"Micah?" Britta asked when she awoke the next day. Somehow she knew it was him ("You've gotten to know him far too well." Faithful told her later).

"How are you feeling?" He asked, coming to sit at the end of her bed.

Britta drew her feet in to give him more room. "I'm fine." She said shortly.

Micah shook his head. "You look fine." He told her, "but you just lost your sister."

Britta bit her lip. Things had seemed a lot brighter when she'd been talking to Diana, but now she was reminded that her sister wasn't there with her. "I-" She begun, voice quivering.

Micah stopped her. "You don't need to talk," he said, and Britta was grateful as she was concentrating on holding back tears again. "You don't need to do that either." Said Micah, motioning to her eyes, which were bright with tears.

Britta moved to sit by him and buried her face in her shoulder. Micah sat completely still as her silent tears wet his shirt before slowly moving a hand to stroke her hair. They sat there in silence for a long time; so long that Micah relaxed into the crying girl on his lap and leaned his head against her.

"The Emperor says that you need to start getting up." Micah said finally. Britta knew he was no wordsmith but his actions spoke for him and she got comfort from his steady form. "There's a feast to celebrate everything in a week."

Britta sighed, "I don't want to come." She said; it wouldn't feel right if Diana wasn't there.

"You have to." Micah said firmly.

"No." She said stubbornly.

"I want you to." Micah said, scratching the back of his neck. Britta stared, "and so does Mable." Micah added hurriedly.

"That really doesn't diminish the effect." Britta said, wiping her eyes. "I wanted to ask you anyway, about before – you kissed me." Micah nodded mutely. "Do you actually like me?" Britta asked, disbelieving, "because if you don't then don't pretend otherwise."

"It took you a while to ask that." Said Micah, avoiding her question until he became uncomfortable under Britta's steely gaze. "I do really like you."

"Do you like me?" Micah asked, strangely vulnerable.

Britta wondered why he even needed to ask. She leaned forwards, her eyes fluttering shut, and touched her lips to his. Micah was still when Britta opened her eyes. He was watching her with a soft expression on his face. Britta moved to pull back, intending only to get her message across but Micah seemed to have decided she had a lot more to say. They kissed for a long time, testing the waters between them. Then Micah pulled away, smiling.

"I never thought we'd end up like this." He said.

Britta grinned. "Neither did I."

"You were terrified when you first met me." Micah said.

Britta looked into his eyes, still ice blue yet somehow so much warmer, and wondered how she'd ever mistaken them for those of The Strange Man. "I thought you were someone else." She said. "A man which came to the Abbey and took children away – your father, in fact."

Micah shook his head. "I disowned myself from him as he was dying. He is no longer my father." A hint of pride crossed his face and Britta realized how difficult that might have been for him.

"You did well." She said, placing an understanding hand on his shoulder.

Micah covered her hand with his own. "You helped." He said. "When you moved to stop him in the spirit world. It was stupid and pointless-"

"-Thanks." Said Britta.

Micah sent her a look which silenced her. "-but it was the only thing which gave me strength enough to fight back."

"I guess I was returning the favour." Said Britta, remembering their morning practices. "It's almost a pity we can't go back there."

Micah shrugged, not looking disappointed. "I'm sure we can work something out." He said. "I don't think I can go back to treating you how I did there."

"Perhaps not, but I like how you're treating me now." Britta said.

"That's just as well." Micah told her. "Now, the dance." Britta shook her head. "Diana would want you to go."

"Diana would drag me down kicking and screaming."

"Don't think for a moment I wouldn't do the same."

"You're sweet when you try and be tough." Britta said, leaning in and kissing him briefly.

"So that's a yes?" He asked.

"Fine." Britta said, rolling her eyes, although making no attempt to disguise the ray of happiness which shone through her mask of grief.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, Britta's mind wandering through the maze of memories she'd built up throughout the last year. Her eyes followed Aviary, Micahs snake, around the room.

"I'm seventeen now." She said suddenly. With all which had been going on she hadn't realized.

"I suppose you look it when you aren't masquerading as a man." Micah said, looking her over.

More silence, in which Britta wondered why Micah had only met his 'guardian' as Britta had decided to call animals like his snake and Faithful, now.

Finally Micah said, "I'm sorry about your sister and Thom."

Britta looked up from where she had been tracing out patterns on the blankets. "I didn't know about Thom." She muttered.

"I should have found a better way to tell you then." Said Micah regretfully. "He's still alive, but there's almost no hope for him."

Britta sprung up, swaying dizzily until Micah steadied her. "I can help him." She said. She wanted to talk to him in any case; he was not the kind to dismiss someone lightly and although his refusal to help her had hurt she believed that he had a good reason for it.

There was a pause, and then Micah asked, "Will you heal him like you did with me?" He asked.

"I'm not sure, how far gone is he?"

"He's lost a lot of blood but he was fully conscious when I saw him before."

Britta twisted her fingers together, wondering how much of her energy she could afford to use. "Why can't he be healed using the Aurea?"

"People who fought against the Empire are being rounded up and interrogated, the Aurea is deemed to have more important uses."

"What about you?" Britta asked, concerned.

"I was given special permission; Mable made sure of that, she seemed to think you'd appreciate it." Micah grinned.

"She is far too perceptive." Britta said.

"I certainly don't mind; they're using the Aurea to get inside people's heads – that's the last thing I want." He shivered.

"You didn't mind me seeing your fears," Britta pointed out.

"I did." Said Micah, "not any more, of course."

"Huh," Said Britta, "the spirit world was strange; I wouldn't have trusted you before that."

"I think it was giving us a glimpse of what we could be."

"Another temptation?"

Micah shrugged, "perhaps." He said. "Do you think the dead go to the place we saw?"

"A similar place." She said, "Diana deserves happiness I think she's happy there." She didn't dare mention she could see her sister, and changed the topic. "Show me to Thom." She said, standing free of his steadying hand.

"I don't think you're strong enough," Micah eyes her bloodless face and clenched fists.

"I don't think he'll live if we leave it, take me down there." She demanded. "And I'll need some warm water and a cloth, fresh bandages too."

Micah beckoned for her to follow, worry etched into his face. He took her to fetch the supplies she wanted and the led her down to the dungeons. They reached the area where men were being kept, a few men per cell, although Thom was alone, lying on the pellet of wood which served as a bed. Britta motioned for Micah to stay outside.

"Hello," Britta said, taking a seat at the end of his bed. The movement jolted him awake and his eyes took a moment to focus on her.

"Bren?" He rasped, struggling to sit up. She set a hand on his shoulder to keep him still.

"The very same," she looked down at her now feminine clothes. "Well, almost." She amended. Thom smiled weakly. "I wanted to ask you about why you joined The Night Falcon, but seeing the state you're in-" Britta looked over his pale face in which the shadows under his eyes stood out as if they had been painted on, "-I think I better patch you up first."

She pulled back the covers, finding his stomach, which had been bandaged up with dirty-looking bandages. She gently peeled them away, cringing at the foul smell which followed; the reek of infection. This time she was sure she knew how to counter it, and gathered up The Voice. Thom shrunk away from the green glow at her fingertips.

"It's okay." Britta assured him. "This may hurt a bit, but I need to burn out the infection." Thom gulped. "Not literally." She told him, placing a glowing finger on his wound and letting go of The Voice.

She knew it was surging through him, purging the infection from his veins. She could see the faint flashes of light as it cleansed him, and held Thom's hand as he cried out in pain.

"Sorry." Britta said, "I'll find a way to stop it, just give me a minute."

Once she knew he was clean she dabbed the surface of the wound with warm water, and then summoned a more softly glowing light to her hands. This time she cupped them around the wound and watched as he relaxed, the pain disappearing. Already she was tired from using The Voice and she knew she'd had to be fast. She started from the deepest point of the wound, knitting flesh and muscle back together. She reached the surface and started the skin healing, not daring to do any more as she was now struggling to stay awake.

"Better?" She asked, rather faintly.

Thom sat up slowly, running a hand over where the wound had been. "That's uncanny." He said, looking up at her nervously.

Britta shrugged. "It was necessary though. They don't tend to look after people who fight against them." She paused, looking at him meaningfully. "Explain."

"The Empire has done nothing for me." Thom said finally. "I didn't want to go back to rules and regulations and dishonesty."

"Why?" Britta asked.

"Does there have to be a reason?"

"No, but you have one." She knew this for sure and wasn't going to let him escape answering.

Thom sighed, twisting the ring on his finger. "I was a noble from a powerful family." He said, "that much you knew."

Britta shook her head, "I could only guess at it."

Thom sat in silence for a few minutes. Britta knew he was trying to decide what to tell her. "There was this girl, who I did love – at the time. It sounds so typical, and is so typical of a place like this. She only stayed with me for status and money and power. It's bound to happen. After so long of acting exactly as society dictated, I wanted out and I still don't want to go back."

"It isn't the Emperor who makes those laws; it's society as you said; the people." Britta stood up, ready to leave, "just make your own laws, Thom."

"It isn't that easy." He told her.

"Think about it." She said. "They should trial you soon; look inside your head and discover if you're safe to keep around. You need to sort yourself out before them." Britta crossed her fingers mentally as she left; he was someone she hoped made it through, especially after she'd put so much effort into healing him.

She had just enough energy to smile briefly at Micah before she collapsed into his arms. I really need to work on my stamina, she thought exhaustedly.

EHe Micah was not there when she awoke, but her eyes landed on her drawing book which someone must have collected from Thunders saddle bags. The book was open on the next black page and on it was a note in plain, simple writing.

Because some of us have things to do. You owe me for carrying you back here – got asked by dozens of people if I'd murdered you. That's sweet, Britta thought, rolling her eyes, knowing the note was from Micah. Draw something beautiful

She smiled, admitting to herself that that part was actually sweet, and grabbed the piece of charcoal from beside her bed. She sat with it poised on the page above Micah's note, her mind flicking through all the things she found beautiful. Finally, she drew an eye, looking into the distance, light glazing the iris. It was crinkled at the corners in a tentative smile. For some reason, she imagined the colour would be ice blue.

Mable came in later in the day, and pulled her out of bed. Britta got dressed in her clean training clothes and followed her outside. She ignored the curious looks that followed her everywhere, and talked to Mable instead.

"Will I need to see the Emperor?" She asked.

"He's waiting until we've come back from town. We need to commission our dresses for the dance." Mable said. "Then we will go straight to see him, what are you going to wear? We'll have something tailored especially of course, so you'll have to talk with a seamstress."

"I don't even want to wear a dress." Britta said.

Mable shrugged, "Well then think of a better idea."

Britta looked closer at her. Mable seemed to be more down to earth now, and definatly, her blue eyes were clear. She began to run ideas through her head, until they reached what was clearly a clothing store. The shop windows were crammed with dresses and fabrics and a small bell tinkled as they walked inside the slightly cramped shop.

"I need to commission my dress." Mable said. "Talk to that woman there, and don't worry about the price."

Britta made sure she was clear she didn't want a dress. The woman seemed to understand, and said she'd have something ready the day before the dance. She took Britta's measurements briskly and waved of the young woman's thanks. Britta followed Mable to the stables, where they made a place for Thunder to stay.

As she hung up his tack, she remembered the box she and Diana had found and kept with them. Thinking of the letter telling her to bring it to her father, she took it out and looked at its content again. She knew she had to bring the locket and the ring to him, but she felt he should have the note as well. Taking the whole box, she slid it into a pouch at her belt.

Britta stabled Fawn as well, explaining to the mare what had happened to Diana. Fawn looked at her disapprovingly when Britta mentioned that she would talk to Diana about Fawn.

The dead should stay apart from the living. She warned. Britta stubbornly shook her head.

She's my sister. She protested, leaving the stables.

Mable then brought her back inside the castle.

"It is time to see our father now." She said.

Britta nodded nervously. They arrived at a large room, and walked in. It was a bed chamber, elaborately decorated and reminiscent of Mables room, with a large four-poster bed in one corner and walls draped with tapestry's. The Emperor was seated on a window seat which over looked the grounds, but when he saw Britta, he stood up.

"I saw you many times while you slept." He whispered, "But I never thought you would look so different now you are awake."

Britta looked him over; he was almost a stranger to her. Although there was far less of the comforting familiarity in him than there had been in her mothers she could see that Diana took after him. She realized that he had aged while her mother had stayed the same.

She dipped her head and walked over to him. "Hello, father." She said, raising an eyebrow. She was unsure as to whether or not she was fond of him and regarded him with caution as she loosened the pouch at her belt and pulled the box free.

"We found this, at the abbey." She said, giving it to him. He didn't need any further explanation. He opened it, and Britta watched as his face lit up. With the brief glimpse of happiness, she wondered if he would look younger without the years of grief.

"You know," Britta began, "I searched a long time to find you and you aren't who I expected at all."

The Emperor looked her over, taking in her boys clothing and wild hair. "Neither are you." He said gruffly.

"You look older." Britta said, throwing caution to the wind as she remembered her mothers message. "Mother – Celestial – said that your grief aged you and you need to let her go." She searched his face, wondering what he was thinking.

Finally, the Emperor spoke. "You have grown wise." He said. "I can only hope that your sister was too."

Britta thought back to Diana and Ed's goodbye. It had been a goodbye. She realized. Diana had known something like that was going to happen. "She knew so much." Britta answered.

The Emperor turned away and walked to the back of the bedchamber. He pushed a panel on the wall, and slid out another box.

"Here." He said, opening it. He pulled out another ring, this one slightly bigger. He pushed it into Britta's hands. "A keepsake." He said shortly, delicately pulling another item from the box as he left the ring in Britta's hand. He took out a small square of canvas, and Britta recognised Celestial in the painting. Her smile faded when he gave that to her as well.

"Surely you want to keep them." She said.

He shook his head. "These are for you." He said shortly.

Britta looked at them in awe. "Oh." She said, closing her hands around the gifts and not daring to protest. She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering what he thought of her as she stood now.

"Go, now." He said, and Britta was taken aback by the grief in his voice.

Mable pulled her out of the room and the guards shut the door behind her. "When he's in that kind of a mood it's best to leave quickly and quietly. He's strange in a number of ways," Mable smiled fondly, "I used to name his moods after different animals; this one's the Owl, he goes all quiet and watches everything carefully but you never know when he might change." Mable led Britta to her own room and put the box away safely, keeping the rings out.

"I want to wear them." She said, turning them over in her hands. Her mother's ring was a slender band of silver which held a delicate green stone in the centre. Her fathers was less delicate, the stone in the middle the same kind.

"We could put them on a necklace." Mable suggested.

Britta held them up. "I'd like to get them joined together first."

"I'll do it." Mable said. "As a surprise present."

"You just told me the surprise." Britta pointed out.

Mable blinked, "yes, I suppose I have."

"Some things never change." Britta said, glad that Mable was still slightly strange.

Britta slept soundly that night, but the knowledge that she could talk to her sister kept her from grief. Her days were spent at the practice yards or with Mables maid, Martha, who was trying desperately to teach her how to be a lady.

Martha was a quiet, patient, woman, but even she showed frustration when, for what seemed like the hundredth time, Britta almost toppled over whilst attempting a curtsy.

"Honestly, Milady," she said, helping her regain her balance. "You've endless grace and balance when you're down practicing with the men but the moment you're in a dress you've all the grace of a one-legged goose."

Needless to say, Britta enjoyed her days down at the practice courts far more than she did in the castle. At first, men were reluctant to spar with her because she was a woman and they didn't believe she was skilled. After hours of pattern dances and knife throwing she'd proved she was good, but even then people were reluctant as none would want to admit to being beaten by a woman.

Finally, Ed approached her. They'd been talking throughout the few days at the castle, grieving together for Diana. Now he approached her with his knife drawn from its sheath and a daredevil glint in his eyes.

"Let's show em' there's nothing to be ashamed of when losing to you." He said, taking a defensive stance.

"Don't go easy on me." She told him back.

Ed snorted, "as if."

The adrenaline of a fight, practice though it may be, left her feeling refreshed, and ready to take on those who also wanted to test themselves against her. She won far more than she lost and she arrived back to the tower with a cut from a too-excited swordsman down one arm, which Martha looked at in dismay.

"How're we ever going to get you lady like?" She said.

"Best not to try," Britta told her with a friendly pat on the shoulder.

By the day of the dance the cut had scabbed over and while Mable picked up the clothes, Britta waited in her room. When Mable finally arrived back, Britta had begun wondering if she could use the painting on the wall for target practice, although Martha's keen eye prevented her from doing so. Mable laid the bundle of clothes out on the freshly made bed, and Britta looked at the clothing that had been made for her.

True to her word, the seamstress hadn't made her a dress. Instead, Britta was looking at an emerald green tunic. It was form fitting, and had a neckline which was just high enough to count as modest and embroidered with gold thread. The tunic followed the curve of Britta's hips and ended mid-thigh. To wear with it was a pair of trousers, which also fit tightly.

Britta pulled her clothing on, and admired the way the shoulder-baring sleeves of the tunic flared out at the ends and the elaborate golden embroidery on the hems. It suited her, although it was not a style she'd seen before.

She turned to see Mable wearing a magnificent blue dress, in a much more traditional style.

"You look great." Britta said.

Mable smiled, "Now it's time to get ready."

"I am ready." Britta protested.

Mable shook her head. "You aren't even close. We have to put on makeup and do your hair-" She began to ramble on about all the things they would have to do.

"I don't need to do my hair!" Britta protested, touching the same low pony-tail she always wore it in.

Mable snorted. "We are getting you ready whether you like it or not."

"I don't like it." Britta informed her, as she was pulled to the mirror.

Mable was brisk as she brushed out Britta's hair and experimented with it in different styles. Britta saw herself differently with her hair out framing her face. The injuries she had gotten from the battle had been healed, and her dark skin contrasted with her green eyes. Mable ended up leaving her hair down, and trimming the ends so they were even. Britta supposed that would be change enough from how she usually looked. Mable didn't have much makeup to match Britta's skin colour, but she put something on her eyelashes to 'make them stand out'.

She finally gave Britta a pair of soft leather shoes to wear, and Martha helped Mable, also dusting something shiny at the top of Britta's cheekbones and added some dark colours to her eyes lid. Finally, they were ready, and Mable handed Britta something.

"Here." She said softly.

Britta looked at the necklace Mable had given her. She ran a gentle finger along the two rings which linked it together in the middle and smiled.

"Thank you." She said, pulling her hair aside and clasping the necklace around her neck.

They walked down to the hall where the celebration was being held – the same area where the spring festival had been. Britta weaved through the crowd of people already there and scanned the room for Micah. She caught Mables attention and motioned to him. Her half-sister nodded and begun making her way up to the throne. Britta moved towards Micah and waved at him.

Micahs eyes widened when he saw her. "You look nice." He said, two spots of red appearing on his pale cheeks.

Britta shrugged, hands clasped firmly behind her back; she was feeling slightly worried that she'd touch her face and smudge the stuff Mable had applied. Even so, Micahs complement made her smile and feel like maybe the time being poked in the face with various implements had been worth it.

Micah held out his hand. "Dance with me?" He asked.

Britta unclasped her hands and grabbed his. "I'm warning you, I've been told I have all the grace of a one-legged goose." She said, although she did put extra effort into avoiding his feet and keeping her face away from the floor.

They spent the evening dancing, and by nightfall Britta had removed her shoes and herself from the hall. She was enjoying the cool, fresh air, and Micah's presence by her side. She only returned to the dance one most people had left and Mable summoned her inside.

"We need to decide what we're going to do with the thread." Mable told her, "among other things of course. You being the princess and all means that you can join me." She smiled, "it'll be good to have someone I can actually talk to during these things."

Her sister led her through the ballroom and the banquet hall, dodging tables laden with dishes and the scraps of the mountains of food which had previously been piled there. They entered a smaller room through a door guarded by two of the Emperors men which let them through on sight of Mable. This room was significantly less festive and those gathered around the table, primarily men, were not wearing the bright clothes which had been displayed before. Britta wondered if Mable felt over-dressed, but she seemed at home in the more formal environment, moving to sit in one of two spare seats near the head of the large table.

The Emperor begun with formalities surrounding the war and a discussion which seemed to last eons and Britta made no attempt to understand

"Finally, we need to ensure this won't re-occur; We need to decide what will happen to the Aurea," The Emperor said, turning the conversation to a topic Britta believed she could help in.

"I do not think we can keep it any longer." Mable added. "It tips the balance of power in a way which will mean someone will always want to have it."

There was a flurry of discussion inside the room which the Emperor silenced by clearing his throat. "We must dispose of it."

"Surly we cannot lose so much power." Said a man to the Emperor's left. There was a chorus of agreement from various people around the table.

"We won't lose all of it." Said Mable when she could get a word in. She nodded to Britta. "Britta must be of the bloodline which helped create the Aurea."

The Emperor shook his head. "I had her mothers hair woven into the Aurea as a means of protecting her, I believed it had no effect when she died."

"What is it you can do?" A man in white asked. The keen, judgemental way in which he looked at her was reminiscent of the men who'd experimented on her in the cave, and made her uncomfortable.

"I can heal, talk with animals – and other people mind to mind –" She shrugged shyly, "I can probably do more; I'd need to experiment. Using it makes me tired; I'm not that powerful."

"As a last resort perhaps..." The same man mused. Britta bristled at being referred to as such. "So we bring the Aurea to a place where nobody will find it." He brought the conversation back around, seeming to agree with the Emperor.

"What about the person who brought the Aurea there?" someone protested.

Britta raised her hand. "It means the person who hid it would have to die." She said softly, stating the obvious conclusion.

There were nods of agreement. "This person must be trustworthy. They must be willing. Any volunteers?" His question seemed sarcastic, as if he expected none.

When no one moved, the Emperor stood up. "This is for me to do." He said. Protests rang out amongst the group, but he silenced them. "I appoint you, Ernest, as Mable's advisor until Mable is married and of an age to take the role of Empress. Do not tell the people I am going until tomorrow, it is best if no one tries to follow me. I leave tonight."

There was much discussion which Britta found herself ignoring in order to comfort Mable. The princess held herself together until the three of them were alone, then she spoke. "You can't go!" She said.

The Emperor smiled sadly. "Don't you understand?" He asked. "So many are waiting for me up there, and it's the only way I can set Celestial free. I will tell your mother too, that you are a brave girl, and you will make a wonderful Empress." He kissed both of them on the forehead, and then said, "I leave tonight. I love you both, and I will see you again one day."

They both stared as he left, Mables eyes brimming with tears.

Britta found her in the gardens late that night, and sat down beside. Mable was staring into the distance, her eyes red and puffy. Britta put her hand on her shoulder and then, with the other, gave Mable a locket. It was the one from the box Britta had found at the Abbey, and she had an inkling of what would be inside. Mable held it for a few minutes, fondling the outside. She used a bitten fingernail to flick open the catch which held it closed. Inside was a portrait of her father. He wasn't dressed as an Emperor and there was no sadness in his eyes and no lines on his face. He looked decades younger and Britta wondered if Mable envied his happiness there; one she'd never really seen, but the look of gratitude in his eyes told her it had been the right thing to do.

***

The Emperor travelled many days by foot to the mountains. He had made preparations for a temporary ruler and wrote a speech to be read to his Empire. His last words were; "I will die. But it will be for you, my people, so I will rest peacefully."

When the Emperor reached the edge of the top of the highest mountain he stood there, facing the wilderness on the others side. The one place everyone thought no one would ever go, not even the tribes and a wilderness so untouched that not even the Mountain Men could have ever set foot there.

Stepping over into the world of high cloud, thin air and swirling snow the Emperor disappeared. His figure swallowed by the mist, and the memory of him distorted until he became a legend. No longer a human with flaws and doubts he was a hero, and it was better that way.

***

At the time I wrote this it was like uhmmmmn because I've always been bad at dealing with gref and I guess that extends to writing it?? So I basically skipped over it and I'm justifying it like Britta's talking to her anyway... right? But yeah, I know the emotions here are superrrr unrealistic and it's a point to improve on