Lois and Sera sit on a log outside the colorful Azark tent, taking a break over some wild flower tea Gaer's wife had kindly prepared for them.

Aslan was off grazing, somewhere in the deep green woods, the cart parked in the clearing.

They watch Lucien as he helps unload the heavy burlap sacks with the other burly men, their skin taking on a glossy shine with sweat. It's a feast for the eyes, where every man has stripped down to his trousers, the younger boys cheering them on while they dutifully watch over the shed clothes. The Azarks are a handsome people, with different shades of blond hair that range from icy white to wheat yellow, and rugged features that are highlighted by their deep-set eyes and strong noses.

Lucien was the real eye candy, among them, Sera enjoying the view of his body that's been honed to perfection, the contours of muscle reminding her of the Herculean power it contained. Even Lois fans herself before his splendor.

Chuckling, she'd leaned over and whispered to Sera.

"I'm not too old to appreciate a good view"

Lucien doesn't seem to notice the twitters from the young unmarried women, marked by their unbound hair, and glances from mothers with plaited hair, the little girls outright staring at him.

Lucien hadn't noticed. He didn't care to notice the attention. He was busy being aware of where Sera was at all times. Annoyed that the veiled hat he'd brought for Sera brought her more attention than it did before, small children trying to play peek-a-boo with her, and Sera laughing and playing along. He should've made her wear it before she left. The less people who knew her beauty, her brown eyes that turned gold in happiness, her sweet smile, the better.

Now they all knew what she looked like.

Sera knew it wouldn't be long before Lucien took her back. He'd been sweet to her recently, trying to make up for what he did, making her his mistress.

"Lois, can you tell me what this place is?"

Lois sets her rough mug down on the tree stump that served as a table.

"I don't know much either. A few moons ago, he knocked on the door while I was helping a birth. Gave these people here such a fright, making me come straight away in my bloodied clothes, he did."

Sera could imagine the sight. The Azark people, shocked to see a old women with blood on her clothes brought here by the King of Thornmere, and Lois, speechless to see Azark people living in Thornmere.

Not wanting anyone to be offended, Sera covers her mouth and whispers into Lois' ear.

"But why are the Azark people here? I thought everyone here hated them with a passion"

Moving her cup around while the settled petals and flower heads float back up to the surface, Lois speaks in a low voice.

"No one would tell me. From what I gather, they're refugees. One of the Border People.."

Nodding to the hairstyles of the men and women there,

"Look"

Sera follows Lois' gaze.

"See how the men and women have clearly different styles of plaits, unmarried and married?"

"I've heard that no one in the imperial cities of Azark dress like that any more from a peddler. Only the Azai, the nomads of the border, follow the old traditions,"

This was extremely rare information that only Lois knew. It was because of a wandering peddler who'd stopped by on his trek through the forest where Lois dwelled, on one of his strange jaunts with no destination. He was probably the only man who was crazy enough to travel between the two countries at war, and was a valuable but sometimes unreliable source of information.

Lois trails off when Lucien walks toward them with 4 burlap bags on top of each other, two stacked on both shoulders. Thinking of his recent wound, Sera didn't want him to move around like this, but it was impossible to stop him. She'd tried to keep him from his training, telling him he needed to stay off the wound, until she'd checked it and found that it was already well on its way to being healed.

It was shocking that his wound had improved enough in this short time for heavy movements like this. None of the other soldier's recovery rate were half as fast as Lucien's.

Yet, not one of the men there had as many scars as Lucien did on their bared upper bodies. All over were brown burn marks, white silvery scars, and dots from piercing wounds. Were all these scars from the war? There hadn't been this many before Sera left, which meant he got these scars from the patrols he'd been doing on the border.

A drop of sweat drips over his pectorals and down his muscled stomach. When he passes by them, Sera smells that same delicate flower scent she'd smelled before. Depending on the days, the scent would be stronger than Lucien's own delicious fragrance. Sera wasn't sure what caused this. At first she'd thought it was another woman, maybe another mistress. She'd been able to prove that conjecture wrong because of all the time they spent together. Sera was with Lucien from morning to night. He wouldn't let her leave his side.

Blowing on her cup with gentle puffs of breath, Sera takes a deep sip from her mug.

"I don't know why the King's brought them here, but they're good people. We herb women take an oath to treat all those in suffering, so it was a wise decision on the King's part to bring me here."

A little boy with pale blond hair, dances up to them, giving a gap-toothed grin while he plays with the silky fabric of Sera's hat.

He sits in her lap and starts talking, babbling away in the darling way kids do. He doesn't care whether Sera understands the language. She sets the cup down to prevent it from accidentally spilling over on him.

Stroking the light strands, Sera misses her son. She hoped he was eating lots of delicious food with Bea.

The warmth from her lap disappears as the boy is lifted away from her and set far enough away that he can't immediately scramble back in her lap. Black leather boots, shined to perfection, line up outside the circle of children.

"Come with me" Lucien's deep voice cuts through the chatter of the Azark children.

Of course, none of the children understood his Common, ignoring him and continuing to play around Sera and Lois. They're still a little fearful of Lucien from his appearance like a specter, so they give him a wide berth and some hide behind Lois' back.

The boy he'd taken off her lap starts crying.

Lucien's expression freezes. He bends down on one knee to the boy, and awkwardly pats the boy's head with one large.

"Don't cry."

Why did her throat feel so tight all of a sudden. It felt like a giant lump was stuck there as she watched Lucien awkwardly interact with the boy. This could've been Lucien and Leo, father and son together.

It was cruel of Lucien to put him in the cottage, away from the world, never meeting his own father. She couldn't expect that of Lucien, though, when she'd done the same thing, abandoning them both.

Inwardly, Lucien was panicking. He didn't know how to deal with children. He was a warrior, a commander, surrounded by other rough men, There was no training on how to deal with a crying child. He himself had only cried once as a child. How would he know how to stop a small boy's tears?

He flips back into soldier mode. When the enemy used sadness as a weapon, how would he respond? Flipping through the many books on war strategy in his mind, he settles on one.

The enemy of my enemy is a friend.

Who would be the enemy of this boy?

Holding the boy under his armpits, he swiftly lifts the crying child and hands him to the nearest Azark woman, who quickly starts soothing the boy with a rocking motion and gentle kisses on the forehead. Lucien takes notes of that. He would do that next time, if it happened again.

The boy stops crying, and giggles.

It worked.

Lucien takes the chance and moves on to phase 2 of his strategy.

Escape.

He lifts up Sera and slings her over his shoulder, body pliable in her surprise, as easily as he did the small child. Taking wide strides into the woods, away from the Azark camp, his boots sink into the mud as he keeps going, ignoring the hoots and whistles of the other men.