Evening. Three Days Later.
Grog was restless.
The sword hummed against his hip—not urgently, just present. Aware. The rings sat on the table, ten still untouched, their secrets waiting. Henrik and Ben were making progress on the axe. The village had become almost familiar.
But the restlessness remained.
He needed something. Distraction. Company. The kind of warmth that didn't come from fires or blankets.
He walked to Nelly's.
---
The building with red shutters was bright tonight.
Light spilled from every window. Laughter drifted out, louder than before—the sound of people enjoying themselves without restraint. Music played somewhere inside, a fiddle and something that might have been a drum.
Grog pushed open the door.
The warmth hit him first. Then the noise. Then the chaos.
The common room was packed.
More people than last time—twice as many, maybe three times. Men at every table, women moving between them, cups raised and laughter loud. The fiddle player was in the corner, sawing away enthusiastically. A few couples danced in the open space near the fire.
Grog stood in the doorway, taking it in.
Nelly appeared at his elbow.
"Back again." She grinned. "Knew you would be."
Grog looked at her. "Busy night."
"Market in the next town over ended early. Traders came through." She shrugged. "More customers, more coin. That's how it works." She studied him. "You want the usual? Drink first, then company?"
Grog nodded.
She led him to a table near the fire—not the same one as before, but close. Waved at a serving girl.
"Ale for the gentleman. The dark one."
The girl nodded. Disappeared.
Nelly sat across from him.
"You look different," she said.
Grog raised an eyebrow.
"Not bad different. Just—" She tilted her head. "More settled. Last time you were wound tight. Ready to snap." She gestured. "Now you're... relaxed. Like something worked itself out."
Grog thought about the sword. The bond. The way it had chosen him.
"Maybe," he said.
Nelly grinned. "Good. Relaxed is better for business." She stood. "Enjoy yourself. I'll send Cora over when she's free."
She walked away.
---
The ale arrived.
Dark, smooth, excellent. Grog drank slowly, watching the room.
It was different from last time. More chaotic. More alive. The traders were loud, their coin heavy, their laughter boisterous. The women matched their energy—flirtatious, playful, clearly enjoying themselves.
A group near the bar was playing some kind of dice game. Coins changed hands. Someone cheered. Someone groaned.
The fiddle player launched into a new tune. Faster. More energetic.
A woman grabbed a trader's hand, pulled him into the dancing space. He went willingly, laughing, clumsy on his feet. Others joined.
Grog watched. Drank. Relaxed.
---
Cora appeared after his second cup.
She looked different tonight—hair down instead of tied, falling in red waves past her shoulders. A dress of deep green that caught the firelight. Her freckles stood out against skin warmed by the room's heat.
She smiled when she saw him.
"You came back."
Grog nodded.
She sat beside him—not across, beside. Close enough that he could feel her warmth.
"I wasn't sure you would. Some men don't." She shrugged. "One time. That's all they want."
Grog looked at her.
"You're not most men," she said. "I could tell."
He drank. Didn't respond.
Cora was comfortable with the silence. She'd learned that skill, probably—knowing when to talk and when to just be present. She watched the room with him, pointing out traders, sharing small stories about the regulars.
"That one—gray beard, losing at dice—he's been coming for twenty years. His wife knows. Doesn't care." She grinned. "That one—bald, dancing badly—he's a blacksmith from the next town. Makes the worst horseshoes in three counties. Everyone knows it."
Grog almost smiled.
"You're different tonight," Cora said. "Lighter."
"Maybe."
She leaned slightly against him. Not pushing. Just there.
"Good," she said. "Lighter suits you."
---
They talked.
Not about anything important. The traders. The music. The quality of Nelly's ale. Small things. Easy things.
Cora asked about his sword—the new one, dark and strange. Grog said it was special. She didn't push.
She asked about his work. He said he was waiting. She nodded like that made perfect sense.
She asked about where he was from. He said far away. She accepted it.
By the fourth cup, Grog had relaxed completely.
The restlessness was gone. Replaced by something warmer. Something human.
Cora noticed.
"You're ready," she said quietly. "For the other thing."
Grog looked at her.
"Yes."
She smiled. Stood. Offered her hand.
"Come on, then."
---
They went upstairs.
Different room this time—larger, with a bed that actually looked comfortable. A fire burned in a small hearth, warming the space. Candles on the table. A pitcher of water, clean cloths, the small touches that spoke of Nelly's care.
Cora closed the door.
Leaned against it.
"You sure?" she asked.
Grog crossed the room. Stopped close to her.
"Yes."
She smiled. Reached up. Touched his face.
"You feel different," she said. "Warmer than before."
The sword pulsed against his hip. The apple's gift hummed in his blood. He was warmer. In every way.
"Good different?"
"The best different."
She kissed him.
---
Later, much later, they lay in the dark.
The fire had burned to embers. The candles had guttered out. The noise from below had faded to a distant murmur.
Cora slept beside him, her red hair spread across the pillow, her breathing soft and even. One hand rested on his chest, warm through the thin sheet.
Grog stared at the ceiling.
His body was satisfied. Relaxed in ways it hadn't been since leaving the column. The restlessness was gone—temporarily, at least—replaced by something quieter.
But his mind still wandered.
To Aldric. To Lira. To Mirena. To the war that was coming.
To the rings on the table in his room. Ten still untouched. Ten more treasures waiting.
To the sword beside the bed, pulsing gently in the darkness, keeping watch.
Cora shifted in her sleep. Murmured something unintelligible.
Grog looked at her.
She was kind. Warm. Asked nothing of him except what he was willing to give.
That was rare.
He closed his eyes.
Slept.
---
Morning came soft and gray.
Grog woke to weak light through the shutters. Cora was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a sheet.
"Morning," she said. "You snore."
Grog blinked. "I don't snore."
"You absolutely snore." She grinned. "It's not loud. Just... present. Like a bear humming."
Grog sat up. Ran a hand through his hair.
"Anything else?"
"You talk in your sleep too." Her grin widened. "Nothing interesting. Just names. Aldric. Lira. Mirena." She tilted her head. "Friends of yours?"
Grog was quiet for a moment.
"Yes."
Cora nodded. Didn't push. "They're lucky. To have someone who dreams about them."
She stood. Stretched. The sheet fell slightly, then she caught it.
Grog loved looking at her curvy figure.
She moved toward the door. Paused. "I hope your friends are okay."
Grog looked at her.
"Thank you."
She smiled. "Come back anytime. I'll be here."
She left.
---
Grog dressed slowly. Strapped on the sword. Walked downstairs.
The common room was quiet—a few sleeping figures on benches, the aftermath of a busy night. Nelly was behind the bar, cleaning cups.
"Leaving already?" she asked.
"Things to do."
Nelly grinned. "Go. Do your mysterious things. We'll be here."
---
Back at the inn, Lena was sweeping the steps.
She looked up as he approached. Grinned.
"You were at Nelly's again."
"Yes."
"With Cora?"
"Yes."
Lena's grin widened. "She's my favorite. Good heart." She leaned on her broom. "Did you have fun?"
Grog grunted.
"That good, huh?" She laughed. "Nelly sent word this morning. Said to tell you Cora says you owe her breakfast next time."
Grog paused.
"Breakfast?"
"That's what she said." Lena shrugged. "Apparently you're a better customer when you've eaten first. Her words, not mine."
Grog almost smiled. Almost.
"Tell her—" He stopped. Shook his head.
Lena waited.
"Tell her I'll think about it."
Lena's grin widened. "I'll pass it along. Word for word."
Grog climbed the stairs to his room.
Sat on the bed.
The rings waited on the table. Ten still untouched.
The sword pulsed against his hip.
Soon, he thought. Soon I'll open another.
But not today.
Today he rested.