Chapter 12
Rowan Valebright's back betrayed him at precisely the worst possible moment.
It wasn't during battle.
It wasn't during training.
It was while he was trying to fasten the third buckle of his armor before breakfast.
He froze, breath caught halfway through his chest.
"...No," he muttered.
The buckle remained undone.
Rowan straightened slowly, testing the motion.
Pain flared—sharp, brief, unmistakable.
He exhaled through his nose and rested a hand on the desk.
"Traitor," he told his own spine.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Rowan?" Lila's voice. "Are you—"
"Yes," he said quickly. Too quickly. "Fine."
Silence.
Then the door opened anyway.
Lila stepped in carrying a stack of documents—and immediately stopped.
Her eyes went to the half-fastened armor.
Then to the way Rowan wasn't moving.
"How long have you been standing like that?" she asked.
"...A moment."
She set the papers down.
"A Rowan moment?" she clarified.
He grimaced.
"I don't need help," Rowan said.
Lila raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't offer help," she replied. "I offered observation."
She circled him slowly, assessing.
"Your posture's off," she said. "You're favoring your left side."
"That's strategic," Rowan replied weakly.
She stopped in front of him.
"Rowan."
"Yes?"
"You're injured."
"I am experienced," he corrected.
She crossed her arms.
"You punched a dragon last month."
"It deserved it."
"That doesn't mean your body agrees."
Rowan looked away.
That was answer enough.
"Sit," Lila said.
"I—"
"Rowan."
He sat.
She knelt in front of him, carefully adjusting the straps.
"I can do it," he muttered.
"I know," she said. "Let me anyway."
Her hands were steady.
Gentle.
He hadn't realized how tense he'd been until the pain eased just slightly.
"This isn't weakness," she said quietly.
He swallowed.
"I don't like being slow."
"You're not slow," she replied. "You're... seasoned."
He huffed a laugh. "That's a polite word."
"I'm very polite," she said.
She finished the buckle and leaned back on her heels.
"There," she said. "Functional."
He stood carefully.
"...That helped."
She smiled.
They did not notice the door had opened.
Dorian leaned in, took in the scene—Rowan half-armored, Lila kneeling, hands still near his waist—and froze.
"...Should I come back later?"
Rowan turned red instantly.
Lila looked up.
"Oh. Hello, Sir Lionsreach."
Dorian grinned slowly.
"So this is how the Adamant Shield prepares for battle now."
Rowan groaned. "Leave."
"I can't," Dorian said cheerfully. "I've brought news."
"What kind?" Rowan asked warily.
"The annoying kind."
The guild hall was chaos.
Again.
Apparently, someone had spread the rumor that Rowan was "semi-retired."
This was incorrect.
But the interpretations were spectacular.
A line of applicants stretched out the door.
Some wanted to join the guild.
Some wanted Rowan's autograph.
One woman asked Lila if she was "the one who finally tamed him."
Rowan choked on his tea.
"I am right here," he said.
The woman winked. "Exactly."
By midday, Rowan's back hurt again.
By afternoon, he was hiding it poorly.
Lila noticed.
Of course she did.
She reorganized his schedule without asking.
He noticed that too.
"You cancelled my sparring," he said.
"Yes."
"With the third company."
"Yes."
"They'll think I'm avoiding them."
"Good."
Rowan stared at her.
She met his gaze evenly.
"You don't need to prove anything today," she said.
"I always need to prove something."
"That's a habit," she replied. "Not a rule."
That evening, Rowan attempted to carry a crate.
He regretted it immediately.
Lila appeared at his side.
"Rowan."
"I have it."
"You do not."
Dorian walked past, saw them, and clapped.
"Ah," he said. "Domestic teamwork."
Rowan glared.
Dorian leaned closer.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "I've already told everyone you're still terrifying."
Rowan sighed.
Later that night, Rowan sat alone in his office.
Armor off.
Back aching.
He stared at his hands.
They were still strong.
Still scarred.
Still capable.
But they trembled—just slightly.
A knock.
Lila entered quietly, carrying tea.
"I thought you might need this," she said.
He accepted it.
"...Thank you."
She sat across from him.
"Are you afraid?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Good," she said softly.
"...Again with that."
"It means you're paying attention."
He smiled faintly.
She reached across the desk and squeezed his hand.
"You're not done," she said. "You're just... adjusting."
He looked at her.
And for the first time, he let himself believe it.
Outside, the guild settled for the night.
Inside, Rowan Valebright learned something harder than any battle.
Strength changed.
And maybe—
That didn't mean it ended.
The problem began with a goat.
Not a magical goat.
Not a cursed goat.
Just a goat.
It appeared in the Silver Ember Guild's main hall at exactly the wrong time, bleating loudly and knocking over a chair.
Rowan Valebright looked up from a report.
"...Why is there a goat?"
Dorian didn't even glance up from his tea.
"Recruitment."
Rowan stared at him.
Lila blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
Dorian gestured vaguely. "Apparently it followed a party back from the outskirts. Refuses to leave. The party says it 'chose the guild.'"
The goat jumped onto a table.
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
Within minutes, chaos escalated.
The goat headbutted a crate.
Someone yelled.
A junior adventurer tried to grab it and was immediately kicked.
Dorian stood up, clapping.
"See? Spirit."
Rowan rose slowly.
"I will remove the goat."
"No," Dorian said cheerfully. "We are evaluating the goat."
"The goat is not sentient."
The goat bit someone's cloak.
Dorian nodded. "Debatable."
Lila was already moving—issuing calm instructions, redirecting foot traffic, keeping people from panicking.
Rowan watched her take command.
Pride warmed his chest.
His back, unfortunately, disagreed.
"Rowan!" Dorian called. "Demonstrate leadership!"
Rowan glared.
"Why are you encouraging this?"
Dorian grinned. "Because it's funny."
The goat leapt again.
Rowan stepped forward—and immediately regretted it.
Pain flared.
He stopped.
Just for a moment.
But Dorian saw.
So did Lila.
Dorian's smile faded—then sharpened.
"Change of plan," Dorian announced loudly. "Lila's in charge."
The room stilled.
Rowan turned. "Dorian—"
"Temporary," Dorian said quickly. "Strategic delegation."
Lila hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Alright," she said. "Everyone listen."
They did.
That startled Rowan more than the goat.
The solution was simple.
Distract the goat with food.
Open the side doors.
Escort it out gently.
No yelling.
No heroics.
Rowan leaned against a pillar, pretending he meant to be there.
Dorian joined him.
"You alright?" Dorian asked quietly.
"I would be," Rowan replied, "if you hadn't announced that."
"You needed to hear it," Dorian said. "And they needed to see it."
Rowan didn't respond.
The goat was successfully removed.
Applause broke out.
Lila exhaled.
Rowan smiled.
Then the second problem arrived.
A messenger burst through the doors.
"Guild Master!" he called. "There's—uh—three groups arguing outside."
Rowan straightened.
"What about?"
The messenger hesitated.
"...Which one of you is in charge."
Rowan sighed.
Dorian laughed.
"Progress!"
The arguments involved:
A merchant demanding extra guards
A reformed monster party insisting they were being discriminated against
A bard who wanted to chronicle Rowan's "romantic decline"
Rowan closed his eyes.
Lila stepped forward.
"Everyone will be heard," she said calmly. "In order."
The merchant scowled.
"Who are you?"
"I run the guild's operations," Lila replied. "And I have the schedule."
That shut him up.
Rowan watched her work—efficient, composed, unflappable.
His chest tightened.
Pride again.
Fear too.
Dorian leaned over.
"She's good," he murmured.
"Yes," Rowan said. "That's what worries me."
Dorian nodded. "Same."
By evening, Rowan was exhausted.
Not from fighting.
From restraint.
From watching instead of acting.
From trusting.
Lila found him sitting on the steps outside the guild, armor off, staring into nothing.
She sat beside him without speaking.
After a while, he said, "I hate that I didn't step in."
"You did," she replied. "By letting me."
He frowned. "That feels... passive."
She smiled. "It's leadership."
Dorian leaned out the door.
"For the record," he added, "I would've handled it worse."
Rowan snorted.
Later, as lanterns lit the hall, Rowan stood slowly—and winced.
Lila noticed immediately.
"I'll get the salve," she said.
"I'm fine."
"You're predictable."
She helped him sit.
Dorian watched from afar, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Then he smiled.
"Still terrifying," he said aloud. "Just smarter."
Rowan met his eyes.
"I will throw you off the wall one day."
Dorian bowed. "Looking forward to it."
That night, Rowan wrote another line in his ledger:
Delegation is not surrender.
He closed the book.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside, the guild survived another day.
Barely.
The guild quieted slowly.
Not all at once—never all at once—but in layers. Boots faded from the halls. Lanterns dimmed. Laughter softened into murmurs, then silence.
Rowan sat on the edge of his bed with his armor laid out beside him like a shed skin.
It looked heavier than it had that morning.
Lila moved carefully behind him, uncorking a small jar of salve. The scent—clean, herbal—filled the room.
"You don't have to do that," Rowan said, though he didn't turn.
"I know," she replied.
He smiled faintly.
She knelt and began applying the salve to his lower back, slow and deliberate. Her touch was firm enough to help, gentle enough not to hurt.
Rowan exhaled.
"...I hate this," he admitted.
Lila didn't stop.
"Hate what?"
"Needing help," he said. "Standing still while things move."
She considered that.
"Then hate it," she said. "Just don't confuse it with failure."
The salve cooled the ache. Not gone—but manageable.
He closed his eyes.
"I used to be simple," he said quietly. "Point me at a problem. Let me break it."
"And now?"
"Now," he said, "the problems don't stay broken."
She smiled softly.
"They're not supposed to," she said. "They're supposed to change."
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"You're not afraid," he said.
"I am," she corrected. "I just don't let it decide things for me."
That... sounded familiar.
She finished and sat beside him.
No rush.
No words for a moment.
The quiet felt earned.
"I watched you today," Rowan said. "Letting things happen. Letting others step in."
Lila tilted her head. "And?"
"It terrified me," he admitted. "And I was proud."
Her eyes softened.
"That's what it feels like," she said. "Standing with you."
He reached for her hand.
Held it.
Not tight.
Not desperate.
Just there.
"I don't know how long I can be what the city needs," he said.
She squeezed his fingers.
"Then we'll figure out what comes next," she said. "Together."
The word settled.
Together.
Rowan leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers.
No kiss.
No spectacle.
Just closeness.
For the first time in days, the ache in his back felt smaller than the warmth in his chest.
A knock.
Rowan groaned.
The door opened anyway.
Dorian leaned in, arms crossed, grin already forming.
"Before you throw something," he said, "I just want to say—today was impressive."
Rowan raised an eyebrow.
"You caused half of it."
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "But you didn't fix everything. That's growth."
Rowan snorted.
Dorian's gaze flicked between them, softening just a fraction.
"You're doing fine," he said. "Both of you."
Then the grin returned.
"Also, I've decided this scene is going directly into my wedding speech."
Rowan's hand tightened.
"If you live that long," he said evenly.
Dorian saluted. "Worth it."
He vanished down the hall, laughing.
Lila shook her head, smiling.
"He really does care," she said.
"I know," Rowan replied. "That's why I tolerate him."
They sat in silence again.
Not heavy.
Not fragile.
Just steady.
Rowan looked at his armor—then away.
It didn't fit like it used to.
But something else had taken its place.
Something that didn't weigh him down.
Outside, Eastrun slept.
Inside, the Adamant Shield rested.
And for once—
That was enough.