Chapter 60: 60. Back to Being Professionals
When Lucian woke up, the first thing he noticed was that Marshal’s face looked completely unique when she was asleep.
There were still all the sharp angles, like her strong jaw, defined cheekbones, and the scar on her left temple from a fight she hadn’t told him about yet.
However, the expression that usually accompanied all those sharp features—the constant readiness, the professional assessment, and the emotional wall she had maintained for so long that it felt like a second skin—was absent.
She looked like a normal person. Someone who had finally gotten some sleep.
He stayed still and watched her for a while, being careful not to ruin the moment. The low angle of the morning light through the barracks room’s small window highlighted the gold in her red hair and the way the blanket rose and fell with her breathing.
In the soft light, he could see the scars on her bare shoulder. Each one was a different color and texture, and they were stories he hadn’t heard yet.
He reached out and lightly traced the edge of one, the long diagonal one below her collarbone that looked like it had been there for a long time.
She opened her eyes.
Not the quick snap to alertness that a combat veteran might expect, but something slower and more real than that.
He blinked once, then twice, and then adjusted to the light. Then she saw him looking at her, and for a moment, before the professional mask could put itself back together, her face did something that he knew was unusual and would stay unusual.
She smiled, and it was real, not planned.
"Good morning," she said. Her voice was lower in the morning, a different register than the command voice she used in the field.
"Good morning," he said. "You look different when you’re asleep."
"Different how?" She said this not out of defensiveness but out of genuine interest.
He smiled, leaning back slightly as he considered his words. "More peaceful, I guess... Like all the weight you carry during the day just melts away."
"And of course, it feels less like you’re going to tell me that my footwork needs improvement."
She thought about this. "You do need to fix your footwork."
"And there it is." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I suppose some things never change, even in my dreams."
She grinned, enjoying the banter as the warmth of the morning sunlight seeped through the window, casting a soft glow around them.
The smile didn’t go away completely. The smile shifted to the side, becoming drier, yet it was still more than he typically received from her before noon.
She carefully stretched, like someone who had woken up in a lot of different places and learned how to check on her own body before asking a lot about it.
She said, "We have the war council this morning."
"I know."
"We need to put on clothes."
"I know that too."
Neither of them moved right away. The silence in that room had a certain quality to it.
It was thick and heavy, as if it were waiting for someone to break it. Each second stretched out, amplifying the tension that hung between them.
The weight of the day was building up at the edges but hadn’t quite arrived yet. Both of them were, in their own ways, choosing to stay on the right side of it for one more minute.
After that, she sat up with the clear motion of someone who had made a choice and began to reach for her armor. Lucian also sat up.
His heart raced as he watched her movements, a mix of admiration and apprehension coursing through him. He knew that once the armor was on, there would be no turning back, and the moment they had shared would slip away like sand through their fingers.
He then remembered that the armor had been laid out just right the night before, which was typical preparation. He picked up one of the pauldrons and held it while she put the shoulder plate underneath it.
She held the chest piece while he buckled the side straps. Neither of them said anything about what they were doing, but they both knew it.
The routine felt like a quiet partnership that made it seem less like learning something new and more like getting used to something that had always been possible.
As they made the last changes, they both felt like they understood each other without saying anything. It was a moment that went beyond words and brought them together for a common goal that neither of them had expected but both fully embraced.
"Let’s go back to being professionals," Marshal said. "And don’t often call me by my name on the battlefield."
"Roger!"
...
Glacielle was there when they were both dressed, armed, and standing in the hallway of the barracks.
She was sitting on the floor with her back against the wall opposite the door. One knee was bent and the other was straight.
She closely examined the edge of a frost fan, a habit she had for everything that needed to be done correctly. When the door opened, she looked up and smiled. She wasn’t surprised at all.
"Good morning, Master," she said. Then, looking right at Marshal, he said, "Good morning, Marshal."
When Marshal heard the name, he stumbled a little. He saw her preparing for something, similar to how she had at the bridge yesterday, in a manner that suggested she was ready for an impact that never occurred.
Glacielle stood up, put the frost fan back in its holster, and walked across the hall to stand in front of Marshal. She was almost a head shorter, but that didn’t make her any less direct.
"Thank you for loving him," she said, expressing it as she did with all important matters, using no extra words—just the essential ones.
"He needs what you give him: the discipline, the honesty, and the fire." She reached out her hand. "We’re all his, and I think that means we’re all each other’s too."
Marshal gazed at the offered hand for a moment.
Lucian could see that she was thinking about something that was either too big or too surprising to deal with quickly. Her eyes were displaying a look that was older than any expression she typically had.
"I don’t deserve your acceptance," Marshal said, and she really meant it. "Nor your kindness."
"You deserve everything," Glacielle said, with the simple surety that was very much hers.
"That includes him." She let the pause last for a beat before adding, "Besides, someone needs to keep him from getting too full of himself when a plan works."
She shook his hand once, like a soldier would, and the corners of her mouth moved in a way that made it look like she was smiling.
"That person," Marshal said, "is not him."
"Of course not," Glacielle said.
Before she got there, Octavia’s voice came from down the hall. "Ara ara, what a moving scene before breakfast."
She turned the corner and walked slowly, as if she had been awake long enough to do a few things, which she almost certainly had.
She looked at the three of them, and then she looked at Marshal in particular. The teasing turned into something real.
"Good job, Marshal. It’s about time you let yourself be happy."
"I don’t need congratulations," Marshal said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.
"Of course you don’t." Octavia’s smile was warm in a way that her playful faces usually weren’t. After that, she looked at Lucian over Marshal’s shoulder. "And Master, I hope you know that I’m keeping a professional opinion about how much stamina this party needs."
"Oh yeah, we really do need breakfast." Lucian said, "Let’s go eat."
"A great idea."
The military barracks in the capital originally designed the mess hall to accommodate 100 people, but it now serves nearly 300. This made it loud and close, and it smelled strongly of the kind of food that was meant to keep people working rather than happy.
There were a lot of soldiers at the long wooden tables, and many of them looked like they had just come from battle. They had a flat look on their faces and bodies, like they had been holding something very heavy for a long time.
When Lucian’s group came in, the effect spread through the room like a wave.
He knew it in bits and pieces, with conversations fading away as people looked up and the word "Harvester" floated from one table to the next on a low current of murmuring.
It started with one person at the far end and then spread. It’s the kind of recognition that happens when people hear a story and then meet the people involved.
"Can we just eat in peace?" Lucian asked.
Glacielle and Marshal both said "No" at almost the same time, but for very different reasons.
