Chapter 53
Dorian Knows (Or Thinks He Does)
Sir Dorian Lionsreach was very good at noticing things.
This was a fact he reminded people of often.
Unfortunately, Sir Dorian Lionsreach was also very good at noticing the wrong things and assembling them into conclusions so spectacularly incorrect that they looped back around into confidence.
Which was how he came to be crouched behind a stack of supply crates at the edge of the guild hall, whispering furiously to a chicken.
"I'm telling you," Dorian muttered, eyes narrowed, "something is wrong."
The chicken stared at him.
It did not blink.
That was unsettling.
Rowan Valebright had changed.
This, on its own, was not alarming. Rowan changed all the time—he was adapting, learning, growing. That was what good leaders did.
But this was different.
Rowan was:
Leaving fights early
Delegating important decisions
Accepting healing without arguing
Sleeping at regular hours
Worst of all—
He was letting Lila tell him what to do.
Dorian frowned.
That wasn't normal.
That was terminal.
He scribbled another note on the parchment balanced against his knee.
SYMPTOMS OBSERVED:
Reduced front-line exposure
Increased reliance on allies
Excessive domestic behavior
Suspicious tenderness
He paused.
"...Tenderness," he muttered. "That's not good."
The chicken shifted closer, peering at the parchment.
"Don't judge me," Dorian said. "I'm doing investigative work."
The chicken clucked softly.
"Yes, I know you've been acting weird too," Dorian replied. "Everyone's acting weird."
He glanced up just in time to see Rowan crossing the guild hall with Lila at his side.
They moved in sync.
That was new.
Rowan leaned slightly toward her as she spoke, listening instead of scanning the room. She adjusted his cloak without asking. He didn't even flinch.
Dorian felt a chill.
"Oh no," he whispered. "He's being cared for."
The chicken tilted its head.
Dorian leaned closer. "That only happens when someone's dying."
The chicken did not disagree.
That worried him deeply.
The evidence continued to pile up throughout the day.
Rowan canceled a late-night training session.
Rowan accepted a revised patrol plan without rewriting it himself.
Rowan sat down during a briefing.
Sat.
Down.
Dorian stared from across the room, jaw slowly dropping.
He elbowed an adventurer beside him. "Is he ill?"
The adventurer glanced at Rowan, then shrugged. "He looks... happy?"
Dorian recoiled. "That's worse."
He retreated to the strategy room and spread his notes across the table.
"Alright," Dorian muttered, pacing. "Let's think logically."
He ticked points off on his fingers.
"Possibility one: He's cursed."
The chicken hopped onto the table.
Dorian pointed at it. "You would know."
The chicken stared back, inscrutable.
"...Possibility two: He's poisoned."
Dorian frowned. "But he still eats stew."
The chicken made a small, thoughtful sound.
"...Possibility three: He's dying."
The words settled heavily.
Dorian stopped pacing.
Rowan had nearly died in the ravine.
Rowan was fighting differently now.
Rowan was preparing people to function without him.
Dorian's stomach dropped.
"No," he whispered. "No no no no no."
He grabbed a map, spreading it open.
"If he knows he's dying," Dorian reasoned aloud, "he'd want the guild stable. The city protected. Lila secure."
He froze.
"...Lila."
Dorian's eyes widened.
"Oh no."
The chicken flapped once.
Dorian spun toward it. "He's making arrangements."
The chicken stared.
"He's putting his affairs in order."
The chicken blinked.
Dorian ran a hand through his hair. "That explains everything."
The chicken did not look convinced.
The final piece fell into place an hour later.
Dorian was reviewing supply requests when he noticed it.
A minor thing.
Almost insignificant.
A requisition for softer bedding.
Filed under domestic needs.
Signed by Rowan Valebright.
Dorian's breath caught.
"Soft... bedding," he whispered.
The chicken leaned closer.
Dorian's voice trembled. "He's planning for... comfort."
The chicken clucked ominously.
Dorian slapped the parchment down.
"That's it," he said. "I've cracked it."
The chicken stared.
"I need to confront him," Dorian declared. "Before it's too late."
The chicken hopped off the table and followed.
Dorian found Rowan and Lila in the smaller meeting room, heads bent together over a map.
They looked up as he burst in.
Rowan blinked. "Dorian?"
Lila smiled politely. "Is something wrong?"
Dorian slammed the door shut behind him and marched forward, face pale but determined.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "Something is very wrong."
Rowan frowned. "Is it on fire?"
"No!" Dorian snapped. "This is worse."
Lila blinked.
Dorian took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and spoke loudly—too loudly—for the size of the room.
"ROWAN," he said, voice cracking slightly, "ARE YOU HIDING A TERMINAL ILLNESS?"
Silence fell like a dropped sword.
Rowan stared at him.
Lila stared at him.
The map fluttered slightly as a draft slipped under the door.
Rowan opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"...What," Rowan said slowly, "gave you that idea."
Dorian gestured wildly. "THE SIGNS."
Lila tilted her head. "What signs?"
Dorian began counting on his fingers.
"You're pulling back from fights," he said. "You're delegating authority. You're letting people help you. You requested softer bedding."
Rowan stared.
Lila's lips twitched.
"And," Dorian added, voice softer now, "you nearly died. And now you're... calm."
Rowan exhaled through his nose.
"That's not—"
Dorian raised a hand. "I don't want to hear excuses. I want the truth."
Lila and Rowan exchanged a look.
Not panicked.
Not guilty.
Something else.
Rowan rubbed his temple. "Dorian..."
Lila placed a hand on Rowan's arm.
"Maybe," she said gently, "we should tell him."
Dorian's heart slammed.
"Tell me what," he demanded.
Rowan closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
"Dorian," he said, "I am not dying."
Dorian sagged slightly. "Oh thank—"
"But," Rowan continued.
Dorian straightened immediately. "BUT."
The word echoed.
Lila took a breath.
"We're expecting a child," she said.
The silence that followed was not normal silence.
It was structural.
Dorian's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"...A what."
The Oath (and Several Unnecessary Plans)
Dorian did not scream.
This, in itself, was alarming.
He simply stood there, mouth slightly open, eyes unfocused, as if the world had abruptly been replaced with a badly written alternate reality.
"A..." he said slowly.
Rowan waited.
"A...child," Dorian finished.
"Yes," Lila said gently.
Dorian nodded once.
Then again.
Then he sat down.
Hard.
On the nearest chair.
The chair creaked ominously under the weight of realization.
"...Huh," Dorian said.
Rowan glanced at Lila. "Is he—"
Dorian shot to his feet.
"No," he said sharply. "No no no. Sit back down. All of you."
Rowan blinked. "Dorian—"
"YOU," Dorian pointed at Rowan, "are not allowed to move."
He spun to Lila. "YOU are not allowed to breathe sharply."
Lila raised an eyebrow. "That might be difficult."
Dorian waved dismissively. "Figure it out."
He began pacing the room at speed, armor clanking, muttering furiously.
"A child," he repeated. "A Valebright child."
Rowan opened his mouth.
Dorian whirled. "WHEN were you planning to tell me?"
Rowan hesitated. "We... hadn't decided."
Dorian froze mid-step.
"...You hadn't—"
He pressed his fingers to his temples.
"You fought a construct the size of a fortress," Dorian said slowly, "with a cracked barrier, a wounded shoulder, and this information, and you didn't think to mention it?"
Rowan winced. "It's new."
Dorian stared at him.
Then at Lila.
Then back at Rowan.
"...I need to sit again."
He did.
Lila watched him carefully. "Are you alright?"
Dorian nodded automatically. "Yes. No. Possibly. I don't know. This is... a lot."
Rowan softened. "Dorian—"
"No," Dorian said, holding up a hand. "Let me process."
He took a deep breath.
Then another.
Then stood again, visibly steadier.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. This is fine."
Rowan relaxed slightly.
Dorian cracked his knuckles.
"We begin contingency planning."
Lila laughed softly. "Of course you do."
Dorian grabbed a fresh parchment.
"First," he said briskly, "Rowan no longer takes point. Ever."
Rowan opened his mouth.
"No," Dorian snapped. "I don't care if the city is on fire. We have standards now."
Rowan shut his mouth.
"Second," Dorian continued, "Lila does not walk anywhere unescorted."
"I already do that—"
"TRIPLE escort," Dorian corrected. "Minimum."
Lila smiled. "That's excessive."
Dorian wrote faster. "I'm just getting started."
"Third," he said, "anyone within twenty paces of either of you will be vetted."
Rowan sighed. "Dorian—"
"Fourth," Dorian continued relentlessly, "the chicken is promoted."
The chicken, which had been quietly pecking at the corner of the map, looked up.
Rowan blinked. "Promoted to what."
"Early warning system," Dorian said without hesitation. "It knows things."
The chicken fluffed its feathers smugly.
Lila covered her mouth, laughing.
"Dorian," Rowan said carefully, "this is... appreciated. But you don't need to go this far."
Dorian stopped writing.
Turned.
And for the first time since the reveal, his expression was serious.
"Yes," he said quietly. "I do."
The room stilled.
"I watched you almost die," Dorian said. "I stood in front of you because that's what I do. But now—"
His voice wavered.
"...Now there's more than just you."
Rowan felt something tighten painfully in his chest.
Dorian swallowed. "You taught me how to protect people, Rowan. Let me do it."
Rowan stepped forward despite himself.
Dorian raised a hand. "Careful."
Rowan stopped.
Then nodded.
"Alright," Rowan said. "Together."
Dorian's shoulders loosened slightly.
Lila reached out and squeezed Dorian's arm. "Thank you."
Dorian blinked. "Don't thank me yet. I haven't built the panic bunker."
"The what."
"The PANIC bunker," Dorian repeated. "It's different."
Later, they sat in the common room, the tension finally eased into something warmer.
Dorian drank his tea in thoughtful silence.
"So," he said eventually, "does this mean I get to teach the child swordsmanship?"
Rowan smiled faintly. "Eventually."
Dorian grinned. "Excellent. I will be the cool uncle."
"You will not," Rowan said dryly.
Dorian pointed at him. "You don't get to decide that."
Lila leaned back, content. "You'll scare them."
Dorian nodded proudly. "Yes."
The chicken hopped onto the table between them.
Dorian eyed it. "You're on night watch."
The chicken stared back.
"I'm serious."
The chicken did not move.
"...We'll negotiate."
That evening, Dorian lingered alone on the balcony after Rowan and Lila retired.
The city spread out below him, lanterns glowing softly.
He rested his hands on the railing.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's not mess this up."
The weight of it settled in.
This wasn't just about battles anymore.
This was aboutfuture.
Dorian exhaled slowly.
"Guess I'm growing up," he muttered.
Behind him, the chicken clucked skeptically.
Dorian glanced back. "Don't ruin this."
Far away, unseen, a presence shifted its attention.
Information flowed.
Threads tightened.
A new variable had entered the equation.
Varnyx listened, iron still and patient.
"So," he said softly, "the shield now guards more than a city."
A low, dangerous smile formed.
"Good."
Dorian returned inside, rolling his shoulders.
Tomorrow would be chaos.
He would handle it.
Because for the first time, the thing he was protecting wasn't just a guild.
It was a family.