The tent exploded in voices, all wanting to be heard as they demanded to know what he meant and what did the letter exactly say and how, in all that was good and holy, could the king be dead?

Panic filled the room like a noxious plume of smoke, choking everyone and blinding them as they struggled to understand what Sir Hewe had said. A commander tried to snatch the letter from Sir Hewe. "What happened? What caused this?" he asked, voice high and broken.

Sir Hewe pulled the letter away, folding it up and placing it gently in front of Torran, who had sunk into his chair and stared at nothing. "The letter does not say what happened. It only asks for the duke to return to the castle at the request of Princess Aelga."

The commanders, not satisfied with this answer, exploded into questions again, until the tent became unbearable with noise.

"Queen," came a voice, shouted above them all. The commanders settled, their arguing dimming to nothing as every gaze fell on the person who had spoken the word: Lord Torran, his eyebrows drawn together and a grim tilt to his mouth as he pushed himself to his feet. He looked at Sir Hewe only. "Not 'princess' any longer. She is Queen Aelga now."

Sir Hewe, tears slowly falling down his rough cheeks and into his beard, held one hand to his forehead, the first two fingertips pressed to his skin. "Long live the Queen," he whispered.

One by the one, the commanders repeated him, mimicking the gesture of respect on their own foreheads.

"Long live Queen Aelga."

########

No one knew what to do while Torran packed a saddlebag with his essentials and dispatched the messenger with a few coins for his speedy delivery of the letter. They stood at the entrance to his tent, hands useless at their sides, murmuring to each other as they tried to process how different their country was about to become.

Torran glanced up at the commanders who were trying not to stare at him. He paused, swiping at a lock of hair that had fallen down over his eyes, and sighed. "I know you're all concerned, and rightly so. But I will have no information to give you until I get to the palace," he said. "I think it's best if you all return to your normal duties and fight for the new Queen as loyally as you fought for her brother."

A shuffling of feet and the dejected downward tilt of heads showed that normalcy was still a long distance from them at the moment. Still, they couldn't expect Torran to do anything for them when he was just as cut off from the center of this disaster as they were.

Torran stayed where he was, watching his commanders until they finally took the hint and began funneling out into the night air. Idelle felt a tinge of sympathy for them as she watched their retreating backs. They were all about to fight battles for a monarch they'd never served before. She wasn't sure anyone here had even actually met the princess, now queen. What need would they have had to see her before this? Her brother, had he had the time to marry, would have supplied heirs enough to put his sister far from ever needing to know the commanders of the armies.

 It was hard enough to risk your life and comfort for a man who inspired you, but to do it for a girl whose plans and ideals were a mystery? Idelle couldn't help but feel her own anxiety grow in her chest.

Idelle turned to follow the commanders out, ready to get back to the other foot soldiers and avoid learning about things she didn't want to know. Her hand was on the canvas, holding it open after the last commander had finally stepped out into the rain, but she was stopped by Sir Hewe's beefy arm across her path.

"Lord Torran wanted to speak with you before you go," he said, nodding back into the tent.

Idelle sighed, letting the canvas drop and walking back to where Torran was now sitting on the edge of his cot, his hand laying over his hip. It looked like a simple resting position, but she saw the pressure in his palm, pressing down on the wound, and the tightness around his eyes.

"You wanted me?" she asked, trying to look anywhere but at his eyes.

"I couldn't let you go without settling my gratitude for what you've done for me," he said. "Even in these sad times, I won't let your reward become forgotten."

"Sir, I thank you, but it's really not necessary. You just lost your cousin and now you're off to see the new queen. My actions were nothing more than a soldier's duty," she said, dipping her head. "Please, don't mind me and go to comfort Queen Aelga."

Torran looked up, his hesitation plain on his face. His left hand tapped on the cot, beating out the rhythm of his thoughts. He finally let his head fall back down and struggled to his feet. "I'll repay you once I return," he said.

"Torran," Sir Hewe cut in, using just the duke's name. Idelle quirked an eyebrow at the familiarity, but said nothing. Torran seemed the sort to let others treat him like their equal left and right, even if he was only outranked by the royal family themselves.

"I know Queen Aelga needs supporters in this time," Sir Hewe continued, "and I wouldn't begrudge her that for the world. But that wound of yours should not be ridden on, much less traveled for a week to Holmley."

Torran smiled, though it was as thin as water, and spread his arms out wide. "Sir Hewe. If I was so mortally wounded, would I be able to do this?" He kicked out his good leg until he was balanced on the splinted one. At once, his face blanched to the color of bone and his leg crumpled, sending his crashing to the ground. Sir Hewe rolled his eyes and walked over to lift his commander up by the back of his shirt, much like a dog with a pup. He deposited Torran on the cot.

"Well, fine," Torran said, "I'll grant you that it's probably not in the best of shape. But I can't just sit here and leave Aelga alone at the capitol when she asked for me." He paused, his jaw setting. "And I'd like to see Aengus' resting place." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"If you have to go, I'd ask that you bring someone with you who will be able to protect you should any Glastonbex scouts cross your path," Sir Hewe said. "I'd also like them to make sure you don't ride yourself to death."

"Well it can't be you. I need someone here to direct the battle until the new orders come from the generals in Holmley," Torran said.

"I was thinking perhaps Sir Mortin."

Torran's face screwed up. "I'd rather die on the road," he said. "He'll talk the entire way about his daughters, and I'm not marrying a single one of them no matter how much he sells their charms."

"He's a skilled fighter and cautious as well," Sir Hewe said. "He'll be able to keep you alive until you reach the city."

While they were arguing back and forth over Torran's escort, Idelle slowly began to step backward toward the tent entrance. Thankfully they seemed absorbed, and she doubted they'd miss her, and she was thinking of lovely sleep and some hardtack in her stomach and....

"Soldier Idelle!" Torran's voice rang out over the tent. "She already saved my skin once and she's proven that she's a capable fighter."

She cringed. "I wouldn't say that I'm anything..." She trailed off as Sir Hewe took up the conversation.

"She's also just as reckless as you are," he said. "The fact that she did save your life shows that she's as likely to end up riding for four days straight as you are."

Idelle couldn't argue there, but she wished she could. Couldn't they just let her sleep?

"We don't have to doubt her," Torran said. His words were heavy with meaning that Idelle couldn't quite understand. Sir Hewe, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what Torran meant and acknowledged it with a grunt and crossed arms.

"If you're so dead set on taking her, then go ahead. But I better not hear about you riding yourself out of a leg, or about any Glastonbex scouting parties capturing the Duke of Bradcombe." He held out his finger toward Torran, as if Torran had any control over making sure wouldn't be ambushed on the road.

Torran clapped his hands once and then slung his saddlebag over his shoulder. "Once the new orders come in, a new general should be installed here. I want you to come to the castle as soon as that happens," he said to Sir Hewe.

Sir Hewe nodded his head, as if he'd heard it all before. Torran offered him his hand, and they exchanged a sort of slap-on-the-back in combo with a handshake before breaking apart.

Then, before Idelle knew it, Torran was limping to her side, taking her by the elbow and leading her toward the tent entrance. She tried to protest, but he let go and limped ahead of her into the darkness. She felt bad just heading the other way, leaving him to hobble after her, so with a set jaw she stomped after him.