Spirits of the Earth

This thread is part of the Hellvion Spring Ball (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17018.0). Plotting info can be found here (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=16993.0)! This even is open to Connlaothian nobles only. Please post in the plotting thread before jumping in.

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[Entrance from the Grand Hall (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17018.msg200600#msg200600)]

Constance Carwick stepped silently into the lantern-lit gardens outside the main hall. The night was still relatively warm compared to the long winter, but a chill clung to her. The newly-gained knowledge of the fate of her family still had her head spinning. Glancing around to see that the gardens were, still fairly early in the ball, mostly empty, Olive left the main, lantern-lit stone terrace and sunk onto a stone bench surrounded in a half moon of deep green pines.

Her head in her hands, she felt her breath rise and fall slowly. Avery. Caspian. Her mother. The entire line of Wulbauer's rulers... all dead. Her family, all dead. They had already been lost to her, she knew, but... Somewhere in the back of her head, she had always held ont the fantasy of reconciliation. One day. That was all gone now.

Away from the light of the lanterns, alone in the night in a soft blue gown, Constance was almost invisible in the dim garden. Only her honey-gold hair shown in the flickering lantern light.

[Entrance from the Grand Hall (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17018.msg200600#msg200600)]

As Dwight stepped into the faintly lit gardens, he looked about him. He thought he was alone for a moment before he noticed someone in a particularly dark spot. A girl, by the looks of her hair, though he couldn't make out many more detail. He was about to dismiss it, when something about the color of the hair struck him. There was no way, it just wasn't possible! It was probably just the light messing with him, but what if...

He approached the girl, and tentatively called out: "Forgive me if I'm wrong but is that you Oli-, ah, eh, I mean Constance. Is that you Constance?" If he was wrong, it wouldn't do to call a lady, even on accident, with a name like Olive.

OOC: FYI, Dwight would almost definitely have heard that Constance was sent to the camps 5 years ago. I imagine that kind of gossip gets everywhere. ;) Now the rumors are mostly that she's dead, but a few that she broke out in one of the uprisings.

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"Is that you Constance?"

Constance Carwick had been looking at the stone beneath her feet, lost in memories of her mother. Of Cass and Avery and her father. She hadn't been paying attention to who was coming and going. An idiot's mistake, because without her even realizing someone was coming, someone called her by name. Her name.

She stiffened, but she was already answering as she looked up, forcing herself to use the sweet and friendly voice of Bryony, "No, no sorry, you're mistaken. Constance was my cousin. I'm - "

But the words froze on her lips when her eyes finally raised to meet the man in question. Olive hadn't counted on anyone she actually knew being here. (Except perhaps the Rastognlirs, but that was a risk she'd decided to take). All of her friends from university were, well... there was no way to say it other than, 'Below Melora's standards.' But there was no denying it. The man standing front of her was Dwight Ardice.

Recognition was clear on her face, but she finished her lie anyway. Perhaps for the benefit of anyone else that might be listening. "I'm Bryony Carwick."

But her eyes said, Yes, it's me. And also, perhaps, warned against using the name 'Constance' again.

Dwight was frozen with shock for a moment before he could compose a response. He realized that the pair was on dangerous ground right now, and he decided to choose his words carefully. "Of course Miss Carwick, I must apologize for the mistake. I don't know what came over me, there's absolutely no way that Constance could be here." He said the last few words with a nervous chuckle, and he used the motion to surreptitiously look around to make sure there was no one else close by.

He didn't see anyone, and he was pretty sure he'd notice someone close by even in the dim light. Once he was positive they were effectively alone, he leaned in close to Olive and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Olive I've heard the oddest rumors over the last couple of years. First people were saying that you got shipped off, and more recently I've heard that you're dead. Am I seeing ghosts? What is going on here? And why are you impersonating your cousin? Where's the real Bryony? Why are you eve-?

With a start, he realized that he was asking too many questions for Olive to effectively answer, and that his voice was getting progressively louder. He cleared his throat softly. "Sorry, I'm just in shock right now.  I don't even know what question I really want to hear the answer to, or if I even want answers to any of them."

Olive's face tightened as Dwight's voice grew louder with one question after the other. If her safety were her principal priority, Olive would begin to think that coming here was a mistake. Perhaps she'd underestimated the risk, thinking that after five years in the camps and on the run - and for most of the people here, she'd effectively 'disappeared from society' the day she'd been Marked, not years later when she'd been sent to the camps - that there would be no one who would recognize her. But her expression relaxed a little when he suddenly caught himself, lowered his voice again, and apologized.

Glancing just once over his shoulder, Olive's green eyes studied Dwight's features carefully, as though she were making some decision about him: To trust him, maybe, or perhaps trying to decide if she was the one 'seeing a ghost.' It had been years since she'd seen anyone from her Old Life, not since the ordeal with Mercuxio Ragstonlir, and the feeling was unsettling. After a moment, though, she answered him, at least in part.

"Not all of those are rumors," she said, her voice level as her eyes continued to study him. Should she trust him, or how much she should trust him, remained unclear to her. Dwight had been her friend, it was true, and part of her heart leapt to see him now. And though they had been at university together, they had met through the Church; he hadn't been one of the somewhat rambunctious, irreverent crowd she'd normally stayed with. And that connection gave her pause now. The Church, which had once been a source of solace for her, was now the last thing Constance Carwick trusted. But Dwight had been her friend all the same, and in some respects she'd been closer to him than most of her university friends.

"Bryony never got the invitation," she continued, not saying how she had. Olive glanced over his shoulder again towards the paper lantern-lit entrance to the ball. She knew she would have to tell him more, but what? Part of her wanted to throw herself at him and embrace him, an old friend being a luxury she hadn't had in a long time, and tell him everything. But she knew she couldn't do that, either. Instead she gave a small shrug and a helpless half-smile. "The rest is kind of a long story."

The way that Olive said "A long story" confirmed something for Dwight. "You know what, I don't think I want to hear the rest of it," he told her. "It sounds, ah, like something that maybe I shouldn't pry into." He stood thinking for a moment. "Perhaps instead we could discuss something else. Maybe, uh, well," he thought for a bit longer.

What could they talk about? Not her family, that was for sure. Definitely not the war, or anything to do with mages. What was she doing here? No, really best not to wonder about that.

"Wow," he said after a moment longer. "I've got nothing. Back at the University it seemed like there was always something to say, always something to discuss, but now I've got nothing. What happened to those times?"

“The war happened.”

Olive’s half-smile was replaced by a quiet sadness when she answered Dwight’s rhetorical question. She barely even remembered those times anymore. And thinking of them now was like thinking of someone else’s life. But the disarming niceness of Dwight, the same he’d had then, brought those years at the university swimming into focus. And, as she looked at Dwight, she made a decision.

Exhaling a little sigh, Olive got up from the stone bench and took Dwight’s hand, moving with a sudden decisiveness. Glancing again back at the entrance to the ball, she led Dwight away from it, down a narrow, shrub-lined and maze-like path in the garden. “I hope,” she told him, forcing another half-smile as she led him further into the shadows of the garden, “that your reputation won’t be too tarnished by disappearing with a lady for a little bit.” Suddenly it occurred to Olive that, by now, Dwight could even be married. “You won’t get in trouble with your wife?”

Despite her gestures towards his reputation (and, she supposed, Bryony’s), Olive continued to lead him away into the garden until the narrow, maze-like path opened up into a little, flower-strewn clearing. There she released his hand and turned to face him. Olive could feel her heart beating loudly, though she wasn’t sure why exactly. Was it that she feared he would betray her? Or did she fear he might reject her now, or…? She didn’t know. But she’d decided to answer at least some of his questions.

“I was sent away,” she told him, launching directly into her story. Perhaps she was worried she would lose her nerve. “While I was under house arrest in Uthlyn, an Adhara came for me. I didn’t really believe that the camps existed then. I expected she’d just remove me from the city and kill me in the wilderness and that would be that. I didn’t even try to get away… For lots of reasons, I guess. I suppose I didn’t know what else to do, and I knew that going with her, to whatever end, was what I was expected to do. But I was wrong anyway. I was sent… I spent two years in the camps, I think. Maybe a little longer.” The short summary of those years felt odd to Olive. But how could she explain now the multitude they contained? “I won’t bother you with a description of those years,” she simply said, a little numbly. “But there was an uprising in the second camp I was sent to. Many people died in it, and more mages than soldiers, but I escaped. Since then I’ve been on the run, living in the wilderness with a few others who escaped. Trying to keep ahead of capture and a return to the camps.”

Olive’s green eyes strayed from Dwight, looking sideways into the darkness. What should she say now? She couldn’t tell him the truth, even if she wanted to. Her responsibilities weren’t just to herself anymore. After a long moment, she let out a ragged exhale and continued in half-truths.

“It’s been… difficult. But I knew that my father would never break ranks with Calent on the war, even if it was to help me, so I didn’t have any other choice. When I heard that, that he’d been assassinated, though,” Olive’s voice caught, and her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground now. Apart from all else, the emotion in her voice now was entirely true, “I thought that Avery might be different. I hoped that he would shelter me, but I didn’t know how to contact him. When I found out about this ball, well, I thought surely he would be invited, if he was Duke now, and I could plead my case. I didn’t know…” She broke off, silent for several long moments, before she concluded quietly, “I only just heard.”

He let out a bitter chuckle at Olive's remark about his reputation as she dragged him down the garden path. "I have no reputation to tarnish and no wife to get in trouble with. Lead on Olive, lead on."

He followed the young woman to the clearing, where he stood and listened intently as Olive unfolded her story. He did his best to keep his face neutral, but it was difficult to keep his eyes from widening in surprise at elements of the tale. Finally, unmasked pity covered his features when she finally reached the point where she discussed her cousin's untimely demise.

"I don't, I don't know what to say Olive. This is, a lot to take in." How was he supposed to deal with this. All this information, these painful things, and on top of that his own problems. He couldn't help Olive and himself in this situation...

And at that his thoughts froze for a moment. Had that really just passed through his mind? After hearing that story, was he really classifying his problems at the same level of those of his dear friend? Was he thinking of ways to help himself when he clearly was the one far better off?

The nobleman suddenly felt sick to his stomach. How long had he been thinking like this? Considering his needs over others so readily? He hadn't been like this at University, he was sure. Being with Olive was reminding him already of who he had used to be, and suddenly his behavior over the past few weeks, the way he treated servants and family friends disgusted him.

Suddenly, impulsively, he hugged Olive. "I'm sorry Olive, I lied. I do know what to say. I'm sorry for your loss, and I'm sorry for what you've been through. I'm here, if you need anything, I'm here to help."

When Olive finished her story, her mostly true story, the blatant pity on Dwight's face was obvious. Olive stiffened and her eyes flashed. A fierceness suddenly shone on her face. She did not, in that moment, look like an exhausted and beleaguered girl come to beg sanctuary from her remaining family. Yet she also didn't resemble the fun-loving and irreverent girl from the university. There was something hard and dangerous and determined in her look.

"I don't want your pity, Dwight," she told him, her voice low and flat and firm. "And I don't deserve it. I'm one of the fortunate few. I have my life, and my freedom. Very few have both. And many have neither."

In that moment, Olive saw red. She saw the ten year old boy who had thrown a stone at a guard, saw his brains splattered against the the dirty white walls of the camp, silencing his frightened sobs. She saw it like she was there again. Angry and helpless and terrified. But she wasn't helpless anymore. Then she remembered why she was here. And she saw Dwight before her again. Looking unhappy and uncertain in the soft light of the night. And her rigid posture relaxed, her fierce expression softened.

Here was Dwight, a man who had once been a friend to a girl she feared she no longer was.

And when he pulled her into a hug, at first Olive resisted. But only for a moment. Half a moment, before she melted into him and held on. Tears were stinging her eyes and then without realizing it, Olive was crying. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd let herself cry. Or even that she'd wanted to cry. But she did now. For everything she'd told Dwight about, and mostly for everything she'd spared him: the camps and everything that happened there; and also for her parents, her family, and the life that Dwight's presence reminded her she'd had, and would never have again.

She didn't know how long she'd cried, but finally Olive pulled herself together. She pushed herself away from Dwight, wiping away the wetness from her face. Even then, she had to give a small, shaky laugh at his offer. "You should probably take that back, Dwight," she told him, trying to put a humorous tone in her voice, but mostly failing. "You don't want to make any promises you might not be able to keep."

Dwight held Olive close as she wept, both surprised and concerned. He'd never known his friend to break down, and her tears now made him worry. When she finally pushed herself away, Dwight had to work hard to keep his concern from his face. He didn't want Olive thinking that he was pitying her again.

Her words gave Dwight momentary pause, but the nobleman was a man of his word, not to mention that he really wanted to keep this promise. It would be a start, a road back to the man he had been once. He laughed a little bit, though it was obviously not real, "I can keep this one promise Olive. I have to... for a... personal reason. You can trust me on this, my word is good."

Olive wiped the wetness from her face, a mixture of embarrassment and anger at herself turning over in her stomach. What was she doing crying? Dwight reminded her of a life she'd had once, a life when her family was not dead, a life where she'd had little care beyond university courses and the nasty looks you got when you wore the Mark. But that life was long gone, and what right did she have to mourn it? Olive had, she knew, been lucky beyond reason; if you could call it 'luck' when it just came from the circumstances of your birth. Who your parents were, or weren't.

Again, her memory flashed to the cold, wet day in the camp, when they blew through that boy's brain, splattering it red and gray against the barracks wall. Had she been someone else, had she not been Duke Carwick's daughter, that would have been her fate. If she'd have been as brave at all, without her title...

And the thought clenched her churning stomach with resolve. She wasn't here to revisit her old life. She wasn't here to weep for herself, or for her family. Constance Carwick was here with a mission. She couldn't forget that. And so she frowned at Dwight's renewed, firmer offer. "I hope you don't come to regret that."

Dwight returned her frown with a look of slight concern. He banished the expression quickly though, and replaced it with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'd regret not helping even more," He responded. The young nobleman nodded slightly to himself, reaffirming his resolution in his own mind.

After a few more moments, Dwight looked around the garden thoughtfully, almost expecting something to happen. "So, um... what now?" he asked awkwardly. "I mean, do you need some kind of help now, or should I head back to the main hall, or, oh... I don't know. This is going to sound strange, but I guess I half-expected something to suddenly happen. It feels like I'm a part of some conspiracy or something..."

((OOC: Sorry for the awkward post, I don't really know what to do here :()))

"I'd regret not helping even more."

How long would Dwight feel that way, Olive wondered. What would he regret by the end of the night? And then, when Dwight asked 'what now?', what was going to happen, and should he do something to help her, and that he felt like part of a conspiracy, Olive frowned. If she let him get too close, if she slipped and let herself divulge too much to him because of their old friendship, he would be part of a conspiracy.

But wasn't that why she was here? Because all of these nobles, all of these people who could do something, who had power to take action... Because they weren't, they wouldn't? In attendance at this ball were the few people who could do something. To end the slaughter of mages. To end the senselessness of the war. Who could stand up the Grand Duke, withdraw the support of their armies. And they weren't.

She wondered what Dwight did. Or didn't do. And why she should hold him to another measure than anyone else. But still...

Instead of directly answering him, Olive gave another laugh, a bit less shaky, and shook her head. "I really know how to lift the mood at a party, don't I? And I haven't heard anything about how you've been." And what, Olive thought, you've been doing. Where your allegiances have fallen. She was testing the waters. "Have you managed to stay in the library, and off the battlefield?"

Dwight chuckled a bit at her question. "I haven't seen a library or a battlefield in years. I've been mostly trying to keep my family's estate afloat. It's a full time job. Especially with this senseless war going on. There's no way I can provide for my tenants." He paused for a bit, as if thinking. "Guess it's not all bad though, no one's tried to claim my family's land since their soldiers are tied up in the Grand Duke's army."

His eyes grew distant as he thought of all the problems waiting for him back home. "I just wish the taxes I paid weren't being spent on weapons and on the killing of Connlaoth's own people. I could be using that money to feed the people who rely on me." The nobleman sighed heavily. " I guess I'm pretty bad for the mood as well. Sorry, I didn't mean to rant like that."

"Then don't pay them. Feed your people," Olive answered him, her eyes fixed on him. She was letting her guard drop a bit, and a flash of genuine anger shown through the veneer of polite ball etiquette that had been coating their interaction thus far. "If people like you, people with power, don't do anything - who can?"

Of course, the implication of what Dwight was saying was not lost on Olive. His people were his responsibility. So his father, his brother... Consumed, she assumed, by the war. Like everyone's fathers, everyone's brothers and sons and lovers.

"I'm serious," she added after a moment, expecting Dwight might doubt her. "What's the worst that can happen? The Grand Duke sends his soldiers to come kill your people?" She audibly huffed. She knew she was treading on thin ice now. This corner of the garden might feel private, but it wasn't really/ And who knew what Dwight himself would. "He's already killing your people, Dwight. His people, even if he can't see them that way anymore. Maybe if the lords stopped filling his war chest, he'd have to think twice about how long he can keep it up."

Olive's words were seditious, but they weren't anything that Dwight himself hadn't thought before, in some of his angrier moments.

In response to her suggestions, the nobleman shook his head sadly. "If only I could stop paying Olive. It's not the grand duke I'm worried about when I pay my taxes, it's the Lords who hold land around mine. Not paying your taxes is giving them free reign to start taking chunks of your land that they can pay the crown for."

Dwight paced angrily a few steps around their small corner of the garden before addressing Constance again. "I wish I had the power to make the change you want Olive, I really do. To feed the people who need it and stop the senseless killing, but I'm just one more minor noble trying to hold onto my land. We're a dime a dozen in this country, and it's all to easy for one of the bigger families to swallow us up as if we're nothing."

“If not you, then who?” Olive asked, countering Dwight’s words before she really had the time to think through whether or not she should still be talking at all. Realizing this, she lowered her voice before continuing, her brow knit, “If the lords of this country have no power to end this travesty, then who does? No one? We’re just stuck in a shit storm of killing and rape and hunger until we’re all fucking dead?”

Olive stepped into Dwight’s path as he paced the garden so he would have to pull up short right in front of her. Her green eyes looked fiercely up at Dwight, her expression hard.

“What are you afraid of risking? Your claim to your land? If your people are already being sent to war, or have already been dragged off to rot in camps, if you already can’t feed them… If you can't protect or provide for them, then you already are nothing. So what? What are you going to lose? Some land, your title? Who the fuck cares, Dwight? Compared to what many have been forced to sacrifice, without any choice, it’s… it’s…”

She stopped her indictment short with a ’pah’ of frustration and turned to look away from Dwight, but didn’t move from his space. Olive knew that she was out of line. Or, at least, that under the old rules she was. Times had changed. Children were torn from their families, beaten and starved to death, people were being systematically killed in the camps as part of wild experimentation by the church, the land was being fed with the blood of poor young men who’d been given no choice but to join the army. Did the old rules still apply?

Without thinking about it, Olive was looking less and less like the scared, run-down outcast come to beg the mercy of her family.

Dwight was taken aback, both at the invasion of his personal space and at Olive's harsh words. He'd never known her to...

But could he say he knew her now? It was clear that Olive was a different person than she had been before. A stronger one, and an angrier one. Suddenly, Dwight felt left behind, as if Olive had moved on to some place beyond him. Into some world he couldn't comprehend. He felt angry, upset that she was making him feel so futile and so useless.

Looking at his feet, Dwight muttered, "I don't understand." He waited a moment before looking up at Olive's back. "I don't understand," he repeated again louder. "I don't understand what you've been through Olive, and I can't even pretend to sympathize. That would just be pity and you've made your position clear on that."

He waited a moment, composing himself and then lowering his voice, "But I don't know if you understand the position I'm in. I could risk everything, my few people, my meager land, and my petty title. I could put everything on the line and I guarantee you it would be for nothing. Maybe it makes me a coward, but I'm not prepared to sacrifice everything that I am for nothing. If you could show me Olive, show me that my effort could create some change, then maybe. But I guess... I guess I'm too weak for what you're asking for."

He looked down again, before speaking once more, "Still, I said I'd help you. I don't know what your exact objective here is Olive, but when you need me, let me know." And with that, Dwight walked away, back towards the ball room, thoughts whirring inside his head.

If Dwight hadn't left then, Olive might have hit him. Instead she watched him go while a torrent of conflicting emotions clashed inside of her.

Anger at Dwight for trying to 'make her understand' what he would lose. She, she wanted to yell at him, had lost everything. She hadn't even remembered how much before seeing him again. And she would never complain, because she'd regained some things: her freedom, though a more restricted freedom than Dwight or any of the nobles here enjoyed, and a sense of purpose. And her life. Olive wanted to run after him, grab him, describe to him in every detail every senseless death she'd witnessed. Children, old men and women, young men and women; beaten or starved or made sport of.

And regret, because she was also angry at herself. For snapping at him, for driving him away. For no longer being the girl he remembered. For turning into something she could tell he didn't recognize.

And a creeping sadness. Because it seemed to her now that no bridges would survive this war. Between mages and non-mages, common and noble, between old friends... they were all burning. And what would be left of the country in the end.

Her heart heavy, but her blood burning, Olive realized that she had been standing alone in the garden for several minutes. Collecting herself, she headed back to the ball, uncertain whether or not she should try to find Dwight again. Whether she should warn him, or... She had no idea. [Olive continues here (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17408.0).]

[Re-entering from here (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=17408.0) after a little bit of time!]

Olive had to slow her pace as she approached the ball again. She'd basically ran back to the manor after 'dealing' with the Templar in the garden. Well, he was far enough away, she told herself, that she should be safe for awhile. Plus, who knew when he'd even wake up? Olive smoothed out her dress, guilt nagging at her. But whatever happened to the Templar, it wasn't her fault. She kept telling herself that.

Something interrupted her grumpy, doubtful thoughts as she stepped onto the veranda, however. From a shadowed little nook on the far side of the large stone veranda - in fact, you wouldn't likely pass it if you were coming from the ball, rather than from the gardens - Olive heard the quiet sound of someone crying, and trying not to. Olive paused. She should keep going, she knew. It wasn't very long now before she needed to meet Roderick outside of the main hall... But something stayed her. Maybe it was her guilt about lashing out at Dwight, or clobbering Kentamin over the head, or any of the other things she seemed to be doing more often lately that she wasn't proud of... Whatever it was, Olive stepped quietly to the entrance to the little garden nook.

She recognized the young woman there instantly. Oh, she hadn't really seen her since she was a child, but she was so distinctly pretty and, Olive thought, had changed so little. She took one step into the nook and called softly,

"...Aella?"

Aella, the one and only child of the duke and duchess of Hellvion, was in tears. The news of who she was to wed, after being paraded around all of Connlaoth for over a decade just had her shocked and distraught beyond all belief. Not only did she not love this man, but she was old enough to be one of his children! And though he was a handsome, she had always presumed she would marry someone... well, more her age!

It was just too much to bear, but being the obedient girl that she was- she couldn't say no, she couldn't protest, even as she felt as if her heart wanted to burst into a billion broken pieces out from her chest. She was so overwhelmed in this world of sorrow, only the small voice that broke through her sobs.

Immediately recognizing her childhood friend, (and not realizing how absurd it might be to throw herself at her in such a way- or the fact this woman should have been 'dead')- Aella did just that- throwing her arms around Constance as she cried into her shoulder.

"Oh, Constance! The world is full of cruelty and shame. And though I beg your forgiveness for not visiting you as often as i would have liked over the years, you had always been there for me when we were little- and I dare say not much has changed. My mother is enraged, and my father must truly be mad! Did you hear to whom they expect me to marry?" She went on, tears glossing her eyes as she peered up at the other woman with trembling lips.

"I'm engaged to the Duke of Orchy!" And at the very exclamation of it, the young woman was balling again.

Though she wasn't sure what reaction she was expecting, Olive was startled when Aella threw herself into her arms. And by what Aella was telling her. (And telling her as though they were still children and friends, and not torn apart by the war... as though it weren't odd for Olive to be there in the first place!) It was like listening to something from another time, another world. But for all that, her reaction wasn't to scorn Aella for crying over a marriage when there was so much strife and suffering in the country. Somehow she simply couldn't imagine scorning the other woman for anything. And her grief was so... genuine.

So Olive wrapped her arms around Aella, hugging her tight for a minute, before gently leading the crying woman to sit down on the bench at the back of the garden nook. Partially to keep Aella's tears private, partially to prevent her calling out the name 'Constance' too openly!

Truth be told, Olive was also startled by what Aella had said! "Micah Coleridge?" Surely not. Maybe one of his son was duke now... It's possible Olive wouldn't have heard about it. But his son was already engaged. Or, by now she realized, probably married! But Micah was old enough to be either of their fathers!

"That can't be true, Aella," she said gently, brushing aside a stray hair from Aella's face and trying to find her eyes through the tears, trying to look calm and reassuring. "Your mother would never allow it. She'll have you marry whoever is to inherit Hellvion, surely." But even as Olive said it, she wondered... Who was the heir to Hellvion? And how many opportunities did Melora's daughter have to be a duchess?

But Olive didn't say this outloud. She simply took Aella's hand in one of hers, the other arm wrapped around Aella's shoulders.

Aella, still in tears, was consumed in sobs once more before giving a terrible shake of her head and blurting out, "But it's true! All of it! My father arranged it, and approved it! I'm sure my mother must've known about it and gave her blessing." Even if she could not believe it herself! She knew how her mother felt about Micah.....
and even that made her feel almost sick to her stomach. She might be niave, but she wasn't that ignorant. She knew her mother liked, or had liked, the Duke of Orchy. Had her mother gone over the top? Was this her idea to get her own self close to the duke by using this marriage?

Then again- it was said her mother was to know at the end of the event....
That she didn't know-
But how could she not?
Had her own father gone mad?

Just thinking it over again brought her to tears.
"What am I to do? I can not marry him! I do not love him! And he lives so far away!"

Olive didn't know what to say. The trials and tribulations of arranged marriages were something she thought she'd left behind a long, long time ago. But Aella was beside herself. She bit the side of her lip, searching for something (and at the back of her mind thinking about where she needed to be soon, and why, and what that meant with her arms around the daughter of Hellvion!).

"But Micah's old enough to be your father," she heard herself saying. Not that that would really be unprecedented. It was still a rather large age gap. And an odd pairing, considering Aella's mother and the Duke of Orchy...

When Aella burst into tears agin, and beseeched what should she do, Olive looked at her seriously. "Aella, say no if you really don't want to. Your parents love you. They won't force you. Perhaps they will be unhappy at first, but they wouldn't force  you into something that you want so little. Surely!" Even as she said it, Olive wondered if it was true. And if Aella would ever stand up to her parents like that! "You've got to stick up for yourself."

Aella trembled, tears clinging to her eyes as she shook her head.
"But I... but they.... how could I?" she said, trembling as more hot tears bubbled within her eyes. "They're my parents. It's.. it's my duty to obey- and I've waited so long on their decision for this, to whom I would marry. I.. I just never thought I-"
And sobs choked the rest of the words from herself as tears continued to stream down her cheeks.
"I know there is so much worse going on in the world now, but it isn't fair! I don't know what to do! I feel as if I'm trapped... oh Constance!" And she clung to the girl even tighter.

"Aella," Olive asked firmly, trying to get through the other woman's tears to make eye contact with her, "do you want to marry the Duke of Orchy?"

They both knew the answer, of course, but Olive was trying to make a point. If the last five years had taught her anything, it was that life was short and precious and not to be taken for granted. You shouldn't give it away out of a misplaced sense of duty.

"It's your life, Aella," she said gently but firmly. "Your duty is to yourself and to Hellvion. Surely there are other ways to serve those duties, if your heart is set against this marriage. You parents will see that."

Olive broke her steady gaze at Aella only for half a second to glance anxiously upwards. She wasn't considering leaving her distraught friend, if she could call Aella that, but Olive hadn't forgotten who she was, what she was, and where. And the very real danger that presented. Especially the more Aella cried and called 'Constance.'

Aella shook her head.
"No, no, I was just a fool. I'm sorry you have to see me in tears after all that's happened to you, to your family..."
ANd it was only then it began to sunk in, as her face took on a questioning look.

Wait... wasn't Constance taken away to the mage camps?

Olive saw the look on Aella's face and felt her own stomach seize up and grow cold. What Aella would do once she realized Olive was most certainly not meant to be here, she had no idea. Unsure what else to do, she decided to keep on acting as if everything were normal.

What choice did she have?

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Aella," she said reassuringly. "I'm fine. And you've had a big... shock. I still can't believe you'll have to go through with it."

Aella looked around, wiping at her tears.
"Should we... we go someplace more private? I... I feel as if I really need to talk and... out here..
This... this is not the place. We could go back to my room.." And she took Constance's hand and gave it a light, imploring squeeze.

Olive's eyes are locked onto Aella's. She should go. She knew she should go. She never should have come to Aella in the first place. But just as something had drawn her to Aella then, something stayed Olive now.

A memory of a childhood friend? Wanting to preserve some tie to her past? Or, maybe, Olive wanted to feel as though she could be good to someone.

"I... I shouldn't," she finally heard herself saying, quiet and uncertain. "I came hoping to find my family. I know now that I won't, can't. I shouldn't stay longer. It isn't safe." She blinked. Despite her words, Olive had yet to get up, as if some invisible force were keeping her in place and she continued, "For me. I shouldn't stay here."

Immediately guilt over took her, her eyes pooling with fearful emotions.
"I.. I have almost forgot!" she said, looking around carefully before leaning in closer to Constance as she spoke low. "You're a mage."
But she already knew that...
And then she began to realize....
"You weren't on the guest list.. were you?"
But she couldn't have known just why. Her mother did keep her daughter quite ignorant to most things regarding the war.

At Aella's words, it was Olive who now looked afraid. Her eyes widened slightly, flashing with something akin to fear, but not quite. She suddenly realized what a stupid risk she was taking. She had known that Aella would recognize her. But she hadn't been thinking about it. She'd just found her crying and...

Olive thought suddenly of Dwight, and Kentamin. And all her other reckless risks. She never should have mingled in the ball at all. She should have mingled specifically with strangers just enough to not draw attention, carry out their plans once the time was right, then leave. That had been the plan. But Melora had winded her when she'd arrived...

"My condolences about your cousins. Though we have lost many good men and ladies to this war, to lose ones of such high caliber is an atrocity. Duke and Duchess Carwick were well loved and your brothers..."

The duchess's words echoed in her mind. Olive never should have separated from Roderick. Never should have gone off on her own. But the unwelcome news had sent her into the gardens. Clearly she'd underestimated the dangers she'd find at this ball. And now what? Aella was her friend, was. Would the young woman who wouldn't dare speak out against her parents about a marriage really protect a mage?

They both knew what Aella should do now.

Slowly, Olive shook her head. "No," she said, her mouth dry, "I wasn't."

Aella went quiet, digesting over this but not fully comprehending everything that was said.
"Then you'd better avoid my mother." She gave Constance a small smile. "She'll be raging mad to find out there's a guest who's uninvited."

Aella's smile put Olive a little more at ease, and she found herself returning it. "I'm sure she would be. Luckily for me she doesn't recognize me anymore."

It might seem like a neutral comment, Aella warning Olive about Melora, but it touched Olive deeply. Because it came moments after Aella remembered that Olive was a mage, that she'd snuck in and... Her childhood friend only warned her to avoid her mother. Without thinking, Olive reached out and squeezed Aella's hand.

She glanced around to make sure there was still no one around, then decided to stay. At least a moment longer.

"Aella, listen to me for a moment," she started, her speech slow but warm, "I've learned and seen a lot in the last few years. But I think the most important thing I've learned - and never would have fully appreciated staying in Wulfbauer Keep - is how precious life is. How important it is not to take it for granted. I don't just mean staying alive, but... really living it. It's precious. It's short. It will end, for all of us. You never know when it will change, in the blink of an eye. Spend it doing what you want, Aella. If you think marrying Micah Coleridge is the right thing to do, if it's what you want to do, then do it. But if you don't, or if it isn't... Then tell your parents. Don't give away years of your life because of what someone else wants."

And Aella could not help herself as tears began to well up in her eyes.
"Oh... but Constance, you of all people should understand that.... as.. as a lady born into privilege... our fate is with the words of our parents. I... I could not disobey.. and to voice such opinions..."
Her mother, she feared, would slay her.

That stopped Olive short. And it showed. She looked at Aella with her mouth half-open, but she couldn't think of an argument. How could she argue with Aella on that mark? Of course she understood the pressure to do what her parents decided. Had she forgotten? Aella was taking about following her parents' decision into a marriage. But Olive had followed her parents' words to the north, to the mage camps. When she'd first gone, she'd thought she was following them to her death. She'd understood why she had to do it then, and thinking back to it now, she supposed she still did. If she were to go back in time, Olive knew somehow she would do it again.

But that was only for a few years, and I didn't know what was before me, she wanted to say. A marriage will be for decades, even to an old man like Micah.

But of course it hadn't been for a few years. Olive might not be in the camps anymore, but her life was changed forever.

She let out a breath and her expression changed, softened. Olive put a hand on Aella's, then said gently, "Come on, if you still want, we can go to your room and I'll help you clean up.We can't let everyone see 'the most beautiful woman in Connlaoth' all covered in tears."

What she didn't say was, You're right. But she knew they would both likely understand. Olive glanced back at the ball. She had enough time. As at-odds as her objectives were, there would be time to help Aella, before she had to find Roderick.

At that comment, Aella's cheeks rosied.
"Thank you," she told her softly, and gave a bow of her head before guiding Constance along with her to her room where a pitcher of water was already waiting near her vanity, and as swiftly as she could, she doused the wash cloth and dabbed away her tears. But her face still looked red.. flushed, and she sighed at her reflection.

"You know it's rumored that phrase... the one about me... that my mother just made it all up." She bit her lip, violet eyes looking down at her hair brush before pickign it up and beginning to move it through her blonde hair. "My mother... does a lot of things for herself.." She went on, but didn't go into further detail until her brush made a few long strokes through her long, silky locks.

"I think... if it were not for her... I might have been married already. She's.... a bit... cautious of me. Of my future." But at that, she realized it might make her poor mother seem horrible! So she was quick to add, as she turned around on her stool, "Oh! Not to say her intentions are not good. For they are. I suppose if I were a mother I would be the same. But I'm not sure I'll ever know...."

And then thinking on it, her cheeks turned pink as she gasped and turned to Constance.
"You do not think the Duke will... will wish to share a bed with me? He has... his own children- some even older than myself!"

Oh, and to think how awfully awkward that would be for all!

Olive took the hair brush from Aella and, standing behind her, gently ran it through her childhood friend's long hair as she spoke her concerns. Olive had to hold her tongue as Aella defended her mother. She was sure Melora had someone's best interest in mind, but she wasn't sure that someone was Aella. Otherwise she'd never have let her daughter go on so long unmarried. Surely, if she'd been less 'picky', Aella could have been married to one of the heirs to a duchy that was, well, younger than Micah Coleridge.

But her last question made Olive stop, and for a moment she paused in brushing Aella's hair, making eye contact with her in the mirror. Oh, she couldn't really be so naive... For half a moment, Olive was tempted to tell her that surely of course he wouldn't, but what service would she be doing her?

Finally, she started brushing Aella's hair again and said, "I don't think a husband lies with his wife only to beget children." But then she shrugged and said, "But maybe at his age, he won't have the energy," she gave Aella a grin though the mirror, and added, only half-joking, "and you'll be able to find a younger man to share your bed. After all, like you said, he has children. His line is secure."

At such an idea her violet eyes went wide as saucers before she dropped her gaze and began to chew on her lip.
"Oh, but I.. I would never do that to my husband!"
Even if it were to be... Micah.

Olive laughed. Not a laughing-at-you sort of laugh, but a open, good-natured laugh to dispel the sudden discomfort she saw in Aella. The sort to say, 'I'm only joking.' Even if she wasn't; not 100% anyway.

"Well, I would say 'never say never,'" Olive said as she combed the brush through Aella's hair, still smiling reassuringly at Aella through the mirror, "but I know you'll be a good wife, to whoever you marry. You never know what might come of it. People have found happiness in stranger places."

Olive knew these were platitudes, but she wasn't sure what else to say to her. And the last thing Aella needed was to start crying again. Suddenly Olive's eyes lit up as an idea came to her. "Plus, anyway -" she started brightly, but she was soon cut short.

A deafening sound came from somewhere below and before Olive had the chance to realize it was from the main hall of the ball, the shock that followed shook the room and sent Olive tumbling to her feet. A few things fell off shelves, but Aella's room seemed to be otherwise safe...

But they could hear everything that was happening below: the sound of collapsing stone and screams from the ball...

Aella too, spilled to the floor, amongst her things, but other wise unharmed. Her room was far enough away from the explosion, but the screams that followed sent a chill to her veins. Her skin paled, growing whiter than snow as she froze in place in shock and horror.

Was Hellvion Palace under attack?

Olive's heart was pounding faster than it ever had. What had happened? Had Roderick...? But he wouldn't! But the screams from below, echoing in her head, and the knowledge of what they had brought into the castle...

No. It couldn't have.

But another urgency coursed through her as she heard another crumbling sound from below. They needed to get out! And then Olive needed to get far, far away from here.

She clambered to her feet, then grabbed Aella by the arms and helped pull her up.

"Come on," she urged, fear plain underneath the veneer of calm that she tried to force on her voice, "we have to get out of here. Where's the closest exit away from the main hall? From where..."

But she didn't finish the sentence. From where the bomb went off. The bomb.

...Had he really?...

Aella was pulled around much like a dead weight at this point until her mind finally caught up with her as to what just had occurred. And it was then she stopped dead in her tracks and gave Olive's hand a squeeze.

"The main hall..."
A chill ran through her veins. Her parents...
The Grand Duke, even several others she knew and cared for were there! Aella was quick to shake her head.

"What do you think is going on? Are we under attack?" How could she just leave like this? Though she herself had no real power to do much about anything of this nature, she still felt compelled to at least see what was going on and..
If not, at least see if she couldn't help in some way at all.

Olive's mind was racing; she felt she must be white as a sheet. What had... But Roderick couldn't have. It wasn't how they worked. It wasn't what they had come to do. It must have been someone else it must have...

But while those thoughts were bouncing around the back of her mind, a more urgent one clamoured to the front: the building was collapsing. They had to get out. They had to get somewhere safe.

"Come on, Aella," she said firmly, but not unkindly, "we have to get out of here. Now. Whatever happened it... The building, it isn't safe in here."

She held Aella's hand with a strong grip and pulled her childhood friend out of the room and into the hallway. If Aella wasn't going to think through their exit, Olive would have to use her own memory. Or her own sense. Away from the main hall, away from the main hall... Away from the terrifying sound of falling stone. Oh, Roderick.

She rushed with Aella down the hall until they came to a small side stairwell. In her memory, it led out to the front garden. She hurried them that way. "Aella, where's the nearest guardhouse? We have to take you somewhere safe."

And Olive, she needed to fly.

Aella's heart was pumping fast, her body, nearly numb to her of all its senses as she was whisked along with Constance leading the way. It wasn't until she was in the stairwell when they paused did the moment catch up with her. She couldn't think straight, finding herself sobbing as she stuttered,
"I.. I don't know I..... perhaps.. perhaps in the gardens..." And she moved to take the lead now. "Yes.. the gardens." The gardens would be safe, would they not?

And little did she know she was guiding Constance towards the very side of the gardens she left the templar entrapped.

Once they were in out of the house and in the gardens and out of immediate danger, Olive ground Aella to a halt.

"No, Aella," she insisted, seeing that her friend (would she be her friend for long?) was planning to hide in the garden. "We need to get you somewhere safe. And I need to get out of here. Do you know what will happen, if they find me - a mage - here now?"

Aella's eyes went wide and a hand moved to cover her gaping mouth.
"Oh! I..." She felt so foolish she was only considering her own safety and not the complications around Constance's. Looking around, her mind was freezing up on her, out of both fear to see her own home smoking and part of it, beginning to collapse in on itself that, as it was happening, she found herself only able to stare in horror.

"Where's the nearest guard station, Aella?" Olive asked firmly. It wouldn't do anyone any good for Aella to be left here in horror. And Olive wouldn't just leave her. But they needed to move, and fast.

---

And on the other end of the garden, where Aella was trying to usher them, the Weasel and the Narwhal were all aflutter. Luckily, they'd been on the terrace when the bomb went off. Terrified, they ran straight into the garden. What if an attack was starting!

"Here, here! We can hide in here!" the Weasel panted to her 'friend.' The Narwhal wheazed behind her and they threw open the door only to find...

"Oh, good gracious!" the Narwhal exclaimed before she fainted, bang on the spot. Because there in the middle of the little hut was a man! Sprawled out on the floor! The Weasel, somewhat more practical, crouched to his side.

"M'lord? M'lord are you okay?" she asked urgently, shaking his shoulder.

The world was moving too fast for her. Things were just going too crazy- and after hearing the shriek of a few nearby women, someone shouting something about-.. was someone dead? Were they important? What if it were her father? What if it was the Grand Duke?
And soon this was just too much for poor Aella Avelon to take in and with a hand draped across her forehead, she fainted dead away.


And elsewhere, the shrieks from the women hardly roused the unconscious templar. The blood might have freaked out the women even more so, but if they were so inclined, the poor gentleman was breathing, and still very much unconscious as the grounds shook while more of the Hellvion castle began to fall.

Olive cursed to herself as she saw Aella's fainting come on. She caught her friend only just in time before she hit the ground, stumbling a bit as she did so; after all, Olive was quite the skinny little thing herself.

Now what?

Olive looked back to the castle, a cold dread creeping through her stomach as dust billowed up from the crumbling building. What had they done? People were streaming from the castle, but no one seemed to notice them. No one seemed concerned about anything except their own safety, as they ran darting this way and that. But it wouldn't last. And if Olive were still here when they finally calmed down, when the dust settled...

She needed to flee. And fast.

She looked down at Aella's pale form, held up limp in her arms. She couldn't just leave her here. And though they had studied the plans for Hellvion castle before this night, she couldn't remember at all where the guard stations were in that moment. And would a guard even still be there now?

Setting her jaw, Olive began to awkwardly carry Aella... at least away from the danger of the castle. But where? And to who?

---

Elsewhere, the women continued to goggle over the prone Templar, squaking to each other about what to do! what to do! In the end, the only reasonable thing seemed clear. The fat old woman took the bottle of champagne she had managed to hold onto, and poured it over Kentamin's head.

Micah had been far enough from the initial explosion that he'd only been knocked off his feet and slightly dazed by the sudden shock wave. For nearly a minute everything was pure confusion as he dragged himself back to his feet unsteadily. Before his ears had even stopped ringing, Micah had begun to move again. Duke and aging or not, he had been a military man all his life and his training kicked in immediately.

Moving from person to person, he helped those that could stand to their feet, urging them to exit the castle quickly, but as calmly as they could. Some of the men that weren't injured or only slightly so, began to take his direction to help the more severely wounded or in shock out of the ballroom. This was not his home, or his people, but his presence was a commanding one, and his calmness soothed some of the hysterical.

Micah probably should have left as quickly as he could, but he continued to return to the ballroom again and again as he helped panicked women and limping men evacuate. In all his comings and goings he hadn't managed to catch sight of Melora or Aella, and frankly he was beginning to worry.   He was almost ready to start searching further into the castle when he spied Aella's prone form being help up by another small woman.

As he hurriedly approached, all sorts of negative thoughts began spiraling through his mind. He needed that girl alive, Ansgar damn it all! Micah appeared at Olive's side, one hand moving to gently touch Aella's face, noticing that she was alive and seemed mostly unharmed, at least he saw no obvious injury. Without hesitating, he unburdened Olive, lifting Aella into his arms with surprising ease for a man of his age.

"The structure has been damaged, the castle isn't safe. Hurry to the nearest exit and meet the others outside the Grand Hall." He didn't bother to wait for Olive once the words left his lips. He had who he needed, and quickly took his own advice. Aella's safety was paramount, after all.

Olive jumped when someone came behind and touched Aella. After all her years on the run, her first instinct was to spin around and strike out at whoever it was. She turned and bristled, but immediately stopped. Her gaze met Micah's for only a moment, but her eyes widened in recognition and, a little, fear. But it seemed unwarranted. If the Duke of Orchy recognized the daughter of the late Wulfbauer duke, he didn't show it.

And then he was gone. Aella with him. Olive knew she should be grateful for that, but for some reason it sat poorly with her.

But there was no time for that now. She watched the retreating form of the duke for only a moment before she took off. In all the commotion no one noticed one more fleeing young lady and Olive made it to the stables with little trouble. There were two horses prepared for their escape.

Their escape.

But now wasn't the time to mourn Roddeick. If indeed he should be mourned. She didn't have time to answer those questions note. Changing quickly from her gown into the travelers clothes stashed in the horse's saddlebags, she shoved the dress into the bag - she certainly couldn't leave it behind - and mounted the swift gray mare.

Then Constance Carwick fled from Hellvion, breathlessly wondering what had happened here.

Aella remained unmoving, like a piece of draped cloth held in the strong, older man's arms. And though the chaos still smolder around them like a wild fire, as pieces of the castle threatened to fall; she still remained unaware and deeply rooted in this void of darkness.

Melora too, was worried about what had become of her precious daughter, for she had spent countless years before and after her birth primping her for perfection. Her little child could not have fallen beneath the vulgar wreckage? Surely Angsar's would spare her? Though as the woman searched unrelentingly, her husband was quick to find her and took her by her hand. And she was surprised to see blood seeping own from his eyes.

"I am fine. Lucky to be alive," he told her gruffly. "Come, it is unwise to linger. The south tower may fall."

"But Aella..."

A pang of fear lit up in his eyes.

"Is she not outside?"

"I know not where she is!" And a whole knew set of fears enraged the Duke of Hellvion. Though normally ill, it seemed as if he had risen from the ashes of death itself and commanded for Melora to wait outside while he would venture deeper into the castle in hopes to find their daughter. Though about to protest, Melora said nothing but gently touched his shoulder and warned him to be careful. Then with one quick glance to watch her  husband dash off, she too, made her escape towards the opposing direction, all the while more stone work crumbled and crashed into the floors around them.

And even when she was outside, and the cool evening air hit her, she still felt ill at ease, as the pounding of her heart hurt far more than it shoulder...


And while her daughter was still wasting away int he unconscious world, the drink to the face made them templar exclaim as he sat up suddenly, and was so wracked with confusion he had no idea where he was!

OOC: @visualspice Forgot about Kentamin!

---

"My young man! What's happened to you?" the skinny woman exclaimed in distress.

And then, remembering that the last time they'd seen the young templar had been with the young lady they had so cleverly thrust him towards, the fat woman asked urgently, "But where is Lady Bryony? Has she been hurt?!"

"What's happened to me!?" the young man exclaimed, heart hammering inside his chest. "You just throw your drink on me, that's what has happened!"
Though as the moment pressed on and he studied their looks, he angerily grit his teeth and began to study his surroundings, and once he noticed the small building behind him, the recollection of what had occurred seeped deeply within his gut.

Micah had to pick his way carefully through the halls as he headed for safety with his prize. The palace was still crumbling around them, more walls gave way, crashing to the floor. He was getting too old for this. Rarely did the Duke of Orchy truly feel his age, but tonight was probably going to be one of those occasions.

Halfway to his destination a figure appeared through the rubble and dust. For a moment Micah had no idea who it was, but feeling annoyed that they were not fleeing the building. After taking a closer look he realized it was Duke Avelon. "James! Get out of here, before the whole place falls on our heads. I've got Aella."

OOC: This building must have had some major structural failings if one bomb is bringing so much of it down! XD

---

"We couldn't wake you!" the skinny woman replied shrilly, completely taken aback by this young man's anger! They were trying to help him! To revive him!

"Yes, yes," the fat woman agreed shakily, "you were out cold. Have you been hurt? Did you take a blow to the head, during the, during the-"

But what event exactly the woman was talking about, they wouldn't know, because at that moment it all proved far too much for her, and she promptly fainted.

"Oh dear!" her friend fretted, kneeling by the fainted woman's side and fetching out her smelling salts. But her hands were shaking much too hard. She looked up urgently at Kentamin. "But what about Lady Bryony? Was she harmed? She didn't... she isn't..." her mouth only moved to form the word 'dead' that she didn't dare speak.

Aella's father sighed with relief and rushed over to his side.
"Has she been hurt?" he noticed she was unconscious as she was cradled in his arms.


And elsewhere the remembrance of Lady Byrony only brought a deeper scowl to his lips.
"I assure you. That woman is more than well."
And without so much as a goodbye, he pushed passed the women to begin his pursuit...
only to stop abruptly at the sight of the ballroom of the hellvion castle having fallen to the ground.
Men and women were screaming, the air was full of dust, and by the time he had a good look at it, that welling pool of dust came over him,a nd he begant o cough and wave his hands through it.

"By Angsar's name.."
What has Constance done!?

"No, I don't think so. I think she just fainted in shock." Micah frowned, but didn't stop moving towards where everyone else should have retreated to by now. With Aella out safely he wouldn't need to come back for anyone else.

"Please.. stay with her, Micah," the duke pressed, a hand resting upon his shoulder. "I've got to  handle this situation." Who knew what to do in such chaos, but he was the ruler here and he'd be damned if he'd fall pray to the primal fear that gripped everyone else. But first thing was first, and as he was racing back towards the building and trying to organize the guards and servants to aid those who were crying out for help, and to help those still running to get to safety.

And while James was actually pulling his weight for once, Melora began to search around for Aella, and the moment she saw her in the Duke of Orchy's arms, she rushed over to his side.

"Aella! Oh, Aella! What has happened to her? Is she hurt? Tell me she isn't dead. Does my child breath?" she asked, growing hysterical as she reached out for her child.

"Calm yourself, woman." Micah growled impatiently at Melora as he kneeled down, settling Aella gently down on the ground, but still cradling her gently. "She's alive and unharmed, I think she's fainted."

"Fainted!?" Melora could have fainted herself at such news! "How can you say to calm myself when you know not how my daughter suffers!"

"I can say it because your daughter needs you to be calm and strong, not panicked. You're of no use to her if you've fainted yourself from hysteria." Micah explained as patiently as he could, which isn't to say very.

Melora did her very best not to growl.
"Faint?"She gave a sharp glare at him. "Just whom do you think I am?" She was, after all, never a woman to know to have fainted over such delicacies. In fact..
the only time she truly had fainted was well...
Rejection had not sat well with her all those years ago.

"A woman that tries my patience at every turn, and as I recall, you have fainted in my company before." Oh yes, he would never forget her fainting when he had turned her down. It had been the right decision, of course. Micah had loved his wife, but he wouldn't deny that Melora had been a hard woman to deny back then, and age had not changed that.

"You speak of illtimed moments," she was quick to retort. "I was ill."
Love sick maybe- but even she was not one to proclaim that sort of thing. It wasn't like she were any sort of romantic in that sense. After all, the pairing would have been right. Either way, she supposed it did not matter now. She had become a duchess in the end.

"Come, let us speak of that no further. Aella needs to get somewhere she can rest. To the carriage house. It'll be fthe fastest way."

Micah snorted at the idea that she was 'ill' when she fainted. More like a spoiled, pretentious bitch that couldn't cope with the shock of not getting her way. Rather than argue further, he lifted Aella again and wordlessly began walking to the carriage house. Melora was not his problem, Aella was. It was her he had to worry about, as his intended bride.

Oh right, her mother still didn't know. A malicious smirk had to be hidden at the thought of the rage that declaration was sure to produce.

She couldn't believe just how rude he was! But then again, this was Micah. SHe followed after without missing a beat, clinging to her skirts.

"We can take James's carriage to West Beach Gorge. It's the closet castle who's roads we know are secure."

"Then to West Beach Gorge it is." What a mess this night had become. Micah had only needed to secure his engagement to Aella and leave so that Melora could stew in her rage, but now he had to actually make sure that his future bride was safe, because apparently that was too much to ask of her parents! Honestly, how had someone gotten a bomb into the ball?

No matter, he strode into the carriage house with a scowl. "Find a driver and let's settle her comfortably. Hopefully she will recover soon."

Melora easily assembled order, and a coachman to escort them. And once that was arranged, she turned to Micah and gave him a curt smile.
"I do thank you for the help, but I suppose you ought to go to James now to inform him where Aella and I shall be while he sorts this mess out." it would also make the man seem more important and 'appreciated.' And she simply looked at him expectantly.