike to her sister's. 

Ariana smiled to herself as the Colonel took the saddle. Behind her cheerful countenance, a quiet fear stirred. She felt as a leaf in autumn, borne along a river whose course she could neither guide nor know.  Perhaps, in these uncertain days, Colonel Vicquerno might prove to be someone she could trust—steadfast and true, when such qualities were rare.