“You didn’t have the foresight to bring boots?” Elenore asked Argrave as she leaned on his arm.

Argrave looked down at Elenore, smiling with bitter patience. She wore cloth pants for travel, and he could barely see her pink feet. Indeed, pink—the new flesh was like a newborn’s, markedly different from the leg just above it.

“We,” he rephrased. “We didn’t have the foresight. You might be my lackey, but you have lackeys of your own. We’ll get you some footwear once we get outside—one of the two mages has some to spare, maybe.” He adjusted his arm slightly and she moved nervously. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I get a chill in my spine anytime I feel my… feet… fall upon a surface.”

Argrave nodded. “But no pain?”

Elenore looked to him, and his eyes fell upon hers. They were still red and raw—it looked like she’d been hit by pepper spray, or something—but the bulk of her eyes had been fully restored. She had gray eyes, the same as he did. Seeing the change made him feel indescribably good inside. In the wake of the tremendous hardships of the past few days, he felt like he’d found a great buoy of happiness to draw him from the somber ocean he’d found himself in.

“No pain,” Elenore confirmed. She blinked rapidly, then closed her eyes and squeezed them shut tightly. “Ugh. Dizzy,” she said simply.

“I’ll be with you the whole way,” he assured. “Your bones could still be fragile, so try not to put your whole weight down. Just lean on me.” He turned his head, vaguely gesturing towards Anneliese. “If you want, I could get Anne on the other side.”

“Why not carry me on your back, spare me any strain at all?” she said sarcastically. “No. I’m fine.”

“Then… move anytime you want,” he suggested gently.

Elenore stayed frozen in place. She took several deep breaths, but her knees stayed locked in place and she made no attempts to move.

“…anytime,” Argrave repeated teasingly.

“Yes, anytime. That includes now all the way to eternity, maybe even until Gerechtigkeit himself blows away this tent,” she retorted, clearly flustered.

Another while passed. Argrave waited for her first step with a patient smile on his face. Slowly, she lifted her foot up and stepped forward. Argrave advanced slightly with her as she gingerly settled upon the ground.

“There you go,” Argrave said encouragingly. “I would clap, but that might cause problems. Anne, you want to?”

Anneliese prudently decided not to clap, but she looked on with a smile. Elenore looked deep in concentration as she moved the next foot forward for her second step. Slowly, surely, her confidence started to return and her pace increased. Argrave followed her about as she tracked a rough circle about the tent. Before long, she was walking at near half that of a normal pace.

“Hoo…” Elenore exhaled, clearly starting to feel a rush of various emotions. The corners of her mouth rose, bringing some bright life to her tired face. She laughed lightly. “Feels… funny,” she said. “Tingly.”

His sister’s happiness seemed so innocent that Argrave stifled another tease. She kept walking carefreely, enjoying every moment of it with such enthusiasm she seemed a whole different person. The only thing that slowed her exponential growth of confidence was a slight slip, but Argrave steadied her gracefully.

“Thank you,” she said, then laughed once again. “I didn’t think… it would be so different from the prosthetics. But…” she struggled, her tongue tied. “I don’t have the words for it.”

“Ready to go outside?” Argrave asked her.

Elenore took a deep breath and looked towards the tent flaps marking the entrance. Faint dawn light barely peeked beyond them, offering inviting illumination. Though she looked nervous, she did eventually nod an affirmative.

Anneliese first lifted the tent flaps aside, offering more entrance to light. Galamon stood there patiently, guarding them. He was eating some rations—dried meat. Elenore shielded her newly formed eyes, blinking rapidly and slowly adjusting. Only after a long while did she feel confident enough to remove her hand and step forward into the light.

Once they stepped outside, he heard Elenore inhale sharply. Their tent was situated atop a hill, and it offered a fantastic view of the rising suns. The two balls of fire illuminated the spring beauty of the region of Atrus. Near Vysenn, civilization was especially absent—there was a lake, a beautiful field of wildflowers, and long stretches of taiga further north.

Elenore’s eyes watered from the bright light, but she still seldom blinked, her gaze wandering the countryside with unabated enthusiasm. It overwhelmed her to the point her breathing grew uneven, and she leaned upon Argrave even heavier.

“I need to… sit,” she said.

“Over here,” he pointed with his free arm, then shepherded her until they came to the rock he pointed to. She sat down eagerly, then Argrave right beside her. Anneliese came to stand behind them, watching the view.

“Even once you gave me that set of jewelry…” Elenore began. “I always missed seeing the distant sights. When we walked down to Vasquer’s holding area, I could not see the snake until I grew very close. During that battle, I could not see the gigantic mass of snakes you conjured. It was so unsettling.”

“Eels,” Argrave corrected. “They’re eels.”

Elenore laughed, wiping away some of the wetness on her face as she smiled brightly. “I remember… when I was young. I went traipsing through the royal gardens in my bare feet. When I returned, one of the royal maids chided me for acting unladylike.” She placed her hands on her knees. “When I told my father, he came with me the next day. I climbed trees and jumped down, where he caught me in his arms. Sometimes, he’d even toss me back up onto the tree.”

Argrave listened silently.

“Heh…” she laughed again. “I don’t think I deserve to see again.”

Argrave wrapped his arm around her and jostled her about. “Deserve? Nobody gets what they deserve. Who decides what you deserve?”

“I don’t know,” she said, then sighed. “There I go again. Sharing something personal, then regretting it.”

“Regret all you want,” Argrave said dismissively. “I’m here. You’re my sister, and that won’t change.”

Elenore didn’t say anything back, her watery eyes still wandering the landscape. Her eyes settled upon something. “Our army is a bit of an eyesore to this scene.”

Argrave didn’t respond, looking upon the distant tents just barely visible beyond the mountains that formed the valley Castle Cookpot resided in.

“We had best prepare to return,” Elenore looked to Argrave, her gray eyes sharp and focused. “There is much to do.”

#####

Within the hour, their party was prepared to leave. Rather than rely on Argrave for support, Elenore, her bones still somewhat weak, rode with Durran on his bear once again. That was not as carefree a ride as it had been the first time—some tension still persisted between them after Elenore had told Durran to mind his own business. The unresolved conflict manifested as a silence between them—both said only what needed to be said the entire time.

Galamon reported, though, that Durran had spent the whole night without sleep and had privately asked about Elenore’s well-being multiple times. Elenore also still kept the prosthetics Durran had carved. Argrave didn’t have the confidence to play cupid, so he banished the matter from his mind. He had already ruined his first attempt, and he didn’t care to try another.

When they arrived back at Castle Cookpot at dusk, another wave spread through the camp. Argrave goes on a short journey with his sister, and they return the next day with the princess healed—surely such a thing didn’t need to be spelled out. Argrave gave no concrete answers to what few people asked him questions, and Elenore didn’t stoke the rumor… but then, she didn’t need to.

Argrave was uncomfortable where these dramatic rumors were headed. Between his recruitment of the northern spellcasters, the actions in Quadreign to win the whole of the north to his banner, the battle with the barbarians and the Unhanded Coalition, and now the miraculous recovery of his sister… the talk spreading was unilaterally positive. Argrave was certain he could head to Guyana and build a nice little cult settlement. He didn’t like the prospect, but at the same time saw no way to lower their expectations without failing them. And Argrave didn’t intend to fail them, problematically.

Regardless, they all went to sleep, as it was dusk by the time they arrived and each of them had very little rest throughout that whole ordeal. The next day, well-rested, they rose early to tackle the various problems before them.

Early in the day, the first of the diplomats they’d sent out to various lords in the lands beyond Castle Cookpot returned. They had been seeking an unconditional surrender from the various lords, and total submission to Argrave as King of Vasquer. They’d brought prisoners who’d witnessed the battle to spread stories. These had only managed to visit the closest lords beyond.

The response? For this initial batch—those closest to their influence—the lords gave a resounding submission to their request. Elenore wasn’t certain the results would be same further, but the encroaching presence of their army as they settled things coupled with the rise of the Archduchy of Northern Vasquer under Diana would undoubtedly facilitate a quick consolidation of power.

Then, by dusk…

Elenore opened the door, walking into Argrave’s temporary quarters where he ate with Anneliese while they watched the suns set from the balcony.

“The front on the south has shifted dramatically,” Elenore declared. “One side won… and two weeks ago, at that! My damned scouts…” she stepped closer to them, cradling her head in dismay.

“Tell me what happened,” Argrave said calmly, placing his fork aside.

“Duke Sumner leads a force to Dirracha,” Elenore said.

Argrave narrowed his eyes. “Not the Margrave?”

“So far as I can tell…” Elenore stepped about the room. “I’m just now getting reports. I don’t know what happened. But the south won, and Duke Sumner leads the charge to seize the capital.”