Written for the fanfiction SMACKDOWN at fiefgoldenlake . proboards . com

Disclaimer: All characters and concepts belonging to the Tortallan universe are the sole property of Tamora Pierce. No copyright infringement is intended, nor will this project be used for profit of any kind. The title of fic comes from The Killers' song of the same name.

Title: This River Is Wild
Rating: PG
Length: 359
Competitor: Dom
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: War is no place for love.

He knew, perhaps more than anyone, that war held no time for love. There were patrols to be arranged, sieges to be carried out, and bodies to take care of. There was a constant rush of adrenaline in the blood, speeding up the heart and blocking out pain and exhaustion until the worst of the dirty work was done. In war, there are no petty squabbles and those that do exist are stamped out right away. When lives were at stake, there could be no turning on each other because it's watch out or die.

With the death of Blayce the Gallan came the end of the killing machines, but not the end of the war. Perhaps King Maggur had lost his greatest weapons, but he still had thousands of lesser ones – more Scanran men were turning into soldiers every day, and this meant that the war would continue. Battles would be fought along the border, skirmishes large and small that left each side considerably damaged. Dom was there continuously, plying his blade wherever he could and shouting orders until his voice grew hoarse.

At the end of the days he welcomed the relief, riding with his squad back to camp or New Hope or Mastiff or anywhere they could reach before collapse. From this distance he watched her, saw her come and go, saw her arm her people and command the watch from the walls. Keladry was a commander like few he'd ever seen, and this was one of the things that drew him. He could hardly imagine the delicate ladies he'd once courted back in the days of peace in the realm; instead, the only images he could conjure in his mind were those of a commanding presence, of broad shoulders and muscled legs, of short hair and strong arms and a smile that was contagious.

Every day he was drawn to her, greedy for a glimpse of her and if none were awarded, then his dark mood would keep the other men at bay. Perhaps one day his passion would be acknowledged; until then, he accepted that love was not an option. But he could wait.