With nerves lodged in her throat, Alicia ascends the steps to the upper floor of Oliver's home. Her home too, a small part of her has realised. She's dusted this place, made things shine again, read more books than she can count, carved her little spot in the world and it's home now.

It shouldn't be. This isn't her place, it's his.

She glances down at the tray in her hands as she approaches his door, a crease forming between her brows. Maybe he doesn't want her in his space. Maybe he's just too polite to kick her out while she has nowhere else to go.

Sighing, she juggles the tray of tea in one hand and knocks on the door with the other, his muffled reply to enter sounding straight away.

"I thought you could use some tea," she says as she nudges the door open, the scratch of pen on parchment is a soothing sound that greets her. Oliver doesn't glance up at her as she approaches, his focus intent on the papers and maps strewn across his desk that's shoved against the wall. She sets the tray down on a clear space on the desk, brushes her hands on her shirt, clears her throat, then turns around when he doesn't reply.

Retreating, she rubs the bandages on her hand, hoping she hasn't disturbed him.

"I'll be leaving soon," he says.

Alicia freezes, inches from the door, from an escape she's trying to convince herself she wants. But his voice is the only conviction she needs to turn back, those eyes steadily watching her, a pillar for her in this mad world.

"Where?"

Leaning back in his chair, he runs his fingers along the shaved underside of his hair at the back of his neck, and Alicia studies the man as though he's an ancient painting before her, one that would be seen hanging in her mother's mansion atop her hill. She never could understand them.

"I think I found where your uncle hid those supplies."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"I want to come with you," she replies, not even certain why before the words leave her. Something within her makes her say them though. She owes it to Kathryn to put all of this to rest once and for all.

"No," he utters. Alicia frowns at him as he stands, a surety in his steps as he gives her his back, tugging the gun from his holster and placing it on his desk. "It's too dangerous, I'd rather you stay."

"I want to help," she insists, stepping towards him.

"I'm not going to risk your life." He glances her way as she stands there, grinding her teeth. "There's no argument."

"You don't get to control me," she starts. "I want to help, so I will. I didn't get hurt going to the Costa mill."

"This is different."

Alicia lets out a breath, shaking her head. "How?" she asks.

Oliver sighs, leaning against his desk to glare at the wall before him. "The further away from the capital walls we get, the more dangerous the land becomes. There are more Grey Bloods, the exiles up there are more ruthless. It's pure savagery. I won't subject you to that."

"That's not your choice to make."

Oliver pulls the leather straps of his holster from his shoulders with more force than necessary, hanging it on the back of his chair. "You're not hearing a word I'm saying, are you?"

"Not really." Though she is, fear is already unfurling in her gut. But she knows she needs to do this. She knows she needs to do to something to begin making up for what happened to Kathryn because she was stupid enough to fall into Warren's hands.

"Fine," he says, a muscle in his jaw working as he turns to her, the frustration in his gaze making Alicia raise a brow. "I'll have provisions ready for you tomorrow morning. But you listen to every fucking word I say." He jabs a finger in her direction. "Got it?"

She nods, and he turns away, sitting at his desk and picking up his pen again, saying nothing more. Alicia lifts her chin and walks out of the room, glad to have gotten her way but equally as terrified.

She always knew the path to redemption would be a hard one, she just thought she'd be battling within the relative safety of the palace as she worked to be queen. Redemption as an exile is an incredibly different road, one she doesn't know if she's ready to take.

The morning mist hangs heavy in the air, stretching its ghostly reach through the Commons, winding through the narrow streets and blooming over the walls.

Alicia hugs her coat closer to herself, her breath flirting with the mist. The breeze tugs at her braided hair, snagging at loose, dark strands.

"Is that all you're taking?" The question startles her, and she looks away from her silent observation of the fog to glance at Oliver as he passes her, carrying two heavy sacks to the cart being used for their supplies. She then glances down at her satchel, holding the only items she has to her name anymore, loathe to leave them behind where anyone can find the pieces of her past her pa died for. Though she has left Kathryn's sword tucked under her bed, collecting dust in the shadows.

"I left most of my belongings at Kathryn's cabin," Alicia says quietly, speaking the name aloud renewing the familiar ache in her heart.

"Well, I hope you packed a gun," he replies, tugging at the rope securing a crate to the cart.

"You still haven't told me where exactly we're going."

"Somewhere that you're going to need a gun," he says as he jumps down from the cart, Alicia rolling her eyes.

She huddles deeper into her coat, letting the scent of cedar and smoke embrace her, hoping the calming mixture never fades from the fabric. Something needs to keep her grounded, lest she gets lost in her memories again.

He approaches her, running his fingers through his dark hair atop his head, the slightly curled ends brushing his forehead.

"I know of an ancient ruin used by soldiers to hide supplies during the war."

Alicia falls into step beside him as he walks towards the stables, squinting through the fog. "Ah, the place with the ghosts."

"No," he says with a small chuckle, the corner of his lip lifting. "The place was used to store supplies during the war when our trains kept getting ambushed. Only captains and higher ranked officers knew of the locations though."

They move into the shelter of the stables, Alicia's gut suddenly clenching as their surroundings thrust her back a mere few days. She swallows the bitterness in her mouth, unable to see anything except for Grayson's snarling face as his fingers dug into her throat.

"Grayson will never hurt you again," Oliver tells her, his gaze upon her as she blinks her way back into the present. "I'll make sure of that."

"I don't understand how someone could hate another person so much for something they never had a hand in," she murmurs, thinking of Grayson's rage about the death of his sister, something Alicia had only heard whispers about.

A poor girl who captured the eye of a prince, and was crushed under the weight of it. The only thing that links Alicia to such a thing is it could have so easily been her if her ma hadn't poured steel onto her spine.

Oliver brushes a hand against her arm, grounding her in this moment with nothing but a simple touch. She glances up at him, those sterling eyes reassuring her that she's safe here, safe with him even if the world is falling apart, even if he knows how to wield a knife better than a smile.

"Loss will lead people to take wild actions." There's a roughness to his tone, hidden emotion tucked deep within his chest. "Some people can't be helped with their grief."

Alicia nods, managing a deep breath before offering him a weak smile. He moves away from her, approaching the horses they're to take on their trip, and Alicia helps him.

It's a slow process, organising animals, supplies, and people for a journey beyond the walls that many dread. Alicia feels their urgency, catching snippets of their conversations as they whisper about the sickness that will surely doom them. A sickness that tore through their men and women during the war and the people in the slums when Alicia was but a girl.

Adrian had it when he was young; Alicia remembers little of it beyond sitting by his bed trying to read to him as he coughed blood. She would sit by her brother until her ma would shoo her away with a slap to the back of the skull for her troubles, hastily washing her hands. Just one of many trials Muovea has gone through and in the sickness' prime it had killed many. Just like the Reaper's Curse. Yet this trial is steeped in blood and suffering, the Reaper watching with a smirk upon his lips as the Decay threatens to bring ruin to them all, not just the south.

She understands people's urgency, understands why Oliver would be going to a dangerous place for the slightest hope that David's supplies will be there. This pestilence could kill what little is left of them. And if it doesn't, then it'll drive the survivors to greater heights of hatred and revenge.

Alicia climbs onto the back of one of the carts that they're travelling with, having hardly any idea as to what plans are running through Oliver's head.

He orders the people of the Commons like he's a captain on the front lines once again. Alicia can almost see it if she squints. The moss green of his uniform that his shoulders would fill. The rigidness in his spine that has been ingrained into his physique. She can almost see the dirt that would smudge his face, the specks of blood that would stain his uniform, which he wouldn't even notice anymore, accustomed to the gore of battle, the sight of watching the boys and men that he commands die as he stood helpless.

Alicia turns her gaze to her hands, the vividness with which she can see a battlefield that she never once had to go to startles her. She had to fight her own war on the soil of her home, one not of honour and integrity, but of greed and ambition. Alicia's fight was selfish, while Oliver's was selfless, and that's something she's still trying to live with.

Living with it and making up for it are two very different things.

Oliver jumps onto the cart, scooping up the reins and settling into his seat. He looks over his shoulder to Alicia as others climb in with her, only a few people coming on this journey that could decide their future.

"You ready?" he asks her, his gaze once again piercing her, seeing the shadows within her soul.

She nods, gripping her satchel in her lap and trying to breathe steadily. "As ready as I'll ever be to go back out there." With those words and dread sinking deep in her gut, Oliver whips the reins, tutting at the horses and they lurch into motion, Alicia gazing warily at the world that shifts around them, silently preparing herself for the worst.

She studies the five other people with her, each of them looking towards the walls they leave behind. Four men and a woman sit with uneasy expressions, cradling their guns like they'll save them.

Alicia wraps her arms around herself and can only hope that they all make it through this. She doesn't know how she can bear more lives being lost because of her.

Night is almost upon them when they set up camp amongst the trees, Alicia spending time to feed the horses and get them settled in for the night. She glances at the people with her as they get a fire going and begin preparing food, the tension already beginning to fade with the exhaustion they all feel from a day of travelling.

Alicia spots Oliver setting up a tent, a younger man helping him with it. She stays by the horses, brushing them clean of the day's filth.

"No, Oli, two more inches to the right," the man helping him says, Oliver huffing out a breath.

"Jackson, I swear—"

"You're the one always in pressed shirts, thought you'd be particular about your tent too." Alicia watches them, a smile creeping onto her lips as Oliver steps back from the tent and sends a glare to the other boy; Jackson. "Or are you just trying to impress me with your sense of style?" A smile works its way onto his lips as he shakes his head at Jackson.

"I honestly don't know why I brought you. You're a useless shot anyway." Oliver turns away, grabbing a bedroll.

"You bring me along for my stories," Jackson defends, laughter coming from the other side of camp at that as one of the other men join their conversation.

"You mean your lousy Traveller tales?"

"That's an insult to my ma," Jackson says, pointing a finger and glaring at the man who spoke.

Alicia steps away from the horses, brushing her hands on her trousers. "I'd like to hear a story," she says, and Jackson turns to her, clearly shocked to have heard her speak. She will admit that she's been quiet on this journey, not fitting in with their banter, stuck in her own mind.

"Did you hear that, Oli? The lady wants to hear one of my stories." Jackson grins, Oliver laying his bedroll down on the ground before glancing up at Alicia.

"Please, don't encourage him."

Alicia just flashes him a smile. "It's been a while since I enjoyed a good story," she continues, thinking on the books in Oliver's home, most she's already read before.

"Well, I'll be happy to oblige," he says excitedly, a groan coming from across the camp. Jackson settles down near the crackling fire on a pelt, patting the spot next to him and looking up at her. Alicia sits, leaving a respectable space between them, warming her hands by the fire. "Once upon a time, there was a queen."

"Gods," someone groans. "We've all heard this story, Jackson."

Jackson points a stick at the man who spoke, the end glowing orange. "But you haven't heard the story spoken from the lips of a Traveller, have you?"

"I have," Alicia admits, and Jackson looks at her with a raised brow. "My pa is a Traveller, though he moved to the city before I was born."

"Really?" Jackson asks, his smile widening. "He from any camps I know? Maybe we've met before, and this could be our fated reunion."

Alicia shakes her head, unable to stop her broad smile. "Tell your story, Jackson."

"Alright, alright. There once was a queen who wanted the world." Jackson's smile fades as he tells the story, one Alicia has heard many times before, all with different variations and twists.

The first time she heard the story spoken by a Traveller was the first time she began to believe such stories. The woman who told it had dark eyes that had flickered with shadows in the light of the fire. She'd sat Alicia down, and the story had swirled around her as though she lived in it.

Alicia remembers this as she gazes into the fire before her, Jackson's voice a muffle in her ears, but the vivid display of war and death she had experienced then unfold before her now.

"And when darkness descended," Jackson is saying, drawing a line through the dirt with his stick, "the Faceless Queen and her army moved through the Southern Marshlands."

The woman had spoken similar words, but she'd told Alicia what this army had looked like, how their icy blue eyes had glowed within the mist, their grey flesh stagnant between life and death.

"They walked with the Reaper, their steps nothing but a whisper on the wind."

All myths and legends are buried in facts. Those are the words the woman had said to Alicia that had made a hand wrap around her heart and squeeze.

"The Faceless Queen brought war to her enemies in the dead of night and slaughtered them all as quickly as that." Jackson clicks his fingers, the noise loud in the quiet of the night, causing Alicia to flinch and break her from her trance.

Her time with the Travellers was long ago, and Alicia shouldn't think of the things in her past. Especially not after discovering how true such tales really are.

"Did anyone survive?" Alicia questions. The answer varies from storyteller to storyteller.

"Nope," Jackson says, twirling his stick in the dirt. 

The Traveller woman who had told the story to Alicia had a different answer. The Faceless Queen may have bathed the land in blood and made pyres of corpses, but what was the point of all the sacrifice if it weren't to protect her people, her family?

"Her army? What happened to them?"

"They disappeared, though there are stories of what happened to her army of monsters. Some say the Ghuls went to become the Reaper's army. Some say they're still in Muovea, waiting to fight for their mad queen once again."

Bile rises in the back of her throat as she remembers those intelligent blue eyes, those bared teeth, the greying flesh of creatures left in the dark for too long.

"Well," the man across the fire from them speaks. "Let's hope that doesn't happen. We already have far too many monsters to deal with now. We also don't want to have to hear any more of Jackson's stories."

Laughter comes from his comment and Jackson opens his mouth to reply, amusement shining in his deep brown eyes, but the snap of a stick stops him.

Alicia turns, gazing into the forest, hoping it was just an animal. But something shifts in the shadows, moving towards them. She's not the only one who sees it, another from their group standing and pulling out their gun, taking aim.

"Stop," Oliver orders, moving towards the group. "No damn guns, it'll only draw more of them."

Alicia swallows her nerves as the Grey stumbles into their camp, the light of the fire reflecting in its cloudy gaze. Oliver plunges a blade into its skull before it gets much further, shoving the creature to the ground. He wipes the dark blood off his blade with the torn clothes of the Grey before standing, looking to the man who drew his gun. "Get the body out of here."

The man nods, doing as he's told without complaint.

"I think I'm going to go to sleep," she tells Jackson, standing and grabbing her bedroll from the cart to lay it out. Alicia knows she won't be getting any sleep, her gaze already stuck to the forest around them. She'll be waiting for the light until her eyes bleed.