[Tags to
@Draconian ]
Folkvar. It was a long way from home.
It was easy for some to forget that the roads were no longer as safe as they once were. But even with the contingent of Bellkrath soldiers following him, Mercuxio was anxious and kept his eyes up and alert as they traveled south into Folkvar. Another duchy, another wilderness to wander through. Another sea of madness.
The trip too longer than a few weeks, even by horse, and the weather was cold, gloomy, and wet along the way. Light drizzle pelted down on them from passing gray clouds and Mercuxio had no idea how close they were to the sea. It must have been close however, by the mere sound of ocean spray off in the distance, and the sudden ring of sunglight that poured down on him when the gray clouds passed over.
It was a foolish endeavor. And for all he knew it was going to be a complete waste of time. But it was worthy an attempt. He was in need of a wife, and they seemed eager to be rid of her. Which seemed a bit suspicious in his mind, and he tucked that thought away to be considered later. Perhaps they simply didn't want their daughter to wilt away in a castle by the sea.
Whatever the case, for now, he was here to assess this woman's potential. He was Duke now, and his people would require the certainty of lineage. Mercuxio closed his eyes and swallowed at the salty air that landed on his tongue. And he swallowed it down with a swig from the water skin hanging from his saddle. In the quiet of the ride, he forced himself not to think of his father.
Dardanus was a sunken husk of a man in his last days, and Mercuxio wince at a pang that reverberated inside his chest. The man he'd known as an impenetrable wall of infallibility, stubbornness, a pillar of strength, had withered and when Merric knelt before him, he embraced him with whatever strength he had left, clutched him as he had done when he was a little boy.
Mercuxio's jaw clenched, and he kept his gaze steady as the manor in the cliff's began to come into view, and the banner bearer of the heraldry of House Rastonglir and the Duchy of Bellkrath ran ahead of them toward the gates. And Merric let out a steady breath, and let the cool sea air soothe him.
He was no longer clothed in priestly garb. That was an idealism that had no place in the here and now, and instead he wore a clean cloth tunic, layered outer-robe and painted armor, the wolf crest of House Rastognlir. Titus chuffed underneath him, the black horse stalking along as he and the rest of his contingent stayed in formation in their approach.