The soldier’s words did not come without an impact, despite their slurred nature. They were barbed with a mental poison that was already at work in his mind, and every authoritative officer there. It was not by his decision that they were to go out, but that did not change the fact that he had led his company into a slaughter, even if it was one no one could have expected. This was war, and this was what happened. No one needed to be at fault.

And still, it ached, having seen his men die. But more importantly and the thing he needed to focus on was the fact that those feelings had been addressed out loud. It was bad for morale in a time like this and it could not be tolerated, whether drunk or not, to accuse a superior officer. Nor could be talked back to in the way he was doing. But first and foremost was his arm.

“How bad is it?” He asked, watching the medic work, no longer phased by the event after having seen it so many times. Not that he didn’t still hold a deep respect for the gift. There was something amazing in watching as the man let out a low soothing hum, waving his hand over the arm that Aladar held firmly in place despite Allan not wanting it to be touched. A red-ish mist seemed to rise from her arm, creating almost a loose three-dimensional model above, one that Lebuin inspected with care, slight waves and finger movements showing what represented muscle or tissue to see how deep the wound went.

“Nothing that some cleaning, a salve, and light wrapping can’t fix,” came the conclusion.

“Very good. Get the supplies and bring them to me so you can return to your work.”

As Lebuin moved off to gather the supplies, Aladar reached and snatched up the flask and moved it out of the soldier’s reach, ignoring any protests that were sure to occur. He could not miss that seething gaze that laid the blame entirely upon his shoulders, but he wasn’t going to abandon him either. “It is my right to help whom I choose, is that understood? As you are too inebriated to even get yourself the proper care, you have left that simple task to me.”

The materials were brought over and the Captain’s grip tightened on Allen’s arm to keep it still while he brought the warm rag over the flesh wound. Thankfully the armor had kept it from being worse, but that did not mean this process was any more pleasant. He had been through it enough times to know. “Keep still,” he gave the precaution as he grabbed the man's very own flask and popped the top off with his thumb. He did not care for alcohol himself, but he wasn’t going to stop the soldiers from drinking it. That did not mean he had to like the effects or how often it was abused.

“There are better uses for your drink than knocking yourself into this state,” he commented simply before pouring the liquid over the wound, effectively cleaning it and wasting the drink all at once. His grip tightened to be sure he did not lose hold as he set the flask out of his reach once more. The wet warm cloth was reapplied once more before he finished the process by gently dabbing the area to dry, applying the salve over it, and wrapping the area. And with that, he finally released him, though kept his squatting position to look at the soldier. The man deserved some kind of reprimand for his earlier words... but Allen had always kept his record clean and Aladar had decided, if that had been the worst of it, he would have let it slide.

Much to her disappointment, he said nothing. Absolutely nothing, in response to her lashing out at him. She wanted the satisfaction of knowing that she got to him, of knowing that her words had impact... She wanted him to feel how she felt, hidden away in her own mind, the only place she could think of herself as... herself. She wanted him to feel the isolation she felt, alone and bitter in her grief, the things she'd seen that she could never escape, and the perfect storm in her mind that she could never release.

But really, she didn't want to make him feel those terrible things...

She just wanted, oh so desperately, to know that she wasn't alone.

There was a part of her, a hidden, forgotten part of her, that felt a small victory when someone saw her. Someone saw. Someone cared. It was a whisper in the back of her mind that someone would have noticed if she didn't come back. Even if that someone was the captain of her company, a man who should be far more concerned with the duties of leadership than the well-being of a single drunk soldier.

But it was the way his hand held her wrist, the concern, though he was clearly more than a little frustrated with her current condition. He had every right to be frustrated, she was frustrated with herself too. She'd only made it five days this time... Five miserable days, before turning back to her only comfort.

She took a shaky breath, blinking and struggling to bring her vision back into focus as the young doctor came over to her. She met his gaze briefly, as his hand hovered over her wound and he hummed softly. She saw the way Lebuin's eyes darted briefly to hers, then moved away, scanning over the floating mist that showed an enlarged version of her wound. Not that she cared about that; she was more focused on sitting upright at the moment.

"Could 'ave done that," she muttered under her breath as the captain went on about her being unable to tend to herself. "You got more... important stuff to do. Goin' back to your fancy tent 'n all..." She was still talking, unfortunately, but she seemed to have lost the seething hatred that had shown in her eyes earlier. She just looked tired. Worn down.

Broken.

When the captain grabbed her flask, though, she did stiffen, letting out a soft noise of protest as he poured the precious liquid over her arm. The sound wasn't so much that of pain as frustration that he was wasting her drink, and as he put the emptied flask out of her reach again she let her shoulders slump in mild disappointment. As the captain continued to patch up her arm, she just looked away from him, her eyes glued to the ground beside her as she still tried to stay steady.

"How do you think they knew?" she asked, turning to him with her eyes slightly squinted as she pulled her arm closer to her. He'd finished bandaging the wound, and she ran her fingers over the bandages, finding the rough fabric soothing and grounding in her uncertainty. He'd know what she meant by the question, it was the question on everyone's mind. She'd just dared to ask it aloud.

It seemed that his quiet determination paid off as the soldier seemed to calm, even acting as though he was looking for a fraction of sobriety. “Nothing is more important the welfare of my men,” he explained calmly, looking him over one last time and seeing nothing wrong beyond the now bandaged arm and a drunken stupor... physically. He could see, feel the haunted look behind his soldier’s eyes that he had managed to glimpse before the head was turned away.

Aladar reached out a hand to steady the soldier, resting it against the man’s shoulder. He tried to remind himself that sometimes this was the only comfort his men had... because they did not know. For the briefest moment, his head fell forward and his eyes closed, a silent prayer sent upwards before his eyes slowly opened again.

How do you think they knew?

It was the question that everyone was asking, even himself. He had simply not expected it to actually be spoken, caught slightly off guard. Or perhaps it was less of the question itself or the way the man’s voice had seemed soften for just a moment. No doubt some side effect of the alcohol, and forgotten almost immediately as he focused on trying to find some kind of answer that could be considered satisfactory. But there was no satisfying answer to give.

“There is no way to be certain,” he offered, finally removing his hand from the soldier’s shoulder. Instead, he moved so he was beside Allen, wrapping an arm behind his back and moving the soldier’s arm over his shoulders. “But let’s get you to the back where it is warmer and you can rest. There will be time for questions tomorrow.” He worked against the man’s drunkenness to heave him up into his feet and offer support and guidance towards the warmer part of the tent and where he could get proper attention and care.

“Tomorrow there will be time to try and make sense of things,” he spoke, doing his best to offer some kind of comfort in any way possible. “All the men need to rest and we do have the upcoming holiday to take some time to celebrate.” Useless words and he knew it. Very few of his soldiers would be genuinely celebrating if any. Too much had been lost, too many broken. But the officers were trying to improve moral in any way possible.

There was a small empty cot when he finally got Allen there. Only one. One he was sure hadn’t been empty when he first walked in which meant another loss to add to the numbers. But Allen didn’t need that weight on his shoulders too... “And it seems you have lucked out my friend. There seems to be a place waiting for you.” Lies. This was no luck. But a Captain said what he had to when he had to. Few would remember the man that had laid on this cot before... but he would carry the weight in his soul for the rest of his life as if he was personally responsible.

Aladar nodded as Lebuin glanced over, the medic giving conformation that he understood by a dip of his head. The Captain returned his attention to Allen, helping the soldier sit on the edge. “You’ll be good as new by morning.” He patted his shoulder before turning to look after the others who were in the same area, really only a few paces from Allen. The ones who may or may not make it. He walked by each one, offering a hand of support, muttering encouraging words to those who could hear. One of the badly injured ones could not speak but reached up to the captain, the bloodied hand landing against the superior’s chest plate, dragging down the armor. Aladar caught it, giving it an encouraging squeeze and offering a stoic nod. “Keep fighting soldier. We see you.”

The eyes told that the soldier understood as the hand was released and Aladar took a step back, the sticky crimson blood clinging to his hand and armor. It was with that his hand fisted and he spun on his heels, walking past Allen and out the tent, blue cape flying behind him as he strode with what seemed a sense of dignity. For the slightest moment he paused when he came to the place he had found Allen, the flask still sitting there. And for the briefest second, the man almost reached down and grabbed the near empty flask for himself before stopping mid thought. No. He had seen enough... He held himself proudly as he exited, boot immediately sinking into the snow. Gritting his teeth, he trudged through the freezing weather, the sky darkening already.

He had no encouraging words left to give anyone, so he he made his way to his tent, throwing the flap open and disappearing into the privacy. The moment he was inside, he threw off his coat long enough to fumble with the side knots of the chest plate. Pulling it over his head he tossed it to the ground in disgust, stepping away from the blood handprint smeared over it. Turning, he walked over to his water basin, dipping his hands into the cold water to scrub them down.

And no matter how hard he scrubbed, he could not escape the haunted eyes. All of them... every man that looked to him to fix it all. He couldn’t fix it... he couldn’t make it better... he was just a normal man! A normal man trying to fight a war above all their heads...

His hand fell back over his shoulder to his hilt, pulling out the weapon suddenly and bringing it over his head, slamming it full force into the earth. His knees bent as he collapsed in front of it, hands still clinging to the hilt as his head fell forward. And that was how he stayed for a long time before eventually moving, stiff from the cold, changing into something clean and warm and going to his bed. Tomorrow would be another day...

Men. Ha. The bitterness tried to creep into her mind again, a reminder of the secret she held so close. She was no man... But he didn't know that. He could never know that. If he knew that, he'd send her back. And she'd choose the horrible things she'd seen today, the things that would haunt her nightmares and every time she closed her eyes, over one more day with him.

When she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder, an attempt to comfort her, she blinked, looking up at his face again as her head slightly bobbed. His eyes were closed, his head bowed? Confusion registered briefly on her face, her lips parted as if to ask him something, but the words wouldn't come. He soon looked at her again, giving her the answer she expected but not one she'd hoped for. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and she looked away for a moment, her hand moving briefly to her forehead.

She said nothing, no longer trusting her voice, just nodded numbly as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her arm over his shoulders. Sleep was a good idea, she supposed. She was getting an awful headache and it was so hard to keep her thoughts together now... She hated it. She hated it, and yet she kept coming back to it. She'd never learn.

It took more effort than it should have to get her on her feet, despite the fact that she was a good bit lighter than most men her height. Her feet weren't steady under her, and she was sure he was annoyed with the way her free hand grabbed at him for additional support, her head bowed forward to stare at the shifting ground beneath her. "Tomorrow," she mumbled, with a faint hint of a nod. Not that she felt much like celebrating; no one did, really, but she knew in some lingering sober part of her mind that he was trying his best.

He was trying... But his best wasn't good enough. It wasn't enough to fix the pain, even though he tried. She could see it. She could see him. Just as he saw her.

She sank to the edge of the cot, her fingers wrapping around the wood with a vice grip as he released her. Silent, she watched him as he moved down the row of cots, pausing at each one to murmur words of encouragement and reassurance to the men who had suffered and were suffering the most. And as she sat there, bitter guilt tugged at her, her own words echoing in her mind. The things she'd said to him. Unforgiveable things. Yet, he bore them in silence, patience, grace.

Feeling all the more wretched as she shifted onto the cot, pulling her legs up, her hand landed on a damp blood stain on the fabric. A mark, perhaps the only one, left by the man who had left this cot vacant. She gritted her teeth, closing her eyes as hot tears welled up. This was no place to cry, this was no place to cry...

She curled up on the cot, staring blankly ahead for a while until sleep finally came.

---

She regretted a lot of things the next morning. Most of them revolved around the ungodly amount of alcohol she'd consumed, but as her hazy memories began to make sense in her throbbing head, the guilt from the night before also hit her. It was hard to believe, in the light of the next morning, that she'd really said such horrible things, and she immediately dragged her aching body to a standing position. The tent was already abuzz with movement, it was a wonder she'd been allowed to sleep this late. She ran her fingers through her short hair, well aware that she probably looked like death itself but even more aware that an apology to her captain was in order.

If not because it was the proper way to do things, then because she genuinely felt terrible for the things she'd said.

Barely looking around, she stepped out of the warmth of the tent into the cold of the winter morning, hugging her coat close to her. The sunlight bouncing off of the fresh snow was torture to her sensitive eyes and pounding skull, but she pushed on, her steps growing more hesitant as she approached the tent of her captain.

For a moment, she stopped outside, her head bowed and her eyes closed, as if to gather her strength. Then, taking a shallow breath and letting it out in a puff of white, she opened the tent flap and stepped inside, pale eyes scanning over the interior of the tent before she spotted him.

"Captain..." she said quietly, her voice hoarse and gravelly but still holding its usual (she hoped) masculine edge. "About last night... The things I said... An apology is in order... Sir." Ah, this wasn't going well... Ali wasn't good with words. Hungover Ali was especially not good with words.

"So, uh... I apologize. I didn't mean what I said. I was angry, and you... were the closest one to blame, I guess." She looked away, avoiding his gaze as she clenched her teeth in an attempt to make herself stop talking.

"Allen" had not bothered to change clothes, though she had taken off her leather armor in a drunken stupor before falling asleep last night. She still wore her chainmail shirt, over the thick padding that served to protect her from the cold as well as to cushion blows to her torso. An old, ragged wolf's pelt draped over her shoulders, something she had not been wearing when the captain found her the night before. Her forearm was still bandaged, and she was quite careful with the movement of her hand, showing that the injury was causing her discomfort.

She hesitated slightly after blurting out her apology, noticing that he'd been intently focused on the map spread over his table. Internally, she winced, hoping she hadn't caused herself further problems by bursting in here while he was clearly in the middle of something. He hadn't seemed angry or even annoyed at her, though, merely straightening with a neutral expression on his face as he watched and waited for her explanation.

Several long and torturous seconds of silence followed her jumbled apology, with the captain even turning away from her and returning to what he'd been doing when she burst in. She gave an awkward smile, looking elsewhere for the moment as her hands clasped behind her. Her eyes moved over the interior of the captain's tent, noting the neatly made bed and the highly organized state of things, despite the disarray of the rest of the camp outside. Something about being an officer, she supposed... He had to be organized and neat. Eventually, her gaze landed on him again, on the intent look on his face as he studied the map. The way his hair fell slightly in front of his eyes...

As soon as he spoke again, she stood straighter, listening intently. He seemed to be taking her apology well, and when she noticed the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth after his attempt to joke, she allowed a brief, relieved grin to show on her face as well. He had a nice smile, she realized. Had she ever seen him smile before? She tried to relax slightly, seeming to finally realize that she wasn't in trouble, when he said that her apology had been accepted.

"Yes, sir," she said with a nod. "Of course, I'll try." She had just thought to leave now, before she said anything else, when another soldier entered carrying the captain's food. When he spotted her, his eyes narrowed, and he began to tell her that she was not allowed in here. Ali stiffened slightly, her mouth opened in an attempt to explain, but the captain did so for her, telling Tendral that she had been admitted before sending the soldier away to get his own food.

Awkwardly, Ali stood in place, watching as the captain's assistant brought his food to the table before leaving the tent. Again, she prepared to leave herself, but before she could, the captain gestured for her to join him for breakfast, asking her if she'd eaten.

"No, sir, I haven't," she said, reluctantly approaching the empty chair and settling into it. In all honesty, her stomach was still a bit unsettled from the previous night, but she took a small bite of the meat he offered, to seem polite. It seemed quite unorthodox and, frankly, rather odd, to be eating the captain's food, so she only ate a few small bites. "Thank you."

She glanced occasionally at the door, trying not to seem overly eager to leave but, honestly, she was a bit eager to leave... The whole situation felt uncomfortable and awkward, and she had a sinking feeling that he would pick up on some of her hidden mannerisms and see right through her lies... To cover up her nervousness, she took another bite.

When he asked, in so many words, why she didn't socialize with the other soldiers, she was silent for a moment, trying not to let her internal panic show in her eyes. "It's not that, sir," she said with a slight shake of her head. "I suppose I've always just been a bit of an outsider."

Aladar noticed how the soldier glanced towards the exist a few times, briefly lifting a brow at one point. In general, the man seemed to be uncomfortable in the Captain’s presence, though he seemed uncomfortable in everyone’s presence. He could also see that he was nervous about eating and therefore did not offer him anymore, calmly eating his food as if it was natural to eat with his soldiers. Which he did on occasion, Tendral having joined him a few times though the soldier seemed to prefer his friends so the Captain usually just let him join the others.

I suppose I’ve just always been a bit of an outsider.

There was a pause on his part, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, enough to crinkle along the edges slightly before he took another bite, nodding slowly. It took a few moments for him to swallow, one hand pushing some his hair back. “A lot of the soldiers here feel that way. It would be good for you to try and join the others around the campfires at night. I doubt any would bite unless you bit first,” he chuckled warmly.

Truth was, he was just trying to get the young man in front of him to relax before sending him off. He still looked worn down from the day before, no doubt much of it from the alcohol. Which gave him a bit of an idea. It would take from some of the time he had planned to work on strategizing, but it would be good for the morale in general. And that would be worth any time it took.

Pushing the chair back, the Captain stood to his feet, striding over to where his sword leaned against the cot. “Today I had a sparring session planned for those in my company,” he informed him, despite the fact that... well, there had been NO sparring session planned at all. But some of the men liked that, and even those who didn’t care for it seemed to usually enjoy some of the sport behind it. And Aladar had always allowed some gambling so it gave the men something to do. And it wasn’t often that he joined in, no less started one.

“You might enjoy participating or at least watching. You may find a few who share your way of thinking.” One may have considered that Aladar had some weird interest in Allen, but the truth was, had it been anyone else who this string of events had happened with, his response would have been the same. Tendral... one of his medics, anyone. Allen just happened to be the one he stumbled across the night before, and the one who entered his tent this morning.

He stretched one arm upward to slip the sheath over his head and around his shoulder, preferring the back on compared to his smaller sword that he would tie around his waist. Turning back to Allen, he adjusted the leather band before rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. It was freezing out, but he preferred to feel the cold on his arms when he sparred, and probably would end up shrugging off his coat if he took on a few of the soldiers.

“If you wanted breakfast with the others, there is time. I will be heading towards the training grounds if you’d rather accompany me,” Aladar threw the offer out as he buckled his side sheath before grabbing his warmer fur shoulder pads, fitting them on with practiced ease and starting for the tent flap.

She shifted slightly in the chair, silently waiting to be dismissed at this point as she rested her hands in her lap. Her fingers moved slowly, casually back and forth over the bandages on her injured forearm, once again searching for the distraction of the rough fabric under her fingertips. She tried not to stare at anything, really, keeping her gaze moving, yet it kept returning to the captain, as he ate. She hoped that she wasn't staring...She wasn't staring, was she? He really wasn't bad-looking...

She made sure she wasn't looking at him when he paused in response to her question, and he looked at her with a thoughtful expression. She could almost feel her cheeks growing hot under his gaze, and her pale blue-grey eyes followed him as he pushed his hair back out of his face. Then he spoke, and she shoved her thoughts to the back of her mind, far enough that they would hopefully never resurface.

No! No, no, no. This was not okay, and she would not allow herself to think about it. He was her captain, even if he was... no! He thought she was a man! And he could never find out! She coughed slightly to hide her internal struggle, before nodding to the captain's suggestion with a faint smile and chuckle at his joke.

"Yes, sir," she said somewhat stiffly. "Perhaps I'll try that tonight."

She was quiet for a while, mostly mentally scolding herself, until he spoke again, bringing up the sparring match. Her brow furrowed for a moment, and it seemed to take her a second to comprehend what he was saying. She was still a little slow, admittedly, her head still ached terribly. But she was fine. Nothing like a little sparring... rapid, flailing movements and bright sunlight... to help a headache and a hangover.

But she told herself that the captain was right; even if she didn't want to participate, she could at least watch. She nodded with a smile, rising to her feet as he did. "That sounds like an excellent idea, sir," she said, watching him out of the corner of her eye as he grabbed his sword and slipped the sheath over his back. No. Bad.

"I'll just need to get my sword from the main tent," she said, smiling somewhat awkwardly and trying not to look at his muscular forearms as he rolled up his sleeves. She didn't tell him that she wasn't hungry; that was sure to earn some sort of scolding about taking care of herself like last night... Although, admittedly, last night she needed to hear it. She probably needed a good slap in the face, too, but it seemed that Captain Aladar was above such things.

"I'll join you at the training grounds in a moment, then, if it's alright," she said hesitantly, before seizing her opportunity to flee. With a slight, awkward bow, she backed out of the tent. Wincing immediately as the sunlight assaulted her eyes, she gave Tendral a sheepish smile before trudging through the snow to the main tent. As soon as she was out of sight, she ran her fingers through her hair, closing her eyes and attempting to navigate by memory to spare her head and eyes from the light which was somehow even more unbearable now than when she first woke. Yes, sparring would go well... By some miracle, she succeeded in navigating the camp blind, opening her eyes again as her hand brushed against the flap of the main tent.

She stepped inside, sighing as she made her way to where her few belongings were stored. She grabbed her sword, clumsily tying it to her belt with cold fingers. Then, grabbing an extra coat as the temperature had dropped, she stepped out into the main camp again and made her way to the training area. She saw the captain walking that way as well, and sped up slightly to walk beside him, looking briefly over at him with a slight nod and a faint, vaguely pained smile.

A commotion on her opposite side caught her attention, and she stopped walking, her brow furrowed as she turned to look. Her vague frown shifted to disgust when she figured out what was going on; two of the larger, burly soldiers were in the middle of a nasty fistfight. Blood dotted the snow from one of their noses, and the two weren't pulling back, clearly looking to cause some damage with their punches. The cause of the conflict wasn't clear, but several soldiers crowded around, a few even cheering to encourage the fighting pair. Alyana scoffed lightly in disgust, glancing over at the captain to see what he'd do.

Hearing that he wanted to get his sword, Aladar gave a nod, “Very well, I will meet you there soldier.” The Captain watched as the man gave an awkward bow and seemed to stumble out of the tent, raising a bow when he disappeared from sight. Allen was... an odd one, as it seemed so far. “Tendral, a moment,” Aladar called out, the dark-haired soldier entering with a dip of his head.

“Tendral, how long has Allen been in the company?”

“I don’t know sir, I’ve seen him around now and again but never really with anyone.”

“I see. Thank you.” He paused before resting his hand on the sword hilt, nodding towards the front and starting out. “I am doing a sparring match today, I assume you are coming along?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world sir.”

“Good, I expect to find a decent match with you.”

“You can count on it. I’ll go easy on you.”

Aladar gave a laugh, clapping the taller man on the back with a shake of his head, “You can try but if I recall, last time it was you with a face full of mud.” The two started out of the tent to meander towards the training grounds.

“I slipped.”

“You were beaten fair and square Tendral, don’t even start with that one.” Tendral gave an irritated huff from beside him, earning another chuckle. The two had had a long-lasting rivalry in sparring, though it was born out of friendship and good humor. And a healthy respect of Aladar’s position on Tendral’s part.

It was as they were partway there that Allen came their way and feel into step with the Captain, receiving a greeting nod in return. He hadn’t fully expected Allen to actually come, the man seeming to just want to get away, but he held no quarrel. He was about to pull the soldier into the conversation when he heard the brawl, coming to halt when he did in time to see the origin.

He released a breathy hiss, not wasting a moment in striding towards the pair. Now this was NOT acceptable or something that entailed any kind of mercy. “ATTENTION!” The loud yelll caused everyone not fighting to look up and immediately fall into attention, backing away from the pair. Glances were exchanged with uncertainty, most everyone knowing Aladar did not react well to this kind of thing. He ran a tight ship and he needed his men to get along... and this was one thing no one needed.

“SOLDIERS!” His voice carried harshly to the two in a fist fight though he was ignored, it clear that they were in it until one of them dropped. “Break it up!” He gritted his teeth, hating this part of these kind of things mainly because the men were both taller than him, giving him the slightest disadvantage. That being said, what he lacked in stature, he had in command and general strength. Before moving any closer, he motioned Tendral forward, pulling shoulder guards off and his heavier coat to have full mobility and handing them to the soldier.

“I said BREAK IT UP!” His voice had reached a harsh yell as he stepped almost literally in between the man, dodging a few blows and getting a good elbow into one of their faces. It was enough for him to reach up, capture both heads by the back of their hair before slamming their foreheads with a sickening amount of force. There was a clear resounding crack sound from the impact as both men were released and stumbled back from each other.

“You two are a DISGRACE to this company. I don’t care what the hell you were fighting about, who said what or did what, you KNOW better. Are we TWO?!” There was no longer a hint of mercy, but real unbridled anger. He should not have to be dealing with this.

One of the soldiers lifted his head slowly and just the look in his eyes told Aladar that it wasn’t quite over yet. Which it turned out he was correct about when the man stumbled to his feet and made a dash for his opponent who was also straightening and getting ready to take the attack. The Captain took one step between again, but this time it was his fist that made a heavy strike across the side of the man’s head. “ENOUGH!”

“I want both you to strip off your armor NOW.” There was no longer room for argument, and both began to slowly do what was told, wincing with every movement though still glaring bloody hate at each other. “Strip down to your shirt and jocks and then you two are to stand here for however long it takes for you two to get along, do YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Clarence, Danni, You two seemed to find this so funny you get to stand out here with them and watch. And if I come back to find them fighting again, so help me or you TOO will be stripped down and forced to stand in the snow barefoot, am I clear?” The last words were almost growled out but the two soldiers he called nodded quickly giving ‘yes sirs.”

With a low growl, he turned on his heels to march back towards Allen and Tendral who stood holding his gear. “Keep it,” he huffed at the soldier when he tried to offer it back, the Captain not in the mood to suit up again. “The rest of you can come to the training grounds for sparring,” he shouted out behind him before sulking in the general direction of the clearing that had become the area to train soldiers.

She flinched visibly when the captain noticed the fight, attempting to catch the attention of the men with a near-deafening shout. Alyana made no attempt to approach, standing well away from the fighting and watching with squinted eyes. Most of the spectators heard the anger and authority in their captain's voice and took the hint that it was time to go. The smart ones stepped back, going on with their duties and pretending they hadn't been watching. A few soldiers, either careless or dimwitted, stayed nearby, watching the fight continue with amused expressions even as the captain shouted again.

Ali glanced sideways at Tendral when the captain's assistant strode forward to take his coat and shoulder pads, before her gaze moved to Aladar again. She wasn't expecting him to do what he did, though, stepping between the brawling men and trying to physically break them up. It actually worked, too; the crack of their heads slamming together was enough to make her cringe, and she watched with wide eyes as the two stumbled back.

She hadn't realized how strong he was, or how honestly scary he was when he was angry. He'd held her respect before, of course; he was her captain. That was what she had to remember here, more important than any other thought rushing through her mind. This was her captain. She wasn't allowed to notice things like how his face got red when he was angry, the way his hair fell in front of his eyes.

And for the love of all that's good, Ali, stop staring at the man's arms!

She cleared her throat slightly, turning away for a moment and scratching her head with a quiet cough as the captain ordered the men to practically strip down to nothing and stand in the cold until they could get along. A fitting punishment, but not particularly one she wanted to see...

Sighing and shaking her head, she started to walk slowly towards the training field as the captain finished doling out punishment and walked in that direction. The fight seemed to have spoiled the captain's mood; he had been cheerful and looking forward to sparring with the men mere moments before, and now he seemed to have lost that enthusiasm. It was actually a little sad; Ali had admittedly looked forward to watching him spar- watching the sparring matches in general. Not just the captain, of course...

When she arrived at the training field with the rest of the hesitant soldiers that had followed, she stood near the edge, clearly wishing to be among the spectators and not those who were sparring. She found a place with some soldiers she knew decently well, and settled cross-legged on the ground, her sword in her lap in case she was called to spar. Honestly, she didn't want to; she did still have a splitting headache, and her body ached... But she'd do it, if she had to. The training would be nice, she guessed... Something to keep her in shape...