Notes: A week has passed, you may notice. I don't think I like Paedern much, even when he's being protective. What a pity he's my second-favourite character to write for, ill intentions and all! And yes, Paelin does seem to be napping very early in the evening. I caught that as a continuity error the first time through, then figured that all the Rangers would probably have strange sleeping schedules anyways. And she's sick, so all the better. Lungrot would be the equivalent to pneumonia. That would make it quite dangerous, but pneumonia's just too modern (or should I say Greek?) for this setting.

Paedern held her head in his lap.
"You still have a fever," he murmured, smoothing the hair from her forehead. Paelin rubbed helplessly at her eyes, trying to erase the ache she felt behind them. "Do you remember what you dreamt?"
She shook her head, the motion sending her vision into a further spin.
"Just running."

"Is she sleeping?" Barnann asked, crouching by her old comrade. "I think so," said Paedern wearily, reclining against the boulders. His right leg was numb.
"You still need to tell her," his former Captain advised. "Telmer just told some stupid stories about the two of you and some oliphaunt. I checked."
The Ranger sighed.
"I know," he said at length. "I talked with him."
"You were setting her up for this," the older woman accused. "You've gone and made her sick."
"She was ill beforehand. You know that."
"You broke her nose."
Paedern looked down, gently stroking the bridge of his niece's nose. After a week, the blossomed bruises were starting to fade.
"You think so?" he inquired fondly, as if he had not noticed.
"I had Sasin set it to rights," Barnann snapped, looking scornfully at her own gnarled hands. "The girl does not cry at much. Be glad of that. You cannot go hitting members of your own with gauntlets."
"Is this a lecture or new orders?" Paedern asked, returning her icy glare.
Barnann held that a moment longer.
"You are to take the midnight watch," she said, delivering the message coldly. "Alone. And by week's end you should return to the city."
"Which part is the order?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
"The watch," she clipped shortly. "The rest is just your obligation."
"How I train my apprentice is of my concern alone! Paelin knows to work through sickness. She was fine on patrol."
"Paelin needs a warm bed and the proper herbs, none of which can be offered here. You have more responsibilities to that girl than you like to admit, Paedern son of Dernwald. It is high time you made good on them."
"She is not so ill," the Ranger said defensively, resting a protective hand on his student's shoulder.
"She'll have lungrot ere a month, you mark my words," wagered Barnann, leering at him.
"Lungrot?" hissed Paedern, his voice laced with mockery. "You act as though she were some withered crone ready to-"
"You forget yourself, son of Dernwald," the cook intoned ominously. Paedern backed down, looking faintly apologetic in the failing light. The blue evening was setting in once more. He turned his eyes downwards.
"My apologies," he said flatly. "I forget my place."
"You act more like your sister with each day that drags onwards," she continued, equally cruel. She rose to stand.
"Have Telmer wake me for the midnight watch." Paedern turned his head and made ready to sleep in the uncomfortable cranny.
Barnann left.
Once she was gone, he awkwardly gathered up his niece and half-carried her to the fire, limping all the while and willing the blood to return to his leg. He settled her there and noted worriedly how little she stirred until he lay asleep beside her.

"You did not wake me," reproached Paelin quietly, standing behind her master.
"I left you sleeping," Paedern said, puffing contemplatively on his pipe. "You seem more like yourself."
"You do not smoke often," she observed, sitting beside him with her cloak pulled tight.
"I did try," he said after a moment. "Briefly." Paelin could think of several things meant by that, but she only nodded, pushing dirt into the watch fire with the toe of her boot.
"Mm."
The cloud of smoke mixed with the fog in front of her mouth, and she coughed violently, gasping for breath when finished. Paedern looked alarmed.
"Anyone could hear that," he admonished. "Sound may not travel far in this place, but even that would echo."
"Sorry," she whispered hoarsely, drawing in the cloak from where it had slipped off tired shoulders. She peered about anxiously, squinting across the darkened plains. The moon was almost full, and it gave a decent light. "Outside the camp, there are none for miles," she assuaged, still trying to slow her breaths.
"More than twenty leagues," he agreed, concern again darkening his brow. "And they would see the fire first. But you should know. Take off your cloak if you are still with fever," he added.
"Chills are worse than fever," she resisted stoically, though drooping in her place.
Paedern smiled inwardly, but he vowed to keep to his resolve.
"We leave for the city in the morning," he said, not meeting her eyes directly.
"Where for?" she asked softly.
"Rest, and leave," he assured. "It is all for the best. The camp could use supplies." He lowered his voice. "You need the medicine, Paehl. Soon you will be coughing blood." She lowered her head. "You already have," he guessed, then looked closer. "I can see it on your sleeve. You need to tell me these things, Paelin. I-"
"I'm sorry," she said again, this time sadly. "I do not mean to keep you back."
"I am doing this for you," he soothed, resting his head on hers. "Do not try to stop me now. We shall take a horse in the morning. The rest are needed here."