Chapter 56: Ch 56: The Feast After the War

Ch 56: The Feast After the War

The air in the orchard changed. The tension of competition melted away, replaced by the easy, contented buzz of a shared meal. The "Friendship Festival" had done its job perfectly.

The soldiers shed the last of their formality along with their jackets. Tunics were unbuttoned at the neck. Boots were kicked off. They sprawled on the sun-warmed grass like large, lazy cats, passing Jax’s basket from hand to hand.

The children, victorious and magnanimous, immediately started enforcing the "sharing" part of the treaty. Toben diligently made sure every soldier got at least one honey biscuit, even if it meant taking two from the basket for Rylan, who looked particularly biscuit-deprived.

Lissy, emboldened by success, walked right up to Kaelen and offered him her flower crown—a slightly crushed daisy chain. He stared at it for a long moment, then, with a sigh that sounded more resigned than annoyed, bowed his head so she could place it on his short-cropped hair. He wore it for the rest of the afternoon without comment, a stark contrast to his sharp eyes and quiet demeanor.

Abel was the undisputed center of it all. He sat cross-legged between Aster and Millie, a living bridge between the two camps. He had a half-eaten meat pie in one hand and his wooden horse in the other, using the horse to gesture as he explained something about the cookie-tasting challenge.

"And the honey one smells warm," he was saying seriously to Aster. "Like sunshine in a jar. The ginger is spicy in your nose first, then sweet. The oat is just... friendly. It doesn’t shout."

Aster nodded as if receiving vital intelligence. "So the key is in the pre-taste aroma. Noted."

"Noted," Abel repeated happily, taking another bite of his pie.

Millie, sitting on Abel’s other side, was busy negotiating finer points of the treaty with Loren, who had appointed himself the Guard’s unofficial diplomat.

"So Mondays and Wednesdays, after lessons, until supper," Millie stated.

"What if it rains?" Loren asked, twirling a blade of grass.

"Then we play in the big barn. The one with the hayloft."

"Hayloft access is acceptable," Loren agreed gravely. "But we get Tuesdays *and* Thursdays after weapons drill until the evening bell."

"Weapons drill?" Millie’s eyes lit up. "Can we watch?"

Loren glanced at Aster, who gave a slight nod. "Supervised watch only. From behind the fence. And no touching the pointy things."

Millie stuck out her hand. "Deal."

They shook on it, their agreement now more binding than any ducal decree.

Orion watched from his spot under the tree, a soft smile on his face. He’d been brought a plate by Jax—a generous slice of cold game pie, a buttered roll, two ginger biscuits—and he ate slowly, savoring the scene as much as the food.

This was a different Abel. Not the confused man in the grand hall, not the terrified one after the fall, not even the quietly content one in their room. This was Abel in his element, surrounded by people who saw him simply as *Abel*. Not as an heir, a patient, or a responsibility. Just as a friend they wanted to spend time with.

Willem had pulled his stool over next to Corin and was showing him the notebook, explaining his scoring system. Corin listened with rapt attention, occasionally asking questions that were completely off-topic but enthusiastic.

"That’s a lot of numbers," Corin said, peering at the page. "Did you have to count all the apples in the orchard to know how to score?"

"No," Willem said patiently. "It’s a logarithmic progression based on performance metrics."

Corin nodded wisely, having understood none of it. "Right. Makes sense."

Jax was teaching Toben how to arm-wrestle, using only their pinky fingers. Toben’s face was screwed up in intense concentration, his entire body leaning into the struggle against Jax’s single, held-back finger.

"You’ve got a strong spirit, little general!" Jax boomed, letting Toben slowly push his finger down. "Might make a guardsman one day!"

Toben beamed, victorious.

Rylan, having finally gotten his biscuits, was attempting to balance an apple on his nose like Abel had done on his head. He failed spectacularly several times, the apple bouncing off his forehead and rolling into the grass, much to the delight of everyone watching.

Even the usually reserved Kaelen was engaged. He sat a little apart, but Lissy had settled herself next to him, chattering quietly to Lady Rag about the dragon in the whispering game. Kaelen wasn’t responding, but he was listening, his gaze occasionally flicking to the doll as if it were the one speaking.

The feast lasted well into the afternoon. The basket was emptied. Stories were swapped. The soldiers told cleaned-up, exciting tales of patrols and campfires. The children countered with dramatic sagas of courtyard politics and the Great Kitchen Cat Uprising of last spring.

Abel listened to everything, his eyes wide. He laughed at the funny parts, frowned at the scary parts, and asked surprisingly insightful questions.

"When the wolf howled on the ridge," he asked Aster during one story, "did your heart beat fast because it was scared, or because it was ready?"

Aster looked at him, a complex emotion passing through his calm eyes. "Both, Captain. Fear and readiness... they often feel the same in the dark."

Abel nodded, understanding.

As the sun began to slant lower, casting long shadows from the gnarled trees, the gathering naturally started to wind down. The children were getting sleepy, full of cookies and sun. The soldiers had evening duties awaiting them.

Millie stood up, brushing crumbs from her skirt. She addressed the whole group, her voice formal again but warm. "The South Courtyard Council thanks the Ironwood Guard for honorable combat and good food. The treaty is sealed."

Aster stood as well. He placed a fist over his heart—a guard’s salute, but softened. "The Ironwood Guard acknowledges the superior strategy of the Council. We look forward to shared custody... and future festivals."

There was a round of applause, not loud, but sincere.

The goodbyes were messy and affectionate. Toben hugged Jax around the knees. Lissy waved Lady Rag’s paw at Kaelen, who gave her a curt, almost imperceptible nod in return. Willem shook Corin’s hand with great seriousness. Millie gave Aster one last firm handshake.

Then the children scampered off toward the wall, disappearing back toward the manor, their voices fading into the dusk.

The soldiers began gathering their things, pulling jackets back on, their movements slower now, relaxed.

Abel remained sitting on the grass, looking around at the empty cookie basket, the chalk marks on the log, the dent in the grass where everyone had been. He looked peaceful, but a little wistful, like someone watching a good dream fade.

Orion walked over and sat down beside him. "Tired?"

"A little," Abel admitted. He leaned his shoulder against Orion’s. "It was a big day. A good big day."

"It was," Orion agreed.

Aster approached them. He hunkered down on his heels so he was eye-level with Abel. "You did well today, Captain. You made a lot of people very happy."

Abel smiled, a soft, tired smile. "I had fun. I like being the champion for everyone."

"You are," Aster said, his voice thick with something. "You always have been."

He stood, nodded to Orion, and then turned to lead his men back toward the barracks. The guards fell into a loose, comfortable line behind him, their laughter and talk a low rumble in the quiet evening.

Soon, it was just Orion and Abel in the orchard, surrounded by the evidence of their strange, wonderful afternoon.

Abel picked up his wooden horse, tracing the chipped ear with his thumb. "They’re my friends," he said softly, not looking at Orion. "All of them. The big ones and the small ones. Even though I don’t remember the big ones from before."

"I know," Orion said.

"It doesn’t hurt today," Abel continued, his brow furrowing as he tried to articulate the feeling. "Thinking about not remembering. Usually it feels like a hole. A cold place. But today... today the hole felt full. With new things. With cookies and balancing and whispers."

Orion’s throat tightened. He put an arm around Abel’s shoulders. "That’s what friends do. They fill the holes."

Abel nodded slowly. He rested his head against Orion’s. They sat like that for a long time, watching the fireflies begin to blink in the deepening blue under the apple trees.

Finally, Abel stirred. "We should go back. Before it gets dark and we get lost."

They stood, brushing grass from their clothes. Abel tucked his horse under his arm and took Orion’s hand. They walked slowly out of the orchard, through the broken wall, and onto the path toward the manor.

The stone walls of Valerian Manor loomed ahead, dark and imposing against the twilight sky. But for once, it didn’t feel like a prison or a stage for someone else’s drama. It felt like a place that held, within its many rooms and courtyards, the people who mattered.

As they reached the postern gate, Abel stopped. He looked back toward the orchard, then up at the first stars pricking through the purple overhead.

"I want to remember this day," he said, his voice clear in the quiet. "So I’m going to tell it to myself tonight. Before I sleep. About the wall and the whispers and the cookies. And all my friends."

"Tell it to me too," Orion said, squeezing his hand. "I want to remember it just the same way."

They went inside, the heavy door closing behind them, shutting out the night. But the warmth of the day, the taste of ginger, the sound of laughter—it all came in with them, a gentle armor against the cool silence of the manor halls. It was a memory they would share, a story they would tell, a small, perfect victory in their ongoing, quiet war for a happy life.