WHERE ARE YOU GOING?

[agogemod]

WHO? Everybody!
WHAT? Agoge's fifth TDM.
WHEN? January 1916, Gallipoli.
ANYTHING ELSE? Violence, as always. Please warn in subject lines for anything beyond physical violence, and move to a personal journal if things go beyond PG-13.

And you know what they say;

Nobody deserves to die.

READ THE SETTING INFOPAGE.

arrival for new recruits

You wake up to the sound of bombardment, shells exploding in the distance, the smell of mud and rot and...mustard? You're in a tent and the cold wind rips right through it. You have none of your clothing, just black military-issued underwear, and none of your previous possessions beyond the one you chose (if you remember choosing) to bring with you. It's not a lot to go on, but the enemy isn't going to care very much if you remember why you're here on not. If you want to survive the next few hours, you'll all have to fight - and fight hard.

There's a man nearby in a corner, wearing an ANZAC uniform and sitting on a stool that's seen better days. When he sees you're awake, he answers any questions you may have and provides a quick briefing: you are a member of COST, a paramilitary organization of time travellers fighting against the Regency, a tyrannous kingdom of the future who are trying to stamp out freedom and individuality in the name of peace. And you are now in World War I on the planet Earth, in the doomed Gallipoli campaign on the coasts of Turkey. These specific trenches are known as Lone Pine.

He provides you with the clothing necessary to fit in and shows you how to use your BCE implant to look up information on this dimension, including its social and political mores. He won't let you leave until you're properly dressed, but once you are, he'll wish you luck. We could all use a little luck, here.


FOR VETERANS

It's been some long, long weeks since the veteran COST soldiers arrived in Gallipoli.

Despite the Regency's best efforts and the horror of the World War itself, it seems that the overwhelming majority of the ANZAC soldiers left behind have been saved. The men and few nurses still alive are looking forward to getting out and going home, and that's finally possible due to the work of dedicated COST veterans.

Congratulations everyone, there's a chance of getting out of here alive.

Groups 1 and 2 successfully established contact with a French ship, the Marie Antoinette. The French were in the middle of pulling out of Cape Helles and the Captain agreed to take on the stranded forces and bring them to Egypt - the training base for all Australia and New Zealand troops in this corner of the world, from where they'll be returned home. If all goes according to plan, COST's agents will slip out somewhere in the middle and back to BASE to regroup.

Which leaves getting there, made exceptionally easier by the work of Group 3's diplomats. They struck a deal with Ataturk - who, true to the tone between the ground soldiers of this war, greatly respects his enemy and recognizes no need to further pointless bloodshed.


LONE PINE

The situation at Lone Pine is dire. Food has run short and ammo even shorter. The fight with the Regency - disguised as German troops - has tainted morale. Their movement has been limited and, cut off as they are, the defense group has had little hope since the others left. The ANZAC troops are nervous and restless with the waiting. After all, they don't have the reassurances that COST members do through the use of their BCEs to keep in touch. They don't know what's coming or if the other groups have been captured or killed. They look for whatever cheer they can find in this truly desperate situation.

But they have some relief: the extensive tunnels in Lone Pine that cut into No Man's Land are still mostly intact. They offer some insulation against the cold snows that turn the ground to sludge and somewhere to sit where a sniper's bullet can't reach. It's in this space that meals are cooked and the wounded are kept out of harm's way.

...And then, in the early hours of the day before evacuation, the Matron Mary Smythe disappears. There's the sound of someone screaming and maybe you're awake in time to see Mary Smythe walk out of the medical tent, covered in blood up to her elbows. She disappears into the morning fog and, inside the makeshift medical tent, you'll find bewildered nurses and a few dead soldiers. They were recuperating, but the Matron did her best to slit their throats.

However, the Matron left in a hurry. Some of the bleeding men may still be saved, their injuries grave but salvageable. Act quickly.


FOR VETERAN RECRUITS RETURNING TO LONE PINE

Recruits who return with Group 3 have an easier return, with something of an unofficial escort through the Ottoman Turk lines. Though they have to keep their heads down, they are safe mostly if they stick together. The last thing Ataturk wants is for them to be shot down after he personally organised their safe passage. Nor does he want anything to tarnish what should be his flawless victory over the Allied Forces. They are brought to the edge of the Turkish Lines and make the rest of their way back alone to Lone Pine. Ultimately, Group 3 arrives back with a day to spare on their organised retreat.

Those still with Groups 1 & 2 make it back and in one piece, but they don't have the luxury of an escort. Nor is it easy going - they'll have to dodge gunfire the whole run down from the Nek and the French Dugout - but ultimately they make it. They arrive an hour later than Group 3.


UPON REGROUPING

The return and good news is met with raucous cheers from every soldier present - they clap members of the returning groups on the back, whistling with excited cheers of "You bastards did it! You bastards really did it!" It's an all-around hero's welcome, some of it shamefully tearful. They've assuaged fears that the surviving ANZAC troopers wouldn't see their homes or their loved ones again and the mood is palpable. "I'm going to tell my Darling to thank her stars for you every night!" These men have lived through hell for many months now and have had their hopes of going home shot already; many of them believed they'd never get out alive. But as the plans come together, there is a second where it dissolves into painful relief where they grip any other soldiers or nurses tight. "We might just make it." It's been a long while since anyone has even dared to think it.

The disorder from excitement only lasts a little while, before the order comes then from Captain Lewis - "Alright, settle down, we're not there yet." But even he looks relieved; the last few weeks and days of pointless waiting have turned him grey at every edge.

The terrain is now their biggest enemy. It's easy enough for COST recruits to communicate via their BCEs, but the ANZACs have their own communication system to circumvent the difficult, hilly country that often makes it impossible to track fellow soldiers. It's old - far older than the white colonists who have come to inhabit Australia - but it's a very simple cry of the word "Cooee". Adopted from the Dharug language of the Australian Aboriginal people who inhabited what is now Sydney, it has been used for years by everyone, from city folk to bush workers for a simple purpose. It's a loud resonating cry to let other people know where you are.

It may come in handy, when there are wounded men to transport down the heights of Lone Pine. Stretcher bearers are needed, to dodge anyone and anything that might mean them harm. Maps need to be studied to come up with the best routes and diversify the lines, to ensure they don't get funneled together at any point. This requires planning; it's vital everyone know their respective roles and shifts come the evacuation in the morning. Many COST recruits have an easier time of this than the average ANZAC, so maybe its the time to stretch some middle management skills or a hidden talent in deciphering turn of the century cartography. Sitting down and going over this with the local soldiers is important; some of them can't read very well, so it might be slow going. Others are just overeager and likely to do something stupid. Do what you can to get the words into the heads.

Meanwhile, for the long-standing COST recruits, there is another pressing matter: the six of their number kidnapped by the Regency. Just what might have become of them?


escape from bullshit mountain

Veteran recruits have heard plenty of explosions since they arrived in Gallipoli, but this one is different. It sounds nothing like a shell or grenade. There's a shock-wave quality to it, echoing across the trenches, but the epicenter can't quite be found. It seems to come from nowhere.

There's a moment of confused silence, but those with BCEs (those with COST), will notice a momentary glitch, a split second where their holographic technical interfaces blur.

Six captives have managed to escape and destroy this Regency cell's base of operations. The captives are ejected back into No Man's Land and must make a run for it back to Lone Pine. If they're fast, dodging bullets and slipping through mud and barbed wire, they can return to the closest approximation of safety in war-torn Gallipoli: the trenches most familiar to them.

Which shaves this affair down to the truth of what it always was: COST vs. the Regency. Until this point, it looked as though the Regency had the upper hand - they cut off supplies, launched surprise attacks on the defenders of Lone Pine, and captured a number of COST recruits - and were happy to goad everyone with their position. But the tide quickly turns.

For the escapees, it comes down to the same point: regroup to Lone Pine, gather up what remains of the soldiers, and get ready. There is only limited time to get everyone out with their lives intact. And COST has invoked a more resolute ire of the Regency, now without a home base. While most of them are too disorganized and disoriented to engage the escapees directly, others still in disguises of the era line up in the trenches and open fire.

The former captives will not make it by themselves. The Captain, while confused, yells the same order he's been giving for his last six months here: "Cover them!" Which is simple, really. Grab the nearest gun that looks like it might have a single bullet left and haul it up to the trench wall to fire over the top of it.

Do try not to hit the escapees though, will you?


THE CEASEFIRE

Ataturk, the one-day future founder of the Republic of Turkey, has earned the accolades of victory. They will position him upon the fall of the Ottoman Empire to free his homeland.

But, at the moment, he isn't able to give a direct order for everyone to stand down. Today, he is still at the instruction of the Ottoman Empire, allied with the Germans in this war and unwilling to let so many of Prisoners of War go. But due to his own opinions about the Ottoman Empire, Ataturk instead orders his soldiers to involve themselves in activities elsewhere. Namely, no matter what they see and hear on the front lines, with only Ataturk to oversee them, they will not move on other soldiers unless attacked. There are many other things they could be doing and he heartily encourages this.

It will last one full day, as agreed upon: from the dawn of the chosen day to midnight. No Turkish soldier will attack unless it becomes unavoidable for them to do so - and, as they are the main forces in the peninsula, this massively cuts the numbers they might have been facing.

This means that now the only enemy they are truly fighting are Regency soldiers disguised as Germans. Those who remain disguised are imperfect actors of the era and look rough around the edges; they may be better at fitting in than COST soldiers, but only on average.


THE DESCENT

In the morning, it snows.

But the evacuation can't wait and begins with the break of dawn. The process is fairly simple: one or two soldiers, armed and ready, break up the slower moving force of stretcher bearers and the wounded. The plotted paths send them on a winding trek through three alternative routes. Sometimes they overlap. In all cases, it makes clear the real obstacle to the ANZACS and the greatest aid to the Regency is, again, the terrain.

The Regency agents take potshots, snipe from safe positions, and ignore the ceasefire that does not, truly, apply to them. The ANZACs know that the order might not have gotten around, but when the first shot goes off, the soldiers swear something furious. "Haven't they already won?" The ANZAC soldiers can't know that the soldiers ignoring the ceasefire are Regency operatives in disguise.

But not all members of the Regency like these acts of subtlety; the jackal-masked soldiers are difficult to fight and harder to kill. They use the terrain and increasingly snowy weather to target any COST operative sloppy enough to expose themselves. Still, these soldiers are off their game. They're disorganized and reckless; if you kill one successfully - and it is possible, if difficult - the body will disintegrate.

Do what you can to stop them.

It's going to take teamwork to distract and keep them off their true marks, the ANZACs. When the Regency soldiers strike, it's clear they're not wasting any time. Every move is, if not kill, to incapacitate, to slow down the procession reaching the beaches and off the coast. They've got ample places and opportunities to ambush and attack unsuspecting groups of soldiers. One moment, the path is empty; the next, a Regency agent bears down on your position.

But ammo is low on COST's side and it might be better to scrounge around when you can.

Luckily, the trenches were abandoned in a hurry when the call for evacuation came. While the soldiers took as much as they could and removed bodies when and where possible, only so much could be taken. There are still quarter full boxes of ammo left behind, half covered in snow, and canteens still full of water drape off the knives stuck into the walls. If it's a piece of munitions, there's a chance of finding it on the way down.

There is something more, though. Left on tables and desks, in drawers and in cupboards, are fond farewells. There are notes, left in a myriad of chicken scratch handwriting to proper curving letters, that say: To Johnny Turk or To an honest Turk. And, occasionally, you may find gifts left behind as well: a bottle of wine, a fine cigar. Gifts of a fight so hardly meant.

In those little pockets of calm, when even the Regency needs to regroup, do you take it? Or, between a shift of ferrying people down the lines, do you just look at it and leave it be?


THE BEACHES

For those who remember coming to Gallipoli and landing on the beach weeks ago, the change is striking. When they arrived, it was a 300,000 strong teaming force of people, moving like its own city; ships pulled to the shore and the might of the British Navy sat just off the coast.

Now, it's a ghost town of half dismantled tents, holes from shelling in the earth like craters. The smaller docking vessels used for transport are riddled with machine gun bullets. And there are bodies too - always more bodies - with the ever-present stench. But the smell of the sea is, for once, stronger than the damp and death. After a war of so much sound and fury, the world muffled by an already thick blanket of snow, the emptiness and silence is striking.

But there, in the snowy distance (but thankfully not too distant), is a singular warship. And it's flying, much to everyone's relief, French colours. The rescue boat is there.

The cheer that goes up travels all the way down the line.


david vs. goliath: final round

Still, as you hit the beaches, the air crackles and more Regency soldiers appear in a desperate last attempt to stop COST. There is little cover and the Regency soldiers hit hard, all interest in subtlety gone. They aim to kill, not caring who they hit or what cover is lost in the process.

But, hey, if they're going to fight dirty, so can you.

Protect as many ANZAC soldiers as you can. There's no point in maintaining your cover at this stage; hit them with everything you've got. The Regency will target escape vessels and the wounded first, going for soft targets in their final offensive. Fight for your life and the lives of the men and women you want to survive, the people you don't want to die on this stinking beach, so close to escape and so far from home.

When the smoke clears, you'll have to deal with the fact that some ANZAC soldiers did see what you did. However, you'll find anything beyond the comprehension of the average 1916 soldier is often written off as a miracle, a touch of the divine, a legend. They don't think it was you. They think it was a greater luck and magic than can be fully comprehended.

Also, after weeks and weeks in the trenches, sometimes spending days living underground completely and low on food rations, they're all a little delirious.


meanwhile, a message from our sponsors

As soon as the fighting breaks out, Grothia issues a high priority, cell-wide bulletin.

@CMDR. ATTN: ALL.

Get to that beach. The ship won't wait and neither can we.

Some of you may have noticed we called in for extra reinforcements to ensure victory at all possible costs. I do mean all possible. Until these soldiers - every last ANZAC whose lives you have preserved up until this point - has survived this fight. Their lives must come first or all of this, everything you have been through up until now, counts for nothing.

If death comes for them, it is you who will take their place. You, we can revive. As such, you are to treat yourselves as expendable from this point forward. If you find a downed COST member, do not stop for them, we can bring them back.

Lastly - and most importantly. We give no quarter to the Regency.

I will see you on the ship.

She means it; the ship cannot afford to wait, exposed as it is in enemy waters. Successful completion of this mission rests less on a complete defeat of the Regency and more on getting everyone aboard the French ship as quickly as possible. Fight and fight hard, but don't become so consumed by it that you miss the last call to the boats.


anchors aweigh

The boats taking the soldiers to the Marie Antoinette seat around twenty, tightly packed. The wounded go first, then ANZACs. In the interest of being able to protect the convoys as long as possible, COST recruits are told to wait last, so you're liable to be stacked with a lot of your fellow recruits when you do get aboard. Try not to look too relieved. The water is bitter cold and the wind whips snow into your face.

But once you board the ship, you may be in for a strange sight: celebration. No one expected to make it this far, but they have and their joy is effusive; cheers bubble in the crowd. Men hug and laugh, shaking the hands of their saviors and slapping the backs of their comrades.

French wine rations are handed out in celebration; it's not the good stuff, low quality and recently bottled. But after the horrible rum rations given to ANZAC soldiers, it likely tastes like the holy grail. Soldiers sing and drink, cheering with tears in their eyes, glad to be alive. French soldiers ask what happened and ANZACs answer with outlandish and outrageous stories, angels and devils, fairies and goblins, soldiers accomplishing impossible feats.

Those COST soldiers who secured diplomatic ceasefire, repaired the radios and contacted the French, or protected both groups: all are cheered on, wine almost forced into their hands. And, hey, if you're a good enough liar, you can probably convince someone that's exactly what you are, even if you weren't around for it. It's not like everyone's sober for this leg of the trip.

Only fifty ANZAC soldiers died, largely of wounds sustained in transfer, and their funerals are short and solemn; a priest speaks their last rites, reads their names and ranks, and they are buried at sea. Among them are both the Long brothers and Captain Morangey shows his first emotion other than frustration and annoyance.

The funerals are over quickly and more wine is passed out as the ship is gently rocked by the sea. The mood shifts between solemn and joyful depending on the group, or even the moment. The people here have made it out, they're alive, and it's not unusual to hear their shock at this, repeated over and over, grateful despite it all.

READ THE SETTING INFOPAGE.

NAV. NETWORK LOGS OOC MEMES PLURK

Comments

[dorzalta]

She nods, and while he cannot see her look of satisfaction, her shoulders seem less tense than moments ago. "That was wise."

His sigh brings a flare of guilt to life in her chest. It's been weeks, maybe even months, since they're questioned COST, its motives, and their role within it. To do so now is likely ill advised, but she cannot help it. She wonders these things ever since her time with her... father. Not because he brought her wisdom, but because blindly trusting another person (or an organization which intends to hide important details from those it recruits) is never good. Not for those who are expected to perform such as they.

"I know. I was hardly calling into question my abilities." But the fear of turning into her father... would that she could erase his influence from her mind and body.

Without further explanation, she steps closer to him, fingers curling around his. Another step, and their fronts brush. There is no way to tuck herself against him with this stupid mask on.

"The Regency will not proffer the outcome we seek." As his hand settles by the jut of her spine, she's rurnning her fingers through loosened hair. "They threatened me with the past. They will not touch you or our children."

[northerndragon]

He runs his hand part of the way down her back and nestles against her in a loose embrace.

"They won't. And that's the thing, isn't it? Unless Kebechet was lying to me about it -- hard to say, but I thought he lost his temper at the end there -- they don't think much of our world, or he doesn't.

"I don't think Chiron is false, but even if he were... now that I know who the Regency are, what they do, I'd want to oppose them. I might accept COST's contract now, even if I didn't at the beginning. But the fact that I would probably accept it if they came to me now -- the fact that I do accept it -- that means that I might have accepted it then, too."

[dorzalta]

Home. Not this place, but being near him in this way is the safest she's ever felt. The happiest., as well. Eyes fall shut against his touch and she leans into him, seeking heat, strength, and safety. He's all those things to her and so much more she cannot begin to fathom all the names for him.

"Why try and recruit us?" Because royalty. There were royals in their midst, so eager to work with her for an alliance. "How would altering the events in our world when I am alive change much of... anything?"

His final thoughts on Chiron and COST and contracts has her pressing the tips of her fingers against the lion mask's mouth. Then she's reaching up to press them against his mouth.

[northerndragon]

He holds her for a while... not long, not long enough. Her return seems like such a narrow, miraculous thing. What would have happened if it had been a day or two later? Would she and the others have been left here, on a world and in a time that weren't their own? The idea of it is almost too terrible to contemplate.

"They said they scanned your mind, looking for threats to them. Poisons or diseases, if I remember it right. But they seem to know more of us than that. Maybe they wanted to turn you against yourself, to stop you from doing the things they don't want you to do. It would make it easier for them than figuring out how to destroy our entire world."

When she presses her fingertips against his lips, he reaches up with his free hand and holds them there, looking at her with about as much affection as it's possible to muster in their current situation.

[dorzalta]

That has her tilting her head. "Poisons or diseases?"

How could they possibly carry such things in their minds? Unless these things are thoughts, or the sort of madness known to her family, spoken by the Westerosi as a terrible thing. Her father--

"We stand against a threat that they would require no interference with," she murmurs. It's not an admission of defeat by any means, but she acknowledges that there is much, much more to the wars awaiting them than she realizes. "I don't see how any of it changes. If we lose, they lose. If we win, they may find an ally, but they'd be just as successful as propositioning Cersei than they do us. Lest it's my dragons they seek."

Her fingers curl against his lips, and she whispers, "I want to kiss you."

[northerndragon]

He lets her hand go with a soft nod, then, and explores the helmet with his own hand: all the edges and seams, looking for a latch or a buckle or something that can be twisted or pressed to release the thing. All his own armor buckles or ties on, more or less, but he's never worn a full suit of plate... still, he'd be capable of taking a helm off of her, if this were only a helm. There's something more to it than that.

He speaks to her as he tries to find the way to free her.

"What do you think they'd do with the dragons? Turn them loose on people here? They couldn't do that without you. I've seen the dragons flying around Dragonstone: they don't just attack for the sake of attacking."

Better not to add now that he'd seen them attacking north of the Wall, on her command. Gallipoli is already a kind of hell... how much worse would it be if the dead here habitually got up the next day to attack all those still living?

"At least the Regency can't treat with the Night King. He'd kill them just as surely as he'd kill us."

[dorzalta]

It's so very strange how his gentleness makes her feel beyond treasured. There is nothing but care in the methodical way he inspects the helmet, and while it's not her skin he touches, but a barrier hard and unforgiving, it's still a gesture which has her guard lowering.

He wouldn't hurt her. This is Jon. The reminder is unnecessary, deep down, but wariness still persists. Of this place and the others around them.

"What would you do with dragons?"

It pleases her to hear him acknowledge their intelligence... and that they are not merely wild beasts that will attack without reason. He understands. ANd it's so very important for her lover to understand that simple fact.

"So they approach us, instead. But that still doesn't speak to what they would gain from us. What if I did agree to an alliance? What do they benefit from it, save my abandonment of COST?"

[northerndragon]

He can't find a place to let her out of the mask. It doesn't mean he stops searching: it means that his hand moves over the seams again, faster, more frantic, and that he begins to look a little unhappy about it -- unhappy, and thoughtful.

What do they benefit from an alliance with her -- or with us?

"They can travel in time. COST can travel in time. We've traveled in time, if all of this is true, but we haven't had any say in where we'd go or when. They say that there's no memory of Xici, that she never existed to them. Maybe... you joining COST changes things for them, far down the line. Maybe it's you and me, and they hope to part us from each other, or maybe it's just your actions. Hard to say when it hasn't happened yet."

A note of frustration enters his voice, and he adds, "I want to see your face."

[dorzalta]

She's forced to close her eyes for a moment, willing a calm she cannot feel when he seems to grow alarmed that he cannot release her. Her pulse skitters, and there's an irrational fear that she'll die with this thing on. That her foolishness of trying to preserve it will be the end of her.

With steady hands, she reaches back to take ahold of his, coaxing them from the back of her head and holding them against her chest. Her hold tightens as she watches him, wishing against everything that there wasn't anything separating them. "I believe in the Commander."

She has to. She would have to have faith in not only herself, but in him and Grothia. Faith in him comes much more easily... Grothia? The woman was forthcoming to a point. This would be more difficult.

"Maybe it's to prevent further loss. They waged this war with us." She reaches up to cup his cheek, her look and touch impossibly tender; she still holds both his hands to her chest. "You and I are stronger together than apart. Now they face the consequences of their stupidity."

[northerndragon]

He lets her take his hands. Why did he think there was anything he could do that she hadn't already tried? He's seen no evidence that Regency soldiers might have squires. At the same time, since she was abducted, he's felt like there was so little he could do to help her; even now, he feels driven to do what he can.

"Maybe it is to prevent further loss. Maybe they already tried with Cersei and got nowhere... one thing I can say for the woman is that I don't think she'd bow to them for anything, unless they promised her victory. Her children are dead. Who will rule after her?"

He leans into the hand against his cheek.

"When did you start trusting Grothia?" He's curious, not challenging. If he had to guess, it was when Drogo was killed. Maybe this encounter with Kebechet has made Daenerys trust Grothia more, though.

[dorzalta]

Her fingers curl around his. She wants nothing more than to wash herself clean and hide away with him. She wishes for a retreat after clear victory, to settle, to rest... but the thought of settling makes her skin crawl, and resting when she'd been immobile for so long nearly pushes her into another pacing fit.

"All the more reason to ally with her, if they could prevent the loss of them in some way." Perhaps the Regency could return her own child to her. Would she wish for a second opportunity with her stillborn son? It's a complicated question--she would love for nothing more than a child, but to consider that life once again... Seeing Drogo again had stirred up too many complicated feelings, some good, some bad. "No, if they'd contacted her, I believe she would use them to her advantage."

Tyrion spoke of her to behave a certain way, and such an alliance would benefit her.

"She's not yet tried to manipulate me." The makings of trust came with the death of Drogo, yes, he would be correct in that guess. "I will never follow her blindly, but I've witnessed firsthand how the Regency will attempt to sway one into an alliance."

Not only with her, but the others. The image of Noctis so shaken sits ill with her.

[northerndragon]

He nods, nearly frowning.

"Cersei would try to use the Regency to her advantage... of that I have no doubt. Do you think she'd be able to do it?"

Jon doesn't. These people are cleverer than Cersei; they have more resources than Cersei. Maybe not limitless, but close enough to it in comparison to what's available even to someone sitting on the Iron Throne. They may go to her already knowing that she tried to use them.

What does "now" even mean to them, or to COST?

And it's true: the single way in which Grothia might have manipulated him was by telling him of the children he'd wanted, but didn't think he would ever have. It's manipulation if it's not true, but if it is true... it's a risk he's taking, a leap of faith, distaste for what he's seen of Grothia's enemies. He knows better than most that if everything Grothia has told him is true, and his understanding of what he's seen of the Regency is right, then he and Dany cannot beat the Regency alone. They need allies, and allies seem to be what they've been given.

[dorzalta]

"Maybe, if she'd used her position as royalty to her advantage." She doesn't sound fully convinced. And why would she be? This was not some black and white scenario. "Doesn't mean she'd succeed. But maybe success can't be measured in a full victory. Maybe even fooling them slightly is enough."

She shakes her head, absently tugging at the mask again.

"Or perhaps failing to fool them is a victory itself. Lady Olenna knew of her nature, and yet the entire Tyrell line was wiped in spite of that."

[northerndragon]

"We know of her nature." His words hang there in the air of the tunnel, dark, ominous. Her nature is to hold on to what she has with tooth and claw, and to use whatever means she can to get more of it.

What would he do, if he were in Cersei's place... if the lines that he wouldn't cross didn't exist? He might take any opportunity that presented itself. Sansa had told him, all those months ago, to be smarter, more careful, especially when it came to the queen to the south. It's still hard to think in that way, to not put anything past her. Would she let their entire world be destroyed in the end if it meant that she could cling to power for a few more years?

He knows how his sister would answer that question.

"But we haven't seen any real sign that they know of her, let alone that they've recruited her,"

[dorzalta]

"We'd seen no sign that they knew of me, either." And yet she'd been taken. Not only that, but revealed the plains she'd traveled often as a younger woman. Fire engulfed her as she'd stood before her father, maddened and babbling in a way she cannot doubt he did in life. "But we do have people who know of what she is capable of."

That would prove its usefulness in the days to come upon their return home.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, much. Not right now. We're still here, we still have to protect these people." The thought of it makes her want to slump against a sandbag. "I hope that's the last of it."

[northerndragon]

"If that fellow in Paris sent them images of you the way I sent images of Lafayette to the Commander, and if there's some magic that lets them look into your mind, that could explain most of it." But he sounds troubled and puzzled by such an explanation. If magic is involved, some way to make the impossible happen, then it's hard to say what is or isn't impossible anymore.

She's right about the rest of it: the details don't matter now, and they still have to protect these people. And he still has to protect her.

"Stay close to me, if you can, until we're back at BASE. I'll stay close to you, unless I have to go out and fight." He will: most of him hates fighting, hates watching the light dim from a man's eyes, but a small part of him almost itches to have a sword in his hand today. A knife and a bayonet will have to do.

[dorzalta]

"The House of the Undying was similar. The warlock there didn't know Drogo, not to my knowledge." She folds her arms over her chest and looks toward the entrance, where some light bleeds in. "I don't know. We may need to approach those in our ranks who are more familiar with magic."

She's still staring at the exit, lost in thought, until he speaks. Then she looks to him, reaching over to curl her fingers in his coat.

"I will." For as long as possible. Still, she's a feeling they would be separated at some point during their escape. The chaos of this place offers far too many opportunities for separation. "Chiron will be near as well."