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“I’m glad that you’re still here,” Silas whispers under his breath, fingers carefully brushing underneath tiny, delicate white blooms. Krackenburg keeps a small garden, a fresh patch of greenery mostly sustained by magic, pleasantly contrasting the dark heavy bricks and towering walls of the castle. Edelweiss grows here, almost as well as they grew back in the Northern Fortress. Silas smiles to himself as he stands up again, warm and fuzzy from the memories that return to his mind. Reminiscing the past distracts him from noticing the two heavy riding boots in his path. Silas is knocked out of his reverie as he stumbles over them.

Silas looks down to the boots, then to their owner. Dwyer?! “H-hey, what are you doing?” He kneels down for a closer look--just asleep, thank the gods, and breathing fine. Finding Dwyer’s corpse in the garden would have been extraordinarily awkward to explain to Jakob. Not that sleeping on the job was much better, either. Jakob lamented about Dwyer’s lethargy before (“laziness” was the word he used, now that Silas thinks about it), but that was during the campaign. Silas would have fallen asleep in the middle of the day if he could, and he couldn’t bring himself to blame Dwyer at the time.

Now, with peace in all three realms, that excuse won’t fly anymore.

(Wheeze. Hope you don’t mind me butting in) Anon, I don’t know how Legion got into Heroes either, but Lord is he great

—

♈️ Answer as a body-swapped version of my muse with yours.

Dwyer, they called him. Theywere pleasant enough, this band of travellers – he had food and water, and whereverthey were headed on their grand purpose, they seemed happy to take him.

But something wasn’t right.

His horse was uneasy aroundhim – the others had commented on it – it would often let out a nervous whinnyor kick when he tried to mount. His staff, silver and adorned with a brilliant bluegemstone, felt strange in his hand. His body was weak, childish; he always feltso tired, no matter how little heexerted himself.

And exert himself he did; wakingup early to carry out chores around camp, preparing tea for the war party, assistingwith his healing spells wherever they were needed.

…They said this was strange, too.

The worst of it was thenightmares – the faces he recognised yet did not know – chaos spiralling into darkness,somebody crying out to him in words he couldn’t understand.

Dwyer, they called him.

The snow had fallen, and Camilla had tired of target practise with the clumps she’d lifted from high places. She sat on the metal bench and drew her fur coat further around her to rest.  

Acts Of Affection!

He can feel the magic as it washes over him like a gentle wave, cool and soothing. In only a moment, what had once been a handful of deep gashes are little more than scrapes and bruises. He forgets this feeling sometimes, when he’s the one clinging tight to a staff. He forgets how easy it is to dispel the pain of battle. So, as if it’s the very first time, he finds himself grateful for those who specialize in this area, and he offers Dwyer a warm, lopsided grin. 

How did he -- 

Xander supposes it’s not his place to wonder. And it would be graceless to ask, or to lie and claim the date was wrong.