Aldric was walking.
Not well. Not without pain. The cane was still in his hand, the leg still bound beneath his clothes, the healers still telling him to slow down. But he was walking. Across the room, down the corridor, through the garden. Now he stood at the edge of the training yard, looking at the familiar ground where he had spent so many mornings.
William was already there.
He had a practice sword in his hand, a target at the far end. He was swinging—not the wild swings of someone who didn't know what he was doing, but controlled strikes, the kind Aldric had taught him. His feet were planted, his shoulders were square, his eyes were focused.
He didn't see Aldric at first. He was too focused on the target, on the sword, on the movement.
Aldric watched him for a moment. Then he stepped into the yard.
---
William turned when he heard the cane on the stones.
"You're not supposed to be here." His voice was flat, but his eyes were worried.
Aldric shook his head. "I'm supposed to be here."
"The healers said—"
"I know what the healers said." Aldric moved to the rack of practice swords, picked one up. The weight was wrong—lighter than his real sword, unfamiliar. But it was a sword. It was something. "They said I'd walk in months. They said I'd fight in a year. They don't know me."
William watched him. "You can barely stand."
Aldric met his eyes. "Then teach me to stand."
---
They started slow.
Aldric leaned on his cane, held the sword in his other hand, tried to remember what his body had known before the beast. His leg was weak, his arm was stiff, his balance was gone. He felt like a beginner. Like the boy who had first come to the border, who had held a sword like it was something foreign.
William faced him. "You're leaning."
"I know."
"Your weight is on the wrong foot."
"I know."
William lowered his sword. "Aldric—"
"I know." Aldric's voice was sharp. He took a breath. Let it out. "I know. But I need to do this."
William was quiet for a moment. Then he raised his sword. "Again."
---
They worked for an hour.
Slow. Careful. Aldric's leg gave out three times. Each time, William caught him. Each time, he helped him up. Each time, they started again.
Lira came to the edge of the yard. Watched. Didn't interrupt.
Grog came to the wall. Leaned against it, his arm still bandaged, his side still wrapped. Watched.
Mirena came last. She sat on the bench, her staff across her knees, her eyes on Aldric's face.
He was pale. Sweating. His leg was trembling. But he was still standing. Still holding the sword. Still trying.
"Again," William said.
Aldric raised his sword.
---
By midday, he was exhausted.
His leg was screaming, his arm was shaking, his breath was coming in gasps. He leaned on his cane, the practice sword dangling from his other hand, his head bowed.
William stood across from him, breathing hard, his face red. "That's enough."
Aldric shook his head. "One more."
"You can't."
"One more."
William looked at Grog. Grog nodded.
William raised his sword. "One more."
---
They faced each other.
Aldric's leg was trembling. His arm was trembling. Everything in him was trembling. But he raised his sword, planted his feet, met William's eyes.
William attacked.
Slow. Controlled. Not trying to win—trying to teach. Aldric blocked. His arm shook, but he blocked. William attacked again. Aldric blocked again. Again. Again.
His leg gave out.
He fell.
The sword clattered on the stones. The cane skidded away. He lay on his back, staring at the sky, his chest heaving.
William stood over him. "That's enough."
Aldric closed his eyes. "That's enough."
---
Lira walked onto the yard. Knelt beside him. "You're an idiot."
He opened his eyes. "I know."
She helped him sit up. The world spun, then steadied. William handed him his cane. Grog moved from the wall, stood over him, looked down.
"You pushed too hard."
Aldric met his eyes. "I needed to know."
"Know what?"
He looked at his hands. The hands that had held the sword against the beast. The hands that had killed a hundred Vargr. The hands that had done things he still didn't understand.
"If I could still fight."
Grog was quiet for a moment. "Can you?"
Aldric looked at the practice sword, lying on the stones where it had fallen. "I don't know."
---
They sat on the bench together.
Mirena was at the far end of the yard, practicing her spells—shields, wards, the sword Grog had given her. Lira was shooting at targets, her arrows punching clean holes through wood. William was at the rack, putting away the practice swords, his back to them.
Aldric leaned forward, his cane between his knees, his hands clasped on top of it.
"I'm scared," he said.
Grog looked at him.
"Not of dying." Aldric's voice was quiet. "I've almost died before. In the battle. At the pass. When the beast—" He stopped. "I'm scared of being left behind."
Grog said nothing.
Aldric looked at his leg. "The healers say I'll walk. They say I'll fight. But they don't know when. Months, maybe. A year. And tomorrow—" He stopped again.
Grog waited.
"Tomorrow we leave. Tomorrow we go back to the hills. Tomorrow we find what's there." He looked at Grog. "And I can't walk. I can barely stand. I can't fight."
Grog was quiet for a long moment.
"You're coming," he said.
Aldric stared at him. "I can't—"
"You're coming." Grog's voice was steady. "On a horse. With a sword. With the rest of us. You're coming."
Aldric's throat tightened. "And if I can't fight? If my leg gives out? If I'm just—"
"Then you'll be there." Grog met his eyes. "That's enough."
---
Lira appeared at the edge of the yard.
She had been watching, her bow in her hand, her arrows in the target. Now she walked to Aldric, stopped in front of him, looked down.
"You're not being left behind," she said. "We're all going. Together."
Aldric looked at her. At Grog. At William, who had turned from the rack and was watching. At Mirena, who had lowered her staff and was walking toward them.
"We're all going," she said again.
Aldric nodded slowly.
"Together."