Five years had passed like seasons in a dream.
The boy who'd been pulled from the river was gone. In his place, I stood harder. Quieter. Seventeen years old and moving through the village like a shadow that had learned to walk upright.
My hair marked me as different. Where the villagers had brown and blonde locks that caught the northern sun, mine remained dark as winter nights. Black as the water that had carried me here. A reminder that I would always be from somewhere else.
But if the villagers noticed, they no longer cared. I'd earned my place through five years of steady work. Five years of never complaining. Never asking for more than what I needed to survive.
The Guardian still met me each morning at dawn. Still put me through drills that left my muscles screaming and my sword arm numb. But where once I'd struggled to keep up, now I moved with the fluid precision of someone who'd done the same motions ten thousand times.
"Better," he'd grunt when I managed a particularly clean combination. High praise from a man who hoarded words like winter grain.
Henrik still offered his quiet wisdom over breakfast. Still treated me like the son he'd never had. The house had become home in ways I'd stopped questioning years ago.
And Elisabeth...
Elisabeth had grown into something that made it hard to concentrate during training.
She was eighteen now. Brown hair that caught sunlight like spun gold. Eyes that seemed to hold secrets she was always on the verge of sharing. The kind of woman who could stop conversations just by walking into a room.
Not that I paid attention to such things.
I had work to do. Training to focus on. A quiet life to maintain in a village that had given me everything I'd needed to heal.
But Elisabeth made that focus... difficult.
This morning was no different. I finished my session with the Guardian and walked back through the village center, my practice sword slung over my shoulder. Sweat cooling in the morning air. Mind already turning to the day's other tasks.
"You're bleeding again," a familiar voice said.
I turned to find Elisabeth sitting on the edge of the well. She'd positioned herself perfectly to intercept my path home. Like she'd been waiting.
"It's nothing," I said, reaching up to touch the cut on my cheek. The Guardian's wooden blade had found its mark during our final exchange.
"Nothing bleeds," she pointed out with a smile that made something twist in my chest. "Sit down. Let me look at it."
Before I could protest, she'd produced a clean cloth from somewhere and dampened it in the well water. Her movements were quick. Efficient. But also gentle in a way that made it hard to think clearly.
"Hold still," she murmured, stepping closer than was strictly necessary.
I froze as her fingers brushed my face. Tilted my chin to get better light on the wound. Her touch was soft. Careful. Nothing like the brutal efficiency of combat training.
"There," she said after a moment. "Clean now. Though you'll probably have a scar."
"I have plenty of those already."
"I know." Her eyes met mine directly. "I've seen them."
Heat flooded my face. When had she seen them? How long had she been watching when I thought no one was paying attention?
"Elisabeth..." I started.
"Your shirts are thin when they're wet," she said matter-of-factly. "And you train hard enough to work up quite a sweat."
The casual way she said it made it somehow worse. Like she'd been cataloging details about me for months without my knowledge.
"I should go," I said awkwardly. "Henrik will be expecting me."
"Henrik is visiting the miller today. Won't be back until evening."
How did she know Henrik's schedule better than I did?
"Then I have other things to do."
"Like what?"
The question hung in the air. What did I have to do? My training was finished for the day. Henrik was away. The village was peaceful and prosperous and had no need of whatever skills I'd developed.
"Reading," I said finally. "Henrik has books I haven't gotten to yet."
"Which books?"
She was relentless. Every answer led to another question. Every attempt to escape led to deeper conversation.
"Does it matter?"
"Everything matters," she said seriously. "Especially the things you choose to fill your time with."
Before I could respond, she'd settled herself more comfortably on the edge of the well. Like she was prepared to continue this interrogation for as long as necessary.
"Why are you here, Elisabeth?"
"Waiting for water to heat at home. Thought I'd see if you needed company."
"Do I seem like I need company?"
She studied my face with unsettling intensity. "You seem like you're trying very hard not to need anything at all."
The observation hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. Had I become that obvious? That easy to read?
"There's nothing wrong with self-sufficiency," I said defensively.
"No. But there's nothing wrong with letting people care about you either."
"People care about me. Henrik. The Guardian. The whole village has been..."
"I didn't say the village," she interrupted gently. "I said people."
The distinction was subtle but pointed. And the way she was looking at me made it clear exactly which person she meant.
"Elisabeth..."
"You never see it," she continued as if I hadn't spoken. "The way you move through the village like you're still just passing through. Like you're afraid to put down roots."
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Everyone's afraid of something. Even you."
"And what am I supposedly afraid of?"
"Being happy," she said without hesitation. "Being part of something that might get taken away."
The words hit like a physical blow. How had she seen so clearly what I'd been hiding from myself?
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it? When was the last time you attended a festival? Joined a celebration? Let yourself enjoy something just because it felt good?"
I opened my mouth to answer and realized I couldn't. When was the last time? Years? Had it been years since I'd allowed myself simple pleasure?
"I enjoy things," I said weakly.
"Training doesn't count. Work doesn't count. Reading technical manuals doesn't count."
"What counts then?"
She smiled. That radiant expression that made the morning sun seem dim by comparison.
"Dancing. Laughing with friends. Staying up too late talking about nothing important. Kissing someone you care about under the stars."
The last item on her list was delivered with casual innocence. But her eyes held mine steadily. Making sure I understood exactly what she was suggesting.
"Elisabeth..." I tried again.
"Have you ever kissed anyone?" she asked with devastating directness.
"That's... that's not..."
"It's a simple question. Yes or no."
"It's not appropriate to..."
"Yes or no?"
The silence stretched between us. Around the village square, people went about their morning business. Completely unaware that my carefully constructed emotional walls were crashing down.
"No," I admitted finally.
"Would you like to?"
My throat had gone completely dry. "Would I like to what?"
"Kiss someone. Me, specifically."
The casual way she said it made my head spin. Like she was asking if I wanted help carrying water buckets. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Here?" I managed.
"Well, not here exactly. People are watching. But later. Tonight maybe. When you're done pretending you don't notice how I feel about you."
"I don't pretend..."
"You absolutely pretend. You've been pretending for months. Maybe years. Acting like you don't see the way I look at you. The way I find excuses to be wherever you are."
"I thought you were just being friendly."
"I am friendly. I'm also interested. There's a difference."
She stood up from the well in one fluid motion. Stepped close enough that I could smell the soap she used. The herbs she kept with her clothes.
"Think about it," she said softly. "And when you're ready to stop being afraid of being happy, you know where to find me."
She walked away before I could respond. Before I could process what had just happened. Before I could figure out how my quiet morning had turned into... whatever this was.
I stood by the well for a long time after she was gone. Watching the water reflect the morning sky. Trying to understand how Elisabeth had seen through defenses I'd thought were invisible.
Had I really been that obvious? That transparent?
Or had she just been paying closer attention than anyone else?
The village around me continued its peaceful rhythm. Children played in the streets. Adults worked at their trades. Everything normal and safe and exactly as it had been for five years.
But something had shifted. Some carefully maintained balance had been disturbed.
Elisabeth liked me. More than liked me. And she was done pretending otherwise.
The realization should have terrified me. Should have sent me running back to the safety of solitude and emotional distance.
Instead, it filled me with something I'd almost forgotten how to feel.
Hope.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I had been afraid of being happy. Afraid of caring about something that could be taken away.
But Elisabeth wasn't asking me to care about something fragile. She was asking me to care about her. And despite her gentle manner and kind heart, there was nothing fragile about Elisabeth.
She was strong. Determined. Capable of taking care of herself and anyone else who needed it.
Maybe... maybe it was safe to care about someone like that.
The thought carried me through the rest of the morning. Through the simple tasks that filled my days. Through the quiet hours when I should have been reading but found myself thinking about brown hair and knowing eyes instead.
By noon, I'd almost worked up the courage to find her. To tell her that yes, I had noticed. Yes, I was interested. Yes, I would very much like to discover what came after pretending.
That's when the screaming started.
"Help!" The voice carried across the village square like a physical thing. Raw with panic. "Come quickly! Someone has to wake the Guardian!"
I dropped the book I'd been failing to read and ran toward the sound. Along with everyone else in the village who could move.
A man I recognized as one of the field workers was standing in the center of the square. His face was white with fear. His hands shook as he pointed toward the main road.
"What's happening?" someone called.
"Stranger," the man gasped. "Coming up the road. Fine clothes. Noble bearing. He's not one of ours."
The crowd fell silent. Nobles didn't come to villages like this. Not unless something was very wrong.
"Get the Guardian," Henrik's voice cut through the tension. When had he returned from the miller?
"He's sleeping," someone protested. "You know how he gets when you wake him during his rest time."
"Get him anyway," Henrik said firmly. "Now."
Two men ran toward the Guardian's house. The rest of us moved as a group toward the edge of the village. Toward whatever was coming up the road.
I could see him now. Still distant but clearly visible. Exactly as the field worker had described. Fine clothes in a style I'd never seen before. Nothing like Norse fashion. Something altogether different.
He rode a horse that looked like it had cost more than most people earned in a year. His bearing was straight. Confident. The kind of posture that came from never doubting your welcome anywhere.
But he was alone. Whatever message he carried, he'd brought no armed escort. No show of force.
That should have been reassuring. Instead, it made my skin crawl.
"Who is he?" Elisabeth's voice appeared beside me. When had she arrived?
"No one good," I murmured. "Nobles don't make social calls."
The Guardian arrived at that moment. His hair was disheveled from sleep. His expression was thunderous at being woken. But his eyes were sharp as he studied the approaching figure.
"Baron's messenger," he said after a moment. "From Lubeck, if I'm reading those colors right."
A collective intake of breath ran through the gathered villagers. Everyone knew about the Baron of Lubeck. Everyone knew what it meant when his representatives came calling.
Nothing good. Ever.
The messenger had reached the edge of our village now. Close enough to see clearly. Close enough to read the careful neutrality in his expression.
He pulled his horse to a stop just outside our informal gathering. Surveyed us with cool assessment. Taking our measure. Cataloging details he'd report back to his master.
"Good people," he said in accented but clear Norse. "I seek the headman of this settlement."
The Guardian stepped forward. "That would be me. What brings a representative of Lubeck to our village?"
The messenger's smile was perfectly polite and utterly cold.
"I bear greetings from His Lordship the Baron," he began formally. "And a message of great importance to your community."
He paused. Let the weight of official pronouncement settle over us like a shroud.
Then he reached into his saddlebags and withdrew a scroll sealed with wax and ribbon.
The kind of document that changed everything.
The kind that meant the quiet life I'd built here was about to end.