Chương 50: Chapter 32: The Choice- Part II

The conversation falls silent once more as we resume walking. This time, however, the silence feels different. The road gradually descends toward Fallowspire. Around us, the afternoon continues much as it always has. Farmers work distant fields. Merchants guide wagons toward the city gates. Somewhere beyond the hills, a flock of birds rises from the trees before settling again. Eventually, Garrick speaks.

"Let's assume you're right." I glance toward him, "About what?"

"The grove, Knighthood, all of it." His gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, "Let's assume this actually works." The words are careful, deliberate. The tone of a man genuinely considering something.

"All right." Garrick adjusts the sword hanging at his side, "What happens to me then?" The question catches me slightly off guard, "What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said." For a few moments, he appears to search for the right words.

"You keep talking about the grove as though it's becoming something larger." His eyes narrow slightly, "You received a vision. The Silverwood apparently has opinions. Now you're asking me to become its knight." When he phrases it like that, the entire situation sounds remarkably unreasonable. Unfortunately, he isn't wrong.

"What happens five years from now?" I blink. The question was not what I expected. Garrick continues before I can answer.

"Ten years." His gaze drifts briefly toward the city in the distance, "If the grove keeps growing and it is, more people will arrive, which means more responsibilities and much more problems." He pauses before continuing, "Where exactly does that leave me?" For a while, I don't answer. I am not avoiding the question. This is an answer I genuinely don't know. The vision had shown me ancient and powerful groves. Groves that had survived centuries. What it had not shown me was how they reached that point.

I had spent most of the previous night thinking about Grovekeepers but very little time thinking about everyone else. Eventually, I release a slow breath.

"I don't know." That earns a sidelong glance. At this point, Garrick should probably be disappointed by how often that answer appears. Instead, he nods, "As long as we're being honest." The response surprises me, "I thought you'd be annoyed."

"I am annoyed. But I'd rather hear an honest answer than a convenient one." Fair. The road continues stretching ahead of us. For a while, neither of us speaks. Then Garrick says something that catches me entirely off guard.

"You know I've turned down promotions before." I look toward him. That is news to me. The Guard Captain notices immediately.

"That expression again."

"You've turned down promotions?"

"Several." The answer arrives so casually that I almost miss it, "Why?" Garrick shrugs, "Because they moved me further away from the people, I was supposed to be protecting." I stare at him. The explanation sounds so perfectly Garrick that I immediately believe it.

"I was offered administrative positions. Command positions." A faint grimace appears.

"Paperwork." I stared at him. Garrick remained completely serious. For a few seconds, I genuinely could not tell whether he was joking. Then he ruined the uncertainty.

"One position involved weekly reports." I winced, "That is horrifying."

"Exactly." This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The faint amusement lingered briefly before fading. Garrick adjusted the sword hanging at his side and looked back toward the road.

"I never wanted authority," he repeated.

"I just want to be useful." The words settled heavily in my thoughts. Suddenly, the entire conversation made more sense. The years spent chasing Knighthood. The years serving as Guard Captain. The reason he never left. The reason he always showed up whenever people needed help. Not because he wanted power or recognition but simple because he wanted to be useful. I found myself studying him for a moment before shaking my head.

"I think that's why the grove chose you." The words leave me before I can stop them. Garrick looks over.

"The grove hasn't chosen anything yet."

"No?"

"No." The answer from him comes immediately and firmly. Then, after a brief pause, he adds,"At the moment, all I've got is a suspiciously optimistic Grovekeeper making promises on behalf of a magical tree." That earns a reluctant laugh. I keep wondering whether Garrick has reached a decision and if he even realizes he has. The city feels busier than usual by the time we pass through the gates. Merchants crowd the main streets while laborers haul carts loaded with timber and stone toward the newer constructions.

Somewhere nearby, a blacksmith's hammer rings steadily against metal. The familiar sounds blend together into the constant rhythm of Fallowspire going about its day. Neither of us says much as we make our way toward the eastern district. The conversation atop the hill lingers between us, not awkwardly, but with the quiet weight of something unfinished. I find myself watching Garrick from time to time as we walk. The Guard Captain notices on the third occasion.

"If you're waiting for me to suddenly become wiser, you're going to be disappointed."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I was thinking."

"That's usually when the trouble starts." I snort. The exchange earns the faintest hint of satisfaction from him. Some things never change. The streets gradually become quieter as we leave the busier sections of the city behind. Familiar buildings give way to open spaces. Stone walls become less frequent. Trees become more common. Eventually, the outer wall surrounding the garden comes into view. Even from a distance, the difference is obvious.

The Heartwoods rise above the surrounding district like ancient sentinels, their broad canopies casting long shadows across the walls below. Sunlight filters through emerald leaves while birds move between branches high overhead. The grove has grown again. Not dramatically and definitely not enough for most people to notice but I do. The awareness arrives instinctively now. The same way someone notices change within their own home. Beside me, Garrick studies the trees in silence.

"What?" I ask. The Guard Captain shakes his head.

"Nothing." I continue looking at him. After a few moments, he sighs.

"I remember when that wall looked ridiculous." A laugh escapes me, "That isn't very specific."

"It was a wall around a handful of weeds in a garden that had suffered beyond simple neglect." At the time, even I would have struggled to argue otherwise. Now the Heartwoods stretch above the district while the Silverwood tree rises from somewhere near the center of the grove. The transformation still feels slightly unreal. We approach the gates. Before either of us can open them, the doors swing inward. Eammon appears first. The boy freezes. His eyes move from me to Garrick and back again.

Then his expression changes, immediately.

"Oh." I already dislike that tone, "What?" Eammon folds his arms, "You two were talking about something." Neither Garrick nor I respond. Unfortunately, our silence answers the question for us. The boy's eyes narrow, "I knew it."

"You knew what?" I ask.

"I don't know yet. But I knew it." His confidence remains entirely unearned. A second later, Aine appears behind him. Unlike her brother, she takes one look at us and arrives at an entirely different conclusion.

"Did somebody die?"

"What?" Her shoulders rise slightly, "You both have serious faces." I stare at her. Garrick stares at her. Aine stares back. Eventually, Garrick gestures toward Eammon.

"How are they related?"

"I ask myself that regularly." The girl beams. Eammon looks offended and the moment dissolves before it can go any further. Aibell emerges from beneath the canopy carrying a basket filled with freshly harvested vegetables. Ciara follows a short distance behind with Merrow pushing her wheelchair. For a brief moment, I simply take in the sight. A few weeks ago, none of this existed. Now it feels impossible to imagine the grove without them. Aibell studies us carefully, then Garrick and then me again.

A knowing expression appears and I immediately become concerned.

"What?" The innkeeper's daughter smiles. Nothing good has ever followed that smile.

"Nothing." I narrow my eyes, "Aibell." Her smile widens. Definitely nothing good. Before I can press further, Garrick quietly abandons me to my fate and continues toward the Silverwood. Traitor. The Guard Captain ignores my glare completely. The others gradually return to their tasks while the afternoon settles into evening and dinner preparations begin. Eammon and Aine disappear into the grove before reappearing moments later.

Somewhere nearby, Merrow starts explaining the difference between two medicinal plants while Ciara listens with keen interest. My attention eventually drifts toward the Silverwood. Garrick stands beneath the ancient canopy with one hand resting upon the pommel of his sword. The last rays of sunlight filter through silver leaves overhead, scattering shifting patterns of light across the ground. For several moments, nothing happens. Then Garrick exhales, slowly. As though finally arriving at a decision.

His hand slips from the sword. The scabbard touches the earth beside one of the Silverwood's roots. At first, I think nothing of it. Then the ground moves. I straighten immediately. Nearby conversations die away. Thin vines emerge from the soil surrounding the scabbard. They rise slowly, winding around leather and steel alike. More follow moments later, twisting together in overlapping layers. The growth spreads upward with deliberate purpose, wrapping the length of the scabbard from tip to guard. Nobody speaks.

The entire grove seems to be holding its breath. The vines continue climbing until the original leather disappears completely beneath living wood. Then, just as suddenly, the growth stops. A faint cracking sound follows. The connecting vines detach from the earth and fall away. What remains is no longer the same scabbard. Dark wood, silver-veined bark and living patterns woven through its surface now cover the entire length. It looks less crafted than grown. Garrick stares at it.

For perhaps the first time since I've known him, the Guard Captain appears genuinely speechless. The silence stretches. Then he lifts the sword slightly, examining the transformed scabbard from every angle. Eventually, he shakes his head.

"Well," Nobody interrupts. Garrick's gaze moves from the scabbard to the Silverwood towering above us. Then, finally, toward me and grins.

"I suppose the grove has chosen its knight."