Author's Note:
So just a brief clarification. Upon re-reading the previous chapter, I felt it was too crammed with content and tonally all over the place. So I decided to split it in two and re-write it. The plot is the same, but I used the opportunity to add some more meat to its bones with a few more details and texuture.
Of course, as this is a re-write, you still get a shiny brand new chapter. I hope you enjoy both. ♡
It was already past sundown when Paul started his way back to the great hall. He walked carefully, relying on the flickering light coming from the houses around him to navigate the muddy path back to the still unfamiliar castle above him.
The rest of the soldiers left once the first of the two Suns dipped beyond the horizon, but Paul had to stay behind to write down the unit’s daily progress. He did it by counting the distance and depth compared to a special piece of string Lord Karl gave every officer and craftsmen. The prince was insistent on keeping track of every number one could imagine. Apparently, he even made the stonecutters measure and number every single block they made.
Paul’s whole body felt like it was made out of lead. Despite knowing what awaited him when he closed his eyes, he actually felt a longing for the warm embrace of his bedding. And Lotti’s arms.
Maybe tonight it would be different. Maybe he would have happier dreams. Maybe—
“C’mon—hic—don’t be so shy…”
A rambling voice and a commotion suddenly drew Paul’s attention as he rounded a corner between two wooden houses.
“Yeah, we are all Lord Karl’s s-s-soldiers, you know,” another slurred voice added. “We follow his orders, so you should follow ours.”
A loud, raucous cackling followed.
Recognising the drunken voices of two men from his group, Paul hurried his pace towards the source of the sound.
He found it behind the castle town’s inn.
Two soldiers had the ageing innkeeper backed against the wall, leaning their weight against her as she pushed back against their groping hands. Her white apron was soiled by dirt and one of her sleeves had been ripped off in the scuffle.
“You don’t want us—hic—telling the Lord about you disres… disprespect… disrespecting his loyal men, do you?”
“Think of it as a than—urk—for all the work that we do, digging those damn holes!”
“Heh, holes.”
Both men cackled at their joke once again.
“Hey! What under the Suns are you two doing?!” Paul called out as soon as he was within earshot.
The two men stopped their advances and turned to Paul with stupid grins stretched across their faces.
“Oh, hey look. It’s the commander,” one of them pointed at Paul. Or at least he tried to, as his finger was off by several feet, pointing somewhere into the distance.
“You can join in, too, s-s-sir!” the other man saluted ungainly. “You look like you need a good roll ‘round the barn. Or an inn.”
“Stop and get away from her!” Paul ordered while running towards the three, almost stumbling over a rock sticking out of the dirt. “Unhand her, now!”
“Whaaat? No, we were here first, we are—hic—not letting you have her all to yourself.”
The innkeeper met Paul's eyes over their shoulders. Her expression—he had seen it on his mother's face, once or twice. When things were bad, and she was trying not to let him see them being bad.
It made something hot and simple simmer in his chest.
“I said get away from her,” Paul said again once he had closed the distance. He balled up his fists and raised them at the two men.
But instead of backing down, the taller of the two turned with a grin and threw a sloppy shove at Paul's chest. Drunk as he was, there was still enough weight behind it to send Paul back several steps.
“Suns’ sake, sir, we're just having a good—“
Paul didn't let him finish. He stepped back in and shoved the man sideways into his companion, hoping to knock them both off balance.
It worked better than he expected as the two stumbled hard into the wall.
However, they recovered a moment later, and one of them swung wildly, catching Paul across the ear with his fist.
The world rang briefly.
Paul bit his teeth and grabbed the man’s swinging arm, twisting it the way Wulf had shown them that one time. The men went down into the mud with a grunt of surprise.
One down, one more to go.
But while Paul was focused on one attacker, the other man was already pushing back off the wall and coming forward. Paul realised that he had run out of advantage. He was too late to react and took a fist right across the cheek.
Paul’s vision flared white. He staggered but kept his footing.
The man pressed the advantage, grabbing Paul by the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the inn wall. Up close, Paul could smell the sour reek of cheap ale on his breath. The man was bigger than him, heavier, and probably less tired as he kept slacking every chance he got.
But he was also drunk.
Paul drove his knee upward hard. The man's grip loosened with a wheeze, and Paul shoved him sideways, buying himself enough space to breathe. Behind him, he could hear the other man getting back to his feet, muttering something foul.
Paul turned to face both of them.
His ear was still ringing. His cheek throbbed. And there were two of them, and one of him. And the innkeeper was pressed against the wall behind him, with nowhere to go.
Still, he curled his fingers back into a fist and stood firm.
“Hey!”
The shout came from somewhere behind Paul.
Paul didn’t dare turn back, but he recognised the voices.
Moments later, Eric hit one of the drunken men at a run, driving him back against the wall for the second time. This time, he stayed there. Helmuth appeared a step behind, grabbing the other man by the collar of his shirt and knocking him out cold with a well-placed fist to the forehead.
The two must have been returning from their own groups and heard the stir.
Paul stood still for a moment, breathing through his nose, one hand pressed to the side of his face.
“You alright?” Helmuth asked as he leaned in to check Paul's face
“Fine,” Paul answered with a grunt, waving off his friend. He wasn’t, but there were more important things to worry about.
Eric was already crouching over the nearer man, checking if he was breathing. He was. Though Paul almost wished he wasn't.
Meanwhile, the innkeeper had not moved. She was watching all of them with an anxious expression.
“I'm sorry,” Paul apologised to her as he noticed her gaze. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he was unsure what else to say. “T-this won't happen again…”
She looked at him for a moment.
Then she gave a faint nod and ran back inside without another word.
***
Paul breathed deeply as the three of them heaved the unconscious men towards the castle.
Nobody spoke much on the way up.
Paul kept thinking about what the men had said. We follow his orders, so you should follow ours. They had used Lord Karl's name to try and get their way, to turn the authority they'd been given into something foul and unpleasant. And the worst part was that it had almost worked. If he had come only a little later—
Paul didn't let himself finish the thought.
This was an issue only Lord Karl could deal with.
His window still had a light in it, so Paul hoped it could all be resolved quickly and he could go back to Lotti. She was surely worried he was out this late.
However, to Paul’s surprise, Erika met them in the courtyard before they could reach the side entrance to the great hall.
She took one look at Paul's face, then at the two soldiers carrying the unconscious men, and her expression became composed in a particular way that Paul had learned to find mildly alarming.
“What happened?” she asked in a cold tone.
“These two,” Paul explained as he pointed towards the two men Eric and Helmut had set down in the mud. “They tried to force themselves on one of the townsfolk. We stopped them just in time, but I am not sure what to do with them, so I went to ask—”
“I'll take care of it.”
Paul hesitated. "Shouldn't they go before Lord Karl? It seems like he should be the one to—“
“Lord Karl is in the middle of his work and has not slept properly in two days. He should not be disturbed.” She answered in a firm tone. “I will handle this.”
“Erika, what they did—“
"I heard what they did." She met his eyes briefly. "And as I said, I will deal with this. Go and get your face looked at. I am sure Lotti will be happy to see you. She was worried sick waiting for you.”
Despite the friendly suggestion, there was something in the way Erika said it that put a cold feeling in Paul's chest. It reminded him of when he once overheard her listing what she would do to that bastard Henrik if he was ever caught.
Paul stood there a moment longer, looking for something to say, but Erika was already turning away and gesturing for Eric and Helmuth to bring the men along.
“Lisl, check with Lili if they have anyone waiting for them in their village, then have these two bring them down…” Paul heard Erika’s fading instructions behind him as he made his way to the great hall.
Paul told himself it was handled. That was what he wanted, wasn't it? For it to be handled and to get back to Lotti.
He picked his way between the beddings strewn around the great hall.
Just as Erika had said, Lotti was sitting up in the darkness, waiting for him.
She pulled him into a tight hug as soon as he sat down on the bedding.
The pressure only made his body ache worse, but he didn’t have the heart to tell it to her. Instead, he weakly hugged her back, losing himself in her embrace. He was asleep before he knew it.
He did not dream of fire that night.
He wasn't sure what he dreamed of, if anything.
For at least one night, the darkness behind his eyes was quiet.