Neap Tide

[pomelo]

Tags to @Lion !



A thick blanket of white ramson blossoms blanketed the forest floor, glowing in the slanting rays of the early morning sun. It wasn't, of course, really a 'forest.' Not in the true, wild sense of the word. No great, deep expanse of trees and hollows and glens that one could disappear into. Trees that whispered, if you could listen, the story of a nation. The ramson, more accurately, blanketed a wood. A fresh, sunny wood  on the outskirts of Wulfbauer Keep. Her home. Her prison. Her home.

Constance Carwick, or "Olive," was no longer a skinned-kneed child running through these woods with the stableboy. Though she had been, once. And she was no longer a fugitive, disappearing in and out of the woods to stay alive. She had been, not long ago, though not these woods. She was no longer a prisoner, in one sense. And in another, she was more a prisoner now than she ever had been. Constance Carwick wasn't, actually, even Constance Carwick anymore.

Constance Carwick was now Constance Therrien, Duchess of Wulfbauer, the wife of Duke Erwin Therrien. Though, in her mind, she was Constance "Therrien," "Duchess" of Wulfauer, "wife" of Erwin Therrien. She couldn't drop the quotes in her head; the sense that it was actually real, and not some shadow play. But then, it was a play, of sorts. Constance and Erwin were the actors, the Keep the stage, and the entire duchy the audience. But it wasn't a play, however inauthentic it may have been. A marriage of convenience - for him, that was - to avoid a scandal and a simple way to join the Carwick fortunes with their ancestral lands, now ruled by the Therriens. The latter she didn't really mind; that was the way it was for her sort of people. Not mages. Nobility. It was the former that left Olive unsettled.

Especially now.

A warm, wet nose pressed into her palm, dragging her for a moment out of her reverie. Offering some momentary relief from the deep, heavy loneliness that weighed on her. Her green eyes glanced down at the red-and-white border collie at her heels, ruffling its ears. She bent down until she found a short, fat stick, a little soggy from the forest floor. But it would do. The dog Kipper ran in an excited circle of anticipation, until Olive sent the wet piece of wood soaring through the forest, then the dog took off like an arrow. For a moment, Olive smiled, but it quickly faded. The loneliness welling back up inside her.

Olive let out a little huff, then at first crouched, then finally sat down with a plop on the green floor of the wood. Very unladylike. Her head was in her hands, pushing against her face in frustration. She didn't let herself engage with these feelings all the time. Not even most of the time. Outside of these now daily solitary walks, Olive did not give herself time to feel sad, or to feel alone. She kept herself busy with financial planning with the Lord of the Coin, political planning with the Duke, and clandestine orchestrating her other endeavours with Astrid, Bairn and through Bairn, with Silas. Silas who was still free, but unsafe. Outside of this time alone in the wood, with only Kipper, Constance kept herself very busy. She didn't know what else to do. But for all her pull and clout now, as Duchess, and for all that being married entailed, Olive had never felt more alone. Or more trapped. Even now, when in a very real way - that proved her "marriage" didn't warrant the quotes she placed around them in her mind - she was not alone.

Her chest clenched in an irrational panic at the thought, and for a moment she had the familiar sensation of drowning. But it passed, and pushing back her honey-colored bangs, Olive took her head out of her hands and looked up. It was only then that she saw Kipper standing stiff, tense. Eyes fixed threateningly on something behind her. Just over her shoulder. The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and before she could turn around she heard a deep male voice.

"Well well, little mouse, what are you doing so far alone in the forest? Don't you know it isn't safe?"

Not long ago, her reflexes would have been quicker. When she had been always on guard, always wary, always ready to fight for her life. But the relative safety of Wulfbauer had, perhaps, dulled those reflexes. Because just as Olive tried to turn to face the voice, she felt large, strong arms suddenly enclose around her, one pinning her roughly against the stranger's chest, the other clasped firmly over her mouth.

[Lion]

How did one go about killing a serpent? The simplest answer to that age old question was to lop off the fat ugly head. But while it was quick and efficient, it was certainly a lot more satisfying taking your time with the kill, making sure that it knew why it was being slain. Taking the tail, stripping it of it's scales, then finishing with the head.

For this particular serpent, it would require a slow tempered killing. And finding all the pieces of the body in the right places at the right time. Merric had been lucky, he escaped his clutches once. But if he thought he could evade the reaches of the Church for long, he'd be wrong.

Dead wrong.

Confessors were everywhere, and anywhere, all the time. The eyes and ears of the Church. The hand to soothe, the fist to crush. But for now, loose ends needed to be tied, and those that were faithful, loyal, obeyed Lucian's order to seek and capture those involved in the failed mage camp: Valinarus. There were others of course. But that was the focus for this group of agents that watched Constance through the wood.

For what poor excuse of a forest it served, they waited quietly, patient until the moment came to strike. Once arms were secured around her, another came with a cudgel and firmly planted it against her head to knock her unconscious.  Or at the very least weaken the struggle. Ropes were tied around her form, and she was taken into the back of a wagon not far from where they hid. The one that secured her covered her body with potatoes and other such vegetables before stepping up onto the buck board.

[They likely already have Merric in a background scene somewhere, and will take them to some inner Confessor Sanctum beneath a church. You decide what happens to Kipper.]

[pomelo]

The first thing Olive was aware of was the aching in her skull. For a few moments, it was the only thing she could feel. A deep, resonating pain pulsing from her skull, into her brain, and throughout the rest of her body. Next came the cold, grimy, rough feel of the stone floor against the her cheek. Then the stiffness of her joints folded against the hard ground. These sensations were, at first, too overwhelming - and her consciousness still too dim - to ask herself questions like, Where am I? or What happened?

Slowly, her senses began to return to her. And what she noticed was that this felt wrong. Olive was sitting on the forest floor. She was sitting on a plush bed of ramson. The wood was bright and breezy. Had she fainted? But then why... This was not a forest floor and even with her eyes closed she could tell it was dark. She hadn't fainted, she...

With a start, the memory came back to her. The forest. Kipper. The men. The blow. The wave of panic hit her hard and Olive jerked, eyes snapping open and she moved to get up. But before she could, a wave of sickness welled up inside of her - from the blow to her head, or from her belly, or both, she didn't know - and Olive fell to her side, retching.

[Lion]

"WAAAUGH!" was the sound that came out of Mercuxio when the bucket of icy water was splashed all over him. He gasped desperately for breath from where he was held up by his arms. The wounds on his back were clotted or packed closer with some kind of salve or so it felt.

Merric's eyes adjusted to the darkness, where his watcher reached up to unhook him from where he hung by his arms. A torch in the corner of the room illuminated wet stone, and the shadows of Merric being dropped to the ground, while the Confessor that woke him up with the water, took his bound hands, and dragged him from the flailing chamber.

Merric was exhausted, and he could barely feel blood flooding back into his arms.  His bindings were cut and into the cell down the hallway he was thrown, the door slammed shut behind him. The iron bars were thick and cool against his hot flesh.  The cells were separated only by iron bars and as he leaned forward, he saw a retching shape in the cell beside his.

"Hey," he murmured.  "Don't puke up everything you've eaten." Merric stared at her in the vague torchlight that burned in center pillars in that long cell hall. This inner Sanctum was unfamiliar to Mercuxio, and even he hadn't been to every Confessor stronghold in all of Connlaoth. This one was solid, and the rag hadn't been removed from his head until he was already locked within his cell.

Mercuxio crawled to the bars that separated their cells and he rested his arms on the slot inbetween. She was too opulently dressed. Even with the war around them, many nobles still managed to scrounge up fancy rags. And make them somewhat presentable. What was more, she seemed familiar.... 

And as the light caught the side of her face, his breath hitched. "O....Olive?"

[pomelo]

"O... Olive?"

Constance heard the small, uncertain voice as her body convulsed in the last of its retching, and she immediately froze. It wasn't just that someone here recognized her. - Wherever 'here' was... - But it was something about the voice. She couldn't place it, cracked and broken and far flung in her memory as it was, but nonetheless it came like an icy dagger into her stomach.

Why why why. Where did she know it? Where did she -

She knew. No. Of course she knew. Or at least, suddenly she guessed. And suddenly her heart was beating deafeningly in her skull.

Slowly, and very deliberately, Olive wiped the last spittle from her mouth, then turned to face the voice, moving her body carefully so her back would be against the wall once she'd turned. Instinct told her to not leave herself exposed. Even if it was too late for that. As she turned, Mercuxio would finally be able to see her properly. Had she changed in the last years? Yes; internally, certainly. But she still had the same, scrawny figure she'd always had. She'd at least put on a bit of weight since returning to Wulfbauer, so she didn't have the same skin-and-bones look she'd had after the Long Winter. Her hair was longer and tied back in a now-disheveled braided knot. And while 'opulent' was perhaps an exaggeration for her clothing, they were nonetheless well-made and high-quality. Coming, as they did, from before the war. But her face was older now, if still young, and harder. The passing years had not been kind to Olive.

And her eyes, when they fell upon the speaker, flashed more like a wild animal than a woman. Much less a duchess. Mercuxio. For half a second, she wasn't sure. The man was not in a great state himself, but she didn't process all of that then. It was him. She could feel it in her bones. What little color was left drained from her face, and her body convulsed again, but not in sickness; it was an instinctual reaction, almost as though she were about to launch herself at him.

In that moment she couldn't find words. But her eyes said enough: a wild fear mixed with what could only be called hatred, and a hot determination. To do what? Constance didn't know.

[Lion]

It was strange, seeing ghosts. The Church denounced such things as disturbances caused by stray traces of magic, made by people left untouched for ages. Or traces of energy left behind by people that used to be alive. Here in this old cellar, the moss growing between the edges of stones, it was intended to be a blessed place, kept safe from such things.

Yet here they were, and here she was, a ghost in the flesh. Mercuxio, despite his exhaustion, turned his body toward hers, relying on the bars for support.  And only when she faced him more thoroughly, tired eyes taking in the sight of her, did his breath catch.  And every memory and feeling came flooding back.

He saw that fear in her eyes, unkempt and primal, and he stayed in a locked gaze during that painful silence. All that could be heard was the occasional pop of a fire of that torch reflecting light on the both of them.  A small part of him was grateful for the silence, and his own features, drawn in, lip bloodied, cheek bruised, and swelling appearing beneath his left eye.

"You're alive," he whispered, a lilt of joy tinging the echo of it.  But what more could he say? Ask questions she probably didn't know the answers to? So all that rolled off his tongue was a simple, "Hello."

[pomelo]

If Mercuxio thought she might be a ghost, she would soon disprove him. Seeing him again - and now, here, when she was vulnerable and cornered - opened too many old wounds, brought a cauldron of old anger that had been kept deep within her boiling to the surface. She didn't think; she didn't decide; her next action was a purely gut reaction to him. Like a frightened dog that bites by instinct. Moving in a flash, Olive did lunge at him now. She slammed her body against the bars that were supporting Mercuxio's bloodied and beaten weight with enough force to send him reeling backwards onto the cold, dank ground. She spit on him once he hit the ground, like a wildcat might spit.

Her eyes blazed down at him with a hardness that they hadn't yet had when Mercuxio had seen her last. It was a hardness she hadn't built up at the first mage camp, but at the next, which had proven even more of a nightmare than the first. And in the years that followed her escape, during which Olive had taken up arms against the Grand Duke's forces, and the Church's. It was the blaze of eyes that had watched someone die, that had pulled the trigger. Perhaps that thought struck Olive, too, because her hand twitched at her side, where she wasn't holding a hand cannon. If she noticed Mercuxio's own state, if she'd taken in that he was clearly also a prisoner here, she didn't seem to care. Because, by Angsar, if she had the means to now, she would kill him. And it shone in her face.

Maybe under other circumstances, if Mercuxio had come on official business to Wulfbauer on some state business, her reaction wouldn't be this one. Perhaps it would be more controlled. But Olive honestly was not sure.

She stayed like that, watching him stony-faced and stormy-eyed, chest heaving, for what felt like several long moments. Her body was tense, coiled and ready to strike again. Then the moment passed, somewhat, and her expression 'softened' into one of disgust.

"Yes. I am," she finally said, her voice slow and controlled but roiling with emotion. "No thanks to you."

[Lion]

A simple greeting met with a brutal response. And one that Mercuxio had not been expecting. The moment that Olive flung herself at the bars, he'd been too weak to react, and he let the force send him reeling backwards grip loosened from the iron bars. Merric stumbled backwards and onto his side, narrowly avoiding scraping his open back against the dirty floor.

He took in a deep breath and wiped the spit from his face, scraping it on the ground and just letting himself lay there. Normally he might have retaliated, but these days, he was becoming more and more spent. The ferocity she'd see. In his eyes before was dimmed significantly.

In fact if she killed him now, she'd be doing him a favor.

"A thank you murmured in mockery. That's precious," he griped. "But I deserve it. Come on then, anything else to throw at me! After what I've done, I welcome it. So just get it over with."

His voice grew increasingly irritated, and he looked up at her with a glare. "But I know why I'm in here. What I can't fathom is why you're here."

[pomelo]

Mercuxio was wrong to call it mockery. Constance, who could normally summon at least a dark humor, showed none now. Not mockery; only a brutal truth. It was all coming back to her in a flood memories and emotions. Not that she had forgotten, not a single one of them. Olive made a very deliberate point not to forget the dead. But now, faced with this man, brought back the raw emotion as a swelling tide, and her body began to shake as she looked at him. His words - "I know why I'm in here. What I can't fathom is why you're here" - should have registered with her. But in that moment, they didn't.

"You murderer. You let all of those people be slaughtered. You drove them all to slaughter. You- you murdered him." Olive's voice caught for just one moment. She had not thought about Lorent in a long time. "The blood on your hands, from just those few weeks. And what have you done in the last years. How many more, Mercuxio? Huh? How many more have you 'saved?' How many more lives lost because you were so desperate to 'help' them? What better way than their deaths? How many?!"

Without realizing it, Olive was yelling. And, in sudden frustration, she kicked the bars between their cells, pointlessly lashing out at the man. That man. Her eyes still burned at him, now through unshed tears. But Olive didn't look sad or weak.

The outburst, however, seemed to bring her back to her senses, and she withdrew from the bars that separated them a little, lowering her voice again. "'Precious?' You think so? Is that how you see me, then? The 'precious' little friend of your sister? Do you know what they did, where you sent me?" Accusation was heavy in Olive's voice. But she was calmer, more in control than she'd been. "Do you know what they do, when you hand over a teenage girl and say, 'Watch out for this one; she's a trouble maker.' Do you want me to paint the scene for you, jog your imagination? Do you have any idea- Do you know what they do there, in general, what happens to all mages up... North- What goes on beyond the borders of our," she stopped short of saying 'our country.' Her voice was shaking again. It was one thing to stay controlled when describing injustices dealt only against her.

But the cruel experiments and death, fast and slow, handed out to the mages who'd landed in camps beyond Connlaoth. Whatever remained of them. That stoked something else in Olive. A zealous, almost radical, passion.

Again she fell silent, and she crossed her arms, deflating just a little. Just the faintest shadow of her own vulnerability on her features now. Her lip twitched. "Maybe you did," she said quietly. "Maybe the plan all along was to make the camps inside Connlaoth untenable - one by one - so you could justify sending us there."

[Lion]

Mercuxio did nothing to show her contrition amidst the torrent of her anger. All the rage that came hurtling at him was just one more ounce to that he was already the brunt of, and he pushed himself up in a sitting position, leaning against his legs, elbows anchored and his shoulders drooped as he stayed quiet.

Although he gave no outward reaction, he was listening to every word she said, and only then did something strike him. True Olive had been his sister's childhood friend, and he'd never really interacted with her before then. Beyond that there was only one thing to bind them, only one that would explain them both being here, together in cells beside one another.

"Valinarus," he breathed, slowly raising his head, and looking at her now and peering levelly with her burning eyes. He frowned. "Constance. Nothing I can do will explain to you or ease your anger. Destroy me if you must."

He set his jaw, clenching it until it hurt. "All I've done! Yes! I'll admit it! All I've killed, all I've hurt, all I've given to serve what I believed to be true! And what has it given me? Nothing! Taking years of my life and watching everything I loved fall apart. And I can't take it back, Constance. No matter what I do, nothing will erase it!"

He pushed himself up to stand. And he pressed forward, holding himself against the bars again. "As meaningless as those words are you, I am sorry. I would have never sent you north. My job was to find rebellion and root it out. But when the others came, I had no control over what they would do. Do not be confused, however, because I that does not absolve me what the sins I've done. Committed against you. That I will carry with me until I die."

Mercuxio pressed his torso against the bars, letting his flesh cool there against the metal. His face settled between them. "But I'm here now. In the flesh. Beat me if you must, torment me, if that would bring you an ounce of ease. I will not fight you."

[pomelo]

A hint of conflict entered Constance's eyes as she listened to Mercuxio's words. Her torrent of anger was subsiding now and her normal, cooler senses returning to her. That didn't mean that she looked any more forgiving. Rather, if anything, a little confused. Because Mercuxio's words did not match his unapologetic demeanor. And Constance could not tell what motivated that.

She stepped back from the bars when Mercuxio approached them again. Not because she was intimidated by him, but maybe to signal that she would not strike out against him again. Or maybe to prevent herself from lashing out at him again. She saw now the state that he was in; worse than her, certainly, however much her skull ached. And whatever Merric might think, she didn't want to torture him. That would bring her no pleasure. There were stark lines that they had drawn, when she'd been living as a rebel in the wild, and unnecessary suffering was one that they never crossed. She had no desire to change that now.

"No. I won't give you that absolution." She watched him warily, suspicious, features still hard. "You will have to carry that yourself."

[Lion]

Mercuxio shook his head. "I do not want absolution. There will be none for me." He sighed and wrapped his arms between the bars, clasping either elbow with the opposing hand. He shook his head, looking at her with exhausted eyes. "Do not be confused. It's not out of any self-delusional pity. I will carry it, as I've carried everything else. That is what's real."

Mercuxio breathed heavily, rolling shoulders, feeling his arms crack back into place. "Constance, don't think I've forgotten. I haven't. I won't. I can't. But I am...tired. And what's here and now is being locked in this prison, the two of us."

He frowned, unhooking his arms. "I know....you probably won't want to repeat it. But...what did happen to you? Please tell me. If you would allow me to hear the truth. Your truth. Am I at least worthy of that?"

[pomelo]

"The two of us..."

Mercuxio's words made something in Olive's face twitch. But she managed, she thought, not to glance downwards. Not to make such an obvious gesture. She wasn't entirely sure if she succeeded or not. The two of us. He meant, of course, himself and her. But the thought brought Olive back to the present. Snapped her out, for the moment, of her memories of pain and anger that the Confessor's appearance had stirred.

And the present did not look good. Angsar's beard, what would Erwin... What the Duke of Wulfbauer's feelings towards her were, Olive had no idea. Well, beyond viewing her as an advisor. But that was about his personal feelings. On a personal level, Olive knew full well that Erwin Therrien had no desire for a wife in the first place. But now he had one. And if he thought that wife had been kidnapped, especially with the internal strife in Wulfbauer... Well, he didn't, by Olive's approximation, have the coolest head. At least, not always. And he couldn't be seen to do nothing after his wife - his "wife" - disappeared.

Olive had stopped listening to Merric for a moment, eyes searching the dark of their surroundings.

"No, you're right," she finally answered. And though she didn't sound happy, the anger in her voice was largely replaced with concerned. "I don't really want to repeat it. What does it matter, anyway?" There was no sassiness in that last remark. It was in earnest. Because, in the grand scale of the war, what did it matter what happened to one woman? She was alive. That, Olive knew, made her very lucky. "Mercuxio.... Where are we?"

[Lion]

If she was willing to push the subject aside, so was he. And Mercuxio stayed quiet, letting the coldness of the iron bars just cool against his burning flesh. The wounds on his back felt like they were open again. Or the water that had splashed against him was still drying. He shivered, and pushed the pain from his mind.

"Okay," he murmured, nodding gently to her.

Mercuxio opened his eyes, looking her over. Why her? Why here of all places?

"A Confessor Sanctuary," he said softly. "That much is evident. But I woke up here much like you did, with a throbbing fucking headache." A sharp intake of breath and he looked her over. They hadn't gotten to her yet, but they would and he felt something primal awaken inside of him. Perhaps completely undue, perhaps unwarranted considering all they've been through.

"A Confessor Sanctuary likely with loyalty to the head of the Order of St. Agratha," he breathed hard. "The head of that Order being Lucian...my friend. Or the man who I thought was my friend. But I was betrayed. He captured me once before...  I-"

Mercuxio paused and turned his head down, shutting his eyes and fighting off the tears. They burned at his eyes, and the salt spread down to the cuts on his cheeks. And held his breath a moment. "Valinarus," he said softly. "Constance, you don't know who Lucian is do you?"

[pomelo]

A confessor sanctuary.

It sent a chill down Olive's spine. But a chill that only hardened her. She refused to bend in fear to the Confessors, however dire their situation seemed now. A slight sneer crossed her face at the words, then she turned her gaze from investigating their surroundings to look at Merric again. To see him looking worn and broken, tears shining on his cheeks. It churned Olive's stomach. Not with sympathy, but with a combination of annoyance and, maybe, a little disgust.

This was not the time for feeling sorry for themselves.

She made then a sudden decision. Because she needed to get out of here. Constance was not going to die now. Like this.

"Mercuxio," she finally said, something changing in her tone. She ignored his question about Lucian. She looked him dead in the eye to convey the importance of what she was saying. Her left hand strayed down to her belly, the color draining from her face a little. She had only said this out loud to Vale. No one else. Not even Erwin. "It's not just my life, Mercuxio."

[Lion]

Mercuxio wiped away the wetness from his eyes. And brushed away the dirt and grime from the wounds present on his face.  He watched her hand drift to her belly and his breath hitched. Right. Much had happened between here and Valinarus and while he was mourning himself, she had gone off to go do Ansgar knew what.

And he knew that if he let himself, he would rot here until Lucian decided he was better off without a head. Which would be soon.

"Then we find a way to get you out of this hell hole," Merric said resolutely. "I have too much at stake to let myself die. You taught me that if anything. Who's the father?"

The question was nothing more than a curious one. And he softened his expression.

[pomelo]

"Erwin Therrien," Constance answered, olive-green eyes never leaving Mercuxio's. Her gaze was level, but beneath that, they were the same defiant eyes of the girl who'd been in the camps, who'd come to him years ago with the crimes of Valinarus. She went on, "The Duke of Wulfbauer. And... " Constance swallowed. "My husband."

[Lion]

Mercuxio's lips curled into a small smile. And he nodded in understanding. "Good for you, Olive. But the fact that you've ended up here with me isn't very good. So let's see about how we can get your out of here, yes?" he said softly. "Lucian won't give a shit if you're with child. Valinarus is the only thing that binds us. I will help you however I can."

Whether she asked for it or not. Lucian wanted to clean up the mess left behind by previous Confessors, the mage camps, the memory of failure. Mercuxio moved away from the bars and looked now to the door of his cell.

"Do you remember anything before coming here? What you were doing? Did they search your person before throwing you inside that cell?"

[pomelo]

Constance did not return Mercuxio's smile, and she met his 'congratulations' with a grim expression. She looked away from him. "I hope it's good for someone," she muttered, half to herself, "but not for me."

Because even though she'd been half-starved, always on the run, never sure what the next day would hold, when she was an escaped mage, Constance had in a way been free for the first time in her life. And, since her marriage to Erwin Therrien, she thought likely the last time. She tried not to waste her time or energy on self-pity. This is what she'd been raised for. And all of the privilege in her life had to be put to some use. Her father had taught her that. The war had taught her that.

Still, she felt as though her wings had been clipped.

And the child. She felt the weight of it like shackles.

"But it will be no good for Wulfbauer if Erwin Therrien thinks his 'wife' has been kidnapped by God knows who," though she tried to keep the quotes out of her voice when she said 'wife' or 'husband', Constance couldn't quite yet manage it convincingly. There were no quotes, she tried to remind herself. She was, legally and every way that mattered in Connlaoth, the wife of Erwin Therrien. "But I don't remember... I was alone in the woods on the estate. With my dog." Sh wondered for the first tie, and with a pang of guilt, what happened to Kipper. If he was found, dead or alive, they would know she had not simply run away... "I think it was two men, but I didn't get a good look at them. They must have knocked me unconscious, my head certainly feels like it, but I don't remember..."