Background Stories
I wrote these today whilst bored at work - a handful of background snippets from questions posed by friends ("Does Andrea dance?", "What is her happiest memory from childhood?" and "Why not retreat?"). I hope you like them :)
(Holberg, immediately after the Summer Solstice 379ye)
Toy had done wonders again. With barely a week to prepare he’d somehow found musicians, passably good food and even fresh flowers to drape across the tables, never mind bullying Gianera into a finely embroidered gown that complemented that of her bride, Bianca. The old chapel was bathed in brilliant sunshine throughout the Chaplain’s service, beams of light falling through the fractured ceiling to pool on the red-paved hall floor that Andrea had set the camp children to sweeping first thing this morning. Bianca was beaming, her red-gold hair spilling down her shoulders and almost to her knees, all dotted with tiny little daisies that her son, Jakob, had plaited in place - he now stood to one side, nervously concentrating on not dropping the small square of fabric that lay across his hands, nestling around the two thin rings that it held. Gianera looked more sombre, but Andrea knew it was only her manner - in fact, by Gia’s usual standards she was almost giddy with happiness. Her raven-dark hair was cropped short and close, her deeply green gown framing her strong shoulders to marvellous effect. Toy had done well to find such a dress.
As she clasped the women’s hands together and declared Bianca part of the Hammerfalls’ family, Andrea could not help but allow a short laugh of joy into her words. The solemn duties done, the hall immediately erupted into music and celebration - the brides were quickly surrounded by a clapping circle and encouraged to step the wedding dance together. Gia grinned her wicked grin and pulled aside her skirts to reveal her customary hose beneath - Toy dashed forwards to unhook the clever little clasps that had held the green drapes in place. To applause, Gia took her wife by the hands and bowed low before stepping into the first twirls of the dance.
Andrea stood in the front rank of the circle, a proud grin plastered across her face as she watched her soldier dance merrily. Throughout the Sermersuaq campaign Gia had been a rock of dependability in the shield wall, never anything less than the professional soldier she’d always been despite everyone knowing that she pined terribly for her sweetheart in Holberg. Like Andrea, and like more than half the rest of the lasses, Gianera had never before left the lands around her home city - the shock of seperation had been enough to finally spur the wedding that the entire unit had been waiting for.
The wedding dance was drawing to a close amidst cheers and catcalls. Andrea quickly took a step backwards, trying to remove herself from eye-shot before the pipes stopped their final trilling, but found herself fenced in by the warm bodies of her sisters-in-arms and the extended, sprawling family that was the Hammerfalls.
“Captain?” Little Bianca stood in front of her, cheeks shining and red hair glowing, hands outstretched. “Won’t you do me the honour?”
“It’s no honour, lass,” Andrea tried to laugh the invitation away casually as she felt her heart begin to race, “I’ll step all over those dainty slippers if you drag me out there!”
“Andrea, come on!” Toy called over from near the musicians, his arm draped around a flustered-looking drummer. “Don’t leave the bride waiting!”
Dozens of pairs of eyes were on her, and with a sinking feeling Andrea realised there was no escape. “Fine then, my dear. You do me the honour - and we’ll be joined by every last soldier here, won’t we my lasses?” She raked a stern eye over the mirthful crowd until everyone had a partner in their arms. As music began to swell again Andrea grasped frantically to remember the steps of the dance, but was grateful to realise her partner was an expert navigator - with gentle nudges and only the occasional elbow-shove, Bianca was able to steer the clumsy Captain through a passable imitation of dancing. Feeling her face afire with blushes, Andrea was grateful when the young bride suggested a drink. Fetching two tankards from the table that was groaning under the weight of multiple barrels and bottles of dubious home-brewed mysteries, Andrea felt her heartbeat finally returning to normal as she sat upon a low bench and watched her unit celebrate.
“I’m sorry to have embarrassed you, Captain.” Bianca was stretching her legs out in front of her, eyes fixed on her bride who was now spinning Toygar around mercilessly.
“Don’t worry about it, Bianca. And call me Andrea. You’re one of us, now, part of the family, and we’re lucky to have you. Mind, I’d rather face a Druj charge than the dancefloor...”
“Oh, now, Capt... Andrea. You don’t mean that!”
“I suppose not. But I’m no dancer, my dear. Then again, I didn’t think Gia was either, but look at her now - you’ve bewitched her, I swear!”
Bianca’s face clouded a little. “She’s the one who’s done the spellcasting. It’s going to be so hard, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Andrea frowned. “Why is tomorrow going to be hard?”
“Why... when you leave. When she leaves. She’ll not let me come to Reikos, you know, I tried that.”
Andrea grinned. “Ah, yes. I almost forgot. Gia! Gia, come over here!” As the tall soldier released Toy and hurried over, Andrea helped Bianca to her feet again before putting an arm around both the brides’ shoulders. “Now then, you two. I haven’t got a gift for you, I’m afraid - the shops in Sermersuaq failed to provide anything suitable. But I do have something very important to tell you, and I hope it’ll do in place of some knickknack or gem. Bianca, Gia is absolutely right - there is no possible way you are allowed with us to Reikos,” Andrea paused, watching Bianca’s face fall for the briefest second before continuing “and anyway, it would be very awkward. We’d have to chaperone you constantly, without your wife there to look after you.” Now it was both of them looking confused. “You see, I need someone to stay here, keep an eye on the little lasses, make sure the restoration work carries on... and that’s going to be you, Gia. Well, it will be after your three-week furlough...”
Andrea couldn’t finish her sentence, the air pushed out of her lungs as she was hugged fiercely from both sides at once. Gia was beaming now, smiling wider than Andrea would have thought possible, and Bianca was in tears. Before she could retreat she was being dragged back onto the dancefloor, each arm linked and held firm by the newlyweds and the music swirling through laughter and joyous celebration until even the reticent Captain couldn’t help but dance happily.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
MEMORY
(Holberg, 356ye)
The small figure darts across the flat roof, almost as fast as the doves dislodged by its passing. A dirty white chemise flashes bold against the drab stonework, a vivid red stain running from collar to hem at the front of it. An angry shout echoes from a few buildings away, making the small figure pause for a heartbeat and listen - at the sound of pursuit, it takes flight once more. At the far end of the roof rises a tower, the nearest windows a ten-foot climb up or a six-foot drop down. Without break, the figure jumps, hands outstretched for the lower option in futile optimism, landing instead on a striped awning above a shop-door with a thud, quickly followed by the snapping of the awning poles and the swearing of the shopkeeper.
From the upper window of the tower Andrea clamps her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter. Fix - the running figure, her older sister - is already sprinting again, a purple stain now spreading through the red on her chemise and marking the demise of at least one more fruit pie. Not that it matters. As Fix rounds a corner a street-length away the tall shape of Harich, whose kitchen the pies filling the girl’s chemise had belonged to, appears at the foot of the tower. He is pointed onwards by the irate shopkeeper, and Andrea ducks back into shadows until he too is out of sight, pinching her cheeks to stop her giggling and give herself focus.
Two minutes later she is swinging through the narrow window at the back of Harich’s store-room, landing on bare feet with barely a whisper. The kitchen is silent, abandoned - Harich’s terrifying guard dog would be by the door, but Andrea has the measure of him and knows full well that, big as he is, that boarhound wouldn’t actually attack a child. In any case, she has no intention of him hearing her. Three sacks are quickly unrolled from her belt and filled - cheeses, bread and those delicious, delicious fruit pies that Harich is so well known for all tumbling into the bags which are speedily knotted closed and slung cross-wise over Andrea’s back. With a small jump she clambers back up onto the barrel beneath the window and starts to wriggle her way through - her shoulders are almost too broad and she has a moment of real worry that if she keeps growing the way she has been this might have to be the last raid - but eventually she works her way out into the alleyway. Without a moment to spare, it seems, as she hears the voice of Harich complaining loudly to his neighbour about the pilfering brats of the city becoming more brazen every day. With giggles threatening to erupt again, Andrea takes to her heels and flees.
Just a few streets away she is joined in her flight by Fix, grinning widely at the sight of the full sacks wrapped around her little sister. “I thought you’d been eaten, Ands!”
“Nah, silly old dog is as deaf as his silly old master!” The girls run barefooted and bold past crowds of citizens, dodging around those too slow to move themselves and ignoring any shouts or cries in their wake. As the walls loom up on their left they take a sharp corner, ducking into the shadows of the old bastion and towards the now-abandoned market place that is their target. Moments later they are huddled beneath a broken archway, shielded from view on all sides and laughing uproariously as they enjoy their pilfered feast.
**
(Reikos, Summer 379ye)
With a start, Andrea wakes. For a blessed moment the taste of cheese and berries lingers on her lips and her sister’s laughter echoes in her ears, and she smiles. Then a drop of stale water falls onto her face and as she flinches she feels the weight of iron on her wrists and ankles, the fire of broken bones in her chest and shoulders, rusty blood filling her mouth like sand. In vain she reaches back through the years for the memory, now fading, of that fleet-footed girl she had once been, that giggling, mischievous thief. But she is gone, long gone.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
(Holmauer, 365ye)
“Why not retreat, sir?”
Andrea can’t help herself, leaning over the lantern by which Alexei is reading, using her body to stop the light shining out too far. Alexei, his pale skin looking almost normal in the flickering half-light, doesn’t even look up into the young soldier’s eyes as he dismisses her question.
“It’s not an option, Andrea.” He runs a hand through his hair, tucking stray strands back from his face. Andrea fights an urge to offer to re-tie his braid more securely for him. Her own hair is plastered flat to her scalp, three days of rain having soaked through both her caps and offering no chance to dry out again. Just out of sight the rest of the patrol were huddled under outcrops of broken masonry, chewing cold rations and trying to ignore the lack of sleep, lack of warmth and lack of progress. It is only the Captain who remains unruffled, his cold lineage apparently offering at least some defence against the morale-sapping conditions.
With a sharp movement, Alexei quickly re-folds the dispatches and slips them back into the leather pouch in which they arrived a short while before, handed over by a gasping scout who had immediately moved off again. He leans in closer to Andrea and for a startling moment her heart races and thuds so loud she is sure her Captain will hear. Instead, he puffs out the lantern and turns away, walking out into the downpour without the barest flinch of discomfort. Andrea hurries to follow him, clipping the lantern back into the case for it that attaches to her pack and pulling her cape tight around her neck in a vain attempt to keep further rain from getting into her chemise. Alexei is holding whispered conference with the unit, and Andrea hurries over to catch up with the plan.
**
“Hold on, Andrea.” She can hear a voice, familiar and comforting. There’s a hand on her brow, blessedly cool, and though she cannot see - why can’t I see? - she feels blankets around her.
“Whe...” she struggles to form words, her mind slow-moving and hazy. They’ve given me something. She is only distantly aware of her limbs, though the insistent knowledge of pain is growing louder.
“Hush. You’ll be fine. The surgeon... the surgeon is almost finished.” It’s Alexei’s voice she can hear. Alexei’s hand on her brow. Good thing I can’t remember how to blush, Andrea tells herself with a strange, giddy laugh. Then questions begin to build up, falling over each other to make their way to her uncooperative mouth. Why can’t I see? Why does Alexei sound worried? What is the surgeon doing? Why can’t I feel my limbs? Why is Alexei being so nice to me? What is going on?
**
“...the physicks saved her leg, just. It was close. But they say she’ll be fighting fit in a few weeks. Maybe a month.” Andrea wakes to the sound of her Captain’s voice again, and the welcome sight of light through her eyelids. Blinking, she raises her head from the thin pillow to look around her.
“What were you even doing there, Alexei? I saw the dispatches come round, but no-one else stayed out there. That force was huge, too big for the scattered patrols...”
“If we hadn’t stood I’d never have been able to feel pride again, Felixia.”
“Pride? Damn you and your pride, you could’ve got Andrea killed. You did get Francis killed.”
“I know! But that was our duty! You know better than this, Felixia!” Just as the room came into focus Andrea saw the blurred figure of her sister whirl and leave. Alexei turned to the wall for a moment, his shoulders slumped. Andrea realised he had no idea of being watched, and quietly lowered her head and closed her eyes once more. Hearing a few steps towards her she opened her eyes gently, doing her best impression of naturally waking up. Alexei smiled his cold, distant smile and sat down beside the bed. “Welcome back to the Holmauer, Andrea. How are you feeling?”
“I... sore,” Andrea croaked through a dry mouth, gratefully gulping the water that Alexei immediately offered. “What happened, boss?”
“You’re the best one to answer that, surely?” he raised a questioning eyebrow. “But from where I was stood, it looked a lot like my junior runner deciding to tackle five Druj on her own when her idiot of a Captain left his back exposed at the wrong moment.”
“Oh.” Andrea felt a memory wake up at the mention of five Druj. It was a jumbled mess of desperation and sudden, horrible pain, however, and she quickly tried to put it back in its box. “Are you alright, Captain?”
Alexei chuckled, and Andrea nearly jumped out of her skin at the shock of it. “Yes, Andrea, I’m fine. And so is your leg, despite your best attempts to leave it in the mud out there. Now, I can’t stay - I just wanted to make sure you woke up. I need to get back out to the others.”
Andrea nodded. As Alexei reached the door, however, she blurted out “Captain?”
“Yes, soldier?”
“Why not retreat, sir? We could have. Like the others.”
Alexei froze, one hand on the door, and turned to look back. Andrea felt a shiver run through her as his pale eyes locked on hers with a mingled anger and regret. “Loyalty, Andrea. That loyalty that makes sure you never shirk a duty, because every time you do that you simply pass a problem along to your comrades. If we had retreated it would have been the Jacks, or the Wolves, or the Kindred who took the blow. Why them and not us? They are no better equipped, no stronger than us. Every soldier there that fell would have been on my conscience even as I saw us safely back in the city.”
Andrea nodded mutely, terrified of provoking him further. As the Captain turned and walked from the room she heard his cold, resolute voice echo back almost as an afterthought - “Even as you are on my conscience, soldier.”
(Holberg, immediately after the Summer Solstice 379ye)
Toy had done wonders again. With barely a week to prepare he’d somehow found musicians, passably good food and even fresh flowers to drape across the tables, never mind bullying Gianera into a finely embroidered gown that complemented that of her bride, Bianca. The old chapel was bathed in brilliant sunshine throughout the Chaplain’s service, beams of light falling through the fractured ceiling to pool on the red-paved hall floor that Andrea had set the camp children to sweeping first thing this morning. Bianca was beaming, her red-gold hair spilling down her shoulders and almost to her knees, all dotted with tiny little daisies that her son, Jakob, had plaited in place - he now stood to one side, nervously concentrating on not dropping the small square of fabric that lay across his hands, nestling around the two thin rings that it held. Gianera looked more sombre, but Andrea knew it was only her manner - in fact, by Gia’s usual standards she was almost giddy with happiness. Her raven-dark hair was cropped short and close, her deeply green gown framing her strong shoulders to marvellous effect. Toy had done well to find such a dress.
As she clasped the women’s hands together and declared Bianca part of the Hammerfalls’ family, Andrea could not help but allow a short laugh of joy into her words. The solemn duties done, the hall immediately erupted into music and celebration - the brides were quickly surrounded by a clapping circle and encouraged to step the wedding dance together. Gia grinned her wicked grin and pulled aside her skirts to reveal her customary hose beneath - Toy dashed forwards to unhook the clever little clasps that had held the green drapes in place. To applause, Gia took her wife by the hands and bowed low before stepping into the first twirls of the dance.
Andrea stood in the front rank of the circle, a proud grin plastered across her face as she watched her soldier dance merrily. Throughout the Sermersuaq campaign Gia had been a rock of dependability in the shield wall, never anything less than the professional soldier she’d always been despite everyone knowing that she pined terribly for her sweetheart in Holberg. Like Andrea, and like more than half the rest of the lasses, Gianera had never before left the lands around her home city - the shock of seperation had been enough to finally spur the wedding that the entire unit had been waiting for.
The wedding dance was drawing to a close amidst cheers and catcalls. Andrea quickly took a step backwards, trying to remove herself from eye-shot before the pipes stopped their final trilling, but found herself fenced in by the warm bodies of her sisters-in-arms and the extended, sprawling family that was the Hammerfalls.
“Captain?” Little Bianca stood in front of her, cheeks shining and red hair glowing, hands outstretched. “Won’t you do me the honour?”
“It’s no honour, lass,” Andrea tried to laugh the invitation away casually as she felt her heart begin to race, “I’ll step all over those dainty slippers if you drag me out there!”
“Andrea, come on!” Toy called over from near the musicians, his arm draped around a flustered-looking drummer. “Don’t leave the bride waiting!”
Dozens of pairs of eyes were on her, and with a sinking feeling Andrea realised there was no escape. “Fine then, my dear. You do me the honour - and we’ll be joined by every last soldier here, won’t we my lasses?” She raked a stern eye over the mirthful crowd until everyone had a partner in their arms. As music began to swell again Andrea grasped frantically to remember the steps of the dance, but was grateful to realise her partner was an expert navigator - with gentle nudges and only the occasional elbow-shove, Bianca was able to steer the clumsy Captain through a passable imitation of dancing. Feeling her face afire with blushes, Andrea was grateful when the young bride suggested a drink. Fetching two tankards from the table that was groaning under the weight of multiple barrels and bottles of dubious home-brewed mysteries, Andrea felt her heartbeat finally returning to normal as she sat upon a low bench and watched her unit celebrate.
“I’m sorry to have embarrassed you, Captain.” Bianca was stretching her legs out in front of her, eyes fixed on her bride who was now spinning Toygar around mercilessly.
“Don’t worry about it, Bianca. And call me Andrea. You’re one of us, now, part of the family, and we’re lucky to have you. Mind, I’d rather face a Druj charge than the dancefloor...”
“Oh, now, Capt... Andrea. You don’t mean that!”
“I suppose not. But I’m no dancer, my dear. Then again, I didn’t think Gia was either, but look at her now - you’ve bewitched her, I swear!”
Bianca’s face clouded a little. “She’s the one who’s done the spellcasting. It’s going to be so hard, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Andrea frowned. “Why is tomorrow going to be hard?”
“Why... when you leave. When she leaves. She’ll not let me come to Reikos, you know, I tried that.”
Andrea grinned. “Ah, yes. I almost forgot. Gia! Gia, come over here!” As the tall soldier released Toy and hurried over, Andrea helped Bianca to her feet again before putting an arm around both the brides’ shoulders. “Now then, you two. I haven’t got a gift for you, I’m afraid - the shops in Sermersuaq failed to provide anything suitable. But I do have something very important to tell you, and I hope it’ll do in place of some knickknack or gem. Bianca, Gia is absolutely right - there is no possible way you are allowed with us to Reikos,” Andrea paused, watching Bianca’s face fall for the briefest second before continuing “and anyway, it would be very awkward. We’d have to chaperone you constantly, without your wife there to look after you.” Now it was both of them looking confused. “You see, I need someone to stay here, keep an eye on the little lasses, make sure the restoration work carries on... and that’s going to be you, Gia. Well, it will be after your three-week furlough...”
Andrea couldn’t finish her sentence, the air pushed out of her lungs as she was hugged fiercely from both sides at once. Gia was beaming now, smiling wider than Andrea would have thought possible, and Bianca was in tears. Before she could retreat she was being dragged back onto the dancefloor, each arm linked and held firm by the newlyweds and the music swirling through laughter and joyous celebration until even the reticent Captain couldn’t help but dance happily.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
MEMORY
(Holberg, 356ye)
The small figure darts across the flat roof, almost as fast as the doves dislodged by its passing. A dirty white chemise flashes bold against the drab stonework, a vivid red stain running from collar to hem at the front of it. An angry shout echoes from a few buildings away, making the small figure pause for a heartbeat and listen - at the sound of pursuit, it takes flight once more. At the far end of the roof rises a tower, the nearest windows a ten-foot climb up or a six-foot drop down. Without break, the figure jumps, hands outstretched for the lower option in futile optimism, landing instead on a striped awning above a shop-door with a thud, quickly followed by the snapping of the awning poles and the swearing of the shopkeeper.
From the upper window of the tower Andrea clamps her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter. Fix - the running figure, her older sister - is already sprinting again, a purple stain now spreading through the red on her chemise and marking the demise of at least one more fruit pie. Not that it matters. As Fix rounds a corner a street-length away the tall shape of Harich, whose kitchen the pies filling the girl’s chemise had belonged to, appears at the foot of the tower. He is pointed onwards by the irate shopkeeper, and Andrea ducks back into shadows until he too is out of sight, pinching her cheeks to stop her giggling and give herself focus.
Two minutes later she is swinging through the narrow window at the back of Harich’s store-room, landing on bare feet with barely a whisper. The kitchen is silent, abandoned - Harich’s terrifying guard dog would be by the door, but Andrea has the measure of him and knows full well that, big as he is, that boarhound wouldn’t actually attack a child. In any case, she has no intention of him hearing her. Three sacks are quickly unrolled from her belt and filled - cheeses, bread and those delicious, delicious fruit pies that Harich is so well known for all tumbling into the bags which are speedily knotted closed and slung cross-wise over Andrea’s back. With a small jump she clambers back up onto the barrel beneath the window and starts to wriggle her way through - her shoulders are almost too broad and she has a moment of real worry that if she keeps growing the way she has been this might have to be the last raid - but eventually she works her way out into the alleyway. Without a moment to spare, it seems, as she hears the voice of Harich complaining loudly to his neighbour about the pilfering brats of the city becoming more brazen every day. With giggles threatening to erupt again, Andrea takes to her heels and flees.
Just a few streets away she is joined in her flight by Fix, grinning widely at the sight of the full sacks wrapped around her little sister. “I thought you’d been eaten, Ands!”
“Nah, silly old dog is as deaf as his silly old master!” The girls run barefooted and bold past crowds of citizens, dodging around those too slow to move themselves and ignoring any shouts or cries in their wake. As the walls loom up on their left they take a sharp corner, ducking into the shadows of the old bastion and towards the now-abandoned market place that is their target. Moments later they are huddled beneath a broken archway, shielded from view on all sides and laughing uproariously as they enjoy their pilfered feast.
**
(Reikos, Summer 379ye)
With a start, Andrea wakes. For a blessed moment the taste of cheese and berries lingers on her lips and her sister’s laughter echoes in her ears, and she smiles. Then a drop of stale water falls onto her face and as she flinches she feels the weight of iron on her wrists and ankles, the fire of broken bones in her chest and shoulders, rusty blood filling her mouth like sand. In vain she reaches back through the years for the memory, now fading, of that fleet-footed girl she had once been, that giggling, mischievous thief. But she is gone, long gone.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
(Holmauer, 365ye)
“Why not retreat, sir?”
Andrea can’t help herself, leaning over the lantern by which Alexei is reading, using her body to stop the light shining out too far. Alexei, his pale skin looking almost normal in the flickering half-light, doesn’t even look up into the young soldier’s eyes as he dismisses her question.
“It’s not an option, Andrea.” He runs a hand through his hair, tucking stray strands back from his face. Andrea fights an urge to offer to re-tie his braid more securely for him. Her own hair is plastered flat to her scalp, three days of rain having soaked through both her caps and offering no chance to dry out again. Just out of sight the rest of the patrol were huddled under outcrops of broken masonry, chewing cold rations and trying to ignore the lack of sleep, lack of warmth and lack of progress. It is only the Captain who remains unruffled, his cold lineage apparently offering at least some defence against the morale-sapping conditions.
With a sharp movement, Alexei quickly re-folds the dispatches and slips them back into the leather pouch in which they arrived a short while before, handed over by a gasping scout who had immediately moved off again. He leans in closer to Andrea and for a startling moment her heart races and thuds so loud she is sure her Captain will hear. Instead, he puffs out the lantern and turns away, walking out into the downpour without the barest flinch of discomfort. Andrea hurries to follow him, clipping the lantern back into the case for it that attaches to her pack and pulling her cape tight around her neck in a vain attempt to keep further rain from getting into her chemise. Alexei is holding whispered conference with the unit, and Andrea hurries over to catch up with the plan.
**
“Hold on, Andrea.” She can hear a voice, familiar and comforting. There’s a hand on her brow, blessedly cool, and though she cannot see - why can’t I see? - she feels blankets around her.
“Whe...” she struggles to form words, her mind slow-moving and hazy. They’ve given me something. She is only distantly aware of her limbs, though the insistent knowledge of pain is growing louder.
“Hush. You’ll be fine. The surgeon... the surgeon is almost finished.” It’s Alexei’s voice she can hear. Alexei’s hand on her brow. Good thing I can’t remember how to blush, Andrea tells herself with a strange, giddy laugh. Then questions begin to build up, falling over each other to make their way to her uncooperative mouth. Why can’t I see? Why does Alexei sound worried? What is the surgeon doing? Why can’t I feel my limbs? Why is Alexei being so nice to me? What is going on?
**
“...the physicks saved her leg, just. It was close. But they say she’ll be fighting fit in a few weeks. Maybe a month.” Andrea wakes to the sound of her Captain’s voice again, and the welcome sight of light through her eyelids. Blinking, she raises her head from the thin pillow to look around her.
“What were you even doing there, Alexei? I saw the dispatches come round, but no-one else stayed out there. That force was huge, too big for the scattered patrols...”
“If we hadn’t stood I’d never have been able to feel pride again, Felixia.”
“Pride? Damn you and your pride, you could’ve got Andrea killed. You did get Francis killed.”
“I know! But that was our duty! You know better than this, Felixia!” Just as the room came into focus Andrea saw the blurred figure of her sister whirl and leave. Alexei turned to the wall for a moment, his shoulders slumped. Andrea realised he had no idea of being watched, and quietly lowered her head and closed her eyes once more. Hearing a few steps towards her she opened her eyes gently, doing her best impression of naturally waking up. Alexei smiled his cold, distant smile and sat down beside the bed. “Welcome back to the Holmauer, Andrea. How are you feeling?”
“I... sore,” Andrea croaked through a dry mouth, gratefully gulping the water that Alexei immediately offered. “What happened, boss?”
“You’re the best one to answer that, surely?” he raised a questioning eyebrow. “But from where I was stood, it looked a lot like my junior runner deciding to tackle five Druj on her own when her idiot of a Captain left his back exposed at the wrong moment.”
“Oh.” Andrea felt a memory wake up at the mention of five Druj. It was a jumbled mess of desperation and sudden, horrible pain, however, and she quickly tried to put it back in its box. “Are you alright, Captain?”
Alexei chuckled, and Andrea nearly jumped out of her skin at the shock of it. “Yes, Andrea, I’m fine. And so is your leg, despite your best attempts to leave it in the mud out there. Now, I can’t stay - I just wanted to make sure you woke up. I need to get back out to the others.”
Andrea nodded. As Alexei reached the door, however, she blurted out “Captain?”
“Yes, soldier?”
“Why not retreat, sir? We could have. Like the others.”
Alexei froze, one hand on the door, and turned to look back. Andrea felt a shiver run through her as his pale eyes locked on hers with a mingled anger and regret. “Loyalty, Andrea. That loyalty that makes sure you never shirk a duty, because every time you do that you simply pass a problem along to your comrades. If we had retreated it would have been the Jacks, or the Wolves, or the Kindred who took the blow. Why them and not us? They are no better equipped, no stronger than us. Every soldier there that fell would have been on my conscience even as I saw us safely back in the city.”
Andrea nodded mutely, terrified of provoking him further. As the Captain turned and walked from the room she heard his cold, resolute voice echo back almost as an afterthought - “Even as you are on my conscience, soldier.”