Disclaimer: All rights to Tamora Pierce.

A/N: Closure, at last, and the more menacing side of Dom.

Cleon's Last

Cleon was married a little less than three months ago.

He supposed he was happy about it. He had always known that he would marry eventually. And he knew that Ermelian was nice. Nicer than he'd thought she would be. And pretty too.

Prettier than Kel.

He looked over at her. Kel was sitting at the back of the inn with Owen, who was grinning as usual, his flushed face glowing in the light from the lamps. He turned his head to say something to her and Kel laughed quietly. Her hands were loosely wrapped around her tankard. They were large, scarred hands, and the dry northern air had made them red and chapped. Her thick, muscular shoulders pressed against her tunic as she leaned over, better to hear Owen. It is not a pretty body, thought Cleon, Kel is not a pretty girl. Ermelian is much prettier than Kel. Cleon knew this was true. But he did not want Ermelian.

When Neal asked him what he was staring at, Cleon had to leave, mumbling a reply, not wanting to see the knowing look in his friend's eyes. He had to duck his head going out, and a woman outside started when he reared out from the doorway. He smiled at her, but she only stared, wide eyed, up at him. She was a little woman, and Cleon towered over her. She reminded him of Ermelian, always craning her neck to see him.

Kel could look him right in the eye, but Cleon did not think about that.

The inn windows glared at him where he stood in the stables, standing with his mount. He rubbed her down and fed her an apple, afraid of where his thoughts might stray if his hands stopped moving. There was a commotion in the inn yard, the clatter of hooves, and Cleon turned his attention to that, trying to guess who had arrived. His eyes strained in the failing light. Winter approached, and the days were not so long as they had been. He made out a blade and crown insignia. King's Own, then.

Kel had ridden with the King's Own.

Cleon pushed that from his mind and wondered instead if Lord Raoul was with them or if it was just a commander or a squad leader. He got his answer when a tall man led two horse into the stalls next to him, bearing the red armband of a sergeant. Cleon began to pray to the Gods that the man was not who he suspected, but in a second he turned and looked at Cleon, dashing his hopes. Dark haired, with Neal's nose, Domitan of Masbolle gave Cleon the white-toothed grin that Cleon told only everyone, 'Reminds me of a rat'. "It's Kennan, isn't it? Cleon of Kennan?"

"Sir Cleon of Kennan."

The teeth flashed again. Cleon had to turn his face to his mare's back to hide his scowl.

"Here with the army?"

"Course."

"Which division?" The talk turned to commanders and mutual friends. They did not have many.

There was silence for a moment. Cleon asked, "What are you doing here?" partly out of curiosity, and partly annoyance.

Dom launched into an explanation while helping an hostler to unsaddle both his mounts. Cleon listened to bits of it, but didn't find it very interesting. He focused on despising the man, instead. By the time Dom was finished, Cleon couldn't remember anything of what he'd said. As the knight continued to brush his mare's now gleaming coat, Dom talked to the hostler. "If you could check the fore-- yes, I think the shoe might be coming loose. I'll take him to the smithy's in the morning, but in the meantime--" Cleon stole glances at Dom while he spoke, making a silent comparison. He was taller than the sergeant, broader through the shoulders, certainly he had a more powerful build. Cleon smiled to himself, the movements of his brush over his mare's back putting him into a kind of trance. "Do you know if Kel's here?"

Cleon felt himself bristle at Dom's quiet question and grimaced. He considered the sergeant. Kel's face floated into his head, wind-burned, puffy eyed, no longer his, nothing like Ermelian. Cleon looked away from Dom, his chest tight, thinking of Kel and her unpretty body sitting in the inn. No, her features softened in the dim light, the pupils darker, larger under the long lashes. Smiling.

Dom was smiling at him now, his arms folded over the side of the stall where he leaned comfortably. Cleon thought he could see every single one of his teeth, the way he was grinning. "Hello? Dreaming, sir knight?" Cleon leaned forward to show he was listening again, without having to get too close to the sergeant. "I said, is Kel here?"

With barely a thought, Cleon said, "No."

"Oh. I thought she would be. Could she not get leave?"

Cleon cringed inside himself. He could already feel the moment of discovery looming before him, already felt humiliated. But he couldn't stop himself. "No."

A sigh. "That's too bad. Damn, I haven't seen her in ages. They're spread so thin, see --"

Dom stopped talking. He stopped talking because Peachblossom, in the stall behind Cleon, abruptly reached over and bit Cleon's elbow.

Cleon could not tell if he was turning red or not. It didn't matter, because he couldn't meet Dom's gaze anyway. He tried to concentrate on the pain in his elbow. The gelding hadn't drawn blood, but it still hurt like hell. He'd torn clean through the knight's winter tunic and was munching noisily on a piece of it. When Cleon looked up, he saw that Dom was watching him intently, the strangest expression on his face. At least he wasn't smiling.

"I suppose I'd better go in and say hello to her, then." This was said quietly. The sergeant's hands were resting on top of the divider between the stalls, the arms held straight, shoulders tense. Cleon was suddenly conscious of how much older than him Dom was. What was it, seven? eight years? Cleon tried to work out the math, staring at the wall, his jaw clenched.

Kel was better at math than he was.

He heard the rustling of Dom's steps through straw and thought for a moment that Dom was moving into his stall. He could practically feel the man's menacing gaze on his back, could predict exactly where and how he would hit him. The steps receded, though. Dom was walking out into the yard, toward the inn. Cleon felt a strange mixture of relief and despair washing over him.

"Kennan."

Cleon winced and turned around. Dom was standing at the doorpost. He was halfway out, but it seemed something had stopped him. His gloves were in one hand, the other resting on the post. "Yes?"

"Neal tells me I'm to congratulate you on your recent marriage." Cleon wanted to curl in on himself. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. A little shame. Dom was smiling again, but just with his lips, no teeth. His blue eyes were cold.

"Yes." Cleon could say nothing else. He felt frustrated when he could not make himself smile back.

"Come in. We'll drink a toast. To your marital bliss."

"No, I--"

"Got an early day tomorrow?"

"... Yes."

"Got to get going?"

"I've got to make it through the pass before it's snowed in."

"Don't I know it. There isn't anyone can make it through the Keyhole pass. Not once the snow comes. Not once they've missed their opportunity."

Cleon stared at that. "Well I wouldn't want to miss my opportunity," he said stonily.

Dom grinned wolfishly at him again. "I should hope so. There is nothing more tragic." He began to walk toward the inn. He turned back and called, "We'll drink a toast in your honour, Kennan!" and jogged the rest of the way. Cleon did not need to ask who 'we' was.

He stayed out as long as he could, then went to the inn, thinking he could escape to his room unnoticed. But Cleon had forgotten how much he stood out in a crowd. Dom picked him out easily and raised his tankard to him, sitting close to Kel in the seat Owen had vacated. He whispered in her ear and she waved at Cleon, smiling at him. Dom smiled at him too, mocking or pitying. Cleon didn't care which.

He left very early in the morning.

End.

R&R, please!