Lune has lost much since his younger days. His father fell when he was the tender age of 21. A man by all standards; but wisdom can only come with age. He ascends the throne and takes a young blushing bride. She is 16 and all golden hair and innumerable freckles. Her eyes are a hazel gold and some days she reminds him of the sun.

"Never play a game that you aren't able to lose", comes the last whispering thought as she leans forward and plunges into the icy blackness. One shot.

Haran is an ARC Trooper. The men paint their armour gold. In Mandelorian it means vengence. At first she isn't sure why. Now she knows.

Colin watches his wife. Time has callused her shortened fingers and Colin watches them as they scrape a rag along the roughly hewn wooden table. She is compact and sturdy; the combination of hard Archenland sun and soil, and fleetingly lithe like the Calormen sun. Companion fic to, "There were days when Lune was a younger man."

Susan finishes smearing the red paste across her lips with a tight smile, and purses her lips for better coverage. Satisfied, caps the silver cylinder and sets it down on the vanity. Rabadash is waiting for her, and her coy smiles could prevent full out war with Caloremen.

Her hand shakes as she lays Liea down to rest. She thinks to herself, as she climbs back into bed beside the Prince of Alderaan, that this war has gone on for far, far too long.