Written for SMACKDOWN Team Dom at fiefgoldenlake dot proboards dot com.

The laughter was jarring and the colors too bright, and Kel wondered for the thousandth time why she had agreed to attend the party. It would have been rude not to make an appearance- although it couldn't officially be given in her honor, what with the Crown still trying to keep the details of her Scanran exploits solely among the Council and highest-ranking commanders, everyone knew that it was the Lady Knight who had stopped the killing machines two years prior, and that's what they were celebrating. Those who hadn't had to watch as the flames consumed men who had died under her orders, or heard the hitch in Owen's voice as he said the final prayers, they danced because the war was over and Tortall had won. But she knew that no one won in the end; there was only loss, of good soldiers and fine mounts and a nothing man who fell weak and defenseless as a child. And glancing about the room, she saw the others, Neal, Owen, and Dom- those who had been with her the night that darkness never fell. Her horror was mirrored in their own.

War didn't allow you to grieve; that was what she hated most about it, more than the blood and the fear and the waiting. For every man she lost, there were a hundred more she still had to save, and a second's reflection on the past more often than not ended your future. So she had seized upon her orders and her duties, allowing the force of necessity to carry her through, away from the memories. But now the war was over, and the days stretched endlessly before her, full of the hidden threat of remembrance. It was a battle she fought every day, to move forward rather than back, and the current was strong. Yet she had been winning, navigating the swirling stream of existence with the same stubborn determination that characterized all her actions; if she hadn't completely moved on, at least she was holding her ground, keeping her head above water, holding her own. Tonight, though, she was drowning in the blissful ignorance that surrounded her, the happiness, because where the others celebrated victory she could only be reminded of its cost.

Dom passed her a glass, his hand lingering for just a second too long, a burst of heat against the cool drink in her palm. It was the jolt she needed to break her out of her reverie and remind her where she was, standing against the wall on the outskirts of the crowd. A strong scent of spirits filled her head as he stepped away, fading into the blur of silk and smiles. She caught sight of him again as he paused for a minute at the doorway, raising his own glass in a silent salute. The room burst into applause as the musicians she hadn't noticed concluded the song she hadn't heard, and four war heroes drank to memories and unshed tears. Kel savored the burn in her throat, wishing that the harsh fire could scald away her guilt, but the false warmth lasted only a moment and left her colder in its absence. She needed fire, something fierce and painful and strong to remind her how to feel and let her know that she wasn't alone; she wouldn't find it here.

Slowly, deliberately, she laid the empty glass down on a table and started across the room, stopping to graciously accept the congratulations with a smile, accepting a dance or two. Each step took her closer to the doorway, until she was finally upon the threshold. Stepping outside was freedom, and the hallway an escape. Driven by the ghost of a touch, she tread softly through the night towards the promise of escape. Only today, she had allowed herself to remember. But tonight, together, they would try to forget.