"Easy enough to,” Galin replied, draining half the cup in a long swallow, “if you look at it the way he saw things. We became the enemy the minute we marched away, and traitors to boot. Nevermind that he was leading men on a suicide charge because he was too stubborn to admit that he’d been outfoxed by the peasants and lords in the east. So he took his spoils, same as he would anywhere else, and what’s more, he left us with little coin, mouths to feed, and a camp half ruined. From a soldier’s point of view, he did a damned fine job of denying us what we’ll need.” Galin smiled sardonically, giving grudging praise to Cedric’s ability to inflict damage even in defeat, like a cornered boar laying open the hounds with its tusks even as it bled to death. “But mark me, once we’ve got things here settled, we’ll see to Cedric. He’ll pay for what he did, I swear it.” Suddenly the wine, combined with the weariness of the last week’s escape, washed over him like a wave and he pulled off his boots, finished his wine, and lay heavily in the bed. Luthene joined him and he held her close to his chest, comforted by her presence as he drifted off into a deep, black, dreamless sleep. He could have sworn he felt Luthene leave when she calmed but that could have easily been a snatch of a dream fighting its way to the fore of his mind.
When he woke, he found it had not been a dream and Luthene had gone. He scratched the stubble on his jaw and blinked at the sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the leather door hanging. It was close to the feast, he realized with a start, and he had nearly slept through it. When the men returned from a fight, more often than not there was a proper feast with their best clothes and all the trappings of success and even though they had returned to a camp in ruins, they had survived and that, to Galin, was worth celebrating. The men were gathered outside the armory, bent over half barrels filled with water, passing a razor between them as they scraped the stubble from their faces. The razor was a strange piece, once part of a dwarven sword that had shattered, and one of the shards was fashioned into a razor for the company. Galin took a sliver of Ejgoran soap and lathered up his face before taking the razor from the man next to him, shaving with a practiced hand. Domnall had never been a proponent of beards, even though they were more common in the North. “Gives a man something to grab,” he would say, “and you dumb bastards have a hard enough time staying alive as it is.” Galin smiled as he remembered the old soldier, drying his freshly shaved face on the hem of his shirt. “Kegs stay untapped til I arrive, you hear me?” The men grumbled good-naturedly as Galin returned to his hut and took his one good shirt out of his pack. It was the same one he had worn when he and Luthene had gone to rescue the Adelunan baron but he had taken care to have it washed and packed for occasions like these.
He was ducking out of the hut, his polished sword hanging at his waist across from his fighting knife on his silver-enameled war belt, when he saw Luthene and he stopped in his tracks. It was not very often that he saw her in a dress and every time he forgot that she wore things other than tunics, mail, and trousers. He was even more surprised when he saw her hair down, something that only seemed to happen when she slept. “Well, you look… amazing.” He grinned and offered her his arm as they headed over toward the sounds and scents of the feast. “Though I am a bit worried, you know, lovely. Every time I see you in a dress, I get myself stove in, cut up, or otherwise harmed. This isn’t some ambush, is it?”
It was exactly as he had hoped, with the drinks flowing freely and everyone eating their fill after poor rations and horse on the march back, just the sort of meal that would restore the survivors’ spirits and prepare them for what promised to be challenging days ahead. Galin drank toasts to the fallen with the men, damnation to Cedric for his treachery, and praise to the hard work, skill, and perseverance of the women who made it all possible. With music and dancing, the feast was set to last long into the wee hours of the morning but Galin and Luthene plead exhaustion and excused themselves after the food had been cleared and all that was left was a night’s heavy drinking. Feeling her hand in his, Galin followed Luthene into the hut and to the bed, sitting beside her and was surprised at the suddenness of her kiss. He returned it and pulled her closer, unconsciously tangling his fingers a little in her hair and when she pulled away, he smiled. “That is one hell of a kiss to wait for,” he said with a wink. “And aye, it’s a blessing we’ve both come through this so well. It could have been any one of us, but here we are… And you aren’t the only one that’s grateful. I’ve got one up on any man here, you know, with you coming to the fight and not waiting behind. I am glad that isn’t finished,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
He kissed her again, reveling in the feeling of her lips on him, his hands around her waist to pull her nearly into his lap. When she pulled away, she said something completely unexpected. It was not as though he had not thought the same or half-considered saying it before the last battle, but now she had said it and it was real. There was something concrete to that, an unshakable reality to the words that immediately changed things. These were not things that Galin took lightly, not words he bandied about with abandon like many of the men he knew looking to find a companion for the evening. This was something more serious, a change that could not be undone. “I kn…” he stammered a second, looking her straight in the eyes. I know? What sort of idiot are you, he asked himself. “I love you too…” He smiled, all softness and an uncharacteristic vulnerability, then leaned in and kissed her again, pulling her fully to him as he did.
