"Wait here"

Sera tells Lois and the others, motioning to them to stay put.

The father of the boy, who'd been busy puffing away on his pipe, was already ushering his wife to the back of the tent next to where the boy lay. In his hand, fingers stained blue with whatever herb he was smoking gripped a embossed iron war hammer.

The loud noises outside quiets to a murmur.

"I will go" patting his chest, the father speaks in the coarse Azark language.

"No, stay here"

The father would need to be here to protect his family and Lois. It was better that Sera went to see what was going on. Before he can respond, Sera peers outside, pushing aside the tent flap.

For a split-second, she's confused to see the area around their tent empty. Hearing the noise of children sniffling and letting out small cries on her left, tilting her head to the side, Sera sees that the Azark people she'd seen before had retreated to the back of the clearing. Children were held by their mothers while the men, young and old, ringed around them in protective formation, some holding war hammers, others heavy sticks and whatever else they could find, all with knees bent and pointed at the entrance of the clearing.

The smoke in the clearing had increased with the food that had overturned in the commotion over the big campfire, releasing great gusts of grayness and the smell of burnt food.

It's quiet, save for the sounds of the forest and the sizzling, spitting noise from the fire. All the mothers had tightly clasped their hands over their children's mouths to keep them quiet.

"SHOW YOURSELF!"

A man at the front of the group roared in the Azark tongue.

Within the gaps of heavy smoke, the shadow of what looks to be a extremely large thing appears. There was no other way to put it. It was tall, but also wide, and shifted from side to side.

Drawing closer, the shape morphs into a huge black warhorse that nickers and neighs, shaking it's head as it steps forward. The hooves of the fine-looking warhorse, massive and majestic, made heavy thudding sounds, while the wind and smoke twisted and played with it's ebony mane.

Behind it, was attached a wagon containing heavy burlap bags, a dissonant picture to see a obviously well-bred, powerful horse that warriors rode into battle pulling a wagon like any common stock horse.

Wheels creak as the cart rolls forward, revealing a figure in a deeply hooded cloak as its driver.

A scream is cut off as one of the child cries out, their mother hurriedly shushing them, and staring gravely at the visitor, while the men readjusted their grip, nervous sweat making their backs wet.

Perhaps death himself had come calling. Maybe here in Thornmere, death came in a cart, drawn by a big black warhorse. The burlap bags in the back probably contained bodies that were on their way to be taken to hell.

Collectively, Sera and the Azark people take a breath when finally, the cart rolls to a stop, and the dark rider steps off, his form extending to reveal his full height, towering over every man there.

The hood falls away with his motion sweeping it away from his face, to reveal the tell-tale crimson of Lucien's hair. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sera turns back to the nervous faces inside the tent.

"It's alright. It's the King"

Hearing the word king, the father inside the tent sighs and relaxes his white-knuckled grip on the hammer, throwing open the tent flap and striding towards their new visitor.

Men groan and complain, sounds Sera can recognize, understanding the language was not needed with the tones they speak in, the tense group relaxing and setting down their weapons, some going to fix the smoking fire and others to clean up the mess.

In heavily accented Common, the language of Thornmere, the father gives a curt bow to Lucien.

"Red King, we agreed you would send your hawk before you arrived" The father gives a strong emphasis on the word before, drawing out the words as if that could make Lucien understand.

"No matter, I came to deliver the food, didn't I, Gaer?" Lucien responds.

So the father of the sick boy was the leader of this group. Azark and Thornmere were at an uneasy truce, the Great War ended but with a continued tense relationship between the two countries. They were still stuck in limbo. Although Thornmere had won a glorious victory, they didn't have the resources to take over Azark. This was why Lucien had to go to the skirmishes at the border, to prevent stragglers and wandering bands of Azark soldiers from plundering and destroying the towns and fields that were close to the border.

"We agreed on a delivery every full moons. The last delivery came last week. It's too soon for another one. The danger if you were followed.."

The men speak to each other with respect from one leader to another, clasping each other's arm in greeting.

"Don't worry, I've covered my tracks. You should be glad for the extra grain, I thought you might need it"

This wasn't true. Lucien came after agonizing at his desk, thinking over how he could meet Sera again. Even a minute spent apart was too much. His eyes were drawn to her when she sat beside him, distracting him as he worked. But when she was gone, her being away distracted him even more, making him unable to focus on the work before him. He didn't want to focus if she wasn't there. Lucien had totally made up a reason just so he could come here and see Sera.

He'd hitched up his warhorse, Aslan, to the wagon himself, ignoring the offended whicker from his steed whose pride was hurt, a majestic stallion like him delegated to such a task. Time had been eaten away because Lucien had to both cajole and threaten Aslan with carrots and blackmail to switch his feed to simple, healthy grains.

Reaching into the cart, he pulls out a wide-brimmed hat that has a shimmering, silken white veil attached, drifting in the breeze. Aslan shifts away from him, still offended.

Sera stays back watching them, unsure if she should go and greet Lucien. She was confused why Lucien was here. She still didn't know what this place was.

Lucien looks around till he spots her, the ever-present icy expression softening and shoulders relaxing as he sees her hanging by the tent entrance, and goes to her, his wide strides eating up the distance between them.

"You forgot this.. For the sun" He gently sets the hat on her head, adjusting and making sure her hair's tucked in properly. Settling the veil around her face, no one can see Sera's beauty anymore, the veil doing it's job as Lucien desired.

"Umm...Thank you?"

Sera was confused. There was no harsh sunlight in the forest. None of the other women here were wearing hats. She hadn't seen this hat before either.

There was only a gentle, dappled light that had a green tint from the leaves of the forest. From the way he pulled at the fabric, making sure her face was completely hidden, he probably wanted her to lay low, since she was his mistress. There was some strange business going on in this place. Maybe she wasn't supposed to be here. From the way this small settlement was so cleverly hidden away, to the wagon full of grain. It got curiouser and curiouser, in the words of Alice, in Wonderland.

Why was there Azark people here, so close to the castle? She'd thought Lucien hated them.

Sera falls deep in thought, lips pursed. Her mind was full of questions she hoped Lucien could answer.

Hmm. Lois was more likely to tell her. Better ask her first.