The aftermath of the battle settles into a routine of recovery and reorganization for the Albanian army. Weeks pass, as the soldiers heal from their wounds, the prisoners are tended to, and the spoils are inventoried and distributed. The mood is filled with jubilation and celebration, as Skanderbeg holds a feast for the victorious army at Kruja castle. The halls are filled with laughter, music, and the hum of conversation, as the soldiers of the Albanian army come together to celebrate their unexpected but glorious success.

Oleksandr takes a seat at Skanderbeg's table with his cup of wine, and looks around the party.

"That was a grand victory." Skanderbeg comments to him. Oleksandr nods in agreement, taking a generous sip of his wine as he looks around the great hall of the castle.

"It was," he says with a smirk. "A grand victory indeed. The Ottomans were completely humiliated, cast out of Albania in shame, once again." Skanderbeg pats Oleksandr's shoulder.

"Thank you for your help, Oleksandr." Oleksandr nods, feeling a sense of pride in knowing that he had contributed to the victory. He looks over at Skanderbeg.

"It was an honor," he says. "I was happy to do my part." Skanderbeg motions to the man next to him.

"Oleksandr, I'd like to introduce you to my brother-in-law, Dragoje, King of Montenegro. He is married to my wife’s sister." Oleksandr turns his attention to the man sitting next to Skanderbeg, taking in his appearance - the large fur hat, long black hair, and heavy black mustache, with thick bushy eyebrows and a hard face. His eyes widen slightly as he hears Skanderbeg introduce him as the King of Montenegro. Oleksandr nods respectfully in greeting.

"It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," he says. The man nods with a curious gaze.

"So I have heard tales of your exploits, Oleksandr." Oleksandr raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised to hear that the King of Montenegro has heard tales of his exploits.

"Is that so?" He says, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "And what have you heard, Your Majesty?"

"As you know, Iskander and I have allies further east across the peninsula, like Vladimir of Wallachia for example. You seem to have many friends in high places, despite your lack of title or lineage... You show up in various places across the map and assist armies in their victories against the Ottomans. You’ve built a bit of a reputation.” Oleksandr nods, listening intently to the King of Montenegro's words. He is aware of the network of allies and relationships between Albania, Wallachia, and other lords and dukes in the region, but he is somewhat surprised to hear that his own presence has been noted in these alliances.

"I suppose I've made a few acquaintances along the way, but I don't do it for titles or lineage. I fight to push back the Ottomans in any way I can."

"But why? You are surely capable of gaining power, of being a leader, and accumulating legitimate positions and land. I know of many men who would give an arm or a leg to have you in their court." Oleksandr is a bit taken aback by the king's question, and he takes a moment to consider it. He gazes into his wine cup, swirling the liquid in thought.

"Perhaps I am capable," he says, "but that is not what drives me. I have no interest in earthly possessions and man-made titles. I am a vagabond at heart." Dragoje and Skanderbeg ponder Oleksandr's response thoughtfully, before Dragoje speaks again.

"Surely at some point you must wish to settle down. You never long for a place to return to after your battles? Somewhere stable, to call home?" Oleksandr takes another sip of his wine, mulling over the king's words in his mind. He does have to admit that there have been times when the thought of a place to call home has crossed his mind, especially recently, a place where he could put down roots and finally lay down his weapons.

"There have been times when the thought has occurred to me," Oleksandr admits, his voice a little quieter than usual. "But I have never been one to stay in one place for too long. I am a nomad, a man of battle, after all."

"A man of battle indeed, but even the fiercest of legendary warriors had a home at the end of the day, whether it was a land, a castle, or kin."

"You are right, Your Majesty," he says with a small sigh. "But my home has always been the battlefield, and my kin are the men I fight by my side. I have never known a life beyond that."

"Very well, I mean not to stop you from your crusade. However, I can tell you, as a man far beyond your years, it will grind you down until there isn’t much left of you. A shield can only be battered enough times before it splinters." Oleksandr takes a deep breath, contemplating Dragoje's words. He knows the king's age gives him the wisdom of experience, and he cannot help but admit that there is truth in what he says. It will indeed weigh on him one day, the endless battle, the bloodshed and carnage, the ceaseless moving from one battlefield to the next, the loneliness...

"Perhaps you are right," he says, his voice a little softer. "But for now, my crusade continues. Who knows what the future holds, though."

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"Say, where do you plan on going after you leave Albulena?"

"I haven't given it too much thought," Oleksandr says, drumming his fingers on the table. "Coincidentally, I was actually planning on traveling to Montenegro. I was thinking about taking a rest there... Explore a bit, catch my bearings..." The king grins.

"Ah, you will travel to my homeland? My men and I depart in two nights, you may travel with us, and we will house you. I insist." Oleksandr ponders Dragoje's offer, mulling it over in his mind. It is always helpful to have friendly allies in foreign lands, and the offer of housing is generous. He nods.

"I accept your generous offer, Your Majesty," he says, a hint of gratitude in his voice. "I would be honored to travel with you and your men." Dragoje sips his wine and exchanges a grin with Skanderbeg.

"Excellent." Skanderbeg nods, sharing a knowing look with Dragoje, before he returns his attention to Oleksandr.

"You have made the right decision," he says, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Dragoje's hospitality is unparalleled, you will be well taken care of during your stay."

A couple of days later, as Oleksandr rides towards Montenegro with the king's entourage, his mind drifts back to the dreams that have haunted him in recent months, the woman who told him to meet her in this very country. Weeks of travel pass by, the landscape changing as they make the journey. Finally, they arrive in Montenegro, the country coming into view in the distance. Oleksandr can't shake the feeling that this trip is connected to the strange dreams, and wonders if he will finally find answers in the mountains of Montenegro. Perhaps Thekkur was right when he said that battle may lead him where he desires to be. 'Do what you do best. Follow the battles.'

"Welcome to my beautiful motherland, Oleksandr. I hope she treats you well. There will be a feast tonight for our safe arrival, and I hope to see you there." Oleksandr looks around at the landscape of Montenegro, admiring the beauty of the mountains and forests. He turns to the king and nods in appreciation.

"It is a beautiful country, Your Majesty," he says, his eyes taking in the view. "I gladly accept your invitation. I look forward to seeing more of Montenegro's hospitality." They all settle back in the castle early that morning to rest. Later in the evening, Oleksandr takes his time to freshen up, savoring the hot water and the feeling of being clean after the long journey. He combs out his long blonde hair and shaves away the stubble, leaving his face smooth and clean. Once he is ready, he takes his leave of the washroom and makes his way through the castle, following the sounds of the feast to the dining hall.

As he enters the room, he gazes around at the lavish decor and the array of food on display, his stomach growling in anticipation. A servant stops him as he enters. "My lord, the King requests you join him at his table." Oleksandr raises an eyebrow at the servant's words, a bit surprised to hear the king requests his presence.

"Thank you," he says, before making his way towards the king's table, weaving through the crowd of guests. As he approaches the king's table, he bows respectfully.

"You requested my presence, Your Majesty?"

"Ah, Oleksandr. Come, pour yourself some wine and take a seat." Oleksandr nods, a hint of curiosity in his expression. He walks over to the table and grabs a cup of wine, before taking a seat at the table next to the king.

"What did you wish to speak to me about, Your Majesty?" He asks, swirling the wine in his cup. The king looks a bit more serious, his face hardening.

"I think it is clear that I have taken great interest in you. They tell me that your presence on the battlefield is like an omen of victory. I must confess I did not bring you here purely out of hospitality, but also for my own reasons." Oleksandr ponders the king's words; it's true, he has had a reputation for turning the tide of battles. He takes a sip of his wine, his curious eyes on the king.

"My presence does seem to have a certain effect, yes," he responds, his voice steady. "I do what I can to help in the fight against the Ottomans."

"I know you desire to be a... a vagabond, but my country is under great peril, being born out of a rebellion against the Turk. You would be a great asset to me. I desire to have you knighted, and to remain loyal to my country... It would be a great honor, son." Oleksandr gazes at the king, listening intently to his words. He can sense the seriousness and insistence in his tone, the gravity of the situation. He takes a deep breath and mulls over the offer.

"I appreciate the honor that you would bestow upon me, Your Majesty, but my duty is to fight against the Ottomans wherever they may be, not to be bound to one country." The king leans in, an urgency and desperation in his tone.

"It is your very foe that threatens us. I would make you a wealthy man, and you would earn prestige and a name for yourself, a reputation beyond just rumors and bard's tales. I'm offering you the first peg of a ladder that you can climb to greatness."

"It is a generous offer, Your Majesty," he says, his gaze sympathetic but unwavering. "But it would mean giving up my life as a traveller and settling down in your lands. I wish not to settle."

"I'm willing to offer you such freedoms. I will draft you on wars and campaigns, and send you on missions. Not to mention, the captain of my castle guard recently retired, and I've been searching for a worthy replacement. I know you have experience in this, being a former Varangian Guard in the imperial palace of Constantinople." Oleksandr nods as the king speaks, the offer slowly becoming more appealing. He takes a deep breath, mulling it over in his mind.

"Your offer is very generous, Your Majesty," he says, his voice calmer than before. "And it is true that I do have experience as a Varangian Guard in the imperial palace… But you must allow me to think about such an offer." The king softens as he finishes his proposal, and he takes a sip from his wine, leaning back.

"I understand. Take all the time you need, but I expect an answer at some point. I hope you do not disappoint me. As for now... Relax, and enjoy yourself at this feast." Oleksandr nods, watching the king. He feels a sense of unease at the pressure placed upon him, knowing that the king will likely take offense if he decides to reject the offer of knighthood.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he says, with a bit of tension in his shoulders, but he remains stoic and unruffled. "I will think about your offer."