Chapter Text
John knows what he's doing. Nominally, he's protecting her from his men. The subtext, clearly visible to all, is that he's staking a claim. The meaning that he keeps buried deep assuages some of his guilt over what's being done, so that he can look at her and tell himself that he's not a bad person, because he was able to spare her.
Beyond all of that is the fact that she's a twelve year old girl who deserves better than the threat of rape and other violence at the hands of his men. He can't protect them all no matter how hard he tries, not in this town, not in the last, and certainly not in the next, but this one girl will come to no harm while he's captain of this company.
She's small for her age, with light honey blonde hair and a slightly too-wide smile, but she stands before him, exhibiting a fortitude he wishes all of his men had, her amber eyes never wavering as he tells her to stay beside him and not to wander off.
He takes other things for himself, too, as the dust starts to settle: the former mayor's home, the most capable townsmen and -women as servants, the largest portion of rations for himself and those servants. And when he finds out that the girl's mother - a widow his own age - is being fought over by two wet-behind-the-ears snarling dog excuses for lieutenants, it takes no more than a silent teary-eyed plea from the girl to have him crossing the entire town on foot to drag the woman into his home as well.
And later that night, as thanks for his troubles, when Jackie threatens to emasculate him in his sleep if he so much as touches her daughter, he can only laugh.
There is no reason to threaten her in return or punish her for her outspokenness; they both know that if she somehow managed to get close enough to him to do any damage she'd not live long enough to enjoy her revenge. They agree upon an uneasy truce, with Rose, the girl, looking on, believing herself invincible in her youth and shielded from the truth of her mother's fears by her innocence.
Jackie makes a decent head housekeeper, he finds, with a no-nonsense attitude that quite matches his own. Rose is given a room in the family wing of the manor house and unofficially becomes his ward.
It's not pretty, the transition from invading army to standing army, but somehow they make it work. The effort is hastened along when, three months after their arrival, the area is hit by the worst winter storm some of the older residents can remember. It becomes immediately apparent that his men, almost all from the north like himself, are much more experienced dealing with the snowdrifts and ice, and if they want to have a town left to hold come spring, they'd do well to help in any way possible.
Everyone draws tighter together when the town's winter stores start to run low with spring nowhere in sight. John sends hunting parties out into the nearby forest, and after a few days it's an even mix of soldiers and townsmen who go out and triumphantly return with braces of small game.
By the time the snow melts, the army is well and truly integrated. Several of the men have married and at least two are happily celebrating impending fatherhood.
John and his army have successfully redefined the southernmost corner of their border with Kaled by yet another town.
* * *
Three years pass before John learns that by making Rose his favorite he condemned her to become a pariah. She's fifteen and well past the point that could be considered beginning to curve into womanhood. She has one friend, a boy frequently accused of having more luck than sense, but no one else will do more than nod politely to her unless the situation absolutely demands some form of social interaction.
Despite them, his girl is both bright and beautiful, a shining jewel that sits across from him nightly at his dinner table wearing her best dresses and her sweetest smiles. John barely notices her.
Until the day she arrives for dinner with a split lip and a swollen cheek.
She is frequently seen in the company of Mickey Smith, he is informed by his valet a few moments later as he straps on his service pistol and grabs a sword from the small armory in his study.
"It wasn't Mickey," she says from behind him as he heads for the door.
"What?" he growls, turning toward her.
"-- Captain," she adds, rather belatedly and completely unapologetically. "Mickey didn't hurt me. It was Jimmy, Lieutenant Stone."
"Stone?"
She stands firm before him when grown men have been known to tremble, and accuses one of his own men. "Yes, Captain."
He points to the kitchens. "See your mother and the cook about your face," he orders before leaving the house.
Outside, he instructs a guard to find Lieutenant Stone, observe his behavior, and then report back. John himself leaves for the home of Mickey Smith. The man - for one cannot look upon such injuries and hear the telling of how they were received and still call their recipient a boy - will recover, says the doctor attending him when John arrives.
"Got in between them," Mickey says, his words slurred from the medicine he's been given for pain. Over the next twenty minutes he labors to tell John that Stone has been sniffing around Rose's skirts for almost a year, finally tiring of what he'd termed 'her little tease' and had attempted to force himself on her.
"She was lucky to have you there," John concedes as he stands, a statement Mickey acknowledges with a nod. He adds, "I seem to recall you were assigned to the stable."
"Yes, Captain."
"The same stable Lieutenant Stone runs?"
"Yes, Captain."
"See me when your injuries have healed."
"Yes, Captain."
He leaves, instructing one of his personal guard to remain behind.
The report awaiting him when he returns home sickens him, and he leaves again never seeing Rose where she stands observing him from the first floor balcony.
It takes a moment after he enters the tavern for his presence to be noticed, for silence to ripple like a wave from the door to the bar where Jimmy Stone holds court. It takes another three minutes for the lack-wit to notice his audience distancing themselves from him.
"Three years now we have lived in peace with the people we were sent to conquer," John says, his voice carrying easily throughout the quiet tavern that is filled with both soldiers and townspeople alike. "Three years without one uprising or skirmish while we sit redefining the very edge of the border with our most hated neighbor. Why do you think that is, Lieutenant Stone?"
Jimmy turns on his barstool, his face a sickly shade of green. "I don't know, sir."
"It is because," he says, "we are here to protect as well as oversee. It is because the residents of this town are treated like citizens who are worthy of our respect, not criminals or enemies. It is because a fifteen year old girl can walk down the street without fear of being molested." The last he spits accusingly and a malcontented murmur makes its way around the tavern.
"Whatever she said, it's a lie, Captain. I swear."
"Bring him," John says to no one in particular. To a young man near the door he says "Fetch the marshal."
Everyone leaps to obey him as Jimmy cries out in realized terror.
Soldiers drag him from the tavern, following John as he makes his way to the center of town. There are two men on each of Jimmy's arms, because adrenaline, even in someone as slow and complacent as Jimmy Stone, can be very powerful.
They arrive before the marshal, and Jimmy, assuming John's decision not to look him in the eye is weakness, taunts him. "She's spreading her legs for that dark-skinned idiot stable boy. I figured if you couldn't keep her satisfied I might as well get my share, too."
A CRACK! echoes throughout the square when John backhands Jimmy, the large signet ring on his finger splitting open the younger man's lip. "I was not going to lay my hands on you, and I do not appreciate having to do so. Therefore, I swear if you say one more word, the next time it will be my pistol in your face."
The tread of the marshal's boot on the cobblestone draws John's attention and he straightens. "Marshal, I want this man flogged. The charges are two counts of assault and one count of attempted rape. After he has been flogged, I want him broken back down to private with a permanent note made in his service record that he is never to attain any rank past sergeant ever again in his career."
"But Captain!" Jimmy protests, shutting up so quickly his teeth clack together when a pistol appears in his face without John even turning away from the conversation he's having with the marshal.
"Use the difference in his pay to cover the doctor's expenses for the young man he assaulted: Mickey Smith." He takes a deep breath, allows the lingering silence to fill with the sound of Jimmy's blubbering and the sudden acrid smell of piss.
"Anything else, Captain?"
"I don't think so, Marshal. Carry on."
John holsters his pistol and walks away from the square to the sound of Jimmy's shirt being torn away, having no interest in watching the punishment be meted out.
Jackie is standing against the bakery on the very edge of the square, her eyes full of gratitude. She falls into step behind him, silently following him back home.
"Thank you, sir," she says when he opens the door and allows her to precede him, though without clarification he is unsure which action she is thanking him for.
He retreats to his study, returns the pistol and sword to the armory, pours himself a glass of scotch, and drops into his favorite chair. A few minutes later Jackie knocks on the door bearing a piece of ice wrapped in a tea towel.
"For your hand, sir."
"Not necessary, Mrs. Tyler." He closes his hand into a fist, schooling his face against the stinging pain. "No need to waste ice on me."
As she turns to leave he stops her with a noise. "Send Rose in, please."
Jackie hesitates, but John remains silent. If she does not trust him alone with her daughter after so long, nothing he says now will gain her trust. After a moment, she nods and leaves the room.
Rose appears shortly thereafter. "You wanted to see me, Captain?"
John takes another draught of scotch and swallows slowly, letting it burn its way down his throat. "Come here."
She steps closer, but this event has taught her to be cautious around men, and her hands wring nervously before her.
"Your face looks much better."
"I hope you don't mind, we used a bit of ice, sir. I begged Cook to spare your steak."
John allows the corners of his mouth to turn up a bit because she expects it of him, but there is no humor in his smile. When he lifts his hand, holding it open at the level of her face she dutifully steps into it despite the apprehension lingering in her eyes. He brushes the pad of his thumb over her soft cheek and she barely flinches at the contact.
She's become so beautiful, this won't be the last time a man takes interest in her.
"He won't bother you again, but if he or anyone else does, I want you to tell me right away... Yes, Captain?" he prompts when she says nothing.
"Yes, Captain."
"Nothing between us has changed, Rose," he adds, gentling his tone. "I'm the same man I was yesterday and the day before, for over a thousand yesterdays since we met. And not all men are Jimmy Stone."
Two years later she is being courted by Mickey Smith, and John is playing with fire.