Inns in Cittapashe were full to bursting, but Luthene managed to secure a small room in an out-of-the-way tavern called the Cockles and Mussels. "It's the last one," a friendly woman explained. "Last room on the right. It's a bit small, I'm afraid. Will it just be for yourself?"

"No, there's a man with me," Luthene replied. "I don't suppose there's a spare blanket we could use?"

"I'm afraid not, but it should be plenty cozy for the two of you," she said with a wink. "Dinner's in an hour, and I'll send up a basin so you can wash."

Before retreating to the room for a short respite, Luthene returned to the docks and found Galin helping unload the ship. They were nearly finished, and snow started to fall as she reached him, collected her things, and then both returned to the tavern.

The trip hadn't been easy on Luthene, who had just rose from her sickbed when she found out that, finally, there might be a solution to Timedeath. She ran back up the stairs— if it could be called running, considering that she was still weak and favouring her injured leg— and woke Galin, who had been asleep in a chair by the bed. To him, it might only mean the end to an inconvenience, but for her, it meant redemption… and it was probably for her sake that he agreed to go to Domnall and beg for a leave. The captain had been reluctant, as he expected there would be work for the Company amidst the chaos, but Luthene pointed out that there would be people and supplies travelling to Arri, and someone would have to make sure they arrived safely. After he'd released them, she wondered if Domnall was curious why it meant so much to them. Probably he was— the captain was a smart man— but he was good enough not to ask. More for Galin's sake than her own, she mused; he'd lost his financée to the war and Timedeath.

As Luthene had expected, the pair found work escorting scholars to Arri, where they'd learned was a clock which had been crumbling since Timedeath. What they offered in payment would barely cover their expenses, but it would satisfy Domnall. Scholars couldn't pay as well as nobles, but they preferred to be left alone, wouldn't threaten your life and liveihood if you failed to use the proper title, and most importantly, weren't like to be caught up in any treasonous plots.

Galin had warned her that such a long voyage so soon after recovering from her injury was not the wisest choice, especially this time of year, but she hadn't really listened. Sure enough, Luthene almost regretted it from the moment they set sail. The wind cut across bare skin now that there was nothing to block it, and the sea tossed the ship about. She still didn't have much of an appetite, which was probably for the best, considering how many of the scholars emptied their stomachs over the guardrail. The nights were worse, as she had to share a cabin with Galin again. There were times when she could hardly look at him without seeing the man from her dreams, and flushing. It was the strangest dream because it seemed more like a memory… except it couldn't be a memory, that just wasn't possible. Worse, she was worried she might have spoken aloud. Fortunately, Galin gave no indication that she had. If only it was so easy to forget as a regular dream.

Staying in Cittapashe wasn't like to be much better in that regard, Luthene realized when they entered the room. At least on the ship, she had her own bunk. There was a small table squeezed between the (small) bed and the wall, and beside the basin was a bottle. She removed her clock, set her kit down, washed, and then let Galin have a turn at the basin. Luthene was contemplating opening the bottle when the dinner bell rang, and they both went back downstairs to the main room. She took a seat on a bench across from him, and a plate of mussels was set in front of her by a man just a bit younger than Galin. A creamy sauce had been drizzled over the food, and a few slices of bread was on the side of the plate. It was a richer meal than she'd had since before her injury, and she wondered if she could stomach it all.

Raising her mug of ale, Luthene said, "Here's to us and who's like us. Damn few and they're all dead, more's the pity," She nearly finished her drink in one go, but another man was quick to refill it. "You know, I always wondered what you did after the Valley. You know what I did, of course; I was in Adeluna for that damn duel, and then I didn't go back north again. I don't remember your company being there, though, and you never mentioned any stories about the final battle, just before he was killed." She took another drink of ale, then cracked open a shell. "Perhaps there was no champion there, but surly you did something."

Ships. Only thing worse than horses. A man should use his own two damned feet. Galin’s thoughts were bitter condemnations of the voyage as he hauled gear from the ship’s hold. Luthene had gone ahead to settle up accommodations and Galin was happy to have his feet on solid ground and his arms and back set to honest labor. The voyage was a frustrating one for the warrior, as he could not stand the company of the scholars, poor to a man and long-winded beyond mortal telling, and Luthene seemed to be upset with him in some way. He could not understand why she could possibly be annoyed but he had learned early enough that a woman’s mind was a strange and mysterious thing, impervious to the machinations of a man’s reason. As the ship’s crew, finally finished the laborious process of mooring the ship to the port’s beams, came into the hold, they ushered Galin away, not wanting the land-bound Highlander to make a hash of things in the unloading. Luckily Galin was more content to leave the ship than contest his ability to work twice as hard and twice as long as any Ejgoran, so he slung his shield over his back and took the rest of their gear to one of the porters at the dockside. By then Luthene had arrived, lodgings secured, and they headed off together to a small tavern nestled between larger, more imposing buildings.

He could not for the life of him understand why he was there, aside from Luthene’s insistence that she travel despite her wound barely having begun to heal. He would have preferred to stay with Domnall and the Northmen in Adeluna, waiting for the inevitable summons to one spot or another to put down the unrest that came with a discovery of this sort in the lands of Arri. Instead, he was in a strange port among a strangely friendly, peace-loving people and he felt distinctly out of his element, though it was not a threatening sense. He simply felt that he essentially did not belong and would be glad to see the back of the place once he had rested a night and figured out where in the Maker’s great world Arri was.

Their room was even smaller than the Mermaid and Galin bit back a groan, knowing that it would likely be another night of Luthene’s inexplicable distance. If she was worried about what she had said in her fevered state, he thought little of it. Fevers could be strange things and he would not put much stock in what she said in her condition, even if it intrigued him and made him wonder if there was something more under her polite, proper exterior. He had caught glimpses of it since they had begun to serve together in the Highland company but he could never be sure if they were a pattern or simply moments of high emotion. He shrugged, washing his face and hands to take the worst of the caked salt from sweat and the voyage off him. “Cozy, ain’t it,” he said as he dried his face, nodding at the bed. “I figure I can sleep ‘cross the doorway, half to guard and half to save your dignity.” His thoughts were interrupted by the dinner bell and he followed her down the stairs and took his place across from her.

He smiled at her toast, one that the Northmen liked themselves, and drank deeply. “Aye, though the world would lose its mind if the Maker’d put more than one of me around. Too handsome, they’d say, and too brave and too damned good.” Chuckling, he sipped on his ale while Luthene finished hers and asked about the dark days at the end of the war. They were not the sort of battle that Galin was proud of, not like in the Valley. Instead, it was a dark, sordid episode that put a bloody end to a bloody war. He never spoke about it, not even in the company of the Highlanders, even though some of them knew the truth of those last days. “Something.” He paused. “Aye. I did something, that’s the word for it.” He drained the rest of his pint and waited until it was refilled to continue.

“You know how it all ended, right? After the Valley, you lot gave us a bloody nose and then Randal got involved in that duel, the cowardly shite. Killed a wee woman who couldn’t defend herself from a puppy, let alone a revenge-mad bastard like that. Then while everyone was mourning and scrambling for a plan, he pulled back to the land between the Steppes and the Waste. Tribes there never could stand the south, for reasons I can’t fault ‘em, mind, and he was able to get them over to his side. The Conclave had to march the whole bloody continent to meet him in battle, using a fleet for supplies, taking the coast road up through Mamlak, until they ran smack into the bastard on open ground, and him with some of the best cavalry in the world.

“So for three days and nights, the armies stood to, camped not three miles from each other, waiting for someone to make a move. The gods, remember, were off on their island, quaking in their collective boots. So someone had to make a choice. Domnall, he was elected to command the lads by then, he walked right into the council of war between the great men of the south and told them what to do, and by the Maker, they did it, because they had no better options. A night attack, Domnall told them, and make all the noise in the world doing it. While that began and chaos reigned, his lads, my lads, we would go in like we do in the North, quiet and quick, and cut the head off the snake and take its fangs.

“So there we were, faces painted black with charred cork, black cloaks and no mail to catch the light, crept right to a hill beside their encampment. The sentries there were not the most alert and died for it, and we waited. Just after midnight, the fire arrows started. Tents caught and sleeping men leapt out, already ablaze. It was a nightmare. But that’s the place for men like us, me and the lads. So we moved hard, swords sharp and shields up, and cut through the confused bastards, right to Randal's tent. We left our wounded where they fell, no shield wall, only a blood-mad sprint, and when we got into the tent, he was half dressed in his armor, mace halfway across the tent, and he barely had a chance to curse before we were on him. No one can be sure what blow killed him but we all bloodied our blades in him."

Galin paused, pouring out his pint for the men he left there, then continued his story.

"So we got the mace, of course, then slipped out, and by then, the chaos was bad enough we didn't need to fight. That next morning, each of us took a reward in silver from the Conclave and made off for wherever we would want. So… that's my story." He smiled ruefully and sipped his pint. "Well, you did ask."

Luthene's face reddened when Galin commented on the size of the room. 'Cozy' was the term the proprietress had used, too, and Luthene knew exactly what the women was implying. She froze when Galin suggested sleeping in the doorway; part of her was relieved, part of her remembered that there was no blanket for him, and another voice that didn't quite belong to her was repeating the words from her dream. She had to look away.

When he commented on her toast, Luthene had to look away from him again. Perhaps the ale might explain her colouring. "There could be more than one of you, you know," she replied, trying to take her mind off things. "One of the scholars mentioned it, a curious consequence of Timedeath. Worlds similar to ours appearing on the other side of portals, and sometimes people would come through from those other worlds, people who look and behave almost identically to people here, but with different experiences."

Luthene had a rough idea what happened at the end of the war, though the final conflict, the night attack Galin spoke of, she knew only because soldiers who were there, who spoke of it upon their return to Adeluna. It wasn't in the book that the Archmage wrote, that self-righteous fool. She also knew how the Conclave's forces were supplied, as she'd once been tasked with keeping abreast of their movements, and trying to cut off those lines. The extent of Galin's involvement, however, was new to her, and she stayed quiet while he recanted his tale. Every so often, she'd nod to indicate she was listening, then her eyes would quickly turn down again and she'd crack open another mussel or drink more of her ale— and of course someone would refill her mug whenever it got low, making it harder for Luthene to keep track of just how much she'd had.

While Galin's tale was extensive, she still had questions. Ordinarily, Luthene wouldn't pry, as his silence until now seemed to suggest he didn't like talking about it, but he seemed to open himself up to questions at the end. First, she raised her glass in another toast. "To those left behind," she said, and then poured out the mug as she'd seen Galin do. "I always wondered what happened to the mace in the end, though. Not that I'd try to use it," Luthene added again, quickly. "It's just that I know Conclave would have wanted it destroyed, but I don't see how they could. Nor could it be handed over to them, in the literal sense, as that would kill them. The duel… it was a glancing blow, but it still turned her to dust."

Luthene grew quiet as she continued. "I'd had doubts about our cause before then, but the duel… even if it weren't for Timedeath, I don't know if I could have gone on after that. He was revenge-mad, and I'd seen bits of it before then, but it wasn't until the duel that I realized that revenge was the entire reason he went to war. He hated all of Conclave, but her especially. That duel…" She forced a laugh. "It wasn't a duel. She walked into her own execution. Maybe she knew that, or maybe she thought he'd be merciful. Her head was high, anyway, at least until she was too week to hold it up." She sighed, shook her head. and took another drink.

"The mace was powerful, but only against the Concalve. The man who wielded it, however, was not. And he was a damn mage, and he held his weapon like it was a bloody wand, but heavier. No technique at all." Did he understand what she meant? "I could have ended it. Even there in Adeluna. I could have stepped in and taken the mace from him, and ended the war. I might have prevented Timedeath. But even after, when I knew I couldn't keep on fighting, I could have taken it then. Instead, I stole off into the night like a damn coward, and as it turns out, it was you and yours who had to do what I did not. I'll never stop paying for that war. Maybe, though, I might be able to live with that a bit more, after Arri. If I can, somehow, contribute to the end of Timedeath, I'll have redeemed myself a little. Even if you and I are the only ones who know it."

"Bastard was like as not drunk as a cross-eyed stoat," Galin replied derisively.  He had very little patience for scholars after the voyage with their constant bickering about things that mattered, in the Northman's eyes, not a single whit.  There was nothing to be gained by their debating aside from a sad reflection of glory won on the bloodless battlefield of the intellect.  He drank a little more of his ale, wondering why there were so many scholars after all.  There was no money in it, at least not unless you served a great lord and served him directly.  And there was no glory in it, except from other scholars or those so painfully slow they were over-awed by a fancy turn of phrase.  So it seemed, to him, an utter waste of time, much like the entire venture to that over-friendly city, and even more the journey that would be sure to come after to wherever this… clock or what have you was.

"The mace…" Galin chewed his lip a little.  "I am not entirely sure what happened to it, mind, but we took it with us when we got out and Domnall was under orders to have it given over and destroyed."  He smiled and took a sip from his tankard.  "And considering neither Domnall nor I was or is too particular fond of the divinities, if he still had it, he would have cracked one of the idiots across the face with it and sent a shockwave through the world.  So me," he tore off a small piece of bread and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing a bit as he spoke, "I figure the Conclave had a way to bust it up or hide it so we low sorts can't find it again and start a ruckus."

He finished his pint and left it aside for the serving boy to refill.  Her words were the sort of self-pity that Galin never could stomach in himself but heard often enough in others.  And rather than bellow at her like he would one of the men who were in the south, waiting for their return, he just nodded as she had, listening as she unpacked the hurt inside her, no matter how ludicrous it sounded to him.  "Best general in the world, hindsight," he said and shook his head with a soft, uncharacteristic smile.  "Lets you see all the traps, all the right answers, all the wrong moves as clear as day.  'Cept in the moment, when it's you there, your hand on the handle of your sword, it isn't quite so simple.  Believe me, I know that.  Hell, all of us in Domnall's company that fought in the war know it.

"We're Northmen and we follow our god and fought for the rest of the world's and sure there are days I look at things and wish the bastard Randal hadn't died and he got to remake the world.  But he didn't and there's a reason why.  We made choices, the ones that seemed most right to us, and we live with 'em.  I killed a man half-fuddled with sleep, his armor flapping open, along with a dozen other men with me.  It was no honorable thing but I live with it.  I made that choice and I figure, it was the best of a bad situation.  You leaving, that's the same.  So if you've dragged me up here with your barely healed leg and a mission to make amends, I have news for you.  There are no amends that need making.  You made the best of a life and death situation and it ended well.  We avoided a battle, the mace is gone, the world goes on."  He looked at her seriously.  "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Well, he wasn’t wrong; the scholar Luthene spoke of had been drunk, but what he said still made some sense, at least to her. She had no explanation for the memory-like dreams she was having, and the idea that they might be linked to Timedeath was a relief. After a few drinks of her own, Luthene had confided in the man and told him about them; the scholar concluded that it was entirely possible that they, too, were a consequence of Timedeath, and one of his colleges was experiencing something similar. Would the dreams stop when the clock was repaired, she had asked. He didn’t know; he wasn’t even certain that the clock was the solution.

Luthene laughed when Galin said that Domnall might have hit one of the Conclave with the mace if he still had it. The mention of the captain reminded her of something she had wanted to ask. “How did Domnall come to lead the Company, anyway? He’s good, certainly, but…” She paused and took another drink of ale. “Well, in the Valley, after Eoin was killed, you were the one who lead them through to the end of that battle. I would have thought the men might have named you as captain after that. You’re up for the task, according to the reports I read. They were hardly flattering, I might add, but Egjoran captain only insulted your character, meaning that he saw no fault with your performance or leadership.”

Again, Luthene wondered why Galin didn’t join her in the war, why he instead fought for the Conclave. And again, she knew what the answer was: he had given his word. Seeing what Timedeath had done in the world, she was glad he had refused her offer. Hindsight was indeed the best general, but Luthene couldn’t help but wonder what might have been. Perhaps they might have won, once they had greater Highland support, and convinced the neutral clans to join. What if it was someone other than Randal leading them? Not the Archmage, he was no better. Luthene herself?

When Galin mentioned how he’d helped kill Randal, she reached across the table— nearly knocking her mug of ale over as she did— and took his hand. Once he finished she squeezed it, and smiled. It was one of the kindest things she’d heard in a long time. “I am still responsible for this, at least in past,” Luthene explained after a long pause. She withdrew her hand. “It’s my duty to assist in cleaning up the mess I helped to make.” She chuckled. “And I expect I’ll be the only one of my… former associates there to do so. Randal’s dead and… have you ever met the Archmage? Insufferable man. He’d swear with his dying breath that we were justified, no matter what the cost. If we see him in Arri, it will be because he wants to take credit for saving the world, or something to that effect.” A serving man refilled Luthene’s mug again— how many times had it been?— and she took another drink. “You didn’t have to come with me,” she reminded Galin. “But I’m glad that you did.”

Before she could say anything more, a barmaid dropped herself into Galin’s lap and ran her hands across his chest. It reminded Luthene of the woman at the Mermaid who had likewise behaved wantonly towards him. Luthene felt hurt, for reasons she couldn’t rationalize, and it probably showed on her face; she never could hide these things.

As one of the serving men passed by her, perhaps to refill someone else’s ale, Luthene grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to her. The man looked uncomfortable when she didn’t let go right away, nor ask him for anything. After a moment, he shook himself loose. “No my type, lady,” he grumbled, and walked away.

Then Luthene began to notice, how so many— a majority, in fact— of those working in the tavern were men, a strange reversal compared to most of the taverns she’d been to. Looking back at the woman on Galin’s lap, she noted her large hands, and then her eyes wandered to her face, and her throat… and Luthene began to laugh.

"Lead is a very generous word there,” Galin replied, laughing. “We were getting ourselves stuck full of your damned arrows and someone had to get us moving, so I pushed front and started to shout. Nothing to it, really. And you know me, I am a fighter, not a leader. It was what anyone else would have done, you know?” Him? Commanding men in battle? It was utter madness. He was a good soldier, he fought well and won, but he was not the sort to take responsibility for the lives of other men. “I want nothing to do with leading men, remember. Fighting’s what I’m good for, so I want to stick to what works best, you know?”

When she held his hand, he smiled. It was a departure from the coldness of the last week or so and he was glad that she had seen fit to change. His words seemed to touch her, though he did not think they were anything of great value. It was simply him expressing the truth of the situation, that she had no reason to feel guilt. She had done what she felt was right and he wished he had done the same. At least, he always rationalized, the war preserved the devils he knew, which was about the only good thing he could say for it. He would have preferred the Conclave be torn from its high tower and made to live among the muck with the rest of the world but letting the Archmage and Randall and those lot do it would have ended in something far, far worse.

“If you say so,” he conceded, letting her have her pride and need to redeem herself. There was no sense trying to convince her otherwise though he could see why she felt as she did. It would eat at him too, even if it was irrational on its face. “Never did meet him, no. Wouldn’t want to, from all I heard of him. Full of himself and not much else. Sounds like a perfect fit for the Conclave, even if he did try and destroy it.” He laughed and drained his pint, putting it beside him on the table. As it was filled again, Galin smiled at Luthene’s words. “Well, I can’t have you going off all wounded and getting yourself killed over your guilty conscience now can I? But aye, I’m glad as well, even if I am about as much use as tits on a bull.” Before he could continue, one of the serving women dropped into his lap and he looked at her with surprise evident in his eyes.

Something about the woman wasn’t quite right, Galin thought, amazingly detached as he was groped. He could not quite put his finger on it but something… he did not bother finishing the thought because Luthene had grabbed one of the servers herself. It was quite out of character for her and he watched in silence as the man shook her off. He could not hear what he said but a moment later, Luthene was laughing. Galin looked at the woman again, who had begun whispering throatily about her plans for him later, and Galin was still unsure of what was bothering his mind about her. She certainly seemed to know how to get a man’s attention, that much was clear, but something still seemed just a fraction off.

He looked at Luthene’s gaze, then followed it. “Oh for the love,” he groaned as he noticed what she had, and politely pushed the man off his lap. “Sorry mate,” he said with a polite smile. “Not my type. Never been one for the sausage, if you catch my point? Best of luck though.” He turned back to Luthene and glared at her as he smiled. “Thanks for the warning there, General. Worst fucking scout I’ve ever seen. Though, to be fair, he did a damned fine job of hiding it.” Shaking his head, he raised his glass in a toast to her. “From now on, I pick the damned taverns.”

"It wasn't long ago that you told me u wanted to earn a reputation and become a leader in your own right," Luthene reminded Galin. "You earned a reputation in that fight, too, and you have it in you to be both a leader and a fighter." Again, she recalled the report the Egjoran captain had given her at the end. The Northmen fought like men possessed, it had said, and they were lead by a madman. At the time, she didn't know it was Galin; no one knew who was leading the Company. "Lines break often enough when a captain is killed and there's no obvious successor. But instead you held, and what's more, you managed to break the Egjoran line. That's no small thing. You took initiative, and when you started shouting, the men listened, and they followed. Fighting is what you're good at, yes, but so is leading." Part of her wondered where this confidence in him came from. She had only known him to lead once, and hadn't even witnessed it herself. Yet she knew it was in him, even if he shied away from it. "A bear," she said suddenly. "When Domnall lets you choose your own device. A bear. On a dark green field, I think." Once again, she wasn't sure where the image came from, but she knew it was his.
When Galin smiled, Luthene had to look away again. Why had she reached for him? It wasn't like her, and in a way, she wasn't sure it had been her in the first place. Which was foolish, of course, because who else could it be? Even so, she felt as though there was someone else, pushing her to say and do things that were out of character for her. Things like suggest a sigil for him, or take his hand. The presence was always there, but more forceful when Galin was around.

"Thinking back on it now," Luthene said, "I wonder if perhaps they intended to form a new Conclave. Strike down the old one one member at a time, then take the power for themselves. The rest of us would be no better off, or worse." All in all, the war had been a pointless and costly venture, and she continued to regret her own role in it. 

Luthene continued to laugh as Galin finally saw what she had. "I noticed before you did, so I can't be that bad!" she said, still chuckling. And she might have noticed sooner if she wasn't blinded by green. "I tried other taverns and they were full. Besides, the last time you picked an inn, it was in Vilpamolan, and…" Luthene's cheeks coloured as she remembered, then tried to push the thought from her mind. 

Looking down at the table to avoid meeting Galin's gaze, she poked at the food still on her plate, then pushed it towards him. "Help yourself. I can't eat any more." Luthene reached for her ale, hesitated, then decided she'd had enough of that, too. "I think I'll head upstairs," she said, and then stood. Taking her first step towards the stairs, Luthene stumbled. Too much ale she thought. "I don't suppose you could help me?" she asked, flushing again. "Bad leg and all."

"Well, it's more that… leading means I can't be a proper fighting soldier anymore. The more men under me, the more distance between me and the action and that would drive me mad. I want to be where the real fighting is, not sitting around the back trying to organize men and all." It was a distinction that mattered to Galin, no matter how much he said he wanted to lead men in battle. He had to be among them, in the thick of things, not set back, out of the way. Domnall tried to strike a balance and he was, as Luthene learned, still a fine swordsman, but there was a distance between him and the company. Galin knew that it was necessary and would never fault his leader for it; he just hoped that it would never be his position as well. "In battle, sure, I can lead. I've got a great willingness to get myself hacked into bits for a chance at winning, so that makes me good in a fight. I won't say I am better or smarter than about any man in the company but I will say this. I want to win. Every time, every thing I do, I want to win and I'll go to whatever lengths I need to to ensure that I do. I just don't have it in me for the rest of the shite that comes with leading. Give me a battle though, and I'm your man."

He let the comment about the device go without comment but he wondered where exactly it came from. He was in no position to have his own device yet. That only came to the troop commanders under Domnall and none of them seemed likely to up and leave, along with every other eligible candidate, to give Galin a chance at the spot. But the idea was a good one, he thought. A bear. It seemed fitting.

"Well, of course you noticed, you could see him! I had him in my bloody lap with his hand trying to get down my breeches. It can be a bit more difficult to conduct a proper reconnaissance under such conditions, I'll have you know!" He was laughing so hard tears were starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. "And Vilpamolan was not that terrible! I don't think I'm that hideous to look at, am I?" He squeezed her hand, even as she blushed and refused to meet his gaze. "At least I hope I'm not!" Luthene seemed more flustered than usual and he was content to let her go and enjoy the moment for what it had been, a welcome thaw in her demeanor since her wound. Then she stumbled a bit and he quickly rushed to her side. "No shite, bad leg," he said with a wink and gave her his arm for support as they climbed the stairs to their room. He snuck a chance to hold her close, telling himself that it was just easier to keep her upright that way, but he knew that was not the whole truth.

Once they got in the room again, he had her sit on the edge of the bed and he waited a moment, almost hesitating, then sat next to her. "Now, I know we haven't talked much since Adeluna, even on the ship. And I figure I know why." He stopped and turned to look at her more directly. "When you had your fever, you were saying all sorts of things. I didn't want to say anything, to try and push on what you'd meant, but it was all… it resonated with me. I have been trying to figure out a way to say something, considering words and I aren't the best of friends. And I don't know what it means, you understand, but I do want to say… I've always cared for you, you know? And not like the sort of way you do just another man in the wall in a fight. You're special to me." He turned away, his own cheeks coloring, and stared at a spot on the wall just above the door's lock. "So… there it is, I guess."

Again, Galin was holding her close and again, she wasn't entirely sure why. True, Luthene had asked for help, but as he lead her up the stairs, she wondered who he was putting on a show for. No one from the Company was there. He kept doing it, and it bothered her. More than that, it hurt. As she sat down on the bed and he sat beside her (why did it have to be so small?) Luthene thought about saying something, but he spoke first. And he mentioned how little they'd spoken since they left Adeluna, and her fever. Luthene paled, though she was so flush that it was more like a return to her normal colouring. She wanted to stop him, to tell him to forget anything she said, but her tongue was dry in the mouth and the words stuck in her throat.

But what he told her surprised her.

Luthene didn't respond right away. First she had to let the words sink in. Then she had to consider a response, but no words came. She opened her mouth twice, but the only thing she managed to say was a soft, "Oh." Meanwhile, Galin's face was turning as red as his hair, and he had turned away from her. Luthene reached for him, turned his face back towards her, and leaned in.

It didn't quite work the way she wanted. At the last moment, Luthene lost her nerve, tried to kiss his cheek instead, but ended up missing him completely. When she tried to turn back and try again, she hit her face against his. "Sorry," she said, trying to mask her nervousness with a soft laugh, but she probably failed at that, too.

"I meant it," Luthene said at last, resigned to the need to resolve this with words. "I'm not certain exactly what I said aloud and what was a dream, but I meant it." Another pause as she reflected on the dream. "Well, maybe not all of it. But… most of it."

Luthene rested her head against Galin's chest, listening for his heart, wondering if it was beating as quickly as her own. "I didn't know," she continued, her voice soft. "That's why this has been so hard for me, keeping up an act with the Company. Remember before the war had really started, the day I asked you to join me? That wasn't the only thing I wanted to tell you that day, but you'd gotten engaged, so I just… set those feelings aside. Except then we met again and you had the great idea of telling the men we were together, and it just muddled things for me. I had to pretend for the sake of the men, and then after I tried to keep my distance from you to not get caught up in it. I needed a clear line between the truth and the lie. And then you'd go and do something to confuse me, be affectionate even when no one was there to see. Sometimes I'd forget myself, too, and I couldn't because I thought it was clear you didn't feel the same. Clear as mud, it seems."

Reaching for Galin's hand, Luthene took it and raised her head to look at him. "Neither of us will be pretending anymore, will we?"

Silence is a terrifying thing.  It was worse than the screams of a shield wall or the thunder of a cavalry charge.  In those places, in the heat of battle, a man could lose himself in the fear and turn it into courage.  Silence did not give him that option.  Instead, he was trapped alone with his own thoughts, the thoughts of failure and embarrassment and shame and they came unbidden like a legion.  Instantly, every way the situation could end badly flashed in his mind and it took all his will not to simply say it was a mistake and tell her to forget it ever happened.  It would have been easier, as a the seconds dragged on in utter silence, to retreat but there was nothing he could really do at this point.  It was like the Sarchu.  He was committed and would have to fight his way out because retreat meant slaughter.  So he waited, staring at the door, listening for the slightest indication of her mood.

He felt her hand on his cheek and she turned his face toward hers.  Galin resisted the urge to tense up, fearing the worst, and smiled as best he could through the terror that gripped him like a vice.  It looked like Luthene was going to kiss him but she inexplicably missed and Galin's heart fell.  She thought better of it at the last second, it seemed, and then she was there, trying again.  This time, it was more of a headbutt and Galin was moments away from total panic.  "It's alright," he said, trying to keep his voice level as she laughed.  And then she spoke.

So she had meant it.  In that moment, relief flooded over him like a tidal wave, the sort of relief he had only ever experience in the most dire battles when his line held against the odds and he lived to fight again.  "I'm glad," he murmured as she put her head on his chest and he put his arm around her shoulders.  And as she spoke, he found himself listening and gently stroking her hair as the last months finally came into perspective.  "You wanted…?  Maker's bollocks, I had no idea.  I thought it was just about fighting for your side.  And aye, I had gotten handfast, but that was."  He stopped and sighed, thinking about it a moment before barreling through a conversation.  "That was me being a nervous git about to head into a proper war.  It makes a man do stupid things, trying to get some normalcy from the chaos."  That was right, he thought, as he looked back over the weeks before the war.  He had been sure the fighting would come and it would be massive, so one night, in his cups, he had proposed to the healer he had been seeing in a moment of stunning impetuousness.  It was a failure from the start and by the time the war ended, she had left him for another.

"I did feel the same.  Back then, before the war, I had no idea about you.  You seemed to treat me as a brother, loved but never in a way that could grow into something more.  So I made my peace with it and forged on, you see?  But the feelings were still there and that's why I made the plan like I did when you joined up.  Part of me hoped it would give me a chance to see if there was any change in you from what I remembered then.  And sometimes there was, and then it wasn't, and I was as lost as ever I was before."  He squeezed her hand as she took his and smiled at her, then leaned down and kissed her.  

"No, I don't think we will."