"Oh, of course not," said the Phantom, seeming to miss the suggestion of rest entirely. "First light is only logical. Aye, that road does still go through there," he replied in reference to Kjan's query. "We'd need to circumvent a few estates, but better than going over the mountains."

Seated there, Silvryn on one side and Kjan on the other, brought to mind many of their earlier discussions on strategy, back when the rebellion had been merely a political protestation for justice rather than a war against ambitious elves. He found himself feeling rather nostalgic. How simple things had been, when they didn't have to worry about things such as scheming elf lords and explosive jewels.

"At best, that makes it another...what would you say, four, five days?" he added at length, glancing at Kjan. And the Regent's men were two days away. The Keep could hold out under siege for weeks, but it irked him to arrive on the heels of an imminent threat of battle. "Curse it, those horses!" the Phantom added in frustration, pounding an emphatic fist into the dirt. "That would cut our time nearly in half! Bloody fog -" and he broke off, abruptly recalling whose presence he happened to be in. "Er, sorry, Sil - milady." The apology seemed indirectly intended for all the elves who happened to be listening in and probably disapproving.

"Right, so if we cut through there, that means we'd need to come around north of the Keep to get in past the siege," he added, expression taking on a familiar and intensely contemplative quality.

"Ford the river, then, here," interjected Eledhe abruptly, having listened, and leaned over to tap with a fingertip in the place she meant. "The northernmost entrance is up half over this pass, and they won't know of that unless someone has managed to reconnoiter the Keep completely in our absence." A pause. "Which I doubt. Highly." She sat back with a noncommittal shrug, expression carefully neutral still. I may have told the interfering busybody where he was but I bloody well did not hand him a map of the place.

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"We haven't had the best luck with rivers," Kjan felt the need to point out, casting a rather conspicuous glance in Dante's direction, "but I agree. The north's the most likely to go undiscovered, and it's the hardest to block off even if it is found. It'll take a bit longer to get around, especially if we have to circumvent a whole army, but surely Vairtan can hold it for a few days? It is a mountain, after all, and it's not like we're entirely unprepared for such an attack. We knew it might happen someday."

"We have enough weaponry to supply raids, but not to hold off a sustained attack," Silvryn replied. "The mountain itself, while formidable, is essentially the Keep's only legitimate defense. As soon as the Regent's soldiers find a way in, the fight may as well be over."

Adaniar, presumably sensing that he would accomplish no more that evening in terms of discussion, smoothly rose to his feet. "We should return to our own camp for the evening and impose upon you no further," he said, indicating himself and the elves that remained. "There is more that I must tell you, but it may wait until I return at dawn. Am I correct in assuming that Her Highness wishes to remain here for the night?"

Silvryn nodded slightly. "You are."

"Very well," Adaniar agreed, albeit hesitantly. He did not seem especially happy about having the final heir to the throne out of his sight for so long, but he could hardly argue against her spending time with those who had kept her (arguably) safe for half a decade already. "I shall see milady at first light tomorrow." He turned slightly and bowed to the Phantom. "It was an honour making your acquaintance, Phantom Grey. I do hope that we shall have more opportunity to converse in the future."

With an echo of the manners he'd learned as nobility and discarded as a rebel, the Phantom inclined his head. "As do I." He watched Adaniar disappear for a moment, not failing to note the elf's inhuman grace - all of them were the same way, melting into the trees with barely a sound. He'd never noticed it, with Silvryn. Perhaps years of acquaintance with the half-elven Eledhe had rendered him blind to the strange grace none of them, as humans with piddling elvish ancestry, possessed.

Having been momentarily distracted, he turned from watching the last of the elves be swallowed by darkening forest, whose leaves did not even ripple with the movement. The map presented several varying routes, and he squinted at it once more. Eledhe's plan appealed - the Phantom had no wish to attempt entrance to the Keep through an army.

"I like that," he said thoughtfully, drumming his fingers rhythmically on the stone where he sat. The motion helped to ease the inward urge to leap to his feet then and there and be off. There was a short silence, all of them contemplating this new threat, and then the Phantom yawned, breaking the silence.

"Might as well sleep," he said, with a glance at Silvryn. "Miles to be covered, tomorrow."

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Kjan didn't have to be told twice. Between the large amount of walking over the past few days and the poor quality of sleep each night, he was quite thoroughly exhausted. Given that they presently were in the company of far more perceptive (friendly) elves, and that the Phantom tended to take first watch anyway, Kjan wasted no time in spreading out his bedroll and falling asleep almost immediately.

Silvryn, on the other hand, found herself in a mood that bordered on restlessness. She had spent the last several days on the sleep pattern of the elves, and as a result found herself feeling rather awake at the present. As the others drifted off into sleep, Silvryn lay on her back, staring up through the trees at the stars overhead and thinking. Thinking about the rebellion, thinking about several things that Adaniar had told her as they traveled together, thinking about....

She sighed softly and shifted her position on the bedroll a little. The past few days - the whole journey, really - seemed more than a little surreal. So much had happened in so short a time; almost overnight, what had begun as a straightforward effort to restore the rightful ruler (herself) to the throne had become a fight against a force that threatened the human race itself. And then there was the matter of learning that she was, in fact, of a different race altogether, and that while she was the heir to a throne, the throne of Kytana - her kingdom, her home, regardless of what they said - would go to another.

And then to be sharply thrust back into the reality of the rebellion, to be reminded that the world had not, indeed, come to a halt when they had departed, and that they had yet to overcome even the smaller of two opponents, was nearly too much. Nearly. She was coping, as she always did. She would continue to appear neutral, to act as though none of it caught her off guard. She would be the epitome of composure, so that others would likewise take heart and not back down. She had to.

Sighing again, she glanced over at the Phantom, ostensibly the only other individual in the camp who was still awake. He was sitting a short distance away, keeping watch. Slowly, Silvryn sat up, inclining her head silently in greeting.

"I can take this watch, if you wish to rest," she said softly, so as to not wake the others. "Sleep evades me tonight."

The Phantom found he had no more desire to sleep than Silvryn - not, at least, beyond the occasional yawn, and shifting as his muscles began to cramp from sitting in the same position too long. Perhaps, before the arrival of Adaniar - and Silvryn - he would have been as eager as any of them to pick a spot around the fire and escape into slumber.

It wasn't precisely that the elves had found them. It was the news the elves brought. Even sitting there, idly examining a spray of luminous stars over the velvet heavens, tactical strategies were spinning though his mind as fast as he could recall them. Once back at the Keep, the Phantom would have to take over full command, because while Vairtan was an expert at settling things of an economic nature, he would not have the slightest clue what to do in an attack besides bar all entrances and - sit tight. And then? Send out an army of peasants with pitchforks?

His lips tightened. None of them were soldiers, but they lived inside a bloody mountain, surely that must count for something. The Regent's army could not surround their entire stronghold; at the very least, in the event that they were hopelessly cornered, it was likely that many could escape. But for how long? And how would they continue, without the Keep?

The Phantom found he was staring fixedly at the canopy of trees, as though penetrating it with his gaze could make it part and reveal its secrets. He shook himself. They wouldn't lose the Keep.

However, he was too preoccupied still by his own thoughts when Silvryn voiced her soft query. The pragmatic side of him considered that it would be good to have sleep. Then he nearly laughed aloud. A pretty sight for Adaniar, if he happened in their direction - to see the all-important heir of the Elven kingdom seated on a rock keeping watch for the rebels. And sleep would likely not steal over him, either, not for a good while.

He shook his head, offering a crooked grin, and replied softly, "A nice impression that would make on the elf lord, there. Adaniar." A brief hesitation, in which he considered that this particular rock was big enough for two. He stole a glance in that direction. Aye, she looked fully awake.

Unobtrusively moving a little to the side, he offered (carefully without seeming either opposed or eager at the idea), "Care to join me, though?"

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Silvryn seemed to consider briefly, then nodded and got up to move over to the stone. They sat in silence for some time, both rather caught up in their own concerns. It was several minutes later when Silvryn finally spoke up.

"He is not my babysitter, you know," she said, a trace of amusement evident in her wry tone. "He is a brilliant commander and a skilled leader, and I hope to have him as an advisor for many years to come, but in the end, he does answer to me. He must respect my will even when he disagrees." She paused briefly before continuing. "I would not disregard his opinion, lightly, of course. It is only that I am rather young, by elven standards, and he seems to occasionally forget that despite the constant threat to my life, I have managed to remain alive for nearly a decade."

She glanced over at the Phantom, smiling almost imperceptibly. "With occasional help."

The Phantom raised his hands in a protestation of innocence. "I said nothing of the sort," he said, as though Adaniar's presence had failed to faze him in the least. As though, really, a company of elves appearing unannounced was a daily event.

In the lull of conversation that followed, however, he did find his thoughts veering away from the elven commander and in the direction of a certain elven heir beside him. For a moment, he haphazardly recounted the years he'd known her. A recollection in which he narrowly avoided counting on his fingers brought him to agree with her - she was young, even for a human, and much more so for an elf.

He cast her a look out the corner of his eye. Somehow, 'Silvryn' and 'young' did not belong in the same breath. 'Young' seemed to indicate inexperience, confusion, timidity - all traits she did not possess in the least.

Realizing he'd fallen silent in his contemplation, the Phantom cleared his throat. "Aye, well," he returned along with a lopsided grin, "some rebel leader I'd be if I managed to get the princess I'm fighting for killed."

The words pinpointed a conclusion he hadn't yet come to, and the though jarred the Phantom more than he would have admitted. Finding his eyes straying to Jate, asleep by the fire, he added slowly, "I suppose I'm fighting for a different heir, now." Somehow, it was melancholy to consider. Feeling suddenly and oddly displaced, he examined the stars in minute detail and added, "I don't suppose you'd mind if I continued to take a great interest in the matters of the elven heir, too?"

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A different heir. That wasn't news to Silvryn - indeed, that line of thought was partly responsible for her current bout of insomnia. She knew perfectly well that someone else would be taking the Kytana throne now. The thought did not worry her; Jateyani seemed capable enough, if a bit reticent and lacking in the self-confidence needed to rule an entire kingdom. She had no doubt that he would become a magnificent ruler, nor that the people would be in good hands. She could let go of Kytana.

No, what made her uneasy was the fact that the rebellion was no longer technically her affair. Certainly, they found a common foe in Lord Raen, and so it did somewhat concern her how they fared against the Regent, but the struggle itself no longer concerned her. Were she being slightly more honest with herself, she might have admitted that her reluctance had more to do with certain individuals within the rebellion that she would lose than losing the rebellion itself, but she was not. And it was somewhat unsettling to spend nearly a decade fighting toward a specific goal, only to learn that another would be realizing that goal in her stead, while she went off to rule another kingdom which she had never even seen.

"I suppose I might be able to permit it," Silvryn replied at length, arching an eyebrow slightly. "Provided, of course, that you indulge my continued interest in the affairs of one human rebellion."

"Agreed," returned the Phantom flippantly, leaning back to regard the heavens. The stars held his unrivaled attention - he'd never found them quite so fascinating before - for the next few moments.

The celestial lights, glimmering serenely in a velvet sky, were so very far removed from the minute struggles that encompassed all their lives. Obliquely, he glanced at Silvryn. She, too, was silent in what he assumed was contemplation.

"Where will you...go?" he started, for lack of a better question, and for reluctance to voice his real query more directly. Helplessly, he gave a vague gesture meant to encompass all the land spread out before them. "I mean...the elves...well, we never saw them, did we? Or - maybe you did -"

The Phantom gave himself up for lost. He struggled a moment. "I don't suppose elves were ever very tolerant of human visitors, frequently?" he said, carefully casual. "Or, maybe, let their reigning queen visit much?"

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Anyone less familiar with the intricacies of politics might have laughed at the notion of a queen needing permission from her subjects to do anything, but Silvryn knew better. Any monarch - any good monarch, at least - was ruled by the people nearly as much as the people were ruled by the monarch. There were matters that required executive decisions, of course, but a ruler who ignored the will of the people - especially in matters of decorum - was a ruler without respect. And a ruler without respect would never lead effectively.

"I hope to restore relations between the two kingdoms," she said slowly, still staring out at the dark woods. "Adaniar tells me that Raen does not speak for the majority - quite a few elves are openly opposed to his policies, and even more secretly. Elves and humans lived quite peaceably in community with one another in the past, and it was not unheard-of even as recently as a century ago. That is why so many humans display elven traits. It was only when Raen began working his way into power that the conflict began. Without his presence to intimidate them...." She evinced a small shrug and said nothing further.

Sighing quietly, Silvryn looked up at the plethora of stars above them. It sounded so simple, talking about it. Only a small matter of overthrowing an immensely powerful elven lord, then convincing everyone to take orders from (in their minds) a mere child. Twenty-four had not seemed so terribly young when it was a matter of ruling humans, but surrounded by elves, some of whom exceeded a millenium in age...

Abruptly, it occured to her that she had never truly answered the Phantom's query. "I am not...entirely certain where I will go. The elven kingdom actually overlaps both Kytana and Vidyr; I've not yet figured out the specifics. I know nothing of where the capital is, where most people live, how most people live...." She paused, struggling to keep her tone even. "I know nothing about these people, Phantom. I am willing to lead them, of course, but...they are not my people. Not in the ways that matter, at least. I...I scarcely even speak the language! I can converse well enough, but any native speaker can tell that it is not my first language. I don't know how I'll-"

Silvryn cut off abruptly, allowing her gaze to fall to her hands in her lap. "Forgive me," she said quietly. "I have been rather...preoccupied, of late. You have enough concerns of your own without my adding to the list. Perhaps I should retire and leave you to your thoughts."

Five years of planning a rebellion. Five years of poring over the same maps, sitting up until ridiculous hours lobbing strategies back and forth, sidestepping disaster innumerable times - all with the sole view of putting Kytana's rightful heir back on her rightful throne. Five years, and never once had the Phantom seen Silvryn's flawless mask of composure slip. It had been a long rebellion; any of them would admit that. Now she was no longer the heir of Kytana, and no longer was the Phantom rebel leader for Princess Silvryn Seilhera.

He'd miss it. There was no denying.

Cautiously, the Phantom examined her posture from the corner of his eye. Her hands were in her lap, folded as though she were as calm as ever. Various words of comfort, most of which struck him as decidedly vapid, churned about inside his head. He wondered if her hands were not perhaps a more tightly folded than usual. "Logically," he began, trying to achieve a point of levity that was neither too much nor too little, "we did used to worry about the same things. At the same time. So I believe that worrying about different things at the same time isn't...different."

Another stolen glance, to see if he'd avoided vapidity. The Phantom cleared his throat, feeling decidedly awkward, and wondering if he'd missed something he should have remembered.

Silvryn's grip was definitely tighter than usual. The Phantom stared at them, imagining anxiety as illustrated by her hands in her lap. It probably wasn't comfortable. Worrying out loud was much better than worrying inside. He'd learned that early on.

This was all the convincing he needed that really, it was only natural, and probably would make her feel better - and the Phantom stopped generalizing and reached for her hand. Somehow he disentangled her fingers from each other, and found that now he had them in his.

He couldn't remember if this sort of thing came with words.

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Silvryn, for once, was unsure how to respond. She did not instantly pull away, as she likely would have with most individuals, but it did make her slightly uncomfortable. She knew that the gesture - however awkwardly performed - had been intended as comforting, and she did appreciate the sentiment. But however it had been intended, the fact remained that it was something strictly proscribed by the society from which they both had come. Had it been anyone else, she would have discreetly extricated her hand and gently, but firmly, informed him that it was not to be done again.

But how did one respond when one did not necessarily wish to end it?

She knew she should not allow it. Even in the middle of the wilderness, as they were alternately plotting a rebellion and narrowly escaping death, she was royalty, and he was not. For that matter, she was elvish, and he was not. However innocently it had been done, permitting this would be potentially encouraging other acts that simply were not done by two people who were so vastly different. For all she knew, he had meant absolutely nothing by it. But it could not be denied - though not for lack of trying - that her heart was beating several paces faster than it had been moments ago, before their hands had been touching. Nor that their proximity to one another - had he always been sitting so very close? - was inspiring feelings that, as a princess, she knew she should not be having.

Though, once Silvryn thought about it, she rather didn't feel like being a princess at the moment. Princess Silvryn was always composed, always self-assured, always in control. She always did what was proper and right, always knew what to do next. And most of the time, she could play that role. She could wear the mask, because without it she would never have been able to face half of what she had. But every once in a while - if only briefly - she needed to be just Silvryn, the twenty-four-year-old woman (or elf) who desperately wanted to be told that everything would be alright.

So she did nothing.

"I suppose you are right," she said at last, evincing a thin smile. "Thank you. I just...thank you."

The Phantom found himself biting his tongue and looking down at their hands, finding his next words...nonexistent. What was there to say? You're welcome? Her hand was warm in his, and he found himself reluctant to let go, but words still eluded him.

Had he ever seen her quite so unsure? Princess Silvryn Seilhera, Kytana's precious heir, who never failed to present a flawlessly poised exterior. In all the years he'd known her, from their first encounter, he'd never known her to be anything other than utterly sure of herself, coolly removed, and the embodiment of a princess in every respect.

He didn't know whether to be sympathetic or alarmed - alarmed that even Silvryn was shaken by everything that had happened.

Abruptly, the Phantom was aware that they'd been sitting in silence for the last few moments, and none of the words that had flitted so doubtfully through his mind had proven fit to voice. He cleared his throat, glancing down at her. "If it helps," he began, staring down once more at their hands and then up at what he could see of her face, "Kytana likes you."

That didn't seem very coherent. He hastened to remedy it. "I mean, some of Kytana tried to kill you, but I think if you consider the greater percentage who didn't, you'll find that, er, they wouldn't have objected to you as queen. Surely the elves aren't - aren't -" He gesticulated wildly to prove his point, and found that he wasn't holding her hand anymore. The Phantom stopped, realizing this, and his train of thought fled into the distance.

There was a pause. "If they don't like you," he said, a touch helplessly, "I could always send Kjan along to prove how much worse you could have turned out."

_________________

If something resembling a snort of amusement happened to come from Kjan's direction at that very moment, it must have been pure coincidence, for when they looked, he was quite obviously still sound asleep. They turned back around, and there was a pregnant pause as both seemed to grasp for something further to say. But whether the conversation had run its natural course or the unexpected interruption had simply altered the mood, neither said anything.

Silvryn stared out at the dark woods and resisted the urge to toy with the hem of her tunic. She hadn't meant to say so much (judging by the Phantom's expression, he had been equally surprised the sudden outburst), but she felt marginally better for having done it. Eventually, emotions and thoughts that had been suppressed for far too long had to come out, and better to allow it on her own terms than have it unexpectedly occur at a crucial moment. And for whatever reason, she had felt comfortable enough in the Phantom's presence to drop the charade, if only for a moment. It did make sense, she reasoned inwardly. With all that had happened recently, it had only been a matter of time before she needed to sort things out verbally, preferably in the presence a trusted friend. That the Phantom had been the only friend available at the time of her choosing had been mere coincidence.

With the burden of worry at least fractionally eased, however, it was not long before Silvryn felt the need to suppress a yawn. She truly was exhausted, despite previous claims to the contrary. Elven though she might be, her body still had been craving human sleep patterns for the past few days, and even a thin bedroll on rocky ground was beginning to sound quite appealing. Especially given the direction in which this conversation was going.

She drew a slow breath and rose smoothly to her feet. "Perhaps I am more tired than I had thought," she said in a tone that was hardly impersonal, but more distant than before. "I will leave you to your watch." Dipping her head slightly in farewell, she turned to make her way back to the camp.

The Phantom stared in consternation at her retreating back, trying to assimilate what had just taken place. He opened his mouth once or twice - what to say, he didn't know - and was still boring a hole into the spot where she'd been sitting with his eyes, when a dry voice punctured the silence.

"My watch, I believe."

Eledhe leaned against the rock, arms folded over her leather armor, giving him a look that the Phantom could liken to a stone wall. Polite smile devoid of expression, penetrating stare, and about as easy to see through as rock.

"Right," he responded, with as much conviction as he could muster, and went to bed.

-----

The next day dawned far earlier than the Phantom liked his dawns to occur. He rolled over, groaning and regretting his extended watch duty of the night before. The fire had gone out, leaving a crust of ashes that smoked faintly. For a moment, the Phantom lay still and recollected the previous evening's turn of events. He was through the appearance of the elves, reliving his relief at the reappearance of Silvryn and pretending he didn't recall the goings-on later involving some vapidity on his part and strange insecurity on hers, when a particularly vivid thought occurred.

The Phantom was on his feet with a yelp before the next second had elapsed. The Keep!

"Why are you all still asleep?" he bellowed, tossing packs left and right. "Let's go!"

_________________

Jate gave a large "oof!" as a large object slammed into his side. Apparently the Phantom had taken Kjan's words to heart, and decided that noise from the other members of the group having packs dropped onto their stomachs would be a better way of waking the man. Hearing mutterings near his feet, most likely from the Phantom, Jate felt around for a rock he knew he was laying on. Or more than one. It didn't really matter. Eyes still closed, he grumpily threw a handful of pebbles in the general direction of what he hoped was the Phantom. A muffled grunt told him he may have missed.

He was sure of it when he heard a voice in his ear. "Up, up! We need to be moving in seconds!" Just what one wanted to hear after a full six hours restless sleep. Jate turned onto his side, rubbed his eyes, and slowly sat up. The piercing gaze their leader shot each member soon got him moving, if not fast, at least faster than he had been.

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going on a journey through my old claims