He was drowning again.

Water gushed down his throat, the cold sinking a thousand needles into his limbs from all directions. He reached out with an arm, but above was nothing but a murky sky and ashen sun and gusts of merciless wind. The water on his lashes began to freeze up, eyes stuck shut while the screeching storm swallowed his cries for help.

"You call yourself a soldier, Valerius?" an awfully familiar voice called out-- one that he wished he would never hear again. "You can't even swim across this damned puddle of a lake! Snap that sword in half, set your worthless armor on fire, and grab a shovel. Or better even, rot in that mine."

"Father, please--"

A whip lashed across his face and below the surface he went again, choking and gasping, limbs flailing for purchase, lungs aching for air.

This was but a test. Upon the opposite bank of the lake gleamed a marble staircase leading up, and up and up... and beyond the clouds and the sky-- steps Linder must ascend to become a part of the elite force tasked with the protection of the Midaelian Crown: the Royal Guards.

Yet how would he make it? Bound to his numb legs with thick, rusty chains were wagons of coal, and bundles of ledgers and unfinished paperwork-- all the way to the dark depths of the lake.

So much work to do...so much left...

"Is everything in order in the mine, Valerius?" Commander Del's voice rang inside his head, garbled as though speaking from beneath the water.

Nothing was in order. He was losing track of the prices. Everything was slipping like sand from between his fingers. The killer was right there, and the soldiers refused to believe him.

Far at the end of the staircase across the lake, a figure materialized out of thin air. Karles, clad in the crimson and gold of the Royal Guards.

"All you want is fame." He sneered at Linder's struggling form. "Justice never meant anything to you, it's simply a facade for your despicable lust for power. You're pathetic."

Karles vanished up the stairs, ignoring his cries for help.

Linder's vision began to fade then, Father's shouts drowning somewhere in the distance. Yet he made one last effort. Kicking his legs, he swam closer to the surface.

The lake had frozen over, forever trapping him within its glacial depths. His fists pounded against the solid layer of the ice. No!

I'm sorry, Father.

I'm so sorry--

━━━━━━⚔︎━━━━━━

His eyes flew open, breaths coming in labored gasps.

The candle flickered low in its stand. The wooden ceiling of the infirmary came into focus, the small bed creaking noisily as he shifted his weight. Linder felt for his face, as though to see whether he was truly drenched in lakewater, but it was only cold sweat.

So many years had gone by since he'd left home, yet such dreams would still haunt him sometimes, cobbling together the most bizarre scenarios that resembled the actual happenings of his life in a vague mockery of symbolism. The ideas seemed almost laughable when he awoke, but they felt awfully real when they played out in his sleep.

He didn't care what the healer said, he needed coffee. He would ride to Brittlerock tonight if need be, but he would not let himself drift off to sleep again.

Only when he was about to get up did he realize a warm hand was clasping his wrist-- fingers pressed to his pulse. Someone's coarse, bushy hair brushed against his forearm which dangled off the bed. Before he could react a silhouette rose from kneeling and emerged over the edge of the bed.

"By the Gods," said a familiar voice he'd been yearning to hear, although it sounded congested as though its owner had a cold. "You sleep like a damn corpse, Sarge."

"That's because I am one." The words seemed to roll off his tongue of their own accord, before he could discern whether this was a continuation of his dream-- a sweet conclusion to a brain-racking nightmare.

A soft laugh. "Now I'm certain I haven't woken the wrong fellow in the dark. It's really you."

Low firelight painted her face a warm gold, her hair a burnished red. Linder was not dreaming. It's really her.

Relief flooded his heart, the events of the nightmare dissolving into the soft candle light.

I'm fine, he reminded himself.

He had tracked down the assassin, he had made peace with Karles, and all Brittlerock was not in disarray because of his absence. But most importantly, Farren was here.

Farren was here, and he cared little for anything else-- even becoming a Royal Guard. It was a distant dream now, one that he no longer wished to achieve. But his heart still hammered from the aftermath of the dream, his skin still cold and clammy, and none of it escaped her notice. A questioning look crossed her face. "Nightmares?"

Many of them. Enough to keep me afeard of sleep. The dream of joining the Royal Guards-- he'd crumpled it up and tossed into an imaginary fireplace long past.

Yet the visions wouldn't leave him alone, emerging their ugly heads every now and then, especially when he was weighed down by stress.

But Linder was not ready to tell her everything just yet. "Of a sort."

She pried no further, and gave his hand a squeeze. "You'll be okay." A rare moment of hesitation. “I'm...here.”

"But not for long, are you?"

To that, she had no answer.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes so he could see her better. "Always on the run and leaping into trouble. Gods, you're impossible to pin down."

He registered little of what she said next, her words tangling together in a soothing melody. A tantalizing fragrance of what seemed like perfumed soap rose from her, rather odd for someone who had been roughing it in the wilderness for days. But Linder, inebriated from the lingering effect of healing medicines, cared little for mundane things such as logic now. Even though it did occur to him she had taken a great risk in sneaking in here, his now brazen mind flicked the worry away with a defiant finger.

The mages would dare break through the doors and capture her?

Let them come and see if they can take her from my arms.

When Farren's grip on his hand began to fall away, he clasped it tighter, clinging onto the warmth enough to thaw a frozen lake. He pulled her close, and a soft gasp escaped her lips. He adored the look of surprise on her face.

"Gods above," he whispered, "I turn my back for one moment and there you are, getting yourself declared a war criminal."

She snorted. "Could say the same about you. Barely a minute into battle without me and you get stabbed by three different people."

"Excuse you, my plan was perfect. It was only the last step where I faltered."

"And nearly got yourself killed. Draedona take you and your perfect plan!"

"You have to stop using that curse, dear Corporal. Sweet Mother hears you sometimes."

"This plan of yours wouldn't have been near-fatal if you didn't take it up all on yourself to catch the culprit. You wouldn't be in this condition, were me and Gray there with you that day."

He considered this. Perhaps things could have taken a very different turn. "But...I would've put you all in danger if I got everybody involved. The bandits were staged, they went down in minutes, but the Vasaen out to get me that day... I was worried--"

"Let us worry about ourselves, will you? We are a squad, and we're supposed to fight together," she said. "Have some faith in your comrades."

A pause. "You don't always have to work alone.”

Yet working alone was all he'd learnt, since the day he strode out the front steps of his house and never looked back, since when he got into the City Watch and got it in his head that he was supposed to free the city from corruption, alone.

Gray, who remained ever loyal, genuine in his concern for him... Linder kept him well out of his plans, too.

No wonder the corporal looked so angry with him when he woke up that day.

"No need to look like a sad puppy, Sarge. You still have time to correct your ways," said Farren smugly. "And as for the priceless revelation I offered your clueless soul-- you're welcome."

"Why you condescending little--"

A lopsided grin lit her face, but the corners of her eyes appeared wet, and he cut back the taunting reply he was about to make. "Getting sentimental, are we?"

"Nah." Farren clicked her tongue, inching closer. "Just got a nasty cold from staying in the tub for too long."

"I see the woods of Kinallen have been hospitable to you enough to provide a bath." Linder propped himself up on pillows, sleep tugging heavily on his eyelids. "That's believable. I'll dismiss the possibility that a mere week away from me may have made dear Corporal all dewy-eyed--

"I will sneeze on you."

"The horror!" Linder let out a quiet laugh. A moment later he handed her the crystal dagger from beneath his pillow. She took it with a smile, yet made no move to fit it into her belt, or anything else that might suggest she wanted to take it with her.

Some level of drowsiness left from the medicines still lingered, and perhaps the slight drunkenness was why he felt brave enough to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear as Farren perched on the bedside, half-expecting her to retort with a cheeky remark.

She didn't.

Eyes squinted shut, she turned her head, lips pressed against his palm. Linder bit back another teasing remark of his own, and for a moment they simply sat in the comfortable silence as dusk descended outside, listening to the quiet voices across the training grounds, clacking boots and occasional shouts.

"Where's Klo? Looked for her everywhere."

"Down in the patroller's quarters, interrogating Dion," he said groggily.

Farren cursed. "Would've been better if I talked to her instead. You're barely awake. But sneaking down there seems too much of a risk..."

Why did she have to be in such urgency all the time? Linder wanted so badly to simply sit back, hand-in-hand in silence. Blood loss from his injuries, and the intensive healing that had followed had left him drained. Farren stepped back from the bed, parted the curtains and peeked outside. "Good, the coast is clear. No one to interrupt us."

Linder felt his face heat up. Just what do you have in mind?

"Before I get too carried away, I better get to what I'm here for."

"Oh, am I distracting you too much?" He grinned sleepily, while it was really the other way around. He willed himself to focus on her words.

"Unless you can transform yourself into a tankard of Olde Weasel's ale, no. Gods, I haven't had a good drink for weeks. All that alchemist has is Goldcrest Whiskey and I'm not having a drop of that acrid poison-- nope."

"Alchemist? In the woods?"

"Aye," she said, "one that you know well. Ryffin Wellis, in the flesh."

"...The Ryffin Wellis? Is this a joke I'm too sleepy to get?"

She groaned. "There're black-blooded corpse-people waltzing around, and me meeting Ryffin is so unbelievable to you?"

"It is unbelievable for an alchemist of his level to be living in the woods like that. In Kinallen of all places? What's next, the Unnamed Lord answering people's prayers and handing out blessings long overdue?"

"Actually... the Unnamed Lord has a name. He's called Xenro and I have indeed spoken to him, believe it or not."

This was not a good sign. He had learned too much about narcotics while gathering information about the Silver Knife Square to not recognize the obvious symptoms. He sat up, hands seizing her shoulders.

"Farren, have you been taking Dragontail?" He wondered if she still carried those painkiller potions with her.

She groaned.

"I knew-- I knew something like this would happen. One of the rare times I'm telling the complete truth, and nobody believes me. Good thing I came prepared." Not wasting a moment in trying to shatter his disbelief, she slid a folded paper out of her sleeve and handed it to him.

He crinkled it open. It was the front page of the manuscript of-- 'Potion Brewer's Guide to Alchemical Theories.'

Eh, I've read it.

His eyes travelled lower.

'Vol 14.'

...What.

She was also showing him an elegant, gold and sapphire ring some 'local deity' had given her but it had no magic left anymore-- suspiciously-- but Linder's eyes remained glued to the manuscript page.

He read it once, then read it twice.

He had seen Farren's handwriting only once, when Klo had handed him a list of details of all the soldiers in the camp right before the investigation began; large, rounded letters, with no respect for capitalization, nor any punctuation except exclamation marks in places they didn't belong.

This spidery scrawl wasn't hers. Also the ink appeared too old.

"Long story short-- he's interested in taking a look at the dagger, and may visit soon. All I ask is that you allow him to, and speak with him in private. You and Klo. And for now, you two must keep the dagger. It's best that it doesn't go beyond the walls of this camp, alright?"

But Linder's mind was elsewhere.

"What kind of monster rips a page from a manuscript like that?" His words shot out into the night, much louder than he intended, and there was a shuffle of feet right outside the door.

"Shhhhhh!" Her shushing was even louder than his voice.

And the next moment was chaos.

Farren leapt to clamp her hand over his mouth, elbow accidentally digging into his bandaged stomach for a brief moment-- but that was enough to raise a hellfire of pain from his freshly healed wounds. He grabbed her arm, throwing his head back trying not to make a noise but letting out a stifled moan anyway, and she went pitching forward from his pull, face-first into his chest.

The footsteps, quite possibly of the old healer standing guard over her noncompliant patient, stopped outside the door.

And here was Linder, Farren on top of him, her legs straddling his waist. The breathless moments felt like an eternity as they waited in silence.

The footsteps ambled away.

The curtain of wavy red hair slid away from his face as she extricated herself from his arms, and sat upright, a roguish smile on her lips that sent his heart racing. Sweet Draedona, he was very much awake now.

"Lovely sound you made, back there," she whispered, biting her lip. "...Wonder if you can make more?"

"Absolutely," he groaned, trying his best to sound angry-- as though his heart was not thundering from the fact that she was so damn close-- "just punch me in the guts next time and end my misery, will you?"

"Not into that violent shite." Farren scrunched up her nose. "Ask your dear Karles if you're into that sort of thing. You did seem eager to get beaten up by him."

He tried not to let his gaze travel down the rumpled shirt hanging low from her shoulders, or look hungrily upon the freckles dotting her bare collarbones. He was failing miserably; a failure that he did not regret.

She didn't seem too keen to move away, and Linder prayed to the heavens above she wouldn't, either. His breaths came out heavy, but little of it had to do with his pain which had subsided as fast as it came, and everything to do with the half-lidded brown eyes now staring down at him-- their gaze shameless and seductive.

Her index finger landed gently against his lips. "Quiet now. Wouldn't want ol' Doc catching me in a romp with her patient."

"My, my, Corporal, is that what you have in mind?" His arms snaked around the small of her back, loving the startled little cry she let out.

"No," was Farren's blunt reply. "I prefer uninjured partners... and sturdier beds."

"Huh?"

"I mean, just look at this one's condition." She heaved herself forward to demonstrate, and the bed squeaked and creaked in protest.

Snap went the frayed knot of his impulses.

Oh, Draedona save me.

His heart raced and out rushed blood, not only to his face. Something quite out of his voluntary control happened-- something he'd regret when he'd sober up from the medicines. Linder had to move away from beneath her, this instant, or else--

She gasped, amused eyes dragging down to him.

Too late.

"How scandalous." A devilish smile crept on her lips. "Oh, would you look at this? Even the righteous, obnoxiously upright Sir Valerius comes undone beneath my touch..."

"By the Gods," he groaned, seeing the ever so smug look in her eyes, "I hate you."

"I have concrete evidence to suggest otherwise." Farren did an admirable mimicry of his frown and his clinical tone of voice when he'd run the investigation.

He had half a mind to push her off the bed and sprint out into the night, the other half-- switch places and finish what she started.

But Farren rolled off him with a wink. She might try to look unaffected, but her flustered face, chest heaving with shallow breaths and hooded eyes suggested otherwise. I'm not the only one coming undone, am I?

"You... have the rest of the night to cool off," she said, "but do keep in mind the things I told you. And when that alchemist arrives-- Velan bloke, red hair and very jumpy, try not to scare him away."

✦✧✦✧

The curtains around his bed parted, the windows beyond them creaked open and clicked shut.

And she was gone before he could so much as get to his feet. Head reeling, he sank back into the sheets, tired mind trying to process what had just happened but failing to focus on anything but her.

She'll be the death of me.

✦✧✦✧

Heart hammering, cheeks burning, Farren inched along the outer camp walls toward the forest, a solid mass of black against the blood-red dusk. Her yearnings had been fulfilled in this rendezvous, yet they were not. They only burned higher, coursed through her veins like hellfire, their intoxication deadlier than Dragontail.

A sensible part of her smacked Farren upside her head.

Maybe I should take a walk.

Cloaked in the shadows cast by the camp walls, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. Venturing into the woods in such a clouded mind was a surefire way to get lost.

Farren looked up and the sight before her stole her breath away.

A soldier, more specifically, an archer had stopped right in their tracks in the distance, looking directly at her.

Only now did she remember: she had forgotten to take a sip from the invisibility draughts Ryffin had given her-- direct result of getting too carried away with Linder.

Serves me right for acting like a giddy little idiot.

Farren slipped further into the shadows, but she was too late, for the archer was already motioning to a mage patrolling the perimeters. "This way, I think I saw someone!"

She cursed under her breath.

The archer turned out to be none other than Alastair Henris.