Eryshae

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Sam

The Hospital

He woke to warmth. Not the searing, fevered kind that had stalked him through blood and dreams; but a gentler one, the kind that settled behind the sternum like a remembered fire. Vael was curled against his side, her breathing slow and steady, her arm draped over his ribs in quiet claim. Her braid had come loose sometime in the night. Strands of verdant-green hair lay across his chest like ribbons of ink. One of her legs was tangled with his beneath the blankets. Her hand, bandaged and bruised, rested just over his heart.

Sam didn't move. He only breathed. There was a weight to the moment; something sacred in its stillness. The air smelled faintly of salves and crushed rosemary. Beyond the drawn curtain, birds trilled morning songs. Somewhere in the corner of the room, Myrtle's herbs simmered on a low brazier, releasing steam like prayer. He shifted just enough to see her face, softened in sleep, and felt something ache in him; not pain, not anymore. Just awe. He hadn't realized how close he'd come to not waking. Again.

And she hadn't left his side. A gentle knock sounded on the door. Sam flinched instinctively; his body remembered violence even when his mind didn't, vines coiling under his skin. But the sound was soft, respectful. Myrtle moved before he could speak. She padded across the room in her house slippers and cracked the door open. Quiet voices murmured behind it.

Then the door opened just a little wider. Corven stood in the hallway, flanked by Elowen. The old warrior's shoulders were squared, his heavy coat still dusted with the scent of saddle and smoke. Elowen's hands were folded neatly before her, her silver-threaded braids woven into a fresh crown. Sam raised a finger to his lips. He nodded slowly toward the sleeping form beside him.

Corven's stern expression eased. His eyes flicked to Vael; his daughter; and something unreadable passed across his face. Elowen's expression melted into something soft and fond. Myrtle ushered them in with a subtle gesture and a warning whisper, "Quiet now. The Princess hasn't slept in two days." Corven's brows arched faintly at that, but he said nothing. Just inclined his head, as if to say, of course. Sam reached down and gently threaded his fingers through Vael's hand where it rested over his chest. She didn't stir, but her fingers curled in reflex around his. Like she knew he was still there. Like she needed that reassurance even in sleep.

Sam looked up at the two Eryshae elders and gave the smallest nod of acknowledgment; grateful, wary, and still fighting the fog of pain that clung to his edges. They approached the bed without speaking. In this room, for one fragile moment, there was peace. And Vael, still breathing beside him. That was enough. For now.

Myrtle gave a quiet cough into her hand, then bent into a shallow bow; far more respectful than usual. "Your Highness. Chief and Chieftess." Her voice was low but carried the crisp authority of someone used to being obeyed. Sam raised an eyebrow at the extra formality. "I'll take my leave," she said. "I need to restock the apothecary. Burned through too much nettle poultice and fireleaf salve patching up your reckless hide." She shot him a fond glare. "Don't undo my work."

"I'll try not to," Sam murmured. She sniffed and gave Corven a nod before slipping through the door with the scent of rosemary trailing behind her. The room fell into a softer silence. Elowen stepped closer, her hands clasped over the simple leather belt at her waist. "It's good to see you upright, Sam," she said quietly, her eyes warm but watchful. "There were rumors. Half-truths. We feared the worst." Sam exhaled through his nose. "Rumors are usually more creative than I deserve." Corven gave a low grunt. "These ones weren't. They just left out the part where you survived." Sam lifted his arm from beneath the blankets with some effort, revealing the carefully rewrapped bandages beneath. "Barely."

"Still breathing," Corven said. "That's enough for now." They pulled up two chairs, worn wood that creaked softly beneath their weight. Sam shifted carefully, mindful not to wake Vael. His fingers were still entwined with hers. He didn't want to let go. "Emberhold's been less welcoming than we'd hoped," Elowen said after a moment. "Ruwan was clever. Deep roots in the auxiliary. His soldiers nearly outnumbered our honor guard."

"We've had to gut the city's protection just to stabilize it," Corven muttered. "Forty-six percent of the guard; traitors. Executed, most of them. The rest fled." Sam's jaw tightened. "And the ones still loyal?"

"Still standing," Corven said. "Thanks in part to that fool spear of yours." Sam gave a half-smile. "I'll take the compliment." Elowen smiled faintly. "Your presence here means more than you realize. The people of Emberhold have started calling you the Forest Prince."

He blinked. "That… wasn't what I was expecting."

"It wasn't meant as praise," Corven said dryly. "At first." A soft rustle broke the stillness. Vael stirred beside him. Her fingers twitched in his, and her head shifted slightly on his chest. She gave a quiet, sleepy sigh and blinked blearily up at him, one eye barely open. "Mm. Talking too loud," she mumbled.

Sam turned his head slightly. "Sorry, my love." Vael lifted her head groggily, her braid tangled, cheeks warm with sleep. She looked up at the trio surrounding the bed and gave them a vaguely unimpressed squint. "Didn't think you'd start a council meeting without me Mom and Dad." Corven snorted. "We were trying not to wake the dead."

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"I'm not dead," Vael said, sitting up slowly and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "Just tired. And maybe a little overprotective." Her hand found Sam's again, this time more deliberate. Elowen smiled softly. "You deserve a moment to be both."

"Too many people tried to kill us this week," Vael muttered, straightening her tunic. "We've earned at least one conversation in bed." Sam laughed, quiet and raw. "That might be the only perk of this job." Corven folded his arms. "Don't get used to it, I will not stand to have Vael put in danger again young man." Sam leaned his head back on the pillow, letting the warmth of Vael's presence anchor him again as the conversation turned toward politics and peacekeeping and what would come next. But for the moment, he had her beside him. And that was enough.

The conversation drifted on without weight for a time; just murmurs between family who had nearly lost everything. Eventually, Elowen rose first, placing a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder before retreating with Corven in tow. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the outer world again. Silence returned, broken only by the occasional crackle of fire in the hearth. Vael nestled beside Sam once more, her head resting near the crook of his shoulder. Her braid trailed down the side of his chest, tangled and sleep-warm. He turned his head toward her, brushing his nose against her temple. She didn't speak for a long moment. Her breath was steady. Soft.

Then, her voice; barely above a whisper: "I thought I'd lost you." Sam's chest tightened. His arm curled more firmly around her, ignoring the dull ache in his muscles. "You didn't." "You almost died," she said, more awake now. "Again. Right in front of me. Bleeding through your armor like it meant nothing." Her voice wavered; not with panic, not even with fear. Just exhaustion. A grief delayed by necessity. A quiet storm that hadn't passed yet. He turned his head just enough to meet her gaze. "But I didn't." Vael looked up at him, eyes rimmed with sleepless hours and some shadow he didn't know how to name. Her fingers traced the edge of one bandage along his ribs. "I'm supposed to be used to this," she murmured. "Risk. Blood. Sacrifice. But it's different now."

"Because it's me?"

"Because I love you, you stupid tree," she whispered fiercely, burying her face against his chest. "And if you get yourself killed again, I swear to Deus himself I'll strangle you back to life and kill you myself." Sam smiled, breath catching in his throat. He threaded his fingers through her hair. "I'll keep that in mind." They lay like that for a while; just heartbeats and warmth and the dull hum of surviving. Then Vael spoke again, her tone lighter but still quiet, still intimate. "My cousin Thorian stopped by," she said. "He brought food. News. And tickets." Sam blinked, shifting slightly. "Tickets?"

"To a resort. In Ocean City." She looked up at him, "a spa. Baths. No councils. No wars. Just warm water and expensive wine." Her expression somewhere between amused and wary. "Thorian offered us that?"

"Well; he and Caldris. His… current lover. She kissed his cheek and everything." Sam raised an eyebrow. "That sounds inviting."

"Extremely," Vael said with a dry laugh. "But the invitation's real. He said you and I could use time to rest, recover, and pretend the world doesn't want us dead for a few days." Sam exhaled slowly, letting the idea settle in his bones like something soft and impossible. "A spa, huh." Vael nodded. "We wouldn't have to make decisions for anyone but ourselves." Sam gave a crooked smile. "Sounds dangerous." She kissed his shoulder. "I'm willing to risk it if you are." His hand found hers again beneath the blanket. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "Then let's go to Ocean City."

Vael's smile was small, but genuine. "For once," she whispered, curling against him again, "we'll let someone else carry the weight." And in the warmth of the firelight, with her heartbeat beside his and the promise of rest on the horizon, Sam let himself believe in peace. Even if only for a little while. Vael shifted so she could rest her chin on Sam's chest, her fingers tracing light circles over the linen just above his heart. "Ocean City," she murmured, like the word itself was a spell. "It's on the far eastern coast of the Eryshae Peninsula. One of the oldest cities by the ocean." Sam tilted his head, watching the way her eyes softened as she spoke. "You've been?"

"Once," she said, a flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. "With my mother, when we were young. Ichi was suffocating that summer. The courts, the training halls, the constant eyes on us. So we slipped away. We thought we were being rebellious. But my father arranged the whole thing behind our backs." She gave a little laugh. "Even our rebellion was supervised." Sam smiled. "What was it like?" Vael's eyes drifted toward the ceiling as if she were watching the memory play out there. "The boardwalk stretches for miles," she said, voice low and dreamy. "Planks of sun-bleached wood, smooth from generations of bare feet and sea salt. Seagulls circle overhead all day, bold little things, always chasing food or drama. They'll steal from your hands if you're not careful."

Sam chuckled, and she went on. "There's this place near the north end; still there, probably. Sells fries in paper cones, dusted in sea salt and drowned in vinegar. They burn your fingers when they're fresh, but gods, they're worth it." Sam could almost taste the salt. Almost hear the waves crashing beyond the boardwalk. "Sounds lawless."

"It is," Vael said with fondness. "All kinds of people there. Locals, travelers, bards who can't keep a tune, nobles who forgot how to dress like peasants. You can walk barefoot down the beach and hear six different dialects in the same hour. The ocean wind carries everything." She looked at him then, something bright and wistful behind her lashes. "It's noisy. Bright. Smells like seaweed and hot oil and taffy. But when the sun sets, the world turns gold. And the waves hush everything. Just for a little while." Sam's chest ached; not with pain this time, but longing. "For a little while," he echoed. Vael nodded. "We could lose ourselves there for a few days. Just be people. Not titles. Not weapons."

Sam reached up, brushing a knuckle along her cheek. "Then let's go," he said softly. "I want to hear those seagulls. And taste those fries. And see you barefoot and wet… in the surf." Vael raised an eyebrow. "That last part was suspiciously specific."

"I have goals," Sam said with a smirk. She kissed his chest. "Then I suppose we should start packing." He smiled, eyes half-lidded, voice already heavy with the pull of sleep. "Tomorrow," he whispered. "Tonight, stay."

"I wasn't going anywhere," Vael murmured, tucking herself closer. "Not this time." Outside, the wind stirred the curtains. And in the quiet of the room, the ocean felt a little closer.