The morning broke quiet and gray, a thin mist curling low over the hills. In Aldric's stone cottage near the river, the hearth's embers had long since died to ash. Aaron stirred under his blanket, blinking against the dimness. Something felt wrong.
No clatter of pans. No heavy footsteps. No muttered curses about stiff joints.
He sat up and looked across the room. Aldric was still in bed, unmoving.
"Aldric?" he called softly.
The old knight didn't answer.
Aaron was up in an instant, crossing to the bedside. He placed a hand against the man's forehead and drew back with a hiss. "You're burning up."
Aldric's eyelids fluttered. "Don't fuss," he rasped, voice like sand. "Just a chill."
Aaron knelt beside the bed, voice tight. "You're sick. I'm getting the healer."
"Don't need one," Aldric grumbled. But his words were slurred, weak.
Aaron shook his head. "Of course you'd say that, old fellow. But I'm going anyway."
He hesitated at the door. He couldn't leave him alone—not like this.
So he dashed across the lane to Beatrice's cottage and knocked hard. Evelyn answered the door in a shawl, her hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep.
"Aaron?"
"Aldric's sick. I need to fetch the healer, but I don't want him alone. Will you come?"
She nodded immediately, already pulling on her slippers. "Of course."
Together they hurried back to the cottage. Evelyn moved to Aldric's side without hesitation, gathering a cloth and water.
"I won't be long," Aaron promised. "Just… stay with him. Please."
She nodded again, and Aaron was gone.
---
Aldric's breaths were shallow, the rise and fall of his chest uneven. Evelyn wrung out a cool cloth and pressed it gently to his brow.
For a while, she thought he might have drifted off again, until his lips moved.
"Your hands are careful," he murmured. "Not many notice that."
She glanced up, surprised. "You're awake."
"For now," he said faintly, a small crease forming between his brows. "You're the girl next door. The quiet one."
"Yes, sir."
He let out a dry, wheezing chuckle. "No need for 'sir'. I'm no noble. Just an old sword with rusted edges."
Evelyn folded the cloth again. "But you used to be a knight."
"That was a long time ago. These days, I'm just a man who lives by the river, argues with crows, and raises a boy with too much stubbornness in him."
Evelyn smiled faintly.
"You've a stillness about you," Aldric said, eyes half-closed. "But not cold. More like the river in spring—quiet but steady."
She looked down, cheeks warming. "I don't talk much… unless I trust someone."
"That's a fine way to be," he said after a pause. "Not all hearts wear their noise on the outside."
Evelyn hesitated. "You care for Aaron deeply."
"More than he knows," Aldric murmured. "He was a tiny thing when I found him. No name, no kin. Just a child in the cold." His gaze drifted toward the ceiling. "Raising him didn't make me his father, but it made me something close."
"He's lucky to have you."
Aldric let out a tired breath. "I think I'm the lucky one."
The silence stretched between them again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just soft. Still.
He turned his head slightly toward her. "I don't know what brought you to this place, girl, but I see you. You're strong in quiet ways."
She blinked quickly, eyes stinging for reasons she didn't quite understand. "Thank you."
He didn't answer. His breathing slowed again, drifting toward sleep.
And Evelyn kept the cloth pressed gently to his brow, guarding the quiet.
---
The door swung open not long after, and Aaron stepped in, his cheeks flushed from the run. A tall, thin woman followed—gray-haired, weather-worn, with a satchel slung over one shoulder. The village healer, Mistress Lysa.
Her eyes swept over Aldric with practiced speed. She knelt beside the bed, pressing fingers to his wrist, then his temple, then resting a hand lightly over his heart.
"He's burning with fever," she said grimly. "How long has he been like this?"
"Just this morning," Aaron said, standing close. "At least… I noticed it this morning."
Mistress Lysa pursed her lips. "His body's been fighting something for days. He didn't listen to it. Foolish old men always think they can outwalk sickness."
She gave Aldric a bitter-smile. "You've done this before, haven't you?"
"Didn't think it would catch me this time," Aldric muttered.
"It always does," she said dryly. Then she turned to Aaron. "He'll be fine, but he needs care. Rest. No work. No running about with that sword of his."
"I can make sure of that," Aaron said quickly.
"Good lad." She pulled herbs and tonic from her satchel and began to mix a brew over the fire. The sharp smell of ginger and bitterroot filled the cottage.
Evelyn moved back to let the healer work, lingering quietly near the hearth. Aaron crossed to stand beside her.
"Thank you," he said softly.
She looked up. "He's important to you."
"He's everything."
There was a pause, then Evelyn smiled faintly. "He called me quiet. Like the river."
Aaron huffed a breath of laughter. "That sounds like him."
"I… I called him 'sir'. He didn't like it."
Aaron grinned. "Yeah. He says he stopped being a knight the day he chose to raise me instead of going back to the capital."
She looked over. "But you still call him by name?"
"Always have." Aaron's smile softened. "He once told me he didn't want me to grow up thinking I owed him anything. That if I ever stayed, it should be by choice. So… no 'father,' no 'sir.' Just Aldric."
Evelyn was quiet for a long moment, then nodded. "That's… kind."
Aaron glanced toward the bed where Aldric had fallen into a restless sleep. "Yeah. He's the kindest man I know."
And as the fire crackled and the healer stirred her remedies, the cottage filled with a heavy, hopeful silence—the kind that settles between people who care.