Mistakes Were Made [Wulfbauer]

[kleineklementine]

“Thank you.”

Olive meant it, even if spending her gold would do Erwin no harm. He could have, after all, given her a much harder time than he had. Or, sensing that the offer would give her some solace, he could have denied it to her. She wouldn’t have been surprised. Was she surprised by this?

She wasn’t sure. But she was surprised by what he said next. Olive was expecting him to open the door, turn her back over to the guards, and back to her cell. She stared at him for a moment, her surprise evident.

“If you wish to.” She didn’t know what else to say. As she watched him there, Olive tried to conjure up memories of Erwin from her youth. But that life was so far away now. All of it could have been a dream. Being forced back into it was even more surreal. No, she decided. She didn’t know what to make of the son of Marsden Therrien's son, who was now her Duke.

[Cambie]

Erwin opened the doors then, and was greeted by three of the castle guards. While they all stood at their Duke's attention, all three were stealing glances past the Duke and to the ragged little prisoner past him. It was hard to tell whether they were more concerned about her being a mage or being Lady Carwick, but all three appeared very interested in the prisoner.

"Have her bathed, clothed, and fed," Erwin said quietly to them. "And then take her to the East Wing."

At that command, the guards all stiffened and saluted. They all knew what was in the East Wing: a high room with the narrowest of windows and sparse amenities, and only a single entrance down. It had originally been built to house high-ranking prisoners of war awaiting ransom, but had never been used for anything more than storage. If this mage was to be placed there...

then her identity was confirmed. It HAD to be Constance Carwick.

[kleineklementine]

The curious gaze of the guards didn't seem to faze Olive. She glanced at them, making eye contact with each one in turn, then turned her gaze back to Erwin. The East Wing. When she was a girl, the stablehand's boy and her used to play in that room, pretend to be kidnappee and dashing savior in turn. Of course Erwin wouldn't know that. But it didn't really matter, Olive supposed. Every corner of this place would be filled with some memory. In some ways, she would rather be kept in the dungeon.

Olive got up compliantly when one of the guards came to take her arm, gentler now than he had been before. She followed him, but paused in the doorway, looking back at Erwin.

"Can I ask one more favor?" she asked, looking uncertain now, her face tensing with mostly controlled emotion. This was a real favor. Not like offering her dowry. This was a personal favor. "Could I," she paused, swallowed, "could I visit the graves of my parents? At some time? I can be escorted, but..."

Somehow, she couldn't find the words to finish the request.

[Cambie]

As the guards began to lead her away and she struggled through one final request, Erwin paused and looked to her. This time he saw the pained vulnerability behind her rebellious exterior as she faltered at the mention of the late Duke and Duchess. A frown creased his brow, and his lips pressed together firmly.

It was easy to forget her lineage, and the tragedy that had befallen the Carwick line. Her father and mother would be interred in the same grand mausoleum as every other Duke and Duchess -- including Erwin's own father. And both of Constance's cousins.

"I'll have you taken there tomorrow," he promised quietly before the guards led her away.

The East Wing had been mostly cleared out by the time they arrived, leaving only a sparse bed, a table, and a chair. A large wooden basin had also been brought to the room, its steaming water awaiting.

Bethany, the head housemaid of the castle, stood expectantly with a towel and some simple linens in hand. They were from the servant quarters, likely nothing a noblewoman would be accustomed to. But they were clean.

[kleineklementine]

OOC: I’m stealing your bold text speech thing, because it makes it way easier to scan posts after the fact. And because I’m a stealing thief! Also, sorry for the super-long post… >.>



It had been a long time since Olive had really considered herself a noblewoman. The criminal mage daughter of a dead duke didn’t make one much of nobility, she’d thought. She remembered when the Templar, Kentamin, had finally realized that she was 'Constance Carwick of Wulfbauer' and looked at her anew. Now I’m Nobody of Nowhere. That’s what she’d told him. And she’d believed it. Years had passed since Olive had anywhere clean, dry, and warm to sleep. Much less a hot bath.

It was just as well Erwin sent her here. Anything closer to the life of a noblelady, her old life, might have sent her into shock.

The door shut loudly behind her and Olive was left alone with Bethany. Olive rubbed her wrists, which were finally unbound by the guards, then looked at the maid. She wasn’t a maid Olive knew, and Olive glanced nervously at her; somehow it was much easier to be confident and self-assured with soldiers. They exchanged curt greetings, but before Olive had the chance to say anything else (if she was going to), the sound of a shrill argument erupted outside the door of the room.

Olive knew the voice, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was a woman, and it didn’t sound like the two guards posted outside of Olive’s room were faring too well with her. Olive exchanged looks with Bethany; it looked like the maid knew full well who was on the other side of the door. A few moments later, the door opened just long enough to admit a woman of about fifty, looking brisk and red-faced from the argument. Once she was inside, she looked at Olive with shock. It was Grace, she realized then, her mother’s lady’s maid. She’d always been quite strict with Olive when she was a girl and a teenager, but now the woman dropped the bundle she’d been carrying in her arms and rushed forward pulled Olive tightly into her arms with a strength that surprised Olive.

”Oh lord, it’s true,” Grace muttered to herself, holding tightly onto the dirty, skinny mage. ”Well all feared… Your poor mother was sure...“ She stopped there, holding Olive tighter against her for a moment before taking her by the shoulders and holding her an arms’ length away to get a look at her. Grace lightly touched the bruise on Olive's face, making a disapproving cluck and releasing a small sigh. She knew where that bruise came from. Olive, for her part, could find nothing to say. She looked back at Grace’s face, unexpectedly tender, with a tumble of emotions she couldn’t quite put a name to. ”Well, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bethany frowned, and finally cut in. ”Grace, I’m not sure you’re supposed to -”

But Grace cut her off with a look. Everybody knew that a lady’s maid was of a higher rank than a housemaid, even the head housemaid, even a lady’s maid who no longer had a lady. And servants had as strict a hierarchy as the nobility.

Grace set about removing the travelers’ rags Olive was wearing, still damp and dirty from the dungeon. Olive always hated being dressed or undressed, but she understood the kindness Grace was doing her now. Once Olive stepped, naked, out of the last of the clothing, though, Olive heard Grace gasp from behind her.

”Oh, Olive! What- what happened to you?” Bethany moved to look, and Olive heard a similar, but more muted, sound of surprise from the younger maid.

It took Olive a moment to understand what Grace was talking about. At first she thought the maid was going to scold her for being so skinny. She certainly had done when Olive was a teenager, but- Oh. Olive remembered the lattice of scars covering her back. It had been so long ago, it seemed, that she’d earned those. She’d been caned nearly to death, holding her tongue to protect a priest who she thought had been a friend… Olive felt Grace’s cool hand on her back, lightly tracing one of the scars.

”It’s okay, Grace,” she said quietly, looking over her shoulder at the older woman, seeing her eyes wet, ”they’re old. They’ve healed.”

Grace nodded stiffly, but her emotion was apparent. Grace had been, of course, the Duchesses sounding board for years, listening to all her worries and fears. Including, no doubt, her worries about what had become of the daughter they’d never heard from after her parents had consented to her internment in Calent’s new camps.

Olive was bathed and cleaned. Once they got to work, Grace composed herself again and talked in a continuous stream. A mix of chiding about the state of Olive’s hair - which Grace said she was happy to see long again, but hadn’t been looked after at all! - and updates on Grace’s children and grandchildren. When they were done, Grace suddenly remembered the bundle she’d dropped when she first came in.

”I brought these from your old room,” she said, picking up what Olive now realized was old clothing of hers. She stared. It was a simple outfit, in forest and spring green, of Connlaothian ladies’ trousers and a blouse, tunic, and a warm shawl, but it was much nicer than the alternative. And sewn into the tunic, the Mark. Olive swallowed. ”I had to sneak in there to get them, but they're yours so I don’t think anyone can complain,” she said with a pointed look to Bethany. ”And we can’t have you dressed in those rags.”

For the night, though, Grace had also brought a warm, snug nightgown. It had also been hers. Once she was in it, Grace worked her wet hair into a tight, spiraling braided bun, something she said Olive could ignore without damaging too much. Then the two maids left the girl with a tray of warm food from the kitchen.

”Thank you for coming Grace,” Olive said as they left, then offered Bethany a nod and a small, uncertain smile. ”Good night.”

Of all the food on her plate, simple but hearty fare, Olive’s eyes fell onto one small, golden cake set to the side. A moon cake, it was called. They could be made and stored for some time, and Olive used to steal them from the kitchens when she was a girl. A moon cake.

Suddenly Olive found herself choking back sobs. For what, she wasn’t sure. For everything, maybe. Her parents, Valance, the small kindnesses the staff were showing her, her old life that was gone but was cropping up now like ghosts, and her new life that would only last as long as the new duke saw fit.

________________________________________________

The next day, Olive sat perched in the narrow window of the room, looking out. The spring snow had stopped and the day was bright and blue and everywhere the snow was melting. A steady drip-drip-drip streamed down the window from icicles melting from the stone above. Grace had come back and dressed her and brought her breakfast, but no one was permitted to stay longer than needed. Olive was impressed that Grace had managed to come back at all. Now she gazed out the window at the familiar landscape of her home. What had once been her home.

The door clicked, and a guard entered. ”Lady Constance,” he said stiffly, ”We’ve been authorized to take you to the cemetery. If you’ll follow me.”

Olive slid down off the window sill, her heart suddenly beating loudly in her head. To the cemetery. ”Thank you,” was all she said as she followed the two guards out.

[Cambie]

The two guards led Olive out of the East Wing and down a long, painfully empty corridor toward the Keep's foyer. Paintings of past Dukes sat upon the walls in this corridor, the oldest of which was so aged that its facial features were difficult to distinguish. Aside from the painted eyes of dead Dukes though, the hall was empty.

Double doors led out of the East Wing and to the grand staircase of the foyer, and the scenery changed drastically past the doorway. Where the Wing was all but deserted save for its lone prisoner, the foyer was abuzz with activity as a handful of soldiers patiently waited for Olive to be brought down. They were dressed to travel: thick coats and riding boots over their armor.

In their midst stood Erwin, also dressed to ride. His clothing was perhaps a bit muted for a Duke, simple browns and furs to protect from the cold. When Olive appeared at the top of the staircase, the Duke's brow raised slightly at the sight of her clothing. He knew Grace's close connection with the Carwicks, and he couldn't say that he was surprised to see Constance in her old garb.

The procession led out the gatehouse and to the bailey where a handful of stablehands stood waiting with a line of horses. Among them was Bairn who gulped at the sight of Olive and the fresh bruise on her face, but said nothing. After all, the very fact that she still lived brought a spark of hope to those who still idolized the Carwicks.

"It may have been a while, but I remember you were a fine rider," Erwin said to Olive as the horses were brought their way.

[kleineklementine]

Olive might have been the most uncomfortable to be back in her old clothes. She felt as though the Mark embroidered into the tunic was burning straight through her skin. She'd sworn to herself that she'd never wear that again. How many mages, she wondered, had consented to wearing the Mark after seeing the young Lady Carwick wearing it without shame? And how much easier they were to round up once it all started...

At the sight of Erwin and the small company of soldiers, however, Olive had to suppress a frown. She'd known she would have to be escorted, she was a prisoner after all, but she imagined the guards who came to fetch her would take her. This felt much more, well, public. Of course, a Duke's family was always public. But Olive wasn't part of a duke's family anymore. Her father was dead, and she was a mage. She looked at Erwin, making the smallest of silent greetings, and she wondered if Erwin was coming along to gauge her reactions for some purpose of his own.

Olive understood, however, that if she wanted to do this, she would have to do it on the duke's terms. So she followed the small company of the duke and his armoured soldiers. In the bailey, Bairn immediately caught her eye, and she gave him a small smile to reassure his frown. She wished that she could just have some time alone with him. It'd been so long.

Erwin's comment cut into Olive's thoughts, and she looked over to him. Her expression was uncertain, almost suspicious; it seemed like a strange compliment from a man who had coolly told her only yesterday that it was most useful to keep her alive for now. She looked at him, turning this over, for probably too long before she finally said plainly, "I can still ride."

The company got on their horses, and when Bairn brought Olive's horse around to her, she felt a leap in her heart as she recognized the black mare, marked only by a white star on her forehead. It was her horse. Searchlight. She held a hand out, touching the soft velvet of the horse's nose before she looked back up and caught Bairn's smile. The stablehand helped Olive into a riding coat, then  he handed her a small satchel. Inside were neat bundles of bright yellow and purple crocuses and white snowdrops. The only flowers blooming this early in the spring.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to collect any yourself," he told her quietly, then held open the satchel so that the soldiers and Erwin could see that it was only flowers, no secret contraband for the prisoner. Five little bundles. For her parents, her cousins, and, she realized, Erwin's father. The old Master of Horse. Moved, Olive stared at the diminutive little flowers for a moment before shouldering the satchel, then she leaned quickly forward and kissed Bairn on the cheek.

Olive mounted her horse, smiling again at Bairn as he returned to the stables, then waited for her escort to lead the way. Only then realizing that 'the way' was through the town. And they were riding there. On horseback, not in a coach. For anyone to see. For everyone to see. A cold, sinking feeling grew in her stomach, but when the guard set out, she urged Searchlight to follow with them. What was Erwin Therrien thinking?



OOC: I stole the cemetery location from your other thread. Hope I got it right!

[Cambie]

Erwin watched the exchange with contemplative silence, saddling his own horse even as Olive embraced the old stablehand. Bairn was a good man and very proficient at his job, and nobody could fault him for holding sentimental value in the Carwick family name. After all, that lineage had been so synonymous with Wulfbauer that even Erwin himself had difficulty sometimes realizing that the Carwicks no longer ruled the Duchy. It felt strange to him even now, hearing the words "Duke" and "Therrien" in the same breath.

As the procession rode out the gates of the Keep and through the streets of Wulfbauer toward the cemetery, Erwin's observant blue eyes noted the way people stopped and stared from the street, from windows, from every which way. Evidently rumors had spread quite quickly and if there were nonbelievers before, now everyone could confirm that Constance Carwick was indeed alive. Funny how much difference a bath and a new wardrobe could make.

Inwardly Erwin chastised himself for arranging horses instead of a carriage. Truthfully he hadn't thought of the ramifications of riding out in the open with this woman, the mage symbol sewn into her clothing. Would the people think differently of him? Would they take this the wrong way? He didn't know.

His expression hardened into something unreadable as the group trotted their way down the streets and into the cemetery. It was a drab place like most cemeteries, except that the headstones here were all immaculately kept and often ornate. After all, it wasn't just anyone who could be buried here. The cemetery was punctuated by the grand mausoleum in its direct center, a giant structure that looked more like a cathedral than anything. Two honor guards stood solemnly at the doorway, for it was indeed a great honor to stand watch over the Mausoleum of Dukes.

As they all dismounted, the two guards saluted Erwin (and perhaps Olive) and opened the large double doors for them. The rest of the party remained outside, but Erwin gestured for Olive to enter into the torchlit interior with him. Steps led downward into catacombs, the resting place of every Duke and Duchess of Wulfbauer. Erwin had to swallow down his uneasiness. After several months of assuming the dukeship, he still had difficulty coming here.

[kleineklementine]

Olive rode straight-backed, and a little wide-eyed, through the streets of the town, trying hard to keep her eyes on the horse's ears. Just as something to focus on. Something else to focus on beside the growing number of gazes glued to her. With the Mark embroidered on her riding coat, she felt like a sitting duck. But the stares and whispers she garnered as the assembly passed through the town didn’t feel threatening, or aggressive exactly. Olive wasn’t sure what they were, though. The attention made her feel uneasy and uncomfortable, whatever the people were thinking. It wasn’t like being in the castle, where the people there were at least people she knew (and knew her), at least many of them. This felt like being on display.

As they rode, Olive’s eyes strayed from the horse to peer back at a group of people from the corner of her eye. A small girl, likely too young to know who she was, made eye contact with her, making Olive gulp. But she held the girl’s gaze until the horse had moved too far forward. At least, she thought, this way it wouldn’t be long until everyone knew she was alive.

What that would mean, though, she didn’t know.

It was a relief at first to exit the town and enter the cemetery. For a moment, Olive felt like she could breathe again. But it only lasted a moment before the drew up to the stone mausoleum. She froze in her saddle, at first unable or unwilling to dismount. Could her parents really be in there?

The soldiers all dismounted, though, and so did Erwin. So, numbly, Olive did likewise, accepting the hand of a soldier as she dismounted that she may otherwise have refused. When Erwin beckoned for Olive to follow him into the cold stone corridors of the resting place of the Dukes and Duchess of Wulfbauer, she hung back. Suddenly she did not want to go in. She didn’t want to see proof. Her instinct, in that moment, was to bolt. Like a rabbit or a deer fleeing its captors at the first chance. But she took a deep breath, and walked slowly into the torch-lit light of the mausoleum.

It felt like miles of stairs and corridors and catacombs before they reached more recent tombs. How long it really was, she had no idea. Her eyes, wide and a little shell-shocked, scanned the names of her predecessors until at least they came to the fresh, smooth granite that read

Duke Harlow Oliver Carwick
Duchess Caroline Livinia Carwick

Olive stopped dead in her tracks, clasping a hand to her mouth that covered a small choking sound. For many moments, she simply stared, frozen in place. It was true. She had known it was true. But in that moment, when she saw their names, it was real. She would never see her parents again. She would never be able to make peace with them, to apologize to them, to forgive them, to tell them that she had come out fine, that she didn’t blame them. Never be able to tell them that she understood, now, why they had been so strict with her at times, why they didn’t want her to stand out, never thank them for how hard they must have fought to keep her with them, at home, and not with the Church. Never anything.

Her heart felt like it was going to burst. All the tension that had been between them before the war. All the time she’d spent worrying about them after. All the time, she knew, they must have spent worrying about her. She’d never even been allowed to send them a letter. And if they wrote any to her, she’d never received it. What must they have thought became of me, she wondered, when they went to their graves?

Finally, she took a slow step first towards her father’s tomb. She’d had an easier relationship with her father. She’d known about his death, and had been able to mourn him. She touched it gently, then rested her forehead against the cold stone. Olive pressed her eyes shut tight, and her breath was heavy with emotion, but she wouldn’t let herself cry. Not in front of Erwin Therrien. For some reason, she just couldn’t. But she wished very much that she’d been allowed to go this far alone.

After several moments, she stepped away from her father’s tomb and stood in front of her mother’s. Her expression turned from sadness to simple disbelief. Her fingers traced lightly over the beveled letters of her mother’s name. Harlow had been a duke, a military man, Olive had been told of his death and, as much as it grieved her, she understood how it happened. But her mother… It had only been a matter of days since Olive had learned of her mother's death. She didn't even know how it had happened. It couldn't be true, but her fingers felt the truth of it written in the stone...

”We fought the last time I saw her,” she said suddenly aloud, though it wasn’t clear if she was talking to Erwin or only herself. ”Because I’d cut my hair short. It was so stupid. To think of it now… I just can’t… I was never even able to send a letter, or…”

Olive fell quiet for a moment, and if Erwin looked at her, the struggle to keep her emotions composed would be readily apparent. She took a long, ragged breath, then glanced back at the duke. ”Do you know… Do you know how she died? I didn’t, I only learned recently that...” She voice caught and she turned away from him, her gaze returning to the unbelievable letters of her mother’s name.



OOC: Since Erwin probably should know, Caroline died of influenza or consumption or something of that nature during the long winter.

[Cambie]

Erwin stood some steps away from Olive as she stood over the tombs of her parents, giving her ample space to grieve on her own terms. The torchlight down here flickered dimly up and down the catacombs, casting dark shadows here and there, but at least there was no wind to howl through the corridors. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see a small alcove further down from the graves of Avery and Caspian Carwick, in which another familiar person lay -- his father, Marsden Therrien.

He wasn't looking in her direction when she spoke aloud, her soft voice echoing through the catacombs. His eye were locked upon the distant grave of Duke Therrien, and perhaps she might have seen a glimmer of something different in his face. He looked more somber at that moment, more lost.

Upon hearing Olive's wavering voice, the Duke looked to her with a hardened expression, but said nothing. She'd already turned away by then, and he was thankful that she missed the pursing of his lips. After all, despite how well he outwardly kept his emotions in check, he did truly sympathize with her grief.

"The winter took her," he said quietly. "When every house grew cold, and fuel was too scarce to burn, she took ill and passed some months ago. I am sorry."

[kleineklementine]

Olive nodded numbly. Even if she hadn't looked away before Erwin turned his eyes to her, it would have been unlikely that she'd have noticed his expression in that moment. Images flooded her mind of her mother cold and sick and dying, and alone? Olive hoped very much that she had returned to her family home before the end. That she hadn't been in alone Wulfbauer Keep, where her husband and daughter were long gone from. But she wouldn't ask the specifics now.

She spent a long time staring at the tombs, touching the cold stone as if to verify that they were real, and fighting back tears before composing herself with a long, ragged breath. She rubbed her face, hiding for half a moment behind her hands, before she made herself do what she knew she would have to do. Move on. Carefully, she selected the two largest bundles of spring flowers from the satchel and unbound them. Rather than lay the carefully arranged flowers, she spread the crocuses and snow drops carefully over the tombs of her parents, covering them in flowers.

Then Olive forced herself to continue to the tombs of Avery and Caspian. Like with her mother, she simply couldn't believe that they were down here. That it was really them. They were both so young... She had to resist the urge to pry open the lids of the tombs to see their wasting bodies for herself. How could they really be there? She thought of Avery, who she should have married, if the world had turned out differently, who she always thought would have been a very good duke. He was kind, and patient, and strong. Everything a ruler should be. And Caspian, who'd been a kindred soul to her growing up; not regal like his elder brother, but carefree, mischievous, and adventurous. They'd been more or less the same age, and Caspian and Olive had gotten into a world of trouble as children and teenagers. Now he was here. Now they were both here.

"They're too young to be here," she muttered, more to herself than to Erwin. "How can they be lying here?"

Olive thought about asking Erwin if either had any time to serve as Duke. The quick procession of fallen dukes - her father, Avery, Cass, Marsden Therrien - suggested that they might not have. But she found herself unwilling to, or perhaps unable. He wasn't her friend or her peer, she reminded herself, he was her captor. She wiped her cheek, which had grown wet, then set the bundled flowers onto the resting place of her cousins.

Finally that left old Marsden Therrien. Olive took a step towards the last tomb, remembering all the times she had bothered the old Master of Horse when she was a girl, and how kind he had been to her. It was only then that she thought of Erwin. His son. Olive looked back at Erwin then, and actually looked at him. However hard he might try to hide it, he couldn't keep all emotion from his face.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your father. He was a good man, and very kind." she said slowly, eyes not wavering this time from Erwin. "I wanted to tell you yesterday, but..." she sighed, looking back at the last grave. "I suppose I didn't want to seem like I was trying to curry favor. I'm sorry."

Olive placed the last bundle of flowers on the last grave, then stepped back, looking at the row of tombs. Five tombs, five deaths, five people she would never see again. Five more things they war had stolen from her.

[Cambie]

Erwin let out a soft sigh as he turned away from his father's tomb. Even now he had difficulty staring at the inscription in the stone bearing the name of Marsden Therrien. He hadn't had the proper time to mourn like his younger siblings, especially not since he'd immediately been thrust into this role the moment his father drew one final breath and expired. Even now he had difficulty processing the fact that Wulfbauer had lost four dukes in six months. Avery had only several months to take in the role. Caspian never even had the chance to formally set foot back in Wulfbauer Keep. Both had been tragically mowed down in battle.

He'd known Avery, of course. The two of them had served together in the military and were quite familiar with one another, on a professional if not personal level. He'd been a good man, and would have made a fine duke. Marsden would also have made a fine duke, if only he'd had more time.

Would Erwin?

"Thank you for your condolences," he said quietly to Olive, looking sadder and wearier than before. Perhaps it was the fact that they were underground, away from the crowds of critiquing eyes, that he finally let some of his stony exterior crumble away. The two of them were more similar at that moment than they could have realized.

"My father should be the one to rule this land," he said under his breath, looking off at nothing in particular. "He knows what to do."

Stepping forward, he removed his gloves and placed a hand on the small bundle of flowers. Even through the harsh winter, Wulfbauer's beauty found a way to spring back up through the unforgiving snowdrifts. Bairn must've spent a great deal of time picking this many flowers. That's how much respect he had for Olive.

She probably knew how to run the Duchy better than him. But here they were, their roles reversed.

"It's good to know you're alive, Constance," he said suddenly. "The Duchy needs its Carwicks."

[kleineklementine]

OOC: Tragically mowed down!



He knew what to do. Olive thought that silently to herself, but she wouldn’t say it out loud to Erwin. All of these men were firmly in the past tense. All of these men... Olive looked back to Caspian’s tomb. He’d barely been a man the last time she’d seen him.

What he said next, though, took him by surprise and for the moment shook her from her reverie of family memories. The Duchy needs its Carwicks. She looked at him a long time, and though grief still masked her face, her expression changed a little. Studying him, uncertain what to make of his words.

“Wulfbauer needed my father, maybe,” she answered finally, quietly, ”or Avery. I think Avery would have-” Her throat caught and she took a moment before continuing, her voice a bit more strained, ”Avery would have been a fine duke. And Cass would have grown into it. But I’m a woman, and a mage. I’m not like they were.”

Her eyes slid away from Erwin, back to her father's tomb behind them, and when she spoke she sound tired, or defeated, "Wulfbauer doesn't need Constance Carwick."

[Cambie]

"They may yet," Erwin replied quietly, finally stepping up to the marker on his father's tomb.

Duke Marsden Therrien

The inscription was cold to the touch, and so smooth. It wouldn't be difficult to see just how new it was. New in more ways than one, for it was the only tomb in this catacomb that did not bear the name Carwick, or at least the only one out of those still legible. Perhaps Wulfbauer Keep had housed a family other than the Carwicks at some point, but time had worn away the names on those grave markers. Only the history books held their names now.

"Woman or not, mage or not... you represent the dynasty that ruled this duchy for Ansgar knows how long. The people will we glad for your presence."

Or at least knowing that the lineage lived on. He couldn't tell for sure how they might react to the news that their new Duke had defied Calent's orders with regards to mages.

And at the very least, Erwin was inwardly glad. If she truly was her father's daughter, she'd know more about running the Duchy than him. His eyes drifted back to his father's grave and his brow furrowed. Father, what would you have done here?

[kleineklementine]

They may yet.

Olive wasn't sure what to make of those words, or what Erwin was thinking when he spoke them. She watched him for a long moment as he inspected his father's tomb. She searched her memory for impressions of Erwin before, what he was like, and what kind of man he might be now. What kind of duke he would be. But she came up with little. She'd been much younger than him, at least by the calculation of children; Erwin had been half adult by the time she was old enough to have any memories of him.

But more than anything, his words just added weight to the stone that was already weighing on her heart from visiting these graves. Olive had thought a lot about what responsibility her privilege brought her over the past years; the risks she could take that others could not. But it had been a long time since she'd thought about what her responsibility to Wulfbauer was. Surely the best thing for the duchy was for Olive to stay as far away from it as she could.

Wasn't it? She wondered now if this was why Erwin had rode them through the town. She doubted that Erwin was correct, but then she remembered Valance. The villagers had all stood beside her. Something in her stomach clenched at the thought.

Finally she let out a quiet sigh. She was emotionally exhausted, worn through, and was growing chilled in the cold air of the mausoleum. But she could think of nothing to say in response to Erwin's words. "We should go," she said instead. "I'm not sure I can stay here longer..."

[Cambie]

Erwin nodded silently and gestured for her to follow him back up the steps. He, too, could only spend so much time down here, where the only things that lingered were cool moisture and sad memories.

As they stepped back up and out the mausoleum, the Duke paused at the entranceway. He'd come with a handful of soldiers, but that number seemed to have doubled since he and Olive had gone down into the tombs. A slight frown creased his brow as one of his soldiers approached.

"My Duke," the man said with a salute, "the army has returned from Reajh, they will cross the border in the afternoon. Forward scouts have already arrived at the Keep with news. Your council has been summoned."

Erwin pressed his mouth together and glanced briefly to Olive. Back to business.

[kleineklementine]

Olive followed Erwin out of the long halls of the Mausoleum, only glancing once over her shoulder back at the tombs of her parents and her cousins. The sight of more soldiers when they emerged stopped her short for a moment, and for half a moment before it registered that they were Wulfbauer soldiers, she thought they were from Hellvion or the Grand Duke, here to collect her.

But did anyone know, she wondered now, that she had been involved? At least to some extent, even if she hadn’t foreseen what would actually happen.

What the soldier said, though, made her eyes widen in only half-masked surprise. The army had returned from Reajh? Erwin had called back the Duchy’s army? All of it? She wouldn’t ask now, though; or she wouldn’t ask Erwin. Olive was smart enough to know that that wasn’t her place. Whatever Erwin had said in the dark of the Mausoleum, she was a prisoner. All the same, she was disappointed that they didn’t discuss the news there and then, and her heart raced to know what had happened.

The army has returned from Reajh.

They party returned to Wulfbauer Keep rather faster than they had left it. Olive was escorted back to the room in the East Wing to find a small stack of her things. Old things of hers; a few books, a sketch book, some pencils. And a note from Grace saying it was just a few things to pass the time. As grateful as she was, though, what Olive wanted was to know what was happening outside of the guarded little room.



And outside the little room in the East Wing, a breathless, red-cheeked rider was relaying the news from Reajh to Erwin and an assortment of his advisors.

”Your emissary to Reajh tried to contact the Grand Duke to confront him with the vile things his ‘General Krah’ has done, m’lord,” the scout panted, ”but the Grand Duke has only just returned to Reajh himself. He only just survived an attempt on his life. In Hellvion, at Duchess Melora’s ball. A rebel spirited in, a, a bomb, m’lord.

"Your emissary could get no audience with the Grand Duke, but one of his advisors said that if one village,” he swallowed, knowing no one was going to like what he’d have to say next, ”even by accident, if one farmer’s village in Wulfbauer was destroyed in the pursuit of these criminals, it was a price Reajh was willing to pay. Not the Grand Duke himself, m’lord, but one of his men.”

A murmur of shock and indignation ran like electricity through the assembled men. And all eyes turned to their duke, waiting to hear his reaction to this grim news.

[Cambie]

The news was met with an equally grim expression from the Duke, though the blaze in Erwin's eyes failed to mask the anger boiling in the pit of his stomach.

So Calent had failed to respond to the Duke of Wulfbauer's urgent request for an answer. He couldn't pin the words of a lowly advisor on the Grand Duke himself, but those words were enough to question whether Calent would ever take responsibility for Valance and for Krah.

Even by accident, if one farmer's village in Wulfbauer was destroyed in the pursuit of these criminals, it was a price Reajh was willing to pay.

Of course news of the Hellvion disaster had trickled into Wulfbauer already, but reports on that attack were scattered and contradictory. Nobody on his staff knew for certain the extent of the damage, or whether these rebel mages had come remotely close to harming or killing the Grand Duke or any of the other nobles in attendance. It briefly occurred to him that he'd been invited to this same event days after he'd assumed his dukeship, perhaps as a gesture of goodwill from Melora, or as a means of gauging how he'd do in that social circle. Regardless, Erwin had declined in favor of tending to more domestic problems. Hindsight had justified that choice.

"Keep pressing for an answer," Erwin replied in a low, granite voice. "I want an answer from the Grand Duke. I want his own words, from his mouth."

His advisors all gathered closer to the Duke, some urging caution, others urging him to send a letter of apology and have the Wulfbauer army redeployed to Reajh.

"One village is worth these criminals," Erwin repeated, half to himself. His counsel all fell silent. Erwin's voice rose.

"No criminal is worth the innocent lives of Wulfbauer's people. Have the army sent to the border of Hellvion. Tell Calent that he either delivers the head of Krah Mordeth to me, or he is no Grand Duke of mine."


The silence remained as the gravity of the Duke's words weighed upon the gathered men. They knew he held one of the culprits of the Hellvion attack. Was he refusing to turn her over?

Would history justify this decision?
-------------

Evening was beginning to fall when a knock came at Olive's little East Wing door. The guard opened it to allow Grace in bearing a tray with a modest supper. More importantly, Grace carried a look of urgency on her face. As the door closed behind them, the old lady in waiting whispered, "You'll want to hear about this."

[kleineklementine]

Olive had spent the rest of the day perched in the window sill, staring out the narrow window. The visit to the graves had left her emotionally exhausted and she was, in truth, grateful in that moment for the solitary nature of her confinement. But when Grace came in, she looked up. The woman wasn't supposed to stay with Olive for longer than necessary, and she was fairly certain that Grace wasn't supposed to stay and gossip with her.

So she glanced cautiously at the door, behind which were the two constant guards.

"What do you mean?" she finally asked, sliding down from the window sill and taking the tray from Grace. For now she set it aside, untouched, her attention on the older woman.

[Cambie]

"Duke Erwin recalled the entire Wulfbauer army, every last man," Grace whispered under her breath as she fussed with both the dinner tray and with Olive's attire. If the guards were to peek in, they'd see an old lady doing her job.

"He's also calling for the Grand Duke to answer for Krah's actions at Valance. I think he means to defy Calent! This may end badly," she continued in a hushed voice. Her eyes searched Olive's, for both women knew -- she was right in the center of this whole situation.