Darkness moved like water.
Elowen surfaced through it slowly, her mind rising before her body did. Shapes blurred above her—shadows of movement, the crackle of fire, a voice that sounded like it was speaking from inside a tunnel.
“…get her legs elevated—no, higher—she’s still shaking—”
Another voice cut through, deep and hard-edged.
“Carefully. She’s not fully conscious.”
Roderic.
She tried to open her eyes. The world smeared. Light stabbed. Her lashes fluttered, then fell shut again. Her whole body trembled with a violence she couldn’t control, like the cold was still inside her bones, echoing.
Someone pressed a warm cloth to her hands. Pain lanced upward, so sharp it tore a ragged sound from her throat.
“Easy—Elowen, stay still—”
Roderic again, closer now.
She didn’t know if she obeyed or if her body simply refused to move at all.
The scent of smoke drifted past her. The brush of fabric. Fingers checking her pulse. Words she couldn’t catch.
Everything drifted. Pulled away. Came back.
She felt hands at her boots—softly gripping, pulling.
Her own voice slurred out, thin as breath:
“Don’t—touch—”
Her numb fingers twitched but didn’t obey. Her throat tightened.
He adjusted her position without touching her feet again.
Warmth shifted closer—braziers dragged near, furs piled over her legs.
Someone spoke from far away:
“She needs to wake fully—keep her warm—if she loses consciousness again—”
She lost the rest.
Darkness took her.
She didn’t fight it.
___
The second time she woke, the world felt smaller.
Still dim. Still warm. The edges of the world wobbled, then held.
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The tent breathed quietly around her, coals hissing low. Snowmelt slid from her hair, soaking into the collar of dry clothes. Her limbs ached with a deep, bone-heavy fatigue, but they were hers again.
She shifted.
The faint thud of boots repositioning.
“Elowen?”
Roderic waited by her side, every piece of him arranged with deliberate care—coat smoothed, cuffs aligned, boots wiped clean of snow. But the order was too sharp, too exacting. His fingers tapped a restless pattern against his knee, the only place his tension slipped through. Fatigue dragged at the corners of his eyes, softening his usually crisp composure.
“You’re awake,” he said, but it came out like thank Elyon.
She blinked, slow and heavy. “How long?”
“Most of the day,” he said. “It’s past midnight now. You woke earlier. You weren’t… fully present.”
“I remember,” she whispered. “Some of it.”
Her voice cracked. Her lips felt split. Her hands—wrapped now—throbbed under the cloth.
She shifted again; her feet screamed in protest.
Roderic leaned forward immediately but didn’t touch her. “Don’t try to stand. Not yet.”
“Did I…” She swallowed. “Did I pass the trial?”
His jaw tightened, and he nodded once.
“You did. You finished everything.”
She stared up at the tent ceiling, breath shuddering. “I don’t—how?”
“You clawed your way up that ladder half-conscious.” His voice dropped, rougher than she’d ever heard it. “You passed out the moment you put the stones down.”
A flicker of shame rose—quick, irrational.
Her eyes drifted to him. The way his shoulders slumped now that she was awake. The crease between his brows that hadn’t eased even once.
“You stayed,” she said quietly.
His breath caught, just barely.
“Of course I stayed.”
She didn’t know what to do with the strange heaviness that settled in her chest at that.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“You’ll walk tomorrow,” he said. “But you’re not fighting anyone. And if you try, Thyra will drag you here herself.”
A tired half-laugh escaped her. “She would.”
Roderic didn’t smile.
“Elowen… you scared them.”
“Who?”
“All of them.” His gaze held hers. “Including me.”
Her throat tightened. She couldn’t decide if she hated that or needed it.
He looked away only then, staring at the brazier as if it held something safer to study.
“The healers say you pushed past where most stop. That you should’ve lost consciousness in the lake, not after.”
“I…” She searched for words. “I didn’t want to stop.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
Another long silence.
The warmth of the tent pressed close. Her body ached like a map of bruises waiting to be read. Yet some part of her felt steady in a way she didn’t recognize.
“How long until the next trial?” she asked.
Roderic hesitated—actually hesitated—and that was answer enough.
“Three days,” he said.
Her heartbeat stuttered. “Three.”
She nodded slowly.
The world felt fragile again. She closed her eyes, exhaustion pulling at her like a tide.
“Elowen,” Roderic said softly. Exhaustion had stripped her of most defenses, which was probably why she noticed how the way he said her name settled under her skin.
She opened her eyes again.
“You shouldn’t have been able to do that,” he said. “Not even with your training.”
Something shifted in his expression—unease, or something close to it. “But you did.”
She snorted. “I—what?. You sent me into the trial thinking I’d die?”
“No,” he said. “I kept track of everything—your time under, your movement, and the shift in the ice. If any one of them had gone wrong, I’d have pulled you out myself.”
“So… what? You were surprised I made it on my own?”
His jaw tightened just a fraction. “Yes.”
There was no shame in the admission. No softness. Just the blunt, unvarnished truth he always carried like a blade.
“And that,” he went on, “is what worries me.”
Before she could ask what he meant, the exhaustion surged up again, thick as the dark water she’d pulled herself out of. Her body sagged.
“Elowen.”
“I don’t understand,” she murmured, brow pulling tight. “Isn’t this what I came to do? Why would that worry you?”
“Sleep,” he said.
She didn’t have the strength to argue, so she let her eyes fall shut and took it as permission—finally—to stop fighting the day.
Her breath loosened. Her muscles unwound. This time, when her eyes closed, she did not resist the dark.
She trusted it to let her wake again.
