As dusk fell over the citadel, a lone figure walked slowly and calmly along the walls. Stopping often to talk to the guards, or to take in the view, Caoimhe made slow progress. She had become a familiar figure on the walls since she had become Protector. There were many rumours among the guards as to why she took her solitary tour every evening. Some said that she was praying to the Ancestor Heramacles, now known as Armengar, for his help in keeping her people safe. Others thought she was checking up on them. Some simply thought she enjoyed the walk and the view. The more observant of the guards noticed that there were only two views she ever looked at, though they seldom mentioned it.

In the days before she was elevated by the Volksraad, Caoimhe had been best known for her fury in battle, her distrust of outsiders, and her genocidal hatred of the Calebii. If asked to describe her, many words would come to the minds of those who knew her; angry, strong, wilful, warrior. She was a hard woman, and a capable one. Although she had a son, no one would describe her as motherly. Yet now here she was, playing mother to a nation. It had certainly changed her, in more ways than she could describe.

She cherished these evening walks. They were a time of contemplation, of assessment. A buffer between her work as Protector, and her role as a mother and woman. Soon after her election, she had brought her son, Fiach, home from the farms where he had lived with his Uncle. The farms had been a good place for the boy to grow up. He was a sensitive child, not cut out for battle, and had been a constant source of disappointment to Caoimhe. She could never quite understand why her son didn't share her love of battle, the euphoria that comes when your enemy falls before your own superior strength and skill. The rush of power that comes with defending your homeland along with the warriors you live and train beside daily. The camaraderie of the battlefield. But Fiach wasn't like his mother, and far preferred living with his gentle, war-wounded uncle to facing her scorn.

But there too, Caoimhe was changing. The friends she had made outside the city had opened her eyes to the world. Her cousin, Midir, had taught her how a man doesn't need to be a master of the sword to defend his land and his loved ones. The huge ranged battles she had fought as a Lion had shown her that those wielding blades are not always brave, and sometimes the true hero is found in the most unlikely of forms. Fiach had moved home, and he and his mother were slowly coming to terms with the differences between them, and learning to love and respect each other as people.

Yes, Caoimhe was changing, and it worried her. She feared she was becoming soft. That the influence of the outlanders was weakening her. She had made many decisions of late that scared her. Her negotiations with Verspatian, accepting a commission in an outside army, and now, entering into a relationship with a foreigner. The old Caoimhe would have reviled her for what she had become. Did her people hate her for it? Would she walk down a street one night and feel the touch of a cold blade at her throat? She was a nicer person to be around now, that much was true. More understanding and approachable, but was that what the people wanted from their Protector? Would that make her a better leader for them? Since when was 'nice' part of the job?

Looking Eastward from the walls, Caoimhe looked towards the lands of the Lions. She had many friends there. Friends who would give her sanctuary if she ever needed it. Friends who would provide her with a home, or at least, try to. 'No', she thought. 'They could never give me a home. I have only one home. Armengar.'

When the Ancestor had looked into her eyes and felt her thoughts, he had found the truth that she held inside her. There was only one thing that mattered in Caoimhes life. Armengar. Only one goal she strove toward. The safety of her people. Her friends, her son, they were all important to her, but she would give her life for her homeland. Beneath her fear, she knew that the Armengarians knew this too. Whatever she became, she would never leave them. Never harm them. She had sworn an oath to protect them, and she would fulfil it to her last breath.

Leaning against the solid wall behind her, she gazed over the only view that held any beauty for her.

The sun setting quietly over the rooftops of Armengar.