Arvenus stared down at the grain in the wood of the table in the barn next to his parents' farmstead. He traced the rough wood with his fingers, still far too aware of the pain it caused his wrist. Almost a week had passed since the raiders had attacked the estate village, and he still struggled to command the most basic tasks with his injured arm. His fingers felt numb, as if they had been severed from his hand. The village healer had assured him that feeling would return in time, but for now, all he could do was lament, and wait.

At the sound of the door swinging wide on groaning hinges, Arvenus looked up. Daron made his way into the barn, eyes dark and downcast. Several other men followed in his wake.

“Is it as we feared?” Arvenus asked. Daron pulled a chair up next to him and sat heavily, moaning as he did so.

“Aye,” the landlord said with a nod. “Nearly so. We’ve finally counted all the stock. They made off with over half of our stores. And two good horses, besides.”

“I’m sorry, Daron,” Arvenus apologized. “They must have followed Vreya here when we sent her off. It was a poor choice to let the mule free.”

Daron waved away his words. “Hush, my boy. The past is of little consequence. We must focus on the future now. How are the men coming along?

Arvenus sighed, scratching at his chin. “As well as could be expected, I suppose,” he lamented. “Given that they have no formal training and no experience. I’ve taught them the basics of combat thus far. Initially, holding a weapon properly was somewhat of a struggle for most, but once they were able to do so, things progressed more easily. Some have not been able to get the hang of it at all though, and I fear we may have to adjust our definition of weaponry to accommodate them.”

Daron nodded, his face somber in light of Arvenus' words.

“What of Yarnus?” Arvenus asked the landlord, his words quiet with a studied nonchalance. “I’d hoped to see him with you.”

Daron lifted a hand and clapped Arvenus on the shoulder. “I did stop round,” the landlord said hesitantly. “But unlike those other lads, your brother couldn’t be convinced. He thinks it a mistake to build a watch. He thinks we are wasting our time creating a guard to protect the village.”

Arvenus shook his head, swearing beneath his breath. “I know Yarnus is foolhardy,” he said after a time. “But I fail to see how being prepared for another possible attack is folly.”

Daron shook his head in commiseration. “It is not for us to decide,” he said softly. “Come, show me what the men have learned thus far.”

With a sigh, Arvenus rose to his feet. His feet ached, the muscles in his back tight from the unending struggle of showing the men how to fight. Arvenus' skill level was rudimentary at best, even he could admit that, and yet, among the farmers that lived in the village, his most recent bout of combat was the only one they had heard hide or hair of. His willingness to throw himself at the enemy and to risk his life for those of the village had not gone unnoticed. And so it was that he found himself, over the last week, teaching the men the basic fighting skills he had.

“I’ve done what I can with them, Daron,” he said in a warning tone. “But I don’t know how much more I can teach them. I don’t have the experience nor the patience to do much more.”

As he led the landlord out the back of the barn and into the field beyond, Daron stared ahead intently. A few dozen villagers had gathered behind the barn, each brandishing their own unique weapons. Some men held spears, others swords, and some still held their pitchforks in hand, twirling them round in the air and jabbing them forward.

The men had been arranged in rows of six, each facing bales of hay stacked three or four high. They hacked and slashed at the feed, moving slowly through the rhythms that Arvenus had so painstakingly shown them.

“Who among them do you find fitting?” Daron asked, his gaze fixed on the would-be warriors.

“Sadus is perhaps the best,” Arvenus said with a nod toward a man hardly ten years older than himself, though, with the streaks of white through his black hair, one would assume the man was far older. “His aim is true, and he is more than willing to learn. He has even been passing some of the skills he has learned on to his nephew.” Arvenus chuckled as he pointed to the sidelines, where a young boy stood rapt with attention, staring at his uncle.

“We may yet make a warrior out of young Arin,” Arvenus murmured. “But until then, Sadus would be a fine fit to lead the watch, or even a battalion should there be need of it.”

The landlord nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping over the men one by one before he turned his attention back to Arvenus.

“Go on then,” Daron urged. “Give me a demonstration. Show me what they can do.”

Arvenus swallowed. The fingers of fear crept up to clutch at his chest, but he ignored them. Making his way around the side of the barn, he came to a stop before a large wooden chest that had been chained to one of the barn’s pillars. As he flipped the lid open, the chest produced a quiet screaming sound that made him shudder.

Inside the chest were dozens of old swords in scabbards, most with their leather torn and peeling. It was all they had amassed from those of the village - family heirlooms and prized possessions that had long hung on the walls, useless in the hands of those that owned them. But the trouble with bandits and raids was enough to make the men of the village give up their treasures, to donate them to the cause of their own safety.

Even Arvenus’ father Vrayim had donated a long-adored heirloom that his great-grandfather had carried long ago. It lay buried at the bottom of the chest, and Arvenus rummaged through the blades until at last he saw its familiar crest in the pile.

Its scabbard was more pristine than most, a gleaming black leather with no discernable tears. The hilt that protruded from the scabbard had a glittering bronze handle with leather ornately braided into it. The pommel fit his hand as if it had been specially made for him, and Arvenus pulled the blade free of its sheath with one swift jerk. He had no time to ponder on the power it made him feel; the strength and courage it gave him.

Hefting the sword in his hand, he whirled about and made his way towards the men still training behind him.

“Alright, men,” he said, gathering them around him. “Daron wants to see what you’ve learned. Pair off. I want clean fights amongst yourselves,” he hollered as the men began to settle into pairs. “We’re not trying to hurt one another, only to demonstrate our knowledge thus far.”

Arvenus waved to Vrayim, who sat on the sidelines watching his son alongside his wife.

“If you’d be so kind as to do me the honors,” he smiled at his father, who nodded his acquiescence. Vrayim headed to the chest and rummaged about inside for a moment before returning. In his hand he held a broad shortsword, one with an intricately carved blade and hollow pommel with spirals of copper woven together around it.

Arvenus raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the blade, then looked to his father. Vrayim shrugged and smiled, nonplussed.

For the better part of an hour, he ran them through the paces, his motions imitating what he had seen in battle. He demonstrated the flow of combat with his father in a defensive position, stopping to correct individuals as they flowed through the pattern. At last, his muscles tense and back aching, he called for a halt.

“Well,” Daron murmured, coming to stand next to Arvenus. Arvenus wiped the grime from his face with his sweat-stained tunic, breathing hard.

“Rudimentary, I know,” he puffed, shoving his sword back in its scabbard. “But they are improving.”

Daron raised an eyebrow as he continued to study the men. “They do hang onto your every word,” he noted. “So until I must call upon them, they will follow your lead as you train them. I like what I’ve seen here, Arvenus. You’ve done well.”

As the evening sun settled on his face, Arvenus placed his hand on the garden gate at the mansion and pushed the bronze bars wide. A shout from the porch caught him off guard, and he peered up, squinting through the sunshine.

“Arvenus,” Lanika called, her tone serious. “You’d better come quickly.”

A spike of fear hit him like an arrow to the heart. For a moment he was stunned into inaction, paralyzed by that same fear, but at Lanika’s second call he raced up the path, launching himself up the stairs and into the house.

Analin sat, hands folded in her lap, her face drawn, pensive.

“My love,” Arvenus said, coming to kneel before her. “What is it?”

Unable to speak, Analin looked at him, her mouth agape, her jaw working to get the words out. Arvenus lifted his good hand to her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. The smile that graced her lips at his touch made his heart squeeze.

“I… I’m with child,” she breathed in a rush. A sparkle lit her eyes then as tears began to fall down her cheeks. “I’m with child.”

For a moment, Arvenus felt the world still around him. Nothing else existed, save Analin’s beautiful face. He stared into her eyes, imploring.

“Is this real?” he asked at last, hope soaring within him. “Are you really with child?”

Analin reached forward and grabbed both sides of his face in her hands. “This is real,” she agreed, leaning forward, and kissing his lips. “We are going to have a baby.”

Arvenus felt his heart squeeze. “Praise Psikar for its soul,” he murmured.

With a laugh he scooped her into his arms, lifting her to her feet. She laughed, and he kissed her neck, followed by her cheeks and then on the lips.

“Oh, Arvenus,” Analin whispered, breathless with excitement. “I didn’t know I could feel such joy. From the time I was a little girl, a part of me yearned for a child. Even then I knew there was a part of me missing, as if my soul had been cleaved in two. I’ve known the entirety of my life that the part of me that was missing was this child…” Analin held a hand to her throat, swallowing back the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Tears rolled down the apple of her cheeks, trailing their way down to the upturned corners of her mouth. “And I’m so unbelievably happy,” she finished through the tightness of her throat. “Words cannot begin to express my relief and love and joy for this child inside me. At last I feel as if I am complete.”

Arvenus wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against him. He kissed the soft tresses atop her head, feeling for the first time that his life was well and truly complete. No longer would he worry about Yarnus. It was clear to him now that whatever feelings there were between Analin and his brother were one sided at best. Analin carried his child in her womb, and it was his seed that would bind them together for eternity. Whatever feelings Yarnus might harbor were of little consequence now.

“We must celebrate,” he declared at last. “Let’s get our friends and family together soon, to toast our new son or daughter.”

“May he be as strong and charismatic as his father,” Analin whispered.

“May she be as beautiful and kind as her mother,” he agreed.

Pushing her away, Arvenus stood. “Allow me to get sustenance for my beautiful wife,” he smiled. “I should get used to servitude, now that I will be doting on you hand, foot, and finger.”

“Don’t be silly,” Analin said, though a grin graced her lips. “I would not have it so.”

“Hush, wife,” Arvenus insisted. “You are carrying my child, and though my servitude will not help ease your burden to any great extent, I have little else to offer. Allow me to feel useful where I can.”

At last, Analin relented with a nod. “Some water and fruit would be sublime.”

“Then it shall be done,” Arvenus nodded. Pressing his lips to her cheek, he breathed in the warmth of her scent before making his way toward the kitchen.

As he raised a hand to push the door open, Daron’s and Lanika’s voices floated out to meet him.

“They are quite the pair, aren’t they?” Daron asked, the lilt of affection in his voice.

“Aye,” Lanika agreed. “But I’ve said that from the beginning of their courtship. Unlike you,” she added pointedly, and the distinct tinkling sound of wood against porcelain could be heard.

“Oh, fluff,” Daron grumbled, the squeak of chair legs against stone matching his footsteps. “I’ve always maintained that Arvenus was a good lad.”

“But not always that he was good for our daughter,” Lanika countered, the shadow of amusement buried in her voice.

“I cannot help that my instincts as a father made me question Arvenus' intentions,” Daron bristled. “He did have something of a reputation with the young women of this village, after all.”

Lanika chuckled, and Arvenus pushed the door ajar, peering through the crack to watch their interaction.

“That he did,” she agreed. “But he seems much reformed now.”

“Aye,” Daron nodded. In the silence that followed, Arvenus watched the lines of Daron’s face soften as he became increasingly more pensive.

“What is it, my love?” Lanika asked, placing her hand on top of Daron’s.

“You know… with Analin getting older and with her finally starting a family of her own… It has made me think about what should happen to us and our estate when we pass on.” He scratched at his chin, his eyes taking on a faraway look.

“Hmm,” Lanika murmured as she sipped at a cup of tea. “I suppose I too have wondered what things would look like, if you or I passed on.”

“What would you feel if I left it to Arvenus?” Daron asked, his eyes searching her face.

“I would say he is a much reformed man,” Lanika reiterated. “And he is like a son to us. Leaving the estate to him would assure wealth not only for him and Analin, but their child as well. I find him as good a choice as any, if not perhaps better. And, moreover, if not Arvenus, who else might you leave it to?”

“Aye,” Daron nodded, glancing down at the table. “Aye.”

Arvenus let the door shut before him, his head swimming. It was certainly not what he had wanted as a child, to become a landlord and watch over an estate. Yet, it was a position far removed from that of a simple farmer. Hope burgeoned in his chest, hope that perhaps his life could be far more than he had allowed himself to imagine. Sucking in a breath, Arvenus squared his shoulders and tried to forget his unsanctimonious eavesdropping. He pushed the door wide and made his way inside.

“How is Analin?” Lanika asked, putting the teacup to her mouth and taking a long draught.

“Hungry,” Arvenus said with a smile.

“Well,” Lanika grinned. “I suppose you’d best get used to that.”

“Particularly if she takes after her mother,” Daron said pointedly, eyeing his wife. The mirth that flashed in his eyes made his wife giggle.

“You’re a cur,” she teased, reaching across the table to hit him.

As Arvenus grabbed up some stone fruits and placed them in a bowl, filling a mug with water from the jug on the table, he was certain that if his and Analin’s marriage turned out to be half as joyous as Daron and Lanika’s, they would be happy for the rest of their lives.