Chapter 20
Morning came gently.
The kind of morning that felt undeserved.
Sunlight spilled across the upper levels of Eastrun, catching on tiled rooftops and fluttering banners. Somewhere below, a merchant shouted cheerfully. A bakery opened its doors. Life, stubborn and unafraid, went on.
Rowan Valebright stood at the window of his quarters, hands resting on the sill, watching the city wake.
He had stood like this before.
Many times.
But never like this.
Behind him, Lila moved quietly, her steps soft against the floor as she set a kettle over the hearth. The familiar sounds — water poured, flame coaxed to life — settled something in his chest.
Normal sounds.
Domestic ones.
"Tea?" she asked.
"Yes, please," Rowan said, not turning around.
She smiled at his back.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Rowan watched a pair of children race down the street below, laughing loudly enough that he could hear them even from this height. One tripped. The other stopped to help.
He exhaled slowly.
"How long do you think," he asked, "before people notice?"
Lila poured the tea. "Notice what?"
"That something is coming."
She considered this, bringing him a cup and placing it carefully beside him.
"They always notice too late," she said gently. "Or too early. Rarely at the right time."
Rowan hummed.
"That's... uncomfortably accurate."
She leaned beside him, shoulder brushing his arm.
"You're thinking again," she added.
"I never stop."
"I know."
They shared a quiet smile.
Later, the guild hall buzzed with controlled movement.
Not panic — not yet.
But preparation.
Adventurers checked gear. Quartermasters argued over supply lists. Messengers came and went with increasing frequency.
Rowan moved through it all like a familiar tide.
Commands were given calmly. Adjustments made without fuss. His presence alone seemed to steady people.
Lila watched from the reception desk, noticing the way voices lowered slightly when he passed.
This was the side of him she was still learning.
The man who carried weight without complaint.
Dorian sidled up beside her, leaning on the counter.
"He's in full Hero mode," he said quietly.
She nodded. "Is that bad?"
Dorian shrugged. "It means he's already decided."
She frowned. "Decided what?"
"That he's going," Dorian said. "And that he'll make sure no one else pays for it."
Lila's fingers tightened around her pen.
Dorian noticed.
He smiled, softer than usual. "He always comes back."
She looked at him.
"...Always?"
Dorian hesitated.
Then nodded. "So far."
That afternoon, Rowan found himself in the armory.
Again.
He hadn't intended to.
His hands moved over familiar steel, armor polished and maintained by habit rather than necessity. He lifted his cuirass — paused — then set it down.
It felt heavier than it should have.
He frowned, flexing his shoulder.
"Don't overthink it," he muttered to himself.
A quiet laugh answered him.
He turned to find Lila leaning against the doorway.
"You say that like it works," she said.
He smiled sheepishly. "One day it might."
She stepped closer, eyes scanning the armor.
"You're adjusting the straps wrong," she said.
"I am not."
"You are."
She reached out without asking, fingers deft and confident as she adjusted the fit. Rowan froze, suddenly aware of how close she was.
Her hands brushed his back.
He inhaled.
"...Thank you," he said.
She didn't pull away immediately.
"Rowan," she said softly.
"Yes?"
"You're allowed to come back tired."
He looked at her then.
Really looked.
"That's the plan," he said quietly.
She smiled, then rested her forehead briefly against his chest.
Just for a moment.
Outside, horns sounded in the distance — not alarm, not yet — just the call of gathered forces.
Rowan closed his eyes.
Things were moving.
And for the first time in a long while, he knew exactly what he was fighting for.
By midday, the city had changed.
Not dramatically.
Not yet.
But the signs were there if you knew how to look.
Supply wagons lined the eastern road. Blacksmiths worked past noon. The watch rotated more frequently than usual. Soldiers stood straighter, joked a little louder, and laughed a little less.
Rowan stood over a spread map in the strategy room, fingers resting lightly on familiar inked lines.
West.
Always west.
"Routes are secured," reported a captain. "Scouts confirm increased movement but no confirmed contact."
Rowan nodded. "Keep them rotating. No heroics."
Dorian leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"No heroics," he echoed. "You hear that? Cancel the entire profession."
A few soldiers snorted.
Rowan didn't look up. "You joke, but I mean it."
That quiet certainty did more than shouting ever could.
Orders followed — measured, precise, built on experience rather than bravado. Rowan delegated without hesitation, trusting people to do their jobs.
Lila watched from the edge of the room, holding a ledger she wasn't reading.
She had never seen him like this for this long.
Focused.
Unyielding.
Heavy.
When the room finally cleared, Rowan remained staring at the map.
Dorian lingered.
"You're not sleeping," Dorian said.
"I will."
"You said that yesterday."
Rowan straightened. "And I was technically unconscious for four hours."
Dorian grimaced. "That's not a defense."
Rowan turned, studying his friend.
"You're worried."
"Of course I'm worried," Dorian snapped — then sighed. "You make it look easy. That's what scares people."
Rowan's expression softened.
"That's the job."
Outside, the guild hall hummed.
Lila walked beside Rowan as they crossed the courtyard.
"You didn't tell them everything," she said quietly.
He didn't deny it. "They don't need everything."
"They trust you."
"That's why I won't burden them."
She stopped walking.
Rowan turned back.
"You carry it alone," she said. Not accusing. Observing.
"I always have."
She stepped closer.
"You don't have to."
The words landed harder than any blade.
Rowan swallowed.
Before he could answer, Dorian's voice rang out across the yard.
"ROWAN."
They both flinched.
Dorian jogged over, holding a piece of parchment.
"Message from the western scouts. You're going to love this."
Rowan took it, reading quickly.
His jaw tightened — not fear, not surprise.
Recognition.
"...They're pulling back," he said.
Lila frowned. "Is that bad?"
"It means something's letting them go," Dorian said.
Rowan folded the parchment carefully.
"Prepare the march," he said.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just... settled.
That evening, Rowan returned to his quarters alone.
He sat on the edge of the bed, armor half-laid out before him.
He tried to lift the cuirass again.
His shoulder protested.
Not sharply.
Just enough.
He lowered it, exhaling slowly.
"...Not now," he muttered.
A knock came at the door.
Lila stepped in without waiting for an answer.
She took one look at him and the armor.
"You're doing that thing again," she said.
"What thing?"
"Pretending you're made of stone."
She crossed the room and picked up the cuirass with a grunt.
"It is heavier," she admitted. "Or you're pretending it isn't."
He chuckled quietly. "Both can be true."
She helped guide the armor into place, fingers steady, movements careful.
"Rowan," she said softly. "When you leave tomorrow..."
He tensed.
"...I'm not asking you to promise anything," she continued. "I know better."
He turned slightly toward her.
"But," she said, meeting his eyes, "don't disappear into the role. Come back to yourself too."
He searched her face, something tight and aching in his chest.
"I'll try," he said.
She smiled, small but sincere.
"That's enough."
Outside, the horns sounded again — longer this time.
The call to gather.
Rowan closed his eyes briefly.
The shield was rising.
And it was heavy.
Night fell gently over Eastrun.
Torches lit the walls. Armor gleamed in preparation. The city hummed with restrained anticipation — not fear, not yet — just the collective breath before a storm.
Rowan Valebright stood alone on the guild's upper balcony, resting his forearms on the stone railing.
Below, soldiers gathered. Commands murmured. Footsteps echoed.
He had stood on battlements like this before.
Countless times.
And never had his chest felt so tight.
Footsteps approached behind him.
He didn't turn.
"You're going to worry yourself into the ground," Lila said softly.
He smiled faintly. "I've survived worse."
"That's not reassuring."
She joined him at the railing, close enough that he could feel her warmth through his armor.
They watched the city together for a moment.
Rowan cleared his throat.
"There's something I need to say," he began.
She tilted her head slightly, giving him her full attention.
He hesitated.
"...I'm not good at this."
She smiled gently. "I know."
That helped. Somehow.
He exhaled slowly.
"I've spent most of my life being useful," he said. "Strong when needed. Reliable when everything else failed."
He stared straight ahead.
"And somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that wanting more was... indulgent."
Lila didn't interrupt.
"That if I just held the line long enough," he continued, voice quiet, "the rest of the world could live normally."
His hand tightened on the stone.
"But then you showed up."
She blinked.
He turned to face her fully now, purple eyes steady but uncertain.
"And suddenly, normal mattered."
She swallowed.
Rowan took a breath.
"If I asked you to stay—" he began, then stopped.
He laughed softly, awkward and self-aware.
"Maker, listen to me. This is already going terribly."
She smiled through the tension. "Rowan..."
He held up a hand. "Let me finish before I lose my nerve."
He squared his shoulders — not like a warrior, not like a hero — just a man.
"If I asked you to stay," he said again, slower now, "not as my clerk. Not as my partner in chaos."
He met her eyes.
"But as my wife."
Silence fell.
The city seemed to hold its breath.
Rowan swallowed.
"Would that be selfish?" he asked quietly.
Lila stared at him.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she stepped closer.
Very close.
She reached up, resting her hand against his chest — over his heart.
And kissed him.
Not rushed.
Not dramatic.
Just firm. Certain.
When she pulled back, her forehead rested against his armor.
"Before you get any big ideas," she murmured.
He laughed weakly. "That bad?"
She smiled, eyes bright.
"Go out there," she said softly, "and survive."
A pause.
Then:
"Then you can ask me properly."
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
"And yes," she added. "Obviously yes."
Rowan's breath hitched.
He laughed — a quiet, stunned sound — and pressed his forehead to hers.
"...I'll come back," he promised.
She smirked. "You'd better. If you don't, I'm bringing you back myself."
He smiled.
Outside, horns sounded.
The march was beginning.
Rowan took one last look at the woman who had changed everything.
Then he turned toward the future.