#42557d ....|..... outfit ............... #b5c7eb ....|..... outfit ............... guard's barracks
Whispers and excitement had been rising as the dawn of the summer solstice grew closer. It was difficult to pass through the halls and not hear servants or nobles murmur about the various Lords and Ladies that would soon grace the Black Citadel. There had never been a time during King Rowan’s reign that all of the great houses were under the same roof, and before him it had still been centuries prior. It was unusual and all anyone in the valley was talking about. As the day crept closer even the royals began to stir within their chambers, restless from nerves or elation.
While others hasten about with growing anticipation, Declan’s roles and duties became more critical and dire. More nobles meant more people his guardsmen and himself had to protect. The King’s Guard had the largest and best trained personal guard in the ninefold. Some of the best men he had the pleasure of working alongside were under his command, but they were trained to look after a solitary royal family and patrol the city. Having to protect eight additional noble families while also putting his own family’s safety first and foremost was a daunting task.
At the peak of summer, even in the undercroft, the heat was palpable. Declan had removed his uniform earlier that day, no longer able to withstand the sweat that accumulated beneath the plate armor. His cloak and leathers were carefully laid across his bed, ready to be dawned in a moment’s notice. He sat at his writing table, hunched over a stack of parchments. His off white tunic clung to the damp skin of his back and was half undone to entice any breeze to slip beneath the collar and cool him. Dark brown locks were tied back with a strip of leather and stray hairs dangled freely before his face. A bead of sweat hugged the coil of a single curl, following its curve until it slipped free and landed on the piece of parchment in his hands with a quiet drip.
Declan had spent the past handful of hours pouring over every detail of his proposed schedule for the guard. No matter how many times he looked it over he felt like he was missing something or under preparing. It was singlehandedly the most important task that had befallen him since he was made Captain of the Guard. The pressure was suffocating and no amount of preparation seemed to put his nerves at ease. He had resigned to read over his pages for the countless time that day when there was a knock at his door.
A deep sigh rumbled in his chest as he discarded the papers onto his desk along with the quill that had been clutched in his right hand. Declan reclined back in his chair, running a hand over his sweat covered brow and down along his short coarse beard. "Come in," he instructed the visitor.
The metal ring handle rattled against the door as it was opened, wood creaking, and rusted hinges groaning in protest. Before him stood one of his guardsmen in full attire, no doubt burning like a furnace beneath his armor and leathers. "Apologies for the intrusion, Captain."
"No apologies necessary," Declan replied with a dismissive wave of his fingers. "What is it?"
The man reached up, grabbing ahold of his helmet and pulled it off with an exasperated grunt. His long blonde hair clung to his cheeks and forehead, skin glistening as wet streaks of sweat trickled down his neck. "Your bother—"
Declan sighed almost immediately as his head dipped to rest against his hand while his thumb and index finger started rubbing circles on his temples. "Fuck" he grumbled.
The guardsman cleared his throat before proceeding. "Your brother was supposed to have an audience with the Queen over an hour ago."
That was far less surprising news than he had expected. Their mother, no doubt, had plans to make the rounds to each of his siblings, ensuring they would be on their best behavior and secure prestigious marriages. It likely involved preening, grooming, and no lack of last minute lessons on manners and courting. But what he failed to see was how that information warranted his concern. Declan slowly looked up from beneath sweat lined brows, glancing at the guard over the top of his hand waiting for whatever additional information was being withheld.
The man adjusted his stance, knuckles going white as his grip around the hilt of his sword tightened, reluctant to speak. "We have… been unable to find him."
A heavy breath slipped from Declan’s nose as he sat upright in his chair. He remained pensive and quiet for a long moment before a tired laugh grew in his chest as he stood up. He had been so concerned that everything pertaining to the guard went without an incident that he overlooked the most unpredictable piece on the board… his brother. That was his mistake. He knew better than to have anyone but himself watching over him on the eve of an important event. The guardsmen try, but Dorian knew the citadel better than the back of his own hand. Him and Rhea had mastered the art of evading their overseers and slipping out of the castle before they reached ten years.
"Have you searched the caverns, servants’ quarters, and cellar?" he asked as he crossed his room to his bed where all his gear was laid out. Declan grabbed the leather belt that was laced through his sword’s sheath and started fastening it around his waist. It was too damn hot to wear his armor and leathers, and if he planned on traveling discreetly the last thing he needed to do was draw attention to himself by looking like a guard.
"We searched every inch of the citadel, even the secret passages. He is nowhere to be found."
Declan gave a resolute nod as he tightened the belt around his waist then carefully slid his sword into its sheath against his left hip. He crossed the room to the guard and placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. "I shall handle this, Robb. Go cool yourself in the Weave." He gave him one last reassuring squeeze and added, "Be sure to return before sun down."
He slipped past the man in the doorway and stepped out into the barracks. Numerous empty cots lined the room with bed clothes tossed about and trunks half open or overflowing with personal belongings. No one dared to burn a fire in the hearth given the heat, even the candles and torches were extinguished to aid in whatever comfort they could find. The room was empty, most of the men were on duty or out enjoying their last moments of freedom before the Lords arrived. Declan might have thought the room was barren if it weren’t for the faint sound of chiseling coming from the far side of the room.
The barracks were quiet save for the rhythmic scrape of steel against wood. The sound came slow and deliberate, each pass of the blade measured, as though the motion itself were a kind of prayer. Soleil, though none here called her that, sat at the edge of her bunk, shoulders drawn in, her head bowed slightly over the small disc of ashwood in her hands. The air hung thick and heavy with the heat of summer, dense enough to taste. Even the stones of the barrack walls seemed to sweat, their early morning chill long since driven out by the relentless sun.
Her crimson tunic clung to her skin, dark patches blooming where sweat had gathered beneath her arms and across her back. The fabric itched faintly against the bindings beneath, but she bore the discomfort as she bore all things—silently, with the grim patience of one who had chosen her path and would not turn from it. A single braid traced the line of her spine, intricate weaves from along the sides of her head twisted back to connect to it, a thread of order in the oppressive warmth, while smaller strands clung damply to her temples. The other men had complained loudly of the heat, swore oaths about dying before they’d don their armor again, but Lei only worked her knife, letting their absence grant her solitude as one by one they’d spilled out, looking to enjoy what they’d all claimed as their last few hours of freedom for some time.
Her corner of the barracks was immaculate. The cot, tight as a drum. Her sword, cleaned and oiled, resting within easy reach. Her armor carefully set aside, and a spare tunic folded neatly atop her trunk. Everything in its place, as though neatness itself might keep her secrets buried. Even the air felt ordered around her, still, reverent, save for that quiet scrape of steel and the faint rasp of her breath.
She turned the charm in her hands, the whorls of the wood catching faintly in the light that spilled through the slats of the window. She had chosen ash for its strength, its memory of fire. The runes she carved into it were small, intricate, old sigils she had learned at her sister’s knee before the weight of duty had turned their childhood games to lessons in obedience at the hands of their father. Symbols for warding, for courage, for freedom. Freedom most of all.
She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist, smearing a faint trace of grey sawdust across her temple. Her hands were calloused, steady. Each cut of the blade was clean, each curve precise. She could have carved blind and still known where to press. This was how she survived the waiting, the heat, the lies, the careful balancing act of being neither wholly herself nor wholly the man she pretended to be.
From the furthest side of the barracks, she heard the clang of a door, likely the Captain’s, and the soft murmur of voices—Declan’s, low and commanding, though she could not yet make out the words. She stilled for a moment, listening, the knife hovering just above the charm’s edge. There was always a faint hum of awareness in her when he was near, not fear, exactly, but vigilance. Declan saw too much, carried too much; he was the kind of man who noticed the cracks in others because he refused to have any of his own.
Lei’s gaze flicked toward the doorway, then back to her work. She did not move hastily, haste drew attention, but with quiet purpose, she kept carving, hoping to have the charm finished so she could fix it above her head whilst she slept tonight, to protect her dreams from sickly songs of home, especially since home was coming to her. Her fingers lingered over the wood for a moment as she brushed the tips of them over the rune for freedom, pressing against the smooth wood as if to draw a little strength from it.
The air shifted slightly as a stray breeze slithered through the window, barely enough to stir the sweat on her skin. She closed her eyes, savoring it, pretending for one brief heartbeat that she could smell pine and a cold open sky instead of hot iron and men. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of approaching steps, posture straightening out on reflex at the sight of Declan.
"Good afternoon, Captain." The words left her in a tone that never rose above what was necessary, low, composed, shaped carefully in the back of her throat. Soleil had learned long ago to round the edges of her voice, to temper its natural lilt until it carried the quiet weight of a man’s. It was not a growl nor a forced rumble, but something gentler—steady, deliberate, and respectful, like a calm river running deep beneath ice.
Lei did not shout, not even when steel clashed and the air burned with taunts during training. Her command came through presence, not volume. Every word was measured, polite without being deferential, threaded with the kind of quiet conviction that drew others to listen. Even now, sitting before Declan in the thick heat of the barracks, her voice carried that same calm, unshaken, composed, the sound of someone who had weathered much and would weather more without ever needing to raise her voice.
Declan slowly approached with soft and quiet steps, as if too much noise would disrupt the rhythmic scratching of the blade against wood. He halted a few feet away from the young man’s bed, letting his weight shift to his locked left leg. His hands rested atop one another upon the pommel of his sword as he studied the craftsman’s work, slow and methodical, born of patience and reverence not necessity. There was a careful attentiveness to each stroke, detail carved with every movement, purposeful and learned. It was peaceful among the growing chaos that was merely hours away from falling upon their heads. Moments like that made Declan wish he had a hobby of his own to pass the time, something to busy his hands and calm his mind.
"Afternoon," he replied with a calm ease that contrasted the urgency of his task. His voice was deep and rugged. Every syllable was spoken with a soothing articulation of a man that put meaning behind each word he spoke. There was a practiced patience to how he carried himself as if learned from years of practice. His presence had a way of demanding obeisance, not through cruelty or superiority, but a mutual respect from which he saw others as equals regardless of station.
"What are you making?" he asked with a gentle curiosity, leaning over slightly to try and catch a better glimpse of the etchings. Declan’s gaze shifted from the piece of wood clutched in calloused hands to the young man palming the token and knife. It wasn’t often that he got time with his men outside the chain of command. He knew each of them by name, face, and presence but not by personality or their soul.
Lei was one of the men that stood out among the crowd quite quickly, demanding attention in the way he fervently tried to remain unassuming. He heeded every command without argument or complaint, exemplary in every facet. There was something out of the ordinary with him, be it the way he kept to himself, not joining in on the fellow camaraderie among the men, or perhaps it was more simple, a need to prove that he was just as much a knight as the others regardless of stature. Declan knew there was something driving the man beyond duty and honor, but Lei kept that truth hidden. He might have been observant and perceptive, but Declan never pressed extra attention where it was clearly undesired. All that concerned him was how well his men performed, secrets were inconsequential.
Declan had approached like a storm that had learned patience. His stride was quiet, respectful even, but he carried the heat with him, as if the sun had followed him into barracks. Lei’s gaze caught—briefly, involuntarily, on the sheen of sweat tracing the lines of his throat. His off-white tunic clung damply to his torso, outlining the firm planes of muscle beneath, the strength he carried without ceremony. His skin glistened faintly in the dim light, as though the heat itself had tried to claim him and failed.
He’d halted a few feet from her cot, hands coming to rest atop the pommel of his sword. The gesture was deceptively simple, yet carried the quiet authority that always clung to him. His voice, when it came, was deep, steady, and shaped with intention. Even now, with sweat gathering beneath her bindings and trickling along her ribs, the sound of his voice seemed to hum through the heavy air, steady as a drumbeat and twice as grounding. She straightened further, averting her gaze.
For hours, her world had narrowed to the etch of runes, the familiar grain of the wood against her skin, and the slow, rooting rhythm of her work. Now, though, Lei allowed herself a moment to detach from her goal, the subtle aches from training resurfaced to the forefront of her mind, the bruise that curled around her left bicep throbbing in the oppressive heat, fingers cramped from carving and whittling for so long. After a moment, Lei lifted her gaze once more, light eyes soft but unreadable, then inclined her head in a small, respectful bow.
"A charm, Ser," Lei answered, her voice low and shaped carefully, each word carrying that quiet gentleness she never seemed to lose. She turned the disk of wood so he could see its half-finished face, the runes curling around the outer ring like tiny, coiled veins of meaning. "It’s from an old tale in Ironcrag, one my kin used to whisper around the hearth long winters ago, when I was a child."
Her thumb brushed the smooth center of the charm, a gesture almost tender.
"These runes are meant to ward off ill dreams, to keep one’s mind guarded while they sleep. Each one means something different. Protection, safety, freedom." Her finger tapped each rune as she listed them, lingering longest on the symbol for freedom. A faint smile touched the corner of her mouth, fleeting but real. "Even the type of wood chosen has its own meaning, but… it’s just superstitions, of course. Nothing more. But my eldest brother taught me how to carve them when I was small. It… reminds me of home."
Declan listened to his explanation of the runes with an intense attentiveness that showed he hung on every word. He attempted to commit their meanings to memory and welcomed the insight of a far-off land he had never visited, if only to better understand one of his men. The mention of warding off unwanted dreams and the weighted silence around ‘freedom’ caught his attention, steering his gaze from the runes up to the subtle smile that grew upon his face.
"Missing the comforts of home?" he asked the question in a way that was more of an observation, rather than a comment requiring an answer. Having spent his entire life within the Vale he could not relate personally to that type of longing, but he saw it in his father… When he thought no one was watching. As a boy he often caught his father in the library, beneath the light of a candle, reading tales from his homeland. The only reason he knew so much about Stonefallow was from those nights where his father pulled him into his lap and shared old folktales or fond memories growing up alongside those who would have been Declan’s aunt and uncle.
"A cool draught helps on the night's sleep eludes me," Declan offered his own remedy. Rest was a boon he rarely got the opportunity to enjoy. While he often attempted, recently his mind knotted with the burden of the coming months. There were so many moving pieces that it felt impossible to be prepared for everything, yet that was his job, security and preparation… He could rest after the winter solstice.
"If you find yourself struggling to sleep, it is likely that I am awake." He nodded his head in the direction of his Captain’s quarters. The movement bounced the loose curls that framed his face and sent a trickle of sweat down his temple, disappearing beneath his thick beard. "Friendly conversation can ease an addled mind." Declan shrugged his shoulders in a casual way one would in the company of a companion, not a man that looked to him as a leader. "If I am up late I’m likely in need of a distraction," he added in a hushed tone like he was sharing a little known secret that most were not privy to.
Lei stilled.
Not the careful, intentional stillness she offered most men—this one was sharper, quieter, as if Declan’s words had brushed against something tender and half-healed beneath her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat for the briefest moment, unnoticed by most, but in the silence between them it felt loud as a mis-struck blade.
Home.
The word pressed against her like cold ocean water, the kind that swallowed sound and light alike. Memories rose unbidden, her father’s shadow stretching long across the hearth, his voice a low thunder she could never outrun, the harsh sting of discipline disguised as duty, the way the walls of Ironcrag had felt less like stone and more like a tide pulling her under. The pressure of it—heavy, suffocating, was as familiar as it was unwelcome.
For a heartbeat, the dim barracks felt as deep and dark as the sea.
Lei lowered her gaze to the charm. The runes blurred at the edges, not with tears, she never allowed that, but with the effort of holding her expression steady. When she lifted her head once more, the light in her eyes had dimmed to something muted, shuttered. Like a crystal beneath the water, unable to shine brightly even in the face of the sun when it was covered by rolling waves. "No, Ser," she said softly, her voice steady but thinner around the edges, hollowed like a reed pipe. "I do not… miss home."
A beat of silence. Then a breath, shallow but claiming itself. "Only the weather. The cold winds. The fog on the peaks, not exactly comforts, but…." A small smile tugged at her mouth, practiced and polite, but it never touched her eyes. "The rest… I am content to leave behind."
Lei smoothed her thumb over the charm again, grounding herself in the familiar curve of the wood, letting her tone soften back into its usual quiet steadiness. That had been a lie, another one to add to the steadily growing pile, but it was a lie for herself this time and no one else. "But your offer is kind, Captain. And appreciated. If troubled dreams find me, I will remember." She inclined her head in a gesture of respect, measured, controlled, as always, yet an undercurrent of sincerity lingered beneath it.
Declan nodded his head in sympathetic understanding. He knew from his own experiences, and from tales told by his men, that no home was perfect. Every family had their discord. It manifested itself differently from man to man, but in the end they were always left wanting. That had proven to be a common denominator among the King’s Guard, a desire for more. Be that to prove themselves, continue a legacy, or in Lei’s circumstance, seek a home and purpose somewhere new.
"The guard will always be a home and family to those who choose it," Declan replied with a calm and confident assurance. "However, you could have brought some of your Northern wind down with you," he jested with a soft levity that contrasted his gruff voice. "I would forsake my oath if that meant I could lie in snow for but a moment." The corners of his mouth curved upward, bright and warm like a beacon through fog against the dark coarseness of his beard.
Soleil hadn’t expected to laugh. Truly, her body did it before her mind could catch up, a startled sound, soft and bright and shaped in a way she never allowed herself around the men. It slipped out like a drop of water breaking loose from high stone, lighter than it had any right to be. The moment it left her, she froze, breath halting, horror prickling along her spine.
Too light. Too warm. Too much like her and not the man she pretended to be.
But the sound was already hanging between them, delicate as frost. She swallowed once, easing her expression back into the steadier lines Lei wore like armor. "Forgive me, Captain," she murmured, voice dipping into that deeper, controlled register again. "Your oath remains intact, for I fear I cannot conjure snow on command. If I could, the barracks would be far colder than my fellow guardsmen would prefer."
There was a faint curve on her lips still—small, quiet, but real. Embers of that unguarded moment lingered, and she could feel the warmth of it like a betrayal against her ribs. Lei was not careless. She kept herself apart by design, a shadow among steel and men, easier to protect the lie when she offered nothing else. In close to a year among the Guard, she had never gifted them a laugh. Not once. It had been safer that way, cleaner, simpler, less dangerous. Yet Declan’s jest had peeled something loose in her chest.
She dipped her head slightly, a gesture of respect, and a moment to collect herself.
Declan’s face brightened, unguarded and jovial as he matched Lei’s laugh with one of his own, deep, hearty, and from the chest. The contrast in their tones was stark and might have drawn attention if there were others around, but it was just them. The Captain noticed. He always noticed the small things often overlooked or off kilter. There had been miniscule, missable moments only a silent watcher could have observed, subtle shifts in posture, the intentional isolation, or an indescribable softness that most of the men seemed to lack. They posed questions he didn’t have the answers to, but more importantly the only answers he needed were if he was worth his salt and if he was loyal. Lei hadn’t proven himself otherwise, so the hidden truths didn’t matter.
He couldn’t recall the last time he laughed, loud, genuine, and weightless. Everything had been bearing down on him so heavily that Declan had forgotten to try and hold fast to the quieter moments, if nothing else but to keep him from going mad. Life as the guard Captain rarely left him the opportunity to enjoy the finer things like a good book, a colorful sunrise, or a comforting laugh with a friend. His duties had taken him away from the things he used to take for granted, like friendships. Aside from Rhea, he was rarely graced with the presence of those he held dear. He found out all too late that a change in title was capable of altering how others saw him as well. But one quiet moment of true laughter let him be just Declan... even if it was fleeting.
"To hell with the other men," he jested with a disregarding wave of his hand and another chuckle. "I am of the North. I do not keep this beard for the pleasure of others. I would bathe in an arctic lake if it meant I’d be rid of this incessant heat." Declan’s smile remained, curving into his cheeks and squinting his eyes. It was charming in an unassuming and humble way where the man had no thought or care for how he looked. "Winter is in my blood… I melt in the summer, if that wasn’t already obvious," he added, taking a slight step back and holding out his arms to make an example of his damp tunic that clung to the contours of his frame.
Lei’s smile deepened before she could stop it—small, lopsided, and startlingly warm. One cheek dimpled, a rare and unguarded flicker of expression that felt almost like stepping into sunlight after too long in shadow. She didn’t laugh again, she didn’t dare. But her shoulders betrayed her anyway, trembling in a barely-there shake as she pressed her lips together, trying to smother the sound rising in her chest.
"Captain," she managed at last, voice softer, tinged with humor she no longer bothered to hide. Her eyes shimmered with it, pale and bright, their edges crinkling. "If the summer has declared war on you, then rest assured you do not suffer alone." Soleil tipped her head, letting her posture relax just enough to feel like truth rather than performance. The heat of the evening pressed against her skin, and for once, she did not conceal the discomfort.
"Let me tell you a secret," she continued, low and conspiratorial, the curve of her grin widening just a fraction more. "I have been melting since the moment I arrived."
Her shoulders rose in a faint shrug that was wry, resigned, undeniably amused. It felt nice, to let go of the farce for only a moment, to let some of the bits and pieces that she’d been stifling for months slip through. "Ironcrag prepares its own for many things, but it does not teach one how to survive a more Southern summer." She glanced meaningfully at his damp tunic, then at her own collar where warmth pooled unpleasantly beneath, darkening the red fabric. "If it brings you comfort, just know you are not the only one melting in this cursed heat."
Her dimple flashed again, quick as a heartbeat. And though she kept her voice steady, Lei felt that same dangerous flutter in her ribs, the kind laughter had almost unmasked once already.
"Perhaps we deserve a small delay past the Weave on our journey," Declan added with a soft smile. The thought of running his fingers through the cool water that passed through the valley from the mountains sounded far more enticing than wrangling his brother. While the latter had to be done, that didn’t mean he had to be miserable in the process.
She weighed the charm in her hand for a moment, the blade glinting faintly in the dim barracks light. They’d never spoken quite like this before, it made Soleil feel as if her bones were itching beneath her skin, discomfort a thick blanket of hot adding to the already rancid weight of tangible heat in the air. She studied Declan—his posture, the heaviness behind his eyes, the tension carried in the set of his shoulders rather than his voice. The Captain was a man carved from granite and oathbinding, but even stone showed strain beneath enough weight.
Her tone remained quiet, yet direct.
"Is all well, Captain?" It was better to be direct, or the anticipation singing through her blood would make her fingers tremble, it would give away more than Lei was willing to show to anyone, let alone Declan. "If you require something of me, say the word. I am at your service." The words tasted like ash in her mouth, she’d rather he left, immediately, actually. But she’d made oaths, and that came before her own personal discomfort as the weight of her lies bore down around her throat like an executioner's blade.
A wary smile tugged at the corner of Declan’s lips showing a small glimpse at the exhaustion that rested heavily upon his shoulders and sunk into his soul. "My brother is missing… again." His fingers lightly tapped against the hilt of his sword as a deep laugh fell from his lips. "Not that we are surprised." He shrugged his shoulders with a slight tilt of his head as if it was unavoidable. "I must go into the valley and retrieve him. I intended on going alone, but noticed you on my way out."
Declan’s gaze fell to the rune that was keeping Lei occupied and in that moment he should have left the man to his own interests rather than aiding him in a Prince hunt. His smile tightened as he took a half step back with a resolute nod. "Forgive me." He pressed his hand to his chest in a remorseful gesture. "He is my burden." After adjusting how his sword rested on his hip, Declan gave the man a final nod then turned toward the door.
Lei rose the moment Declan turned, the motion fluid despite the stiffness burning in her muscles. The charm was laid carefully upon her bunk, left like a small promise waiting to be finished. Her fingers found the knife beside it, still warm from her grip, and slid it into the sheath at her waist with a quiet, practiced click. Duty steadied her hands even when emotion threatened to loosen them.
Her sword followed, lifted with both reverence and inevitability, the familiar weight settling against her hip like a second spine. Steel never asked questions. Steel never cared for the truth behind her name.
"Captain." Her voice remained low, but there was a new thread woven through it—firm, certain, unshaking. The kind of tone she used only when she spoke an oath. Lei stepped forward, posture straight despite the crushing heat, despite the bruise blooming along her arm, despite the ache of a childhood that still clung like saltwater to her bones. A bead of sweat slid from her temple, cutting a clear trail through the wood ash that had been smeared there. "Your burdens are mine."
A statement, not a courtesy. Truth echoed in the four simple words, because it was something that Soleil believed wholeheartedly. Joining the King’s Guard hadn’t been a way to prove herself, it wasn’t a half baked dream she’d cooked up when the snow hid light from her windows as a child. It had been a burning desire of duty and honor, something women were told they were not meant to feel. Lei felt it, though, just as surely as she felt her own heartbeat. When she’d taken her oaths, she’d put her entire soul into the acceptance that this was her new life, and that her future and goals were now aligned with the desires and whims of the royal family.
"As my captain, what weighs upon you must, in turn, weigh upon me." She held his gaze, light eyes steady, expression unreadable but resolute. Beneath her ribs, her heartbeat thudded like a warning drum, but outwardly she was carved from quiet certainty. "If the Prince is missing, then let me assist you in bringing him home. I would be…"
A breath, soft as snowfall. A crack in her armor, as it were, as a thread of uncertainty wove into her spine. Was she overstepping? Soleil had never been one to back down though, and she would not start now.
"...honored, if you would allow it." Her hand came to rest lightly on the pommel of her sword, more a gesture of readiness than threat.
The Captain stopped in his tracks, pivoting where he stood to turn and face Lei. To his dismay, he was faced with the young man already on his feet, ready and willing, preparing his steel. Declan had been with the guard for several years, a handful of those as the Captain, yet it still always took him by surprise how steadfast his men were. Of course he could have managed on his own just fine. Pulling a drunken Dorian out of a brothel wasn’t a complicated task, but even as a man often surrounded by others, he found himself more lonely than not. The thought of a companion through the tedious journey did ease the burden, if only moderately.
"If only you are certain. I do not wish to rob you of your last moments of peace," Declan replied, offering the man an easy escape from duty and honor. While all his men had taken oaths to the kingdom, the crown, and to him, he did not expect them to drop everything and follow him into town on behalf of his lecherous brother. No one would be able to pry Dorian from the bosom of a prostitute other than himself, so Lei’s assistance was not necessary… But appreciated.
Lei dipped her head in a small, steadying nod, one that held no hesitation, no reluctance, only a quiet certainty carved from the same place as her calm. "Peace is a strange thing, Captain," she said, stepping toward him with an ease that belied the steel she had been readying moments before. Her voice remained soft, but there was a weight beneath it, something old, patient, shaped by the mountains she’d come from. "Most think it is the absence of trouble. But endless winter teaches differently."
She paused at his side, eyes catching the lamplight—cool, pale, serene, like moonlit snow. "Storms howl. Winds cut through every layer they can find. Ice cracks underfoot. Yet even there, in all that noise and bite, you still learn to breathe… to listen." Her hands settled calmly at the line of her belt, as though she had all the time in the world. "You find your peace in the midst of it, not outside of it." Lei’s gaze softened, a faint, fleeting warmth threading through her usually even expression.
"I will have my moments of quiet, even tonight. Chaos does not steal them from me." She nodded toward the entrance, posture relaxed. "Lead the way."
"While my blood may be Northern, I was born in the South… It is all I know," Declan replied with a slow nod. "I envy you. To be able to find peace amid the chaos is a gift I was not taught. Peace is a rarity that often alludes me and when I find it the world weighs far too heavy for me to enjoy it." A soft, contemplative sigh escaped his lips adding to the hot and dense air that already surrounded them. He sat in that moment of silence for a beat or two before his smile slowly returned. "You might have to teach me your ways."
Declan rapped his thumbs against the pommel one last time before conceding to Lei’s persistence and his own selfish desire for company. "Very well. We travel as civilians to avoid drawing unwarranted attention. Leave your uniform behind, and outside of the Citadel, call me Declan… not Captain." With one final nod, Declan’s right hand fell to his side, left hand resting on his sword’s hilt as he turned and made his way for the door.
Lei blinked once, slow and startled, like a bird roused from stillness.
Declan. Not Captain. Not ser. A prince’s blood, a commander’s authority, offered to her as though it were nothing more than a traveling cloak shrugged from his shoulders. Her stomach dipped. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.
"Yes, ser–" The word snapped out of her by habit, crisp and obedient. Then she faltered, the correction catching in her throat like a stone, irritation with herself fluttering in her chest. "…err—Declan."
His name felt too intimate on her tongue, too bare. As if she had peeled off something protective without meaning to. Soleil forced her spine straight, nodding sharply in hopes it would disguise the tremor that fluttered just beneath her skin. He turned toward the door, and she was grateful, deeply grateful, that his back was to her. Heat already clung to the barracks like a second skin, thick and humid, but now it worked in her favor. The burning flush that swept unbidden across her cheeks, down her throat, and bloomed across the back of her neck could be blamed entirely on the sweltering air. Not on the shock of hearing him offer her the familiarity of his name. Not on the strange, unwelcome warmth curling low in her chest at the thought of walking beside him disguised as civilians.
She swallowed, steadying herself before following.
Hand brushing the steady weight of her sword, she stepped after him, boots whispering over stone. As she trailed him through the doorway, she could not keep her eyes entirely from him, broad shoulders framed by the distant sunlight, confidence in every step. This would, she realized darkly, be a test to her cover in every way that mattered, but that realization did not stop Lei from following him from the castle and into the valley. Rather, the idea of the challenge made her heart flutter in the same manner battle did, filling her with exhilaration.
While others hasten about with growing anticipation, Declan’s roles and duties became more critical and dire. More nobles meant more people his guardsmen and himself had to protect. The King’s Guard had the largest and best trained personal guard in the ninefold. Some of the best men he had the pleasure of working alongside were under his command, but they were trained to look after a solitary royal family and patrol the city. Having to protect eight additional noble families while also putting his own family’s safety first and foremost was a daunting task.
At the peak of summer, even in the undercroft, the heat was palpable. Declan had removed his uniform earlier that day, no longer able to withstand the sweat that accumulated beneath the plate armor. His cloak and leathers were carefully laid across his bed, ready to be dawned in a moment’s notice. He sat at his writing table, hunched over a stack of parchments. His off white tunic clung to the damp skin of his back and was half undone to entice any breeze to slip beneath the collar and cool him. Dark brown locks were tied back with a strip of leather and stray hairs dangled freely before his face. A bead of sweat hugged the coil of a single curl, following its curve until it slipped free and landed on the piece of parchment in his hands with a quiet drip.
Declan had spent the past handful of hours pouring over every detail of his proposed schedule for the guard. No matter how many times he looked it over he felt like he was missing something or under preparing. It was singlehandedly the most important task that had befallen him since he was made Captain of the Guard. The pressure was suffocating and no amount of preparation seemed to put his nerves at ease. He had resigned to read over his pages for the countless time that day when there was a knock at his door.
A deep sigh rumbled in his chest as he discarded the papers onto his desk along with the quill that had been clutched in his right hand. Declan reclined back in his chair, running a hand over his sweat covered brow and down along his short coarse beard. "Come in," he instructed the visitor.
The metal ring handle rattled against the door as it was opened, wood creaking, and rusted hinges groaning in protest. Before him stood one of his guardsmen in full attire, no doubt burning like a furnace beneath his armor and leathers. "Apologies for the intrusion, Captain."
"No apologies necessary," Declan replied with a dismissive wave of his fingers. "What is it?"
The man reached up, grabbing ahold of his helmet and pulled it off with an exasperated grunt. His long blonde hair clung to his cheeks and forehead, skin glistening as wet streaks of sweat trickled down his neck. "Your bother—"
Declan sighed almost immediately as his head dipped to rest against his hand while his thumb and index finger started rubbing circles on his temples. "Fuck" he grumbled.
The guardsman cleared his throat before proceeding. "Your brother was supposed to have an audience with the Queen over an hour ago."
That was far less surprising news than he had expected. Their mother, no doubt, had plans to make the rounds to each of his siblings, ensuring they would be on their best behavior and secure prestigious marriages. It likely involved preening, grooming, and no lack of last minute lessons on manners and courting. But what he failed to see was how that information warranted his concern. Declan slowly looked up from beneath sweat lined brows, glancing at the guard over the top of his hand waiting for whatever additional information was being withheld.
The man adjusted his stance, knuckles going white as his grip around the hilt of his sword tightened, reluctant to speak. "We have… been unable to find him."
A heavy breath slipped from Declan’s nose as he sat upright in his chair. He remained pensive and quiet for a long moment before a tired laugh grew in his chest as he stood up. He had been so concerned that everything pertaining to the guard went without an incident that he overlooked the most unpredictable piece on the board… his brother. That was his mistake. He knew better than to have anyone but himself watching over him on the eve of an important event. The guardsmen try, but Dorian knew the citadel better than the back of his own hand. Him and Rhea had mastered the art of evading their overseers and slipping out of the castle before they reached ten years.
"Have you searched the caverns, servants’ quarters, and cellar?" he asked as he crossed his room to his bed where all his gear was laid out. Declan grabbed the leather belt that was laced through his sword’s sheath and started fastening it around his waist. It was too damn hot to wear his armor and leathers, and if he planned on traveling discreetly the last thing he needed to do was draw attention to himself by looking like a guard.
"We searched every inch of the citadel, even the secret passages. He is nowhere to be found."
Declan gave a resolute nod as he tightened the belt around his waist then carefully slid his sword into its sheath against his left hip. He crossed the room to the guard and placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. "I shall handle this, Robb. Go cool yourself in the Weave." He gave him one last reassuring squeeze and added, "Be sure to return before sun down."
He slipped past the man in the doorway and stepped out into the barracks. Numerous empty cots lined the room with bed clothes tossed about and trunks half open or overflowing with personal belongings. No one dared to burn a fire in the hearth given the heat, even the candles and torches were extinguished to aid in whatever comfort they could find. The room was empty, most of the men were on duty or out enjoying their last moments of freedom before the Lords arrived. Declan might have thought the room was barren if it weren’t for the faint sound of chiseling coming from the far side of the room.
The barracks were quiet save for the rhythmic scrape of steel against wood. The sound came slow and deliberate, each pass of the blade measured, as though the motion itself were a kind of prayer. Soleil, though none here called her that, sat at the edge of her bunk, shoulders drawn in, her head bowed slightly over the small disc of ashwood in her hands. The air hung thick and heavy with the heat of summer, dense enough to taste. Even the stones of the barrack walls seemed to sweat, their early morning chill long since driven out by the relentless sun.
Her crimson tunic clung to her skin, dark patches blooming where sweat had gathered beneath her arms and across her back. The fabric itched faintly against the bindings beneath, but she bore the discomfort as she bore all things—silently, with the grim patience of one who had chosen her path and would not turn from it. A single braid traced the line of her spine, intricate weaves from along the sides of her head twisted back to connect to it, a thread of order in the oppressive warmth, while smaller strands clung damply to her temples. The other men had complained loudly of the heat, swore oaths about dying before they’d don their armor again, but Lei only worked her knife, letting their absence grant her solitude as one by one they’d spilled out, looking to enjoy what they’d all claimed as their last few hours of freedom for some time.
Her corner of the barracks was immaculate. The cot, tight as a drum. Her sword, cleaned and oiled, resting within easy reach. Her armor carefully set aside, and a spare tunic folded neatly atop her trunk. Everything in its place, as though neatness itself might keep her secrets buried. Even the air felt ordered around her, still, reverent, save for that quiet scrape of steel and the faint rasp of her breath.
She turned the charm in her hands, the whorls of the wood catching faintly in the light that spilled through the slats of the window. She had chosen ash for its strength, its memory of fire. The runes she carved into it were small, intricate, old sigils she had learned at her sister’s knee before the weight of duty had turned their childhood games to lessons in obedience at the hands of their father. Symbols for warding, for courage, for freedom. Freedom most of all.
She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist, smearing a faint trace of grey sawdust across her temple. Her hands were calloused, steady. Each cut of the blade was clean, each curve precise. She could have carved blind and still known where to press. This was how she survived the waiting, the heat, the lies, the careful balancing act of being neither wholly herself nor wholly the man she pretended to be.
From the furthest side of the barracks, she heard the clang of a door, likely the Captain’s, and the soft murmur of voices—Declan’s, low and commanding, though she could not yet make out the words. She stilled for a moment, listening, the knife hovering just above the charm’s edge. There was always a faint hum of awareness in her when he was near, not fear, exactly, but vigilance. Declan saw too much, carried too much; he was the kind of man who noticed the cracks in others because he refused to have any of his own.
Lei’s gaze flicked toward the doorway, then back to her work. She did not move hastily, haste drew attention, but with quiet purpose, she kept carving, hoping to have the charm finished so she could fix it above her head whilst she slept tonight, to protect her dreams from sickly songs of home, especially since home was coming to her. Her fingers lingered over the wood for a moment as she brushed the tips of them over the rune for freedom, pressing against the smooth wood as if to draw a little strength from it.
The air shifted slightly as a stray breeze slithered through the window, barely enough to stir the sweat on her skin. She closed her eyes, savoring it, pretending for one brief heartbeat that she could smell pine and a cold open sky instead of hot iron and men. Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of approaching steps, posture straightening out on reflex at the sight of Declan.
"Good afternoon, Captain." The words left her in a tone that never rose above what was necessary, low, composed, shaped carefully in the back of her throat. Soleil had learned long ago to round the edges of her voice, to temper its natural lilt until it carried the quiet weight of a man’s. It was not a growl nor a forced rumble, but something gentler—steady, deliberate, and respectful, like a calm river running deep beneath ice.
Lei did not shout, not even when steel clashed and the air burned with taunts during training. Her command came through presence, not volume. Every word was measured, polite without being deferential, threaded with the kind of quiet conviction that drew others to listen. Even now, sitting before Declan in the thick heat of the barracks, her voice carried that same calm, unshaken, composed, the sound of someone who had weathered much and would weather more without ever needing to raise her voice.
Declan slowly approached with soft and quiet steps, as if too much noise would disrupt the rhythmic scratching of the blade against wood. He halted a few feet away from the young man’s bed, letting his weight shift to his locked left leg. His hands rested atop one another upon the pommel of his sword as he studied the craftsman’s work, slow and methodical, born of patience and reverence not necessity. There was a careful attentiveness to each stroke, detail carved with every movement, purposeful and learned. It was peaceful among the growing chaos that was merely hours away from falling upon their heads. Moments like that made Declan wish he had a hobby of his own to pass the time, something to busy his hands and calm his mind.
"Afternoon," he replied with a calm ease that contrasted the urgency of his task. His voice was deep and rugged. Every syllable was spoken with a soothing articulation of a man that put meaning behind each word he spoke. There was a practiced patience to how he carried himself as if learned from years of practice. His presence had a way of demanding obeisance, not through cruelty or superiority, but a mutual respect from which he saw others as equals regardless of station.
"What are you making?" he asked with a gentle curiosity, leaning over slightly to try and catch a better glimpse of the etchings. Declan’s gaze shifted from the piece of wood clutched in calloused hands to the young man palming the token and knife. It wasn’t often that he got time with his men outside the chain of command. He knew each of them by name, face, and presence but not by personality or their soul.
Lei was one of the men that stood out among the crowd quite quickly, demanding attention in the way he fervently tried to remain unassuming. He heeded every command without argument or complaint, exemplary in every facet. There was something out of the ordinary with him, be it the way he kept to himself, not joining in on the fellow camaraderie among the men, or perhaps it was more simple, a need to prove that he was just as much a knight as the others regardless of stature. Declan knew there was something driving the man beyond duty and honor, but Lei kept that truth hidden. He might have been observant and perceptive, but Declan never pressed extra attention where it was clearly undesired. All that concerned him was how well his men performed, secrets were inconsequential.
Declan had approached like a storm that had learned patience. His stride was quiet, respectful even, but he carried the heat with him, as if the sun had followed him into barracks. Lei’s gaze caught—briefly, involuntarily, on the sheen of sweat tracing the lines of his throat. His off-white tunic clung damply to his torso, outlining the firm planes of muscle beneath, the strength he carried without ceremony. His skin glistened faintly in the dim light, as though the heat itself had tried to claim him and failed.
He’d halted a few feet from her cot, hands coming to rest atop the pommel of his sword. The gesture was deceptively simple, yet carried the quiet authority that always clung to him. His voice, when it came, was deep, steady, and shaped with intention. Even now, with sweat gathering beneath her bindings and trickling along her ribs, the sound of his voice seemed to hum through the heavy air, steady as a drumbeat and twice as grounding. She straightened further, averting her gaze.
For hours, her world had narrowed to the etch of runes, the familiar grain of the wood against her skin, and the slow, rooting rhythm of her work. Now, though, Lei allowed herself a moment to detach from her goal, the subtle aches from training resurfaced to the forefront of her mind, the bruise that curled around her left bicep throbbing in the oppressive heat, fingers cramped from carving and whittling for so long. After a moment, Lei lifted her gaze once more, light eyes soft but unreadable, then inclined her head in a small, respectful bow.
"A charm, Ser," Lei answered, her voice low and shaped carefully, each word carrying that quiet gentleness she never seemed to lose. She turned the disk of wood so he could see its half-finished face, the runes curling around the outer ring like tiny, coiled veins of meaning. "It’s from an old tale in Ironcrag, one my kin used to whisper around the hearth long winters ago, when I was a child."
Her thumb brushed the smooth center of the charm, a gesture almost tender.
"These runes are meant to ward off ill dreams, to keep one’s mind guarded while they sleep. Each one means something different. Protection, safety, freedom." Her finger tapped each rune as she listed them, lingering longest on the symbol for freedom. A faint smile touched the corner of her mouth, fleeting but real. "Even the type of wood chosen has its own meaning, but… it’s just superstitions, of course. Nothing more. But my eldest brother taught me how to carve them when I was small. It… reminds me of home."
Declan listened to his explanation of the runes with an intense attentiveness that showed he hung on every word. He attempted to commit their meanings to memory and welcomed the insight of a far-off land he had never visited, if only to better understand one of his men. The mention of warding off unwanted dreams and the weighted silence around ‘freedom’ caught his attention, steering his gaze from the runes up to the subtle smile that grew upon his face.
"Missing the comforts of home?" he asked the question in a way that was more of an observation, rather than a comment requiring an answer. Having spent his entire life within the Vale he could not relate personally to that type of longing, but he saw it in his father… When he thought no one was watching. As a boy he often caught his father in the library, beneath the light of a candle, reading tales from his homeland. The only reason he knew so much about Stonefallow was from those nights where his father pulled him into his lap and shared old folktales or fond memories growing up alongside those who would have been Declan’s aunt and uncle.
"A cool draught helps on the night's sleep eludes me," Declan offered his own remedy. Rest was a boon he rarely got the opportunity to enjoy. While he often attempted, recently his mind knotted with the burden of the coming months. There were so many moving pieces that it felt impossible to be prepared for everything, yet that was his job, security and preparation… He could rest after the winter solstice.
"If you find yourself struggling to sleep, it is likely that I am awake." He nodded his head in the direction of his Captain’s quarters. The movement bounced the loose curls that framed his face and sent a trickle of sweat down his temple, disappearing beneath his thick beard. "Friendly conversation can ease an addled mind." Declan shrugged his shoulders in a casual way one would in the company of a companion, not a man that looked to him as a leader. "If I am up late I’m likely in need of a distraction," he added in a hushed tone like he was sharing a little known secret that most were not privy to.
Lei stilled.
Not the careful, intentional stillness she offered most men—this one was sharper, quieter, as if Declan’s words had brushed against something tender and half-healed beneath her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat for the briefest moment, unnoticed by most, but in the silence between them it felt loud as a mis-struck blade.
Home.
The word pressed against her like cold ocean water, the kind that swallowed sound and light alike. Memories rose unbidden, her father’s shadow stretching long across the hearth, his voice a low thunder she could never outrun, the harsh sting of discipline disguised as duty, the way the walls of Ironcrag had felt less like stone and more like a tide pulling her under. The pressure of it—heavy, suffocating, was as familiar as it was unwelcome.
For a heartbeat, the dim barracks felt as deep and dark as the sea.
Lei lowered her gaze to the charm. The runes blurred at the edges, not with tears, she never allowed that, but with the effort of holding her expression steady. When she lifted her head once more, the light in her eyes had dimmed to something muted, shuttered. Like a crystal beneath the water, unable to shine brightly even in the face of the sun when it was covered by rolling waves. "No, Ser," she said softly, her voice steady but thinner around the edges, hollowed like a reed pipe. "I do not… miss home."
A beat of silence. Then a breath, shallow but claiming itself. "Only the weather. The cold winds. The fog on the peaks, not exactly comforts, but…." A small smile tugged at her mouth, practiced and polite, but it never touched her eyes. "The rest… I am content to leave behind."
Lei smoothed her thumb over the charm again, grounding herself in the familiar curve of the wood, letting her tone soften back into its usual quiet steadiness. That had been a lie, another one to add to the steadily growing pile, but it was a lie for herself this time and no one else. "But your offer is kind, Captain. And appreciated. If troubled dreams find me, I will remember." She inclined her head in a gesture of respect, measured, controlled, as always, yet an undercurrent of sincerity lingered beneath it.
Declan nodded his head in sympathetic understanding. He knew from his own experiences, and from tales told by his men, that no home was perfect. Every family had their discord. It manifested itself differently from man to man, but in the end they were always left wanting. That had proven to be a common denominator among the King’s Guard, a desire for more. Be that to prove themselves, continue a legacy, or in Lei’s circumstance, seek a home and purpose somewhere new.
"The guard will always be a home and family to those who choose it," Declan replied with a calm and confident assurance. "However, you could have brought some of your Northern wind down with you," he jested with a soft levity that contrasted his gruff voice. "I would forsake my oath if that meant I could lie in snow for but a moment." The corners of his mouth curved upward, bright and warm like a beacon through fog against the dark coarseness of his beard.
Soleil hadn’t expected to laugh. Truly, her body did it before her mind could catch up, a startled sound, soft and bright and shaped in a way she never allowed herself around the men. It slipped out like a drop of water breaking loose from high stone, lighter than it had any right to be. The moment it left her, she froze, breath halting, horror prickling along her spine.
Too light. Too warm. Too much like her and not the man she pretended to be.
But the sound was already hanging between them, delicate as frost. She swallowed once, easing her expression back into the steadier lines Lei wore like armor. "Forgive me, Captain," she murmured, voice dipping into that deeper, controlled register again. "Your oath remains intact, for I fear I cannot conjure snow on command. If I could, the barracks would be far colder than my fellow guardsmen would prefer."
There was a faint curve on her lips still—small, quiet, but real. Embers of that unguarded moment lingered, and she could feel the warmth of it like a betrayal against her ribs. Lei was not careless. She kept herself apart by design, a shadow among steel and men, easier to protect the lie when she offered nothing else. In close to a year among the Guard, she had never gifted them a laugh. Not once. It had been safer that way, cleaner, simpler, less dangerous. Yet Declan’s jest had peeled something loose in her chest.
She dipped her head slightly, a gesture of respect, and a moment to collect herself.
Declan’s face brightened, unguarded and jovial as he matched Lei’s laugh with one of his own, deep, hearty, and from the chest. The contrast in their tones was stark and might have drawn attention if there were others around, but it was just them. The Captain noticed. He always noticed the small things often overlooked or off kilter. There had been miniscule, missable moments only a silent watcher could have observed, subtle shifts in posture, the intentional isolation, or an indescribable softness that most of the men seemed to lack. They posed questions he didn’t have the answers to, but more importantly the only answers he needed were if he was worth his salt and if he was loyal. Lei hadn’t proven himself otherwise, so the hidden truths didn’t matter.
He couldn’t recall the last time he laughed, loud, genuine, and weightless. Everything had been bearing down on him so heavily that Declan had forgotten to try and hold fast to the quieter moments, if nothing else but to keep him from going mad. Life as the guard Captain rarely left him the opportunity to enjoy the finer things like a good book, a colorful sunrise, or a comforting laugh with a friend. His duties had taken him away from the things he used to take for granted, like friendships. Aside from Rhea, he was rarely graced with the presence of those he held dear. He found out all too late that a change in title was capable of altering how others saw him as well. But one quiet moment of true laughter let him be just Declan... even if it was fleeting.
"To hell with the other men," he jested with a disregarding wave of his hand and another chuckle. "I am of the North. I do not keep this beard for the pleasure of others. I would bathe in an arctic lake if it meant I’d be rid of this incessant heat." Declan’s smile remained, curving into his cheeks and squinting his eyes. It was charming in an unassuming and humble way where the man had no thought or care for how he looked. "Winter is in my blood… I melt in the summer, if that wasn’t already obvious," he added, taking a slight step back and holding out his arms to make an example of his damp tunic that clung to the contours of his frame.
Lei’s smile deepened before she could stop it—small, lopsided, and startlingly warm. One cheek dimpled, a rare and unguarded flicker of expression that felt almost like stepping into sunlight after too long in shadow. She didn’t laugh again, she didn’t dare. But her shoulders betrayed her anyway, trembling in a barely-there shake as she pressed her lips together, trying to smother the sound rising in her chest.
"Captain," she managed at last, voice softer, tinged with humor she no longer bothered to hide. Her eyes shimmered with it, pale and bright, their edges crinkling. "If the summer has declared war on you, then rest assured you do not suffer alone." Soleil tipped her head, letting her posture relax just enough to feel like truth rather than performance. The heat of the evening pressed against her skin, and for once, she did not conceal the discomfort.
"Let me tell you a secret," she continued, low and conspiratorial, the curve of her grin widening just a fraction more. "I have been melting since the moment I arrived."
Her shoulders rose in a faint shrug that was wry, resigned, undeniably amused. It felt nice, to let go of the farce for only a moment, to let some of the bits and pieces that she’d been stifling for months slip through. "Ironcrag prepares its own for many things, but it does not teach one how to survive a more Southern summer." She glanced meaningfully at his damp tunic, then at her own collar where warmth pooled unpleasantly beneath, darkening the red fabric. "If it brings you comfort, just know you are not the only one melting in this cursed heat."
Her dimple flashed again, quick as a heartbeat. And though she kept her voice steady, Lei felt that same dangerous flutter in her ribs, the kind laughter had almost unmasked once already.
"Perhaps we deserve a small delay past the Weave on our journey," Declan added with a soft smile. The thought of running his fingers through the cool water that passed through the valley from the mountains sounded far more enticing than wrangling his brother. While the latter had to be done, that didn’t mean he had to be miserable in the process.
She weighed the charm in her hand for a moment, the blade glinting faintly in the dim barracks light. They’d never spoken quite like this before, it made Soleil feel as if her bones were itching beneath her skin, discomfort a thick blanket of hot adding to the already rancid weight of tangible heat in the air. She studied Declan—his posture, the heaviness behind his eyes, the tension carried in the set of his shoulders rather than his voice. The Captain was a man carved from granite and oathbinding, but even stone showed strain beneath enough weight.
Her tone remained quiet, yet direct.
"Is all well, Captain?" It was better to be direct, or the anticipation singing through her blood would make her fingers tremble, it would give away more than Lei was willing to show to anyone, let alone Declan. "If you require something of me, say the word. I am at your service." The words tasted like ash in her mouth, she’d rather he left, immediately, actually. But she’d made oaths, and that came before her own personal discomfort as the weight of her lies bore down around her throat like an executioner's blade.
A wary smile tugged at the corner of Declan’s lips showing a small glimpse at the exhaustion that rested heavily upon his shoulders and sunk into his soul. "My brother is missing… again." His fingers lightly tapped against the hilt of his sword as a deep laugh fell from his lips. "Not that we are surprised." He shrugged his shoulders with a slight tilt of his head as if it was unavoidable. "I must go into the valley and retrieve him. I intended on going alone, but noticed you on my way out."
Declan’s gaze fell to the rune that was keeping Lei occupied and in that moment he should have left the man to his own interests rather than aiding him in a Prince hunt. His smile tightened as he took a half step back with a resolute nod. "Forgive me." He pressed his hand to his chest in a remorseful gesture. "He is my burden." After adjusting how his sword rested on his hip, Declan gave the man a final nod then turned toward the door.
Lei rose the moment Declan turned, the motion fluid despite the stiffness burning in her muscles. The charm was laid carefully upon her bunk, left like a small promise waiting to be finished. Her fingers found the knife beside it, still warm from her grip, and slid it into the sheath at her waist with a quiet, practiced click. Duty steadied her hands even when emotion threatened to loosen them.
Her sword followed, lifted with both reverence and inevitability, the familiar weight settling against her hip like a second spine. Steel never asked questions. Steel never cared for the truth behind her name.
"Captain." Her voice remained low, but there was a new thread woven through it—firm, certain, unshaking. The kind of tone she used only when she spoke an oath. Lei stepped forward, posture straight despite the crushing heat, despite the bruise blooming along her arm, despite the ache of a childhood that still clung like saltwater to her bones. A bead of sweat slid from her temple, cutting a clear trail through the wood ash that had been smeared there. "Your burdens are mine."
A statement, not a courtesy. Truth echoed in the four simple words, because it was something that Soleil believed wholeheartedly. Joining the King’s Guard hadn’t been a way to prove herself, it wasn’t a half baked dream she’d cooked up when the snow hid light from her windows as a child. It had been a burning desire of duty and honor, something women were told they were not meant to feel. Lei felt it, though, just as surely as she felt her own heartbeat. When she’d taken her oaths, she’d put her entire soul into the acceptance that this was her new life, and that her future and goals were now aligned with the desires and whims of the royal family.
"As my captain, what weighs upon you must, in turn, weigh upon me." She held his gaze, light eyes steady, expression unreadable but resolute. Beneath her ribs, her heartbeat thudded like a warning drum, but outwardly she was carved from quiet certainty. "If the Prince is missing, then let me assist you in bringing him home. I would be…"
A breath, soft as snowfall. A crack in her armor, as it were, as a thread of uncertainty wove into her spine. Was she overstepping? Soleil had never been one to back down though, and she would not start now.
"...honored, if you would allow it." Her hand came to rest lightly on the pommel of her sword, more a gesture of readiness than threat.
The Captain stopped in his tracks, pivoting where he stood to turn and face Lei. To his dismay, he was faced with the young man already on his feet, ready and willing, preparing his steel. Declan had been with the guard for several years, a handful of those as the Captain, yet it still always took him by surprise how steadfast his men were. Of course he could have managed on his own just fine. Pulling a drunken Dorian out of a brothel wasn’t a complicated task, but even as a man often surrounded by others, he found himself more lonely than not. The thought of a companion through the tedious journey did ease the burden, if only moderately.
"If only you are certain. I do not wish to rob you of your last moments of peace," Declan replied, offering the man an easy escape from duty and honor. While all his men had taken oaths to the kingdom, the crown, and to him, he did not expect them to drop everything and follow him into town on behalf of his lecherous brother. No one would be able to pry Dorian from the bosom of a prostitute other than himself, so Lei’s assistance was not necessary… But appreciated.
Lei dipped her head in a small, steadying nod, one that held no hesitation, no reluctance, only a quiet certainty carved from the same place as her calm. "Peace is a strange thing, Captain," she said, stepping toward him with an ease that belied the steel she had been readying moments before. Her voice remained soft, but there was a weight beneath it, something old, patient, shaped by the mountains she’d come from. "Most think it is the absence of trouble. But endless winter teaches differently."
She paused at his side, eyes catching the lamplight—cool, pale, serene, like moonlit snow. "Storms howl. Winds cut through every layer they can find. Ice cracks underfoot. Yet even there, in all that noise and bite, you still learn to breathe… to listen." Her hands settled calmly at the line of her belt, as though she had all the time in the world. "You find your peace in the midst of it, not outside of it." Lei’s gaze softened, a faint, fleeting warmth threading through her usually even expression.
"I will have my moments of quiet, even tonight. Chaos does not steal them from me." She nodded toward the entrance, posture relaxed. "Lead the way."
"While my blood may be Northern, I was born in the South… It is all I know," Declan replied with a slow nod. "I envy you. To be able to find peace amid the chaos is a gift I was not taught. Peace is a rarity that often alludes me and when I find it the world weighs far too heavy for me to enjoy it." A soft, contemplative sigh escaped his lips adding to the hot and dense air that already surrounded them. He sat in that moment of silence for a beat or two before his smile slowly returned. "You might have to teach me your ways."
Declan rapped his thumbs against the pommel one last time before conceding to Lei’s persistence and his own selfish desire for company. "Very well. We travel as civilians to avoid drawing unwarranted attention. Leave your uniform behind, and outside of the Citadel, call me Declan… not Captain." With one final nod, Declan’s right hand fell to his side, left hand resting on his sword’s hilt as he turned and made his way for the door.
Lei blinked once, slow and startled, like a bird roused from stillness.
Declan. Not Captain. Not ser. A prince’s blood, a commander’s authority, offered to her as though it were nothing more than a traveling cloak shrugged from his shoulders. Her stomach dipped. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe.
"Yes, ser–" The word snapped out of her by habit, crisp and obedient. Then she faltered, the correction catching in her throat like a stone, irritation with herself fluttering in her chest. "…err—Declan."
His name felt too intimate on her tongue, too bare. As if she had peeled off something protective without meaning to. Soleil forced her spine straight, nodding sharply in hopes it would disguise the tremor that fluttered just beneath her skin. He turned toward the door, and she was grateful, deeply grateful, that his back was to her. Heat already clung to the barracks like a second skin, thick and humid, but now it worked in her favor. The burning flush that swept unbidden across her cheeks, down her throat, and bloomed across the back of her neck could be blamed entirely on the sweltering air. Not on the shock of hearing him offer her the familiarity of his name. Not on the strange, unwelcome warmth curling low in her chest at the thought of walking beside him disguised as civilians.
She swallowed, steadying herself before following.
Hand brushing the steady weight of her sword, she stepped after him, boots whispering over stone. As she trailed him through the doorway, she could not keep her eyes entirely from him, broad shoulders framed by the distant sunlight, confidence in every step. This would, she realized darkly, be a test to her cover in every way that mattered, but that realization did not stop Lei from following him from the castle and into the valley. Rather, the idea of the challenge made her heart flutter in the same manner battle did, filling her with exhilaration.
interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... dorian & rhea ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani
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