Chapter 5
Rowan Valebright believed, with absolute certainty, that he could fix the shelf.
This belief was based on several incorrect assumptions:
That fixing a shelf required strength.
That strength solved most problems.
That the shelf respected him.
It did not.
He stood in their sitting room, sleeves rolled up, hammer in hand, staring at the offending piece of wood like it had personally betrayed him.
"It was fine yesterday," he muttered.
Lila sat on the sofa with a book, legs tucked beneath her, watching him with the fond amusement of someone who knew exactly how this would end.
"You say that about a lot of things," she said.
Rowan frowned at the shelf. "I reinforced it."
"With what?"
"...Confidence."
She laughed, closing her book. "Rowan."
"Yes?"
"You don't need to fix everything."
He glanced back at her. "I'm not fixing everything. I'm fixing this."
The shelf creaked ominously.
Lila raised an eyebrow. "It disagrees."
Rowan adjusted his grip on the hammer. "Shelves don't disagree."
The shelf promptly gave way.
The entire structure collapsed in a slow, humiliating cascade of wood, nails, and what used to be neatly stacked books.
Rowan froze.
Silence.
Lila stared.
The dust settled.
"...I see," she said calmly.
Rowan lowered the hammer. "...It escalated."
She stood and walked over, stepping around the debris.
"You're glaring at it like it attacked you."
"It did," he replied. "Emotionally."
She crouched, picking up a fallen book. "You know you could've asked for help."
Rowan opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"...I wanted to do something normal," he admitted.
Her expression softened instantly.
"Oh."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I fight monsters. I command guilds. I negotiate treaties. I thought I could manage a shelf."
She smiled gently. "You can."
"...Eventually?"
"Yes," she said. "But not alone."
She reached for the hammer.
Rowan blinked. "You?"
"Me."
She handed him a nail. "Hold."
He did.
They worked together — slowly, carefully. Rowan restrained himself from applying force. Lila measured, adjusted, corrected.
The shelf went back up.
It held.
Rowan exhaled. "...Victory."
She smiled. "See?"
He nodded. "I hate that you're right."
She laughed.
They were still admiring their work when the knock came.
Rowan stiffened instinctively.
Lila sighed. "If that's Dorian—"
The door burst open.
"GOOD NEWS," Dorian Lionsreach announced, already halfway inside.
Rowan closed his eyes. "Of course."
Dorian looked around. "Oh. Renovations?"
"No," Rowan said. "Recklessness."
Dorian nodded. "Relatable."
He leaned closer to the shelf, poking it experimentally.
"Don't," Rowan warned.
The shelf held.
Dorian looked impressed. "Huh."
Lila crossed her arms. "Why are you here."
Dorian brightened. "Two reasons!"
Rowan groaned.
"First," Dorian continued, "the guild is fine."
Rowan narrowed his eyes. "That's not good news."
"No," Dorian admitted. "But it's context."
"And the second?"
Dorian hesitated.
"...The city council wants you to attend a 'low-pressure civic gathering.'"
Rowan stared. "...That phrase contains lies."
"They emphasized 'low-pressure,'" Dorian said helpfully.
Lila smiled sweetly. "Is that what we're calling ambushes now?"
Dorian shrugged. "Marketing."
Rowan folded his arms. "No."
Dorian blinked. "No?"
"No," Rowan repeated. "I'm home."
Dorian looked between them. "You said that yesterday."
"Yes," Rowan said. "I meant it today."
Dorian frowned. "You're really committing to this rest thing."
Lila stepped forward. "He is."
Dorian studied her for a long moment.
"...You're dangerous."
She smiled. "I try."
Dorian sighed. "Fine. I'll tell them you're busy."
Rowan nodded. "Thank you."
Dorian paused at the door. "...Out of curiosity, what are you doing today?"
Rowan glanced at the repaired shelf.
"...Domestic triumph."
Dorian stared. "You broke a shelf."
"Yes," Rowan said. "And then fixed it."
Dorian blinked. "...Marriage is wild."
Later, after Dorian left and the house returned to quiet, Rowan sat at the table sharpening a knife — slowly, carefully, without force.
Lila watched him over a cup of tea.
"You're thinking again," she said.
"I was reflecting."
"On?"
"...Whether the shelf won."
She laughed. "You won."
He nodded. "Barely."
She reached across the table and took his hand.
"You don't have to prove anything here."
He squeezed her fingers.
"I know," he said. "I just... want to be good at this."
She smiled warmly. "You are."
He looked at her, expression earnest.
"I am very bad at small things."
She leaned closer. "That's alright. I'm good at them."
He smiled.
Outside, the city carried on.
At the guild, Dorian was explaining to a clerk why "low-pressure" was a relative term.
And somewhere, very far away, something patient continued to wait.
But for now, Rowan Valebright was learning a new kind of strength.
One nail at a time.
Rowan Valebright discovered, later that afternoon, that fixing one shelf gave him confidence he absolutely did not deserve.
"I'll make dinner," he announced.
Lila paused mid-page turn. "You will?"
"Yes."
She studied him carefully. "Define 'make.'"
"I will prepare food," Rowan said firmly. "With intent."
"...Rowan."
"I fought a hydra," he added. "I can handle a pan."
Lila smiled. "I'll supervise."
"That feels unnecessary."
"Then this should go very smoothly."
It did not.
The problem began with onions.
Rowan stared at them on the counter, knife in hand, brow furrowed in concentration.
"They're... smaller than expected," he muttered.
Lila leaned against the doorway. "They're onions."
"Yes," Rowan said. "But aggressively so."
He chopped.
The onion fought back.
Within seconds, Rowan's eyes watered.
"...This is a tactic," he said hoarsely.
Lila laughed. "You're crying."
"I am adapting."
She stepped forward, gently nudging him aside. "Here."
She showed him how to cut them properly, slow and controlled.
Rowan watched intently.
"...I see," he said. "Precision."
"Yes."
"Not force."
"Exactly."
Rowan nodded solemnly. "I have been lied to my entire life."
Dinner eventually emerged — edible, warm, and only slightly over-seasoned.
They ate together at the table, the quiet comfortable.
Rowan chewed thoughtfully. "...This is acceptable."
Lila smiled. "High praise."
"I would make it again."
She raised an eyebrow. "Brave words."
The knock came at sunset.
Again.
Rowan stared at the door.
"...I swear," he muttered, "if that is Dorian."
It was Dorian.
"GOOD EVENING," he said cheerfully, stepping inside without invitation. "I brought news."
Rowan sighed. "Of course you did."
Lila tilted her head. "Is it on fire?"
"No."
"Humming?"
"...Mildly."
Rowan closed his eyes.
Dorian held up a parchment. "The council would like to thank you for not attending."
"That feels passive-aggressive," Rowan said.
"It is," Dorian agreed. "But politely."
Lila accepted the parchment, skimming it. "They're inviting us to dinner next week."
Rowan opened one eye. "Us?"
"Yes," Dorian said. "Very intentional."
Rowan exhaled. "We'll consider it."
Dorian nodded. "Also—" he hesitated.
Rowan stiffened. "Also?"
"...Nothing."
Rowan stared at him.
Dorian sighed. "Fine. Patrols reported movement again."
Lila glanced up.
Rowan waited.
"...And?" Rowan asked.
"And nothing happened," Dorian finished quickly. "They moved away. Again."
Rowan considered.
"...Good."
Dorian blinked. "That's it?"
"Yes."
Dorian squinted. "You're not going to armor up?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"No."
Dorian stared at him for a long moment.
"...Marriage has made you terrifying," he said again.
Rowan smiled faintly. "It's efficient."
Lila handed Dorian a plate. "Eat."
Dorian blinked. "You're feeding me?"
"Yes," she said. "You look unhinged."
He accepted the food immediately. "Thank you."
Later, after Dorian left (reluctantly), Rowan and Lila sat together on the floor, backs against the sofa, cups of tea cooling slowly in their hands.
Rowan stretched his legs.
"...I'm sore."
Lila glanced at him. "From the shelf?"
"...Possibly."
She smiled gently. "You didn't say anything earlier."
"I didn't want to worry you."
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "That's not how this works."
He nodded. "I'm learning."
She traced small circles on his arm. "You don't have to carry everything alone."
He smiled faintly. "I know."
They sat in silence for a moment.
Then Lila frowned slightly.
"...That's odd."
Rowan turned. "What?"
She set her cup aside. "The tea tastes off."
He frowned. "Too strong?"
"No," she said. "Just... wrong."
Rowan watched her carefully.
"Are you unwell?"
"No," she said quickly. "Probably just tired."
He nodded, but filed it away.
They leaned together again.
Outside, the night settled.
Rowan felt the familiar hum at the edge of his awareness — distant, patient.
He did not reach for it.
Much later, in bed, Rowan lay awake.
Lila slept beside him, peaceful.
He stared at the ceiling, listening to her breathing.
"...I'm happy," he whispered.
She murmured in her sleep and shifted closer.
Rowan wrapped an arm around her carefully.
The world could wait.
Tomorrow, there would be patrols and councils and monsters that refused to behave.
But tonight, there was this.
And that was enough.