(A/N: I know it's been done a lot before, but I wanted to see Rosto's reaction to Dale Rowan)
For over a year, I had been there for Beka. A friend, an ally, a comrade—I had been whatever she needed. I had taught her tricks of knife fighting, bought her expensive pots of well-made bruise balm, and helped her pick out good-quality sheathes to buy when her old ones wore through. We had practiced hand-to-hand combat together, exchanged gifts at Midwinter, and chipped a few nobles in for our group breakfasts. For over a year, I had been the best friend a mot could have, and in a few days, this Dale Rowan, this, this banker, won her heart.
What did he have?
What could he have done that I didn't?
Whoever this stupid scut was, I hoped he deserved Beka. I hoped he treated her well. I hoped he didn't break her heart and leave her with a babe in her belly and a life to repair.
If he hurt her—if he harmed her in anyway—then he best look out. Because if I even suspect he touched a hair on Beka's nob, there wouldn't be a corner of Tortall that would be safe for him.
I was the best friend a mot could have, and Dale Rowan hurt her, I would come for him.
(A/N: Come on, people! 227 views so far, and only one review. I've put up stories that get that many reviews in one day, after 9 views! I know it's not long enough to give much feedback on, but still . . .)