#there wasn’t any fur on it at first but. it’s not Saker if there’s no fur so

[chissgender]

I HAVE to try and give this man more outfits

[nightingaletrash]

I was working some more on Lieutenant Attaway and then fic happened oops

AO3

--

A gunshot cracked through the air as Saker limped his way back to his cabin, and it was enough to make him wince from something besides his injuries. The Lieutenant must be back already.

Sure enough, a familiar figure marched up the hillside, shoulders set, rifle strapped to her back, pistol at her hip, and her face decidedly stern but otherwise unreadable. She must be really pissed then, Saker deduced as he dropped to sit on the porch and prepared himself for whatever lecture his Second-in-Command was preparing to deliver.

She came to a halt in front of him.

Her posture had always been that of a soldier’s; a real, well-trained soldier and not some cutthroat who picked up a gun and slapped on a uniform or a half-wit private who’d quickly grown bored of taking orders and cut loose at the first opportunity with their weapon in hand. Straight back, set shoulders, and never a sliver of hesitation in her stride.

Lieutenant Attaway might be a deserter like the rest of them, but she still carried herself with the sort of discipline that made more than a few of the crew scratch their heads, wondering why she wasn’t still with the army.

“Captain. Might I ask why the camp is littered with the bodies of our men?”

As ever her voice was hard, cold, and unwaveringly even. Impossible to read and unyieldingly stern. Throw in the earlier warning shot that Saker had heard, and she was definitely pissed.

“We had a visitor,” he grunted. “Now, are you gonna to help me patch up or scold me to death?”

A beat passed and for a second Saker was certain that she was going to opt for the latter. But then she offered her arm without comment and bore his weight against her as he levered himself up with surprising difficulty.

The girl had hit harder and shot faster than he had expected her to. She’d been a slip of a thing, not even out of her teens by the look of her, and yet she’d gotten her hands on Jimmy’s uniform, waltzed into camp bold as brass and then promptly slaughtered everyone that got in her way. It had been, to be perfectly honest, a terrifying and oddly inspiring sight to behold, and he told Attaway as much as she helped him to hobble his way into the cabin and sit down on the bed.

She offered no comment, just assisted with his wounds, passing bandages and rubbing alcohol as and when they were needed.

“And now not only do we gotta leave the Dwellers be, we’ve gotta help them,” he snorted. “Those were her terms when she let me live. Sharing supplies, disrupting the King’s men on the roads. Gotta wonder where she got the idea that going against Logan was a smart idea-”

“Because she’s the Princess,” Attaway supplied smartly. When she caught sight of the gobsmacked look on Saker’s face, she added, “the King has put out an arrest warrant on Sir Walter Beck and the family butler for her abduction and is offering a significant reward for her safe return to Bowerstone Castle.”

“Then why the hell did she come here?” he said incredulously. “What the bloody hell does she think she’s-”

Oh. 

The pieces clicked into place, and suddenly it all made sense.

The Princess was playing rebel against her big brother, and was getting the Dwellers on her side, which was a logical starting point. They despised Logan so weren’t liable to turn her in for the reward he was promising, and they put up a good fight when they weren’t starving to death. The promise of food and safety could see them become a formidable force once more. And having the Deserters couldn’t hurt either, especially now that Saker owed her his life. Their code meant that they were sworn to heed the Princess’ demands, and she was capable enough in battle to change her terms whether Saker liked it or not.

With both groups at her command, not only could she do some real damage to Logan’s operations up in the mountains, she also had the building blocks of an army that - if built the right way with the right pieces - could drag the Tyrant King off of his throne.

And then there was her strength. Her speed. Neither of them seemed proportionate to such a girl, and yet she’d had both in great quantity. The old Queen had been a Hero. The last of her kind, they’d said, when neither her Prince or Princess showed the signs. Maybe they’d been too quick to judge. Maybe Albion still had one Hero left in her.

The warped, burnt flesh of Saker’s hands itched and he resisted the urge to rub them while they were still red and raw. Playing with fire was a dangerous game but it usually kept his opponents off-kilter to see him throwing the stuff around. His hands might never be pretty and one day the flesh might slough from his bones, but what was life without a little risk? To him it was a reminder that he was alive. That he’d been burned by the world time and time again, but he’d risen above it and survived.

Today the fire had bitten back and he’d need a fresh wrap of bandages and a lathering of burn relief as his knuckles bled, but it hadn’t consumed him. He’d drink to that. And to his men.

He thanked Attaway when she handed him the bottle of whiskey and she stepped outside to let him rise tenderly to his feet in private. 

It was one of his favourite things about his Lieutenant. Always prompt and to the point, and never needed to be told what to do. 

Saker took a swig of whiskey and limped back out of the hut into the dying rays of the setting sun. The survivors of the crew were waiting in a huddle outside, some wrapped in bandages and others propping them up when needed.

A good number of familiar faces were missing now, but there were more than enough survivors to keep the clan together. They were all silent, waiting for him to speak, so he raised the bottle into the air.

“We took a beating today. We all lost friends. Brothers and sisters in arms,” he said gruffly. “But that’s how it is in this life of ours, and now we do our damndest to stand tall and make them proud! We’ve got ourselves a new contract, and one with a Princess no less! A Princess who walked in here and proved herself the strongest!

“Tomorrow we get to work, but tonight we drink and we remember! To ourselves, to those that fell, and to seeing Logan’s head on a spike!”

There was a roar of approval from the crew and it wasn’t long before they broke out the casks. Leave it to Bertie to open them up with axes, but hey, they were mercenaries, bandits and cutthroats. If they weren’t using axes, they’d be doing it wrong. The bonfires roared, warming the cold mountain air enough that they could sit without need for furs and heavy coats, and Saker sat on a log with Attaway at his shoulder as ever.

She didn’t drink. He’d never seen her so much as touch a mug much less take a swig. But she remained nonetheless, hands folded behind her back as she stood at ease. Always the soldier, his Lieutenant. Though any sense of military decorum and fire discipline didn’t stop her from firing a warning shot at the feet of the first person that tried to push a mug into her hands.

“At least make a toast if you’re going to shoot people, Lieutenant,” Saker chuckled. 

“I shot at them sir. There’s a difference.”

He shook his head and took another swig of whiskey.

“Just one toast, Attaway. For ol’ Jimmy’s sake. You don’t have to drink it, just-”

“Jimmy isn’t dead, sir.”

Saker blinked.

“I found him at the pub in Brightwall, quite drunk and missing his clothes. He swears up and down that he’d been drinking with Sir Walter Beck himself. I didn’t believe him at first until the barman confirmed his story.” There was a glimmer in her eye and the corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly upwards. “I still struggled to believe it as I was under the impression that most knights aren’t known for stripping their drinking companions down to their drawers.”

He blinked again. So Jimmy wasn’t dead? He’d just gotten himself pickled, and by a Knight of all people. Well, that was a relief. Of sorts. One less name to add to the list of the dead. But…

Saker slammed his fist down onto the log and it splintered under the impact. The other mercenaries were too busy imbibing in drink to notice or care.

“When I get my hands on that scrawny little shit, I’ll kill ‘im!” he roared indignantly. “What the hell’s he playing at, getting drunk on the job! And getting stripped at that! That no good, light weight, weasley little-”

“I did warn him that he would need a suitable story to explain his absence and lack of clothing, sir,” Attaway interjected coolly, her eyes still glittering in the firelight. “At least permit him to squirm through his lie first, I’m sure he’s worked quite hard on it.”

Saker grumbled and then threw back his head, downing a burning mouthful of whiskey that he barely tasted. 

He knew he wouldn’t actually kill Jimmy. Maybe make him run laps of the camp, or assign him to repair work or gate duty, but he wouldn’t kill him. He had his code and his honour.

Not that Jimmy would need to know that when he got back. He'd let Attaway have her fun first.