He flexed his fingers, staring at them appraisingly as he turned his hands under and over as best he could with them tied together.

Armand observed as well, though distantly and half awake, not bothering to sit up from the hollow remains of a tree trunk he had taken to resting against.

Matthew kept his face as stoic as possible, but could not help the severe line his lips shrunk into as his mind wandered over the lack of escape opportunities over the week they had traveled. The company had kept up the barrier that prevented use of magic the entire time, to his bafflement. He did not know how they managed the energy, but the sharpened lines of exhaustion on Toris' face after a few days gave him some idea. He was not entirely unsympathetic toward the man, despite his role as captor. Matthew was more than well aware of the toll exerting one's magic like that could take.

He also had to admit, despite chafing in captivity, he appreciated how even the brisk marches through the day could stop his body from recovering. He was practically healed now, only a few dull aches and his wounds knitting into puckered scabs that would fade to scars. He could even feel the dull hum of power surging through him without permission on occasion, kept firmly beneath his skin and sparking at the barrier kept over them. He hadn't felt his magic so eager to bubble forth since before the war. He couldn't help but relax knowing that the Tundran warriors would be exhausted from persisting in their enchantment and distracted by the tourney, where he would be fresh for the fight. Allowing an opportunity would present itself, as he refused to submit to his own impatience again.

He glanced over at Armand, guilt gnawing at his stomach.

Romano's words to Matthew on how close Armand had come to being executed plagued him the whole way. Tied up and inconvenienced as they were, Matthew did his best to afford Armand some small comforts. He would sleep on the damper ground, claim he was too exhausted to eat before pushing his small morsels of food at the man, or distract the particularly vicious guards with the occasional biting remark. He suspected Armand had caught on to what he was trying to do, looking at Matthew with an unfathomable and contemplative expression.

He never said anything, though, and Matthew was grateful for that. He finally decided he would trust Armand, and if his trust turned out to be misplaced, he would not have much room to complain, all things considered. The man was even more of a riddle than he first suspected.

The first day after the beginning of their journey in captivity, Armand had resolutely stopped in the middle of their march, the guard leading their bonds not having the strength to jerk Armand off balance to keep going. The lute player stared intently off into the brush, putting the surrounding soldiers on such edge that Queen Elizabeta impatiently ordered and investigation when she heard the commotion.

A burly man with arms as thick as Matthew's legs soon revealed himself pulling a nervously shifting Bavol from the brush, followed by Romano's mare whinnying and shaking her head at the rope around her head.

Matthew was touched by his horse's loyalty, but he would have rather not been subjected to watching the Tundran men attempt to calm him in such a rough way, pulling at the make-shift reins and suddenly surrounding him. The horse attempted to bolt again, alarmed by the strange grabbing hands. Matthew was about to intervene when he found himself practically getting dragged by his bonds as Armand suddenly outpaced him and approached Bavol just as he was about to start bucking.

Bavol immediately stilled, snorting and huffing through his nose as Armand lightly touched his muzzle. Though, with no small amount of satisfaction on Matthew's part, the horse did not completely relax until it nudged its head past Armand's shoulder and warmly pressed his nose into Matthew's cheek with a soft nicker.

Matthew had almost forgotten himself when he heard grumblings from the surrounding soldiers, and Elizabeta's stony stare watching the entire event hawkishly. Armand was unconcerned with the dark grumblings, happily stroking Bavol's neck, but Matthew could feel their eyes like needles. It took Toris' unexpected intervention to calm the tension, chasing away the onlookers and ushering he and Armand back to their guard like a patient mother would her rowdy children.

He tried not to let his relief and gratitude show on his face, but the fleeting glance Toris shot his way told him his effort was fruitless. Though he finally made his inner peace with Armand, strange as he was, he could tell Toris was going to be a whole new problem to handle.

Romano looked quietly ecstatic to be back to freely ride his mare, and Matthew was surprised to see that he had volunteered to lead Bavol on the journey. He, unlike Toris, avoided all eye contact toward either him or Armand. He faced the direction they all traveled resolutely, tensing any time someone of the Tundra got a hair too close for his liking. Matthew wasn't sure if he felt sorry for the man, but he could tell Romano was more uncomfortable with his present company than he had ever been in the cave.

Far too soon after the whole ordeal, they were an evening's ride from crossing into the River Kingdom. Elizabeta had been holding them at camp for an unusually long period of time. Toris and a few of the obviously higher ranking men took the delay in stride, where the other men shifted about camp restlessly. They reminded Matthew of hungry wolves in desperate need of pray. Matthew highly suspected the few meaningful glares thrown his way were not a good sign and wished that whatever reason they were stopped would resolve itself soon.

He soon found himself regretting such thoughts when a small contingent of riders rode up to camp.

Matthew and Armand were still lounging by the shell of a tree, ignored by the rest of the camp as men ran around to some end or another, taking down tents and readying horses. Matthew had been dozing in the warmth of the sun, Armand trying to coax a spider off his shoulder, when the thunder of hooves called their attention.

Though the group that entered the camp was small in number, they were impressive. All of their destriers were larger than any species Matthew had ever seen, hooves the size of small dinner plates, with their riders as corded in muscle as their own mounts. All wore capes of velvety green, and two riders on the front carried the banner of the Tundra: a three-lobed clover made of thin and winding flames that flickered and jumped as the fabric was waved in the wind.

They came to a sudden halt outside of Elizabeta's tent, just as she emerged, a welcoming but empty smile pulling at her thin lips. A black horse with an unbelievably thick neck trotted to the front before her, carrying who could only be King Ivan of the Tundra.

He seemed large even at a distance, easily swinging down from his mount. Matthew's eyes bulged when he noticed the man's fair head was just as tall as his steed's, his burly body towering over the earth not unlike a tree. His face looked sculpted from snow, soft all around with prominent features thrown against pale skin and hair. His eyes were a strange, glinting color that Matthew hesitated to call blue, oppressive in their weight even when he did not direct them at anything in particular. Like his queen, he wore thick robes and a fur mantle, completely nonplussed by the muggy late summer air.

The king played with the grip of a stave that was half a head taller than him, the head of gnarled wood with eagle feathers and crows' feet dangling off it like he was a hedgewitch and not a king. He spoke lowly to his queen, both quickly conversing in a thick language Matthew could not understand.

Matthew looked on, perplexed, until Ivan directed his heavy eyes toward him. He immediately looked away, glancing over at Armand, who was wearing quite the gruesome frown. Armand's mouth seemed to thin considerably, and Matthew willed himself to look back over, only to find Ivan headed their way.

He tried not to quell under the piercing stare that Ivan refused to let up. But once Ivan towered directly over him, Matthew could not help but feel as if ocean waves had crashed down, a vast sense of power radiating from every inch of King Ivan's large frame. Matthew had met a few magicians in his day- it came with the territory of his position. But none anywhere near as powerful as the man before him.

Matthew couldn't help but gulp, which caused the king to smile down at Matthew in a way that disturbingly reminded him of a child, gripping the long stave in his hand tightly and sending a shiver down Matthew's spine. Did his eyes glow? Or was that just Matthew's imagination?

"It seems the 'Pale Bear' is a pale myishka(1)." The men surrounding them chuckled lowly, and Armand's frown visibly deepened. Matthew tried not to think too hard about the implications of Ivan knowing one of his supposed nicknames.

Seeming to take his fill of sizing Matthew up, Ivan shot Armand what could only be described as a smirk before turning back to his men and barking orders. They departed within the hour.

For the first time since their initial capture, Matthew and Armand were separated. Armand's face was surprisingly stern when he was being led more toward the front, Matthew inexplicably ending up traveling next to Toris. Matthew was sure it was no coincidence that the lord just so happened to be charged guard duty after Ivan's arrival. Toris seemed not to mind the obviousness of the ploy, looking down at Matthew from his horse, meandering along so Matthew could walk next to him. No one else seemed to care either, most of the soldiers weaving past as if Toris and Matthew were nothing but trees, soon leaving the pair in the back and well ignored.

"The weather is supposed to be quite nice for the tourney," Toris stated casually enough, his tone polite considering he was speaking to a prisoner, acting oblivious to their vulnerable position at the rear flank.

"Ah yes," Matthew responded dryly, the effect somewhat lost due to his exhaustion from walking so long under the unseasonably warm sun, "The tourney is in honor of Lord Beilschmidt, is it not? How wonderfully ironic that a celebration in honor of the king's late brother is being used to cover for a meeting with the same kingdom that killed him."

"Those times are well behind us, though not forgotten," Toris countered, absently plucking a leaf from a low hanging branch. Matthew's remark was biting but true. The Tundra had been quite pleased with defeating the warlord Beilschmidt in a bid to prevent his increasing consolidation of power in the River Kingdom. Matthew wondered what the reaction was when it became clear the young King Ludwig was not so easily usurped after he inherited the newly formed throne. Ivan struck him as the type to enjoy a difficult enemy.

"Besides, both kingdoms have far greater concerns to address at the moment," Toris went on, rubbing the leaf between his fingers until it was crushed pulp.

"The greater concern of the Mountain, you mean," Matthew snapped back.

Toris hummed in agreement, and Matthew did his best to school his temper.

"And without its Court Magician as well. What a predicament your kingdom is in," Toris went on with a dramatic sigh. Matthew furrowed his brow at the man. He could tell the lord was being quite obvious in trying to clue him in to some secret message within his words. What for, he had not the faintest idea.

"You," Toris went on with a gentle and friendly smile, as if speaking to a babe, "gravely injured one of my own men, did you know? The poor lad with the broken arm. Tundran men are infamous for demanding recompense. My own father braved travel across the Tundra in the dead of winter for the sake of a few coppers as a young man."

Matthew frowned in confusion and looked in the direction that Toris had gestured. He immediately spotted the knight he had battled earlier with his arm wrapped in a sling and grimacing from the uneven gait of his horse as they slowly wound through the woods. He had forgotten him after Armand had scared off most of the bullies the first day.

"I suppose an apology would be insufficient?" Matthew asked, not feeling particularly sorry and still wondering what the man was driving at.

"It would not, no," Toris replied simply, "Which is why we get to the heart of the matter. I am in need of a favor."

Matthew stumbled and almost ended up getting dragged in his surprise, blinking up at Toris owlishly.

"What could I possibly do for you?" he asked, voice cracking like it would when he grew from boyhood.

"To be blunt, though the tourney is indeed a pretense, men from the River and Tundra will have come to genuinely compete, all the same. The man you injured was to ride in my name, and it would greatly dishonor my king if I were to withdraw... Ah, now I see you are starting to understand why I have maneuvered you under my watch for the day."

Matthew had a million questions buzzing around in his head, looking against the light filtering through the trees at the strange lord beside him. His gut feelings were never wrong when he wasn't too stubborn to notice them, and they were telling him that Toris was hardly telling half the truth.

"Why do you not participate yourself, if it is such an issue?"

The laugh he was met with was gentle as summer rain, and Matthew felt a bit flustered by it. "I am many things, Sir Williams, but I am no knight. Though a lord, my position is almost as low as yours to these nobles, and it was earned through trade and commerce."

"The men say you have the ear of the king," Matthew said, thinking back on the few tidbits of camp gossip he had managed to pick up.

Toris' smile grew edged and queer. "They say the same of you as well. It would seems our positions are similar... I wonder how much, though?"

Matthew felt his stomach tighten at the strange hardening in Toris' eyes after he spoke, suddenly at a loss for words.

"I am sure my soft heart may also have some hand in my motivation," Toris continued briskly, face folding back into its normal genial expression, "You no doubt plan to attempt an escape when we arrive at our destination, what with my barrier obviously weakened and you and your friend fresh for a fight."

He smiled wanly when Matthew visibly flinched at his words, leaning over closer to Matthew low enough that he wondered how the man did not slide right off.

"Oh do not act so shocked. What would be a better time than when everyone is distracted by their little conspiracies and all the revelry? But I assure you, Sir Williams, nothing would get you killed faster." He glanced up ahead of the entourage where the king and queen rode side by side and quietly conversed. "I could tell when his highness first rode into camp that you could sense his power. My own reaction was not so different when we first met. He almost felt like raw magic; very old, and very dangerous-But that is aside the point. He has taken quite and interest in you, and you will need more than the element of surprise and Master Armand on your side to escape him successfully."

He sat up and allowed Matthew to mull over his words. Matthew hated to concede, but the man was right. He may have had a chance with just Elizabeta around, her fighting prowess purely physical. But with Ivan's arrival, any hope Matthew had dwindled away. All he had left to do was figure out what Toris was truly up to.

"My horse is not bred for tournaments. Would the esteemed audience not be insulted if I rode him in a jousting?" he asked, deciding he would take the offer and see where it went.

"You will use my man's stallion, Sir Williams. If you manage to make such a willful thing obey you enough to joust, of course. I will speak with my king of the change in the line up. I am sure he will not refuse the opportunity seeing the famous Sir Matthew Williams riding under a Tundran banner."

Matthew tamped down on the urge of telling Toris what he could do with his stupid banner, his would be suggestion heavily borrowed from Romano's own language. Instead he bit down on everything he wanted to say, mumbling a small thanks and looked woefully at where Armand was being ushered along up ahead. If Toris honestly cared for the tournament, he would not ask an enemy in such a blazenly suspicious manner instead of the dozens of other Tundra men present.

His conspiring mind pondered further as Toris picked up the pace of his trot, dumping Matthew off with Armand and bypassing everyone to join the royal guard and immediately begin conversing lowly with Ivan.

Matthew simply felt tired watching them speak. Lord Toris was trying to fool someone; but who, Matthew could not guess. He supposed himself, as it would make the most sense, somehow. But why blackmail him into jousting?

"Lord Toris is certainly a strange man, is he not? Does he truly think he is being clever?" Matthew asked aloud, trying to organize his thoughts.

He was about to ask Armand his perspective on the whole situation, only to find the taller man openly sending a sour expression at the royal entourage, focused to the point he had not even reacted to Matthew speaking. Matthew supposed he shouldn't be surprised, Armand had a good head on his shoulders and knew when trouble was brewing. Though, he was startled to find Armand was far less concerned with his speaking with Toris than he was with King Ivan's mere existence.

"I do not like how the king looks at you," Armand said flatly, eyes following Ivan with cold disapproval and narrowing when the man made a loud and dark chuckle.

"I have heard he is that way with everyone he bothers to pay attention to," Matthew dryly assured, though silently agreeing.

"He has his stories too. Though far more distressing than the ones that follow you," Armand said, eyes never leaving Ivan's back.

Matthew felt a headache begin to dully throb at his temples.

"I have no doubt," he answered softly, reluctantly looking at Ivan as well, "I have heard a few myself. None of them good."

1. Supposedly 'little mouse' in Russian.

A/N: Yikes, I didn't mean to drop this one for awhile again. Unfortunately, life's been pretty good at getting in my way lately. I have far too much of this story laid out to just give up on it, thankfully.

Thanks for taking the time to read, and hopefully the next chapter won't take anywhere near as long (We're actually starting to get to the bits I've been looking forward to for awhile).