He couldn't help smiling at the first sight of the gates of Stormwind through the trees. It meant a soft bed at the end of the day and at long last, finally, a decent beer or two. And Danea, of course. His stomach growled as he wondered what masterful dinner she would have waiting for him. He was certain the angels above could not cook better.

The column came to halt as the front of the formation realigned from four across down to two so to better fit through the city streets. He took the opportunity to prepare for his homecoming celebration and wrapped the reins around the saddle horn so he could pull off his gauntlet and reach into his shirt for his coin purse. A sharp tug had it open and his fingers quickly uncovered the iron blank he sought. The size of a gold coin of the realm, it was an easy find among its smaller copper and silver companions. Orcs would turn brown and trolls toothless before he'd ever close his hand around a coin made from the king's gold.

The slug had its worth though, he thought as he rubbed its uneven edge with his thumb. It had been Danea's idea to paint the bit of scrap yellow. Lovers' gold she had called it and he smiled at the memory. The trick was that as soon as he passed through the front gate of the city, he was to toss it to one of the orphans she sponsored as a signal he was home from his tour of duty. It also served as a warning to that useless son of hers to find someplace else to stay until she had properly welcomed her man home.

His absent-mindedly rubbed his thumb across the blank's face again as he thought of how good it would be to feel her soft skin and the generous curves of her thighs again. Six months away from her and he was nearly starving to death from wanting her; remembering her smile, her smell, the sound of her voice when…

A sudden discomfort had him discreetly rising in the stirrups to find a more comfortable position. Damn, that woman had him ensnared. Fifteen years his senior but you would never guess at the way she romped about until he was a sodden and exhausted shadow of himself. He liked her well enough; certainly she was a gifted lover and cook but did he want to marry her? As he saw one friend after another marry and start a family, he felt the jaws of a trap closing on him, keeping him from the better things in life.

Danea had gotten pregnant soon after they had met and the idea of becoming a father had scared the piss out of him. He'd been more than a little relieved when she had miscarried. She had never kindled again and now that he was thinking of wanting children she was too old. He looked down at the bit of dross in his palm, the bright sunlight making every detail plain: the worn, cheap paint and the dirt caught in every imperfection.

The ring of shod hooves on stone pulled him out of his reverie. Those at the head of the column were passing through the tall wooden gates of Stormwind and over the bridge into the city. The column undulated and thinned like a snake squeezing through a rat hole. He closed his hand around the iron slug, wondering if tonight was the last time he would use it.

"Glad to be home, brother?" Duncan said from beside him as they waited their turn to continue. He nodded, his eyes on Colin's closed hand. "I guess you won't be joining us at the Pig'n Whistle tonight."

Although Duncan preferred to be clean-shaven it was as if he saw a younger self in a mirror. They shared the MacConnick nondescript brown hair and eyes, and like most of the family, were fair-skinned and lean of build. These attributes favored those who were members of the rogue guild, which was where most went. It was if a vein of contempt for honest work ran in the blood.

"Have I ever, the first night home?" he said and laughed as he urged his horse into motion again. "You ever decide you like women, you'd understand, brother dear."

Duncan shook off the jape easily as he always did and without taking offense. "I like women well enough, I'm just waiting for the right one," he said, high color flooding his face.

"You do know that as long as certain parts don't match up, you're still a virgin," Colin said quietly. "Nothing wrong with a bit of slap and tickle, boy."

"There's something wrong with that reasoning," Duncan said, shaking his head. "Just the same, speaking of women, you do need to treat Danea better. When are you going to marry her?"

"That damn boy of hers needs to find his own place first," Colin growled. "And damn me for a fool for raising him when he's old enough to be out on his own."

Duncan laughed, the sound striking deep and true to the heart of Colin's fury. "Boy? Colin, he's not but two years younger than me, ain't he?" He ducked his head at Colin's furious glare. "Sorry, sorry. I know he's a sore spot between you and Danea."

Colin turned away, struggling to keep his temper under control. "Well, it is the truth of the matter," he finally managed to say. "No offense taken." He looked over at his younger brother, the best of the lot truth be known. If he were to ever need someone at his back, it would be Duncan. He had a gift for following the straight and narrow without being a prig about it. "Just watch yourself," he growled, but he couldn't help smiling at Duncan's chagrin. "Next time the gloves are off!" he promised with a cheerfully wicked grin.

The column wound its way past the tall statues lining the bridge over the Valley of Heroes, then past the breakfront where General Marcus Jonathan sat on his horse. Out of respect for a veteran of the Second War, the men went quiet as they faced the high commander and returned his salute. Then they were through the archway in the palisade with its four massive towers that stretched across the mouth of the small valley and into the city proper.

Some of the faces turned their way showed smiles and several waved to the soldiers as they rode past. Most seemed put out though by having to wait for the street to clear so they could be on their way. That's what peace does, Colin thought grimly. It makes people forget the price paid for their soft homes, their nice clothes and the good food on their tables.

A child darted from the other side of the street, dodging the horses like natural-born rogue, and ran alongside Colin's mount. The boy smiled and waved up at him and he tossed the iron slug to him without thinking. He watched the boy run off with mixed feelings. Hiding at the barracks would do him no good; by the time they pulled Danea off his body he would have been dead too long for saving. She did deserve to have one last good night before he broke off with her. With that thought he realized he had made his decision. The momentary pang of regret that followed on its heels was brushed away as vaporous nonsense. Life moved on. It had no favorites.