The fire in the infirmary hearth crackled with a low, content hum, sending soft, wavering shadows dancing across the rough stone walls of the remote outpost. Beyond the sturdy shutters, the wind roared through the towering pines of Vjerniskógur like an enraged beast denied its feast, while the snowfall murmured against the windows in delicate, persistent whispers, its icy fingers tapping softly but insistently.
Aelric stood near the heavy wooden door, his armor only partly fastened as if in mid-transformation, and his travel cloak neatly folded under one arm. Though the crown had yet to grace his brow, its impending weight had already embedded itself within him—a deep, unyielding presence, as palpable as the pressure of snow upon his shoulders.
Across the room, Lorianthel sat upright in the dim light of his bed, the left side of his body recently swathed in fresh, pristine bandages. A thick cloak of wolf-fur draped regally about his shoulders, and despite the pallor of his face, his eyes shone with a piercing clarity that defied the haze of pain, glinting with a fierce determination.
"I should be riding with you," he murmured, his voice rough and measured, each word falling like a clump of gravel in slow motion.
Aelric's reply was gentle but firm, "You can barely muster the strength to cross this room."
"I've endured worse with far less," Lorianthel shot back, his tone edged with a stubborn pride.
"And precisely because of that, I'm not affording you the luxury of choice," Aelric retorted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Lorianthel's gaze sharpened as he arched an eyebrow. "Pulling rank already?"
"I'm the king. I get to pull whatever strings I deem necessary," Aelric replied with a quiet authority.
"Preferably not a muscle," Jingfei interjected from the far side of the room, where she was meticulously arranging a tray laden with neatly wrapped bandages, a pot of steaming tea, and a rugged loaf of bread that appeared to have weathered countless battles.
Aelric's smile deepened slightly before he crossed the room and extended a sealed scroll toward Lorianthel. The scroll made its way into the commander's unsteady hands, Lorianthel's battered fingers unrolling it with painstaking caution. His brow furrowed further, his lips set in a thin line as he read aloud, "Commander of the Vjerniskógur Outpost. You always did have a delightfully twisted sense of gratitude."
"I bestowed upon you the north," Aelric explained calmly. "No one will hold the line better than you."
"And now I'm saddled with her?" Lorianthel said, tilting his head in a wry manner toward Jingfei, who glanced up from her inspection of a jar filled with herbal salve as though she had been momentarily distracted from a tedious task.
"She volunteered," Aelric clarified.
"I was guilted," Jingfei interjected dryly. "Subtly. Over and over."
With a dismissive shrug, Aelric added, "She's here to keep you alive. And, frankly, she's the only one who can put you in your place without flinching."
"That, too, is true," Jingfei agreed, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her tea. "Besides, someone must keep you from challenging the very snow itself."
"I did that once," Lorianthel recalled, his tone a mix of mischief and nostalgia.
"You insulted it first," Jingfei countered sharply.
"That roaring storm insulted me," he retorted with a wry grin.
Before Aelric could offer a retort, the door creaked open to admit a gust of pine-scented air mingled with a flurry of delicate snowflakes. Hattori and Honzo stepped inside—each clad in polished armor that gleamed in the flickering light, their expressions attempting to mask their amusement with earnest dignity. Honzo's smirk was hard to miss.
Aelric gestured gracefully toward them. "And these two jesters are coming along with me."
"Excuse you," Honzo declared mock-offended, pausing dramatically before adding, "we are now officially—the King's personal guards."
Hattori offered a quiet nod, his arms folded in a calm yet assertive manner. "Honestly, he isn't wrong. You signed off on this."
"I was under duress," Aelric muttered, a hint of playful exasperation in his voice.
"Too late for that," Honzo grinned broadly. "We are bound by sacred royal decree. You're stuck with us now."
Lorianthel raised an arch eyebrow at the exchange. "Personal guards? For your safety?"
"I'm opting for optimism over sheer competence," Aelric replied with a soft chuckle. "Besides, I need someone to dramatically trip over rugs whenever I make an entrance at the throne room."
"You wound me deeply," Honzo exclaimed, clutching his chest theatrically.
"I'll handle the actual guarding," Hattori added in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.
"That certainly grants me a sliver of peace of mind," Aelric remarked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Their laughter, light and fleeting, filled the room momentarily—a buoyant sound cutting through the underlying heaviness of duty and fate. Yet as quickly as it had arrived, the laughter faded, replaced by a profound silence that spread like frost creeping over stone. The fire continued to snap quietly in the hearth, and beyond the outpost, the wind carried the somber, distant call of a horn—long, low, and full of portent.
Aelric then stepped forward again, his movements deliberate and measured. He clasped Lorianthel's hand with a quiet strength that spoke of deep loyalty and shared burdens. "You are the finest commander I have. Do not allow the wild forest to devour you whole."
Lorianthel met his gaze steadily, unflinching. "And you mustn't let the vicious court consume you."
Turning to Jingfei, Aelric's eyes softened. "Keep him from making any foolish decisions."
"I'll do my best," she conceded with a hint of dry humor. "But he's exceptionally slippery."
"Strategically evasive," Lorianthel added with a subtle nod of approval.
From the doorway, Honzo piped up once more, "Are we leaving or not? I already assured a stable boy that I'd outdrink a royal guard by sundown."
"Best not to keep your subjects waiting," Lorianthel replied with a roguish smirk.
Aelric lingered for a few heartbeats longer, committing each familiar face to memory—his oldest friends, now strewn about by the unpredictable hands of duty and destiny. With a final, resolute glance, he stepped out into the swirling flurry of snow. The icy cold struck him like a stern warning.
Hattori and Honzo quickly fell into step behind him, their boots crunching rhythmically on the frostbitten stones as the wind sliced through the air with sharp precision.
The path ahead promised a long and arduous journey.