Chapter 17
Rowan Valebright woke to the distinct sound of something crashing downstairs.
He did not open his eyes.
He lay very still, staring at the ceiling, counting to five.
One.
Two.
Three.
Another crash.
Four.
Five.
He exhaled.
"That's not the building," he muttered.
Beside him, Lila stirred. "If it's Dorian," she mumbled into the pillow, "I'm charging him for emotional damages."
Rowan sat up, already resigned. "If it's Dorian, I'm charging him for structural ones."
They exchanged a look.
Then, in perfect unison, sighed and got up.
The guild hall foyer was chaos.
Not violent chaos.
Logistical chaos.
A crate of potions lay shattered on the floor, glowing faintly and emitting small, apologetic sparks. Two apprentices were frozen in place, staring at the mess as if hoping it would resolve itself.
Dorian stood in the middle of it all, arms crossed, nodding thoughtfully.
"This," he said, "is why I specifically said do not stack volatile reagents next to the door."
"You stacked them," one apprentice whispered.
Dorian waved a hand. "Delegated."
Rowan stepped into the room.
The temperature dropped.
"Explain," Rowan said calmly.
Dorian turned, relieved. "Good morning! You're just in time."
"For what?" Rowan asked.
Dorian gestured to the mess. "Team-building."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Lila knelt immediately, assessing the potions. "They're stabilizing," she said. "Mostly."
"Mostly?" Rowan echoed.
"Only three of them are attempting to crawl away."
Sure enough, a small glass vial was inching itself toward the exit.
Rowan stepped on it.
There was a faint pop.
The crawling stopped.
Dorian winced. "You know, that one was expensive."
"So is the floor," Rowan replied.
Once the apprentices were dismissed (with paperwork), the three of them stood in the quiet aftermath.
Dorian leaned casually against a pillar. "In my defense, I was trying to improve morale."
"You are banned from improving morale," Rowan said flatly.
Dorian grinned. "Temporary or permanent?"
"Yes."
Lila snorted.
Rowan shot her a look. "Do not encourage him."
"I'm not," she said. "I'm coping."
Later that morning, Rowan found himself in the kitchen.
Cooking.
This was not something the Adamant Shield of the Realm had envisioned for his legendary future.
Yet here he was, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed, staring down a pan like it had personally insulted him.
"You're overthinking it," Lila said from the doorway.
"This pan is unpredictable," Rowan replied.
"It's eggs."
"They can't be trusted."
She laughed, stepping closer. "You've punched dragons."
"Dragons are honest," he said. "Eggs pretend to be solid."
She reached around him, flipping the eggs with practiced ease.
"There," she said. "See?"
Rowan watched, quietly impressed.
"I could've done that," he said.
She smiled sweetly. "Of course you could."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're mocking me."
"Gently."
They ate together at the small table near the window.
Sunlight streamed in.
For a moment, everything felt... normal.
Rowan sipped his tea. "I had a meeting this morning."
Lila stiffened slightly. "With the council?"
"No," he said. "With the quartermaster."
She relaxed.
"They want to inventory the armory."
She smiled. "That sounds harmless."
He looked at her.
"...It never is."
As if summoned by dread itself, Dorian appeared.
"I heard inventory," he said cheerfully. "Excellent. I've been meaning to discuss weapon placement."
"No," Rowan said immediately.
"Yes," Dorian replied.
Lila stood. "I'm suddenly very busy."
Rowan watched her go, then turned slowly toward Dorian.
"Say it."
Dorian clasped his hands. "Hypothetically."
"No."
"Hear me out."
"I will not."
"What if," Dorian continued, undeterred, "we reorganize the armory to better reflect emotional readiness rather than combat efficiency?"
Rowan stared.
"...Leave," he said.
Dorian beamed. "I'll get the chalk."
By afternoon, Rowan found himself on the balcony, watching the city below.
Lila joined him, leaning on the railing.
"Everyone feels closer lately," she said softly.
Rowan nodded. "They always do before things change."
She glanced at him. "You're thinking too far ahead."
"Habit."
She nudged his arm. "Stay here. For today."
He considered.
Then nodded.
"For today."
Below them, the city bustled. Laughter drifted up from a nearby tavern. Somewhere, a bard played badly.
For now, the world waited.
And Rowan allowed himself, just briefly, to rest.
By late afternoon, Rowan had developed a headache.
Not a magical one.
Not a battle-induced one.
The Dorian kind.
He stood in the armory, arms crossed, watching as three apprentices struggled to lift a weapon rack that was very clearly bolted to the floor.
"Careful," Dorian called. "That one bites."
"It does not bite," Rowan said flatly.
Dorian tilted his head. "It did once."
Rowan closed his eyes.
"Why," he asked slowly, "is the armory being reorganized?"
Dorian clasped his hands together. "As part of my new initiative."
"There is no new initiative."
"There is," Dorian said brightly. "You just didn't approve it."
Rowan opened his eyes. "Then it doesn't exist."
Dorian waved that off. "Technicalities."
Lila appeared at Rowan's side, holding a ledger. She took in the scene—the half-moved racks, the scattered weapons, the chalk markings on the floor.
"...Why is there a heart drawn around the practice spears?" she asked.
Dorian beamed. "Visual encouragement."
Rowan rubbed his temple. "Dorian."
"Yes?"
"If anything is missing when this is over—"
"It won't be missing," Dorian said. "It'll just be elsewhere."
"That is the definition of missing."
Eventually—after Rowan personally re-bolted two racks and confiscated the chalk—the armory was restored to something resembling order.
Dorian sulked.
Rowan ignored him.
Later, as the sun dipped low, Rowan sat on a bench in the training hall, slowly stretching his shoulders.
Lila knelt beside him without a word.
"Lean forward," she said gently.
He obeyed, wincing slightly as she worked her fingers into the muscle between his shoulder blades.
"You're tense," she noted.
"I live with Dorian."
She smiled. "That would do it."
Rowan exhaled, the tension easing. "I used to wake up like this after sieges."
"And now?"
"After meetings."
She hummed thoughtfully. "I'm not sure which is worse."
A shout echoed from outside.
Rowan straightened immediately.
Dorian's voice followed. "I said symbolic, not literal!"
Rowan stood. "I will be right back."
Lila sighed. "Of course you will."
In the courtyard, Dorian was surrounded by guild members arguing animatedly.
At the center stood a hastily assembled structure.
It was... something.
"What," Rowan asked, "is that?"
Dorian gestured proudly. "A reassurance installation."
Rowan stared.
It appeared to be a statue. Of him.
Sort of.
The proportions were wrong. The beard was excessive. The shield was larger than the man holding it.
Someone had added flowers.
"Take it down," Rowan said calmly.
"But—"
"Now."
Dorian hesitated. "People like it."
Rowan stepped closer. "I do not."
That settled it.
The guild dispersed quickly, leaving Dorian and Rowan alone.
Dorian scratched the back of his neck. "I might have overcorrected."
Rowan sighed. "You think?"
"I just don't want people scared," Dorian said more quietly.
Rowan paused.
"...Neither do I," he admitted.
They stood there a moment.
Then Dorian brightened. "So you see my point?"
"No," Rowan said. "But I understand your intent."
Dorian smiled, relieved.
"Go," Rowan added. "Before I change my mind."
That evening, Rowan and Lila sat on the balcony again.
The city lights flickered below.
"Do you ever wish it stayed simple?" Lila asked.
Rowan considered. "No. I just wish I noticed when it was."
She leaned against him.
A courier passed beneath them, hurrying through the street.
Rowan watched until the man disappeared.
His expression darkened, just slightly.
"What is it?" Lila asked softly.
"Nothing," Rowan said. "Just... counting."
"Counting what?"
"Days like this."
She took his hand.
"Then count me in," she said.
He squeezed her fingers gently.
For now, the city slept.
For now, the world waited.
And Rowan let himself believe that tomorrow would look much the same.