Will

He awoke to a hazy, smothering half-darkness. For one dizzying moment he fought against it, then forced himself to lay flat, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

"Detect [Air]," he muttered, not in the mood to muster the concentration for mindcasting. "Detect [Life]."

The room rushed into existence, and Sam's outline materialized beside him at the same time that he was becoming aware of her warm touch. She was awake and lying on her side, looking right at him.

"Good morning," he groaned, trying to rub a headache out of his skull with the heel of his hand without much luck.

"Morning," Sam replied, a note of worry in her voice. "Did you have nightmares?"

Will sighed, let his hand drop. "Sorry. Was I making noise?"

"More like screaming, but yeah. I thought you were having a fit for a while. I almost called for Hacksaw."

"Well, I'm glad you didn't. It was just a dream."

She stroked his chest and brought herself closer until her chin was resting on his shoulder. "You should tell me about it. I want to be there for you."

"It's really not that interesting."

"Come on, man! Just tell me, and I can decide if it's interesting or not."

"Fine. Uh…" He let his perception haze over so he wouldn't have to look at her while he was trying to find his words. "I dreamt that a bunch of zombies or something were pulling on me, pinning me down. They dragged me into an open grave, then they poured dirt on top of me until it was all dark and I couldn't breathe. Then I woke up, but being blind and all I couldn't tell right away, so it freaked me out a bit. That's all."

"Duuude, that's actually horrific." She kissed his shoulder lightly. "Do you think it's because of, y'know… some of the stuff you saw while I was gone?"

"It's hard to say," Will lied. "But at the end of the day, it was just a dream. No use worrying about it now."

Of course, she couldn't know that his nightmare hasn't ended just because he was awake. He could still feel the wraiths picking at the back of his mind, whispering at the edge of hearing. The sword was somewhere nearby, taunting him with the awareness of its existence.

Not that I have any cause to complain. I asked for this, didn't I? Insisted on it, really.

Patting her on the head to signal that he wanted up, she took her weight off him so he could sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. He tried to work some feeling back into the stiff right one, wincing with the effort.

Sam was already on her feet, padding naked across the room. Tall, straight-backed, hard muscles somehow enhancing her feminine curves rather than subtracting from them. He wished he could have seen her properly, in full detail instead of some hazy reflection, but what he got was enough to make him forget all about the land of the dead. He briefly considered asking her to come back to bed with him and engage in some well-deserved recreational activities. Then again, he'd probably pop like a water balloon if he tried anything in his present state, and abandoned the idea with a rueful shake of his head.

"So, what are we doing today?" Sam asked. She fetched her star amulet from the side table and slipped the delicate chain around her neck, then began to dress.

Will wished he could understand the amulet's significance, uncover whatever secret it held. There was so much he needed to know, and not just about that. Pieces in a grand game slid around in his head, and the fact that he didn't know how they slotted together yet was making his fingers itch.

"I have some people I want to talk to around the keep," he said after giving some thought to their itinerary, "then I want to go to the farm for a while." Finally standing, he limped over to the basin standing on a dresser and splashed water on his face.

"I think that sounds like a good idea!" Sam slipped on an undershirt that looked a little tight on her. "It'll be a good place for you to rest and recover, away from all the commotion. But are you sure you've got enough strength back to make it that far?"

"I'll be fine," Will assured her, and finally levered himself to his feet.

"Hmm… We could get a horse or a wagon or something to take you there."

"I prefer going on foot."

"But—"

"I'm walking, Sam. That's what's going to happen." He turned to her; realized his face was all tensed up, and forced himself to relax. Softening his tone, he added: "I need to do this. I need to feel like I have some agency; that I'm not just some broken victim for others to dote on." He recalled Dawn with a shudder.

Sam mulled over his words while she slipped on some underwear. Then she said: "I understand," in a tone that surprisingly didn't sound too displeased. "I'd probably want the same thing if I was in your position."

Will got his tunic on, laced up the front, rolled up the left sleeve with some difficulty using his clumsy right hand. "And if I was in your position, I'd probably be complaining about how reckless you are."

"Truuuuuue," Sam hummed. "You do turn into a bit of a worrywart sometimes."

Will snorted. "Only with you."

"Hehe." Sam pulled on her trousers, jumped up and down to get them past her thighs. "Serene says you're crazy about me."

"Oh, no. You've discovered my secret. Whatever shall I do."

"Ugh, there's this one nerdy guy who is seriously obsessed with me—so embarrassing."

Will chuckled. "You know, I'm pretty sure the girl on the wrestling team has a thing for me. I've caught her staring at my ass a bunch of times when she thinks I'm not looking."

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"Hey! Too real!"

They finished getting dressed and headed out. Will could still only move at painfully slow hobble, but he thought his right leg was fractionally more limber than it had been the day before, and at this point he was glad for any progress he could get.

Mongrel was apparently out in the streets working construction with his chimps, so he didn't get any chance at a goodbye there. But Nyx was around, so he left a message with her instead. He also informed her about Serene's new apprenticeship position, and spoke with her briefly about general logistical concerns. It seemed she already knew about the impending food shortage and was planning on doing her part to ameliorate it, which made Will feel just a tiny bit better about the whole thing.

They met Buck in the great hall on the way out, holding court with some military officers, including the newly promoted Captain Jawara, who Will vaguely recognized as one of the volunteers under Saint Capitaine's charge during the fires. Buck asked for a minute of their time and took them aside, though he was mostly interested in Sam as he wanted to offer her an officer position in the militia.

After considering the offer for a few seconds, she turned it down. "For now, at least," she said. "I want to be there for Will until he gets better. After that, I really have no idea what I'll do."

Buck accepted her decision, and told her to let him know if she changed her mind.

Then out into the busy military compound with its rows of barracks, soldiers running like ants to and fro. He had one last errand to carry out there before they could head for the farm. A bit of asking around led him to the cluster of buildings and tents that had been set aside as a military clinic, and he asked Sam to wait outside as he entered. She was reluctant to let him go off on her own, but relented with a huff when he stood his ground.

Not in critical condition, Griff had been put into a back room and mostly forgotten. Griff had been fairly popular as garrison captain, but apparently no one liked him quite enough to risk disfavor with the new lord by associating with him openly. The staffers in the clinic seemed to treat him like some kind of dirty secret, but they grew somewhat hopeful when Will expressed his desire to see the man alone. Maybe they assumed he would finally finish him off and spare them the trouble of needing to keep him alive.

Griff barely looked up when Will entered, laid out on his cot like a carcass on a butcher's block. He was missing his whole right arm and his left leg had been amputated above the knee. Much of his torso was still wrapped in bandages. There was an overfull catheter bag strapped to his right thigh, with a thin tube snaking in past his underwear.

Will had never considered Griff to be a particularly happy-go-lucky fellow, not improved by the web of old facial scars forcing his expression into a permanent sneer. It did not seem like recent events had done anything to improve his outlook.

He chuckled tiredly as Will came into the room and closed the door behind him. "Of course it's you. I knew it was too much to hope for, that you had been put down like a dog somewhere."

"Sorry to disappoint," Will replied. There were no chairs in the room, so he simply went and stood by the bedside, looking down at the pitiful leftovers of a man. "How's life treating you these days?"

"Oh, fucking marvelous." Griff let his head fall back to look into the ceiling. "What are you doing here, One-Eye? Come to kill me? You'd be doing me a fucking favor at this point."

"Afraid not."

"Ah… You're looking to gloat, then. Well, go ahead. Get it out of your system."

"Here." Will held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'll empty your catheter, so don't snap me in half or anything."

Griff snorted, but offered no reply, which Will took as permission to proceed. He unhooked the heavy goatskin bladder and poured the old piss out the window, then hooked the empty one back in again. Griff looked pointedly away from him the whole time, maybe out of embarrassment, but suffered the indignity without moving a muscle.

"You getting anything grafted onto those pretty stumps of yours?" Will asked. He pulled the collar of his tunic down to show the stitching at his right shoulder. "I've had some work done myself, as it happens."

"They tried to stick a new leg on," Griff growled, scarred lip twitching, "I think just so they could send me packing and wipe their hands of me. But the graft didn't take, and they had to cut it back off, and now the site is ruined so apparently they can't attach anything else without a lot of shitting around. So fuck that. I'm not going through that again."

"I seem to have caught you in an unusually good mood. Why's that, I wonder? Wait, let me guess! Is it a girl? Are you in love?"

"Eat shit and die."

"Woah there—no need to get testy. After all, I'm probably the last friendly face you're going to see for a while."

"Friendly?" Griff let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, sure. I was just about to invite you, Crow, and the Nightmare King over for tea."

"It almost sounds like you don't think we're friends. That's really hurtful, you know."

"Why hasn't Motherfucker Buck—or whatever he's calling himself—decided to kill me yet? Is this supposed to be some kind of punishment?"

Will gave an amicable smile. "He's just not that kinda guy. Not everyone loves murder as much as Brimstone."

Once upon a time, Griff probably would have protested loudly over a comment like that. Now, he just stewed in stubborn silence.

"So there it is," Will said, spreading his hands. "You're not getting your head chopped off. You're not even being detained, if you can find some way to roll on out of here."

"But?"

"Needless to say, there's no chance of you ever getting your old job back. Or getting back into the ol' rank and file, period."

"I wasn't expecting it, neither. I'm not an idiot."

"I'll take your word on that."

"What's your fucking point, One-Eye? You're giving me a headache."

"What I'm getting at is if you're not going back into the militia, that means you're in the market for another job, right?"

"Got a list of potential employers, do you? Act in a local freak show, maybe?"

"Actually, I do." Will smiled brightly. "You're looking at him."

Griff snorted. "Fuck yourself."

"I'm serious! I want to offer you a job."

"What for? Shine your fucking boots and beg for the privilege? Get a good laugh out of me?"

"Nothing like that," Will said, wagging his finger. "I have a feeling I'm going to need a qualified master-at-arms fairly soon, and it occurs to me that you've got the experience and sunny disposition for it."

Griff looked over at that. Will couldn't quite read his expression, but he imagined the man probably looked fairly shocked. "A… master-at-arms?"

Will couldn't help but feel a little smug over the confusion he'd caused. "That's right. Need me to spell that for you?"

"You starting a mercenary outfit or something?" Griff asked, suspicious.

"Mmm… Not quite, but let's call it close enough for now."

"What makes you think I'd ever work for you? That if I did, I wouldn't just stab you up the fucking arse first chance I got?"

"My faith in the strength of our everlasting friendship, I suppose. That, and I know you served Brimstone loyally. Never wavered. Your choice of master aside, I always admired that about you. But it sounds like Brimstone fucked you over just like everyone else, so what do you do with yourself now? Do you really feel any particular desire to avenge his death by taking me out?"

Griff said nothing.

"You find a way out of this bed, pay me a visit, and I'll put you to work. No jokes. No lies. If I wanted to torture or kill you, I could do it from right here. In fact, I could just leave you to wallow in your misery and pat myself on the back for a job well done."

Still nothing.

"That's all I have to say. Goodbye, Griff."

Will had made it halfway to the door before Griff croaked out: "Wait!", which caused him to stop.

"What's up?" Will asked without turning. He didn't need to face the man to see him anyway.

"Could you… fetch me my tin?" Griff asked, sounding almost sheepish. "It's over there on the windowsill."

As far as favors went, that was a pretty small ask. Will complied, placing the battered tobacco tin atop Griff's chest. "There. Want me to fluff your pillows before I go? Kiss on the cheek, maybe?"

"Fuck you."

Griff didn't give him an answer, and Will wasn't expecting one. But when he left, he could tell that the one-time garrison captain was at least toying with the idea.

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