Chapter 215 - 213: The Cold.

Chapter 215: Chapter 213: The Cold.

Vogrid wasn’t generally one to smile so thoughtlessly; never had been, even as a child, and she can tell that her handmaidens are caught a little off guard.

One even blushes a little.

Xena is fairly certain she even fancies him a little; if only for his face and his family name.

She’s a nice girl, and she’s sure that if the princess were to personally approach the Lord Vogrid it would be quite the easy match to arrange, but she doesn’t for the sake of the friendship they once had.

She’s been quite vocal about not wanting an arrangement of her own, and he would hate something like that.

​Binny , that was the servant’s name, wasn’t it?

​She knew a Binny , once.

​Out of nowhere, a memory springs to mind.

​" Come, Binny ." It’s Vogrid’s voice –back when they were young, and she was free to call him Vogrid .

And the voice that answers is bright and playful and full of laughter.

​" Right you are, Vector ~"

​Xena’s eyes widen, and she ducks her head to peer back down towards the training grounds; searching frantically for the servant before he’s swallowed up by the crowd.

​Surely not...

​It doesn’t take her long to find him, because amidst a sea of men with eyes facing forward towards their opponents or their fellows around them, he’s the only one looking up. And it’s strange, but Xena gets the oddest feeling that he’s looking up at them .

​It was a long time ago, but it certainly looks like him.

​Down below, the soldiers are switching drills.

They watch as Khobi traipses over to the soldiers in the sparring ring with Rogard in tow; their tiff from the archery range –whatever it was –forgotten.

Or more likely, just set aside for the time being.

They pass by her cousin like he’s not there, but openly greet Binny with the other soldiers like he’s one of them, and some kind of joke must pass between them because a moment later Khobi and Rogard start laughing.

​At her side, Vogrid fidgets. Which is quite uncharacteristic of him.

​In another time, he might’ve been down there with them.

​"...You don’t want to join them?" Xena inquires curiously, and Vogrid’s eye twitches.

It’s hard to tell if it’s because her question has annoyed him or because she’s hit the nail on the head.

It could even be both.

​"Why would I?" he scoffs, and turns his nose up in disdain as Montrel launches onto Khobi from behind and then –to the delight of all observers –gets bodily flung over his head in retaliation.

Someone probably could have warned Khobi of the ambush, but they chose not to, and he seems to be giving them some grief for it as Montrel grapples with his ankles until he too hits the ground.

​Xena understands where Vogrid is coming from.

They do look quite ridiculous, and any nobles who cared to watch would probably be horrified at their elite castle guards –those tasked with their safety and that of the kingdom’s –roughhousing and fooling around like overgrown children.

​(It’s a good thing most of them don’t care to watch.)

​It’s hardly proper. But they sound like they’re enjoying themselves, and for that she envies them.

​She wonders distantly if her cousin, gazing off into the sky –so close but somehow a world away – does too.

...

Overnight, it snows. Not heavily, and not enough to settle but enough that it freezes the ground solid and the chills to the bone.

​Khobi had almost forgotten what it was like to feel this cold.

Which is crazy because there had once been a time –and not all that long ago, really –when it was all he knew, and he never could’ve imagined there being such a time that he might forget.

​But last night as the night air grew colder and more bitter and the stone beneath him with it, and it had all come flooding back to him.

Binny had had the foresight to bring him an extra blanket, but it hadn’t been nearly enough to keep the icy air at bay, and as tightly as he wrapped himself his teeth had still chattered so long and so loud that Loac had hurled a pillow at him to get him to shut up.

As if he’s never kept him awake before.

​It’s the worst night’s sleep he’s had in quite some time, and he wakes up –if it can even be called that with how little sleep he got– in a foul mood.

​Him and Loac both .

​And they’re not the only ones.

​The mood at training that day is decidedly grim; the soldiers’ collective delight at the prospect of sleep ins and free time fade as the reality of winter –with all its cold grey days, muddy mornings, and colder, greyer nights –sets in.

​Winter comes every year and no one is ever excited or prepared for its arrival.

​Today –and probably for the rest of winter –they’re bundled up to their ears in their furs, grizzling over how cold it is this late in the day, and lamenting how this is going to be the year they lose their fingers and toes if Drogger keeps working them in this weather.

Nevermind that if they get sent away it’ll no doubt be colder and less comfortable than the castle they call home.

Probably with thicker snow, too. And wolves. Or bandits. Maybe both.

​Even the promise of roasted meat for their evening dinner isn’t enough to perk them up.

Not with how the light layer of snow has turned the dirt to mud and with the sun tucked away behind grey clouds that tell of more snow to come.

​It’s a miserable day, and it’s reflected in the soldiers’ faces.

Most of them are a healthy mix of sodden, sweaty, and numb, and it’s not a combination any of them are thrilled about.

The only person in a remotely good mood is Rogard.

And that’s only because he’s not out there with them; instead observing from under cover and away from the wind, wrapped up in the thickest furs he owns.