Chapter 28

The following week is numbing and I've spoken very little except when required. The morning after I ate breakfast before heading back out to the field where the battle took place, joining a few early risers to start building the pyers. As the morning passed, all able bodied men came to lend a hand and by nightfall we had enough for all of our fallen comrades. I gave a speech that sounded well-enough, thanking them for giving their lives not only for Paevia, but for myself as well. I promise that their immediate families will still receive their monthly military stipend for the next twenty years--a small debt considering how priceless their lives were. The pyres are lit. Songs are sung. Prayers are whispered. Claire tries to catch me as I head back to camp but I feed her a lie saying I'm tired. I spend another night alone in my quarters lying awake. Over the next few days we slowly began to pack up camp, breaking down the tents of the fallen first and gathering their personal belongings to return to their families. During the week I keep myself busy and find myself in the woods hunting for hours daily. I visit the wounded and lend aid where I can. At night I retreat to my tent and drink alone, and allow silent tears to stain my cheeks. Rory has been too enamored with Beth Ann to pay me any mind which is fine by me. By day three Claire stopped trying to reach out and has given me the space I require. She still tries to steal glances at me and greets me when I stop by to pick up supper each night is met with cold responses on my end.

Birds calling overhead brings me from my thoughts and I wipe sweat from my brow. Figuring it's been a few hours since I set my snares I stand up from the ground and brush off my pants. Unslinging my bow from my shoulder I check all twenty, finding all but two to be empty. I have to finish the second rabbit off myself and drop it in my satchel. Sighing, I make my way back to camp as I realize with our extended stay, we've probably all but cleared out this area of game. "Doesn't matter," I mutter to myself. "We head out tomorrow anyways and the land can return to new."

As I reach camp and see our gates in the distance I take pleasure at the sight of Lugos's body swaying slightly on a post. His corpse has not agreed with the heat and humidity of the south and has become quite grotesque, his skin black and blue and body bloated. As I walk past him I wrinkle my nose at the smell and nod at guards in the distance. Heading over to James I turn in my meager spoils. "It's not much, I'm sorry," I offer.

He gives a smile and takes them from me. "No worries. We're doing pretty well on rations anyways. Besides, a group men came back an hour ago with a buck and two boars."

Nodding, I glance over to the medical tent and sigh. "Guess I'll get this thing checked out and see how the others are fairing," I say, holding up my injured hand. Turning on my heel I make my way over and duck inside the sweltering tent and find only Noah and Morgan inside. The remaining injured men have been sent to recover in their own quarters with Noah periodically making his rounds to tend to them along with the women.

Noah applies a salve to Morgan's injured eye and spares me a subtle bow as I enter. "I was wondering when you'd show up. It's been three days since your last visit," he tells me.

"Who is it?" Morgan asks out loud.

"Aye. I've been busy," I say. "It's Tho-" I begin before Morgan cuts me off.

"I know your voice, Tommy. Good to see you. Well...hear you. Gotta get used to that," he says awkwardly.

I give him a smile anyways and lean sit down on the cot across from him. "How's the hand?" he asks as Noah continues to tend to his eye.

"Hurts but I think it's healing like it's supposed to. Lots of drainage. Claire did a good job," I answer. I haven't mentioned to him my battered face and how my left eye was swollen shut for two days or about the dark bruising around my throat. My superficial injuries are nothing compared to him not being completely blind.

"Aye, she's a good lass. They all are. That Darla has a tender touch and feeds me each day," he mentions.

We sit in silence as Noah still works on him. After wrapping his head in a fresh bandage he calls for one of the women and Beth Ann enters the tent, her cheeks flushed red with the heat outside. "Would you take Morgan to the tables and let him rest in the shade?" he asks her. She gives a nod and steals a glance at me and I get the feeling she has something she'd like to say to me but refrains. Taking Morgan's hand, she guides him outside leaving Noah and I alone.

"Poor bastard," he says, shaking his head. "Last night he asked Gale to kill him. Said life isn't worth living anymore."

My brows furrow. "Was he drunk?" Noah nods. "Must've been the ale talking. He's got too much grit to really mean that. He hardly batted an eye when he lost the first one. No pun intended."

Noah sighs and turns, digging in his bag for the needed items to tend to wounds. "I agree. But even still, what kind of quality of life is he going to have now? He's a soldier. He has no source of income, no known trades."

"You know I'll take care of him, Noah," I almost spit. To think otherwise is an insult.

Noah tilts his head and smirks. "I know that Thomas. But you know how he is. He won't feel right taking it, he has too much pride. He wants to earn his coin, not accept handouts. The way he sees it he might as well be a beggar in Fogbottom," he says before adding, "No pun intended."

I chuckle once and watch as he pulls a vile from his bag along with clean rags and a salve. "Is that really necessary?" I ask, eying the gray paste. It's putrid smelling and the last time he applied it I had washed it off within an hour.

Noah shrugs and walks over to me. "It'll help with infection but if you're just going to wash it off again I'll save it for someone who actually appreciates my efforts," he says lightly.

Pursing my lips, I nod–giving in–and hold out my hand. He carefully unwraps the bandage and takes my hand in his, examining it closely. He then dabs a fresh cloth with his vile and begins dabbing at it. "So, how are you? Up here I mean," he says, tapping his temple with his index finger. "I'm a healer, not a head doctor but I know enough to know when someone isn't right."

Looking away from him, I allow my gaze to fall downwards and fall onto his dusty boots. "I'm well enough."

Noah wets the cloth again and continues to dab, this time less gentle and I wince. "Claire has been asking about you, worried I'd assume. And she has every right to be, but that's just my opinion."

I look up at him and raise a brow. "And why's that?"

Noah pauses and shares a long look. "Because the Thomas I know has always been happy-go-lucky and would have an aneurysm if twenty minutes went by without cracking a joke. I could go on," he says. Shaking my head, I shrug. That version of myself is buried down somewhere I feel. Ever since I left Paevia after visiting my father, I haven't felt like my old self–I suppose with the weight of mine and Paevia's future barring down on my shoulders there hasn't been much time for such things.

"I miss him," Noah says. "Many of us do. We hate seeing you so stressed out. So...sullen. I understand better than most the toll it takes on you when someone's death is your responsibility. You don't think there's been times when a man has died on my table because I didn't move quickly enough? Because I didn't stock up and ran out of medicine? Because I cut something I shouldn't have?"

I remain silent, taking his words into account. It had never dawned on me that patients of his had lost their lives because of his negligence, especially since he is one of the best healers I know.

"You cannot right every wrong, Tom," he says softly.

My throat starts to close up and I swallow hard, shutting my eyes. "I can try," I state, though I do not believe my words. "You don't understand. This war was different. It was based on my actions alone. Warren would still be here if I would've just married that girl. All of them would" I say, shaking my head in disgust for my own self. Suddenly a sharp pain shoots down my hand and I wince, jerking it back.

Noah smirks and I can tell he did it on purpose. "Sorry. Figured I'd snap you out of your guilty delusions. You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself." He then uncorks the glass bottle with the gray salve and begins to put a small coat over my sutures. "As much as I hate to say it–as king, you're going to feel guilty for every war to come. Someone is going to come along and want what Paevia has. Men will die and you'll think to yourself 'if only.'. It's one of the many difficulties for someone in your position, one that so few think about. I do not envy those such as yourself."

Tilting my head back to give space between myself and the stench of the salve, I shake my head. "You'd be a better king than me. I wish I could just give the blasted crown away and be done with it."

Noah chuckles deeply before wiping his hand off on a damp cloth and popping the cork back into the jar. "You couldn't give that thing to me even if you paid me," he jokes before patting me on my shoulder.  "Your father was proud of you until he took his final breath," he reminds me. "He had full knowledge of the reason behind the war with Bulga and still backed you. Try to remember that."

Pressing my lips together I nod, taking heed of his words and allow him to tend to my injuries. When he's done, I thank him and step out feeling a shift on my outlook hoping that it's not only momentary.

My gaze falls on the sky first and I note that in an hour or so it will be evening. Searching around camp to see where my hands will be most helpful, I spot a group of men heading to the horses loaded with supplies--undoubtedly packing up what they can on wagons and mounts. Jogging to catch up, I reach out and relive a soldier that struggles to carry two large duffle bags, a bed roll, and two satchels. Taking a duffle bag and the two satchels, I sling them over my shoulder. He grins and thanks me and together walk to the stables.

For the next two hours I saddle saddle horses and help load our wagons, earning a nasty splinter as I lift a crate. By the time the sun has begun to set we're only about half way done and I decide to work into the night. At some point James rings the supper bell in the distance and half of the men take a break to eat. Not ready to face Claire just yet I work another half hour until my stomach begins to cramp from hunger.

As I make the walk back I try to dig the splinter out with my teeth, cursing under my breath as I do. Finally I am able to retrieve it and spit it out before wiping my hand off on my trousers. Drawing closer I notice two things: the usual long line for food has thinned out and that only Claire serves food. Stepping in line, I steal a glance at her, taking note of how her green dress compliments her strawberry tinted hair which is pulled up into a loose bun. Scooping up a bowl of soup and handing it to a man, he says something and her nose scrunches up as she laughs.

A small wave of jealousy passes through me before I remind myself that really, I've no right to feel such a way--especially since I've all but avoided her the past seven days. Stepping forward, the line moves quickly and she soon notices my presence. Her cautious eyes linger on mine and she offers a half-smile before passing out another bowl.  When it's my turn, I give her a nod. "Just you tonight, huh? You deserve a raise," I joke, trying to ease the tension between us.

She says nothing and instead hands me my bowl. Looking down I see that the broth is a darK brown and stringy meat and potatoes swirl around inside.

"Looks tasty," I offer.

"They did a good job with it this time," she says cooly. When I stand around for a few seconds trying to think of something else to say she dismisses me. "Well if I can't get you anything else I hope you enjoy your evening," she adds, handing a bowl to the final man behind me.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I walk away but pause and turn to open my mouth to invite her to spend time with me tonight but refrain. My feet do an awkward shuffle as I decide against it and she watches me, amused.  Muttering to myself I find an empty seat at Rory's table which consists of Gale, Morgan, Nik, James, and of course Beth Ann.

Taking a seat next to Rory, he gives me a hearty slap on the back. "Well well well, look who finally decided to come out of his quarters and eat with the rest of us," Rory says. The scent of ale is abundant on his breath and Gale shoots Rory a look.

"Is that really necessary?" he reprimands in his husky voice.

Rory gives a shrug and sips the last bit of his soup. "I'm only vocalizing what we were all thinking," he states with a shrug.

"Vocalizing," Gale grumbles, clearly annoyed with Rory's choice of vocabulary.

"Anyways," I say in hopes to change the subject. "Make sure everyone is up at dawn. We have a long journey ahead of us." I then lift my bowl and begin to sip back my supper, enjoying the salty taste.

"Still thinking of splitting up to drop off the women?" Nik asks, taking a long drag on his tankard.

I take a break from soup and shake my head no. "I think it might be best to only take a handful of men. That way when we're done we can meet back up at a rendezvous point rather than drag everyone another six days than necessary. Besides that's a waste of much needed supplies. I say when the time comes the men make camp outside of Foxford since it's a large enough kingdom to stock any needed supplies and one that is neutral. From there we drop off the women in Riverton  and we meet back up outside of Foxford."

Morgan nods his head. "Easy enough," he says and reaches out for his tankard, failing to find it. Hating to watch him struggle I place it in his hand and he frowns. "I've told you lot not to help me, damn it." He then tosses back the rest of the contents and stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Now someone take me to a fire."

James volunteers and leads him away by the arm.

"You'd know that if you've been around," Rory says in a low voice glancing at me, which rubs me the wrong way.

Sitting down my soup, I turn to look at my brother. "Rory I swear if you keep it up I'll knock you on your arse--I don't care how drunk you are."

His eyes darken and he roughly slams his ale on the table, splashing myself and Beth Ann in the process but he's too drunk to take much notice. Before things can escalate Nik cuts in. "Knock it off Rory. We all deal with grief differently. You know that better than anyone," he says, a subtle reminder of how he reacted over our father not many days ago. "It's only been a week since we've buried our friends. Our brothers. Cousins. Men we didn't even know but still gave their life for Paevia. And if you allow yourself some time to reflect on it rather than constantly numb yourself with ale and--" he pauses before shooting a look at Beth Ann, "Other vices then maybe you'd have some compassion."

My brother stares at Nik with an unrecognizable expression which only causes Nik to return his glare. He lost Max, Warren, and Sven too just like the rest of us. Even though he and Sven bickered a lot of the times they were still close, and these past few days have been rough on him.

Knowing my brother all too well I have a feeling he's debating on whether to knock Nik out or not.

"Go to bed, Rory. That's an order," I say, daring him to defy me.

His head jarks towards mine and clenches his jaw. "I don't think I will.

"Damn it Rory for once in your life do as I say!" I say raising my voice, feeling my face heat up. Heads at other tables turn towards us, curious.

Beth Ann places a small hand on his shoulder and brushes her blonde hair back. "Let's go to bed. I don't feel so well." It's obvious she's trying to diffuse the situation so when my brother agrees and stands up I give her a nod of thanks. She usher's him away and together they make their way to his quarters.

As they disappear into the darkness, I feel my shoulders relax and I give my head a shake, wishing that Warren were here to talk to. "For fuck sake why does he have to be so difficult when he drinks? If Warren were here he'd have cut him off the night after we won." I take a breath and run my fingers through my damp hair which is wet from sweat.

"He'll get there," Nik tells me, his brown eyes glistening. "We all will, aye?" he asks, looking between Gale and myself.

"Aye," we both say in unison. For the rest of supper I enjoy my soup alone, promising Gale and Nik that I would meet them by one of the fires later on after I've had a few ales. Once I finish my soup, I drop the bowl off into the large bucket with the others and thank three men that have decided to help wash up. "Any idea where Claire went?" I ask them out of curiosity. They shake their heads no.

Thanking them anyways, I walk over to the ale and pour me a tankard, tossing it back without taking a break for breathing. It had been a while since I'd been drunk, and feeling in a somewhat better headspace I decide there's no better night than the last night at camp. Pouring myself a second and grabbing an extra in my free hand,  I take my time drinking it and walk over to a circle of men that includes Markus. He's eating now which is an improvement and takes the second tankard in my hand when I offer it to him.

"Thanks Thomas," I say, gulping half of it down.

I nod and together we listen to the other's conversations in silence. When they part, I turn to him and place a hand on his shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze. "I truly am sorry  for your loss. Channing was truly a remarkable human," I offer.

Markus grins sadly and wipes a tear from his eye. "Aye. He was. I'm gonna miss that pain in the arse of mine. At least he's up there mom I suppose."

Not knowing what else I could say to console him, I nod my head. "If you or your family ever need anything please feel free to come see me, yeah?"

Markus nods and bites his lower lip. "I think I'm going to leave Paevia for a while and travel a bit. Me and Channing were always talking about seeing what the world had to offer. I heard up North there are gorgeous mountain tops and lakes as clear as glass."

Having seen these sights once before, I give a chuckle. "Aye. It's beautiful up there. The women are sights to see themselves," I joke. He chuckles and turns on his heel before stopping and turning towards me once more. "You really are going to be a great king Thomas," he says and then makes his way towards his tent before I can respond.

With a sigh, I glance down at my tankard and note that it's halfway empty and toss the remaining contents back before letting out a belch. A man passing notices and lets out a laugh before refilling my mug with his own ale before heading to bed himself. I raise it up in thanks and make my way to seek out Nik and Gale by one of the many fires.

I pass by two, then three, searching for their faces but cannot seem to locate them. The ale has begun to work and my head feels fuzzy. Some men at the third fire invite me over and I feel obligated to join, so I stand around and chat for a few minutes before moving onto the fourth. My hazy eyes search once again and I'm about to move onto the fifth when I notice her. Claire sits cross legged next to Darla, their small frames swaying to whatever song a many plays on a lute. My feet move before I tell them to and I make my way over to the two women. Darla notices me first and quickly nudges Claire, nodding in my direction. I watch as her face changes--first dropping but then is replaced with a soft smile.

"May I join you two?" I ask as I reach them.

Claire scoots over and pats the empty spot beside her on a blanket that the two of them share. I carefully step over their legs and sit down making sure to leave a few inches between us. We sit and watch the lute player finish his song and clap when he is finished. Another then arrives, this time with a fiddle and the two begin playing a joyful tune. Many men stand up to dance and when one who's  dark complexion matches Darla's offers her his hand, she takes it with a smile. Pulling her up the two dance a jig leaving Claire and I alone. Biting my bottom lip, I take another swig of my ale and decide it's best to talk about the elephant in the room. "I'm sorry for avoiding you. It has nothing to do with you if it makes things easier."

I glance at her sideways and see her nod. "I know," she says, watching Darla and the soldier dance. He swings her in a circle and she lets out a trill of laughter.

"I didn't mean to hurt you in any way or make you feel unimportant," I continue. "Every war has an effect on a person and every death that comes with it but this one was somehow different and I didn't know how to handle my emotions. I still don't...but I'm trying." I look at her once again to find her gaze has shifted on me as she listens. "Ignoring those around me, isolating myself, drinking," I say, giving my tankard a wiggle, "They're only temporary solutions to a permanent problem." Darla laughs loudly once more as she is stolen away from her partner and a young man named Bastian now twirls her. Tossing back the remaining of my ale, I lick my lips before wiping my mouth off on my sleeve. "I suppose things could've been worse so I should be grateful. More men could've died. Rory could have been killed. Or me, and all those that gave their lives for Paevia would've died in vain. Then who knows what the future would've held for those back home," I say.

Claire puts a small hand on my bicep, gaining my attention. "I think you're not giving yourself the credit that's due, nor the mercy you deserve." Tilting my head, I raise a brow and try to decipher what she means but I must look confused so she explains. "Not only have you admitted to your faults behind the reason for this war, but you still had thousands of men to pledge their allegiance to you and were willing to still fight knowing of said reason. They respect you, love you even. The Bulgins were forced to be here and most likely feared Lugos. And between you and me I'm sure more than a few are relieved that he's dead. Now they have the chance for change."

Although this is true, their king still sits on his throne as Lugos was only his nephew and general of his army. He'll elect a new general and they'll still be forced to join. Regardless, I decide it's best not to bring this up and let Claire finish.

"Having said that, you've encountered great loss within the past few weeks. Your father, your best friend, your men..." she pauses. "I think you should cut yourself some slack. If isolating yourself for a while is what you need to begin to process and heal then that is what you should do. Don't worry about me or anyone else here."

Hearing her say these words lifts a weight off my shoulders and I feel the corners of my mouth turn upwards. How can someone still be so kind and selfless to someone who's been nothing but rude? Giving my head a shake, I look away. "Your grace is..." I trail, thinking of the right choice of words. "Remarkable," I say, glancing back at her. Her usual pale skin looks warm in the fire light but even then I notice the flush in her cheeks. "How?"

She gives her slender shoulders a shrug. "I don't know. I think a lot of it is due to my religion perhaps? I don't know," she repeats.

"If becoming a Christian means they'll earn such attributes then perhaps I should convert," I say half jokingly.

Claire gives a swift shake of her head. "Hardly. Most that are saved later in life remain much the same. Perhaps they'll be more thoughtful or giving, but generally they only confess their sins when they remember too and drink less than they did in the past. Converting will not automatically make someone a better person, that happens within."

"Huh," I hum, thinking this over. I begin to wonder if I were to actually convert how much would I change internally.Would I only become more aware of my actions? Debate what I should and shouldn't do? Develop a better moral compass than the one I have now?

"You know, Warren came to Darla the eve before the war and asked her how to be saved. She prayed with him," Clare mentions. "I'm not trying to use that to get you to become a Christian, only for a sense of peace since you know where his soul is. He's at peace."

Slowly, I nod my head and we sit in a comfortable silence as the night goes on. Darla eventually rejoins us breathlessly and the two girls chat away. As they do, I lean back and prop myself up on my elbows as I think about what Claire's so-called heaven may be like, and of Warren and the others who prayed with Darla that night. The ale has left me feeling relaxed and eventually I lay my head down resting my hands on my chest. My knees are bent and they sway back and forth with the music and I only sit up when it ends.

"I'm going to head to bed," Darla says with a yawn. "We've got a busy day tomorrow. You coming, Claire?" she asks, eying her friend. Claire glances at me and then back to her friend before nodding. She stands up and brushes her dress off before offering a soft smile.

"There's a passage in Ecclesiastes that I hope offers you comfort," she begins. "For everything there is a season...a time to be born, and a time to die..a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted... a time to kill, and a time to heal...a time to weep, and a time to laugh... a time to mourn...and a time to cast away stones," she recounts. "These are such times. Allow yourself to grieve and do not blame yourself, Thomas. Okay?"

Looking up, I purse my lips and nod then watch her as she makes her way to her tent with the other women. I want to call out to her and invite her to stay with me our last night here, but it feels wrong--especially since in a matter of time I'll be dropping her off at the monastery.

Sighing, I stand up and grab the blanket shaking it off then realizing it belonged to one of the girls. Deciding it's best to return now rather than in the chaos of tomorrow morning, I begin to walk to their tent. As I do, it grows dark and the only light comes from scattered torches. Reaching the tent I'm about to call out to Claire when I hear my name whispered from inside.

"Thomas can offer you the life you deserve, Claire. You're very much capable of leaving the church and still remaining a woman of faith," Darla says.

"It's not about what he can offer me!" Claire whispers back harshly. "I made vows, Darla. We all did or have you forgotten like Beth Ann?" she asks rhetorically. "I'm sorry," she apologizes. "I know that living with the men and experiencing what the world can offer us has been eye opening. I'd much rather not have to stare at the same four walls my entire life or eat bread and porridge every day and scrub Father Anthony's undergarments," she says and the two giggle before growing serious again. "But that's not my decision any longer. I made my decision when I made those vows."

I feel wrong eavesdropping on their conversation and I'm about to turn away when Darla speaks up. "But you love him," she whispers. Claire doesn't respond so she continues. "And he's a good man. Regardless of who he is, you cannot deny that. We've had our fair share of men come through the abbey throughout our lives have we not? How many of them made advancements towards us? How many spoke up when one made crude jokes at our expense? How many protected us when the last vermin came through and pillaged our home? They laughed as they took what they wanted and didn't care which of us cried out, which of us pleaded. Which of us-" she stops suddenly and gives herself a moment before continuing. "My point is, is that Thomas and many others here would lay down their lives for us if it came to it. And they've proved it when those men came into our camp on our way here from Ekon."

Claire sighs in the darkness. "I know Darla, and I'm grateful that they care enough to protect us, but don't forget that Max brought that down on us and we just happened to be in the middle of it," she says in a hushed tone. "I'm thankful for every moment we've shared with these men--the good and the bad. They've given me a better outlook on life and allowed me to see that not all men are monsters. I'm thankful to have gotten the opportunity to know Thomas in the way that I have...to know what love is like. Do I wish things could be different?" she asks herself. "Sure. I'm only human. But as I said, I made my decision long ago. A vow is a vow, not something said only for your mind to be changed with a shift in the wind."

Love?

"Claire you can't be serious-" Darla chastises, but Claire cuts her off.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm not going to Paevia like you and Beth Ann."

My eyes widen at the news, shocked to hear that some of the women planned on returning to Paevia and taking up home.

"Okay fine. I'll drop it. But can we talk about the fact that he spoke to you tonight? I know it's been hard with him being distant."

"Yeah it has, but who could blame him? I heard talks of what they all experienced out in the field and tended to the injuries to match their gruesome stories. I can't imagine what he saw..." she trails. "You heard how Lugos met his end, right?"

"Of course," Darla says. "I heard the both of them were near death until Thomas got the upper hand," I hear Claire says. There is a pause before she speaks again. "Drats, my blanket!"

Cursing under my breath I look around wildly trying to think of a plan.

"Leave it. Knowing Thomas he probably grabbed it for you already and will drop it off by morning," Darla says. The girls then giggle and begin to talk about the journey home. Not wanting to be caught lingering outside of their tent, I circle back  as if I hadn't just been eavesdropping and clear my throat when I arrive at their tent for the second time.

"Claire? Are you awake?" I call out.

"See I told you," I hear Darla whisper.

"Yes I'll be out in a moment," Claire replies from within and the two giggle once more. Claire then ducks outside of their tent, now changed into only a nightgown. Even in the dim light, I can make out her small curves under the pale white fabric.

"You forgot your blanket," I say, holding it up. "Figured you might want it back."

She takes it in one hand and grins. "Thank you, I forgot all about it," she lies.

I'm about to turn on my heel before I blurt out, "Do you want to join me? In my quarters, I mean."

Her lips press together and she looks back at her tent as if searching for an answer. When she slowly nods I can't help but feel that she feels forced and my shoulders drop. "You don't have to, you know. I just thought it would be nice to have the company. Your company specifically." I feel as if I'm grasping at straws, doing anything I can to keep her.

She lets out a slow exhale. "It's not that I don't want to, but do you think it's a good idea? Given in the not so distant future we'll be saying goodbye? I feel like we're only going to make it harder on ourselves," she explains.

I refrain from snorting, immediately feeling both stupid and embarrassed. "Aye. Sorry to have asked," I reply curtly. As I turn she reaches for my hand stopping me.

"That wasn't me saying no," she begins, but I pull my hand back and give my head a shake.

"You didn't have to, goodnight." I then walk briskly back to my own quarters as many emotions swirl around. Perhaps I was a fool to have asked Claire to join me, especially after what I just overheard—but what's done is done. As I pass a case of ale I grab a bottle and carry it back to my tent before uncorking the top and taking it to bed.