Chapter 216 - 214: Cold Nights.

Chapter 216: Chapter 214: Cold Nights.

While his ankle has finally stopped troubling him and he can walk without limping, it’s still not quite up to the rigour of training just yet.

At least, not to this extent.

Ynoro has given him the all-clear to join them in the evenings again as long as he promises to stick to the basics, and stops if anything starts hurting.

​Before , if possible.

​It wouldn’t be for a few days, he said, but Rogard had crossed his heart, hoped to die, and swore that he’d be on his absolute best behaviour.

He’s been so antsy from being sidelined for what feels like forever –even though in reality it hasn’t been that long at all –that he would’ve agree to anything if it meant being permitted back amongst the soldiers.

​(One in particular. Not that Ynoro needs to know that.)

​He’s disappointed it won’t be sooner, that’s just what happens in winter. Already some of the familiar faces at training are starting to thin as the soldiers are fielded off across the kingdom.

And at this time of year even those closest to the Second Captain have places they’d rather be than out in the bitter evening air.

​Namely a fireside.

A big one.

Preferably located at a tavern.

One with music, and food, and the fairest of company.

​It’s currently the hottest topic of conversation; who is heading out to which tavern for drinks, how soon, and for how long.

They don’t know when they will have to go out into the field after all, and the return of the snows has reminded them that they’re in for a rough few months.

Even spring in these parts can be cold and wet, and it’s not really until summer comes again that they can expect the clement weather to make its return.

​Winter’s just arrived, and already summer can’t come soon enough.

​Perhaps taking pity on his men, Drogger calls an end to training earlier than usual, and Rogard gallantly braves the wind to catch up with the soldiers he’s been watching from under cover.

They look gloomier than usual; shivering and cursing their Captain and their duties and the gods as they gather up their gear, and it’s hard to tell if the mud streaking their clothes has dried there, or frozen.

​They’re still there, though.

​Even Loac.

​Sure, he looks like he’s barely slept a wink, and from the ominous aura emanating from him and the decisive way he’s finished off today’s opponents, is clearly in a foul mood, but he’s there, same as the rest of them.

​Colour Rogard surprised.

​It’s been over a week, and he’s still here. Has been every day, even, to the point that the soldiers no longer point and stare when they see him there.

​They’re definitely not pleased that he’s there, but they’re no longer surprised .

​Up close, everyone looks so much worse.

​Rogard’s hated every second of being injured but a part of him is a touch relieved that he didn’t have to be out there with them today.

​It shows. And they look unbearably jealous.

​"Khobi, you look terrible," he states, by way of greeting. Because honestly, he does. And he’s not just talking about his face, either.

The furs he’s wearing are well-worn, slightly too big, and look like something his grandfather would have picked out.

No offence to Jaga or anything, who had loaned them to Khobi knowing full well he’s never getting them back.

It was a nice gesture, but that doesn’t change the fact that Khobi could do so much better. Jaga’s furs are far too drab. Almost like he didn’t pay any attention to the latest castle fashions.

​Rogard curses himself for not thinking ahead to winter while the markets were still in full swing.

The plains are empty now; nothing remaining of the revelries but burned out fire pits.

Now he’ll have to take Khobi into town sometime and get him –

​Oh, that’s right.

​Khobi’s not allowed out into town.

​...Maybe the king will make an exception (again).

It wouldn’t do if Khobi froze to death before his wedding day. Which he will at this rate, in little more than summer clothes and borrowed furs.

He doesn’t even have a pair of decent winter gloves, and for someone who grew up in the mountains, he doesn’t seem to particularly enjoy the cold.

​Who does, really?

​They’re not close enough anymore for Rogard to get away with saying so, but it brings him some measure of glee that Loac looks just terrible too.

He’s got a streak of mud across his face, and it looks like someone’s managed to cut through a couple of his winter layers to skin.

There’s no way it’s not letting in the wind.

He doesn’t mention it though; just uses one gloved hand to hold the tear closed and scoops up his sword with the other.

​If he sees Rogard looking his way, he has nothing to say about it.

​"I feel terrible," Khobi complains, tucking his chin into his collar and grimacing as a harsh blast of wind whips through the training grounds.

His nose is red.

So are his eyes. And his lip, from where Montrel smacked it. "Are the nights here always so fucking cold?"

​"Colder," Gandy assures him flatly, wringing his hands to try and jog some warmth back into them.

It doesn’t work so he slings his body up against Mural’s in the hopes of sharing his heat. His nose is dripping too. It’s gross but Mural seems used to it.

​" Great ," Khobi grumbles miserably, "...Well that’s gonna suck if the floor gets any colder –"

​"...Wait, wait, don’t tell me you’re still sleeping on the floor," Montrel cuts him off, aghast.

Rogard’s jaw drops too.

He hates when he accidentally puts his bare feet on the stone floors at this time of year.

The fact that Khobi is sleeping on it at this time of year is more than mildly horrifying.

​"Where else would I be sleeping?" Khobi deadpans, and Montrel can only shrug at that.