Jon waffled between the two capes as he stood in front of the mirror. He’d already decided against the feathered flat cap, but felt he should do something to try to spruce his image up now that everyone was finally back together. In the end he went with the black one, because even with the ostentatious embroidery around the clasp, he felt less ridiculous.

Not that any of it really suited him. Between the years underground and the years living rough in the world above afterward, it had been an awfully long time since he’d last worn clothing that had actually been tailored for him. He’d been able to scrounge a few items from the previous Warden’s wardrobe to accent his forest green doublet, and that would have to suffice. Individually, each item seemed fine, but taken together on his reflection, they seemed more than a little ostentatious to him. It would be good for a laugh if nothing else, he’d decided finally. He was out of time, and if he didn’t start riding soon, the first of the wagons would be through the gate before he was there to greet them.

Not that it would be a huge deal, of course. He didn’t exactly fear treachery from his friends, but the proper thing was to be there, and as the army grew, proper was becoming more important than ever. It was only a few minutes by horse though, and even though he’d overslept and spent too much time getting dressed he'd still make it in plenty of time. So, with one final word to the kitchen staff he set off, and he still managed to arrive before the lead wagon reached the gate.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Jon asked, noticing how the few men that had gathered around to see the spectacle were looking at him indecisively. “Open the gates. They’re not going to hurt anyone, and I promise you that you couldn't keep them out if you tried.”

Well, not anyone here, he corrected himself, mentally. There were still a lot of men and dwarves that were going to be hurt and killed before this was all over. No one was ready to see reason. Hell - at this point, the kingdom of men was only just starting to look at them as if they were more than bandits. The Mithril Throne probably took them more seriously, and that was only because of the dwarvish property that had been damaged so far. Just because no one saw them as a threat didn’t mean that they weren’t though.

While the gates swung open, Jon sat there with his hands on his saddle, trying to look important. It wasn’t his strong suit. He’d meant it as half a joke, but no one laughed. Instead, a ragged cheer went down the line as the man guiding the first wagon noticed him and yelled out, “Hey - Johnny’s back! The shorties didn’t get him after all.”

After that, the atmosphere changed entirely. Instead of standing by nervously the Dalmarins waved back as Jon waved at each group and told them to take the wagons to the train, and then meet up at Shaw Manor after that.

“How the hell am I supposed to find either one of those,” the gruff old teamster in the first wagon asked. Jon for his part just laughed.

“There’s not much to Dalmarin past the train and the manor. Especially now that the station itself is… well, it’s gone. Just look for the biggest house in the village. I promise, you can’t miss it.”

“Ah, so that’s what that was,” the drover of the next wagon said, overhearing their conversation. “We saw the smoke from a ways out, and wondered if that might have been you. Sticking it to the stone men again?”

“Not quite, Rob,” Jon said with a shake of his head. “I was just getting us a ride for the next part of the trip.”

While he hadn’t been with them quite since the cannery, Rob had been with their insurrection for more than a little while. He was a good man who might enjoy fighting the dwarves a bit too much, but that was a sin Jon found himself unable to judge too harshly.

“Glad to hear it,” Rob yelled as he started to ride slowly away. “These country roads you have are terrible! They’re murder on my back.”

Every wagon that went by had some quip or a bit of news to share, but Jon just laughed or thanked them for getting here so quickly. Over the course of the next twenty minutes or so he did manage to catch the highlights of the last few days. Travel had been quiet, and no bandits had been foolish enough to attack so many armed men at once. As he’d expected, they’d been slowed by the poor roads, and they’d spent days just fixing the bad sections enough to cross. That had been helpful to some degree though, because they’d just missed the force that had marched from the garrison at Malora Pass, but they’d seen the fragment of it return down the mountain as their wagons had approached it. By the time his men had arrived, there’d been so few people to hold the fort that the soldiers wouldn’t even open the gates to inspect the large caravan, fearing a trap.

“We could take it if you want to put something else to the torch.” Kris remarked as she rode by. “Wouldn’t be a problem. Wouldn’t even be hard.”

“Nah - too far out of our way,” Jon said as he shook his head.

That was true enough. The tunnel he planned on taking to the high valleys went in the right direction, but they wouldn’t even get close enough to the Malora Pass to see it again until this was all over with. That wasn’t the reason Jon didn’t want to burn it down, though. The fort stood at the edge of the shield lands and kept threats that might come in from the uncivilized world in check. Destroying those forces when he didn’t have to would be nothing but foolish long term.

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“I didn’t know there’d be so many,” one of the local boys remarked quietly after about half the wagons and men on horses had passed the palisades. “How are we going to feed so many?”

“Don’t fret Lim,” Jon answered, not taking his eyes off the next wagon. “My friends are only going to be here for a day or two, and then we’ll be right back on the road. No one’s larders but my own will take a hit.”

Jon smiled as he said it, but inside he cringed as he thought of how Miss Marne had reacted, and how she was likely to react again once their guests started arriving. In truth, even a day or two would put a serious strain on the larders of Shaw manor. Right now, instead of cleaning carpets and polishing silver, the footmen were running to the millers for more flour and helping the butcher round up a few more hogs while the ovens were baking bread nonstop. No, she wasn’t half as pleased with him now as she’d been the day he returned to life a week ago. She’d get over it, though, he hoped. He just needed to—

“Well, look who it is. Lord Shaw in the flesh,” Rian said as he rode up to his friend, interrupting Jon’s musings. "And how many stone men did you slay without us? 20? 50?” As he spoke, the young man gestured broadly to the freshly turned earth not far from the gates that had become the final resting place for so many of the soldiers that Jon had been forced to kill the other day.

“There are no dwarves buried there,” Jon said simply, smiling as he turned to meet the gaze of his old friend. “They don’t deserve that nice of a view.”

Jon nudged his horse a few steps closer with his heels and clasped his friend’s offered hand. He was a sight for sore eyes. Rian Landry was in many ways Jon’s opposite, and that, along with their present circumstances, was what made them fast friends almost from the beginning. The other man was only a little older than Jon, but was already worldly in ways he might never be. Rian had darker skin, darker hair, and a brighter smile than the fire blood. He even had a quicker temper, which was unusual for a stone blood, but certainly not for the Landry family. His sister had been exactly the same way.

“Either way, you’ve been busy.” Rian said, the note of approval obvious in his voice.

“Sometimes I have to,” Jon said, shrugging, trying to downplay the whole thing. “All that matters is that I got us the train.”

Rian would hear the whole story eventually, but if it was later rather than sooner, maybe the good people of Dalmarin wouldn’t be subjected to too many wine soaked stories of his exploits once the sun set.

“That would be great, if we knew anyone that knew how to drive one of those things, kidding, kidding of course Jon!” the earth blood said, his smile broadening as he backpedaled. “ The sooner we get that baby fired up, the sooner we can get started with the plan.”

Rian placed so much extra emphasis on those last two words that it was obvious to Jon just how much he was struggling with the secret. Jon just rolled his eyes. Hopefully his friend hadn’t given too many people unnecessary hints without Jon there to keep him focused.

“I’ll leave the powder to you, and you leave the driving to me,” Jon said, trying to keep his expression serious in the face of his infectious levity. “No one else needs to…”

Jon’s words trailed off and his heart started to pound as the woman he’d most wanted to see finally appeared through the gate. She’d been in the rear guard of the group as usual, and her brand lay across her lap as she held it with her left hand while she held the reins in her right. Elise Baumer had noticed him before he noticed her even though Jon had been waiting for her specifically, she was already riding to him before he’d even nudged his gelding to motion. That was par for the course for a sharpshooter like her. They met in the middle, and their kiss was desperate and wordless.

Until now, Jon had maintained his distant airs. Even around Rian he’d managed to keep them intact for the most part, but this woman made him melt like she always did, and when they finally broke their kiss it was to a smattering of applause that had been egged on by Rian.

“There he is. There’s the real Lord Shaw, our skirt chaser in chief,” Rian yelled, making Jon flush slightly as he did his best to ignore him.

“Don’t mind him,” Elise murmured, glaring daggers over Jon’s shoulder at their friend. “He’s just jealous that he’s not getting any.”

“He’s getting plenty El,” Jon smiled. “He’s just never going to get anyone like you.”

“Thank the Gods for that,” she said, smirking as she turned her gaze back to him. “Say - I hear you’re kind of a big shot around here. Can you tell me who I’ve got to bribe to get an actual bath? I’m filthy?”

“Filthy, huh?” Jon asked. “Tell me more about that.”

“I think the bath comes before that kind of talk, Mister,” she teased, shaking her dirty blonde hair slightly for emphasis. “My mother always told me to make sure you get paid first, and when she said that, I’m sure she was thinking about no good outlaws just like you.”

Jon smiled, appreciating her subtle humor almost as much as he appreciated her subtle curves. Elise had been a slender woman even before they’d started gallivanting across the countryside in search of justice. Now her cheekbones were too sharp, and she looked half starved, but she was still just as lovely as she’d been when they met on the Pearl Islet.

“Let’s get everyone settled and taken care of and then we'll—” Jon started to say.

“Then we’ll see what I can do to take care of you?” she asked rhetorically, kissing him lightly on the cheek before she nudged her horse forward and riding away.

Jon smiled as he turned his horse to pursue. He didn’t care that she’d stolen his line. He only cared that he hadn’t had a chance to kiss her back.