Chapter 8
Rowan Valebright was folding laundry.
This was not a metaphor.
This was not symbolic.
This was a man who had once held a mountain pass alone, now staring at a pile of clothing with the intense concentration usually reserved for battlefield strategy.
"...Why," he asked carefully, "are there so many."
Lila, seated on the bed with a basket of neatly folded linens beside her, smiled without looking up. "Because we wear clothes."
"Yes," Rowan said. "But these are... small."
She glanced over. "Those are mine."
"...They're aggressively small."
She laughed. "You don't need to glare at them."
"They're challenging me."
Rowan picked up a garment delicately between two fingers like it might explode.
"...This is not a shirt."
"That's because it's not."
He paused. "I see."
She watched him attempt to fold it.
He failed.
He tried again.
The fabric refused to obey geometry.
"...It's fighting back," he muttered.
Lila leaned over and gently took it from him. "You fold it like this."
She demonstrated.
Rowan watched closely.
"...That's illegal," he said.
She smiled. "Marriage comes with secrets."
Rowan nodded solemnly. "I suspected."
They worked in companionable silence for a moment.
Rowan folded carefully now, slower than usual, mindful of his shoulder. Lila noticed — of course she did — but said nothing, letting him choose the pace.
"This is nice," she said softly.
He glanced at her. "Laundry?"
"No," she said. "You."
He smiled faintly and looked back down at the clothes before the feeling could overwhelm him.
"...I am still bad at small things."
She nudged him gently with her knee. "You're learning."
He nodded. "With supervision."
She laughed.
Breakfast was eggs, toast, and a near-incident involving pepper.
Lila sniffed the air, frowned slightly, then turned away from the stove.
"...Nope."
Rowan blinked. "Nope what."
She sat quickly. "You finish."
Rowan stared. "You're abandoning the eggs."
"Yes."
"...They're not dangerous."
She pressed her lips together. "They smell wrong."
Rowan leaned over the pan.
They smelled like eggs.
"...They're fine."
She shook her head. "I suddenly hate them."
Rowan paused.
This was new.
"...You loved eggs yesterday."
She shrugged. "People change."
He studied her carefully.
She avoided his eyes, reaching for bread instead.
Rowan filed the observation away silently, like a veteran noting wind direction.
He did not comment.
Instead, he slid the toast toward her. "Here."
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
Dorian chose that moment to arrive.
He did not knock.
He never knocked.
"GOOD MORNING," Dorian Lionsreach announced, already inside their kitchen. "I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT."
Rowan sighed. "Of course you do."
Lila looked up. "Good morning, Dorian."
Dorian froze.
"...You look pale."
She blinked. "Do I?"
"Yes," Dorian said gravely. "That's either stress or destiny."
Rowan's eye twitched. "Dorian."
"Relax," Dorian said. "I'm not diagnosing anything. I brought pamphlets."
Rowan stared. "...Why."
Dorian beamed. "Because I'm hosting a seminar."
Silence.
"...A seminar," Rowan repeated.
"Yes."
"On what," Lila asked gently.
Dorian puffed out his chest. "Adaptive Heroic Readiness in a Post-Single-Point-Legend Environment."
Rowan closed his eyes.
"...You named it."
"Yes."
"You named it that."
"Yes."
Lila tilted her head. "Is this about Rowan resting."
Dorian nodded vigorously. "Among other things."
Rowan opened one eye. "What other things."
Dorian gestured vaguely. "Emotional preparedness. Delegation. Accepting help."
Rowan sat very still.
"...This feels like a personal attack."
"It's educational," Dorian corrected. "Mandatory."
Rowan stood. "No."
Dorian recoiled. "You can't just—"
"I absolutely can," Rowan said calmly. "I'm married."
Dorian stared. "...That's not a shield."
"It's very effective," Rowan replied.
Lila coughed softly, hiding a smile. "Who is this seminar for."
Dorian brightened. "Everyone."
Rowan frowned. "Everyone everyone."
"Yes."
"...Including me."
"Especially you."
Rowan took a slow breath.
"...When."
Dorian grinned. "Today."
Rowan looked at Lila.
She smiled innocently. "I want to see this."
Rowan groaned. "Betrayal."
The guild hall buzzed with anticipation.
Which was alarming, because nothing had actually been announced.
Dorian stood at the front with a chalkboard.
The chalkboard read:
WELCOME TO ADJUSTMENT
Rowan stared at it from the back of the room.
"...I don't like that word."
Lila squeezed his hand. "It's just words."
"That's how it starts."
Dorian clapped his hands. "Alright! Let's begin!"
A guard raised his hand. "Sir... why are we here."
Dorian smiled brightly. "Because our Guild Master has discovered moderation."
The room gasped.
Rowan winced.
"This seminar," Dorian continued, "will teach us how to survive without relying on Rowan Valebright punching reality into submission."
Rowan muttered, "I do other things."
"Yes," Dorian said. "Occasionally."
Lila bit her lip to keep from laughing.
Dorian gestured to a diagram on the board.
It was a stick figure labeled ROWAN.
Surrounded by arrows labeled HELP.
"...Did you draw that," Rowan asked.
"Yes."
"...I don't like it."
"Growth is uncomfortable," Dorian replied.
Rowan crossed his arms. "This is going to end badly."
Dorian beamed. "Learning often does."
By the end of the first hour, three guards were arguing about delegation, one clerk was crying from personal revelation, and Rowan had learned that being emotionally present apparently required eye contact.
He did not enjoy this.
Lila, however, looked delighted.
"You're doing great," she whispered.
"I hate everything," he whispered back.
Dorian concluded loudly, "And remember! Strength isn't always lifting the heaviest thing!"
Rowan muttered, "Sometimes it's carrying silence."
Dorian blinked. "...I should write that down."
The chicken clucked from the rafters.
Dorian pointed. "You're exempt."
Later, as they walked home, Rowan rubbed his temple.
"...That was exhausting."
Lila smiled. "You survived."
"I preferred the hydra."
She laughed, then slowed slightly.
"...Could we stop for a moment."
Rowan immediately turned. "What's wrong."
She shook her head. "Nothing. Just dizzy."
Rowan steadied her instantly, concern flaring.
She leaned against him for a second, then straightened. "See? Fine."
Rowan searched her face.
She smiled. "Rowan."
He nodded, easing.
"...Tomorrow," he said quietly, "I'm banning seminars."
She laughed. "Good luck."
They walked on.
Behind them, Dorian stood at the guild doors, staring at his chalkboard.
"...That went well," he said.
The chicken clucked.
"Yes," Dorian agreed. "Shockingly."
The first sign that Dorian's seminar had gone too far was the whistle.
Not an alarm whistle.
Not an emergency whistle.
A motivational whistle.
It echoed through the guild hall with sharp, piercing enthusiasm.
Rowan flinched.
"...Why is there a whistle," he asked quietly.
Lila leaned closer. "Because he found one."
Dorian stood at the front of the hall, whistle around his neck, chalk dust on his sleeves, radiating the dangerous confidence of a man who had not been stopped early enough.
"Alright!" Dorian called. "Exercise Two!"
Several guards straightened in panic.
A clerk whimpered softly.
Rowan raised a hand. "Dorian."
"Yes!"
"This is no longer teaching."
"It's experiential," Dorian replied brightly.
Rowan closed his eyes.
Exercise Two, it turned out, involved simulated delegation under pressure.
Which would have been fine.
If Dorian had not decided to simulate pressure by yelling contradictory instructions while the chicken ran loose through the hall.
"YOU!" Dorian shouted, pointing at a guard. "Take initiative!"
"Yes, sir!"
"YOU!" he pointed at another. "Support him emotionally!"
"...Sir?"
"NO QUESTIONS!"
The chicken darted between legs, clucking loudly.
Someone screamed.
Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.
"...I am ending this."
Lila touched his arm gently. "Wait."
He looked at her.
She smiled. "Let it play out."
Rowan hesitated.
Then nodded, stepping back.
Dorian blew the whistle again.
"Remember!" Dorian shouted. "If Rowan were here—"
"I AM HERE," Rowan snapped.
"Yes," Dorian said quickly, "but hypothetically unavailable."
Rowan stared.
"...I don't like hypotheticals."
Things escalated when a crate tipped.
Not dangerously.
Just enough to cause panic.
Two guards rushed forward at once, collided, and fell.
A clerk shouted.
The chicken jumped onto the crate.
The crate stabilized.
Silence fell.
Everyone stared.
"...The chicken fixed it," someone whispered.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
"This," he said, stepping forward calmly, "is where we stop."
Dorian lowered the whistle. "But—"
Rowan raised a hand.
No shout.
No glare.
Just presence.
"Everyone," Rowan said evenly, "take a breath."
They did.
"Good," he continued. "Now listen."
The room stilled.
"We don't need chaos to learn," Rowan said. "We need trust."
Dorian swallowed.
Rowan looked at him.
"Dorian," Rowan said gently, "you don't need to prepare everyone for my absence."
Dorian's mouth opened.
Closed.
"...I'm scared," he admitted.
Rowan nodded. "I know."
The room was very quiet now.
"I'm not leaving," Rowan continued. "I'm just not standing alone anymore."
He gestured toward Lila.
She stepped forward.
"And neither are you," she said softly. "That's the point."
The tension broke like a snapped string.
Someone laughed nervously.
Another sighed.
Dorian rubbed his face. "I may have... overcorrected."
Rowan smiled faintly. "You always do."
The seminar officially ended twenty minutes later.
Unofficially, it ended the moment Dorian confiscated his own whistle.
"This is a dangerous object," he declared, dropping it into a locked drawer.
Rowan nodded. "Wise."
The guards dispersed, murmuring.
One approached Rowan hesitantly. "Sir... that actually helped."
Rowan blinked. "...It did?"
"Yes," the guard said. "Knowing you won't rush in makes us feel trusted."
Rowan processed that slowly.
"...Good," he said.
The guard saluted and left.
Rowan stood there for a moment, thoughtful.
"That," Lila said quietly, "is new."
"Yes," Rowan replied. "And unsettling."
She smiled. "You'll survive."
On the walk home, dusk settling around them, Lila slowed again.
Just slightly.
Rowan noticed immediately.
"Alright," he said, stopping. "That's twice today."
She sighed. "I was hoping you wouldn't count."
"I always count."
She leaned against him for a moment, breathing slowly.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just tired."
He studied her face — no fever, no distress, just... something subtle.
"Tomorrow," he said quietly, "you rest."
She smiled. "Now who's overcorrecting?"
He smiled back. "Learning."
They resumed walking.
At home, Lila abandoned dinner halfway through.
"No," she said firmly, pushing the plate away.
Rowan stared. "That's the third thing today."
She grimaced. "I know."
Rowan fetched water, steady and calm.
"Do you want me to call someone."
"No."
"A healer."
"No."
"Dorian."
"Absolutely not."
He smiled faintly. "Fair."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"...I think my body is just adjusting."
He nodded, holding her gently. "So is mine."
They sat together on the couch, quiet and close.
Outside, the city hummed softly.
Back at the guild, Dorian stood alone in the seminar hall, staring at the chalkboard.
He erased WELCOME TO ADJUSTMENT slowly.
Replaced it with:
TRUST WORKSHOP (POSTPONED)
The chicken clucked from the doorway.
"...Don't judge me," Dorian muttered.
The chicken blinked.
"Yes," Dorian sighed. "I tried."
That night, Rowan lay awake beside Lila, listening to her breathing.
She shifted closer, instinctively seeking him.
He wrapped an arm around her, protective but gentle.
"...I did alright today," he whispered.
She murmured in agreement.
And for once, Rowan believed it.
The consequences of Dorian's seminar did not end with the seminar.
They echoed.
Rowan discovered this the following morning when he entered the guild hall and found three guards standing in a circle, staring at each other in intense silence.
"...What," Rowan asked carefully, "is happening."
One of them looked up. "Delegation."
Rowan blinked.
Another nodded. "We're waiting to see who feels the most confident."
"...About what."
"Opening the door."
Rowan stared at the closed door behind them.
"It's unlocked," he said.
The guards exchanged glances.
"...Are you sure," one asked.
Rowan sighed. "Yes."
They opened it.
Nothing happened.
The guards looked relieved.
Rowan rubbed his face. "Dorian."
Dorian popped up instantly from behind a desk. "Yes!"
"You broke them."
"No," Dorian said defensively. "I empowered them."
Rowan gestured at the door. "They were afraid of a door."
"It's a symbolic door," Dorian argued. "Represents initiative."
Rowan closed his eyes.
"...I'm banning seminars."
Dorian gasped. "You can't just—"
"I absolutely can," Rowan replied calmly. "I'm married."
Dorian deflated. "That keeps working."
Lila entered behind Rowan, looking a little pale but composed.
"Good morning," she said.
The guards straightened instantly.
"Guild Mistress," one said.
Lila blinked. "You don't have to do that."
"Yes, we do," another replied seriously. "Hierarchy is confusing now."
Rowan groaned softly.
By midmorning, the guild had mostly returned to normal — a new normal, where people paused before asking Rowan to solve problems and occasionally solved them themselves.
It was strange.
It was effective.
And it made Rowan feel something dangerously close to pride.
He was reviewing reports when Lila touched his arm lightly.
"Rowan."
He looked up instantly. "Yes?"
"Can we talk," she asked quietly.
He stood immediately. "Now?"
"Yes."
Dorian appeared at their side like a summoned spirit. "Is this about the door."
"No," Lila said gently.
Dorian squinted. "...Are you sure."
Rowan gave him a look.
Dorian held up his hands. "I will be over here. Not listening."
He took two steps away.
Rowan and Lila moved into Rowan's office and closed the door.
Rowan turned to her, concern etched across his face.
"You don't look unwell," he said. "But you don't look fine either."
She exhaled slowly and sat down.
"I think," she said carefully, "we should confirm something."
Rowan froze.
"...Confirm what."
She looked up at him.
"I think I'm pregnant."
The world stopped.
Rowan did not move.
Did not breathe.
Did not speak.
He simply stared at her like she had just calmly informed him the sky had chosen to fall.
"...Pregnant," he repeated faintly.
She nodded. "Very early. But yes."
Rowan sat down heavily across from her.
"...I'm going to be sick," he said quietly.
She smiled. "Me too. Apparently."
He stared at her stomach.
"...There's nothing there."
"I know."
"...Yet."
She reached across the desk and took his hand.
"I wanted you to hear it from me," she said softly. "Before anyone else. Before it becomes... something public."
Rowan swallowed hard.
"...You're sure."
"Yes."
"...You're okay."
"Yes."
"...We're—"
She smiled gently. "Rowan. Breathe."
He inhaled sharply.
Exhaled.
Then laughed.
It burst out of him, sudden and shaky and full.
"...I don't know how to do this," he said.
She squeezed his hand. "Neither do I."
He nodded. "That helps."
He stood, walked around the desk, and knelt in front of her, resting his forehead against her knees.
"...I will protect you," he said fiercely.
She laughed softly. "I know."
"And the child."
"Yes."
"And the shelf."
She laughed harder. "Especially the shelf."
They stayed like that for a moment, grounding themselves in the reality of it.
Then—
KNOCK.
Rowan stiffened.
Dorian's voice followed. "I AM NOT EAVESDROPPING BUT I FELT A VIBE."
Rowan closed his eyes.
"...We cannot tell him yet," Lila whispered urgently.
Rowan nodded. "Agreed."
He stood and opened the door just enough to glare.
"What."
Dorian squinted at them. "Why do you both look like you just survived a dragon."
Rowan replied instantly. "Paperwork."
Dorian nodded sympathetically. "That'll do it."
Lila smiled. "We're fine."
Dorian studied her closely.
"...You sure."
"Yes."
The chicken clucked from the hallway.
Dorian gasped. "THE CHICKEN SENSES CHANGE."
Rowan snapped, "NO IT DOESN'T."
The chicken blinked.
Dorian pointed. "It blinked knowingly."
Rowan shut the door.
Lila burst into laughter.
"...We have to tell him eventually," she said.
Rowan groaned. "I am not prepared."
They left the guild early that day.
Walked home slowly.
Rowan held Lila's hand like she might drift away if he loosened his grip.
"You don't have to hover," she teased.
"I absolutely do."
She smiled. "You're going to be unbearable."
"Yes," Rowan agreed. "I will accept this."
At home, Rowan made tea — carefully — and insisted she sit.
She rolled her eyes but obeyed.
"You're already like this," she said. "What happens later."
"I will escalate."
She laughed and leaned back against the cushions.
"...I'm scared," she admitted quietly.
Rowan knelt beside her immediately. "So am I."
She smiled at him. "Good."
He frowned. "Why is that good."
"Because it means you care."
He nodded slowly. "I care very much."
They sat together, hands entwined.
Outside, the city carried on, blissfully unaware.
Back at the guild, Dorian paced in front of the closed office door.
"...Something happened," he muttered.
The chicken clucked.
"Yes," Dorian said. "Big something."
He squinted at the door.
"...I will find out."
The chicken pecked his boot.
Dorian sighed. "Eventually."
That night, Rowan lay awake again — but this time not from worry.
From awe.
He rested a hand lightly on Lila's side, careful, reverent.
"...I'm going to be a father," he whispered.
She murmured in her sleep, shifting closer.
Rowan smiled into the darkness.
The world could wait.
This time, it truly would have to.