"As long as it isn't Eledhe." The Phantom was oddly aware of the lack of windows in his quarters. He stood for a moment, staring at the opposite wall as if he could bore a hole through to the other side, then shook himself and dropped into the familiar chair. Somewhere in the stack of maps, there was one with entrances marked in purple. He fished it out with his fingertips.

The moment he looked up, the passwords marked in red next to every purple entrance became meaningless drivel. Silvryn was standing still, framed by the open doorway. All was conspicuously silent save for the distant murmurs and rumbles of footsteps. He coughed and shifted his chair and flung his eyes frantically anywhere but her, eventually returning them to the reassuring parchment before him.

"Uh...sit down," he finally managed, and the entrances marked in purple began to make a vague sort of sense. "So we can't count on them having failed to find these ones, but most of the northern entrances should be safer. That one, for instance, could be used if someone were to get behind the lines..." He trailed a finger down the proposed route.

Because a single person is going to infiltrate the camp, disable every ballista and catapult there, make it out again alive, and you'll be safe. Until more of them show up. Without thoughts toward any days to consider. He swallowed. That was irrational even for Phantom Grey. He coughed once more, still not looking up. "Or...perhaps not."

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Silvryn started to close the door, then decided to leave it open slightly. They needed to conserve candles, and this way the torchlight from the hallway was at least partially illuminating the room. The fact that closed doors also tended to invite many eventualities that she was not willing to consider at the present time was entirely coincidental.

Selecting one of the lighter, unoccupied chairs, she moved it over to the desk so that she could study the map as well. "We know that there were soldiers scouting here," she reminded him, indicating with one finger the entrance that they had most recently used. "They could well be patrolling the entire area. I would not recommend using those exits unless absolutely necessary."

She moved closer, staring more intently at the map. There were too many entrances, too spread out to be effectively guarded. If the Phantom continued to insist that they fight, they would need at least some resemblance of an organized resistance, but posting even one guard at every potential point of entry left them with too few to spare. "Are any magic-users besides Eledhe remaining here?" she asked. "Their scrying abilities would be useful in monitoring the main entry points, so that our forces are not spread out across the entire mountain."

"Among those who stayed..." the Phantom started, trailing off. He looked down at the parchment, absently fingering one corner of the worn map. "Maybe a few. Very inexperienced, though, dabblers if anything...perhaps Jate could be of assistance." A pause. "Provided he could avoid blowing us all up."

He had still managed to avoid looking directly at her. "If it comes to combat, the Heartshard could be an asset. If it were a touch less unpredictable..."

If, if, if. Were every 'if' to gather in concert, he'd nearly have a riot on his hands. "And there's no one to show him how to use it."

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The Heartshard: the artifact that they had spent nearly a month seeking, the supposed solution to all of their problems. They had risked everything in order to procure this powerful weapon - and they did not even know how to effectively use it. The irony would have almost been amusing, were the present situation not so dire.

"We know that it essentially channels magic," Silvryn mused out loud. "Perhaps Eledhe would be of more assistance there? She may be able to show him a few basic, useful things." That thought did prompt a short, dry laugh. It was difficult to imagine Eledhe as an especially patient tutor with anyone, much less someone on whom their lives might soon depend. "She is not the ideal teacher, obviously, but she knows more of magic than anyone else presently in the Keep. He could at least learn to direct his attacks more efficiently."

The Phantom nodded slowly, seemingly mired in contemplation. The Heartshard gave them that barest amount of magical advantage, it was true, but they knew nothing about any of the Regent's forces. He could have any number of mages, and while the Heartshard was formidable in itself, it was only as powerful as its bearer. Like giving a greatsword to a toddler, the Phantom found himself thinking.

The candles on his desk sputtered and jerked his attention back to the present. "Aye, I'll ask Eledhe," he replied, aware of the pause between her question and his answer. Concentration on any one subject at a time seemed determined to elude him. "In the meantime, we need to know what their forces are. Some reconnaissance would not go amiss, if it's possible."

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"It could prove to be helpful," Silvryn agreed absently. "We should see to it once everything has been discussed." Staring intently down at the map, she made no further effort to contribute to the conversation. Silvryn considered herself rather tolerant of many things, but aimless discussion was not one of them. She resisted the urge to glance impatiently at the door, wishing Kjan would hurry up and thus spare them from any further obligatory conversation. The things that they were debating would have to be eventually addressed anyway, of course, but bringing them up now only necessitated repeating the same process when Kjan arrived. In truth, all present discussion served only one purpose: avoidance of the one thing that would ultimately need to be addressed.

She looked briefly over at the Phantom, trying once more to read his expression. He was preoccupied, understandably, but she could discern very little beyond that. It might have been wise to wait until another time, but Silvryn was growing impatient, and there was no way of knowing when they might next have the opportunity to be completely alone. If nothing else, bringing it up would assure Kjan's inconvenient arrival.

"I think," she said slowly, expression carefully neutral as her gaze returned to the map before her, "that at some point we need to discuss...last night."

Last night? They were discussing last night. He'd said they would come up with a plan and they were coming up with a plan. The Phantom blinked uncomprehendingly across at her, running a mental finger down the list of last night's events. Talk about...

Like a ton of solid mountain crashing down onto his head and shattering upon the thickness of his skull, realization dawned, and he narrowly suppressed the urge to shoot back in his chair. Instead, he resisted the compulsion to grip the edge of the desk and - as casually as he could manage - picked up a quill to begin toying with it. Purely to keep his fingers busy. Last night. Last night, when they'd been talking, and then they'd stopped talking, and then... The Phantom dared to look across at her, and gleaned a tiny sliver of confidence.

"Ah. Last night." Somehow he managed to speak. It gave him another sliver, which nearly amounted to a visible fraction when combined with the other one. But what did she want? An apology? What did 'talk' mean? He had thought, just perhaps, that maybe she had - maybe she had - enjoyed it?

In his mind, the prospect neared heresy, and he discarded it as though dropping something that might burn him. "Do we need to... really... talk?" he managed. It had been a kiss. How did one discuss a kiss? "What is there to... talk... about?"

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In sharp contrast to the Phantom's fidgeting, Silvryn grew perceptibly more still as she considered the question. What was there to talk about? She could hardly be expected to know - she had had rather limited experience with courtship before the Regent had seen fit to act. It just seemed like something should be discussed eventually. The Phantom was acting as though she were the more experienced of the two in this manner of thing, while she had always assumed that he, being several years older, would know far more than she.

Somewhat incongruously, it occurred to Silvryn just how little she actually knew about the man who had become Phantom Grey. She knew that his name was Phaerin (only because Kjan was known to still call him as much from time to time), and that he had once been of noble standing, the son of the distinguished Lord Grey. Beyond that, she realized, she knew virtually nothing. She was not even certain how old he was - his typical behaviour was so varied that it was impossible to pinpoint even an approximate age - much less the nature of his existence previous to the rebellion. Were there others? Was there someone waiting even still for-

Silvryn abruptly realized that she was staring and forcibly returned her thoughts to the present discussion. "What occurred was... unexpected," she confessed at length, struggling for the right words, "though not entirely unwelcome....I suppose a suitable starting point would be the intent behind such an occurrence, and whether or not we intend to allow such things in the future. I do not think that we should simply continue to have random...occurrences in the middle of the corridor."

The Phantom blinked, trying to rapidly assimilate all this. The quill between his fingers forgotten, he stared at her as though by doing so he could read her thoughts. An uncomfortable fluttering sensation began in his stomach, quelled slightly by the phrase 'not entirely unwelcome', but begun again in full force by what came after.

'The intent behind such an occurrence'? 'Allow such things in the future'? It sounded rather as though his mother was pondering a minor mishap of his! The Phantom struggled particularly with holding back a demand to know why, exactly, they could not continue to have random and similar events, because if she had enjoyed it, he had, so there was no sense in -

He realized he was gaping at her, mouthing slightly like a fish, and promptly snapped his jaw shut. She was very pretty. He thought that perhaps she was blushing slightly. Had he ever seen that before? He couldn't recall.

It required a jerk to shake him off that dangerous rabbit trail, and the Phantom stammered incoherently for half a moment before his mind could begin to vaguely work out some sort of response to this terrifying revelation. "Uh," he began intelligently, "do these things need... ah... planning?" Now he'd gotten that out, the words began to tumble. "What I mean to say is, perhaps it's the - spontaneity - that makes it, uh, enjoyable. Unless you, you don't want to. In which case... I suppose we could... not."

That was a gloomy thought. He didn't want that at all. The Phantom managed to meet her eyes - very purple, and reflecting the dancing candle flames. Would he have reached for her hand, had it been available? Instead, he bit his tongue and tried to arrange the words properly. "But I liked it," he blurted finally. "Last night. Kissing you."

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"I enjoyed it as well," Silvryn replied before she had quite given herself permission. Curse it, this should not have been nearly as difficult as it was proving to be. All she wanted was to forestall any potential awkwardness in the future by ensuring that there were no misunderstandings at the present.

"It is only that for over half a decade, our relationship has never exceeded friendship," she attempted to clarify. "And while I am open to the possiblity of repeating last night's experience, it might seem odd if we were to do so without any form of explanation. So if we are to repeat it, then it would be ideal to first understand precisely what it is that we are doing, so that we may then explain it to others."

The Phantom had never before thought that kissing required explanation. He was quite clear on what exactly they were doing - it was quite simple. And as for explaining it to others - "Why?" he found himself saying, having followed her line of reasoning as far as he could before it meandered off into the fog of the impenetrable female mind. "I mean - why do they have to know?"

Well, it wasn't as thought he wanted to keep it a secret. But a ridiculous picture was forming in his head of the pair of them, tranquilly explaining to all who might solicitously inquire as to the essence of what exactly it was that they were doing. Which brought him full circle and back to precisely his first objection. Why did it need explanation?

Surely Silvryn had had suitors? The thought - which was faintly unpleasant - nevertheless made him think that she must have some concept of what they were doing. He leaned forward, casting the door an uneasy glance. "Generally," he began carefully, "what we were doing means that... somewhere along the way... friendship, uh, became, something else." Except that wasn't explanation at all. Did he need to explain why he'd done it? Did he even know why?

The Phantom felt he was failing miserably at this. "I don't know about you," he finally said, leaning back, "but I've never attempted to explain it. I always thought that, um, what we were doing, is a bit self-evident." A pause. "You know. Kissing." Somehow that word burnt his tongue every time it came out. "It mostly means... love."

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As was becoming disconcertingly more common, Silvryn felt entirely out of her depth. Relationships, kissing, love - these were all but foreign concepts in her mind. Before the rebellion, she had never allowed herself to indulge in romantic fantasies because she had known that they could not happen. She would marry someone tolerable, produce a reasonable number of heirs, and go on with leading the country. This was simply how royalty went about such things.

Even now that the rebellion had changed everything, she was hardly in a position to seriously consider romance. She was fighting for her life, never certain that she or her companions would live to see the next day. And once this was over - if it was ever over - she would face the same political obligations as before. In short, love was not a luxury that could be afforded by one in her position, and so it had simply never been part of the plan.

Only now, she was indulging in fantasies, seriously considering romance, falling in love. It was as though all semblance of a plan had been tossed to the wind, and while it was nearly exciting at times, mostly it was absolutely terrifying.

"You act as though I have experience with... this," she said abruptly. Tact seemed to be fighting a losing battle tonight. "I was only sixteen when this war began. I was scarcely old enough to have any suitors at all, much less any serious ones. I have never done this in my life."

She was vaguely aware that she was up and pacing slightly now. "It's absurd - I can lead a country with very little trouble. I can negotiate with the most hardened diplomats, strategize in nearly any battle situation, organize and delegate and supervise all of the intricate workings of the kingdom. But this-?" Silvryn simply shook her head, quelling the urge to laugh at the impossibility of it all.

"You are clearly the more knowledgeable concerning such matters," she said at length, struggling to keep her tone even. "Tell me, how are we to go about this?"

The Phantom opened his mouth, fully expecting the words to leap magically to his lips. They didn't. He shut it again, with some intent of resummoning them. Instead he blinked and stared at her, watched her pace back and forth, tried to call from the sluggish recesses of his mind something to the effect of how one went about falling in love. The only image his helpful brain could conjure were a pair of very large violet eyes.

He stood up, feeling as though he ought to move cautiously so as not to spook her. Spook her. Like a horse. What was he thinking? The desk was in the way. Cursed piece of furniture.

There was irony here somewhere, he was sure of it. Irony. Hadn't she asked him something? How you went about this? His mind churned and there were still no answers. "I don't think it has answers," he said, regurgitating what it told him. The desk wasn't in the way anymore. She was standing still, so he hadn't spooked her yet. "Someone...would have discovered them."

Had she enjoyed it? He had. The Phantom took one more step. She still didn't move. "Like this," he said, by way of excuse, and kissed her again.

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He was kissing her - gently, but not as hesitantly as last time. Uncertain at first, Silvryn gradually allowed instinct to take over. Some part of her mind still protested, still told her that she should not be doing this, but Silvryn found that she was growing more and more skilled at suppressing that part. They lingered, drawing the moment out, until they were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat at the door.

Silvryn hastily pulled away, breathless. Curse it, she'd never met a man with worse timing! It could have been someone worse, admittedly, but still - for him to choose to arrive at this precise moment! He could not have timed it more inconveniently had he tried.

Seemingly unaware of the scene he'd just walked in on, Kjan casually draped himself across the nearest available seat and looked up at the other two. "Dorian volunteered to take over the evacuations, so I thought I'd come help with the planning," he said by way of explanation, his tone still remarkably nonchalant. "Did I miss much?"

Jate craned his neck, trying to see past a group congregated and ready to leave. Kjan had just been in the vicinity, but now he was gone. Leading the evacuations now was an unfamiliar man, but obviously respected by the people as they were listening to him. Jate was thankful for his somewhat higher viewing platform by the armory. It allowed him to see a blond head disappearing down a tunnel. Well, he wasn't being much use at the moment. Where Kjan went, the Phantom went also. And where that was, presumably things were being decided.

Pushing his way through the throng and apologizing to the toes he stepped on, Jate made his way across the hall. Now where...? Ah. Left. The lights in the tunnels threw strange shadows on the rock, giving it a slightly eerie feeling. Or menacing. Like the figures of an advancing army. Willing his mind off the subject and advancing more quickly, Jate followed some strained voices down the hallway. Materializing in the doorway, he took in the scene of the Phantom, Silvryn, and Kjan, all with decidedly neutral expressions on their faces.

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going on a journey through my old claims

The Phantom leaped away as though he'd been burned, finding his hands hovering incriminatingly. He was tempted to whip them behind his back. What had he been doing?! They'd been standing there - kissing - and somehow his traitorous hands had moved to pull her closer, resting at the small of her back, and what would have happened if -!

He halted the incoherent stream of panicked thoughts and blinked at Kjan. Slowly, slowly, the notion filtered down that in private, they could definitely have some words. This was exacerbated by the blandly calm expression on his second-in-command's face. "No," he managed, hoping with vicious abandon that the word conveyed reams. Reams.

As if triggered by Jate's appearance, he retreated once more to his desk chair while pointedly looking everywhere in the room but Silvryn. There was a long, excruciating pause.

"Right. Planning." His voice was a croak. Self-conscious, the Phantom cleared his throat. He had no idea what he'd been saying to Silvryn before the kiss. "Does anyone have any... ah... input not yet considered?"

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