No one really enjoyed the night shift, and once again, Ber found himself cursing Woodwick as he left the castle to take over the evening patrol last minute for some soldier who’d gotten injured. It wasn’t even his day on duty; he’d spent the day at Temperance’s and returned with nothing planned except some relaxing in the barracks and sleep. But no, he’d had the dubious pleasure of crossing paths with the lieutenant, who had seen fit to steal the last few hours of his two days off and start Ber’s workweek early.

He’d never even heard of the guy he was supposed to be partnered with on this patrol, which would have been fine except that meant he had no idea what the other soldier looked like. And this Raff Terach had apparently already left the castle. His job, therefore, was twofold: go wander around Skia to find his partner and then go wander around Skia to make sure there was no trouble. Well, he knew the patrol route, at least, so he could start there, and since Terach would be in uniform, he would be easier to identify.

All Ber had wanted to do tonight was sleep. Was that really too much to ask for?

Apparently. With a sigh, the soldier scanned the streets as he made his way through the city. At this time of day, the crowds had begun to thin as people retreated to the inviting warmth of their homes or nearby taverns, though there were still enough wanderers about to demand some amount of mental acuity. Rubbing a hand over his face, Ber paused and looked around, finally spotting someone in uniform leaning against a wall - was he sleeping? Off to a great start. Letting out another quiet sigh, he approached the other soldier and called out, “Are you Raff Terach?”

Well, when it came down to it, finding Terach had been easy enough. That was just as well considering Ber was hardly in the mood to go traipsing around the city trying to find his partner for patrolling tonight. Apart from apparently being very liberal with his definition of keeping watch, the other soldier was obviously older than Ber in a way that suggested he’d probably been one of the ones recently returned from Coheed or Cambria. It would explain why the younger man didn’t know him, though it wasn’t as if he knew very many soldiers to begin with anyway.

When Terach explained what had happened, Ber snorted. “A broken arm does make patrolling more difficult,” He agreed wryly. “I was told to go take over for an injured soldier on patrol, so it looks like I’m Keller’s replacement.” Whoever Keller was. He didn’t recognize that name either.

With another yawn from the taller soldier, they started off, walking the familiar route side-by-side. Already tired from the day’s activities, Ber wasn’t inclined to make small talk with the stranger walking beside him, unless Terach initiated it. Silence had never bothered him, and he didn’t require conversation to scan the streets and keep a cursory eye out for trouble.

To his credit, Terach seemed equally willing to walk in silence. Despite his best efforts, Ber could feel his tired mind moving slower than would have been ideal, and as they walked, his attention skipped and jumped from one torch or illuminated group of people instead of taking in the scene as a whole. Ber suppressed a yawn as he blinked away from where he’d been watching a stray piece of trash roll down the street in the cold, night wind. Though unpleasant, the chill would at least help keep him alert.

Really, Woodwick could cease existing any day now.

When Terach broke the silence, Ber glanced over at the other man. “Twenty.” Already, he could guess at what conclusions would be drawn. Ber was young and relatively new compared to most of the soldiers who walked the halls of the military wing but still not the most inexperienced of the bunch. Like anyone to whom these things still mattered, he clung to his two years of seniority over those right out of training and wouldn’t hesitate to point them out if the situation called for it.

“You just come back from somewhere?” Even if he hadn’t already looked it, the taller man carried himself with an easy confidence that spoke of experience and suggested he had at least a few years on his counterpart. Ber probably hadn’t heard of him both because the military was massive and because he’d likely been deployed to Coheed or Cambria.

Well, that answer was certainly illuminating. Older, certainly, and experienced and skilled enough to have been a paired soldier. And, judging by the way he spoke of the looming war, it seemed he had seen some fighting firsthand. His words were half-warning, half-statement, and the sentiment was hardly unfamiliar. War was bloody and ugly, he knew, but freeing Zevran’s people from the Eldouir was the right thing to do. Ber had fought one metaphorical and sometimes literal battle or another for his entire life; he knew how to fight and wasn’t worried. The war would simply be another fight, and fighting for his friend was worth it.

Everyone seemed to want to talk of Dresmond these days. Courtesy of Zevran, Ber already knew about that kingdom. A different part of the other man’s answer interested the younger soldier more. “Witch-paired soldier in Coheed, huh?” He glanced sideways at Terach. “What was that like?”

A brief pause in which he shook his head in response to the questions posed in return. “No, I was already here,” He said. “Enlisted after training, but I signed on for five more years to get the bonus.” Ber shrugged. For that much money, who could blame him? Incidentally, the shrug also served as a suitable answer for Terach’s second question. “Figure I’ve got a ways to go before I need to start worrying about that. What about you?” All Ber had ever needed was a steady income, and being a soldier gave him that. A childhood spent on the streets had taught him not to look too far into the future, though Temperance had urged him to think about it when she’d asked a similar question.

As far as Ber could tell, becoming an officer meant a lot of yelling at soldiers and a lot of paperwork. Neither of those activities sounded particularly appealing.

That one word answer was fair, Ber supposed, though it wasn’t particularly helpful in terms if revealing anything about what it was like being paired or based in Coheed. However, if Terach didn’t want to elaborate, the younger man wasn’t about to push him for more detail. Ber, in turn, made a noncommittal noise of agreement at the other soldier’s observation. He was hardly the first and would hardly be the last who took life as it came. Terach himself might have been the same way, though Ber wouldn’t know.

It was Terach’s own statement that had Ber glancing over again. “Why not?” He shrugged. “You were paired before. Not like you’ve forgotten all your training in fourteen months.” Though he hadn’t given the matter any real thought, he figured it was probably easier to receive a new pairing having previously been a paired soldier than to receive a first pairing. Werewolves were far harder to fight than normal men. With a war coming, he would have expected they would want every pairing they could get, especially if they didn’t have to train them from scratch. “Wouldn’t they want you paired to fight in Dresmond?”

Ber blinked. When he’d asked the question, he was not expecting the vitriol spat back at him, even if it was directed toward - toward, what, the structure of Nevermerean society? - rather than himself. Life in Nevermere was hardly fair, particularly to those like him, but he’d never encountered a witch who had looked down on him because he was a man. A commoner, certainly, but a man? Even in the military wing, where their magical superiority was openly acknowledged, he couldn’t remember a particularly strong bias toward witches. In a flat out fight with magic involved, there was no mistaking who would win, but he didn’t think anyone there had treated him as less than shit under a witch’s boot because he relied on a sword or his fists in combat.

The younger soldier listened in silence as he tried to reconcile what he’d been told about being paired in training with Terach’s perspective. The two views were like night and day, and the formerly paired soldier’s view was as unfamiliar to Ber as his perspective on Nevermerean society. It was no secret that upon transforming into a werewolf, the man was replaced with a mindless beast over which the witch, not the man, had to exercise complete control - that was among his reservations about potentially becoming a paired soldier, after all - but to Ber, it wasn’t as if he was the werewolf. Not in any way that mattered. And with that understanding, he didn’t see why any paired soldier had to accept a witch’s complete control in other aspects of his life, too.

In training, when they’d talked about paired soldiers, it had sounded like the witch and her pair deeply trusted each other in a way that could not happen without mutual respect. Useless, idiotic, pathetic, obedient. From what he was saying, Terach’s experiences seemed vastly different. Ber wasn’t quite sure what to make of it - or what to say. “Was that what your witch thought of you as?” He asked finally, after a pause. “Shit on the bottom of her shoe? A pet dog?” There was another long moment as he considered the venom with which Terach had spoken of being paired, then he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “No one’s making you apply for a pairing,” He pointed out. “If you don’t want to be in one, then don’t sign up.”

As Terach laughed, Ber narrowed his eyes as he scanned the streets around them. Given the veritable condemnation of being a paired soldier that the taller man had just delivered, the younger soldier didn’t trust his words to be the compliment they ostensibly were. He also wasn’t sure what it was about him that Terach thought would make him the perfect paired soldier. As far as he could tell, all Ber had done was ask a couple reasonable questions. Common sense helped, but they had made it pretty clear to Ber that more than that was required to be truly considered for a pairing.

Mind reader? It’s pretty obvious when people think of you as shit on the bottom of their shoe, Ber thought dryly, remembering countless interactions with nobles in the market and elsewhere in Skia. But it was hardly the only detail of this conversation with Terach that confused him, so he let the point drop. “If she treated you that badly,” He asked instead, erring on the side of Merk expecting the older soldier to be her pet dog. “Why would you be loyal to her?” Especially to the point of being willing to die in her stead. There were people, certainly, on whose behalf he wouldn’t hesitate to fight - arguably, he was being paid to do just that - but to die for them? That was entirely different.

He shrugged. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, decide to not be a paired soldier if you’re being treated badly?” As far as he could tell, any paired soldier who didn’t make it for one reason or another returned to being an unpaired soldier, and he hadn’t heard of anyone being forced into a pairing they didn’t want - and why anyone would want a pairing like that, he had no idea. There were few opportunities to say no in their chosen career, but that seemed to be one of them. And if Ber had been interested in becoming a paired soldier and ended up with a witch who treated him like some sort of subordinate beyond what was strictly necessary, he liked to think he would have had the self-respect to walk away from that pairing. Nevermere’s military offered more than one avenue to success.

A lingering silence fell before it was broken by the man beside him. If Ber wasn’t sure about Terach earlier, he certainly didn’t like him now. In his opinion, a comparison between someone and Woodwick was hardly flattering, and when it was between him and the lieutenant, it was nothing less than an insult. An unwarranted one, at that. Maybe Terach didn’t know Woodwick - as a formerly paired soldier, his primary superior would have been Brekker - but it didn’t take long to figure out what kind of man Woodwick was. The lieutenant made it really easy when he assigned everyone some menial task for an inconsequential error that was the fault of a single person in that group. “Thanks,” He said, tone flat and lacking any trace of gratitude.

After all, who didn’t love being informed that they were reminiscent of a boring, unpleasant, and utterly infuriating asshole who spent his days dreaming up new ways to torture his subordinates and call it training?